#baby daddy ghost

[kechiwrites]

baby daddy ghost time skip fluff below the cut, because i think they deserve it. (sfw + gn)

The door swinging open, fast enough to slam against the hallway wall, is your heads up that your boyfriend is home. The sound of his boots being removed is your clue that he's coming into the room. A good sign. "How'd it go?" You call out, maintaining your concentration on sorting out your photos. There's some new ones, you and Simon, side by side, taken to replace the ones you'd torn, or burned. The sounds of him making tea distract you, drawing your eyes to him in your kitchen.

Simon shrugs, and pulls the cotton mask from his face.

"Money I spend on this could put Tommy through uni." He grouses, stretching his arms over his head. The move exposes the smallest slip of his abdomen, a peek at the blond hair of his happy trail. The sight makes you yearn to be sedated.

"Don't worry about Tommy's tuition, he'll survive." You murmur. "Don't have to tell me how it went. Just wanna know if you're good."

"Mm. 'm good. How was yours?" He pulls down the homemade, cracked glaze mug and you have to twist your lips to curb your smile.

Your therapy sessions don't usually overlap, but Dr. Muriadian had a scheduling conflict and then Tommy had a soccer game. Usually, you like to be there for each other, after a session. A hand to hold while the feeling of being held over a trash can and scraped out by a woman with a soft voice and a PhD passes.

"Good." You close your eyes and nod. Then you grimace and amend. "Weird."

Simon nods, turns to rummage through the fridge. You both pretend he's looking for something specific, and not just biding time til you ask him to sit with you.

It doesn't take long. These days, it never does.

"C'mere." You offer, and there's barely a second between Simon being across the room and Simon practically in your lap, crowded into your space, sapping your warmth.

"Proud of you." You mumble, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. They used to tremble, during this time, used to shake with the weight of sharing his thoughts, his nightmares. Now they're far more steady. Solid enough to carry some of the load. Strong enough to rid himself of it when it proves too much to bear.

"Proud of you." He repeats back.

And then you stay there, for a bit. In each other's arms, until Simon yawns against the crook of your neck, and you press at his chest. "Go nap. You got like…forty minutes." Tommy will want the two of you there, cheering, clapping (in Simon's case, intimidating the refs, jeering at the calls).

It's a testament to his tiredness that he obeys quickly, slinking off the couch and into the bedroom. You call after him; "No outside clothes on the bed!"

The creak of the boxspring is his exhausted defiance.

Guess you're changing the sheets tonight.

You trod over to the kitchen and drink his tea.

[bi-writes]

mmmm ;) simon has got a special eye on single-mom!reader, doesn't he? (18+, lactation kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, dark content !!!!)

it's your first day back after maternity leave. you already look different, simon notices this immediately. the way you fill out your cargo pants--fuck, there's no way your arse has ever looked so fat. no way your thighs have ever been so plush--ngghhh...

fuck, you've never been prettier. motherhood suits you. your hair is longer. your eyes are a little brighter. and fuck, your tits look so heavy, can't keep his eyes off of them, can't fucking focus, fuck, fuck, fuck--

you look so cute patching him up. pouty bottom lip between your teeth as you string his lacerated skin back together with a practiced stitch, standing between his spread legs as he sits in a chair in your office. he nicked his shoulder real well in training today, and fuck, is he grateful for johnny's heavy hand because you're standing over him, and he has a front-row seat to the greatest view of his fucking life.

christ, they practically jiggle with every movement you make. you pop the cap off some disinfectant, and the little bounce of your chest makes him chub up immediately, and he doesn't trust the buckle of his belt anymore because you're so fucking hot. and god, it isn't fair, this isn't fair, you must be teasing him--because as he's staring shamelessly at your pretty, perky nipples, he notices the fabric of your shirt beginning to grow damp.

you notice his line of sight after you tie off his wound. you look down, gasping, your hands dropping your supplies to come up and cup your breasts and cover the wetness of your shirt.

"god--dammit," you breathe. you haven't gotten a chance to pump today, it's been so busy in the clinic, and god, they ache.

you're his sergeant. his pretty little soldier. he just wants to help you. he's just helping you, isn't he? that's what this is when he draws his big hands up, shifting your shirt until it nestles below your nursing bra. he's just helping you when he unlatches the strap with ease, drawing down the soft material and baring your tits for him, his eyes bulging when he sees how wet the skin is, how they glisten.

his mouth is so warm. it's the perfect relief after such a long day. his tongue is soft and careful, swirling in heated circles as he soothes the ache in the throbbing fat there. you're so wet--soaking your panties, you know you are, your hormones firing wildly as he pulls back, opening his mouth and catching just a dribble of the warm essence that leaks from one breast. finally, finally--fuck, he's so good at this, his mouth latching onto you again as he groans loudly. he's so sick, it's so fucking lewd, but god dammit, it's just what you need, you need this, you need this.

he likes you like this. he likes you fat around the hips and leaking from your tits and spilling sweetness into your panties. he needs to keep you this way. he needs to keep you pretty and aching and starving for the relief that he knows he can give you.

he doesn't care whose kid it is, he wants to keep you this way. he'd let johnny or gaz fuck you stupid after this if it meant plugging you up and making you full and beautiful and round again. he's never wanted kids anyway, he knows he probably shoots blanks, it's why you got pregnant so fast after he shut the door on your relationship and refused to open it again, isn't it?

nnghghhgh...

fuck, his pants are already shoved low, just enough that he can pull himself out. he's so heavy, balls so full and aching so badly, he's hardly slapping against his stomach. you slip your own trousers off, eager to get back into his lap, practiced pretty girl sinking down onto him and riding him for her life in the dark of her office.

he buries his face into your chest. they're bouncing every time you smack your hips back down against his, and he can't stop the noises he's making as he suckles your tits in his mouth and uses a firm grip on your ass to meet your thrusts with force. fuck, he'd forgotten what a nice cunt you had--he'd forgotten how nice and soft you are, how messy and wet you get, how whenever he fucks you, his entire pelvis is always soaked with the slick of you because you can never stop creaming on his cock.

"so big," you babble, just like you used to, and he grunts as he aims for that little spot inside of you that makes you cry. he wants to see those pretty tears falling down your face, but all it took this time was his tongue sucking on your achy nipples to make you pouty and sobbing.

fuck, you've always been good at taking him, you always were such a good girl, but now he's overwhelmed. your body is so different and yet the same, and he likes it so much more--fuck, there's so much to grab onto now, the smacking of your skin is loud, and you've always been such a wet girl, but now you're positively dripping. he grits his teeth as he looks down finally, watching the way you've wet his trousers, his boxers, your thighs, the goddamn chair. he can't wait to lay you down after this and put his head between your thighs, can't wait to get those tits back in his mouth and make you cry again and again and again and again--

yeah, yeah, yeah--fuck, fuck, fuck--

you collapse after he cums. whimpering, taking two of his fingers and fitting them into your mouth so you have something to suck on, something you always used to do for comfort. he hisses a little as he pulls out just a little, globs of cum dribbling onto the seat before he eases you back down again. you whine, clinging onto him, your eyes shutting as he shoves his cum practically into your stomach.

yeah, fuck--he's gonna make his little sergeants take you nice after this. he needs you to stay like this, needs to keep you fat and pretty and swollen. don't mind the chunky babies you'll have, he'll take care of you, sweetheart, he'll be the daddy that son of a bitch never gave you, yeah?

he grabs the phone nearest to him to check the time as you settle on wobbly legs into the seat next to him. it must be your phone, because there's a picture of a smiling baby as the background. his eyes flicker to yours, and when you catch his gaze, you swallow hard. there's a giant chubby baby you're holding in that picture.

with blond hair and dark eyes (;

[casiia]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; smile for the camera.

warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, very slight exhibition (i think?), v! penetration, choking, size kink, female reader, unedited.

.: masterlist.

simon has STACKS of polaroids of you for when he’s next deployed. you had bought the polaroid camera, all excited to pick up a new hobby; photography. he thought it was stupid, but doesn’t stop you and your aspiring career. you’re taking pictures of everything for the next few weeks. capturing every memory the two of you shared, and piles of pictures were scattered around each room in the house — random ones, blurred ones, blank ones that didn’t develop right.

when you suggest taking pictures for him one night, he doesn’t seem to catch the hint. why’d he have to waste his precious time and take pictures of you when you’re right here?

he still doesn’t understand. he huffs when you climb off of his lap and scurry into your shared bedroom, the soft mutters of the christmas movie you put on for background noise the only thing that catches his attention — and it annoys him. you come back, your shirt hiked up over your bra and the bulky coral-colored camera in hand. 

you sit back onto his lap, shoving the polaroid into his hand and guiding his finger onto the button. he accidentally clicks it, a flash blinding you momentarily and you laugh. 

“eager are we?”

he sucked on his teeth, his eyes rolling at your poor attempt to tease him. his free hand moves to your waist and dips his fingers below the hem of your shorts. you swat his hand away with a pout, mumbling something about patience but he’s too horny to hear – or care. 

simon lowers the camera as you begin to pull your shirt over your head, you whine and tell him to hold it right. but he snaps back and complains that it’s blocking his view. 

it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you pout and tell him just to listen to you. he begrudgingly listens, muttering a retort under his breath that makes you smack his arm and shift off of his lap. but he’s quick to tug you back, saying he’s sorry and you’re just teasing him too much.

you shake your head, your finger hovering his, over the shutter button. you reach back with the other and undo your bra, letting it slip from your shoulder and into his lap. it’s then when you press down and simon takes a picture, your bare breast developing on the film as it slides out the exit slot. now he understands.

he watches with tight lips, waiting for the picture to develop and practically watching it turn into gold in front of his eyes. simon laughs in disbelief and looks at you, he wonders if this was your plan all along. play with it for a little before using it to make souvenirs for him, what a good girlfriend you were.

the hours blend and he has you bent and folded in every position he knows. it’s so embarrassing, and you find yourself covering your face or squeezing your thighs together, now trying to sheepishly hide from the lens.

but he tuts, reminding you that it was your idea. you can’t hide from him and if you try, he’ll keep you up all night — until he’s filled his album with enough pictures to relive any memory of you in bed.

he’s leaned back onto the sofa, one hand in your hair and one hand holding up the camera. he’s groaning loudly as you gag around his cock, your wide eyes fluttering up to meet his. he’s drooling at the sight, tears staining your blushed cheeks and dripping down your chin.

simon spreads his legs and angles the camera down to catch a glimpse of the way you have a hand wrapped around the base of his cock — too big for you to fit it all in your mouth. he snaps a picture, the flash making little dots cloud your vision.

you giggle, pulling your lips off of him to which he annoyingly grunts, trying to push back into your mouth.

“how many more of these are y’gonna take?”

you ask, pressing your cheek into the inside of his thigh. you’re not even looking at him anymore, so focused on his cock and the way your saliva makes his foreskin glisten.

he can’t resist, simon takes another picture and pulls the developing film from the dispenser, tossing it into the pile with the other pictures he’s taken. your face just looks so small aligned with his cock, the angle making him so much larger than he was.

“m’takin as many as i want. what am i gonna do when i miss you when i’m away and need to release some stress?”

simon tugs at your hair, nodding over to the cushions next to him. his hands immediately find your waist when you stand and he pushes you down into the couch. your hair sprawling over the pillows as you look up at him with wide eyes.

another giggle escapes you, your hand covers your mouth to suppress the laughter. it wasn’t that you were surprised about him being so needy, it’s the way he had a mountain of pictures lazily tossed into a pile. film wrappers crumpled lazily and strewn across the coffee table, the packages once holding refills for the film.

“what’s funny, bun?”

simon’s voice is hoarse, he’s spreading your legs and another picture is added to his collection. the way your cunt is glistening with the flash, your juices smeared on your inner thighs. he swears he’s going to cherish these forever, keep them around til’ they are all tattered and barely visible.

your breath is knocked from your lungs, and you can’t form words no matter how hard you try. he’s sliding his cock in between your folds, nudging your clit with his angry red tip. you whine, your hips bucking up to meet his, needing more friction to ease your arousal; and he takes another picture, how he wishes these images could capture sounds.

he’s pressing his fat, heavy cock against your stomach, a groan spilling from his lips when his tip is leaking just below your belly button. simon smears his precum against your skin, translucent globs dribbling from his slit.

“look at that, gonna be in your fuckin’ stomach.”

simon grins at the sight, but before he gives you the pleasure of filling you up, he’s leaning over you and pressing his lips to your neck. your fingernails dig into his shoulders, crescents forming under your touch, and a slew of apologies is mumbled under your shaky breath.

he hums into the crook of your neck, nipping harshly at your skin before dragging his rough tongue over the spot — soothing the bite. simon trails down to your breast, leaving a path of love bites and covering you in his mark.

while he has you distracted, he shifts his hips and pushes himself into you slowly sinking in inch by inch before he’s balls deep. he leans back and he groans at the sight, you are completely exposed for him with his bitemarks sloppily etched into your skin, a bulge forming in your belly. he slides his calloused hand up in between the valley of your breast and he wraps his hand around your neck, he squeezes lightly, and when you moan quietly as if flustered like it’s the first time he has you filled with his cock —  he snaps another picture. afraid that this moment will vanish.

that was the last of the film that he has. but god, it’s worth it. he promises he’ll buy you more in the morning, but he’s dropped the camera and holding you close. his throbbing cock plunging in and out of your squelching cunt, your juices painting his abdomen, shining his muscles under the dim light.

when he has to leave, he gathers EVERY SINGLE ONE and hides it in between the pages of an old magazine. no one would be caught dead snooping through his things, but it was a precaution he took because he didn’t want you exposed for all of his teammates to see. you were his, and he was never one of share.

AN: guys...i don't even have words tbh. just simon and like he WOULD take so many pics i'm just sooo :((( urgh. i hate him. if i missed any warnings lmk!

[chandlerbinq]

Secondo + details

you see through me what lies beyond…

[wraithdance]

Tf141 and the reasons their partners (you) get mad at them

Note: there will be a part two on reasons they get mad at their wives but it got too long lmao

Cw: mentions of extreme violence, afab!reader no gendered terms, explicit mentions of sex, slight dub-con, breeding, daddy & size kink if you squint, terrible British-isms and I’m not as funny as I think I am lol -not editing this so read at your own risk

Ghost will piss you off by: Wearing his full military get up (including the hardened skull mask) to intimidate anyone he thinks is interested in you.

It isn’t enough that you verbally decline less than polite or platonic advances, or show off your wedding ring proudly. He wants the weak fucks to know that he kills people for a living and would systematically break every bone in their body, reset them and break them all over again. That is before he stares them right in the eye as he fucks you until there’s enough cream leaking onto his cock to sail to the other side of the pond- thrice.

At least that’s what he told the local butcher who gave you his number last week. The man had been so frightened he burst into great weeping sobs and banned you both from coming into the shop.

You’d been pissed for a week straight and yelled at Simon every time you thought about it. It always ended with his large hands grasping at the back of your neck, damn near scruffing you, while you take as much of his cock down your throat. He’s letting you do the work of opening your throat and taking him as far as you can, but he glares in warning when you retreat. Your nose brushes the sprinkle of hair at the base of his cock when you take him deeper, watching a full body shudder wrack him. He’s close by the far off look in his eyes and the raspy hum/moans he does when he’s entered that space in his head you can’t reach. When his balls twitch as a tell tale sign of his release you plop him out of your throat and swat his hands off of you. It takes him a concerning amount of time to come back to earth and understand the haughty look on your face.

Before you flounce out of the room you tell him he doesn’t get to cum since he can’t learn to behave. That he can finish himself off or go apologize to the nice man. You’re only half surprised when he glares at you and takes his cock in hand tight to get back to that glorious sweet spot. He was such a stubborn bastard. The man was just trying to arrange the charcuterie order for your friend’s baby shower, for fucks sake!

But Simon didn’t give a fuck, his cuts of meat were shit anyways.

Soap pisses you off by: nearly burning down the house. You love him for his passion for life and you’d learned to navigate around his inattentive and reckless nature over the years. The problem of not landing ass first into the bottom of the toilet could be solved by simply looking before you go. but putting out multiple fires throughout the week because he got too caught up in whatever fleeting thing caught his interest, could not.

The last near fire was caused by him accidentally overcooking a package of Buldak noodles you’d hoarded from your last Asian food market trip. He’d run into your shared bedroom to show you a video of a ‘Bonnie little lass’ reciting the names of every country, which somehow ended up with you under him, with your knees locked up around your ears. he bullied his cock deep inside your cunt until it felt like a punch in the throat. Your wails doing nothing to cover his throaty moans as he asked you to say yes to giving him a baby

‘What do ye think about making me a Da, dove? Give me fat wee ones to chase after? Aye, you don’t have to say it I feel, you choking my cock. give me one more and I’ll give you what you want, Bonnie”

It was right when you were about to scream some semblance of an affirmation that you’d smelled the smoke. You’d screech for the dirty dog you called your husband to get off of you when he’d kept stroking into you with vigor, saying to wait one sec he was close. When you’d finally ran into the kitchen with a pussy addled Soap stumbling on your heels you came face to face with a blazing fire. The pot containing the ramen was bone dry and the blackened noodles were little more than kindling.

The process of putting out the fire was quick, you’d learned to keep multiple fire extinguishers on hand, but the kitchen still stank of smoke for weeks and the backsplash remained warped with the smoke stains. Soap wasn’t allowed to cook anymore or ask for a kid for at least six months as it was enough work keeping the house safe from his shenanigans.

Gaz will piss you off by: Having to have the last word. Your sweet man was perfect in nearly every way. He was attentive, romantic in all the right ways and made it a priority to make love to you to the point of tears. The problem was he was fucking petty.

The reasonably level headed man became an absolute shit when he felt slighted even a little bit. It didn’t matter if it was over something reasonable, like your overspending on a gift for a male co-workers birthday or a childish argument over who was the actual winner of a friendly Uno game during date night (he insisted you looked while he was in the bathroom), Kyle had to have the final say.

You’d been arguing for three days about, well you don’t even recall. You just hated the cold shoulder Kyle gave you and the space between you in bed where he’d normally be. You’d finally given up your pretense of being upset and stood before him as he sat on the couch with a solemn expression. You asked for you both to reach an impasse tired of arguing, for him to please come back to bed. He continued to pretend to read the stack of junk mail that collected on the coffee table with interest.

‘Don’t know luvie, wouldn’t want to get in the way of your alone time.’ He sniffed indignantly.

You stood confused, trying to decipher his tone and meaning before your eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Kyle are you fucking mad because I watched the final episode without you?’

His dead pan glaring made you stomp in indignation. In your defense, He’d been out in the field for six months and you couldn’t help it that Netflix kept playing the show you had both started while you were asleep. And so what if you did happen to keep watching when you’d finally woke up, he was on LEAVE for six whole months!

You spent the next hour arguing with him on the illogicalness of staying mad but he’d come up with snarky quips. It only slightly pissed you off that the only way he agreed to let things go was if you’d let him cum inside during anal. He’d agreed with a smug smile and shepherd you out of your pajamas and into your bedroom.

Price will piss you off by: trying to reprimand you like one of his soldiers. The key to a blissful marriage to a man like Price is having a willingness to pick your battles. Your husband is loyal and a provider through and through. it didn’t take much effort to just let him lead you both in decisions- you trusted him deeply. But, the man was gruff and prone to callousness especially after being away from home for long bouts of time. Weeks spent on classified missions taking down the big baddies of the world and being up to his elbows in blood and shit made him edgy.

During an impromptu shopping trip that he’d insisted on tagging along on, he’d turned into a nightmare. If it weren’t you in the situation you would be humored by the 42 year old military Captain acting like a toddler over how long you were taking to shop. But you were on the other end of his surmounting tantrum and it wasn’t cute how much he was reminding you of the big ass toddler you both shared. It all came to head when your son’s daycare teacher, Mrs. Hudson, spotted you and came over to chat.

You’d done your best to try and rush the conversation along, aware of the brooding bear of a man behind you. The sweet but a tad dense woman did not clue in to your subtle hints to speed things along. She was too content on telling you about your son’s acclimation to singing the potty song whenever he needed to go tinkle.

Just as you were going to politely interject, John had un-pried your hands from the shopping cart and promptly pushed/dragged you from the aisle without a word. You weren’t even aware of what was happening until you met the startled eyes of your son’s teacher as she watched your retreat, Your cart full of groceries left in the middle of the aisle.

Fuming you kept carefully silent all the way home, even as he barked at you to ‘get in the damn car’ and to buckle your seatbelt. Rage burned the hairs of your nostrils like a blacksmiths fire as you grit your teeth hard enough to hurt. It was much to your disgust that your seething husband lost his own anger midway through the trek home. His tensed shoulders loosened as he tapped the wheel of the car, having the audacity to hum softly to the radio station. Your eye twitched.

You really hoped your son didn’t grow up to be an incel with daddy issues and a podcast mic-because you were about to murder his father.

You didn’t wait for John to open your car door. You jump out and race across the lawn, slamming the passenger door behind you. You hadn’t looked back until you’d crossed the threshold of your home making sure to look your husband in the eye when you try to slam the ornate dark wood in his face before he entered. He’d pointedly narrowed his eyes when he blocks the door for closing and you knew he’d make it a thing later. It was rude but you hold tight to your self righteousness and venomous mood. It wasn’t until after you fed your son an impromptu dinner of cut up sausage patties and a handful of fish shaped crackers that you face a circling Price.

‘‘I can’t believe you! Why would you embarrass me like that, John!’’ You hissed.

He scoffed from his place at the kitchen island, he stretches into a stand. You’re irritated at needing to step back from his crowding, agitated when your thoughts get caught on the broadness of his shoulders in his tshirt. He’d filled out even more since he’d been gone. You loved his body in all forms but the last few years he’d gained a bit of belly fat from desk duty after having decided to cut back on field missions to help out with your young son. Now after months away he was all lean muscles and broad everywhere.

You know you’re already leaking at the thought of taking him and the arrogant twitch of his beard says he knows the same. But you’re not willing to back down. He can’t just bully you into doing what he wants when he doesn’t like something. You’re his spouse dammit not one of his men! At least that’s what you think you said to him. You don’t quite remember the concept of time or your own middle name when he traps you against the granite tower and fucks you until your eyes cross.

“Say it, darling. Tell daddy you’re sorry, love.”

You try to deny it with all your heart, you swear it. But his big hand snakes out in front of you to work your clit in tight circles before you can get the letter ‘N’ in no out. Behind you he leans back and down just enough to switch angles. It’s enough that every thrust is of him drilling his girthy cock into your g-spot with rapid succession. He doesn’t let your screams meet air for longer than a millisecond. He clasps his free hand over your mouth muffling your cries. He tells you not to wake his son and to take his cock like a good wife.

You sheepishly wave at Mrs. Hudson from the carpool lane the next time you drop off your son for school. You’d make a note to drop her off some flowers when you came back for pick up.

[copias-juicebox]

i wish you all a very tutti monday everyone.

[kismetarchive]

boydad!simon once his son is big enough to start walking on his own

[ boydad!Simon - one - two - three ]

cw: simon "ghost" riley x afab!reader

Once your little man learned to walk on his own, there wasn't a moment in the day when he wasn't trailing behind Simon, giggling as his pudgy feet pattered against the wood floor. You'd snort each time you saw Simon abruptly stop, your little boy bumping straight into Simon's calf and his sweet giggles still echoing in the house as he fell down onto the floor.

Simon loved cradling his son, but he loved even more letting his son wrap his tiny hand around his finger and "drag" him to where ever he wanted to go. To the kitchen? Sure bud. To the bathroom? Of course. To mommy? Following right behind him.

It was a laughable sight, especially at stores where your giant brute of a husband was getting dragged by a little boy who barely even reached his knees.

You'd push the trolley behind the two of them, a smile permanently on your face as you'd hear your little one babble in their baby language and Simon nodding in agreement. It swelled your heart with pride every time someone would pass by, a smile forming on their face seeing the adorable interaction between a father and son. You made him a daddy and god was he damn good at it.

「 Masterlist ❤︎ 」

[manitapaleta]

Jajaja gey people

[ghosts-hoe]

BabyDaddy!Ghost X FemSoldier!Reader

BabyDaddy!Ghost Who hates the Idea of you going to missions since the day you told him you’re Pregnant with his child

BabyDaddy!Ghost who doesn’t let you lift a finger and god help you if you try to help him cook or clean

BabyDaddy!Ghost who is so protective of you that he doesn’t even let you go out alone anymore ,even tho you are a top soldier and perfectly capable of protecting yourself

BabyDaddy!Ghost who begins to panic the moment you get into labor because he doesn’t even know what to do

BabyDaddy!Ghost who is with you in the delivery room cause as he says ‚he has to make sure that the doctors don’t do something wrong‘

BabyDaddy!Ghost who is scared to hold your baby cause he is afraid to accidentally crush it

BabyDaddy!Ghost who is so protective of the baby he doesn’t even let anyone from the team hold it :(

You who think it’s funny that Ghost can deal with terrorists and bomb attacks but is too afraid of actually holding his own baby

[femoso-seben]

Baby daddy Simon

Things go array and it test Simon’s resolve

Makarov found out about you, about Ghost secret, and decided to attack you and your daughter.

It was a smear campaign against your daughter a young soon to by Olympian. She was called out for being the daughter of a murderer of a criminal, of a rogue SAS soldier.

Baby Daddy! Simon who was there in the audience as the reporters hounds his daughter about him

Baby Daddy! Simon who could only stand there and listen, balking his fist and glaring at the man who was upsetting his child

Baby Daddy! Simon who goes back to his team asking what happened

Baby Daddy! Simon who realize it’s Makarov targeting him through his family

Baby Daddy! Simon was alerted by you that you were shot at and so was his daughter

Baby Daddy! Simon who was undercover standing guard of his daughter as she apologized to the nation for something she had no idea

Baby Daddy! Simon who’s life flashes before his eyes as a bullet hit his child

Baby Daddy! Simon who grabbed his child and to the ambiance as you scream in the background

Baby Daddy! Simon who can’t bare wash his daughter’s blood off his hand once she’s in emergency surgery

Baby Daddy! Simon who holds you in his arms as you cry over your daughter

Baby Daddy! Simon who immediately ask Laswell and Price to put the two of you under special surveillance

Baby Daddy! Simon who will never forgive himself for letting his daughter and wife get caught up in his life

Baby Daddy! Simon who let you decide weather to keep your child on life support, as he doesn’t see fit his opinion is worthy to soeak

Baby Daddy! Simon who begins to hate Makarov the most after Soap’s death and Daughter’s hospitalization

Baby Daddy! Simon who by himself cried silently

Baby Daddy! Simon who Except you to hate him forever

Baby Daddy! Simon who begins to cut everyone off and truly begins to isolate

Request are open!!

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Baby talk

Request: please could you write one where reader is pregnant and Harry and reader cuddle together and he talks to her belly and is all cute. Thank you!

Tw: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF!!!! Baby fever!!!!

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

Harry’s large hand smoothed against your sensitive belly gently, his eyes peering down at your stomach as he smiled trailing his fingertips against your skin “little man kicking you hm?” He questioned keeping a hand on your belly feeling all the little kicks as you smiled in slight discomfort. It wasn’t painful, more so a bit uncomfortable “yeah… he’s a busy boy today.” You mumbled wincing slightly Harry’s eyes locking with yours before he leaned down pressing soft kisses to your belly, trailing the kissed all over your soft skin his hand massaging against your hip ever so slightly as he felt little man kick against your belly some more a low chuckle leaving his lips “he is doing somersaults…” he smirked slightly his eyes meeting yours as you looked at him lovingly watching his hand caress against your belly some more before both his hands grasped onto your pregnant belly lightly….

“Baby boy I know you love showing you’re here with us but don’t hurt mummy too much.” He spoke in a playful tone, a little giggle leaving your lips as you rolled your eyes playfully “you aren’t helping H. He loves your voice… it’s clear… I play your music when you’re away on tour and little man goes crazy.” Harry chuckled lightly “he’s really having discos in there hm” he murmured making you laugh softly but you nodded nonetheless, your hand coming to caress against Harry’s hair pulling lightly at his curls as you hummed contently watching as he pressed some more kisses against your belly before he looked at you “can I try something?” He questioned earning a little nod from you and he smiled before he rested the side of his head against your belly oh so gently

Same lips red, same eyes blue

Same white shirt, couple more tattoos

But it's not you and it's not me

Tastes so sweet, looks so real

Sounds like something that I used to feel

But I can't touch what I see

We're not who we used to be

We're not who we used to be

You watched him with loving eyes watching as he sang oh so softly to your belly, your eyes filled with nothing but love… thinking about it now you only played Harry’s house album. The more upbeat songs… maybe that’s why he continuously had discos in your belly. Much to your surprise as he continued to sing, Harry’s hands remaining on your belly feeling the second you felt little man stop kicking… seeming to relax… a little smile tugged at your lips watching him lay continuous kisses against your belly, before he continued singing, voice deep and raspy as he gazed down at your belly which had stilled… no longer being kicked.

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

The fridge light washes this room white

Moon dances over your good side

And this was all we used to need

Tongue-tied like we've never known

Telling those stories we already told

'Cause we don't say what we really mean

We're not who we used to be

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

We're not who we used to be

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty

His hand stroked lightly against your belly as he hummed ever so slightly his hair falling in front of his eyes ever so slightly as his fingertips trailed loving shapes into your skin, beginning to sing again voice remaining raspy and soft

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

We're not who we used to be

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

We're not who we used to be

We don't see what we used to see

We're just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

I'm just trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.

You smiled with a loving look in your eyes before you giggled “show off.” You scoffed playfully his hand continuing to caress against your belly before he hummed quietly “told you I’d be able to calm him down.” He smirked slightly and you laughed leaning forwards capturing his lips with yours as you kissed him deeply “I love you so much.” You murmured against his lips and he smiled “I love you too sweetheart..” he kissed your lips again before pulling away and kissing your belly “and I love you too.” He spoke to your belly making your eyes shine with happiness knowing you were going to bring your child into the world of happiness and love from both parents.

[chandlerbinq]

Secondo giving “sugar daddy”

[kismetarchive]

boydad!simon misses when his son was a little newborn.

[ boydad!Simon - one - two - three ]

cw: simon "ghost" riley x afab!reader

You liked to think that you showed off your son a decent amount of times with pride like every other parent — but Simon took it to a different level. Anyone who gave him a moment of their time would be subject to listening to him ramble about his adorable son and be forced to see the catalogue of videos he keeps in his gallery.

Regarding that information, It came to no one's surprise that he was a fanatic for taking pictures of your little boy — doesn't matter if it was just him simply playing with his blocks it needed to be photographed!

He began the tradition that once a month he'd take a cute picture of your son next to a ballon that said how old he was in months. He even bought a new polaroid camera for it so he can tuck the images away safely in a photo-book (and most definitely show to your son to tease him once he's older).

Today would be the 8th month of the tradition, your little boy already laying down on a soft wooly blanket as he happily kicked his feet and his chubby hands smacked against the ballon.

You smiled down at your son, cooing at him as you waited for Simon to come in with his camera.

But, after 10 minutes you began to worry. You scooped your son up from the blanket, carefully cradling him and walking to your master bedroom.

"Simon!" You called out into the house, your baby on your hip as you looked through the house for your husband.

Your hand curled around the door knob to your bedroom, creaking the wooden door open and your eyes landing on Simon sitting on the edge of the bed with one of your son's old baby onesies — the first one he wore after you took him back from the hospital.

"Oh, love." You whisper softly, your little boy letting out a curious gurgle when he saw his father sitting on the bed.

"He used to fit in this." Simon mumbled to himself, his hands gently running along the fabric of the onesie.

"Yea, our baby grew up so quick." You added, shuffling yourself to sit beside Simon while your baby squealed and sat in your lap.

"Can't believe it's already been 8 months. He'll be off to uni soon enough." Simon let out a shaky breath, your gaze growing softer seeing his eyes become glossy and his waterline filling with tears.

"He'll always be our baby even when he's grown, love." You reassuringly reminded Simon, a heavy sigh leaving him as his shoulders relaxed. Your little boy wriggled in your arms, crawling his way to his father's arm and giggling once Simon held him securely in his arms.

"You better not grow up too fast on me." Simon playfully lectured your son, cradling the little boy as his large hand gently ruffled his dirty blonde tuft of hair — same shade as his daddy's.

You smiled at the scene in front of you, your head against Simon's shoulder as you both looked lovingly down at your baby. He'll grow up and become a respectable young man, but for now he was in his father's arms and loved unconditionally.

「 Masterlist ❤︎ 」

[kechiwrites]

mirror image

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader

part 7/8

synopsis: two weeks into your uneasy truce, simon gets introspective.

wc: 811

cw: afab!reader, angst, banter that becomes arguing, hurt and the tiniest bit of comfort, language, trust issues, simon's pov, no gendered language. no use of y/n ever.

author’s note: well, we back at it, the second last installment of this verse. i'll still take requests/thots for it of course, but soon we'll get closure for these two. for now, simon's thoughts on their situation.

new to baby blue? start here.

It’s disarming. 

And Simon Riley doesn’t like being disarmed. He doesn’t like being caught off guard, off kilter, unstable. 

It’s been happening more and more often though.

When you and Tommy look at him in perfect unison, he is struck stupid by your eyes, like you copy and pasted them onto your son. His son. His kid. His perfect, funny kid. Unmuddied by everything bad in the world. His life is pancakes and dinosaurs and that horrible fucking tv show that he’s sure rots his little mind. His life is you. Your smiles, your laugh, your cooking, your hugs. Things Simon cheated himself of when he walked out on you, choked with fear and bleeding misery.

Simon is disarmed, totally fucking helpless, a veritable babe in the woods when you let him hold you. When for the first time, in a long ass time, he gets to watch your lids flutter closed and slip into unconsciousness, in that quick, carefree way he’s always envied. 

He barely sleeps, even less so lately. 

After all, no sleeping meant no nightmares. No cloying, choking smoke-like fears reaching for the frayed edges of his subconscious. No sleeping meant he couldn’t play on your kindness, your goodness, and guilt you into holding him back when he woke up screaming, sweating, no matter how bad he wanted it.

It’s two weeks later. Two weeks after sleeping together but not sleeping together. After breakfast and an uneasy truce. Two weeks after kissing you and touching you and holding you like you both had all the time in the world. 

You’re not in a good mood. And he knows that. But he pushes you anyway, pokes and prods you even as you slam through your kitchen, noisily pulling out a pot and a huge bag of pasta shells.

“Let’s talk.” He approaches, arms crossed, full kit traded in for a skull emblazoned cloth mask, jeans and a threadbare black t-shirt, one he’d found in your bedroom days ago, stashed in the back your drawer, crumpled in a wrinkled ball, like you didn’t want to see it, but you didn’t want to trash it either. He’s been doing that lately, staying over for days and rifling through your shit, finding old relics and artifacts from a time neither of you can let go of. An old mask, a hat, t-shirts.

So many goddamn t-shirts.

“Talk?” you snort derisively, filling the pot with water. He watches you test the water with your fingertips and curse under your breath, mumbling something about shit pipes. When the pot is full, you turn to face him, lips curled, sneering. “I wasn’t aware you were capable of that. Thought you just communicated in grunts.”

“You’re funny. That's new.” He jabs, advancing in the conversation much faster than he should have, comforted in familiar territory, finding solace in what used to be commonplace for you, banter, barbs, teasing. The tense set of your shoulders should’ve warned him off it, should’ve told him you’d take it as well as a bullet in the back. But God help him, he’ll take whatever you give.

“Mm.” Your tone is casual but your answering nod is jerky, too fast, “Yeah, I developed a sense of humour when I realized our relationship had been a joke.” You slam the pot onto a burner, giving him your back. 

The air is suddenly devoid of mirth, utterly obliterated where it had been floating between you before. Now the living room and kitchen are a smoking crater, an oil rig on fire, a disaster site. 

He’s never been more grateful for his son’s propensity to nap like he’s dead.

Neither of you say anything. Simon is waiting for you to say something, to dress him down, but when you lower your head and sigh, heavy and deep with pain and exhaustion he planted within you, Simon withers. He slinks back to the living room and drops himself onto your couch. 

You wait, he’s not sure what for. He used to be so good at preempting your actions, your thoughts, your words, now he handles you like you’re a venomous reptile, looking for exposed, vulnerable flesh to strike, to bite.

You set down the glass you’d been drinking from hard. And he’s surprised you didn’t crack it.

“What do you want, Simon?” Question of the goddamn century, it is. And you’ve asked it of him plenty of times. But he never has an answer, can never really deduce just what the fuck he’s doing here, with you. With Tommy. Playing a game? Playing a role? Punishing you? Himself? All of it could be true, but none of it seems right. 

“I want to try.”

All he knows is that before this, four years seemed like a short time, nothing really. But now?

It’s an eternity. Reflected back to him in broken glass, in half full drawers, in his son’s eyes. 

In yours.

comments + tags + reblogs are so appreciated

oh simon...what do you want?

series masterlist here

[v1tfrma]

Who doesn't love the boosh?

[katesaholic]

STUPID DANA SNYDER EDIT I WAS GONNA DO AS A JOKE FOR MY FRIEND BUT ENDED UP TAKING SRSLY TBIS TOOK ME LIKE 5 HOURS IM CRYING