#Simon Ghost x Reader

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley with a wife that loves to cook him lunches. I like to think this is in the same universe as this blurb. CW : None. Pure fluff

Simon loves waking up, having a shower, and then coming downstairs to see a plate of breakfast on the kitchen island, and you, in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts as your pyjamas.

Simon loves wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook whatever you're making for him.

And it's not as though he demands it, or expects it. Ever since the two of you got married and you got to work from home instead of in the office, you would make Simon lunch.

It wasn't always in the morning, either. Sometimes you would just show up to the 141 base, greeting everyone with a sweet smile. Before handing Simon a still warm container of food.

Simon loved your cooking, but something he loved even more was the ego boost he received from his mates. Johnny especially.

Johnny always commented on what Simon had for lunch. Expressing how good it was and how he wishes he had a 'bonnie lass' at home that would make lunch for him.

Then, Simon made the mistake of telling you about Johnny's words.

Simon had said it in passing while the two of you were cuddling in bed. Chuckling to himself, not even noticing the pout on your lips.

He shouldn't have been surprised when in the morning, he saw two containers, instead of one. One labeled "Simon ‪‪❤︎‬", the other labeled "Johnny ‪‪❤︎‬".

Simon slid the container across the table as he sat across from Johnny. The scotsman looking confused before his eyes lit up.

"She cook this for me, did she?" Johnny smiled brightly.

"Aye. But don't get a big head about it" Simon glared.

"How can I no' get a big head aboot it? sweet lass she is. Migh' have tae steal her from ye"

"don't even think about it"

"She e'en put a heart nex' tae ma name, Simon. She must fancy me"

"I'm telling her you hated the food"

"No! dinnae dae that ye big brute! she'll think A'm a bastard!"

"You are one"

Simon brought home two empty containers that night. Telling you about how Johnny groaned with every mouthful and nearly licked the container clean.

You also started receiving sloppy kisses on the cheek from Johnny whenever you brought lunch in during the day for your husband and his best friend.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[connorsui]

drunk! simon

You set down the small pile of items you’d gathered; cotton pads, a bottle of micellar water, and a towel on the nightstand before making your way toward him. “You look like you’ve had better days,” you teased softly, crouching down to meet his eyes.

Simon gave you a lazy, lopsided smile, his blue eyes glassy but filled with affection. “Y’know, I don’t say it enough,” he slurred, his accent heavier than usual, “but I’m bloody lucky to have you, luv. How’d a lug like me end up with someone like you?”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re repeating yourself, Simon.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly as if drawn to you like a magnet. “Need you to know it.”

Your heart softened as you reached for a cotton pad, dabbing it with micellar water before gently tilting his head back. “Let me clean you up,” you murmured, your voice gentle as you began swiping the pad along his face.

He sighed at your touch, his broad shoulders relaxing under your care. “You’ve got the softest hands,” he mumbled, his voice quiet and heavy with sleepiness. “Don’t deserve you, darlin’. Too good for me.”

“Simon,” you said softly, shaking your head as you worked, “if you keep saying that, I might start believing you don’t like yourself very much.”

He chuckled faintly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “I like me just fine. Just like you more. Love you more.”

You set the used pad aside and smoothed a bit of moisturizer onto your fingers, massaging it gently into his skin. He leaned into your touch like a contented cat, his eyes fluttering shut as a quiet hum escaped him.

“All done,” you said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Now let’s get you to lay down.”

But before you could pull away, Simon grabbed your wrist with surprising gentleness and tugged you closer. He slouched forward, resting his head on your lap, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist.

“Simon,” you said, exasperated but amused, “you can’t just—”

“Not movin’,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your leg. “Too comfy here.”

You sighed, a soft laugh escaping as your fingers instinctively combed through his messy hair. He melted further into your lap, his breathing slowing as you stroked his scalp.

“Love you so much ...did I mention how much I love you? ..I love you” he murmured, his voice a quiet slur.

Your chest ached with warmth as you looked down at him. “I love you too, Simon,” you whispered, your fingers still threading through his hair.

Simon’s grip on you tightened slightly, and for a while, you let him stay there, cradled in your care, his quiet devotion lulling the room into peaceful stillness.

[amaranthinespirit]

kidnapper!simon riley when you warm up to him. cw: kidnapping and stockholm syndrome

simon was a selfish man, a pure debauched and corrupt soul with immoral fantasies. none of which he had acted out, because no one had satisfied that one itch he couldn't scratch, until he caught eye of a sweet thing like you.

met purely in passing, not sparing him a second glance as you ushered by. he wasn't surprised, a pretty thing like you wouldn't dare pay mind to a sickening man such as himself, even if you hadn't known it in the moment.

but he knew he had to have you, oh, you were such an enigma, one he wanted to pry apart himself, crack you rib by rib until your heart laid unprotected to him. such a pretty thing he wanted to have.

oh, and even prettier you are when you cried, thrashing and writhing against him. you fought hard, harder than he expected for a little darling he painted you to be. his dark voice cooed in your ear, asking, almost sweetly, for you to calm down.

how could you, though, as he took you far from the city, a little cabin in the woods with smoke billowing out of the brick chimney. homey, almost, if it weren't for the fact he dragged you through the forest, hauling you roughly over his shoulder the more you struggled.

he kept you in the dark, dingy depths of the cellar, your soft sobs causing his skin to crawl. sure, he felt bad at your broken cries, but he wasn't plagued with guilt, or remorse, it didn't keep him up at night.

he was a poor man, a social reject, and the fact you treated him as such is what kept him up. he was gruff, blunt, unwanted and cryptic. it didn't stop him from fucking his fist, rough palm tightly wound around his aching, meaty cock drooling with pre. head thrown back and pupils blown as he imagined your tear-stained face before he came on his soft stomach, cleaned himself up, and rolled over in bed.

but he took care of you, or at least he tried. you didn't eat the food he beared, in fear of poison, or wear the clothes he provided, because maybe that would be acceptance. it caused a frown to watch you grow thinner.

he watched the way you recoiled from his dirty hands, stained and tainted, even he was hesitant to touch your pure skin, but after a while, he realised you might never come around, and he couldn't let you starve. not after all his effort.

sure, you were squirming under his muscly arms, nails digging into his flesh as he gently spooned food to your lips, holding you against his broad chest. it was a slow process, but the more he managed through to your throat, the more you relaxed.

your body remained tense and poised, but at least you were no longer fighting him and now eating. admittedly, it tasted good, and maybe that's where everything turned around, he thought.

because now the house was free-reign, no longer did he keep you in that musty cellar, but he did proof the house of any escape. with this new space, unbound, it was like you had reverted to your old behavior, until eventually, your old habits began to die.

you didn't know why or how it had developed, but now you had such a deep yearning, an insatiable want, for domesticity that you'd start lingering by his side, like a rough shadow, but you'd still stumble back if he turned too sharply, or took a step too quick.

he didn't mind, though, he just hadn't expected it, not after you'd put up such a fight when he first took you, but he remained cautious. maybe you'd become a fawn, appeasing him until he had given you enough freedom to slip from his grasp.

but you looked to him with doting eyes as you slipped under his arm, face nuzzled into his broad chest, hearing the way his heart thumped. it made you feel warm, and fuzzy. you couldn't help but feel bad for simon, depraved and socially excluded, a truly sick man. maybe it was best to give him what he wanted.

the wooden floors creaked barely under your weight as you carried yourself from the uncomfortable couch in the living room, the flames in the fireplace burning out as night began to settle. simon lay in the haunting dark of his bedroom, blankets lazily thrown over him as he laid in his cold, lonely bed.

his ears perked at the sound of movement, hairs raised on the back of his neck, and he held slight fear that maybe you'd come to stab him in his sleep, but all worries dissipated as the bed dipped, sheets ruffling as you tucked yourself into his chest, leeching his warmth as he held you through the night. pressing a kiss to your temple at your acceptance, that you were now his.

[miryum]

Simon Riley who, when you moved in with him, also had to adjust to your little dog. He loved dogs, as evident by Riley, but your dog was not like Riley. Riley was a war-hardened German Shepard that could sniff out bombs and had survived a bullet wound. Your dog looked like it would pee on the helicopter that was sent to rescue it and bark at the medic before rolling over for belly rubs.

Your dog was all bark and no bite. They were a small, fluffy little thing who you spoiled more than Simon. It took them a while to adjust to Simon, but when they realised that Simon laid heavily on the couch after deployment and was willing to be their personal pillow, your little dog reluctantly accepted him.

As for the dynamic between Riley and your dog, your little pupper was insistent that they were the boss of the house. They barked at Riley when first introduced as Riley just sat there, waiting for it to be over. Soon enough, though, your dog was curled up with Riley, cuddling. That always made you coo and take pictures of the pair, though Simon grumped that he’d rather have you pay attention to him.

Speaking of attention not on Simon, when the hell did your shared bed also become the dogs’ bed? When it was just Simon and Riley, Riley had his own bed and kennel in the living room. And Simon loved you so much. He was so fucking happy when you moved in. Hell, he was happy just to have you in his bed. Waking up with you tucked into his side, protected by him, was something he adored. It was better than heaven. But that heaven was usually interrupted by your scrappy little dog wiggling its way in between you two. He would turn around when you started petting and baby-talking the dog, only to see Riley at the foot of the bed, staring up at him. That’s how both dogs began sleeping in your shared bed.

You adored Riley just as much as you adored your own dog. You loved going on walks with Simon, the dogs on their leashes. Riley was a perfect walker, next to Simon the entire time with such military precision that you doubted the canine even needed a leash. Your dog on the other hand… they weaved all over the path, pausing to sniff and pee every half block. Simon wanted to train your dog like he had trained Riley, but you refused. “Oh, shush. Look at that little face! Perfect already, Si.” Of course, he could never say no to you.

Speaking of Riley’s training, however, Simon could tell that his dog was slowly slipping farther and farther from his strict regimen. With the excessive treats that you slipped Riley, the dog was gaining some chonkiness, just as his owner. As his deployments got further and further apart and his retirement got more and more likely (perhaps because of the ring in his dresser drawer), he allowed himself to stay in bed longer with you rather than getting up to exercise in the wee hours of the morning. You didn’t mind, obviously. You liked the softness that Simon was acquiring and he was always a big man to begin with. Just because his tummy was becoming more squishy didn’t mean that he still couldn’t throw his weight around if someone was bothering you.

Simon, combined with Riley, allowed for ‘scary dog privileges.’ There was a time when a creepy man began following you when Simon was on deployment and you were walking Riley. Your own little dog was getting their hair cut, so it was just you and Riley. You noticed something was wrong when Riley’s ears perked up and his movements got a bit more robotic. You glanced around, knowing Riley’s instincts were never wrong. After seeing the man, you decided to head back towards the edge of the park, where more people were. When the man didn’t give up, though, and got even closer, Riley went full guarddog. He stepped closer to you and turned around to face the man. After a few loud, thundering barks that drew the attention of everyone around, the man scuttled away. Later that month when Simon was back home, both dogs cuddled up to you on the bed, he didn’t know whether to be mad that you didn’t tell him immediately (though he could never get mad at you) or to be proud that Riley protected you so fiercely. Anxiety and fear rushed through Simon, but you calmed him with a small kiss and Riley set his head on Simon’s stomach. Riley definitely earned the scratches behind the ears that he got.

Most dog owners took their dogs out for one last pee before bedtime and Simon was no exception. You always made Simon take the dogs out because you were usually cuddled up in bed or in the blankets all cosy. He never once complained, either tugging on his jacket if it was windy out, or pulling on a hat if it was raining. He would do anything for you, even if it meant braving thick snow that crept into his boots. Riley always went quickly, even though both owner and dog knew that he could withstand the freezing temperatures. Your little idiot, on the other hand, would take their merry time, sniffing and trailing around the yard (which you had asked for when you and Simon moved out of his apartment and into a real house on the outskirts of the city). There were even times when another dog would be walking by and your canine would bark and run after them. Simon was always quick to jog after and scoop the dog up. Once in a while, Riley would give a deep bark as well, as if telling off your dog. Simon would then trudge back into the house, muttering curses under his breath, your dog under his arm.

But, as much as he pretended to hate your dog, there was always a soft spot there. Soon enough, “my girlfriend’s” dog became “my wife’s” dog and then “our” dog.

[sai-int]

simon riley who's a nasty, nasty dog.

simon riley who rips his pants off the second he's through the door, already bulging painfully in his cotton jeans. without a word, he yanks his pants down, his cock springing free with a dribble of pre. he grabs you by the scruff of your neck, rubbing himself all over your cheeks and lips, making them glisten. "this what y'been waiting for, huh? dirty fuckin' slag." he flips you onto your back, his strength overwhelming as he hangs your head off the edge of the bed, positioning you perfectly and shoving his cock down your throat, watching it stretch as he thrusts.

"look at ya, takin’ it like y'made for it." when he finally pulls out, your lips are swollen, your throat raw, but he’s not done. he fists his cock just to paint your face with hot ropes of cum. with one rough hand, he grips your jaw, tilting your face to meet his. be leans in, licking his own release from your cheeks before leaning over you and spitting it onto your cunt.

"spread 'em. only made t' take this cock. ain't that right sweetheart?"

[dmitriene]

being simon's riley young girlfriend, sweet and pliable, you're everything he could dream of, to put his hands on, occupy his waking thoughts, not only by a sense of duty and endless missions and work, but with your presence, something that makes him burn and itch from the inside out at the mere thought of you.

all his comrades have long found their love, and they are all the same age as their beloved, handsome women who know what they need, you fade in your own eyes against their background, consider yourself nothing more than a lost child who is always hysterical and asks for more, more love, and it seems to you that simon does not needs such a woman.

but he is not ashamed, to love you, and in the time of your naivety you do not know that you have cursed yourself by accepting his love, which entangles greedily, viscous, that you need to be afraid of the depths of the passion that simon has for you, the imprints of his thick, rough fingers on your fragile neck, when in gusts of passion he growls in raspy tones that you are his treasure, his sweetest girl.

when biting and licking your smooth skin, whispering into your ear through the teasing of your lobe with small nibbles about how much he loves you, to your breathy giggles that turn into moans and keening cries as he hammers into you over and over again, pressing your knees to your chest, looking in fascination at the trembles wracking through your whole body, groaning low like a beast through rumbling throat as your pussy pulls and gushes around his meaty cock.

simon cherishes and molds you as he sees fit, until all your doubts are shattered into fine dust, because if he decided that your place is on his beefy lap and with your hands gently looped around his neck, then so be it, with your meaningless conversations distracting him from the weight of burdening thoughts, feathery kisses pressed against his rugged face with imprints of your gloss, tying him to yourself without even knowing.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[sim0nril3y]

Home

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: After an incident in your home you made the decision to move in together. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, talk of break-in, canon-typical swearing.

It was late evening, Simon had just gotten home himself from meeting with Price and Gaz, they met up and caught up on everything they’d missed in each other’s lives. He still couldn’t bring himself to speak about you in front of them, still wanting to keep you a secret, keep you safe from any parts of his life that could put you in danger. He’d kept quiet even when Price spoke about some pretty thing he’d been seeing and when Gaz brought up the posh bird he'd met at a wedding.

He'd asked for you to call when you got home from work, his phone buzzing as he entered his home caught his attention. Smiling, answering and bringing it up to his ear as he asked. “Get home alright-” The words died in his throat as he heard the sounds of your little hiccups and sobs. “What’s happened? Where are you?” As soon as Simon had entered his home, he’d walked straight back out of it in the direction of his car. “I’m on my way…”

The story was that your flat had been broken into whilst you’d been out at work. The place had been completely ransacked, anything valuable was gone, mostly everything else was trashed and destroyed. The lock on the door was completely busted now and ultimately you just felt vulnerable in your own space, it simply didn’t feel safe anymore.

The whole journey to your block of flats Simon was cursing himself. The one night that he didn’t come pick you up from work, the one night he was busy and focusing on himself you’d fucking needed him, you’d been sacred and alone and come back to your flat to find the door kicked open and worried that whoever had gotten in there might still be in there.

He took the stairs to the flat block two or three at a time, chasing up them to get to you. Everyone in the block seemed to be stirring from the police being on the scene, all out to watch this all unfold. You’d been standing outside of your flat allowing the police to look around the small space inside, searching for anything that might have been left behind in the wake of the chaos that had happened inside. Simon approached and wrapped his strong arms around your trembling form, pulling you into his chest and kissing your forehead as he muttered. “I’m here… I’m here…”

He calmed you. He coaxed you into his arms. He silently seethed about whatever little prick had let themselves into your home, your sanctuary and made their way off with your things, your personal items. Simon would hunt them down given the chance but now wasn’t the time to be raging, all his energy needed to be focused on you. “I know, babe. I know.” He muttered quietly, pulled into his arms, warm and safe in his embrace.

Soon enough the police were done, they advised strongly to stay elsewhere for the night, with a busted door and the place already targeted it was more vulnerable than ever. Simon was collecting some of your clothes into a bag whilst you wandered aimlessly around the rest of the small home, pausing for a long moment at your art supplies, kneeling down to inspect the canvas’. It hurt to see them trampled and discarded like this, just completely destroyed by some heartless thug.

“Y’okay?” The small voice of Simon came from behind you, glancing over your shoulder in his direction. You certainly didn’t look alright, you look so vulnerable, so betrayed in your own place. “I know…” He muttered gently, moving towards you to gently kneel down beside you and look at your canvas. “You’ll make better-”

You mentioned. “I’m too tired to do this.” And he understood, you’d just come home from work to find this horrific event had happened. It wasn’t fair and you didn’t need to process these emotions right now. No, right now, he just needed to get you someplace safe where you could rest your head for a few hours and deal with everything else in the morning.

Following that incident it didn’t take long for the two of you to come to the decision that moving in together would be for the best. Honestly, he thought he’d have a little more difficulty taking that step, but with all that had happened the idea of having you live under the same roof as him, having you around all the time, waking up together, simply knowing that you were safe filled him with this sense of relief and completion.

Everything was set into motion from then, you took to cancelling your tenancy on the flat and the process to move you into Simon’s home was put into effect. With all that was left in your flat it didn’t take much to box up all the remaining furniture and items, three or four trips back and forth from the flat to the house was all it took to move everything over. That was it settled; you were living together.

Simon was holding a box labelled ‘art supplies’ stepping past you to head upstairs. “You can just put it in the garage.” You suggested, after having most of your art destroyed the appeal to make anything new wasn’t inside of you, unsure if it was temporary or permanent you boxed your things away for now to deal with at a later time. “S’alright…” He mentioned, continuing to stomp upstairs. “I’ll put it in your art room.” He commented, now this was enough to make your brow furrow.

“What?” You then proceeded to chase upstairs behind him, following him into the spare room and coming to a stop to see Simon had kitted it out with all the supplies that had been destroyed in the break-in, even a new easel facing to look out the window into the beautiful back garden scenery. “This… is for me?”

It had been something that Simon had noticed that you’d been lacking expressing yourself creatively, usually he’d find you holed up creating something new, or working on an old piece… but since the break-in you’d been almost avoiding it. Placing down the box in his hands he replied. “Well, yeah… you don’t think it’s all for me, do ya?” He asked with a raised brow looking at you, a teasing tone to his voice which made you smile subtly. “Can’t put this stuff in the garage, anyway, got my weights down there.” He informed you with a non-committal shrug.

You watched him for a moment before rushing over and wrapping your arms around him, hugging onto him as tight as you could manage. Simon hugged your back, placing a hand on the back of your head and rubbing your back in a soothing way. “Thank you.” You mumbled into his throat. There was so much that you were thankful to him for but allowing you the space to find that creative side to yourself again was something you’d be eternally grateful to him for. “Thank you.”

“S’alright, babe.” Simon replied, kissing the top of your head and holding you securely in his arms. “You’re safe now.” He muttered, probably more to himself that even you. “You’re home.”

Masterlist | Ask | 20-01-2025

[harpsinfinity]

Throw back to this thing

Simon "Ghost" Riley, könig and Captain John price eating you out

Fem!reader

Warnings: smut, pet names, very badly translated German

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This man will literally have you ANYWHERE. In the kitchen, the shower, the bathroom of a bar. He'll have you in a mating press, knees up to your shoulders. If there's nowhere to lay you down? He'll get on his knees. Nose nudging your clit as he licks hot stripes up your dripping entrance. Simon can't get enough of the sounds you make. He will almost always leave bruises on your hips from his grip, he knows you love it anyway. He'll make your legs so weak that you won't be able to walk the next day, so he'll carry you around and then eat you out for hours again to repay him for carrying you.

"Jus' one more fr'me Lovie, c'mon"

Captain John price

Would pepper little kisses and bites on your inner thighs until your begging him to help with the mess between your legs. He'd make you cum just from your clit, sucking and rubbing it until it's swollen and throbbing with need, ignoring your entrance. That's for his cock only. He loves it when your thighs squeeze and shake around his head, watching your head fall back and your eyes rolling back into your skull. Loves to hear your whines and moans as he works on you, every time you try to squirm away he'd grap you by your hips and pin you back down, making you gasp when he lightly slaps your pussy for trying to get away from his hungry mouth.

"Don't run away now Love, take it"

König

He eats you out practically anytime he can, he does it for him, groaning as he works his tongue inside of you. He will eat you like it's his last meal, obscene noises coming from in-between your legs, making your face flush with embarrassment. He'll devour you for HOURS, you'll be too sensitive and overstimulated, trying to push his head away. But he just takes your wrists and pins your hands down by your sides as he keeps going, eliciting more squeals from you. Every orgasm feels like an out of body experience, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. You'd be shaking and quivering under him, not knowing how much more you can take as he just goes wild with his mouth. He'd feel your swollen bundle of nerves throb on his tongue before making you finish for the umpteenth time. He would BEG you to let him eat you out again, even though your all sore and sensitive :((

"Please schatz, one more time"

[succubusvalentine]

Butcher!Simon Riley watching you fuck up wagyu. CW : bad steak cooking. Fluff.

He’s trying to hold himself back, lovie. He swears it. But Jesus Christ you’re handling that Wagyu he procured horribly.

He felt his stomach twist as you didn't let it sit. Then it twisted even more as you over seasoned it.

"Baby, are you sure you don't want me to cook dinner?" Simon gritted out.

"No! No no, Si. You always work so hard" you reassure with that sweet smile that completely melted Simon into a puddle of goo.

Simon doubled his glass of whiskey as he watched you turn the heat up too high on the stovetop. But you looked so happy and proud of yourself as you burnt seared the wagyu.

After a while, Simon clutched his glass tightly as you cut the wagyu with the grain. Not against it.

You put the plate in front of Simon, and while the mash and roast vegetables were delicious. The wagyu...not so much. As soon as Simon took a bite, it was like trying to chew through a tire. You definitely overcooked it. And the seasoning was...well, it wasn't great.

"Good?" you asked hopefully.

"Absolutely delicious, lovie" Simon smiled. Lying through his God damn teeth. He couldn't bring himself to dampen how proud of yourself you were.

You sat across from Simon and cut into your steak, taking a bite, only to immediately grimace and force it down.

"Jesus Christ don't eat it" you grimace with a whine, taking Simon's plate as he chuckled. "Why didn't you tell me it was bad?!"

"You looked so proud of yourself, sweetheart. I didn't wanna make you pout"

"I am never touching wagyu again. You're making it next time...And we're ordering pizza"

Simon chuckled as you pouted, ordering the pizza as he pulled you into his lap. "It was a real sweet thought, lovie" he hummed as he rubbed your stomach, laughing again as you glare at him playfully.

But don't worry, the following night Simon made the best steak you'd ever eaten.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

this was heavily self indulgent because I can make a mean mash potato, but any meats? I am HORRIBLE.

[henrycangelbaby]

NSFW 18+

Baby daddy!Simon who simply can’t keep his hands off you no matter what, he finds you irresistible like there’s a reason you have been pregnant so many times

Baby daddy!simon who slaps your ass whenever you walk by despite the fact you keep telling him that he can’t do it I front of the kids because they will start mimicking his behaviour

Baby daddy!simon who doesn’t stop it and pays the price when you make him leave work one day to pick up your daughter from school cause she slapped her teacher on the ass

In her defence she saw it as a sign of affection

Baby daddy!simon who is big and strong and is always holding you and your kids when you go out in public together

Baby daddy!simon who has a child in one arm and you in the other, the other children are in and between one eager to explore under his parents careful eye and one strapped to your chest

Baby daddy!simon who still manages to have an arm around you at all times hand usually resting on your growing bump

Baby daddy!simon who hates going out in public but loves watching the way that you glow when you mother his kids with your natural ability and the way you are so friendly to everyone you encounter smiling at even the grumpiest of minimum wage workers

Baby daddy!simon who always wants a kiss from you a reward whenever he does anything remotely helpful

Baby daddy!simon who pouts his lips bearing a steady resemblance to his ever pleading toddler every time he doesn’t get a kiss right away

Baby daddy!simon who looks at you saying “can I get a kiss?” Only for you to smirk at him asking “you think you deserve a kiss?”

Baby daddy!simon who moves closer to you placing a hand over your prominent baby bump and ghosting his lips over yours

Baby daddy!simon who whispers close to your ear “gave you this baby” he says rubbing over your belly “think I deserve a kiss for knocking you up so much huh? You love it” he smirks down at you

Baby daddy!simon who smiles fully when you lean up to kiss him you do love it

Baby daddy!simon who drapes himself all over you while you sleep together wanting to be impossibly close to you during sleep

Baby daddy!simon who always has a big hand placed over your bump smiling when he feels a small kick in what he believes is recognition

Baby daddy!simon who insists that you are never ever to heavy for him no matter what

Baby daddy!simon who will pick you up even when you are heavily pregnant your bump forcing a gap between you as you giggle at him to put you down

Baby daddy!simon who picks you up whenever you do something he doesn’t like or thinks is unsafe

Baby daddy!simon who picks you up by your hips when you get up onto the bench once again ignoring your protests reminding you that this is the seventh time he’s told you not to do that

Baby daddy!simon who insists you sit in his lap after the kids have gone to bed he laughs at you when you complain about being heavy pulling you without asking straight onto his thighs

Baby daddy!simon who hooks his head over your shoulder and watches whatever thing you put on the tv while his palms cover your bump fully

Baby daddy!simon who needs you fully all the time secretly loving being home with you and the kids but hating the fact that he can’t bend you over whenever because there are so many tiny people that require your attention

Baby daddy!simon who waits till everyone has gone to bed to fuck you against the dinner table muttering about how you are soon going to need a bigger table cause he’s gonna keep giving you babies

Baby daddy!simon who is a horny needy bastard that would spend 24/7 drapes all over you and in you if he could

[annarobszombies]

Simon "Ghost" Riley looks like his father, and he hates it.

He hates the way his eyebrows arch, hates his nose, his lips, his fucking eyelashes. All of it.

He's honestly grateful for his compulsive need to wear the mask following his capture and the deaths of his family. When he wears it, he doesn't have to look at his father every time he looks in the mirror.

But then comes you.

You kiss his eyes, his nose, his lips, and you take picture after picture on the rare occasions he allows.

You run your hands through his hair, brush your fingertips over his hated features, and you look at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world.

You spoil him with affection, mask or no mask, but the way you light up when he pulls it from his head and lets it fall wherever he drops it, exposing his face to you...it makes him start to think that maybe...

Maybe his face was okay.

[daydreamsareallineed]

Casual intimacy 🥺😔

Casual intimacy with Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He loves to shower with you.

Hopping into a steamy shower together and washing each other's skin clean after you both get home from a tiring day at work. The feeling of you scrubbing shampoo through his freshly cut hair fingers softly grasping at the strands even after he tells you it's not necessary. Sometimes, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and squeeze as you wash your face. He'll kiss gently at your skin as droplets of water drip from your body to his lips and let his nose dig into the crook of your shoulder to inhale your clean scent.

He loves grocery shopping with you.

Getting to keep his large palm against the small of your back rubbing up and down every once in a while to show that he's with you. He likes to listen to your voice as you read down the list of things the two of you need and the way you point your finger and bossily tell him to fetch a certain item. He pushes the cart for you when it starts getting heavy with items even after you complain and tell him "You could do it yourself." He enjoys being strong for you, finds pride in being able to carry and hold all of the bags when the two of you get home from the shops.

Simon Riley really loves these seemingly little moments of intimacy with you.

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[simonz-angel]

makeout sesh w/ inexperienced! simon riley

your fingertips slip, cupping at his soft jaw before digging into his hair. you’re so aggressive, so quick to touch and pull and dig. and poor, poor simon can’t fuckin handle it.

he’s gasping, mouth dropped against yours, tongue desperately trying to match your pace. your tongue fights his, swirling and licking across his, before your wrapping your lips around the pretty pink muscle.

he moans, guttural as you suck, hips grinding down onto his slowly. simon, he doesn’t even know how he fuckin’ got here anymore, you in his lap, your lips all over him.

you pull back slowly, smiling at the string of spit connecting the two of you. his eyes flutter open, glossy and wide, lips slick and flushed, bruised. it was easily the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

“first kiss, si?” you mock his inexperience, giggling when his cheeks burn. but your smile goes heady, fading till your eyes burn hungry and drop back down to the parted pillows.

your fingertips slip down his chest, biting your lip when the muscles ripple, when they go taut and flutter beneath your soft touch. you kiss at his jaw as you grab at his belt gently, “there’s a first for everything…”

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 1 - Self Preservation

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Mention/description of injuries, mention/description of weapons.

Part 2

Enjoy <3

A light flicks on waking you from your sleep. 

Your eyes open looking round the room, it only takes a few seconds before your eyes land on a man holding a pistol at you. He’s sat on a chair, covered in what looks like military gear. There’s a bigger weapon slung over his back. 

“Not a good idea to be sleepin’ when you’re alone.” He has an accent you can’t quite place. Not American though. 

“I had lookouts.” 

“Yeah, ‘bout that.” You swallow hard, your heart is pumping rapidly in your chest. They’re most likely dead. Innocent people dead. 

“What do you want?” You ask, your eyes flick over to the pistol on your night stand. The man seems to see that, a change in your attitude. 

You have to act now. 

You reach out for the weapon. The man is on his feet in an instant, the pistol in his hand comes down hard on your wrist. 

You yelp out in pain, your weapon falling to the floor. The door to the room fly's open, there’s another man now. He makes you jump, training an AR at your head.

There’s no point in fighting.

The man next to you picks the weapon up off the floor, unloading it and throwing it to the side. You swing your legs out the bed, throwing the covers back.

“Don’t fuckin’ move!” He shouts. You hear the safety click off his gun, your breath catches in your throat. You hold your hands up, you’re unarmed, there’s nothing you can do. 

“What are you doing in a ULF safehouse?” The man in the doorway asks, you keep your eyes trained on the person holding the pistol to your head. British? You get a better look at the man in front of you, his badges. SAS, Union Jack, fuck. 

“You’re injured?” There’s blood on his vest, it’s a long shot but better then nothing. “I’m a medic. I can help.” It’s a lie but all you can think about is getting out here alive.

The man looks to the doorway, you keep still. Even if you could tackle him to the ground his friend would finish you off. 

“We’ve got one injured, think you could help?” The man in the doorways asks. 

“What happened?” You ask, trying to hide your nerves. Your mum was a nurse, your dad a doctor before. Before the war.

“GSW.” That’s all you’re given, that could mean anything. 

“You work with the ULF?” The man in front of you asks. You shake your head. 

“Al Qatala?” You shake your head again. 

“Who?” The man in the doorway asks again. This time you turn to him. The mask on his face is splattered with blood. He’s bigger, taller and wider than the guy in front of you. He has the same patches though, Union Jack, SAS.

“You said you had injured? You’re not going to find a hospital around here. It’s all Al Qatala controlled territory.” You say. Self preservation at its finest. 

“Can you help then?” The man in front of you asks. You turn to look at him, your hands still in the air. 

“The longer we wait the less chance I have. Gunshot wounds can be unpredictable.” You say swallowing the nerves. Confidence is key, that's what you learnt once. The man in front of you puts down his weapon grabbing your wrist and pulling you to your feet. 

“Try anything and we fuckin’ kill ya.” He says through gritted teeth. 

…

When you make it down to the ground floor as their hostage you can smell the blood in the air. The man with the mohawk is walking down first, the man with the mask is behind you, the barrel of his AR digging into your shoulder blades. 

You can see two other people, they’re dressed in similar gear. At least one of them is, the other is laid out on the couch. The man standing turns, he brings a pistol up pointing it at you. 

“Eazy Gaz. She’s a medic.” 

“Doesn’t look like one.” The man-Gaz-says lowering his gun looking around at the people escorting you. You make it over to the person on the sofa. He doesn’t look good. 

You don’t know what you’re doing, you didn’t think you could make it this far. They’ve taken his vest, belt and boots off. It’s just his shirt and trousers, his shirt is soaked through, pulled up to his chest. They’ve been trying to stop the bleeding. You’ve seen wounds like this before, you’ve seen people die from wounds like this. 

“You said you could help him. What do you need?” The voice snaps you out of your head, you look over at him. The mohawk guy, he’s put his pistol away. 

You have no idea what to do. 

“Clean water, and bandages. Sterile if possible.” You say, you can’t tell if that sounds professional or not but they exchange glanses and the mohawk man leaves the room. You take another step over to the sofa. You need to know if the bullet has gone through or not. 

“Not another step.” Gaz says. You hold your hands up again, holding your ground.

“I can’t help him if you don’t let me check him.” You say. 

“Stand down Gaz.” You hear the voice behind you say. You don’t turn but you assume it’s the man with the mask. Gaz shifts gripping the weapon in his hands tighter. 

“You won’t hurt him?” He asks, gritting his teeth. 

“Cross my heart.” You say lowering your gaze, you keep your hands up until he moves out the way to join the man behind you. You look down at the man on the sofa. He’s unconscious, moans leaving his lips as shuffles on the sofa, his skin is clammy you can see the beads of sweat dripping down his face. 

You lower your hands bending down by him. Your hand brushes over the bandages. 

“I got water. Ghost, Gaz. Check your medkits for sterile bandages.” It’s the man with the accent. 

Ghost. He must be the man with the mask. Gaz and Ghost.

A bowl of water is put down next to you. You look up at the mohawk man and nod at him. You’re still not sure what to do. 

Clean the wound, asses the damage and get then fuck out of here. 

…

There’s no exit wound. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad.  

You replaced the bandages with gauze, homeostatic gaze, the good stuff you've only seen once or twice. The bleeding seems to be under control but that doesn’t help you if you don’t know how much he’s lost. His blood type is O+ that doesn’t help you either. 

You try to remember things you’ve picked up from your parents. He’s breathing, responding to pain even though he's barely conscious. His pulse is as rapid as his breathing, again you don’t know if that's good or bad. You know it can’t be good but you’re not sure what to do. 

You dip your hand back into the bowl of water and wring out the cloth before placing it on the man's forehead. 

If he dies they’ll kill you. There is always someone behind you, you can hear them shuffle, move their weapon from hand to hand. If you tried to make a run for it they would kill you. Your best chance is to save this man. Save the enemy. 

If he’s breathing, you’re safe. 

You continue to make yourself look busy. Patting his forehead, keeping pressure on his wounds. He doesn’t seem to have any other injuries, just a gunshot to the abdomen. 

“When were you going to tell us huh!?” The voice is loud and angry. You turn to see the man from earlier-Gaz storming towards you with a weapon in his hand. He only stops when the barrel is pressed to your head. 

“What’s going on?” Ghost asks, his weapon is still trained on you from a distance. 

“She’s Konni.” The man with the mohawk says. You look up at the man with the gun pressed to your head. You didn't even get a chance to get to your feet. 

This is it. This is how you die.

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[daydreamsareallineed]

💀

Ghost: Isn't the whole life saving thing supposed to be "you saved my life, now I owe you a debt?" Y/N: Nope, other way around. You saved my life so now I'm your problem Y/N: God wanted me dead and now you get to find out why