#Simon Riley cod

[luxcuriousao3]

Something something Alpha!Ghost gets captured during a mission and dosed with rut inducers, then tossed in a cell with Omega!Reader. He claims and breeds her, just like his overwhelming instincts demand. And when they're rescued, they're stuck with each other. There's no breaking the bond once it's been made--no matter how badly Ghost wants to.

His pack has to pick up the slack when he fails to be a good Alpha, avoiding his Omega out of guilt for hurting her during his rut and claiming her without her consent, as well as fear of being attached to someone so vulnerable, so easy to kill. He's convinced that if he just doesn't let himself get close to her, it won't hurt as much if she dies.

The rest of the 141, in the meantime, become smitten with their new, sweet little Omega quite quickly.

[starboye]

imagine drunk dancing on olderbf!simon in a bar after you told him you wouldn't get to drunk, now rocking your ass on his crotch and begging him to take you to bathroom and fuck you like he's mad at you, but he couldn't possibly treat you like that (while drunk that is because any other day he would do that in a heart beat)

so seeing as you're not going to let up about this whole fucking you dirty in the bathroom he gets a better idea, taking you out the back door to some more private alley and pulling out his cock, stopping you just before you dropped to you knees and placing your hand around his thick shaft

basically giving you permission to jerk him off to satisfy your lusty needs, your hand starting off slowly and speeding up until you had simon panting and whimpering outside the bar, and at this point you've milked a load or two out of him and he's trying to get you to stop

his thick hand wrapped around your wrist trying to stop you but he looks to good moaning and begging so what would be the harm in pulling out one or two more

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: I want to kill that fucking rat but make it look like an accident Ghost: Say no more, leave it to me *later* Graves: Looks like the killer shot him and placed a banana peel by his feet

[iskinpeople]

LMAO

Girl Dad!Simon who had to get his newborn baby girl taken away from him because he was practically drowning them in his tears. (He denies that it ever happened now)

Girl Dad!Simon who went dead asleep after the delivery, it was unintentional of course, he wanted to help you as much as he could but his body just dropped on it's own. The worst part was is that he basically missed all of the baby's 'firsts' although he managed to wake up just in time for the first nappy change.

Girl Dad!Simon who spends a little bit too much of his free time staring at his daughter. It only worsened when you guys finally got dismissed from the hospital, you tend to find Simon crouching by the crib and watching the baby's every move pretty often. It's like bird watching, he says when you ask him.

Girl Dad!Simon who sobbed more than his daughter during her first day of school, was going to say the most melancholic goodbye but she just excitedly runs off to school and leaves her dad hanging.

Girl Dad!Simon who refuses to miss any important event in her life, no matter how small it is. Will literally call during a mission so he could see his daughter's piano recital.

"Simon? Why do I hear gunshots??"

"Don't mind 'em luv."

"How do you even have your phone right now??"

"Sneaked it."

[ficmenrhot]

Minors DNI

Late night thoughts but…

Imagine Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who was instantly enchanted by you the second you walked onto base wearing an innocent smile and a short skirt barely doing anything to hide your soft, plush thighs. You looked so out of place with your baby pink colours as you flounced amongst the tall, strong soldiers and pecked your dad, his Captain, on the cheek with a small grin that flashed your dimples. He groaned quietly, thankful for his balaclava to mask his slipped-up noise though the print of his hardened erection straining against the materials of his pants was undeniably prominent. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Later when his Captain, Price, called him over for a proper introduction, he played the facade of a restrained gentleman and even reached out his hand for you to shake (which he would’ve never offered to anyone else). Secretly, he just wanted to see the difference of your smaller palm swallowed beneath his larger, calloused hand, already mentally picturing the image of what your manicured nails would look wrapped around his cock.

“Princess, this is one of my best man. Meet Ghost,” introduced Price. Simon swore he saw your lashes flutter as you gazed up at him, tinted cheeks with pretty plump lips pulled into a small shy smile he couldn’t wait to corrupt.

“Call me Simon, luvie,” he drawled, his voice a deep yet velvety timbre which made an odd flutter erupt in your stomach.

Who could’ve blamed you when you ended up pinned against the wall in Simon’s room, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, his large hands cupping your bared ass as he rutted into you like a bitch in heat. He just seemed so nice….and if your dad had trusted him to bring you safely to your temporal stay after dinner, then why couldn’t you?

How convenient was it that his room was right besides yours? It wasn’t that he forced another soldier to swap with him for the night by abusing his authority.

A goodnight kiss grew heated when his gentle hold on your cheek turned into a grip around your neck, pulling your smaller frame against his toned muscles, letting you feel how much he’d been craving you the entire time since your arrival.

“You feel this, luvie? Can you feel how hard you make me, little tease?”

“Gonna be a good doll for me and help me feel better hm?”

His face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling in your sweet scent and wishing he could engrave the sound of your soft whimpers, desperate moans and pleas into his mind as he stretched you out so good…pounding roughly into your tight heat with long, hard strokes that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull, digging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.

Sure, your cervix may have been bruised for the next few days, but the ache was worth it for the most life-changing marathon of blissed orgasm he gifted you. Lengthy fingers thrusting and curling against your sweet spot, his balaclava lifted high enough to attach his lips to your swollen clit, sucking and licking so expertly and tongue-fucking you into oblivion. Lapping at you to taste your sweet nectar after he brought waves of pleasure to wash over you again and again, then again.

“Little pussy so fucking warm and tight, mhm,” he groaned almost gutturally, “made to be fucked…made to be mine.”

“Know what this means, luvie? You’re tied to me now…forever mine to use and spoil and love…”

Simon delivered a small, firm squeeze to your neck when you responded with an incoherent mewl and not words.

“Say it.”

“…ah..nghm…” you were a whimpering mess, mind completely hazed with pleasure at this point, legs shaking, “…yours to use…and spoil and…love”

“That’s right, that’s my good luvie.”

With one final thrust of his hips and a low grunt, he released, filling you to the brim with warm, spurts of his cum and ensuring you were stuffed full with his sticky seed.

Now that Simon had a taste, he would be crazy to let you go. He was a man of many things but never a liar, and indeed, he’d intended to keep his promise of making you forever his.

Much to his satisfaction, the next time you returned to base after a few months, you were more than just a visitor for his Captain but his girl…

And when you ran up to kiss his cheek, he noticed, the slight curve of a bump forming beneath your soft pink sundress.

——————

A/N: Has it been a year? I don’t know, but I’m back and I’m in my COD era! Hope you enjoyed reading this. All likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated, so are comments!

[amaranthinespirit]

listening to simon riley talk for hours about his silly little interests

simon isn't really a talkative guy. he's tall and brooding, silent and observant, but once he's got a pretty little thing that'll let him talk for as long as he wants, it's like he never shuts up.

he'll sit next to you on the couch, creaking under his heavy weight as he settles his arm around the back of the couch. he pulls you closer, and you just know he's going to talk. you can tell.

simon is a hand talker. he uses his hands to express himself during his speech, whether it be a simple gesture, or a whole reenactment. his hand against your shoulder, arm wrapped around your back, will occasionally lift up with the movement of his fingers to accentuate his point.

and don't get me started when he talks about his interests. by his tone, you'd think you're holding a gun to his head, deep and gruff, the same monotonous way he speaks about everything.

but the more you ask questions, nodding your head along, he gets more animated, his voice chiming and eyes crinkling with every interested and genuine question from you.

it's hot, watching him talk about the things he likes in such a high manner. before you know it, he's buried knuckle deep in your cunt, thick fingers curling against your gummy walls.

his pace is slow, pumping his wrist in and out of your drooling cunt, feeling the coolness from your drenched panties that he pushed to the side.

he'll reward you with every question asked, speeding up the pace, digging his fingers deeply as your walls constrict around him, swallowing him in. if you remember a bit of information, he'll have your eyes rolling back and toes curling.

and he'll do this all without stuttering, continue rambling on as if he's not fingering your sweet pussy, making you feel good as you soak the cushions under you, nipples pebbled under his fingetips through your thin shirt.

simon riley remains unphased, pulling his fingers from between your legs, having to pry them apart as he watches the sticky release that coats his fingers string back to your slit. the only time this man shuts his mouth, is to taste your sweet cum on his fingers, smirking as he teases your clit with his other hand before snapping your panties back in place. where was he again?

[v1x3n]

SNAP! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - fluff, angst - panic attack, trauma, flinching.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

There's a sudden knock on the door to your room, your body dry and freshly washed, the minty smell from the soap bar fills your nostrils whilst you slump on the hospital bed. Curled in a way that was uncomfortable but it wasn't hurting any wounds so that would have to do.

The knock is followed by the door opening wide, revealing a man who you recognise, a man named Logan. The cheery fellow bounces into the room, suddenly the dingy lights seem brighter. "how's my favourite girl?" the man smiles while trotting inside, then closing the door behind him. "The nurse told me t' not bother ya sooo here I am!" he announces, smirking when you peer up at him. Your permanent frown slightly moves upwards when you see the goofy yet devious grin on his face.

Without a reply he sits down on the wooden chair placed by your bed, "you're looking better! my wounds are barely healing!" you wonder what had happened to him for a moment but then you remember that one of the first times he snook into your room, he rambled on for almost an hour. Telling you that he had been shot whilst on a mission, twice in the stomach. Luckily he survived. He smiles as he stretches out his hand, groaning, "I'm glad you're okay," he says, his voice filled with emotion.

A sigh falls from his lips when you sit up, "saw some big beefy guy leave your room before," john, he's obviously talking about john. "Looked real pissed off." Logan mumbles under his breath when he looks to the side. Fucking twat, he was pissed off? He doesn't deserve to be pissed off. "Ya know him?" He looks towards you for an answer. But you two both knew you weren't going to verbally say anything. You nodded hesitantly.

"Ya friends?" the man questions, this time it wasn't so hesitant. "No." You firmly said. Logan thought this was the first time you had spoken to him, it clearly must've been a trigger or something, "he is NOT my friend." Reaffirming your statement, pure rage boils through you at even thinking about being his friend. He lost that fucking privilege. "huh."

There's a silence that lingers in the air. The wet droplets from your freshly washed hair drips down, sending shivers down through your body. "Well, at least you have people visiting. My family is too busy t' visit. Or they just divnt wanna." he mutters the last part, "id kill for anyone t' visit."

"You know you get a lot of people lining outa your door? I can barely get through mine cause these bulky men will always be there." What? You questioned internally. "Ya friends with them?" you probably knew who he was talking about, it was probably the other knobheads that harmed you. None of them had really spoken to you since you arrived, john would sit down on the chair that Logan was currently sitting on sometimes, you two wouldnt talk though. Youd rather kill yourself than utter a single word to him.

"none of them are my friends, " gruffly talking again. Your throat kinda hurt so the sounds came out raspier than you had wanted them to. "hmm! Anywho! You wanna play some cards with me? I knowww.... Snap?" Then he puts on a dumb little smile.

After rolling your eyes at him, you nod. Magically he pulls out a card deck. Placing them on the blanket covering you. Once splitting the deck into two and passes you a half. Logan puts a card down gently on the blanket, not wanting to put it down too hard and hurt you. He didn't quite know what had happened to you but by the looks of it it was bad. You had nurses in all the time, your body was wrapped in bandages and by the looks of it, you only had 8 fingers.

"6 of clubs!" he announces. You place down a random card, 4 of hearts.

After a few rounds, you had won. For him having a deck of cards and wanting to play snap, he wasn't that good at it. A small smirk rises on your face, looking down at your massive stack whilst he had no cards left. "Well, well done." He grumbles with a mocking pout.

Once nodding you give him half your cards and he whacks them across the bed. Scattering the cards around, you gasp. Laughing, he observes the stunned look on your face before you shuffle the cards and half them. Dividing them into two halves, again making sure you both have a half each.

The word snap was yelled out from Logan's lips as he finally got ahead of you and slammed his callosed hand downwards onto the 2 of diamonds. When you flinch, he felt the weight of his face drop. "fuck, I'm sorry-" the look on your face could only be described as panicked, scared and fearful.

Suddenly a loud ringing blinds your ears. Your breathing grows. You take sharp and quick breaths when he looks towards you. You don't know why you panicked so much over something so stupid but then again - you do. "oh god I'm sorry!"

Logan's heart sank as he watched you struggle to catch your breath. He quickly slid closer, his voice gentle, "Hey- fuck- it's okay. I'm right here." He hesitated, unsure whether to reach out physically, but instead whispered, "Just breathe with me, nice and slow," trying to guide you back to calmness. But unfortunately that didn't help. You flinch back once more and shuffle under the blanket. The sounds of the room grew louder, the beeping of the machines sound over Logan's - trying to be - comforting voice. Your breath caught up once more. Your breathing is loud and fast. "it's okay-"

He gets cut off when a nurse comes into the room. She quickly rushes to you and all you see is almost a blur when your eyes prick with water. Distant yelling and you see the obscured bodies rush into the room, the nurse beside you and mumbling nonsense as the blob you think is Logan leaves. 

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Through the Static

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X Female!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, brief mentions of drinking, fluff

Authors Note: Hope you enjoy! The reader is a radio operator in this one while Ghostie is injured.

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The forest was a maze of shifting shadows and biting cold, the moonlight barely cutting through the dense canopy. Ghost pressed a gloved hand to his side, blood soaking through the makeshift bandage he'd hastily wrapped around the wound. He didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t.

His comms had been destroyed in the ambush, but the battered field radio he'd salvaged crackled faintly in his ear. It was his only connection to the outside world, his only chance at survival.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting the knobs. Static hissed, wavered, and then—

“This is Operator Delta… Anyone receiving? Over.”

Ghost’s hand froze. A voice.

“This is Bravo-Zero-Six,” he rasped, his voice low and strained. “Stranded. Injured. No extraction in sight. Location unknown. Over.”

A pause followed, then your voice returned, calm and steady.

“Bravo-Zero-Six, I’ve got you. Can you describe your surroundings? Over.”

Ghost exhaled through his nose, forcing his mind to focus. “Forest. Sparse cover. Northwest of the last known position. Nightfall. No landmarks.”

“Copy that,” you said, your tone professional but warm. “Head north. I’ll guide you to a safe zone. Stay on this channel, and keep moving. You’re not alone, Bravo-Zero-Six. Over.”

Not alone. The words shouldn’t have mattered, but they did. Ghost adjusted his pack and began moving again.

Hours stretched on, his body growing heavier with each step. The cold seeped through his gear, and the ache in his side turned sharper, each breath a reminder of the shrapnel lodged there. But your voice on the radio was constant, grounding.

“Still with me, Bravo-Zero-Six?”

“Still here,” he muttered, his voice taut with pain.

“How’s the injury?”

“Manageable.”

“Sure it is,” you replied, a teasing note slipping into your tone. “You’re not going to impress me by bleeding out quietly, Ghost.”

He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “Wasn’t trying to.”

“Well, good,” you said. “Because I’d like you alive enough to buy me a drink when this is over.”

Ghost blinked, caught off guard by the casual boldness of your remark. He hadn’t expected warmth, humor—not from someone on the other end of a radio in a dire situation.

“Make it out alive,” he said, his tone gruff but not unfriendly, “and we’ll talk.”

The clearing you’d guided him to came into view just as Ghost’s legs threatened to give out. The faint thrum of helicopter blades reached his ears, growing louder as he stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last.

He collapsed onto his knees, his vision blurring as his body finally gave in. Your voice crackled in his ear one last time, soft and steady.

“Hold on, Ghost. They’ve got you now.”

The recovery ward was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the steady beep of a heart monitor the only sounds. Ghost blinked against the brightness, his body heavy with exhaustion but alive.

The radio on the bedside table caught his eye—a battered relic from the field, but the sight of it brought back the sound of your voice, the hours of guidance that had kept him moving.

The door creaked open, and his gaze snapped toward it.

“Permission to enter, Bravo-Zero-Six?”

Your voice, softer in person but instantly recognizable, sent a strange flicker of warmth through him. You stepped inside, a faint smile on your lips as you approached his bedside.

“Ghost,” he said, nodding slightly.

“Operator Delta,” you replied with a small grin. “But some people call me Daisy. It’s a nickname.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, the closest thing to a smile he’d managed in days. “Pleasure to meet you properly.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy with unspoken gratitude. Finally, he added, his voice softer than usual, “But you can call me Simon.”

Your eyes flickered with surprise, your smile softening. “Simon, then.” You sat down in the chair beside him, leaning forward slightly muttering your name to him, “But Daisy works, too.”

The room fell quiet again, not awkward but comfortable, the weight of everything that had happened settling between you.

Weeks passed before Simon was cleared for light duty. When he finally reached out to you, it was through an unassuming message:

“You still want that drink, Daisy?”

The bar he chose was quiet, tucked into a corner of town far from the noise and bustle of crowded streets. Simon arrived early, dressed casually in a dark jacket and jeans. His mask was gone, though the balaclava he wore was a reminder of the man most people knew him to be.

When you walked in, he stood, his sharp blue eyes tracking your every move. You smiled when you saw him, and something in his chest eased.

“I was starting to think you’d chicken out,” you teased as you slid into the seat across from him.

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice lighter than usual.

The conversation flowed easier than he’d expected. You talked about everything and nothing—the absurdity of some missions, favorite songs, even the meaning behind your nickname.

“Daisy?” he asked, a brow lifting.

You laughed softly. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’ve got a habit of finding light in dark places.”

Simon didn’t say anything, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

When the night came to an end, he walked you to your car, the cold night air nipping at his skin.

“You surprised me, Simon,” you said as you turned to face him.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t think someone like you would keep a promise like this.”

He tilted his head, his gaze steady. “You kept me alive, Daisy. Least I could do.”

The warmth in your smile made something in him shift, something he couldn’t quite name. For the first time in years, he thought that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to face everything alone.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[italktoomuchxd]

“C’mon, Si! Please, please, it’s the first snow of the year!” you urged, your eyes gleaming with excitement as you peered at him.

Simon sighed deeply, a frown creasing his forehead. “No,” he grunted, shaking his head resolutely. He had never been fond of the cold—no, in truth, he abhorred it. “And why the hell is it snowing in November? I’m not going out in that!”

His stubbornness held firm until he caught sight of you preparing to leave. You stood by the door, your cheeks rosy with anticipation, and he watched as you wrapped a vibrant, knitted scarf around your neck (he made it) and tugged a cozy beanie down snugly over your ears, the little ear muffins peeking out adorably. The sight of you, bundled up and brimming with joy, softened something in him.

“Fine—wait for me,” he relented, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite his earlier protests.

He hurriedly grabbed his own layers, pulling on a thick jacket and a pair of gloves, and together you stepped out into the wintry wonderland that awaited just beyond your little flat. The world around you had transformed into a picturesque scene, the streets blanketed in a thick layer of pristine white, and flakes drifted lazily from the sky like the softest of feathers.

You pranced ahead, bounding through the snowdrifts with gleeful abandon, your laughter ringing in the crisp, cold air. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you, watching your every move as you twirled and jumped, your joy infectious.

But just as he was starting to enjoy the moment, everything changed in an instant. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you stealthily scooped up a handful of snow, crafting it into a perfectly round snowball. Before he even knew what was happening, you slid the icy projectile down the back of his jacket, a cold shock that sent a jolt through him.

The magical, romantic moment was instantly dashed as Simon’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he spun around, a laugh escaping his lips despite his initial annoyance. “You’ve started a war,” he threatened playfully, a smile breaking across his face as he prepared his counterattack.

[luxcuriousao3]

I've been messing around lately, writing Ghost in different ways to see which rings most true to his character (in my opinion). I wouldn't say that it does ring true for me in this one (then again this one did spawn from my stalker!Ghost thots, tho this fic isn't part of that universe), but I decided to post it anyway. So this little ficlet, despite being xReader, is more of a Ghost character study than anything else. This characterization is definitely experimental, and leans into the "Ghost and Simon are separate personalities" headcanon. No smut, but still NSFW.

Ghost x general's daughter!Reader

You were the daughter of some aging General, a balding, pot-bellied man on his way out, an honorable discharge in his near future. You’d come to visit him on the base, a tray of gooey brownies held firmly in your hands, two hot cocoas balanced on top, and a visitor’s badge pinned to your chest.

Initially, Ghost hadn’t taken much notice of you. Pretty thing, would be easy to kill, was his first impression. A casual, fleeting thought that he paid no attention to but made Simon shudder. There had been a time that when Ghost was in control, Simon was entirely unaware. He would come to and hours could have passed, sometimes days, or, on one particularly grueling campaign, even weeks. It was how he knew there was something evil lurking inside him. But in the desert, all was revealed, and Simon and Ghost were irrevocably tangled up in one another, the same but not, like two different sides of a single coin.

It wasn’t until you walked straight into his firm, broad chest and spilled the scaldingly hot drinks on him that he really noticed you.

Clumsy fuckin’ bird, Ghost thought angrily as he grunted in pain. Should break your bloody wings.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” You chirped, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He waited for you to flinch and look away when you saw his mask, but you didn’t. You just shifted your tray of brownies to one hand, the other fluttering uselessly over his soaking wet chest for a few seconds, before you grabbed the hem of your dress in a panic and lifted it up to try and dry him off with it.

Your dress was long, long enough to keep you from flashing him entirely, but he still caught an eyeful of your legs, even a glimpse of your plush thighs. At least until you realized what you were doing and dropped your dress again with a squeak of embarrassment, cheeks reddening.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated earnestly, as Ghost stared down at you in bemusement. It wasn’t often he was shocked by someone’s behavior, but you were just so odd. It was, admittedly, amusing. Watching you squawk and try to smooth your ruffled feathers was like watching someone who’d tried to kill him choke on their own blood. Entertaining. Satisfying. Vaguely erotic.

“Are you okay?” You finally remembered to ask, reaching out to touch him again, as if to check him over. Ghost’s hands shot up, one wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip, the other moving to stop your dessert tray—which was tilting dangerously—from falling. He could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his finger tips, and the warmth of your skin seeped through his glove.

“M’fine,” he said shortly, voice deep and grumbly but not as hostile as usual. Simon’s influence, no doubt. Ghost almost rolled his eyes. His other half always banged on and on about treating ladies with proper respect. Ghost wasn’t particularly interested in sex with other people, preferring to fuck his own fist if the urge grew too great to ignore, but he thought about bending you over right here in this hallway and bullying Simon’s big cock into you, just to spite him.

“Oh! Thank you,” you said with a charming smile, entirely ignorant to the image he’d conjured up of you. One he found himself enjoying more than he’d thought he would. “I really am sorry,” you said for the third time, like a parrot echoing itself. Little bird indeed. “I’m such a klutz. Except for when I’m dancing. Then I’ve got at least a modicum of grace.”

Beneath his mask, Ghost raised a brow. Had he mistakenly given off the impression that he cared?

His silence was pointed, and you flushed deeper. You pushed the tray of brownies towards him, seemingly unphased by the grip he still had on it and your wrist. He let go.

“Go ahead, take it,” you said encouragingly, holding out the treat insistently. “It’s the least I can do to make up for ruining your shirt… I can always make more for Daddy another day.”

Simon’s cock twitched, and this time the dirty thoughts in their head were entirely his. Though Ghost could admit the thought of you calling him Daddy in that sweet little voice of yours, all innocent and sincere, was appealing. Perhaps there was something attractive about fucking another person after all.

“Don’t want any,” Ghost answered after a moment, and your face fell. But instead of taking his words for the dismissal they were, you perked back up and continued talking.

“Do you not like brownies? I can make you something else and come back tomorrow,” you offered, for some unknowable reason. Both Simon and Ghost were astounded the conversation had lasted this long, and worse yet, showed no signs of ending. “I can make lemon bars, white chocolate truffles, pudding, anything you’d like.. But nothing too fancy.” You giggled. No one had ever giggled in Ghost’s presence before. “I’m no professional baker. I just do it when the mood strikes, or when Daddy is craving something sugary. He’s the one who taught me to bake. Oh! Do you have any allergies? Nuts, gluten, anything? I don’t want to poison you…”

And on and on you went, rambling like Ghost was actually listening to you. Except that he was. Perhaps it was cruel curiosity, wanting to see how long you’d carry on making a fool of yourself. Or maybe it was Simon pitying you for the nerves in your voice, not wanting to interrupt you and make you more anxious. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were showing Ghost more kindness than he had ever received in his life.

Simon had experienced the joys of living, of companionship and love. Ghost had not, though he’d seen it all through their eyes. He hadn’t really thought that he was missing out on anything.

But now, with a lovely little dove like you offering to bake for him—not Simon, but Ghost—he thought he maybe he was, if just a tad. Especially if your pussy tasted as sweet as your baked goods smelled.

[starboye]

thoughts abt simon riley x m!reader w longer hair? 💗💗

don't shoot me on this but i feel like simon is into hair pulling, whether that be giving or receiving, if he's under you eating you out and you have your fingers wrapped in his hair and pulling him to go deeper and deeper he's thinking about what flowers to get for your wedding

but if you had long hair you best believe he'll have a handful of that wrapped in his fist as he's plowing you, fucking you so deep that you're going weak in the body but keeping you up with pulling your hair back

and don't you wanna see how cute you look in the mirror, see what he sees every time he's ten inches deep in you and going balls deep with every thrust

[skauni]

A bit of a depressing topic but I think ‘Ghost’ is the trauma response that Simon had to growing up the way he did + being buried alive and all that shit right? ANYWAYS—don’t hate on me for this but this is kind of how I imagine him arguing with himself in a nutshell because he’s arguing with the other personalities in his head because we all know he has them. Simon, Ghost, and Kid Simon(who comes out when Simon is overwhelmed and Ghost isn’t needed, hence his bursts of socially awkward and shy hours every few days or so)

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

a little snippet of whatever this may become idk

No mention of it yet, but will be a fem reader x Simon fic

tw: death/loss, medical trauma, emotional neglect, suicidal ideation, abandonment. Eventually suicide/attempted suicide, child abuse/neglect, self-harm, sexual harassment, domestic violence.

Even when you were nestled in your mother's warm belly, coddled by her own blood and flesh, you could tell you were a burden. A miracle, the doctors said when you were born. Your mother's heart stopped beating for 4 minutes while in labor—vital to a fetus and its host. The miracle was the baby bathed in blood and mucus, not the lifeless mother, puckered and pearl.

You didn’t cry when you were born, too occupied trying to get your walnut-sized heart to betray you; set you free of the hell you’d just begun. You were never a child who cried for attention. Instead, you swallowed your sounds, held your breath, and watched the world through the lens of someone who wasn’t meant to stay. The hole in the shape of a woman you never met was always there, a mark left in the silence—a picture on the wood-paneled wall. Belly swollen, smile wide. No stories to tell, no lullabies, no warmth from the one person who was supposed to make you feel like you belonged. Instead, it was just the quiet hum of a broken home, where nothing was ever whole enough to be considered sound. The nurses said you were a fighter, wrapped in white cotton and a pink cap. You survived the nightmare. You were strong. But strength doesn’t mean survival, does it? It just means you keep waking up. And waking up—day after day—feels more like a punishment.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: I cut my finger Y/N: I can kiss it so it'll get better Ghost: That works? Y/N: Yeah my mum used to do it when I was little *later* Ghost: I need you to punch me in the mouth Roach: Fucking finally

[zvdvdlvr]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”

[simonrileysfavteacup]

You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”

He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”

“I want a big mac.”

He groans louder. 

“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”

He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”

You almost tear up. 

When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”

You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”

He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed. 

He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag. 

“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”

“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”

“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full. 

“Do ya think he’ll like me?”

“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”

He chuckles, “Love you too.”

He leans down, kissing your belly. 

“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”