Simon Ghost Riley X You - Tumblr Posts

Boyfriend!Simon coming home to reader cooking dinner, and he doesn't read the room good enough to notice that you are stressed and pissed about your day.

He hugs you from behind, resting his chin on your head, and you are expecting him to say something nice or sweet; and instead he grabs your boob and grind your ass while he says something like: "My good, wifey, only good for making me dinner and taking my good big fat cock."

You turn around slowly, not believing that he said such a fucking stupid thing. You grab his shirt collar pulling him close to your face and say through gritted teeth: "I swear to fucking god, Simon Riley. If you ever say anything so fucking stupid to me again, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to the dogs, am I clear?"

And Simon simply goes:

He was just manifesting the degradation kink

Also, happy valentines ♥️

Watching football with the lads at your house while you're seven months pregnant

You've got your back pressed against your husband's chest on the couch while his palm rests flat on your very swollen belly, mindlessly rubbing random shapes

His lips are pressed against your ear, occasionally asking if you're feeling ok as he slowly trails gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder

You raise your hand, your palm facing him for a high-five every time Man United scores

And your heart flutters with pure love and utter happiness as you share this beautiful moment together

im all giddy and giggly at the thought of simon showing his love for his wife in front of everyone🥹😭💗

Can't stop thinking about pregnant!reader constantly snapping at simon and being tired and him just being so understanding and everyone that sees them just don't get it? Because how is the Lieutenant that snaps at whoever being this soft🫡🫡

you've been bringing your own lunch to work because you hate the meals the mess hall makes. it makes your pregnant belly absolutely angry, and simon's held your hair up enough times to know that if he doesn't pack you something to eat before you go, it'll be hell on earth.

the rec room door slams open. everyone jumps, startled in their seats, and simon just stares, leaning against the wall by the open window as he puffs on a cigarette.

his eyes focus on you just as you angrily waddle your way over. he doesn't even flinch when you smack the cigarette out of his mouth, stomping on it with your boot as you glare up at him. all he does is smirk a little, reaching down and thumbing at your jaw.

"'ello, beautiful," he murmurs, his dark eyes roaming over your face. you let him touch for just a moment before you hit his hand off.

"don't try and butter me up," you snap, narrowing your eyes more. "you forgot...you forgot!"

he sighs, licking over his bottom lip.

"never seen anythin' prettier than ya," he whispers. he wants to shove down your pants and fuck your sopping cunt (he knows you're wet, you always are now), but instead he just lets out a soft breath and takes in how pretty you really are. just gorgeous--those big, pouty lips, all glossy and wet. those eyes--what drew him to you in the first place, that gaze that could stop a thousand bullets.

"you forgot my lunch, simon," you cry, and he cups your face, shaking his head. "i hate you. you're a sorry bastard! what's wrong with you?!"

he leans down and pecks your lips through the mask, and johnny, who's been slack-jawed and caught off-guard since you came into the room, turns to look at gaz--who's equally as confused.

"didn't forget, swee'eart," simon murmurs. "got y'some take-away. thought y'might fancy somethin' else."

your angry expression fades just a little, and you smooth both hands over your bump.

"you...you did?" you sniffle, and simon chuckles, nodding.

"y'r just tired, luv...aren't ya?"

you nod, closing your eyes. he soaks up your tears with the thumbs of his gloved hands.

"y'r feet oll swollen..." he kisses your jaw through the mask, and your eyes flutter a little. "c'mon, bubs. let's get ya off y'r feet, aye? get ya some food?"

you let him coax your face into his chest, and you settle there, taking a deep breath.

"you need to stop smoking," you whisper as you get a whiff of the scent on his clothes. "if i catch you again, i'll kill you."

"olright, luv," he agrees absentmindedly, turning you around to guide you out of the room. your food is in his room since he doesn't trust his sergeants not to pick at it if he left it in the shared fridge. "woteva ya say."

when you both close the door behind you, johnny blinks.

"i think i just saw a ghost, a real one..." he murmurs. "i must've just seen a ghost, gaz, have i gone mad? or did i just see our lieutenant with a lass? and did she just call 'im a bastard?"

"no," gaz turns back to their card game, dealing out another hand. "no, we didn't see anythin', soap."

"huh?"

"we didn't...see...anything."

Can't stop thinking about pregnant!reader constantly snapping at simon and being tired and him just being so understanding and everyone that sees them just don't get it? Because how is the Lieutenant that snaps at whoever being this soft🫡🫡

you've been bringing your own lunch to work because you hate the meals the mess hall makes. it makes your pregnant belly absolutely angry, and simon's held your hair up enough times to know that if he doesn't pack you something to eat before you go, it'll be hell on earth.

the rec room door slams open. everyone jumps, startled in their seats, and simon just stares, leaning against the wall by the open window as he puffs on a cigarette.

his eyes focus on you just as you angrily waddle your way over. he doesn't even flinch when you smack the cigarette out of his mouth, stomping on it with your boot as you glare up at him. all he does is smirk a little, reaching down and thumbing at your jaw.

"'ello, beautiful," he murmurs, his dark eyes roaming over your face. you let him touch for just a moment before you hit his hand off.

"don't try and butter me up," you snap, narrowing your eyes more. "you forgot...you forgot!"

he sighs, licking over his bottom lip.

"never seen anythin' prettier than ya," he whispers. he wants to shove down your pants and fuck your sopping cunt (he knows you're wet, you always are now), but instead he just lets out a soft breath and takes in how pretty you really are. just gorgeous--those big, pouty lips, all glossy and wet. those eyes--what drew him to you in the first place, that gaze that could stop a thousand bullets.

"you forgot my lunch, simon," you cry, and he cups your face, shaking his head. "i hate you. you're a sorry bastard! what's wrong with you?!"

he leans down and pecks your lips through the mask, and johnny, who's been slack-jawed and caught off-guard since you came into the room, turns to look at gaz--who's equally as confused.

"didn't forget, swee'eart," simon murmurs. "got y'some take-away. thought y'might fancy somethin' else."

your angry expression fades just a little, and you smooth both hands over your bump.

"you...you did?" you sniffle, and simon chuckles, nodding.

"y'r just tired, luv...aren't ya?"

you nod, closing your eyes. he soaks up your tears with the thumbs of his gloved hands.

"y'r feet oll swollen..." he kisses your jaw through the mask, and your eyes flutter a little. "c'mon, bubs. let's get ya off y'r feet, aye? get ya some food?"

you let him coax your face into his chest, and you settle there, taking a deep breath.

"you need to stop smoking," you whisper as you get a whiff of the scent on his clothes. "if i catch you again, i'll kill you."

"olright, luv," he agrees absentmindedly, turning you around to guide you out of the room. your food is in his room since he doesn't trust his sergeants not to pick at it if he left it in the shared fridge. "woteva ya say."

when you both close the door behind you, johnny blinks.

"i think i just saw a ghost, a real one..." he murmurs. "i must've just seen a ghost, gaz, have i gone mad? or did i just see our lieutenant with a lass? and did she just call 'im a bastard?"

"no," gaz turns back to their card game, dealing out another hand. "no, we didn't see anythin', soap."

"huh?"

"we didn't...see...anything."

simon who falls asleep face down in the pussy!!

your fingers curl into his scalp, warm thighs encompassing all round his head. everything about you is so warm, so soft like a pillow he can’t help the way his mind wanders off with the sweet taste of you, the way his eyes flutter tiredly.

you can feel the heady drag of his tongue against your clit lighten up, like a feather teasing at the beating pearl. n you give him a soft tug, dipping your chin to peer down at his pretty face between your thighs.

“you okay, si?” your murmur out softly, petting the top of his head in gentle motions.

“mm’okay,” he slurs, slurping up at your clit softly before he’s sucking up round it. he’s barely conscious, just enough to register the lullaby of your soft whimpers, the twitch of your thighs.

his tongue slips down further, jaw dropping wide when he forces the cute lil pink muscle to reach depths in your slippery cunt. n you perk up, back arching up n nails scratching at his scalp.

it all dawns on him, mind n darkness entrancing him all too soon. “taste so good, mama, so…” n his words trail off into a slur. you can feel his head loll forward, his nose press between your folds in a deep breath.

you shudder when he exhales, thighs squeezing up round his head but you fight to stay still. yet it begins to turn into a struggle when his spit drools from his open lips. you can feel it drip, slip down over your pretty cunt n lower till you’re gasping softly to yourself.

oop. ✋🤚 lemme just step back for a sec

simon can't get over the feel of how tight your cunt gets everytime he comes back from a mission. it's not been stretched in a while, your little fingers or toys are nothing in comparison to his fucking thick length.

"shit" he curses with every thrust, "how do you get so fucking tight every time? jesus christ. just squeezing me, aren't you?"

your mouth would be dropped open, pleasure and pain mixing together, your tight pussy opening up to take him in.

again and again, rough, full thrusts that make you run your nails down his back. he doesn't even react to the pain of that, too focused on opening you up for him.

"shit. gonna have to fuck this pretty cunt every day"

he smirks as he sees you gasp and writhe beneath him, too fucked out to reply.

"multiple times a day too, yeah?"

Y/n: You two okay?

Soap staring at the wall: I don’t know y/n..seeing life is hell. We just work, eat and sleep..

Ghost: ..Is this our life?

Y/n: your drunk aren’t you?

—

Price: Why did you eat a damn battery?!

Y/n throwing up in the bathroom: Because it’s the best way to power myself for your team bullshit.

Price:

—

Laswell: I still think it’s call soccer..

Price: it’s Football!

Gaz: Should we stop this argument?

Y/n: no no.. I wanna see who wins

Soap and Ghost watching everything display out:

—

Price: Now, ladies are fine, but guns..

Gaz: Definitely would pick a gun over lady.

Y/n drinking soda cross from them:

—

Y/n: where the fuck are the bandages?!

Price: I don’t know Ghost took them for something.

Soap running into the room: Guys! Look! Mummy!

Ghost walks in annoyed wrapped in the bandages: ah?

Y/n and Price:

—

Y/n: you two are childish.

Soap: *Dramatic gasp * We are not!

Y/n: Them get out the fucking tank!

Ghost: no.

Soap: *closes the hatch to the tank*

Y/n: Mother fuckers.. Price! They are in the tank again!

Price: I don’t get paid enough for this shit..

—

Gaz: Y/n what is your dream guy?

Ghost listens carefully

Y/n: Well.. I already have someone

Gaz: Really who?

Y/n: *pulls out a squish mellow plushie* His name is skelly, been with him since I joined the army.

Gaz and Ghost:

Y/n: What?

—

Y/n: *drinking coffee*

Ghost: You like something warm and nice in your throat don’t you?

Y/n: *Chokes on the coffee * Excu—

Soap sitting next to Y/n also drinking coffee: Hell ya I do papi

Ghost and Y/n:

—

Alejandro: can you drive?

Y/n: ..Yeah..

Moments later

Alejandro: *holding onto dear life onto the car door*

Soap: how long has he been like that?

Y/n: couple minutes, I told him I stopped driving but he hasn’t moved.

—

Ghost: That’s gay

Soap: getting no bitches is gayer.

Y/n: OH HE GOT YOU THERE!

Ghost:

—

Price: Y/n it has come time..for yo—

Y/n: to quit? Because this team is pure chaos.

Price: it is not

Y/n Points to Gaz and Soap eating a bandages as Ghost times them.

Price:

—

Y/n: what’s your worst fear?

Soap: A loving ghost.

Ghost over hearing the conversation

Next day

Soap: *running for his life*

Ghost walking after him with his arms open: come back here! I want hug you buddy!

Y/n: ..that is scary..

—

Tattoos Tell A Story

Part 2 now up (here), Part 3 (here)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!reader

Summary: Coloring in Ghost’s tattoos has become somewhat of a habit. It’s this habit that’s leads you to discovering a tattoo he had gotten done without your knowledge.

Warnings: Fluff, like so much fluff

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr and I have no idea what I’m doing. Requests now open! Pls give me some ideas😭

You found it one day during one of your little “coloring sessions”,A little habit you’ve picked up ever since that one rainy day in July. Ghost had just come back from a mission and you both wanted to soak in as much of the other as possible, just bask in one another’s presence. Three months with nothing more then a letter exchange here and there, you were gonna enjoy as much time with your boyfriend as possible.

You remember lightly stroking his arm as you curiously asked him why all of his tattoos were so dull.

~*~

“Pardon?” He questions if he heard you right.

“Your tattoos, all of them are just black. There’s no color.” Your eyes still haven’t left where you are softly tracing one of his tattoos, a depiction of an assault rifle rapped in thorns.

He raises his other tattooed arm for inspection, as if he had forgotten what it looked like.

“I don’t need em’ all flashy. Besides,” he shrugs,”Think they look better this way.”

You make a noise of disagreement, shaking your head, until a thought seems to strike you, raising your head from where it was previously laying on his shoulder, eyes looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

“Wanna bet?” Is all he gets before you bolt out of his grip, standing up to dig through the bedside drawer, grabbing a case of markers out before diving back into bed, a little too excitedly seeing as how the whole thing rocked.

You hold the case up to him as a kid would show a crayon drawing to their parents.

He stares at the markers before flicking his eyes to you.

“What are ya doin’?

You completely ignore him as you smile, a little manically, and turn to grab his arm and get to work.

He may have complained, but he never stopped you.

And he would never admit it out loud, but it did look kinda cool

It also put him to sleep

~*~

And now your little “coloring sessions” have become a bit of a recurring thing.

Sick and stuck in bed? He gives you his arm.

That time of the month and you’re curled under the covers with cramps? He’s already grabbing the markers for you.

Just having a bit of a lazy cuddle session? You’re instinctually grabbing his arm.

Today, it’s the third option. He had once again just got home from a mission and, though not as long as some of his other send offs, it still seemed way too long to you. You were sitting against one another, your back to his chest, one arm hugging you to him, the other clutched in your grasp as you fill in his uncolored tattoos with your pack of markers. His masked face was pressed against the side of your head as he watched your hands delicately glide the marker across his skin, sometimes throwing in a cheeky comment or two about how a certain color didn’t go somewhere, which earned him a slap to the thigh.

You finished filling in the rose near his elbow, moving further down towards his hand, but something catches your eye.

You’d done this countless times now, you probably know his tattoos better than he does at this point. You know that the ink goes a little off line on his skull tattoo, you know that there’s a little stray mark beside the oak tree on his bicep. You know every detail and mistake.

That’s how you know this wasn’t here before.

It’s a small little heart on the inside of his wrist, not filled in because of course it isn’t.

You bring it up closer to your face for inspection, and that’s when you notice it

The writing inside.

Y/n

It…was your name?

You whip around to look back at him with questioning eyes.

The mask completely covered the lower part of his face,though his eyes gave away the soft smirk lurking beneath.

“The boys wanted to celebrate the win. Tattoos were Mactavish’s idea.” Bastards trying to be all nonchalant about it.

“But-but, why this?” You shove his own arm into his face, like he didn’t already know what was on it.

He shrugs,”Racked my brain for an idea, but, seems you’re the only thing on my mind these days. Couldn’t get ya out of my head-“

He huffs as you plow into him with a hug, immediately engulfing you in his muscled arms.

Simon never was one for excessive pda or poetic words, rather he showed love through his actions. Attempting to cook for you, making you bubble baths, bringing you heating pads and medicine for your cramps. And this was just another one added to the list, maybe the best of them all in your opinion, cause a tattoo-a tattoo’s pretty dang permanent. In his mind, you know, this is his promise of forever to you. His version of a promise ring.

There’s no tears shed, you never were much of a crier, but the emotions were definitely felt. The warmth, the happiness, the love, all of it was basically drowning you at this point.

“You know tattoo removals hurt right?” You lean away enough to look him in the eye,”Like-like what happens if this doesn’t work out, if you decide you’re tired of me,I don’t know, piggy backing you all the time or something and you have to go get this covered?” You motion to his arm.

It’s said as a joke, but he can still somehow detect the hint of serious worry in your voice.

He lightly grabs you under the chin,”Sweetheart, if I let a catch like you go then I deserve the pain.”

Alright you know you said you weren’t a crier, but that might have brought some moisture to your eye.

He doesn’t even try and stop you as your reach to roll the mask up to his nose, a testament of how much he trusts you. Overwhelmed with emotions, you tenderly cup his face to pull him into a kiss.

It’s slow and gentle, just a smooth glide of your lips against his. His hands gently rubbing up and down your sides. You lovingly gliding your thumb across his light stubble, breathing in his musky cologne. Although intense, the kiss contains absolutely no heat, no sexual insinuation. Instead, you feel only one thing.

Love

“I love you.” You relay breathlessly as you pull away, gently knocking your forehead against his.

You share a few breathes before he replies

“I….care, about you too,” you slap his arm with an unimpressed look,”Kidding! Of course I bloody love you, got your name tattooed on my arm for gosh sa-

You cut him off with another kiss.

~*~

Bonus:

You were once again laid on the bed, squished up against his side with a thick arm wrapped around your shoulder. Your eyes caught sight of your name engraved in his skin.

You smirk at the sight,”You know,” you break silence, catching his attention away from the tv,”It would have looked better if you had gotten the heart filled in with red.”

He’s a little confused for a second before catching your line of sight. He rolls his eyes, jostling you slightly as he sat up to reach beside the bed. Now you’re the one confused.

“Well, if that was the case,” he rolls back over to present you with a red marker,”You wouldn’t get to do it yourself, now would ya’?”

You grab the marker, sparing glances between it and the proud look on Simon’s face.

Your man, This man really got a tattoo with the intent for you to do your silly little coloring on it.

Yep, definitely love him.

Tattoos Tell A Story part 2

Part 1 here, Part 3 here

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You decide to give Ghost a taste of his own medicine

Warnings: None?, Some kissing??, FLUFF, Ghost being bby gurl

A/n: This was requested by @v1naco . I hope I did your wonderful idea justice! Also how the heck did this end up so long??

You would like to make one thing clear.

You love watching Simon get tattoos.

Not only is his deliciously huge arm on full display, but the way his muscles flex when the needle hit a particularly sensitive part of his arm?

Oh you were down bad.

Yes you know he’s technically in pain but come onnn-

He had wanted to get the date of one of his most recent victorious mission tattooed on the inside of his bicep.

What kind of mission was it? You weren’t sure, you know, with it being “classified” and all.

He told you in secret at home

Once told of his plans, you had immediately accepted to tag along and boy are you glad you did. Originally it was for the purpose of just spending as much time with your boyfriend as possible, but you didn’t realize it’d be such a sight.

“Enjoying the view there sweetheart?”

You startle slightly, flicking your eyes away from his arm to Ghost’s masked face. You know there’s a smirk hiding under there somewhere.

Cocky bastard

You clear your throat, repositioning in your seat slightly ,”Uh, no I-I was just….. admiring Jackson’s handiwork.” You claim.

Simon looks you up and down,“Mhm, whatever you say love.”

Jackson, the tattoo artist, just chuckles at the couples antics, eyes never leaving his work.

Ghost knew Jackson pretty well due to him having worked on most of his arm sleeve. He was the only artist in the area that would agree to the service of a scarily large man in a sketchy skull mask and hood, the others immediately declined as soon as he stepped through the door, some even reaching for their phone in a concealed panic. Not that they could really be blamed for their hesitance. He is pretty intimidating if you didn’t know him.

Your eyes now purposefully wander anywhere around the parlor except Simon. You would not be giving him the pleasure of catching you gawking again.

Your gaze skims over a variety of stencils hung on the walls. You never minded the idea of getting a tattoo yourself, you were just too indecisive to ever settle on one.

But maybe one of Jackson’s will stick out to me, you think as you exam the references pinned to the wall

Maybe a bird?

Or a moon?

Possibly a flower?

Oo, that bunny’s pretty cute.

Maybe a-

Wait

Is that-

You squint your eyes to see it clearer, before they quickly widen again

It is

You can’t help the slight maniacal smirk that overtakes your face

That one’s perfect

-+-

It had been about a week since the tattoo parlor and honestly? You had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Simon had still yet to notice your skins new…..addition. You’d think a military man would be more observant.

Although, in your boyfriends defense, it was so small and in such a hidden place that even you yourself had a hard time seeing it.

You and Ghost were in the kitchen together, him in charge of the noodles while you made the sauce. Normally y’all would just order some take-out, but you both decided to try something new. Neither you or him were five star chefs by any means, only able to follow along to a recipe. A very detailed recipe.

You were leaning over the stove just trying to stir the ingredients though your hair obviously did not get the memo. No matter what you did, tucking it behind your ear, blowing it back with your mouth, it just would not get out of your face.

You pull a strand in front of you, eyes almost crossing from it being so close, and glared at it as if it had personally offended you.

I swear to gosh, one day I’m just gonna freaking shave all of it off-

“Here,” comes a distinctly deep, British voice from behind. When had he gotten over here?,”Let me.”

You feel the strands of hair get pulled gently from your grasp as he gradually gathers it all into one extremely large hand. He gingerly rakes his fingers through your locks, eliminating any knots or lumps. Using the hair band from his wrist, where did he get that from?, he joins all of it into a ponytail.

You’re kinda sad to feel his fingers retreat from your scalp.

You run a hand over your head, examining his work. You’re fairly surprised to feel that there’s only a small hump or two.

“Hm, not bad for a man with sandpaper hands.” You jest with a smile.

You don’t get a response

The sound of breathing coming from behind tells you he hasn’t moved either.

“Simon?” You question, turning to look over your shoulder.

The man in question was standing stock still, you’d think he was a mannequin if not for his chest moving up and down. His gaze zeroed in on your ear.

You instinctively raise a hand to the spot in question, and that’s when it finally dawns on you.

He’s not looking at your ear.

No, he’s looking behind it.

You smile

So your little game of spot the difference was finally over.

“You like it?” You ask smugly

Simon doesn’t know what to say, just eye’s the nape of your neck in bewilderment. This was absolutely not here before. Where your skin was previously unblemished, now contains a tattoo about the size of his thumb.

A skull tattoo.

“When did you get this?” He asks instead, finger coming up to rub over it, almost as if he thinks it’s fake, thinks that the ink will smudge under his thumb.

“‘Bout a week ago.” You admit with a shrug, trying to be nonchalant about it.

His eyes finally shift to your face,”And you didn’t tell me?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, grabbing his arm that contains the tattoo of your name and pushing it in his face,”Hypocritical much?”

He looks from his arm, to your tattoo, then to your face, as if he was putting together a puzzle.

“Is the tattoo an expression of love or a ploy of revenge?” He asks with suspicion.

You shrug, a smile gracing the corner of your mouth,”Can’t it be both?”

He eyes you for a moment, shaking his head in exasperation, but you could of swore his eyes lit in amusement.

Oh!

You about forgot something!

“Did you notice any details about it, a letter perhaps?” You question coyly.

No he hadn’t

He gently grips your chin to turn it to the side, dipping his head a little to get a closer look.

Oh.

He can see it now.

There’s a few cracks on the side of the skull and , if he looks close enough, he can see that they join to make a letter.

S

“Does tha-does that stand for-“

“Simon? Yeah, yeah it does.”

He stands there, just silently rubbing your tattoo again for a moment. You’re not complaining though, you’re just soaking in his touch. His fingers feel good.

You clear your throat, gently taking a hold of the hand rubbing your neck,”So? You like i-“

You’re cut off by him surging forward, capturing you in a kiss.

Definitely worth the pain of the needle.

-*-

You were both laying in bed after supper, your stomachs full. Full of take-out, not home cooked pasta because you may or may not have gotten distracted and singed the noodles and turned the toast to basically charcoal.

You were in a spooning position, his large arms wrapped around your waist, mask finally taken off in the darkness of your room.

“You know,” He breaks the silence,”I really do appreciate it, the tattoo.”

“Thought it was only fair. You know, with you getting one for me and all.” Your voices are soft, just whispers in the night.

“You know you didn’t have to do it, right? Not just cause I did.” Anyone that didn’t know Simon would judge from his gruff voice that he was bored or uninterested, maybe even irritated. But you did know him, which means you easily pick up on even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

Your brows furrow,”That’s not the only reason I got it.”

When you receive only silence you look over your shoulder at him, “You know that, right?” You ask as if it was obvious. You thought it was.

Once again, you receive only silence. You really wish it wasn’t so dark so you could read his expressions.

You shift your body so that you’re fully facing him.

“Hey,” you reach for the hand around you’re waist and hold it to your chest,”You know I love you right?”

“Yeah?” You don’t like that he sounds so hesitant.

“Simon,” you make sure he knows you’re serious,”I love you. You’re the only person I ever want to love, and I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, and I sure as heck ain’t planning going anywhere anytime soon. So why wouldn’t I want evidence of you on my body?” You use your other hand to cup his cheek.

The breath he lets out sounds shaky, letting you know your little speech hit him right in the way you wanted it to. You can’t see anything but the outline of his figure, though you swear you can feel his gaze piercing you.

He brings the hand you’re not holding to rub the spot behind your ear where you know his initial lies.

“I love you too,” He confesses on a quivering exhale.

You slowly lean in for a kiss, not quite sure where his lips are in the dark but somehow hitting them almost perfectly the first try, almost as if it was second nature to you now. That’s something you never really felt before Simon. Sure you had locked lips with other guys but you never knew there could be such emotion in just a kiss. With him, it’s almost like your minds, as well as your lips, are closely connected for that moment. You can feel the love, the passion, the joy, all of it with just a touch of mouths.

Ghost is the one to break it first, breath fanning over your face as he speaks,”I just have one question.”

“Hm?” Your mind is still frazzled by that short intense make out session.

“Was it when I went to the bar with Johnny that Friday?”

Your mind slowly catches on to what he’s saying, letting out a small giggle. That’s confirmation enough for him.

“And you said you were just gonna have a lazy night in?” His fake anger makes your giggles worse.

“You went to the stinking parlor instead didn’t you?”

You don’t even know why this has tickled you so badly, but soon Simon’s own deep chuckles join yours.

He pulls you into his chest, “Sneaky girl.”

You two just laugh harder

I love your writing so much, if it wouldn't be too much trouble could do you something where Ghost and the reader get tattoos together

(kinda like the story where the 2 got tattoos for each other without the other knowing but this time they decide to get one together?)

If not thats 100% okay and I hope you have an Amazing day!

Warnings: None? Needles I guess? But it’s not described. Fluffffff

A/n: Sorry this took so long, my motivation has been 📉 lately. But thank you so much for the kind words and amazing request❤️ Hope you like it! Also this is technically a part 3 to my other story but can be read as a standalone.

-$-

“Would you get another one?” He asks suddenly one day as their sitting at the table, a deck of cards in hand.

Yes you know having poker be your date night activity is strange, but your relationship wasn’t exactly anyones definition of “normal” to begin with. But it was your normal. So, yes, sitting at the table on a Friday night with a group of playing cards in one hand and a take out taco in the other was your definition of a good time, sue you.

You look up from your deck at his question, he still hadn’t looked up from his, “What?”

“A tattoo. Would you ever get another one?” He questions, leaning back in his seat, eyes finally connecting to yours.

“I-I mean I’m not- opposed to the idea, if I found the right one.” You’re still not sure of the meaning of this. The question was so sudden

He hums, nodding his head. Eyes gazing back down at his cards, as if they held all the answers.

You raise an eyebrow, “why?” You drawl out.

He shrugs,“Curious.” Is all you get as response before he stands up, throwing his deck down on the table, “I win.” He proclaims in in a baritone voice, then promptly turns to step out of the room. Your eyes following him in total confusion.

They then flick down to his discarded hand.

A royal flush.

That bastard.

Shaking your head slightly, you can’t help but let a fond smirk overtake your face as your ears catch onto the sound of water pittering against the shower floor.

Your boyfriend, the man of many words.

-$-

About a week later.

“Are we there yet?”

Simon sighs in annoyance, the hand not on the steering wheel rubbing his temple, “You’re not bloody five years old, stop asking me that.”

You give him a pouty lip just for show,”But we’ve been driving forever.”

“Twenty minutes. We’ve drove for twenty minutes.”

That short?… really?

“Well how the heck am I supposed to know that, I can’t d*mn well watch the clock now can I?” You question rhetorically as you lightly tug on the blindfold secured around your eyes for emphasis.

He lightly swats your hand away,”Don’t touch it.”

You huff indignantly, but do lower your hand,”Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

“Oh come on.”

Simon huffs, that seems to be a reoccurring thing for him the last twenty minutes, “Impatient little thing.”

You could’ve swore you heard some fondness in that sentence.

-$-

Around, what you assume to be, ten minutes later, you feel Ghost’s truck gently pull to a stop. Slightly jostling the both of you as you hear the gear shift click into park.

You sit up in your seat,”Are we there?”

“Yes.”

“Oh thank gosh. Can I please take this off now?” You point towards the blind fold,”I don’t know how you wear that mask 24/7, this thing is killer.”

“It’s not that bad.” You can hear his seatbelt click and the sound of his old Ford door creaking open.

“Wait! Can I take this thing off or not?”

“Almost.” The truck shifts as he steps out. Giving a slight rock at the absence of Simon’s massive body weight.

The door shutting cuts off any response you had. For a short split second you think he’s left you, until he opens your door. Ever the gentleman.

You unbuckle and twist around, legs hanging out the door. Now how are you going to do this blind? You try wiggling your foot around, but can’t feel anything but air.

“Uh- could you like guide me to-“

You cut yourself off with a squeal as, without a word, you’re swept out of your seat. Simon picking you up in a bridal carry, one hand under your thighs, the other around your back, as you rap your hands around his neck in a panic.

“Simon-!”

“Every girl wants to be treated like a princess at least once, don’t they?” You can physically hear his smirk.

It’s embarrassing how much that made your heart flutter.

“You could at least warn me first!”

“Then I wouldn’t get to hear that cute little squeak.” He gives a deep chuckle

You’d never admit to the extent of redness that your cheeks turned to.

You’d also never admit how much you like the feeling of his large hands gripping tightly to the bare skin of your thighs. The gentle scrape of his calisced fingers being almost therapeutic. For such a large man, his hold is surprisingly gentle, always is when he’s touching you. Never wanting to bring you any semblance of pain.

Even after all this time, his touch never fails to raise your skin into goosebumps.

“Alright,” his words bring you back from your touch induced daze,”We’re here.” He sets you back onto your feet, your hands lingering around his neck a little longer than necessary.

“Allow me.” You feel his hands reach around the back of your head, fiddling with the knot.

The blindfold slips loose easily underneath his skilled fingers.

Your eyelashes flutter open now that the obscurity is out of the way. Though you’re forced to immediately scrunch them back closed as the light floods your corneas, leaving colorful spots dancing across the back of your eyelids. It’s only after a few tries that you can actually see anything then just a bright white. Vision finally clearing, you take in your surroundings, particularly the building with a big neon sign atop it.

It’s-

It’s-

The tattoo parlor?

You flick your curious eyes from the sign to Ghost. His face, the upper half that’s not obscured by the black surgical mask, almost looks, dare you say, nervous. Well, maybe not fully nervous, but, slightly unsure of himself?

“Wha-what are we doing here exactly?”

“Well-uh- I thought that, maybe we could get tattoos?”

“But-we already have tattoos?” He made the big deal of blindfolding you, and hauling your a** out of the car to,,get more tattoos. You’d accompanied him to this place multiple times, what’s different now?

“I meant like, together?”

It takes your brain an embarrassingly long time to catch on, your period of silence making Simon’s hesitation only grow.

“Ohhhhh, you mean like-like a couples tattoo.” You feel your smile start to grow as you grab his arm, pulling on it in excitement like a kid in a candy store.

Ghost’s hesitation seems to all but disappear in the face of your happiness, his eyes softening as he observed your childish antics.

“Yeah.” He finally responds breathily, before he remembers something,”I’ve gotta’ picture of the stencils if you wanna-“ He reaches towards his back pocket, though your hand over his stops him. He look up into your eyes, which are shining with love and joy.

“I’m sure whatever you have in mind is perfect.” You lean up on your tiptoes to give him a sweet peck on the cheek,”Thank you.”

You could’ve swore you saw his cheeks turn a little pink, though he doesn’t let you observe him for long before he’s clearing his throat, turning his face away.

He offers his hand to you in invitation,”Ready?”

You smile, placing your hand in his,”Yep!”

-$-

You both take turns since Ghost refuses to use any of the other artists besides Jackson. And refuses to let you use anyone else. Says he trusts him the most, with his whole identity thing and to not hurt you.

Simon won’t even let you in the room during his session, saying that he wants to reveal it after they’re both finished. He sits by your side during your tattooing, holding your hand and making sure you don’t look before it’s finished. Even rubs his hand over your arm when you wince, whispering a little “You got this princess” in your ear.

Jackson wipes the remaining ink residue from your lower arm,”Alright, looks like we’re finished!” He begins cleaning up his tools.

You and Simon turn to look at one another.

“You wanna see em’?” He asks.

You give him a deadpan expression,”No, I wanna wait another hour. Of course I wanna see!” You excitedly sit up on the bench

He fondly shakes his head, and when he speaks, you can hear the smile, “Alright, close your’ eyes for a moment.” An order you immediately comply with.

You hear rustling and then a slight ripping sound, which you assume is him tearing the bandage from his own tattoo if Jackson’s chastisements are anything to go by. Chastisements that Simon, of course, answers with a quick “Stop your bloody worrying, it’ll be fine”

You feel him grab your arm, careful around the tender area, and pull it up in front of you, placing it beside of his.

“You can look.”

You eyes flutter open, even though in the dim parlor lights you’re not nearly as blinded as when you removed the blindfold earlier, it still takes a second for shapes to register. When they do, your gaze immediately latches on to the two arms displayed in front of you. Your breath hitches.

“You like em’?” And there’s that unsureness again. Rearing it’s head in the face of your prolonged silence.

You look at him, eyes hesitant to leave Jackson’s masterpieces, “Like them? I love them!”

You basically tackle him in a hug, again, being careful with your arm, and almost fall off the bench from the momentum. Ghost lets out a little huff of amusement as he catch’s your weight with his other arm, “They’re perfect. Thank you.” You lean back enough to look at him.

He bumps his forehead lightly against yours,”Anything for you, sweetheart.”

The endearment makes you heart jump, a soft smile lighting your face. Every single thing this man does, makes you fall farther and farther in the depths of love.

“Can we please cover them now?” Jackson exclaims from the other side of the room, holding up a roll bandages.

You both burst out in giggles.

Soap and Ghost with a s/o on their period

Warnings: period blood, fluff

A/n: I feel like I’m bleeding out rn and need to vent

Ghost:

Is absolutely not grossed out by your period, I mean this man sees blood everyday, he’s used to it, plus it’s natural right? As long as it’s coming from a menstrual cycle and not some major wound, he’s good

Is absolutely clueless when it comes to female issues. Like he knows all the medical stuff of what’s happening to you and why it’s happening but as far as how to comfort you and make you feel better? Completely clueless. He’s never really had a close enough relationship with another woman to have to deal with this.

Not saying he won’t help you out though, just need’s a little guidance. Will 100% do anything you tell him to. He’d be your good little soldier. You want take out? He’s calling it in. You want a warm bath? He’s carrying you to the bathroom.

Would probably sit on the side of your bed rubbing a large hand over your back or through your hair.

Though if you don’t feel like being touched and want distance? He’s a big boy, he can take no for an answer and not pout about it. “That’s fine doll, whatever you need.” Though he’ll still be coming in the room ever thirty minutes to check in on you with an “You alright, love?”

Will give you one of his gigantic shirts to wear since you don’t want tight fabric rubbing against you right now.

Would do everything around the house for you without being asked. It’s how he’d show he cared since he wasn’t one for lovey dovey words. Feeling guilty, you’d keep trying to get up to help him, despite his many refusals. About the fifth time he’d eventually just pick you up over his shoulder and carry you back to bed himself.

.“Nope, you’re gonna sit your little arse in bed and let me do the bloody dishes.” “But it’s not fair for you to do all the dirty work.” “I’m not the one bleeding out my a**.”

Your snarky reply of “That’s not exactly where it’s coming from” has him slamming the bedroom door in your face. Would definitely just pop back in your room a few minutes later with a tub of ice cream though.

Soap:

Like ghost, he’s not grossed out at all by your period.

Unlike Ghost, I feel like he would know exactly what to do for you. Chocolate, flowers, basically makes you a whole nest on your bed of pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, etc. Basically, he would just be absolutely perfect.

This man is a major cuddler and you can’t convince me other wise. Would spoon you from behind while holding a heating pad to your aching stomach. Running his other hand up and down your side and back.

But, he too, would of course understand if you didn’t want to be touched. Would maybe joke around and pout at you a little,”If ye’ don’ love me no more, jus’ say that.” But would end up kissing you on the head, “I’m jus’ kiddin, that’s fine sweetheart.” And would leave you alone as long as you needed

If you live separately and your period starts while at his place, you’d be surprised to find that he already has supplies. He’d here your muffled curse from the bathroom, “Honey? You alright?” You’d be a little embarrassed at first, telling him what’s happened and that you, in fact, did not have anything with you. “Oh, that’s alrigh’. Check the bottom drawer on the lef’ for me, should be somethin’ in there.” You’d instantly feel calmed by how nonchalant he was being about it. Though that quickly turned to shock as you open the drawer. There’s an array of pads and tampons of different sizes. Even has an extra pair of underwear which, when you check the tag, is your size. When questioned, he just smiled and told you “A soldier’s always prepared.” Which you then gave him possibly the deepest kiss of your life just for his thoughtfulness.

If you started at night and bleed over on his sheets he’d make absolutely no fuss about it, instantly waving away your embarrassment with a smile. If you try to apologize for it he would be having absolutely none of it. Cups your face, “Hey, no. None of tha’. This is completely natural, nothin’ to be ashamed of. Nothin’ a good soak won’ fix.”

Would 100% be making all kinds of puns about it. “Gotta say swee’heart, your’ looking bloody sexy right now.” And you’d so not be in the mood. If looks could kill

I just read your tattoos tell a Story and I got a random idea (also i love your writing) but I can see reader being friends with soap and while ghost is out on a mission (maybe solo or something) the two get a classic best friend tattoo

if you wanna use this go ahead just thought i would share

also, you dropped this 👑

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader, John “Soap” Mactavish x reader(platonic only).

Warnings: Short intense make out session at the beginning, other than that?, fluff?, some swearing but it’s sensored.

A/n: Your comment honestly made my day🥰 thank you so much for this wonderful idea!

“Mm, I missed you.” You admit, pulling Ghost in for another kiss not caring that your breath hasn’t caught up from the last.

“Missed you too darlin’. So much.” He breathes in between pecks, grip firm on your waist. Pulling you in as if no bodily contact was enough for him. And that’s saying a lot considering how much bodily contact was occurring between you. Almost no part of your entire being was deprived of his touch at the moment. Thighs pressed against thighs, stomach against stomach, chest against chest. Not even a hair could fit in the space your bodies do not fill.

Your hands hold tightly to the short locks of his hair, black balaclava being removed in the privacy of his room in the 141’s base. Simon is starting to realize just how much he loves your hands there.

His kisses begin trailing downward, first your neck, somehow immediately hitting that pulse point that makes you squirm, before trailing lower, down your shoulder, bicep, inner elbow, forearm. He’s so thorough you’d think he was trying to memorize your whole anatomy, he probably is. Until abruptly, he stops.

You slowly blink away the haze your mind has been trapped in, confused by his mouths disappearance. “Si?”

He slowly lifts your arm by its wrist, straightening up from where he was bent slightly over.

“Whas’ this? Wasn’ here before.” And that’s when you realize what he’s looking at, the tattoo, placed towards the bottom of your forearm. You don’t know why, but for a quick second you’re worried that he might be mad about the change you made to your body without his permission. Past trauma you’d guess. But a quick look at his face and a survey of his tone tells you he’s not irritated at all, just curious. Of course he wouldn’t be, it’s Simon.

With the now known knowledge that he’s okay with it, you start to get giddy. A huge toothy smile overtaking your face. All heat from the rather intense make out session completely forgotten in the face of your excitement.

“I forgot we hadn’t told you about that!”

“We?” He questions with furrowed brows, though you ignore him.

You grab the balaclava from his bed, “Here put this on.” You shove it over his head, earning a huff from him as he had to adjust it from where it awkwardly covered his eyes, “It’d be easier if I just showed you.” All of 141 has already seen his face, though you know he’s more comfortable with it on.

You grab his hand, not allowing him time for any more questions before dragging him out the door and down the hall, until you reach the door you were looking for.

Simons head turns towards you,”Why are we at Mactavish’s room?” He asks in suspicion. What had you two idiots done?

You give him a mischievous smile and knock on the door, receiving a distinctly Irish “come in.”

You waste no time in busting through the door. Soap’s sitting on his bed watching some kind of cheesy cooking show, to which Ghost gives a slightly amused smirk under the mask. He’ll definitely be hearing about that later.

“Lt., y/n. To wha’ do I owe th-“ You don’t even let him finish the sentence

“You haven’t showed him?” You hold up your arm for emphasis.

He immediately knows what you mean,”Would’ve, if he wouldn’t of bloody left all of us for his “solo mission”.”

You both know he’s just poking fun, though it still earns him a glare from your boyfriend. Soap glares back, buts it’s all in good nature. At least you think it is.

You roll your eyes, “Alright boys, lets stop comparing sizes shall we?”

You’re not sure about Ghost, but Soap blushes and turns his head away sheepishly. Ghost does too.

“Now, back to the important stuff.” You turn towards Johnny,”Arm, now.” You demand, giving him a “come here” motion.

He leaps off the bed, rolling up his sleeve as he walks up to you with a slight childish skip to his step. He holds out his arm as if it’s show and tell. You do the same with yours. You look at each other, a sh*t-eating grin on both your faces as you try to contain your child-like giggles, before turning to gouge Simon’s reaction.

He stares at your conjoined arms with that same expressionless look to his eyes. He looks back up, flicking his gaze between you two.

There’s a tense silence.

Until

“What the f*ck is that?”

And that’s the drop of water that breaks the dam. You and Soap absolutely loose it, laughing so hard you can’t see through your tears. Forced to lean on each other for support when your knees become too weak.

“Come on Lt., ya know it’s f*ckin’ funny.” Johnny wheezes in between belted laughs, lightly patting your back.

“Yeah Si!”

He completely ignores your taunts, shaking his head as if scolding children,”Idiots, the lot of you.” He says it light enough to where you’re not worried he’s actually annoyed, before turning to leave, closing the door behind him, successfully cutting off Mactavish’s, “Ah come on Ghost, live a l-“

And if he lets out a little amused huff when he shuts the door, well, Johnny never has to know.

-+-

Later that night, in the dark safety of your own bedroom, in which Simon is staying the night, you hear a slight rumble from his side of the bed. Your eyes snap open, afraid he’s having a nightmare of some sort. Wouldn’t be the first time. Slowly, as to not startle him, you turn towards him with practiced ease, prepared to gently calm him from his panic as you always do. Until you see his expression in the dim moonlight coming from your window, eyes catching on the white of his teeth.

“You’re laughing.” You state incredulously.

“No I’m not.” He defends as if you can’t see him chuckling right in front of you

You can’t help but smile, his joy infectious,”Yes, you are. Why are you laughing?”

For a second he just continues on, not answering, until he calms himself down enough to get out-,”That d*mn tattoo.” Before desolving in deep chuckles again.

His explanation gets you tickled, so, you join him in his amusement, your laughter making his worse and vice versa. It goes on for several minutes. Just as one of you start to quiet down and you think it’s over, the other will start again, setting them both off once more

Finally, you both quiet your laughs into something softer, catching your breath.

“I knew you liked it.” You both bust into booming laughter again, even louder this time.

Heads thrown back against your pillows, your laughter descended on into the late of night.

It's too cute!!!

legit listening to "beautiful boy - John Lennon" rn hear me out ghost and his Mreader hubby cuddling with their new baby just wholesome fluffy stuff yknow🤯

When I tell you I cried writing this-- UGH! Thank you so much for this request! It was so sweet.

Adoption was no easy feat, anyone with a right mind would know that. There is a lot of paperwork, a couple of interviews, as well as money that goes into it. It was more difficult with your growing family, you decided bitterly. Most agencies looked at the jobs you and your husband held, you as a freelance writer at home and him as active duty military- well, the active duty military was more of a raised red flag to them. Especially because the two of you were looking for a baby, not a child- an infant.

When the struggle with adoption started, your focus turned less away from your work- which did ultimately have a deadline, to what could be done. In your heart, you felt this emptiness that needed to be filled, and Simon expressed himself the same at home. You sometimes wished that like him, you could separate it while working… but you had too much heart in you. (Those were Simon’s words- and he said that he was glad you were like that)

Tonight was one of those nights that you couldn’t focus on your work. All those creative writing and English classes in college, gone throughout the window. So, you settled on looking through other adoption agencies- maybe even some women who were pregnant that didn’t want the child, but wouldn’t do an abortion. What was the name? Ah, you didn’t care much to remember. The aged whiskey in your hand helped with that too.

As per usual, you spent about three hours looking for something new. A couple emails sent out to some agencies, the last two that would maybe consider interviewing you and Simon. The analog clock next to the TV expresses how late it was, so did the yawn that left your mouth. You decided the whiskey glass could be cleaned in the morning as you set it down on the coffee table, your closed laptop next to it. The front door and its eighteen locks (that’s an exaggeration, it only had four) needed to be turned before you could sleep. Right after you locked the first one though, you heard something through the door- something like… crying?

Now, you and Simon live in a nice neighborhood- with little to no crime activity, but that doesn’t mean something could happen. You retreat from the area for just a moment to grab one of the tactical knives hiding in the coffee table, then walked back to the front door. Very quietly, you undid the lock you’d just turned and very slowly opened the door. Nothing was directly in front of you, so you looked down and your heart shattered.

It’s always in the movies, so the scene in front of you is unexpected in real life. There is a large woven basket with an infant tucked comfortably with a blue blanket. Before you investigate further, you look around your yard and towards the sidewalk but see no one walking about- or running away. So, you bend down and pick up the basket, taking out the little note that’s sticking out as you walk back into the house. Just for a moment, the basket is set on the couch as you read it.

‘To who little Gregory comes to,

I’m sorry I couldn’t take care of him myself. When he was born in the hospital, everyone in the room was happy to see him but me. Gregory is the result of a… you know what case. I looked at him, and I couldn’t see myself at all- only him. I hope that you can find yourself to take care of him. Love him. 

Thank you.’

Oh… “Fuck.” You look down at the baby- who has been crying this whole time, and quickly pick him up from the basket. It’s probably really uncomfortable in there- and oh, how long has it been since Gregory has been fed? Christ on a Cross, when you talked about jumping into parenting, this isn’t what you meant! “Hey, Siri!” You’re trying your best to calm the infant in your arms, who is still crying, but it’s thankfully gone to hiccups now. “Call Simon’s work on speaker.”

“Calling Simon *work* on speaker…” You take a seat on the couch, careful not to disturb the now sleeping infant as you pick up your phone and bring it closer to your person. Gregory seems… smaller than the other infants you’ve seen with the adoption agencies, you wonder if it’s a birth cause or he wasn’t taken care of before being handed off. “Hey, I’m about to go on a mission. Are you okay?”

You breathe in and exhale slowly. “Simon. You need to come home, tell Price it’s an emergency.” Your husband makes a noise on the other line, and you can hear him beginning to protest it all- “Someone dropped a baby on our doorstep- I… I cannot do this alone right now.”

There is a lot of noise coming from the other line now, you hear shouting- it’s Simon doing it. And… Gregory has woken up, he’s crying again. “Och. Simon, on your way home, which you better be doing- or I’m going to find your captain and kick him into next month- get some supplies, like we’ve talked about. I’m gonna hang up because he’s woken up due to the noise, but if I don’t see your arse in thirty minutes, there will be words, Simon Riley.” Before he can reply, you press the ‘end call’ button and turn your attention back to Gregory.

What did some babies fall asleep to? What would calm the storm that the call to your husband created? You remembered seeing your sister sing softly to her child- but you can’t give bars for shit. So, you decide to hum, very quietly ‘Hey Jude’. And just like with your niece all those years ago, it seems to do the trick. Gregory stops crying, moves to hiccuping then starts cooing at you- reaching at your face with his little chubby baby fists. He’s just so cute… You wish you could fall asleep with him, but the other thing your brain processed is that this would be the beginning to several nights of restless sleep.

It’s another thirty minutes of you humming different soft songs, mostly rock- because you can’t think of an actual lullaby for your life right now. Africa, Every Breath You Take, Tears in Heaven, Hard to Say I’m Sorry, Can’t Help Falling in love, Beautiful Boy… so many others. It works like a charm with little Gregory, he only wakes up for a moment to gurgle and reach for you, before falling back asleep.

Ten minutes later, your front door opens- almost slamming, but Simon catches it. He’s carrying several bags from the local grocery store- all in full gear. He shuts the door as quietly as he can, but it’s a little noisy with all of the plastic bags in his arms as well as his gear. Everything in his hands is set on the ground in front of the coffee table, then Simon’s walking over to you, eyes widening as he looks at the infant in your arms. “You weren’t…” His words die down when you point with a random finger to the note that had been left. Simon scans over it while taking off his mask. “Oh… just the baby then? Was there anything in his basket?”

You shake your head, stopping the humming so you can speak- hopefully Gregory won’t start crying again. “Just him, his blanket and that note.” You gesture with your head to the bags. “Do you have baby formula? Bottles? I don’t know the last time he’s had anything… there was no information on it.”

Simon brushes Gregory’s head, moving some of the hair, then walks over to the bags. He takes out a lot of formula and a couple bottles. “Woman at the register looked at me like I was mad. Told her I had a newborn and she calmed her tits.” You snort and shake your head. “I’m gonna make some warmed milk for him, then set up his crib- that’s still in the car.”

All those agencies that said the two of you were incapable of raising an infant were incorrect. You were careful in waking Gregory and giving him the bottle, once your husband had come back with it. Before leaving the room to go get the crib he needed to build, he looked at you and… well, the kid was his son now, he’d say. There is a rare instance that tears are building in his eyes, and he allows them to fall. “Simon,” you call softly from the couch. He snaps out of it and walks over to you. “Why don’t you hold him? I’ll go get the crib.”

For a moment, his brain goes to the fact that his hands aren’t meant to hold something so small and precious- his hands are those of a killer’s… but the way you look at him, a hopeful look in your eyes and the softest smile. He slowly takes Gregory from you, one arm curling around his tiny body and the other keeping leg support and holding up the bottle. “Hi, Gregory,” he whispers. The baby coos back and makes the same grabbing motion towards him, the chubby fist brushing against his paint.

“Simon,” you’re now next to him. The crib that needs to be built is in the corner of the room. “Why don’t we just sleep on the couch tonight? The three of us? It’s in a way that we won’t crush him… and it’s late.” He nods silently and gets on the couch first, handing you Gregory so he can get properly comfortable. You follow suit, lying your head against the side cushion and setting up a little pillow wall with one of your hands. “Love you, Simon.”

He breathes in deeply, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His arms go around your waist, hands cupping around the side of Gregory’s body. “Love you too.” Simon waits until both of you are asleep first before closing his eyes. His mind drifted into how lucky the two of you were to have Gregory now as sleep took over.

Thinking about the hypothetical case that you live with Simon and you’re getting ready to go to work while he walks around the apartment naked for his day off, wanting you to stay with him and not go to work. The night before you two had fun together and that's why you slept without clothes and skin to skin. You're gobsmacked sipping from your coffee at Simon's provocations, though it's not the first time he's done it. And if he gets you to call saying you're sick and stay in bed with him, he'll feel like his mission has been a success.

Felt inspired again, my mind creates fake scenarios with Simon because of the book I’m reading rn. ><

Simon Riley fucking you like this, Simon Riley fucking you like that… okay, buy what about Simon Riley making love to you.

He can be a kind person sometimes. Just imagine it. Missionary position and soft thrusts and him moaning in a low tone. He would say that you’re so perfect and gorgeous, how long has he waited to have you like this…

He is a normal human being, he would like to experience pleasure like all of us. Some days it can be gentle and sweet and some other days he would fuck like it’s his last day on earth.

Just some intrusive thoughts I had, I dislike almost all of the hard porn about ghost in here.

I have never been more tuned on and in love with a fic than I am right now. This is not fair. I deserve someone like this 😭😭😭😭😭 no I need someone like this. Anyone have any recommendations where to find a man like this

MY BODY AND MY BLOOD

or, there's only one bed. mdni.

Winter came early, earlier than it should have, before the heat could kick in throughout the middle of nowhere base somewhere in Russia. The day of travel weighed heavily on your shoulders, exhaustion seeking into your bones. You wanted nothing more than a shower and to fall into bed and sleep for the next week.

The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.

"Right," Price sighed, "barracks are full, we've got to share." His eyebrows furrowed as groans arose from Soap and Gaz, "can it, lads. You two are together, get used to it." Soap rolled his eyes dramatically, yelping as Gaz elbowed him in the side.

"You two," Price sighs, pointing at you and Ghost, "you'll be together. Rooms 142 and 143, don't care who gets who. Just show up tomorrow." You could feel Ghost behind you, hovering like some gargantuan bat. Oh god. You were going to have to share a room with him.

You're both quiet as the team heads down the hallway, Gaz and Soap's banter loud enough for the both of you. Price dismisses you with a gruff goodnight, all too eager to lock himself in his room.

"This is us." Ghost's timbre catches you off guard, and you start, head whipping over your shoulder. The lines around his eyes crinkle, or at least, you think they do, behind the mask and the paint.

"Sorry," he mutters, bowing his head, "didn't mean to scare ya, love."

Love. The nickname, however insignificant, paints your face with a flush. You try to hide it by pushing the door to your shared room open.

It's tiny, with a cramped bathroom attached by the foot of the bed. The only bed. Shit.

You laugh, a hollow, humorless laugh, the culmination of exhaustion and frustration and longing. Ghost groans, burying his head in his hands.

"I'll take the floor," he sighs, but you cut him off immediately.

"No, I'll take the floor. Where would you even fit on the floor? There's not enough floor to fit you," you snap back. Ghost glowers at you through his mask.

"You'll catch your death on the floor," he fires at you, crossing his arms over his chest. A draft blows through the room, as if to echo his point.

"At least I'll fit on the floor," you counter, mimicking his crossed arms. He stares you down, biting his lip as you stare him down right back.

"Fine," he says shortly, "we'll share. Pillow wall work for you?" You nod, moving to arrange the pillows down the bed, trying to quell the excitement brewing in your stomach. You are colleges. This is strictly professional.

You can't help but let your eyes catch on him as he strips his vest and gear, until he's left in thermal underclothes and his balaclava, fingers hesitating at the hem.

"I won't look. If you want to take it off," you offer. He snorts, toying with the fabric.

"Wouldn't work. Besides, you've seen me before. After the grenade," he reminds you, wincing as he pulls his mask off.

He's just as beautiful as you remembered, all soft hazel eyes and sharp, angular cheekbones. His buzzcut has grown out since the last time you saw him, just on the verge of being unkempt. You're staring, and he knows you're staring, but he lets you, throwing his head back with a groan. His neck arches beautifully, and you want to cover it with marks.

You're quick to shed your own gear, trying to look anywhere but his face, but you feel his eyes linger on the arc of your shoulders, the hollow of your neck, the curve of your hips. You climb under the thin blankets, curling as far away from Ghost's side as he turns the lights out.

The bed squeaks as he lays down, adjusting the pillows. He's so big he takes up all of his side and almost part of yours. He moves his legs and they brush against your knee.

"Sorry," he mutters, pulling his calf away like it had been burned. Sparks tingle up your legs.

"'S fine, Ghost," you murmur back. The bed squeaks again as he rolls over to face you, head on the pillow just inches from yours. You want to kiss him. He's so close.

"Do you remember what I told you? After the grenade?" he asks. You nod, but stay quiet as he sighs softly. His hand twitches, like he wanted to reach out for you but stopped himself.

"When it's like this," he breathes, his voice sweet, "when it's just you and me, it's Simon. Call me Simon." He's so soft, in a way you've never seen him before, and you nod, moving ever so close to him.

"Alright," you breathe, "goodnight, Simon."

"G'night, sweetheart."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

When you wake, it's freezing. Ghost- Simon- is snoring next to you, heat radiating off of him like a goddamn furnace. You curl your body into itself, but shivers rack your shoulders anyway. You groan in frustration, glaring up at the ceiling.

Simon stirs next to you, rolling over groggily. His arm brushes against yours, and he winces, thumb brushing over the skin.

"You're freezing," he whispers, cupping your hand in both of his. Your arc towards him, relishing in the warmth that emanated from him, and he smiles, soft and sweet.

"I'm fine," you mutter, "go back to sleep." You prop yourself up on one elbow, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Don't be stupid," Simon breathes, "come here. I've got enough warmth for the both of us."

You shove the pillow wall aside so fast it makes Simon chuckle as pillows hit the floor. He wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his chest, hitching a leg over your hip. He's so warm, heat surrounding you on every side as he tucks his head into the hollow of your shoulder.

His hands rest on your stomach, thumb rubbing the exposed skin of your stomach where your shirt has slid up. You wrap your arms around his, holding them to your chest. He feels safe.

"Better?" Simon asks, pulling you closer to his chest. You nod, sleep already creeping over you as you feel him smile against your neck. His thumb rubs soothing patterns on your skin as you slowly drift to sleep.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

When you wake again, it's still dark. You're facing Simon, clinging to one of his arms with your head buried in his chest. He's rubbing your back, and as you look up at him, his eyes are open.

"What time is it?" you whisper, stretching slightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He glances down at his watch, toying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Five thirty-seven," he responds, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, tracing your cheek and cupping it in his callused hand. Your eyes flick down to his lips and back again.

"Simon-"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is ragged with desperation, pupils blown wide. With a soft gasp, you nod.

"Please."

He kisses you softly, tenderly. You pull him closer, hands interlocking at the back of his neck, one trailing down to his cheek. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

"Oh," he breathes, almost against your lips. He pushes himself up against the headboard, a spark growing in his eyes as he pulls you into his lap.

His second kiss is desperate, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, hands tangling in your hair. You arch in his grip as his hands drift to bracket your hips, your body flushing as he pulls you even closer. Your nails dig into his back and he moans against your lips, you crave the feeling of his bare skin against your fingers even though the cold prohibited it.

You gasp softly as Simon slides his thigh between your legs, cheeks flushed as he takes you in between kisses. His hands are greedy, one slipping dangerously low on your hips before slipping past the waistband of your thermal pants.

"Can I?" he asks quietly, looking up at you from where you're perched on his thigh. His pupils are completely blown, hair messy and cheeks flushed. He looks halfway to heaven and all he's done is kiss you.

"Oh, god, please-" you breathe, burying your head in his shoulder as his hands slides down, spreading you open as well as he could before his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles against it. You cling to his shoulders, teeth biting down on his shoulder to stifle your moans. Simon gasps, hands moving your hips to help you grind against his thigh.

"There you go," he whispers, head thrown back as you rub against him, "there you go, lovie, that's it." You whine, rutting your hips harder at his praise. His free hand dips underneath your shirt, crawling up your ribs.

"Si- si, feels so good," you moan, biting on your lip to try to keep your moans down. Simon cups your breast tenderly, pushing your top up your chest.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous, angel," Simon swears. His lips trail down your neck, resting just above your nipple. His mouth rests open, tongue heavy on his lower teeth as the question forms on his lips.

"Sweetheart, can I-"

Three knocks echo on the door, and you jump, loosing your balance and almost colliding with the bedpost as you scramble to get off Simon's lap. Simon desperately adjusts his pants, trying to hide his raging hard on as Price swings the door open.

"Ghost, you're needed down in command," he orders, and Simon's head falls backwards imperceptibly as he pushes himself off the bed, pushing his feet into his boots. As he follows Price out the door, he makes eye contact with you, slipping his fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back as he licks your slick off of them. He winks as he walks around the corner, mouthing

this isn't over.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

school is over and my requests deleted themselves somehow so if you've got ideas pls send them

Damn straight 😤

Back from your honeymoon with your husband Simon, one of the first places you visit as newlyweds is a pub down the street where he and his mates usually spend Saturday nights when free.

It is nothing new, a weekly occurrence and in many of those weeks, you were invited. Your phone would usually ping with a voice note from one of the Sergeants drunkenly complaining about your absence.

So you don't understand why you can't rub off the feeling that something is different tonight. You are sitting beside your husband, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb caressing your softness.

Until you realise what's different.

He keeps making you stand up to the bar to order the drinks.

They usually switch every round, every time standing and ordering a different person from the table. But tonight? It has been you, one after the other, again and again. You don't quite understand why and simply shrug it off as boys being boys and wanting to spend time together after being again.

Until you are ordering, and a man you have never met before stands beside you, leaning too much for comfort into your safe zone.

"Are you here alone, baby?" The man slurs his words.

"No, I'm here with my-"

"Your boyfriend? I'm sure your shitty boyfriend wouldn't mind if you went home with me."

He goes silent, the eerie feeling of a presence making you both get quiet. But you know it's him.

"Actually... That's my wife, ya wanker."

And you don't need to turn, to know that your beloved husband has a victorious smile on his face. Happy his little plan worked.

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P1 here.

Ghost walks through the door of your home as if he owns the place, tossing his keys onto the coffee table and shrugging off his gear by the door. He remembers your address by heart and recognizes the space he's walking through once again. 

Glancing around, he expected to see you greet him at the foyer only to be met with silence. Ghost passes by your couch, gloved fingers running against the back while his mind replays the sounds of your needy moans from when he fingered you on the cushions just weeks ago.

Ghost has had countless flings and meaningless one night stands, but never did he expect any of the doves he's played with to actively call for more. 

Though he wasn't complaining.

A creaking floorboard causes his head to snap towards the stairs. There, he sees you cautiously descending, the sides of your nightgown clutched anxiously in your palms. “I didn't think you'd actually show.” 

Simon stares at you, his eyes roaming over your form, taking in every dip and curve visible through the lacey material. He lets out a heavy breath, fist clenched in deep restraint as he thanked every single god above for what's standing in front of him. “How can I ignore a civilian in need?”

Your laugh makes him still, the mirthful chuckle and the smile on your lips making the tent in his pants ache painfully.

Did you know what you were doing to him? How just your chuckles alone stirred something profound?

“So… upstairs or on the couch?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“You wanted me here, love. Dealers' choice.” Simon watches you fumble, fingers thumbing over the lacing decorating the bottom of your nightgown.

“Upstairs then.”

For Simon, everything seems to happen in blurs. Just moments ago he was standing by the stairs and the next he's in between your legs, one large hand splayed over your stomach having you lay back motioning for you to relax as he eats you out like a man starved.

He doesn't remember how he got here; all that matters now is the taste of your cunt on his tongue. Simon laps at your glossy lips, tongue gliding your sensitive folds to your clit, making sure to give both his undivided attention. He needed no words to know he was doing a good job; your knees attempting to lock behind his head was added confirmation if your whines for more weren't enough.

“Can't you just put it in?” You huff in between moans, attempting to sit up on your elbows despite his efforts to keep you down.

“Shhh…” Simon coos, pressing a fleeting kiss on your pearl before pulling away his chin and lips shining your slick. “Look at that, practically begging for me.” A thick digit runs down your slit, gathering a pool of wetness and licking it off his fingers. 

Simon gazes at your cunt, observing how just his lips hovering near causes your weeping hole to clench around nothing. He could watch this all day. Watch how badly you needed him. How only he had the privilege to hear you beg.

“Alright, fussy bird,” He stands up straight, his shadow completely consuming you, the stark differences between you two are evident. Simon is not a small man in the slightest. Everything about him screams large. His presence commands attention, from his muscular arms down to his sturdy thighs.

Simon grabs ahold of your waist, pulling you against his bulge, slowly grinding his hips up and down, teasing you along the rough fabric of his jeans. He shows a little restraint, purposely holding back in hopes of hearing more pleas. “Come on, love, tell me what you need.”

This is what you dreamed of. His hands, his voice, his lips against your skin, a true dream come true. The final stretch was so close, so near and yet he still kept you tethered to the edge. “Please, I need it,” You mewl desperately, hips bucking for more friction.

Simon chuckles lightly, watching as you practically bounce in anticipation. "Someone's in a hurry," he jokes, despite his growing ardor matching your own.

With nimble fingers, he quickly unbuttons his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers until he's bare to you. His eyes bore into yours as he did so, a silent question in them. His large cock sprang free, bobbing up against his stomach in time with his rapid heartbeat. 

The sight of his length, standing proud and erect, was enough to intensify the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Finally, you'd be full once again, getting to feel that cock of his in places no one else can reach. You nod all too eagerly, laying back to fully embrace everything.

With a swift lift of your hips, Simon nudges the edge of himself against you, drawing a ragged groan as he feels the wet heat of your waiting entrance. One hand grabbing his length, he slowly guided his throbbing cock against your slick folds. The head of his erection teased your entrance for a moment, before he pressed forward, burying himself inside you. “Fuck, fuck, more, please.” 

Simon can't help but smirk at your eagerness, patting your thigh appreciatively. “Can't rush things, dove. Don't want you breaking.” It's a slow push, his cock stretching your welcoming heat inch by inch. As he bottomed out, he let out a throaty groan, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to him.

You cum in that exact moment, your pussy squeezing tightly around him and milking his cock. It feels like a faucet that won't stop dripping, coating his length with your sweet juices. For a brief moment you're dazed, head swimming and unable to hear anything over the sound of your heavy breathing.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, admiring the sight of you breathless. You feel like velvet, your pussy a vice he wasn’t sure he’d be able to quit. His thumb pushes against your clit and you whine, your voice high-pitched.

“Sensitive, please,” you beg, squirming until his hands force your hips down. Your lips are forced into an o shape, a silent scream forced from your chest when he does the exact opposite.

You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to stop or begging for more–it’s hard to tell when you’re being fucked within an inch of your life.

“Stay with me dove, stay with me,” Simon sneers, something depraved and feral in his voice. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Once the initial shock of cumming has passed, he begins to move inside you, setting a slow, deliberate pace. With every thrust, he claimed more of you, your bodies moving together in synchronicity. The scent of your sex mingled in the confined space of your bedroom, intensifying the intimate atmosphere.

Simon closes his eyes, wanting to savor the moment. Everything about this is mesmerizing. He'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world.

A hitched moan has him opening his eyes, his gaze boring into yours, wanting to see every flicker of pleasure that passes through you. Thank you, god, Simon thinks. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, but he held on, wanting to draw this pleasure out as long as possible. He wanted to give you everything and more.

“Feel like heaven,” he breathes. “Is this what you wanted? Wanted me nice and deep huh?”

His palm presses on your stomach where his cock bulges the skin, his grin wicked. “Poor girl, can’t make herself cum so she had to call me, yeah?”

You nod, a symphony of yes yes yes escaping you as Simon bears down upon you, the bed rocking with each movement.

“Had to call me because you know no one can fuck you like I can,” he says, “say it for me, c’mon.”

You hiccup through every word. “N-No one can fuck me—oh god—like you Si’—”

Your words make his ego grow, muttering of that's fuckin’ right streaming from his lips as he comes, the feeling sending your nerves on overdrive. 

As he felt you tightening around him, he knew you were close—as close as he was. His hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers finding your sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure. He stroked in rhythm with his thrusts, chasing your orgasm with his.

Your pleasure peaked simultaneously, his cum filling you as you cum around him, walls clenching and rippling along his length in your aftershock. After a moment, he pulls out carefully, the room filled with your heavy breathing. 

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply staring back at each other through lust-filled eyes and flushed cheeks. Simon starts his retreat, stepping back to make distance and pulling up his pants. Your hand on his makes him pause. He raises a brow, confused by your actions. He opens his mouth but you're quicker.

“We aren't done.”

-

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The original prompt was supposed to be a little thing; but so many people liked it, so here <3! This most likely won't be a series.

Snippet of Simon with his pregnant wife………..pls n thank you

Of course!! I hope you like the piece :D

Tags: pure fluff, established relationship, pregnancy cravings and mood swings, whipped!Simon

Word count: 5k

-

“C’mon, you fuckin’ muppets—pick up the goddamn pace or I’ll have you hit the deck for another twenty.”

“Yessir!!” The recruits scream, valiantly trying to pick up their feet—even if a good few of them looked like they were just about ready to vomit. 

“Sergeant,” Simon shouts, arms crossed as he surveys the pack of jogging recruits.

“Sir,” Soap jogs to his side, back ramrod straight in acknowledgement of his rank. 

“Who’s that wanker at the back there? The prick whose mustache is out of fuckin’ code,” he snarls, yelling the words loud enough to make sure the private gets an earful. When the lad perks up at the mention of his (truly horrid) mustache, Simon can’t help the pinpricks of amusement that run up his spine at the horrified look that he wears.

“Johnson, lieutenant,” Soap provides, actually addressing Simon by his proper rank, just to put on a show for the new recruits.

The Taskforce had preferred selection of candidates fresh entering into the SAS—a perk of their stellar reputation—and with every few months that passed, there was always another new grove of fresh-faced, twenty-somethings for them to pick through. While Simon dreaded having to deal with fresh meat in the field, he had to admit that watching them stumble and trip over their own two feet just to impress him was quite amusing, hence why he’d made a habit out of stopping by the training field to lighten his spirits when the paperwork got too dense.

Soap and Gaz were in charge of integrating the new recruits into their own companies, and after a few weeks of watching Simon look on with longing eyes, they’d eventually let him take the reigns for a few minutes each day—if only so that they could sit back and watch the fallout when the recruits saw the infamous Ghost stalking onto the field.

Today was another such occasion. The recruits were dressed out in full gear as punishment for a mishap in the barracks the night before. Packs, rifles, gas masks and all. Though, after a good few minutes of watching them struggle to breathe through the stifling air filters, Soap had taken enough pity on them to allow them to lift the masks for a short breather…one that was certainly long enough for Simon’s taste, especially when he’d seen the downright hilarious mustache one of the recruits had been sporting.

“Johnson!” He bellows, voice booming across the field, “Get your arse over here now!”

Johnson came awkwardly ambling over, barely standing under the weight of his full pack and kit. The minute he halts in front of Simon’s towering form, he looks about ready to keel over and beg for mercy. However, he manages to stand straight under Simon’s scrutiny, hands shaking imperceptibly by his side.

“Sir!” He greets.

“Tell me, Private, ‘cause I’d love to know,” he gets into the Private’s face, grimacing under the mask at the style of his facial hair, “Why did you pass selection?”

“Because I met the requirements, sir!” He shouts back.

“Did you?” Simon asks, “Because I don’t remember there being a bloody ten minute mile on the fucking enlistment papers! Pick up those fucking boots and get your pace back on a four minutes, or I swear to god I’ll keep the whole bloody company runnin’ ’til sun down!”

“Yes, lieutenant, sir!” Johnson yells, clumsily backing into his stride. Just for the fun of it, Simon jogs along, struggling not to laugh when he sees the way Johnson’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

“Let’s fuckin’ go, Private, pick it up,” he points towards the other recruits, who are several lengths ahead, “What the hell is this? My wife could run a faster klick than you can and she’s six months pregnant!”

“Congratulations, sir?!” Johnson yells back.

“Shut the fuck up and run faster—bloody fucking hell.”

Simon slows his jog, watching as Johnson plods forward. Before he can even turn to look back at the sergeant, he hears Johnny’s laughter emanating from behind him. A hand claps down on his shoulder.

“You haven’t lost your touch, LT,” Soap chuckles, watching the pack of recruits with a careful eye, “Should see the poor basterds huddle ‘round the table in the mess hall, swapping wives’ tales ‘bout ya like you’ve given ‘em PTSD or some shite.”

“If they leave here only having nightmares, I must be doin’ my job wrong,” Simon quips, hand itching to reach for the megaphone and address the entire company, “Fun to watch ‘em piss their pants every time they talk to me.”

“You’re stone cold, Simon.”

“Like you don’t do the same.”

Jokingly, Soap raises his hands in surrender, backing over towards the four-wheeler they’d driven out with medical supplies.

“You stickin’ around for few minutes?” Soap asks, swiping his half-eaten protein bar from the trunk, “M’good to hang back ’n let you take over. Wanted to check my email anyway.”

“Maybe just for a few,” he smirks, still watching the recruits, “Think they’re in for a couple round o’ suicides?”

At that, Soap’s smile widens.

“I mean…with all the shite that went down during room inspection last night,” he shrugs, “I wouldnae blame you. Give ‘em hell, LT.”

“Good man, Soap,” he chuckles, pointing towards the hitch of the four-wheeler, “Hand me that loudspeaker.”

Johnny does as he asks, tossing the loudspeaker into his arms with a mirthful smirk around his protein bar. With expert precision, Simon wraps the strap around his forearm, fingers poised on the speaker button. However, just when the perfect string of curses had popped into his head, his phone begins buzzing in his pocket. With a disappointed huff, he drops the loudspeaker, reaching into his pocket. He ambles over to Soap, reading the contact name.

“Here,” he hands back the loudspeaker, “Need to take this.”

“Who is it?” Soap asks, voice muffled around a mouthful of granola.

“The missus,” Simon answers easily, “Probably just wants to see what time I’ll be home.”

He lifts the phone to his masked ear, dutifully watching the jogging recruits. The past few months, you’d taken to calling him more often when he was on the clock. Back when you had just begun dating, you wouldn’t dare to call him when he was at work (let alone when he was on deployment) unless the house had caught fire. But now—with a ring on your finger and with his last name in your signature—you’d loosened up a bit. Though, once he got you pregnant, the calls had increased by tenfold. He suspects the hormones are to blame. 

After all, having a military husband that could be called away at a moment’s notice wasn’t a job for the weak—especially when you had a baby on the way. At the thought of you at home, hand rubbing over your swollen belly, stuffing your mouth with whatever new craving you had, while you listened to each ring of the phone with undue intensity, Simon can’t help but smirk.

Pregnancy was hard on you. These days, your feet were so swollen you could barely stand in the kitchen long enough to make your own meals without Simon intervening. Speaking of meals, your eating patterns had taken quite a hit, and your cravings had only gotten markedly weirder as the months went on.

First, it was strawberries.

-

“I want a strawberry shake,” you grab onto his jacket when he pulls up to the drive through window, “With extra strawberry syrup—oh, and extra sprinkles, too.”

“Got it,” he mumbles, leaning over the car door to begin speaking.

“Wait!” You grab a harsh handful of his jacket, stopping him before he can say a word, “And—and can you ask them to put a cherry on top? I don’t want them to forget…”

“Sure, baby,” he tells you, brushing over your growing bump. With a small smile, he turns back to the window.

…only to jolt in his seat like he’d just been electrocuted when you slap a hand against his chest hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

“Wait!” You exclaim, practically leaning into his seat just to grab his attention, “Can you ask them if they can put a strawberry on top instead? Doesn’t that sound way better?”

-

Needless to say, half of the fridge had been taken over by towering boxes of fresh strawberries. Simon’s sad protein drinks had trembled in fear beneath their shadows. However, by month two, you’d taken a single look at strawberries and wrinkled your nose, tossing them all in the trash practically the next day.

When Simon came home from work one day to see you guzzling down Alfredo like it was going out of style, he’d seen the writing on the wall.

-

“How was work, Simon?” You gleefully meet him at the door, enveloping him in a tight hug. He groans at the blissful feeling, grinning underneath his mask when he feels the curve of your belly pressing into his stomach. It was just beginning to show, and every time he watched you get dressed in the morning, he couldn’t help but watch from the bed with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Too long, love,” he complains, unbuttoning his jacket, “You made dinner?”

“Yep, already plated it up for you,” you chime, padding back into the kitchen, “I tried something different, so I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Yeah?” He trails after, trying to hide the smile in his voice.

For the past three weeks, you’d made pasta Alfredo nearly every single night for dinner. At first, Simon had scraped his plate clean, practically licking each dish before he stuck them in the washer with how delicious it was. Eating MREs and Mess Hall food your entire life should be considered psychological warfare in his book, and no matter how many times he came home after work, he considered each homemade meal a blessing (especially when it was made with your love and care).

However, by night sixteen of pasta Alfredo, Simon was struggling to swallow, looking down at the mass of pasta like it had personally offended him. At the news of something “different,” Simon would be lying if he wasn’t about ready to jump with joy.

But when he enters the dining room to see yet another steaming plate of Alfredo, he balks.

“Isn’t it great?” You ask him, rubbing over his bicep with a look that’s so loving he can’t bring himself to speak, “I used a whole different blend of cheeses. I think you’ll really like it. I mean, I already tasted the sauce, and I had to stop myself from eating the whole pot before you got home.”

With a dazed nod, Simon slides into his seat, staring down at the pasta with unblinking eyes.

“You excited to try it?” You ask again, placing a cup of water in front of him.

“Well,” he shakes his head disbelievingly, preparing himself to shovel down this entire plate if it was the last thing he did, “I…can’t wait, baby.”

-

Simon had to refrain from crying with relief when you finally moved on. He was but a simple man, and his tastebuds could only handle so many Alfredo dinners before his mind imploded from the banality of it all. However, he’d never considered that if his tongue would be spared that his sleep schedule would be next on the chopping block.

Needless to say, by month four, he was begging for the Alfredo to make a comeback.

-

“Simon?”

He jolts awake with a flinch, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. He’d always been a light sleeper, especially after he’d joined the service, and when he woke up like this normally, it was usually to the sound of gunfire or an air raid siren. Now, however, it was to the whimpers of his tired bride, slinging an arm over his stomach to bury her face in between his shoulder blades.

“What, love?” He rasps, lazily intertwining your fingers with his own.

“I need…” you huff, eyes still half closed, “I need a three piece meal. With…with a large fry.”

Dazed, he rubs over his face.

“What?” He asks.

“You heard what I said,” you tell him—sounding no less tired and sweet than you did two seconds ago. Though, Simon knew better than to test you. One day, he’d had the poor thought of joking about it and expecting you to react just as sweet as you were acting…After you made him sleep on the couch three nights in the row, however, you woke up to a three piece meal and a handwritten apology at your bedside for breakfast. 

You’d called him into the bedroom, munching on your fries with your legs still beneath the blankets, looking at him from head to toe—like his old drill sergeants used to when he entered Basic.

“So,” he’d begun tactfully, “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

You’d pursed your lips, thinking about it.

“Are you really sorry?” You’d asked him, completely serious.

“I…” he’d bitten his cheek, fingers twitching. It’d been days since you last let him touch you, and each and every advance had only been met with fiery rejection and angry tears. And that night, however, he’d been about ready to get down on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, love,” he’d told you softly, speaking with all the confidence of a terrified zookeeper walking towards a growling lion.

“Fine,” you’d huffed, reaching for your hot and sour sauce, “I’ll let you back in bed.”

Simon had smiled from ear to ear, wholly relieved. 

“Can I give you a kiss before I leave for base?” He’d asked, taking a cautious step closer.

Your thoughtful pout had had his nerves blazing.

“On my cheek,” you’d edged, brows furrowed with anger. And as he’d stepped closer, he could feel the irritation radiating off of you in waves. He’d carefully planted a kiss against your cheek, but when he’d ducked his head to kiss your pregnant belly, however, you’d shoved him back with a mewl.

“Don’t touch the baby,” you’d growled, hugging your fries to your chest like they’d disappear before you could get your fill, “They’re mad at you right now…”

Simon’s brows had raised in disbelief.

“The baby…” he’d pointed towards your stomach, “The baby’s mad at me?”

“Yep,” you’d snapped, shoving another few fries in your mouth.

“Well—is there anything I can do to make ‘em feel better?”

“Nope,” you’d said without remorse, pointing towards the door, “Now go to work.”

In the scheme of his military career, Simon had learned a plethora of useful tactical knowledge. Flash before entry, watch your shots, switch to your sidearm instead of reloading—everything. Though, undoubtedly, the most useful thing he’d learned in all his years was this: know which fights you’d lose. And that one? Against his exhausted, pregnant wife and unborn child? Yeah, he’d sooner take on an entire squad of Konni than walk back into that bedroom.

He’d turned towards the door, ready to haul his ass his base—only to pause in his steps when your voice had called after him.

“But,” you’d begun, still happily munching away, “If you bring home pizza after work, I think the baby might forgive you…”

After that fiasco, he’d finally gotten to lay by your side again. And after a long movie night, his head in your lap while he pressed lazy kisses against your stomach, he’d learned something else: there was nothing on this planet earth that was worth missing out on moments like these. Your soft body in his grasp, and his child’s heartbeat just underneath his fingertips. 

So when you clutch at his shirt, heavy belly pressed into his spine, he doesn’t think twice before he sits up in bed, pushing the covers down.

“You want hot and sour sauce?” He asks, pulling on his shoes in a daze.

“No, but can you get extra wings?”

He cocks his brow, sending you a scrutinizing look.

“You want extra wings?” He asks, brows raised.

You don’t even open your eyes. No, you just curl back against the pillow, a satisfied smile on your face.

“Simon Riley,” you begin, voice flowery and saccharine with sugar, “If try to starve this baby again, I’ll have you sleep in the barracks until your back is crying for help.”

“…I’ll get extra ranch, too.”

“You better.”

-

Now, six months in, Simon still had yet to recover. However, he was far from unhappy. No, if anything, he was more satisfied than he can ever remember being. When he was younger, he could scarcely imagine himself leading a life like this, with a beautiful woman at his side and a son that would be coming in the first month of autumn. 

It was just as cloying as it was terrifying. But, at the very least, he knew that no matter what—no matter how hard the going got, or how many mistakes he made—you’d always be right there at his side, ready to walk with him no matter how long or arduous the path became.

He opens the line with a smile, looking down at the recruits.

“That you, love?” He greets, “What’s up?”

The line is quiet for a few seconds, an ambient shuffle on the other side. He hears you take in a low breath, but the next sound of out of your mouth, has his blood running cold.

A cry.

A loud, wheezing cry, one that’s so distraught he can hear it resounding around the room even over the phone. Instantly, his spine shocks straight, and any thoughts of army shenanigans fly to the back of his mind.

“Si—Simon,” you sob, static hitching around your voice.

He frantically pulls his hand out of his pocket, pushing the phone closer to his face.

“Love?” He asks, panic bleeding into his tone, “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

“Simon, I—I’m—” you try to speak, but your sobs are so violent you can barely manage to speak, waterlogged moans reverberating through the speakers like a siren. Instantly, his heart begins pounding in his chest, body rushing with adrenaline—one that was all too similar to how he felt in the field, bullets whizzing by, standing at death’s door.

“Love, just breathe,” he tells you, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Soap straighten up in the four-wheeler, “Tell me. Are you okay?”

“No, Simon,” you sob, barely breathing, “How—how could you say that?”

Instantly, his stomach drops, and with every noise that escapes your mouth, something cold and dark climbs up his spine, a dread that was so unfamiliar he’d almost forgotten he could feel it in the first place. Something sharp pierces straight through his body when you speak again, reality washing over him like a bucket of ice water.

“How—how could you do this to me?” You ask him, voice wobbling, “After everything that we’ve gone through, and—and when I’m carrying your son—”

“Woah, woah, love, what’s—what’s happened? What’s wrong?” He begs you to tell him, breathe picking up into a pace that’s so rapid its nearly suffocating, “Just calm down. Take a deep breath. You just have to talk to me, okay?”

Without even thinking he begins walking faster, sending Soap a harrowed look. Before he can even speak, Soap jumps off of the trailer, eyes wide with worry of his own.

“What’s wrong with the missus? She okay?” He whispers, pulling the keys out of his pocket without an ounce of hesitation.

“Start the car,” he commands, nearly hyperventilating, “Start the car. Now.”

Soap doesn’t think twice before he jumps into action, clambering into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over before Simon can even hop into the passenger’s seat. In the background, he can hear the recruits’ boots plodding through the mud, their shouts fading into distant whispers underneath the flood of thoughts that race through his mind. His ears are ringing, eyes blind, and nothing aside from the horrid sound of your sobs registers inside of his wretched mind.

“Love, just—take a deep breath and talk to me,” he tells you, practically begging for you to tell him what’s wrong.

And yet, when nothing aside from more empty cries fills your side of the conversation, his mind and heart immediately jump to the worst possible scenario.

Maybe you fell down the stairs and couldn’t stand up.

Maybe you’d slipped in the kitchen and broken a bone.

Maybe you were in the back of the ambulance, clinging onto life.

Or maybe someone had broken into the house. Maybe they’d snatched you out of your bed, walked you down the stairs with a gun to your head. Maybe they told you they’d shoot you unless you got him on the phone, that they’d kill you if they couldn’t get to your husband. Maybe—just like Tommy, Beth, and Joseph—his past had caught up with you, too, and you were helpless but to pay the price of his mistakes.

At the thought of it, bile climbs up his throat, panic running through his veins like a rushing river. But just when it threatens to consume himself, he closes his eyes, trying desperately to remember what his therapist had told him when he’d reenlisted.

“Not all of those things are probable, Simon,” she’d said one day, “They’re only things that happened to you. They’re not eventualities. The hard part is reminding yourself that they’re unreasonable in the first place.”

You’re okay, he tells himself, You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

But when the four-wheeler crests the hill with a mighty roar, Soap’s arms clenching around the steering wheel, not even the sound of the tires wrenching could erase the pain of your manic cries, voice cracking around his name.

And within a single second, the mantra ceases. Because even if Simon’s past couldn’t catch up with you, that didn’t mean something else hadn’t.

Instantly, his mind flashes with quite possibly the most distressing image of them all. You, hunched over the bathroom sink, red rivulets running down your precious legs, collecting in a dark pool at your feet. You, all alone, body shaking with pain and desperation, as the life inside of you died, all but helpless to watch your dreams disappear into a puddle of tears and blood.

Your baby—the most precious gift you ever could have given him—gone, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

At the thought, the nausea inside of his stomach is so viscious he nearly keels over. He clenches the dashboard of the four-wheeler in a white knuckled grip, instead.

“Love—” he begins, tears collecting in his eyes, “Just—stay right there, I’m coming home. I’ll be right there, okay? Just—just gotta hang on a little longer.”

“No,” you suddenly wail, “No—don’t come home. Don’t even think of it.”

“Love—” he scoffs, brows furrowing, “What?!”

He yells it over the sound of the four-wheeler, and Soap sends him a desperate look. One wrung with sympathy and fear just alike. Simon’s afraid he’s wearing the same exact look himself.

“Simon, this—” you take in a shaking breath, “This is—this is all your fault. I’m—I’m your wife, and you did this to me.”

At that, he can’t even think of something to say. He only blindly slaps his hand down on Johnny’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in a death grip.

“I’m your family,” you cry, “We—we’ve been together all these years. I waited for you after—after every deployment, and—and we have the same last name ’n everything. I—I loved you all these years, then you go and do this to me. Fuck, Simon, how could you—”

His panicked expression slowly drops, stomach settling. Slowly, his vision blurs, and the mess in his mind fizzles out into ashes within a single instance. Realization dawns over him slowly, and when it does, he taps Soap on the back with solemn resignation.

“Stop,” he tells the sergeant calmly, “Stop the car.”

“LT?” Soap asks, peeling the four-wheeler into an uneasy stop outside the front doors of the base.

“Fuck,” Simon keels over, resting his elbows on his knees. He buries his head in his hand, wiping over his eyes.

He knows what this is about.

“Love,” he begins, bracing for impact, “I swear that I—”

“You know what you did, you—you monster,” you sob, voice hitching around the insult.

At that, he can only breathe a deep, deep sigh of relief. He plants his hand against the dashboard, closing his eyes as he sends a quiet thank you to whatever powers may be.

You’re okay.

“Love,” he swallows, staring through the plastic windshield of the four-wheeler, “If I tell you I’m sorry, will you—”

“You’re not sorry,” you wail, no doubt burying your face in the couch cushions, “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it. But—but you knew how much it meant to me, and you did it anyway!”

He takes a long breath, not daring to meet the eye of the sergeant next to him, who’s looking at him like he just grew a second head. Simon, however, is much too preoccupied with relief to do anything more than submit to your will, practically melting in his seat.

“I—I didn’t remember, baby, I’m sorry,” he coos, wincing when he hears you take a deep breath, no doubt about to yell through the receiver.

“Simon, you knew that I was saving the last Kit-Kat for lunch. I—I put a note on it and everything and I was thinking about it all—all day. You read it, shrugged, and ate it anyway—because you don’t love me.”

“No, no, it’s not that, baby,” he leans back in his chair, stifling a chuckle—that would only make you angrier, “The note must have fallen off. I swear I didn’t know it was the last one. Hand to heart, love. You know that I love you, baby. I married you, didn’t I?”

“You’re—you’re a liar and a degenerate, Simon Riley,” you sniffle, voice waterlogged and so serious he can’t even bring himself to smile at the hilarity of the situation, “I’m—I’m carrying your son, and you won’t even read the post-it notes I leave you…”

“I read them, love. There was that one on the strawberries, remember? I didn’t eat those, did I?” He argues.

Next to him, he can see Soap’s brows furrowing, a look of utter confusion coming over his face. Simon watches it with a huff, covering the receiver to send Soap a stifled look of relief.

“I ate the last candy bar at home,” he explains, shaking his head, “Thought I wanted to leave her.”

He doesn’t even wait for Soap to respond before he brings the phone back to his ear, continuing the conversation without a second passing. Meanwhile, Soap slowly turns back to the wheel, looking on in amusement.

“Is this what pregnancy’s like?” He mutters under his breath while Simon continues to whisper sweet platitudes into the phone.

“Look, love, how can I make it up to you ’n the kid? Want me to buy you some more candy bars on the way home?”

“No,” you huff, still crying, “We’re—we’re mad at you.”

“Love,” he sighs, eyes closing, “Look, what if I brought home Shake Shack? Avocado burger, large fry, and a strawberry shake—and I’ll even stop at Tesco’s on the way home to get you some more candy bars. That sound good?”

Through the phone, he hears the blankets shuffling. A small, dull sound filters through the speakers—another tissue pulled out of the tissue box—followed by a small, miserable whimper. Without missing a beat, anger and sadness still simmering in your waterlogged voice, you speak.

“Extra, extra avocado on the burger,” you mewl, sounding small and helpless, “And the shake has to have syrup on the whipped cream. With a st-strawberry instead of a cherry on top. And when you go to Tesco’s, you—you better bring back a Hershey’s bar or I’ll take back all the clothes I just bought you.”

“Got it, baby,” he sighs, smiling, “Extra, extra avocado burger, strawberry shake with a strawberry on top, Kit-Kats, and a Hershey’s bar. Anything else?”

“And…” you sniffle, wiping your nose, “And hot ’n sour sauce, too.”

“Okay,” he tells you, pinching his nose bridge, “I’ll be back before seven, okay?”

“Mm-hm.”

With that, the line goes dead—not even a single goodbye to be had—and he drops the phone into his lap with a deep breath inward. Mentally, he runs over a list of all the food you’d just listed off, memorizing their unique variations.

God, he shakes his head, All these strawberry shakes…his son’ll be ten pounds at least by the time he comes out.

Simon can’t even imagine what that day will be like. But, not a month ago, you’d spent an entire hour pouting on the couch, looking at him with all the viscousness of a newborn kitten. When he’d asked you what was wrong, you’d answered simply.

“Why do you have to be so damn big?” You’d asked him, struggling to maintain your scowl through your own tears, “I'm the one carrying your son! He’ll rip me in half!”

Simon takes a deep breath, unable to contain the small grin that overcomes his lips. When the two of you get to that argument, he’ll be more than happy to let you complain about it so long as his son is safe and sound inside of his mother’s arms, chubby from so many months of Kit-Kats and strawberry shakes. 

“LT,” Soap shocks you out of his reverie, “Is she…she okay?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, sitting back up, “She’s fine.”

“What about the baby?”

“The baby, too,” he answers, not even hiding his relief, “Just…pull around over there,” he points to the parking lot, “You heading back into the office?”

“Yeah, got an incident report to file from last night,” Soap answers.

“Good,” Simon stands from the four-wheeler, digging around in his pockets for the car keys, “Tell Price the wife needs me home early. Family emergency.”

With that, he turns on his heel, making a beeline for the truck. However, before he can tug open the door, Soap bellows a low whistle from the four-wheeler.

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow?” He yells.

“Probably,” Simon grimaces, “Might see me back tonight…save me a cot in the barracks.”

“Will do.”

-

Simon grunts, ambling up the steps of the front porch. The Shake Shack bag is precariously full inside of his arms, strawberry shake threatening to spill across the front of his shirt. But, with a deep breath in, he manages to make it up the final step with a slow balancing act, and he reaches for the door with uneasy hands.

However, it’s tugged open before he can even turn it. And standing right there, hands rubbing over your swollen belly, is the love of his life—eyes red and nose stuffy from so many tears. Without saying a word, you pluck the fast food bag out of his hands, plodding back into the house before he can even kiss you on the cheek.

Figures, he chuckles.

He shuts the door behind him, toeing off his shoes. But just before he drops his car keys in the bowl on the hallway table, a flash of pink crosses over his vision. With a quirked brow, he picks the post-it note off of the bottom of the bowl, squinting down at the scrawl of your writing across it.

I want pancakes for breakfast tomorrow, it reads, stained with tears.

At that, he can’t help but duck his head with an elated, loving scoff, tracing over the small pen marks.

Pancakes, huh?

Yeah, he could do pancakes tomorrow morning. 

Ghosting pt. 1

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Cw: swearing, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of abortion, angst, arguments, abandonment, younger Simon, story takes place when he’s 23 and you’re 21.

“kids?”

“What about them?”

“Would you ever want any?”

It was yours and Simon your one year anniversary. It was nothing special, just some takeout and card games with a movie playing in the back. You don’t know how the conversation of your futures came to be but you both knew it had to be said at some point in your relationship. You asked what Simon planned to do once he got older and retired from the military. He asked you questions about your plans as you grew older. That’s when you decided to be the one to bring up the very question that tends to either strain or strengthen a relation, children.

“No. Hard pass. I don’t do well with them nor do I want any of my own.” He never meant to say it with such a rude tone but It didn’t bother you much. You knew that there was a deeper reason why with the way his brows furrowed and the tension in the shoulders. You wanted him to elaborate more but you decided against it.

“Yeah I’m not too keen on children. At least right now anyways.” You said placing down your card on the table as Simon continued to examine his cards to find a way to defeat you. He looked at you as you spoke your last words as you kept your eyes on your cards. You liked kids to a certain extent and wouldn’t mind one later on in your life as you settle down or just none at all. You tried not to let Simons words get to you, since you don’t mind a childless life, as long as you had Simon by your side, but sometimes there would be days where you felt lonely without Simon when he’s deployed to his job. There’s also days where you fear he’ll never come back home and you’d be left with nothing to remember him by but memories, pictures and his possessions. A kid would be something that not only would be a piece of him that breathes and moves but they would be the physical embodiment of yours and Simons’ love, something that would keep you two tied to each other.

As nice as a child with Simon would be, you respected his wishes and you would have to come to terms with it. It’ll just be you and Simon, growing old together in a little house on the far side of town where no one can bother you and it’ll just be you, your grumpy (eventual) husband and your animals to keep you company. Yeah, you could live with that.

Hopefully, if he doesn’t die on the job…

“It’ll just be the two of us and a bunch of animals.”

That’s how you’d thought it be. Until it wasn’t.

You sat there on your bed holding the white stick in your hand. The pink plus sign was burning your eyes. You could feel your stomach churning. What the hell were you gonna do? You were panicking. You had been throwing up the past few days, Simon suggested you’d go see a doctor worried you ate something bad or caught some stomach bug but you refused and said you’d be fine thinking it go away within a few days however more things surfaced on your body that caught your attention. You breast grew a cup bigger and felt sore as hell, you assumed it was due to your period, it was due to arrive in a week anyway but you still found it abnormal that your breast swelled up so much. When the week passed you figured it was delayed due to your little stomach bug but another week passed. That’s when the thoughts hit you. You couldn’t be right? There’s no way you could be pregnant. You and Simon were always careful.

That same day of realization you went to the drug store just to be sure. You brought three sticks and each one came out with the same pink plus sign appearing on the little box. What the hell were you gonna do? How were you going to tell Simon? Maybe you don’t. You can just get an abortion and get it over with. Well, maybe it’s best if you tell him either way. But the more you thought about the baby, the more harder it seemed for you to think about getting rid of it.

You never really made your decision on not having kids, you figured that when it happens it happens, but what about now? Simon doesn’t want a baby, but you’re pregnant with the child you created with the love of your life, Yours and Simons baby…

Tears prick your eyes as you stared at the stick. What are you going to do?

Simon was out drinking with his ‘comrades’ so you had some time to yourself before he came back. You needed to plan a time when you’d tell him. But you were beyond terrified. You know having this baby was putting your relationship with Simon at risk. But this was just as much of his doing as yours, but at the same time, your IUD should’ve prevented this from happening.

You tired to gain the courage in the past couple days since you’ve found out, to tell him but you never could. For days Simon could tell something was bothering you, and it wasn’t the sickness you had. It was something that was clouding your mind. He could see in your eyes that something was troubling you.

Simon had just returned to home from the bar, feeling dreadful about having to be deployed once again here in a couple of days, he doesn’t want to leave you. He hates it, he hated leaving you here all alone, he can’t be there to protect you, hold you and love you but his job makes it worth it if it means you get everything you deserve. Even if he isn’t around for long periods at a time.

As he walks into the house you greet him with a smile, he’s a little tipsy but just barely since he still had to drive home, he did enjoy his time with Price, Soap and Gaz though. Even if he didn’t outright admit it.

“How’d it go?” You asked him as you approach him with a small smile. You’re too nervous to give him his usual greeting kiss which made Simon’s suspicions of your worry confirmed.

“It was fine, not too shabby and the boys were okay as usual. I need to ask you something.” He said glancing your direction aa he looks into your eyes like he’s trying to read your mind, he cups your face gently as he approached you. He saw your body tense up, you tried to save yourself by quickly relaxing before Simon could see but it was too late, he already did. That was his que. “There’s something bothering you, I can see it. You know you can’t hide things from me and I understand you don’t wanna talk about it but at least let me help you the way you help me.”

Your throat grew dry, ‘Shit.’ You thought. You could feel your anxiety flow through your nerves as your hand began to tremble slightly. Your silence worried Simon. “Yn…” He called out but you stood silent.

‘It’s now or never, i can’t hide this forever, not when I start to show.” You thought, Simons hand gently rubbed your cheekbones which brought your attention back to him. Your teary gaze met his concerned ones. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry…” You quivered out. You tried to keep your composure but the hormones betrayed your body. “For what? What happened love?” He grew more worried as the tears rolled down your face. He wiped them away with his fingers as he cradled your face, as you both stare into the others gaze. “You promise you won’t be mad, I’m scared you’re gonna hate me, leave me and…” You whisper but Simon cuts you off as he leaned down to take your lips into a soft but passionate kiss, pulling away you look at him such vulnerability as you wrap your hands around Simons wrist gently. “I won’t.” He whispers back to you, his eyes filled with concern and love in his eyes. It makes your heart break thinking about what can happen next.

Your breath hitched before you inhaled and closed your eyes leaning into Simons touch. “I’m pregnant…” it was silent for a hot second. You felt his hands stiffen up but quickly relax as he looked a bit surprised. Your IUD should’ve been working, but he can’t blame you, there’s still a small chance.

“Have you made an appointment?” He asked after a long silence.

“For what?” You look up nervously, your guts telling you things were going downhill soon now, it’s too late you’ve already made up your mind.

“To get rid of it.” He asks you confused but something was telling him something else is going on. It was dead silence after that, you didn’t even need to say anything, the look in your eyes were enough to tell Simon what your intentions were. His hands were stiff it almost felt like a mannequins hands were placed on your face but then they were quickly snatched away from your grasp and face. You gasped lightly at the action. He took two long strides away from you, his eyes were slightly wide and had a blank look in them as he stared at you.

You wanted to call out to him but his eyes alone were enough to tell you that he was about to run. Your heart throbbed and your stomach began to churn again. More tears began to flow and obscure your vision. “Simon…” You called out to him, you refrained from walking towards him, terrified that one wrong move and he’d run and leave you in the dust. But it seemed to trigger him.

His eyebrows furrowed as his eyes began to show frustration. “No.” He shook his head as you sobbed. “Dammit yn I thought we established this. You promised!” He began to raise his voice, his fear coming to light. Not only was your relationship beginning to strain but you were planning to bring a child into this world. His child. All he could think about was his father and his family something he doesn’t want to experience or risk history to repeat itself.

“I’m sorry Simon but I never made a promise! But I truly didn’t mean for this to happened but it did and when I thought about having an abortion I couldn’t bear that thought of it. I know what we had in mind was to not have any kids but I can’t bring myself to get rid of our baby.”

“No we agreed that we’d have no kids, for Christ sake, I’m always at base and deployed. I can die and leave you to raise a baby alone. And I’m not ready to care for a baby, nor did I ever plan on having one.” He didn’t yell but his voice sounded distant like he was guarded. Like how he used to be when you first met him back in high school, stiff as a stone with years and layers of built up walls around him to keep anybody out from his heart and mind, a troubled Simon who was haunted by his abusive father wanting to save his mother and brother the ones who are now six feet under. One that took you years to slowly tear down and let him trust you with more than one few but big bumble in the road but in the end you never gave up on him and always stuck by his side. “I can’t do this.” He didn’t sound like your Simon anymore. He sounded like Ghost now. The Ghost he separated you from, the Ghost that was cold hearted and never cared about anything or anyone else but getting his priorities done and missions finished.

Your breath hitched. “What do you mean?” Your voice quivered. Ghost didn’t even bother to answer you he made his way to the bedroom. “Simon please!” You treaded after him, your anxiety surfacing again.

You walked into the bedroom to see him reaching into the closet and pulling out his bag, already packed with all the gears and items he needed for his deployment. Slumping the strap over his shoulder as you watched made your throat tighten.

It was nothing but silence the whole time as you watched Simon pack away a last minute items he’d need. You watched as he began to tie on his boots. “You’re right,” you finally spoke. Your voice soft as you tried not to let out a sob. “You don’t have to do this, you can keep doing what you do. I’ll keep the baby without you.” Simon just sat there listening to you as he kept his gaze glued to the ground. You couldn’t see what he was thinking with his Balaclava on now but you could see his fists clenched tightly. “I won’t make you go through this but just know, I still love you Simon, but I want this baby. You won’t hear from me asking you for anything at all. Just know once you walk out that door. I’ll be gone, unless you say something Simon...” you stand there staring at him hoping he’ll say something… anything. A sliver of wanting to be around at least or try to work something out but you know it’ll never come. He’s Simon, Ghost, he’s not, and may never be, mentally prepared nor does he have a lifestyle fit enough to raise a baby. Without a single noise Simon gets up and walks past you to the bedroom door, you watch his back, he doesn’t spare you a single glance before he walks out without another word.

After a few seconds, you hear his boots stomp down the stairs, the door opening and slamming shut. Your que to finally let all your sobbing out easing the pain in your throat. You sat on the floor holding your stomach. You were really on your own now. Just you and your baby.

You were lucky you managed to gain contact with your older sister, Stacy, she and her husband had welcomed you into their home with no hesitation, surprisingly. Granted you and your sister had some mending to do but it was mostly cause by your parents. Your mother had always founds way to turn you and your sister against one another when you two were younger. You both always fought and tried to better the other for praise of your mother she’d always compared one over the other, “Your sister is skinner than you,” “You eat like a pig, your sister eats better than you,” “your sister this” or “your sister that”. You mother always tried to make you two compete against the other that both physically and mentally damaged you both.

Your father never bothered with you two, you could never talk to him without every conversation ending in a some form of abuse or never in the right mindset being constantly high off his mind with drugs. But as you grew older you began to see the things your mother did to you and your sister but you never took the chance to make amends, your sister met her then boyfriend and ran away with him the first chance she got, you did the same when you met Simon.

“Are you alright?” She approaches you as you got out the car. The moment you came face to face with her you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and brushed into tears. “I’m sorry!” You cried out. “It’s okay.” She hushes you and cradled your head. “No it’s not, I should’ve talked to you, we should’ve made up long ago but I ran off…”

“And so did I!” She cut you off. “I was the one that ran off first, I was the one who left you in the dust for some guy that turned out to be a fraud. I chose a man over my own sister but I was too dumb to see it. We both made mistakes but now that we’re here, let’s take this chance to make it right.” She wiped your tears from your face. “Now tell me what wrong?” She asks you as you take a deep breath. “Simon left me.” You say, your sisters eyes widen in surprise and sympathy. “Well technically I left but we decided that we were through.”

“Why, what happened?” She asks you as she began to guide you to her house. As you make your way in you wipe your eyes as you think about the memory.

“I’m pregnant.” You start off, your sister is caught off guard and stunned, but she doesn’t speak and allows you to continue. “I found out not too long ago.”

You sister looks at you in shock. “Is that why… Simon…” she tries to ask, you know what she’s saying before you nod answering her question.

“Yeah, we’ve had the talk before. We agreed on no kids because he didn’t want any, me, I wasn’t too sure at the time but now, now I know, I do want this kid.” You say as you lay a hand on your stomach. “I don’t know what to do know. I told him and shit just went down hill. He made his choice and I made mine. I left home, he left because he’s currently on deployment but he’s made his choice not to be in the baby’s life. I gave him the choice to leave because I don’t want to force him into this since he never wanted any in the beginning.” You say, you sit on the soft couch as you both settled on conversing in the living room.

“He’s in the military?” She asks him a bit surprised, she’s still trying to process all this new information about your current situation and your now ex-boyfriend.

You nod your head and rub your eyes feeling the fatigue catch up to you from the past couple of days. You’ve nearly gotten a wink of sleep ever since Simon left, the past two days you were packing up all your things that you needed and wanted to take with you into your car, and you were stressing about where’d you go and be staying up until your Stacy, thankfully, responded back to you and offered you a place to stay at her house. “Yeah, he doesn’t tell me much about it. But from what I’ve seen every time he came back, it was always bad. He’d come home with bruises, sometimes wounds that sometimes looked to be fatal. It always scares me every time he goes, and I sometimes never know when he’ll be back, or if he’ll come back at all.” You explain to her. You leave out the part where he’d be a shell of himself, like a ghost possessing Simon, so unemotional, and you can never forget how scary it was seeing how empty his eyes looked sometimes.

Stacy looks at you, she’s processing all this and trying to her best to listen but she can tell that’s it’s a lot for her to take in. You don’t blame her, you two haven’t seen each other er for over five years, so there’s a lot of catching up to do. “I promise you I’ll only be here for a few months. I’ll find a place to stay for the baby and I before they’re born, we’ll be out of your hair soon.” You tell her quickly trying to reassure her that it’s only temporary and you’re not going to take advantage of your sister’s kindness and willing to help you out, you don’t wanna have the burden of having her worry about you and have a baby in the house. You’ve already become enough of a burden for Simon with the baby.

Stacy shakes her head and gently takes your hand and gently squeezes it. “Don’t worry about it. Take as much time as you need to get back on your feet. You got a kid to worry about now. And granted, it may be hard but I believe in you. You’re a strong woman, I know you can get through this, you always do. And even if you don’t, I’ll always be here to help you.” She says as she smiles at you fondly.

You feel so grateful for her. Your hormones have you all over the place both emotionally and physically. You’re on the verge of tears as you engulf Stacy into a hug once again. “Thanks Stac.” You say, your voice threatening to crack into a sob.

Stacy smiles at you and hugs you back. “Don’t thank me, you’re my little sister, family looks out for one another. Real family.”

꧁——————————꧂

Im debating if this series should have a twist to it. So stay tuned :)