#baby daddy ghost

[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

[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 (;

[henrycangelbaby]

Thinking about John Price and his cute little assistant (reader) who ends up pregnant. 

A/N: Guys i was inspired while scrolling on the john price x reader tag, this legit came to me as a vision and now i have to write it (I plan on expanding on this idea so just stay with me!!!!)

Imagine being John Price's cute little assistant, just the sweetest little thing that John is kinda obsessed with. Like don't get me wrong she is amazing at her job, smart, put together and well organized and John does feel that her addition has been a positive one, taking some pressure off his shoulders and making sure his team is always prepared for whatever they are doing. She is very good at what she does, but that doesn’t stop John from admiring her. He knows he shouldn't be bit, he can't help it, she's young and sweet and a little bit innocent and he just wants to protect and love her all the time. 

In the beginning she was shy, only addressing him as sir and knocking on his door hesitantly whenever she needed to speak to him but gradually their boundaries became less and less. More often than not she works out of his office, whether he’s there or not, he insists on buying her an early lunch when she lets slip that she didn't have breakfast that morning. He has even picked her up from a night out once or twice, a little bit tipsy and calling the most trusted person she can think of that just happened to be her boss. He takes care of her as well, helping her get her makeup and clothes off before tucking her into her bed with a bottle of water and pain killers for the morning. He doesn't mention it when he sees her next, knowing how embarrassed she will be when he tells her the loneliness her tipsy self admitted. 

When she starts to get sick John is having absolutely none of it, driving her home and ordering her to take some time off (he even visits later that night to bring her some soup for her stomach). He doesn't expect her to look so sad when she comes back supposedly better from her “flu”, he doesn't expect to see her eyes shine with tears when he asks “what's wrong babygirl?”.  He sits them down on the couch in his office together, putting an arm over her and pulling her close for comfort. He certainly does not expect her to look up at him with those shiny wet eyes and admit she did something bad before crying that she's pregnant. It’s news to John who never even considered that his girl would be dating (let alone sleeping with) people. When he vocalizes this and she admits that her baby daddy isn't a very good guy, it's over for John. 

Suddenly he's all over her, promising to be there for her, that she can come to him whenever she needs. And he actually means it. Suddenly she’s staying in the spare bedroom in his house, not only does it have more room but John can keep an eye on her. She entirely moves into his office working on his desk with him, he gets her a comfy chair so she can be supported in the later months. He gets up to hold her hair back when she has morning sickness and ensures she gets enough nutritious food each day. When she starts showing, oh my god John doesn't know what to do with himself. That little bump peaking out of her tight skirts makes him foam at the mouth. Of course he prioritizes her comfort, insisting she change shoes and stop wearing those uncomfortable looking heels, but he keeps her in her formal work attire for just a little longer, just so he can see her cute tummy poking out of it. 

Speaking of her bump. He simply can't resist putting his hand on it. He feels so protective over it, best believe he goes feral if anyone tries to touch it. Hell all but breaks loose when his precious baby looks up at him with teary eyes telling him how uncomfortable she was when some rando put their hand on her stomach, (someone definitely lost their job that day). He eventually has her sitting in his lap, cooing over her and reassuring her that they won't get in trouble, that really he is the big boss anyways. He just loves having her there, perched on top of him he rests his head on her shoulder both arms coming around to cradle her now bigger bump. 

John mandates maternity leave when she starts getting big, maybe around seven months when she spends a lot of her time complaining about back aches and swollen ankles, of course he does what he can to help her but it gets to the point where he knows that she should be resting. He has to basically forcibly put her on leave, reassuring her panics about money by promising to take care of her. And oh boy does he. He gives her foot massages and holds her belly, when she starts outgrowing her clothes best believe he would hand over any of his so she can fit in them more comfortably. He's just all over her, unable to stomach the fact that soon she will have a real live baby. That baby is about to become the most protected baby in the entire world.

That's all I have for now because I fear if I begin rambling about the rest of the 141 neither of us might make it out alive. (just know this baby is going to be so damn spoiled it’s crazy). 

[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!

[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 ❤︎ 」

[ghouljams]

'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will): Chapter 2

Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact) Words: 4.4k Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is.

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

ao3

To be honest you don’t expect a call the next day. Despite the dinner, the kiss, the expressed desire to get to know you, something had to have been wrong for him to not take you home. So you busy yourself with work, and text your other sugar daddies when they pop up in your messages. You take your work bestie, Mari, to your favorite sandwich place for lunch and enjoy the chatter. You don’t think about the heavy hand that had settled on your back, the stroke of calloused fingers, the heady rush of Hesh’s attention. You have other things to worry about.

“You alright?” Mari asks when you shudder at the shivery feeling memory shakes down your spine.

“Fine,” You tell her, too quickly. She raises a brow in response and you roll your eyes. “Seriously, it’s nothing. I had a weird date last night.”

“Date date, or…” She waves a hand, filling in the blank with a meaningful look. She’s not a fan of mentioning your other work out loud. You suppose you get it, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it works for you.

“Other kind of date.” You clarify.

“What was wrong with him?” She asks, picking the tomato off her sandwich.

“Nothing,” You shrug, “He was perfectly polite, paid for everything, looked good in a suit-”

“But bad in bed?” Mari finishes.

“He didn’t even take me home.” You correct, and she gives you a look like ‘what’s wrong with you then?’ You can’t blame her. You’re wondering the same thing. “He hasn’t even texted me today.” You admit.

“Yikes.” Mari hisses, “Not good.”

“I know,” you groan, “but there’s plenty of fish in the sea, and I have plenty of other, uh,” you pause trying to find the best word for them for public conversation, “dates.”

Your phone buzzes on the table next to you with an incoming text. You give it a quick glance and feel your heart squeeze with something like disappointment that it isn’t Hesh. It’s one of your other innocuously named sugar daddies. First name, last name, with no discerning emojis or nicknames. Honestly you’d hesitated to put Hesh’s name in as “Hesh” but he’d said at dinner he rarely heard anyone call him “David” these days. Still, it felt almost intimate to plug those four letters into your phone.

It’s a daddy that doesn’t mind waiting on your texts, likely just checking in to see when the next time you can organize a date is, so you turn your attention back to Mari. You’re not a fan of texting when you’re with someone else, and it’s not urgent, so you’re fine ignoring it.

“Not the new guy?” Mari correctly guesses. You sigh, lean back in your chair and drag a hand down your face.

“Nah, one of the older ones.” You tell her. She makes a face.

“I don’t know how you do it,” She shakes her head.

“I don’t know how you eat your tomatoes separate from your sandwich, but I’m not judging.” You retort. 

“Fair enough,” She nods, plucking an aforementioned tomato slice off her plate and taking a bite. “Don’t you think about finding, like, a real relationship?” She mumbles around her mouthful.

“Ugh,” You make a face, “After what happened with Josh?”

“Point taken.” Mari makes a face in return. “Hey can I have half your sandwich?”

All business, she offers you half of her sandwich in return, already plucked clean of tomato. You laugh and pick up one half of your meal to trade her. 

You’re walking back to work when you spot a familiar face.

You grab Mari’s arm and haul her closer to duck down and hide behind her. Or at least hide as best you can, you get your face out of view. Mari looks at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“That’s Hesh,” You hiss at her as she raises a brow, “the guy from last night.” She glances around. “Brown hair, black coat, tall.”

You know when Mari spots him because her eyes go wide.

“And gorgeous?” She whisper-yells at you, “What is wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you lead with that?”

“Him being good looking is not the problem,” You whisper, “it was a bad date, I don’t want to see him.”

“You said it was fine,” Mari mutters, shuffling along with you despite her grumbling.

“Not if he won’t text me!” 

Mari keeps looking at him, totally un-subtle with her glancing. “Maybe he thought you would text him?” She reasons, you glare at her, “He keeps checking his phone, and he’s, like, with people.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Just get me out of here.”

“Just keep walking you fuckin’ dork, he’s not even looking over here.” It’s Mari’s turn to haul you, dragging you in the opposite direction of your failed sugar daddy and towards your building. You try not to look too pathetic a mopey as you trudge along beside her. You desperately want to mope though. Just your luck to run into the guy that wants nothing to do with you.

You manage to make it through the last few hours of your work day without incident, your work tiring enough without the added headache of a man’s feelings.

You turn them over in your head though. Maybe he was waiting for you to text him. If he was he didn’t know much about how this worked, but then again he didn’t seem like he’d done this before. Part of you felt a little bad at the idea you were ghosting Hesh. Inadvertently ghosting, but ghosting nonetheless. 

It was just that so much of the relationship came with a script. Your interactions with him weren’t free, and it was his job to know that. Especially after he turned you down last night. If he really does want to get to know you better then why the fuck hasn’t he texted you? It’s not like you’re sitting around waiting for him. If Mari is right then the only person who’s waiting around is Hesh. You have other people to cater to.

Speaking of. You tug your phone out of your pocket and skim the short text one of your daddies sent you at lunch. Nothing unusual, asking about meeting up for the weekend, offering some time by the country club’s pool in exchange for your usual allowance and his usual dicking. You click over to your calendar, you could do this weekend. Saturday maybe, then you could do brunch with one of the “busy” ones on Sunday. 

Your fingers hover over Hesh’s name. You could text him. It wouldn’t break your protocol or anything to text him and just let him know that you’re open to getting to know him as well. You just need to make sure he understands that getting to know you comes with a price tag. You’re not dating him, not really, and he needs to know that as well as you do.

If he’s looking for someone to get to know, it isn’t you.

You lock your phone and focus back on your work.

The sun is setting by the time you clock out. Your computer is still warm in your bag as you meander to your car. You’d gotten a few texts about scheduling from daddy #1 and you were feeling decent about your weekend plans. You check your phone for the hundredth time as you start your car. Still nothing from Hesh. You don’t know why you bother sitting in the empty chat you have with him, your phone hasn’t buzzed, no typing bubble has popped up, and you’ve lost all hope that the guy had any real interest in you. It was a good date, but something about you didn’t fit for him and he wasn’t going to call you.

You’ll check out your usual sites once you’re home, see about finding someone to fill the gap he was supposed to fill in your monthly expenses.

Or you could bite the bullet and text him first, your rational brain reminds you. Why the hell are you playing hard to get when he’d be paying to see you? Hell you’re probably the easiest thing to get, basically a product on display at the store. 

The least you could do is just check that he isn’t interested.

Your apartment feels painfully empty when you open the door. The box of Josh’s things is still sitting by the door. You’re not texting him again to come get his garbage. You’ll pitch it at the end of the week. Honestly you don’t think you miss him as much as you miss his dog. Maybe you should think about getting one again.

You scroll through petfinder as you kick off your shoes and lock the apartment door behind you. Maybe you should crack open a bottle of wine with dinner. Fuck, what are you even having for dinner? You fire off a quick text to one of your friends with a link to one of the dogs on petfinder as you glance over your stock of leftovers. 

She gets back to you fast, you thought she was working late today, didn’t she have a shift at the hospital? You glance at your notifications, paypal.

“Hesh Walker sent you-”

Your eyes widen a little, fuck that’s a lot of money. What the hell? He doesn’t text you all day and now he’s-

[Hesh Walker: Was starting to think I scared you off.] Flashes at the top of your screen. 

You tap on the text and note that you sent the listing for “Java, 12 weeks” to Hesh, not Hana. His typing bubble pops up and you quickly switch to a different app. You’re popped back into paypal, staring at four digits with no tag. 

Was he waiting on you to text him? 

[Hesh Walker: The dog’s cute.] At the top of the screen, then:

[Hesh Walker: image]

Your finger hovers over the button to quick switch between apps. You tap it twice and are treated to a photo of a dopey looking german shepherd. Its mouth is open with its tongue hanging out the side, a little white greys its muzzle but it’s eyes are big and watery. Puppy. 

[Who’s that?] you type out quickly. Too preoccupied with the thought of more dog photos to remember he sent you way too much money for just a text.

[Hesh Walker: Riley.]

[Hesh Walker: Busy day?]

You frown, it’s exactly the sort of tactic you’d use to figure out why a daddy hadn’t been responding to your texts. Which means he was definitely waiting on you to text him. Why? You’re not exactly ascribed to traditional relationship markers, but wasn’t the guy supposed to text first after a date.

[Didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.] You tell him instead of delving into your personal life. [Turned me down pretty hard after our date.]

The typing bubbles pop up, leave, pop up, leave several times before Hesh sends something.

[Hesh Walker: I’m sorry.]

You blink at your screen. You think this might be the first time a man has just… flat out apologized to you. No trying to explain it, no trying to make excuses, just a flat apology. 

[Hesh Walker: I meant what I said about getting to know you.]

[Aren’t you a gentleman

[So no sex?

[That’s not really how this-

You delete your third text in a row. You don’t want to be too sassy after he just paid you. God, he paid you. You don’t even know what he paid you for.

[What’s the money for?] You send instead of responding to his text.

[Hesh Walker: For texting me.]

[Hesh Walker: I’m trying to buy your love.]

You laugh and quickly cover your mouth with your hand. Despite being alone in your apartment you feel a little embarrassed for laughing at such a corny joke. 

[So what are the rules here?] You respond with a smile.

[Hesh Walker: Why don’t we grab coffee and talk it out.]

Your eyes flick towards the ceiling trying to remember if you’d scheduled that brunch date for Sunday. God, you really should schedule some time with your friends too. 

[How about brunch, Sunday?]

[Hesh Walker: My treat.]

[Of course.]

You close your phone and go back to rummaging through your fridge. You could order take-out, but you already went out to eat today, you can’t throw all your money into food. Maybe pasta? Or you have some chicken left over from- from- Jesus you need to get groceries.

Your phone buzzes.

[Hesh Walker: Gonna ask it again: how was your day?]

You type out your reply quickly, resigning yourself to take-out. [Fine, just trying to figure out dinner.] You switch to your favorite delivery app and start scrolling. What looks good? It’s been a long day, you haven’t really given yourself the time to think about food.

[Hesh Walker: Staying in or going out?]

[Ordering in

You tap your finger against the side of your phone. You’re not doing great at texting this guy, he’s given you money, he deserves more than a two word answer. You delete your reply and type a longer one.

[Thinking of ordering in, but I haven’t decided yet. What about you?]

Perfect. As much as it’s moderately annoying having to switch between apps when you’re trying to use one, you don’t like being dismissive with the guys paying your rent. You do have some manners after all.

[Hesh Walker: I was going to check out this pop-up.]

He sends a link along with his text and you tap it open to look over the small plates and fancy pictures. The food looks phenomenal, and the restaurant itself has a sort of cozy, intimate, vibe that you’re sure is every influencer’s nightmare. Which means it’s not just a shitty gimmick restaurant.

[Looks cool!]

[Hesh Walker: Great, I’ll pick you up.]

You blink at your phone. What?

[What?]

The typing bubble pops up and you watch each little dot bounce as you wait.

[Hesh Walker: They’re going to give me a two-top whether you’re with me or not, and if I’m going to have dinner I’d rather it be with you.]

[Hesh Walker: So I’ll pick you up.]

[You don’t know where I live.] Is the only thing you can think to respond with.

[Hesh Walker: Then send me your address.] Like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You drum your finger against the side of your phone again, tap tap tapping at your phone case as if the steady rhythm will solve all your problems. Nevermind that you didn’t agree to dinner, can you really just send this man your address? He seemed nice at dinner last night, and if he did turn out to be a murderer it wouldn’t be hard to find him considering how public his (and your) profile on the website you’d used was.

Your stomach grumbles as you think.

Shhh.

You send Mari a quick update on the situation and let her know that if you’re not at work in the morning the police should definitely be called, before sending her Hesh’s profile picture.

[Mari: 👀]

[Mari: that’s the man you fumbled???]

[Mari: previously fumbled sorry]

[Mari: I’ll let the cops know they’re looking for the hottest man in California.]

You roll your eyes and switch back to Hesh’s messages, take a deep breath and send your address through.

[Hesh Walker: Be there in 30]

Thirty? Thirty minutes? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Okay. 

You hurry to your bedroom to strip out of your work clothes and dig through your closet for something date-worthy. You’ll barely have time to slap some makeup on, and --Christ-- is this a heels sort of place?

You sniff one of your dresses to be sure it’s clean and tug it from the hanger. You scroll the pop-up’s instagram to see if there are any customer photos. Definitely worth dressing up a bit, you learned your lesson after your first sugar daddy: Better to be overdressed than underdressed for dinner. You pull a pair of heels out from under your bed and check your time. Ok, looking good. You tug the heels on and stand in front of your mirror. Looking good there too. You’ll grab a jacket and- fuck you have to change your backpack out for a purse.

You’re barely put together by the time someone’s knocking on your apartment door. Which shouldn’t happen. The building has a doorman. Is he just letting people up? 

You try not to look harried when you slip out the door to greet Hesh. You shut the door tight behind you, unwilling to let him get a peek at your apartment. 

He looks good, that same long black coat he was wearing earlier opened to reveal a deep navy suit that- no that- that’s definitely an officer’s coat. Your eyes dart to the ribbons over his breast pocket, the colorful lines delineating service, the brass buttons, the pins. Fuck, is he in uniform?

You drag your eyes to his face. His green eyes sparkle, creased at the edges by his smile. You pointedly do not look at his mouth, even as memories of last night’s kiss fill your mind.

“Are you in uniform?” You ask, unsure where to start the evening when you haven’t had any time to prepare.

Hesh hums, his hand slipping to press against the small of your back, guiding you away from your door.

“I didn’t have time to change, just came from the base.” He informs you. You have to focus on the way you walk, overly conscious of how close he’s walking, the way your arm brushes his side each time you take a step, you can smell his cologne. Rich and earthy, musk with a heady bourbon finish. You spare a glance at his face, trace the proud line of his nose down to the pink lips. The 5 o’clock shadow he’s wearing makes you think he’s telling the truth. “You look beautiful.” His thumb rubs against your dress, sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps prickle your skin. God, you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Thank you,” You don’t mention how off guard his invitation caught you, but you sort of want to, he should know the hell he’s put you through today, “I thought this place deserved a little dressing up.”

“Nothing for me then?” Hesh asks. You glance to make sure he’s joking and find him grinning at you. Your stomach flips. You must be hungrier than you thought.

“Not after ghosting me all day,” You tell him with a smile, a joke for a joke.

“Thought you’d wanna take charge,” He tells you, he nods at your doorman, his hand itches lower, fingers just skating over the edge of your panties. His voice is low when he leans close, dripping like caramel down your spine to settle between your legs, “But if you’re happier taking orders, I’m very good at giving them.”

“Military humor.” Is all your brain can spit out to respond with. It doesn’t do anything but make Hesh hum, his hand sliding low over your ass, big and warm and absolutely tantalizing.

“Something like that.”

The only thing you remember from the car ride to the restaurant is Hesh’s hand on your thigh. You think maybe you talked about something, but mostly you’d been too focused on why your body seemed so focused on something so simple. Were you really so used to doing the seducing that you couldn’t handle when a man took the lead?

No, that wasn’t it. Plenty of the men you sugared for were assertive. All of them, at least, knew what they wanted and how to ask for it. It shouldn’t make your head spin just to feel a hand on your thigh.

It had been like this on your first date with him too, you’d forgotten all about the money because he was just so… magnetic. That’s what it is. Some background trait, some square of his shoulders, that makes people look when Hesh walks in the room. You could lose yourself in it if you aren’t careful, forget what you were here for.

A text about your electric bill snaps you out of your thoughts as Hesh discusses his reservation with the hostess. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You’re here for the money.

Hesh’s hand finds the small of your back again and you stiffen without meaning to.

“Don’t tell me you’ve dropped the seductive act already,” He teases in a low voice, leaning close. You pout your lips and tip your head to look up at him.

“You wound me, I wasn’t acting, I really am that hot.” You like the way he smiles in response, the low acknowledging hum he gives you as he guides you to follow the hostess to your table.

“I can’t argue with that.” Again the deep cadence of his voice sends goosebumps over your skin.

He pulls your chair out for you. It’s not the first time a man has done that, not even the first time Hesh has done it, you’re used to it, there’s no magic in the gesture, and yet…

You sip your water as Hesh takes his seat, ignoring him as much as you can get away with while he orders wine. It’s just because he caught you off guard with the impromptu dinner invitation. You’re off your game, you just need to slip back into the right headspace. You need to get hold of the reins again.

“So how was your day?” You ask when the waiter leaves to fetch whatever bottle Hesh decided on. You need him talking about himself, something to let you find the undesirable parts of him. 

“Boring, and I doubt you want to hear about military forms all evening.” He responds easily.

“You never told me what exactly you do,” You remind him, as if you’ve just remembered yourself. He pauses, and gives you a long look, before settling his elbows on the table and leaning forward to speak in that low soothing tone.

“You’ll have to get to know me better to learn that sweetheart,” He smiles, “can’t go spilling military secrets to just anyone.”

“What?” You smile, matching his posture, you feel yourself falling into that familiar working headspace as you push your tits against the neckline of your dress, “You think I could be some foreign agent?”

“Tryin’ to seduce me aren’t you?” Hesh responds, though there’s no accusation in his tone.

“Is it working?” You ask, tipping your head. You wish he’d kiss you. He’s so close, his face just inches from yours. His eyes flick to your lips, like he can read your mind. 

He hums in assent.

You squeeze your legs together under the table, stifle the breathy noise that rises in your throat as your stomach flips.

He sits back, and you’re treated to the slow drag of his eyes over you, hot and heavy on your skin, burning like fingertips as he waits for you to move. You aren’t even sure you want to, there’s a part of you that likes this, that likes being on display for Hesh. Validating in some way that attention from the rest of your daddies isn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s younger. Maybe it’s the way he leans back in his chair and tips his head, like he has all the time in the world to oogle you.

You jump back into your seat when the waiter returns with the wine.

You don’t even hear them rattle off the menu.

Nor do you put up any fight when Hesh orders for you.

You’re too conscious of the way your dress brushes your skin, the way your hair tickles against your neck, the way the warm restaurant air slides over your body with each person that passes your table. You’re too conscious of the way Hesh watches every move you make.

And yet the conversation is so easy, so effortless, that you hardly notice you’ve finished your meal.

Hesh stops in front of your building. You’d expected something different when he’d said he was taking you home. It seems you are, once again, being denied a proper end to your date. Impromptu date. You try not to let it sting.

“Thanks for the ride,” You try not to let your voice give anything away, grabbing the handle and turning to get out of the car. You don’t get far before Hesh’s hand has grabbed the back of your head and turned you back towards him, his lips sealing over yours. You exhale sharply through your nose, letting your eyes drop closed as he kisses you. His lips move against yours, an insistent push-pull that coaxes you into following, lures you into parting your lips for his tongue as it swipes over their seam. 

He positively devours you, his mouth hungry and the hand on your head demanding as he licks into your mouth and twists his tongue against yours. You suck on the wet muscle testingly, and feel the satisfied groan that rumbles through his chest. It emboldens you enough to push into him, to lean your weight into the kiss as you tilt your head, your hands finding the lapels of his coat to try and holding him in place as his teeth catch your bottom lip. 

You do your best to follow his lead, your hips aching with how you’ve turned towards him. All you can think about is crawling into Hesh’s lap and grinding your hips against him, feeling his big hands stroking over your curves, his deep voice murmuring in your ear. You make a small noise into the kiss, and the hand on the back of your head tightens. 

Your seatbelt is already off, it’s easy to lean further across the console, to settle your hand on his thigh as you press into him. Your fingers brush the hard clothed length of his cock and your breath shudders to a stop as Hesh hisses.

His hand clamps over yours, pressing your palm against his hard cock like a lifeline, and for a brief moment you think he might fuck you in his car. You’re not opposed to it. He pulls your hand away from his lap and sets it back in your own.

“Thank you,” He tells you steadily, “this was fun.”

“Are you not-” He shakes his head, and kisses you once, chaste.

It’s like dumping cold water over your head.

“I’ll see you Sunday.” He assures you.

You don’t bother watching him drive off with how quickly you stalk back to your apartment, cheeks burning with the shame of yet another rejection.

[lyeofhell]

Secondo + details

you see through me what lies beyond…

[copias-juicebox]

i wish you all a very tutti monday everyone.

[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.

[manitapaleta]

Jajaja gey people

[v1tfrma]

Who doesn't love the boosh?

[kismetarchive]

everyone adores girldad!Simon but what about boydad!Simon?

[ boydad!Simon - one - two - three ]

cw: simon "ghost" riley x afab!reader

When he bit into the cupcake and saw the light blue butter-cream inside, your muscles tensed as you waited for his reaction... and you almost let out a startled gasp when you saw he had broken down into tears.

He fell onto his knees and wrapped his burly arms around your swollen figure, treasuring your beautiful body that was carrying his son. His stream of tears ruined your sundress but it was hard to care about that in the moment — your ex-military husband that never cried in front of you was now full blown sobbing on his knees while hugging you and breathlessly thanking you for giving him a son between his sniffles.

Simon's hand never strayed from your bump, constantly gliding his hand under your shirt and a fond smile curved onto his face as he felt his baby, his son, kick at his palm.

"he sure is energetic, isn't he love? Should get him started on rugby once he pops out."

He spent months making sure the nursery would be perfect for the little one. He built the cot, rocking chair, installed the shelves — everything. Anytime you tried to lend a helping hand he'd grumble and immediately pick you up bridal style and carry you back to bed, tucking you under the comforter and then pressing a firm kiss on your temple while muttering in a gruff tone, "stay in bed, lovie."

But all that anticipation and excitement couldn't compare to when he actually got to hold his son in the hospital. Your baby looked comically small in Simon's well built arms, but also so perfect cradled in his father's arms and a baby blue blanket wrapped around his body. That was the 2nd time you'd ever seen Simon cry.

"Hey bud, I'm your old man." Simon whispered to the small infant, tears flowing down the curves of his face as he looked down at his precious son. His son.

「 Masterlist ❤︎ 」

eee I have so many ideas for boydad!Simon !! I just had to pump this one out first hehe

[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

[lyeofhell]

mdni .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Secondo’s the kind of guy to just sorta gently and casually rub the back of your neck. Maybe you’re mid-conversation with another sibling, maybe you’re sat at your desk while filing paperwork, maybe you’re in the middle of black mass with his broad arm stretched behind you on the back of a pew, or maybe you’re alone in your shared quarters as you snuggle on his sofa.

Regardless, his warm, gloved hand finds your nape, fingers firmly rubbing under your hairline and massaging along the top of your spine. A cheeky smirk pulls at his face when he works a muffled moan out of you, his thumb teasing a spot at the side of your throat that he’d sucked sore last night. He’s not always good with his words, but he likes to remind you that he’s always there. Always willing to provide some sort of relief, some sort of comfort.

[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.