#simon ghost riley cod

[clancycatears]

mdni (18+) simon riley, who's never been one to know what love truly is until he experiences the little things.

the spray from the showerhead was warm and grounding, just the way simon liked it.

the two of you never quite had the time to shower together due to the sheer clashes in your daily schedules, though tonight was the one night in a very long time where there was an opening. nothing inherently sexual besides your naked figures standing next to one another. it was intimate. tender.

once your bodies had soaked up enough water, simon paused to reach for his shampoo. you were quick to stop him, uttering a simple "wait, let me" before taking the bottle yourself, flicking the cap open, and squeezing a glob onto the palm of your other hand.

he's stunned for just a moment, feet cemented to the acrylic floor of your tub, his puppy-like, spruce eyes following every movement of your hands—watching as they reach for his soiled, dirty blonde locks.

his beat of his heart came to a stop for just a moment when your fingertips scraped over his scalp, dragging back and forth to scrub the suds into his hair. it was something so simple, yet so refreshing, that his body instinctively leaned closer to yours, absorbing the warmth of your body heat alongside the spray of water.

something about your caress was so gentle, careful, loving—that it brought an unfamiliar pressure behind his eyes. it was a feeling so foreign that he hadn't recognized it, nor felt it for years. never during his enlistment. never in his childhood. but now, with you.

he loved you, he really did, and that had brought tears to his waterlines.

you held simon closely, allowing him to drop his forehead to your shoulder, letting the waning mix of suds and water trickle down his body when his scalp shifts under the spray. a small sniffle—tiny, minuscule—sounds from his nostrils while you wash off what was left in his hair.

"th-thank you, dearie. love ya lots, y'know tha’?"

a chuckle from your end. "love you too, si. always do."

and he knew, he knew, you really meant it. a true, honest affirmation that brought the very first tear to fall.

[constantlyunconstant]

simon knows he’s intimidating. he’s fucking terrifying.

he uses it to his advantage more often than he should.

but when he’s back to his civilian life for god knows what reason, he’ll try to making himself appear ‘softer’ near kids and babies. whether that includes slouching in his seat to appear smaller, trading in his skull printed mask for a normal one, smiling hard so his eyes crinkle under said mask, or if it’s him letting the little lambs get close to him and put flowers in his hands — he does it all.

he still has a heart — a cold one. but still a heart.

[presepohne]

I imagine Simon after a divorce because his first wife wasn't a fan of sex and was a corporate woman who didn't even spare to help him, so he divorces her for all the good reasons, mutual.

Then he finds a sweet bird at the bar, who's obviously so drunk she doesn't even realise she's hitting on him (she is doing that intentionally) and he's telling her off he's not into younger people, but you're so persistent, pushing yourself closer to him, your chest pressed against his tattooed arms, hands around his biceps.

Simon's not an idiot, he knows what you're doing. So he lets himself have the treat and makes you realise that it maybe was a bad idea.

And he fucks you in his truck, making you bounce on his thick girth as he holds your hips, urging you to do more but you're so obviously fucked out that you can barely make out anything around you.

That just few fucking rounds in there.

He takes you back home, fucks you good., a proper brat taming and rough play. God his arm wrapped around you neck as he fucks you so good, your pussy clenching around him.

That night Simon Riley had a good fuck for the first time in eight fucking years.

[oceantornadoo]

simon riley AND reader who are absolutely terrible at dating.

he ghosts you after the first date. you thought it was a once-in-a-lifetime connection with unmatched banter and crackling physical tension. guess not. you lose a couple of nights of sleep over it and chalk it up to men ain’t shit and move on.

simon who can’t stop thinking about your date as he gets shipped out the next day. runs through an op quicker than ever, barking at soap more than usual, toeing the line of unprofessional. every day that passes is a day he can’t touch his personal phone, leaving your text thread abandoned.

you get a text a month later. “you around?” have to check the thread to remember who it was, finding yourself absolutely shocked, struggling to remember the hulking mass of a man who made you giggle so much over that one dinner.

simon shows up to your picnic date with apology flowers and a new leather jacket. explains why he was gone without prompting, a gruff monologue as you find yourself getting distracted by the new scratch on his eyebrow and the scruff on his face. unconsciously, your fingers brush it barely, wanting to make sure it was real.

simon stops mid-sentence, gripping your wrist in an iron hold. the shock of what you did hits you, profuse apologies spilling from your lips as you try to explain and tug your wrist back. he won’t let you though, keeping it in place, your soft skin against his worn calluses.

“‘s okay, love. jus’ ask next time. still jumpy from work.” you finally snatch your hand back, embarrassment warming your body as you nod your head in acknowledgment. he thinks about letting the awkwardness settle and take roots, adding a string of failed dates to his black book.

instead you make the choice for him, attention catching on a nearby curious toddler. you give the little bugger a wave with your biggest smile, sticking out your tongue to make the kid laugh. simon decides then and there that he’s going to keep you.

[druap]

iykyk uncolored version under the cut

holy fuck this made me legit tweak out, im never doing lineart of tactical stuff EVER again OG pic:

[asherwesley]

“Just existing”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

He’s seen too much. But it’s the smallest things that haunt him most.

───── ⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹ ─────

It’s late. You’re standing at the sink, brushing your teeth, the minty foam making your cheeks puff out a little. Your hair’s a mess, in your way-too-big-shirt – probably one of his – and you’re swaying faintly, humming something under your breath.

You catch him in the mirror.

Simon, leaning against the doorframe. Silent. Watching.

His eyes aren’t sharp like on mission. They’re soft. Too soft. Like he’s studying something he doesn’t dare touch too hard in case it breaks.

You rinse your mouth and lift a brow at him. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He blinks. Slow. Shrugs, but doesn’t look away. “…Dunno. You just… exist.”

You laugh quietly. Shake your head.

But he doesn’t smile back.

To him, that’s not small.

You, standing there in the safe, boring light of a bathroom mirror. Not bleeding. Not running. Not screaming into a comms line.

Just existing.

He watches you fold socks like it’s a ritual. Watches you chew pen caps while doing crossword puzzles. Watches you hum to yourself while making tea and doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath the entire time.

You’re the only person who’s ever made him feel like the world can pause.

And it wrecks him.

Worse than the war zones. Worse than the blood and screams and smoke and loss.

Because this?

This is what he never thought he’d have.

And every second of it feels like being in a dream he’s afraid to wake from.

So he watches.

Burns every detail into the inside of his mind like sacred scripture.

───── ⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹ ─────

“He needs to remember exactly how it felt – just to be in the same room while you exist.”

[jaesblogstuff]

He saw all of it, all of it.

Minding his business isn't his forte, especially when it comes to you.

Its subconscious. You don’t even realize you’re quieter lately. But Simon does. You’re still you. You laugh at the dumb TV shows he pretends not to enjoy, you hum in the kitchen when you cook, and you toss the occasional pillow at him when he makes a dry joke at your expense. But there’s something off. Something in your smile. It doesn’t meet your eyes. The new obsession with oversized clothing. You keep making excuses for why you can’t stay long. Why he shouldn’t come by. You’re tired. You have work. He might come over. And Simon, he never pushes. Never asks.

Not until he sees it.

You were making tea. The sleeves of your hoodie pushed up as you reached for the honey. And that’s when he sees the bruising just below your wrist and some of your arm. It doesn’t look like an accident. You don’t even know it’s showing. You’re chatting about nothing. Your voice soft, almost too light, and Simon stares like he’s seen a body on the floor.

He says nothing.

But something changes in the way he sets the mug down. A little too firm. A little too sharp. You blink at him. “You okay?” He gives you a look. Neutral. unreadable. “Forgot something in the truck,” he mutters.

And then he’s gone.

⸻

It wasn’t planned. Simon didn’t come looking for a fight, he just came to see the face of the man who left bruises on you. But the moment he opens the door and sees him—smirking, alive, untouched—it’s causes something to flip in him.

The guy barely has time to register who Simon is before Simon grabs the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frames.

“What the—fuck—?”

“You hit her?” Simon’s voice is a growl, low and cold. The guy tries to push him off. “Get off me, man, what the hell—”

Simon doesn’t give him the chance.

His fist connects with his jaw. Once. Twice. A sickening crack of bone and cartilage. The guy stumbles, dazed, hands flying up too late.

“You think you’re tough?” Simon hisses, grabbing him again, slamming him down onto the floor this time. “You like putting your hands on her?”

“I—I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

Another hit. This one more restrained, but just as mean. A punch to the ribs. The guy wheezes, crumples, coughing. “Touch her again, I dare you,” Simon growls, crouched over him, eyes blazing. “Don’t look at her again. If you do—” He leans in closer, a snarl in his voice, dripping with threat.

“I’ll make sure you never lay hands on anyone again.”

Blood trickles from the guy’s nose, his lip split and leaking onto the hardwood. Simon stands, breathing hard. He doesn’t look back as he leaves. His knuckles throb. His chest feels too tight. But his hands don’t shake. Not until he’s back in his truck—on the way back to you.

⸻

He doesn’t come back for hours. You try to brush it off. You clean the mugs, fold the blanket on the couch, check your phone twice. But something’s crawling under your skin, cold and tight. The front door finally opens after midnight. He walks in quiet, dripping from the rain, hoodie up, hands shoved in the pocket like he’s holding something back.

Your heart jumps. “Simon?” You rise, wrapping your cardigan tighter around you. “Where the hell did you go?”

He doesn’t answer.

Not at first. Just kicks off his boots like he does every time, like this is any other night. But it’s not. His knuckles are bloodied. Split. And his jaw’s cut, a faint smear of red along his cheek. You follow him into the kitchen. The sink runs. Hot water turns to steam. He scrubs at his hands like he’s trying to erase something.

“Simon,” you say again. “What did you just go to do?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just stares at the water swirling down the drain. Then, quiet, almost broken:

“How long.”

You freeze. “What?”

He turns, finally. Looks at you with something like grief behind his eyes. “How long was he hurting you?”

Your breath leaves in one sharp exhale. Your first instinct is to lie. Deny. Laugh it off. But his expression doesn’t shift. He already knows.

“I—I didn’t…” you swallow. “It wasn’t like that.” He scoffs. Soft. Almost sad. “Don’t lie to me. You’re not that good at it.” You look away. Your throat burns.

The silence stretches between you, thick as blood. “Did you hurt him?” you ask.

His jaw tightens. He rinses his hands again. “I made sure he won’t touch anything for a long time.”

You flinch.

He notices.

His voice softens. “I’m sorry.” Then he steps back. Like he’s the one who’s done wrong. Like you should be afraid of him.

“Simon…” You reach for him.

He stops you. Not cruel, just tired. “I need to clean up.”

You’re left standing in the kitchen, hands curled around the edge of the counter, breath shaking. He’s always been there. Always protected you. Always loved you quietly, in the ways no one else noticed.

Now the quiet is deafening.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Sending a video to Simon while he’s on deployment of you humping your body pillow in your cute lace baby blue panties with a little pink bow on the front, aka, his favorite pair, making sure he can see the now dark blue spot in them from soaking yourself.

You’re panting, squealing Simon’s name bouncing your ass on the pillow while you straddle it rubbing your twitching clit back and forth on it.

You have the camera positioned behind you to get a full view of your ass and pussy from behind and when you cum in your panties you make sure to arch your back so Simon can see how wet your orgasm made you.

He sees the video and immediately locks himself away in his bunk for the night, roughly fisting his cock over and over to you moaning his name, the soft jiggle of your ass and thighs, and the way your cunt just gushes for him like his own personal little cam girl.

God he can’t wait to get home.

[porkcutletbowl44]

WAIT WAIT LISTEN (nsfw btw)

What if ghost is disguised as a loser?

You would think he's a complete beginner like the rest of the team does. He doesn't ever talk to anyone, he avoids people like the plague and literally tells random people to fuck off no matter who they are he's just trying to mind his business with his two fingers of bourbon.

No one has ever seen him leave with a woman on his arm.

Jokingly—in all seriousness— you did ask him out to hook up, fully thinking you were his first, you were gonna give him the ride of his life even if he was a two pump chump and called quits his first orgasm by a real vagina.

And nobody would know, he's secretive enough on the clock and nobody has a clue what he does away from military work, so this would be your dirty secret; your little dream coming to life.

Only to your shock, he fucks you like he's trying to leave a imprint of your body into the mattress. Girthy cock dragging perfectly against all the right places, spearing through you over and over having your tongue brain dead.

Before you can even ask who the fuck are you and what have you done with ghost— he pulls out mid fuck to bury his face in your ass with massive globs on spit on his tongue, shaking your cheeks in his face like some kind of fucking porn star as he eats both from the back like an animal.

You're at a loss, and immensely (disappointed? Bewildered?) pleased that you just scored a night with a man of your dreams and he's apparently secretly good with your body for some reason... (And no, he does not let you leave. At all. You ain't leaving his flat and that's final.) ((Also congrats no one else will let him be as nasty as he is so he's definitely not letting go you're getting married next week you gotta match his freak))

[haven-1307]

Simon’s girlfriend touching herself to his gruff voice over the phone while he’s away on deployment. She’s tried and tried to work her fingers into the sweet spot but no matter how much she tries she just can’t quite reach like he can. Her delicate fingers poke and prod trying to find it and you can only huff with annoyance when it doesn’t work.

Simon solution? Getting a mould made of his cock, just for his sweet girl to use when he’s on the other side of the world. It fits perfectly, hitting the spots that have her breath stuttering and her back arching. Curling inside her, feeling the pinch on her cervix when the toy bottoms out.

[clancycatears]

MDNI (18+) ; thinking about how ghost gets under your skin juuust right after an argument.

you’re giving him the silent treatment as he’s floating around the house, carrying out little bits of service in an attempt to catch your attention again.

doing the dishes? nonsense, he’s always doing them anyways, even if he’s scrubbing the pot you left to soak—neglecting it because it was your least favorite dish to clean.

cleaning out the fridge? you could’ve sworn you’d done it last month—but it had to be so much longer, because he’s throwing out three glasses of expired sauces. (that neither of you had used since you first bought them)

cleaning out the shower? you’d just gone in there yourself, conditioner still slick on acrylic floor. but no biggie, he’s cleaning it off since he has to shower later, anyways.

and then, he’s returning to the living room where you sat, your fumes dying with every little task he works, to dust off and clean the 55-inch telly screen.

you still don’t meet his eyes, still insistent on being angry—even after all he’s been doing in an attempt to catch your attention. though once you look up, he’s already hooking a leash onto your dog and taking him out for a walk.

oh, so he just needed some air. maybe he was still upset, too.

nope. he’s coming home with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, letting the dog free before returning to your form on the sofa.

he tilts his head around to catch your eye, you don’t give it to him. he tries to show off the flowers to you, and you look once, but then cast your eyes aside once more.

so he sighs, setting the flowers to your side, before getting on his knees in front of you. he holds your thighs as he kisses your knee, then rests his cheek on the same spot he’d pecked.

“c’mon, sweet’art. can’t stand the silence.”

and you relent, because he looks too damn good on his knees for you.

ghost masterlist

[lacelinedcorpse]

Thinking about.....

Simon riley, not ghost, never ghost with you. Riley who lets you color in his tattoos, watching with amusement when you rehydrate old purple markers with saliva just to dry them out again against his chapped and weathered arms. The same gruff old man who complains about his tinnitus and creaking bones running about and fretting over grocery prices with you. Simon who scorns you for trying to get him to indulge in your most recent attempt at crochet, only to end up skillfully looping balls of yarn into cat scarves to sooth the bitter lump in your mind after one to many single row attempts. Your silly riley who jump starts you mornings with cold toes on warm skin burning you with sensation but soothing your mind with affection.

[lizzy019]

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────

Simon Riley who definitely swoons every time he sees you angry or upset. He likes seeing that furrow of your brow, your comebacks and the fury in your tone. It's somehow extremely hot to him, despite him not knowing why. He doesn't admit this to you, ever.

Simon Riley who was super hesitant to take off his mask around you. Sure, he knew he could trust you, but he was nervous. Would you even like it? The scarring, the cuts, the busted lip of his and the eye bags hidden under his warpaint? But when he took it off, he was assured he looked handsome by you showering him in kisses and loving words. (He probably got shy after.)

Simon Riley who can't cook for shit, but would definitely like to learn for you. If you can cook or if you can't, he will do his best to learn a few simple dishes so he could say that he's a decent cook.

Simon Riley who hates when you mock his accent sometimes. But he never does anything to retort or defend himself, he takes your teasing because he knows you enjoy it. Though, it does end in some fun and playful wrestling, often ending in laughing fits and some good cuddles after.

Simon Riley who can't stand your shower routine. He absolutely hates the way you clean yourself, and he often convinces you that he should clean you himself. While you don't know how to feel about this, you smile as he gently lathers soap on your body. Just don't expect this to be a one-way thing, he wants to be pampered a little too.

Simon Riley who loves cats so much that he adopted 4 strays. He got them all checked at the vet, paid whatever amount of money to get them their shots, prescriptions, proper food, etc. He'd definitely pamper the little furballs like they were his children.

Simon Riley who probably owns a really nice suit, but never got it tailored after his military work. Every time he puts it on, he winces because the sleeves of the jacket are too tight. You have to convince him that it looks better, that there's more muscle definition while he wears it. It was his favourite outfit after that.

Simon Riley who would wholeheartedly give you the most random massage. Like- full on massage. His warm hands were definitely the most heavenly thing you've ever felt, and the little callouses and cuts on his fingers just made everything more perfect.

Simon Riley who doesn't know how to handle you when you're on your period. He gets you snacks, drinks, blankets, your heating pad, some extra sanitary things, but he doesn't know how to handle your mood swings. One minute, you're all cuddly and sad, and the next it seems he's done something wrong and you're mad at him. But then you're laughing?

Simon Riley who adores when you need his help with opening jars, reaching things on higher shelves, doing a load of laundry while you do something else, it makes him feel useful. But just don't tell him to do the dishes, he probably dropped one or two and they broke.

Simon Riley who literally sleeps with a rock hard pillow. He can't sleep on a fluffy pillow, they hurt his neck. But he LOVES a springy bed and a thick duvet blanket. You don't understand why, neither does he.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────

[presepohne]

SOFT BABY, BE AFRAID // ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIMON GHOST RILEY

single dad simon, no smut, softness and inner monologue, i'm not really proud of this.

It's strange, the way you'd smile and make his chest hurt. A small pit in his stomach as he watches you cradle his baby, in your arms, rocking back and forth murmuring a lullaby that sounds awfully familiar to his mother's.

You have been here with them for a while. Long enough for his heart to soften for you, when he finds you in his line of view or realises that you're near, long enough for his heart to go unsteady with your presence in the room. He was a soldier, still has that demeanour around him, the scary bloody monster he is.

But you aren't scared, you aren't even afraid to tell him he was wrong, in many things.

And it makes his stomach feel queasy. He thinks he could break a bone or few for you, let you live under his skin, in his heart. He could make a room for you too. You are not cruel like the world is.

You feel like the fresh breath of air during spring, the soft smell of blush pink roses wafting in the air, that kind of softness that resided in someone who has always seen love in everything, everyone— you were not scared, not cruel, not even deranged like him.

He found it amazing how you were the only person who could pry his heart open and hold the bleeding, beating organ in your palms, getting yourself dirty with his existence and still smiling at him like he is worth the whole universe.

He can't tell you that yet, that he loves you.

Mary, his child; his baby girl sleeps peacefully in your arms.

It's different with Mary. She has known him, and him only ever since she saw the first light of her life. In his arms, all warm and sighs, small and safe. She has known him as her first softness, as her first love for the world. Simon doubts he's lovable, but his little bird has other opinions.

Head not know softness, not until Mary. Until he held this small bundle of breath and baby yawns in his arms, so tenderly that he might not be able to hold her; the nurse told him otherwise. He held her like something sacred, something you receive after penance— age long suffering subliming in one breath that Mary took.

And just like that Simon Riley was a changed man.

But it took months to come on a single decision, the hardest of it all. Her mother was not ready for responsibility, not like she and Simon shared something sacred with her, it was just an accident— Simon knew he wasn't made for love, not the one where he could share a home, act like a righteous man without losing patience, but he was different for Mary.

Built himself differently for her.

Rebuild his own heart, soul and brain, even if it was not possible. Some took a vow to be a changed man, all for his little one with dirty blond curls and bright blue eyes.

And they never failed to make his heart thud in his chest, never failed to make this warmth spread through every cell of his body, never failed to make him feel worth something.

So when you came along with your smiles and warmth, it made his stomach churn at first. Badly. Made the bole rise to his throat at the thought of an apple outsider prying their life open and making a home for themselves.

That's what he thought.

Now looking at you, here in his flat, lulling Mary to sleep like her own mother— a soft yet painful thought crossed his mind. What if you were his? What if you could be his?

Mary was six months old when he retired. Told Price that his bones ache and knees cracked when he tried to get up, but the smell of baby powder and formula that he reeked of gave him away. John Price was a seasoned man with eight years of marriage and two kids— he knew a new father when he saw one.

John patted his lieutenant’s back, murmuring a soft If you need any help son, let me know, and accepted his retirement.

Simon , ever grateful towards his team, for the small support system they had built around each other— invited them over, to meet Mary. Of Course he could bring his babygirl to the base but he didn't want anyone else to know about his private life.

A fine Monday, in the small but cozy flat Simon brought in Manchester, the air stale with moisture, he was visited by his team.

It was a nice start to new life, with no goodbyes, just good wishes he didn't believe in, just fate he wouldn't believe was ever real.

When Simon first got custody of his daughter, her mother cutting them off totally from their life, he didn't mind. He was relieved, a little scared of life. A lot more scared of what was going to come.

There were things he didn't know, things that made the blood in his veins run cold, things that made him halt, pause a breath and look around him. Being a civilian was hard, being normal, trying to live a life he was never made for, trying and trying and trying until his body gave up, until his mind started to spiral in debt to be normal for his baby.

The long nights where Mary wouldn't sleep but wail as he rocked her in his arms, bought books about how to take care of a baby, how to raise them correct, how to— Simon Riley forgot he was ever a Ghost, he was just a human as everyone when it came to taking care of his baby.

Accidentally heating the milk too much, changing nappy even when it wasn't required, strapping Mary by his chest when he went grocery shopping and very awkwardly asking the teenage worker there what food would be good for an eight month old.

Simon was a mess, a good mess, fatherly mess. Baby powder reeking off lotions and milk vomit slicking to his skin at five in the morning while he took the first sip of his coffee to start the day, with an hour's sleep.

Losing sleep wasn't new, it was something practiced.

Sometimes pills helped, sometimes they didn't work, but sleep never came to him naturally. Never, even if he was bone deep tired, holding Mary and rocking her, trying to serenade her— he was alert, as he was on field.

Because old habits die hard and he was a man made of steel and duty once, even if he's trying to rebuild him of softness and baby breaths now.

Fatherhood had suited him well one could say, he would spend his whole day with Mary. Took her to a sprint with him in her stroller. She enjoyed being out, interacting with others, babbling away her days to him as he responded with softest words and smiles and coos.

Fate eroded his jagged pieces, gave him a chance to turn into something soft, something malleable for his tiny baby girl.

It was one of those days where he took Mary for a stroll and he stumbled upon you. A good day, the neighbour that lives three apartments down the hallway, who smelled too much like sweet pink flowers and candy.

You lingered, asked him if you could hold Mary, and he had grunted a yes. It was difficult— saying yes, he was a paranoid soldier. One who didn't know how to trust people, didn't know if he could.

But he was trying to be better, he was a father now; a fear ticked off his list to become someone good. The second was being a good human, a good civilian that wouldn't scare people away.

So he tried to hold back the frown that started to form over his forehead, whilst you lifted Mary into your lap and cooed.

It was a tender moment, the sun cascading down your hair whilst you played with the babe in your arms. Simon wasn't the one to fall in love, neither appreciate nature— but this one moment where your eyes looked up at him, face unflinching even with his scars and mildly disfigured face, to the soft twinkle and tenderness that your eyes held made his breath hitch.

Physically.

Simon wasn't in love.

He was in awe.

“You should come over with her for dinner this weekend, you're always working yourself” you had smiled, a soft thing that Simon unconsciously tucked inside the pocket of his heart before grumbling a thank you.

That was the first time Simon felt his heart melt because of some random strangers' soft words and gaze.

The first time Simon felt seen.

He did come for dinner, Mary strapped to his chest, hands holding a basket full of fruits and other holding flowers. A simple courtesy of a man, he reminded himself. Be nice, be interactive, don't scare her.

Simon was a soldier and father. He was made for battle grounds, blood, guns and wars; but he had also made himself for milk bottles, soft baby powder, strawberry shampoo and Mary's babbling; he could try to be civil for once.

You reminded him of Beth, his brother's wife. The kind smile that wrapped around your lips as you let him in, apologising about how messy your place is. It was a cosy apartment, a bunch of big cushions around the corner draped with blankets, beugie fur carpet, plants. Lots of them.

Your place smelled like coffee and cakes andSimon found himself acting like a creepy man, inhaling a deep breath in, the scent calming his nerves in a way he didn't realise. The tension from his shoulders left as he rocked Mary, an old habit that now became an instinct.

“You know you can put her down and she can play around?” you smiled, taking the basket and the flowers, yellow daffodils, “These are beautiful”

Simon didn't say much, he couldn't physically.

He felt like a teenager with a crush, a silly crush albeit. He was nearing forties, of course it's absolute bollocks for him to feel giddy over a woman, that's doesn't suit him, that's not his personality—

Aye Lt. treat her kindly

Johnny's voice rang in his ears, an hour ago from the call.

Ye sound like a kid having his first crush

Shut up sergeant

But Simon's heart thudded in his ears, blood rushed to his cheeks, light and unnoticeable, just warming his face up as he unstrapped Mary and sat her on the couch.

“How old is she?”

“Nine months”

“You're a single dad?”

“Yes”

“I didn't mean to be rude”

“She was just an acquaintance”

You blinked up at him, scarred face and brown eyes, too distant yet warm at the same time. Again, a smirk curled up your lips as you headed to the kitchen. The sun just set down a while ago. “I hope you like Chinese” you laughed, plating the food.

“As long as it's food love”

That was the awkward beginning of Simon's pinning towards you, and your softness towards him. Maybe, at the beginning he was annoyed a little, in fact he was very annoyed— at himself. Letting a stranger intrude, but then again you had the same charm as Mary. Those same cheeks, the same innocent smile, carefree look that everything good comes down to you.

If Simon had to confess to himself, he liked you a bit. Four months in and with Mary now thirteen months old, you had been the greatest support.

I'll take care of her, you'd say gently prying her off his arms, God bless him he looked so tired. You ask him to take a bath and sleep, the dark circles around his eyes making your heart ache. Some better days you'd cook three meals and send it in so that he didn't have to do much work.

Perhaps he had grown on you. Maybe right into your heart, his brown eyes in your heart pockets.

There were days where you'd simply stay the night and look after Mary, forcing him to take meds and knock himself out, and he took the offer generously, always.

Letting you in their life was like opening a passage to a secret garden.

Slowly, you things started to appear in the crooks and cranny of his apartment, or Mary's toys and clothes at yours, maybe his forgotten hoodie. Some Days it was just Tupperwares and sometimes it was just a shared cup of coffee or books.

Whatever this was, it felt awfully close to love.

But Simon wasn't ready to name this as love. He was ready to crave your name into his ribs, make a home out of them for you— but love.

He thinks he would never be capable of loving a sweetheart like you.

It's not until you're holding Mary, at this current moment, a year and a half after meeting you that he thinks that he might love you. That he might be capable of taking care of your heart as he did with Mary's. That you leave him, like Mary.

There are things he would never talk about, thinks about his father never treating his mother right. Things about his mother not being able to love. Just ignored, dismissed, unloved by her husband, by the only man she ever trusted.

Simon didn't want to turn into such, he would not.

Not when he has you, not when he has seen how to learn towards him without fear, not when he has seen how you don't flinch at the sight of his face, the way you'd pull him out of his apartment because you insisted Mary needed enrichment.

And mostly because he forgot the voices in his head when he heard yours.

Mostly because his mind was always on you.

Mostly because Simon Riley had fallen head over heels for you irrevocably.

So when he saw you holding his baby girl in your arms, lulling you to sleep, his first thought was what if you both had a family. How would you be? As a mother? How would it be if you were his?

He was afraid to name whatever you both had, whatever this electric pull between you both ways.

“Thank you” he whispered, kissing you cheek and taking Mary away from your arms gently.

[oceantornadoo]

inspired by a dramoine fic i read! simon riley x f!reader

it’s the third time today someone has handed you simon’s paperwork and you’re starting to get confused. in fact, there’s the distinct feeling that you’ve missed a memo.

first, it was the visiting captain, so you couldn’t blame him for confusing lieutenants. but then it was johnny turning in his mission report, muttering something about “cannae be late this time if ah give it ye, lass.” which was odd, considering you weren’t his direct report (you were gaz’s). but what really sent you over the edge was getting called into price’s office and being met with a load of folders addressed to one Lt. Ghost (Confidential).

“sir, i’m a bit confused as to why you can’t just give these to him yourself.” price looked up from his desk, eyes flickering from under his boonie hat. “hav’ you seen ‘im today, lieutenant?” you nodded immediately while trying to scoop all of this paperwork (that was not yours!) into your arms. “yessir, i saw him before breakfast and then during training and then…what?” price had silently quirked an eyebrow, his beard echoing the movement. “i haven’t seen ‘im all day, so i figure it’s faster for you to deliver since you’re more well-versed in his movements than i am.” huh. “i’m sure he’s just doing his ghost thing, y’know? slipping into shadows and…”, price patiently gave you an exasperated look, “but i’ll get these to him, sir. see you later!”

the problem was, you knew exactly where simon was. in your office.

his own had an unfortunate ground level window near the track, so he was always complaining about nosy recruits until you offered to share some office space. temporarily, of course. it’s not like you were using all the empty space anyways and it made it much easier to get the opinion of your fellow lieutenant on a report by walking over to his desk, rather than going up and down stairs. that was the second point he made, and who were you to say no?

after pushing open your office door, you beelined for simon’s desk, dumping the stacks of folders on his desk. “wot’s this?” his mask was off so you could see his eyes widen at the mess of papers. “everyone now thinks i’m a drop off box for your paperwork, so i got burdened with all of this when i was doing my rounds.” he nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea. “cheers, love.”

“what do you mean, cheers? don’t you think it’s odd for them to give me your paperwork? and why do we even have so much paperwork? i swear im drowning in it this week.” he snorted at your last sentence, opening the first folder in front of him while you rounded your desk, sitting in your comfy chair with a hmpf. “yer out an’ about more than me, tha’s all.” well, that was true. the infamous ghost was not known to be a sociable person on base. “i guess…” you turned to your old radio, passed down by a retired captain, and turned on simon’s favorite classical station.

“ya want mess or the pub tonight, love?” another great thing about being on base with simon - you never had to pay for dinner. “actually, that thai place we like is doing a special tonight.” he gave you a half-smirk, one cheek ticking up. “bloody raccoon. we had thai two nights ago.” you didn’t respond, instead blinking your best impression of puppy dog eyes at him. simon sighed, then shook his head at his desk. “olrigh’. the things i do.” you smiled and winked, dipping your head back down to your desk. “thanks, si.”

-

two weeks later, you were prepping for a duo mission with simon. price had been grilling the two of you for the past three hours, making sure you had everything memorized. satisfied, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his temples, the feeling of a headache coming on. “one more thing.” both of you snapped your head up at price, desperate to leave and eat. you’d already missed dinner and your stomach was complaining.

“the safe house is pretty small, basically a shack. one bed, no couch. i assumed ‘s fine since y’r datin-“ “‘s fine, captain.” simon cut him off, an out of character move that had you frowning. “it’s fine, cap. not like ive never slept on a floor before.” now price was frowning at what you said. he turned to simon, who shook his head imperceptibly before becoming still again. price’s brow furrowed but he didn’t push further. he got up from his chair, eyes flitting suspiciously between you two. “i’ll see you at 0600.”

“what was that about?” you whispered to simon after as you walked down the hall. “‘s nothin’.” you were missing something but it was so unclear what. “he thinks that we’re datin-“ “said it’s nothin’, sweetheart. he’s an old man. let’s get some food in you, yeah?” you nodded, letting him guide you to the kitchen. price wasn’t that old. and you were not dating simon riley.

-

the mission was beautiful, your best one in years. it was the first duo mission between you and simon, so the nerves of pulling your own weight had settled in hard. thankfully, your skills balanced each other out and you’d gotten the target in record time. now, all you had to do was wait in the safe house for exfil.

“you were so good.” you whispered once he’d locked the door. he only hummed a response, checking exit and entry points while you set up your packs, scrounging up MREs and testing the shack for electricity. price wasn’t kidding - it was practically a studio apartment. one bed, a bathroom and a decrepit stove. the soldier part of you was fine with it, but that small soft part of you ached for the warmth of your apartment. memories of yelling at simon for using all your shampoo even though he didn’t live there, of him running you a bath after a long day of training.

“you were good too, baby.” he snuck up from behind your spot on the floor and lifted you onto the mattress that had definitely seen better days. you hadn’t even checked it for bed bugs yet. “c’mere.” he pulled you into his lap, unbuckling your tac vest as you pulled off your bandana. you tugged off his mask - the hard shell since you were on a mission - and ran your nails through his short haircut. simon started kissing your neck, wet and sloppy like he couldn’t get enough. the unrestrained want he displayed sometimes scared you. the respective pulsing in both your chest and cunt scared you more.

“so are you sleeping on the floor or am i?” he flipped you over, your back flush with the mattress as simon loomed over you. there was still eyeblack around his eyes, caught on his blonde eyelashes as well, and you couldn’t help the hand that reached up to brush some of it away. “y’r funny, sweetheart.” you grinned at that - a real toothy smile. he bent down to kiss you, scarred lips caressing your own. simon bit your lip and you moaned, sliding your legs out from under him to wrap them around his torso. when you tugged him in he went willingly, grinding into your clothed cunt. his tac vest was still on, scraping against your shirt, hardening your nipples.

“keepin’ you in this bed all night.” cold fingers dipped past the waist of your pants. you were already wet, his fingers sliding easily up and down your slit as they warmed up. that’s when you realized he still had his glove on, his movements harsher than normal. wide eyes met his own, and simon stopped so you could make a decision.

it didn’t take much as you dug your heels into his back harder, meeting him in a sloppy kiss as his gloved thumb played with your clit. “fuckin’ made for me.” he whispered, and you chalked it up to dirty talk because obviously, you weren’t together. he just knew exactly what to do, giving your clit the right amount of pressure as his other fingers teased your hole, the stretch burning more than usual. it only took a few flicks and you were off, your orgasm settling through your bones like a warm cup of tea. “jesus, si.” he grinned, his scarred lips pulling up to show a beautiful smile. “know ya like th’ back of my hand, huh?” you shook your head, capturing the idiot in another kiss.

-

after the mission, after debrief and a hot shower, you made your way back to your base office. thankfully, paperwork had only slightly piled up. one envelope stood out though - a thick card-stock with glossy, swooping letters. an invite to london’s military gala, addressed to a Lieutenant & Lieutenant. simon’s name was next to yours, connected by a singular symbol. you turned to him in disbelief. simon had been going through his own backlog, but his head snapped up under the focus of your glare.

“simon, are we…dating?”

-

this was fun!!! check out the fic i linked it was so good and i couldn’t put it down.

[sweetiecutie]

Warnings: pantie stealing and sniffing, masturbation, Simon has a crush on you, kinda softie! Simon

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who felt guilt pooling in his chest as he fisted his leaking cock violently, a pair of your pink frilly thongs that he pinched from laundry basket in you house was pressed against his nose, inhaling lungfuls of your soury scent. Bright blush covered his normally pale cheeks, honey-coloured eyes rolling back as Riley’s back arched, series of low groans and stifled moans slipping past his lips as hot cum shot out of his overstimulated cock, landing in small puddles on his pubic and tummy.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who could barely look you in the eyes the whole next week out of sheer shame and embarrassment, brushing you off whenever you tried talking to him. You pouted, not getting such wanted attention from your older brother’s broody best friend, just clicking your tongue as he openly ignored you, finally giving up and turning around on your heels, marching off to your room, snacks and mug of tea in your hands. If only you could see Simon’s eyes lingering longingly on the soft slope of your ass, trying to burn the image in his brain, you small booty shorts doing nothing to hide delicious plumpness of it.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who clenched his teeth tightly, breathing deeply through his nose to try and control himself as you sat on an arm of the armchair he was settled in, drunkenly babbling about some new movie you’ve been meaning to watch. He desperately tried not to look at your tits as you leant against the back of that damned armchair, your chest poking out of the deep cut of your crop top barely ten centimetres away from Simon’s head, basically inviting him to bury his face in beautiful softness of your boobs. But he just gripped his beer tighter, looking strictly in front of him and nodding absentmindedly at your words, subtly shuffling his hoody down to hide a growing tent in his pants.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon on whom you can always count. You need a drive back home after going out for drinks? He’s grabbing his car keys and telling you he’ll be there in a few minutes. Some weirdo has been bothering you at work/uni? Simon is discreetly asking bastard’s name as to not rise any suspicions in you, just to have a little friendly chat with him a bit later, making sure to break duchebag’s nose so he doesn’t stick it into your business anymore. There’s something off with your car and you need to get it fixed? How good that Simon is a handyman, bringing your car back to life not worse than any mechanic would (and he’s definitely not flexing his stupidly big biceps while doing it).

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who knew better than to make a move on you. He knew you liked him, and he liked you too (more like was totally obsessed). But he valued his best friend too much, knowing perfectly well that he wouldn’t appreciate it if Simon fucked his little sister.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who realised that he was absolutely, utterly, totally fucked as he watched you and your older brother roughhousing around the kitchen, bickering and play-fighting - your smile was so bright and warm, making him feel hot like sun in the middle of August, your loud laughter made his chest buzz with something soft and Riley felt as if he was about to pass out because of the flow of softness he felt for you that moment. Soon your eyes met his, mischievous smirk curled your pretty lips as you threw a pillow at him, surely dragging Simon into your little brawl, creating a huge mess for which all three of you will surely get a good scolding from your mom.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who tried to distance himself from you because you deserved more than him. He genuinely did try to ignore all your soft smiles and fleeting touches, the way you batted you pretty eyelashes as you listened to him explaining something to you or the way you would nibble on your bottom lip as your eyes wandered up and down his torso as he wore one of his compression shirts. Simon did try his best to save you from himself, but all of his resolve vanished completely and utterly the moment you got brave enough to stand to your tippy toes and press a tentative kiss to his chapped lips.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who scooped you up in his arms, giving you no chance to escape as he deepened the kiss, moaning quietly into your mouth as you let his tongue in, greedy hands roaming up and down your body, feeling all the curves and dips of it - just like he dreamt of doing past few years. Simon barely registered pressing you against the wall, meaty forearms boxing you as his torso pressed against yours, grinding his boner against your tummy, goosebumps running up his spine as he felt your small arms gripping on his sides, pressing him closer to yourself.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who broke off your kiss, a silver strand of saliva connected your lips as he gazed deeply in your eyes, blush on your face made him feel warm and proud. He pressed his lips against your forehead, nosing at your hair and inhaling sweet scent of your shampoo. Withdrawing back for just a few centimetres he muttered in his raspy breathy voice “Go out with me”

Likes, reblogs and comment are highly appreciated, give writers some love!🩷 I’m thinking about making part 2, let me know what you think<3