Ghost Who’s Cock Is So Big He Sits In Bed With You For Hours, Just Rocking His Hips Happily Back And

All I need is for someone to gently cup my face and tell me I'm not as doomed as I feel.

brown works so hard and does so much and everyone is so mean to her. coffee chocolate hair leather tea wood eyes broth a warm coat autumn leaves caramelized onions the crust on a loaf of bread. all things good and warm and kind are brown. bitch!

having a praise kink but being unable to accept compliments means ghost's whispering shit in your ear like 'you're so fuckin' stupid, how can you not understand how easy to fuckin' love you are? your empty little head just can't grasp how goddamned sweet and good you are f'me all the bloody time? is that it?' while folding you in half over the nearest flat surface

Like his own.

Stepdad!Simon “Ghost” Riley x Mum!Reader

warnings:; none.

Simon never thought he’d have a kid of his own one day.

And well, he still doesn’t.

Not by blood, anyway.

But even without such relations, he’s adapted to be a father figure he never thought he’d be for your little one once your relationship grew in seriousness.

Your kid may have a father, but he’s the better one by far — the bio dad is either barely involved, or whose ‘presence’ is prompted by child support payments.

Maybe even neither; dead, or completely absent from the child’s life since the start.

Yet none of that mattered to Simon, no.

Because while he may not be the blood father of your kid, he felt a sense of duty whenever the youngling sought comfort in his arms after a nightmare, long after you introduced the two, once they grew more comfortable around each other.

Unlike your baby daddy; he, even without the official title, stepped forward, taking place in your child’s life as a replacement once it was known his presence in it was wanted.

Like a good, active father would, he attends the tyke’s school plays, football games, ballet performances, whatever it may be.

And even though he usually goes along with you — if you were to be busy with something important, unable to witness your child’s shows, he goes alone; phone storage filled with shaky recordings of your kid, one’s to send, or present to you after. Supporting your child from the crowd of parents and family of other children that surrounded him, paying no mind to how some gawked at him.

If you couldn’t, and if he was available; home from deployment, he’d offer to take the tyke out to the park, buying an ice cream, or a treat along the way.

Will even take them to splash around in puddles during a rainy day, both returning home drenched once storm clouds hit.

Your kid grew to love Simon, because why wouldn’t they? An actual father figure they never had, one that cares for them just as much as you. Maybe at the start they had some less than pleasant feelings, glaring at him from over at your side when they first met.

But, in luck, it changed in due time. Especially when he let your kid climb all over him; dangling from his arm like a monkey bar, or clinging onto his thigh while he talks with an acquaintance, stranger in their eyes, even letting them snuggle into his side as a cartoon plays on the telly, and is the one who carries them around when they grow too heavy for you.

Depending on the kid, they either hate, or love his mask — maybe the skull fascinates them, or gives them nightmares. There’s no in between.

But even so, it’s only on rare occasions that your child does see it.

As there’s times he might have forgotten to take it off; sweat from the intense day basically sealing the mask to his face. And when he steps through the premises of your home late at night, your child greets him in the hallway, trying to sneak up on the soldier as they had thought he was a stranger breaking in.

It’s him who helps your kid when mothers day rolls around. Waking them early. Assisting them with making a simple breakfast in bed for you, and making sure they don’t burn down the kitchen, giving you time to sleep in, and rest.

You also receive a card, the shakiest penmanship of man-kind scribbled on the inside — Simon’s somewhat successful attempt at replicating your child’s handwriting.

Maybe it had been your imagination, or the light playing tricks on you — but you could have sworn you saw a tear, or two in his eyes when your child referred to him as ‘dad’ one day, out of the blue, for no apparent reason at all.

To know a child that was yours ever felt comfortable with him, safe enough to call him their father was an accomplishment he didn’t think he’d achieve.

And while you might have another one day — an adorable, lil’ shite that carries both your genes; his love for your, not his, firstborn never diminishes, not even the tiniest bit.

Hngggggg. Nikto being balls deep inside you, face buried into your shoulder, murmuring in Russian about how perfect you are, how tight and warm and loving. Made for him. Reparations from the universe for all his pain and suffering. He’ll never leave you, never. He is yours and you are his. He doesn’t care if he has to chain you to him and throw away the key.

it's feminism and gay rights to have an m/m/f pairing because women deserve to have two boyfriends and guys should have gay sex with each other

yes i'm normal about him. i need to gnaw on him like a no. 2 pencil

“I think you’re very likable, Simon.”

The man in the skull mask instantly jerks his gaze up to connect with the other man’s face, as if it’ll be obvious he was just joking.

Ghost’s therapist looks evenly back at him, blinking innocently.

“What,” the masked man finally grits, annoyed that he won’t even acknowledge the joke.

“You’ve convinced yourself that you’re scary enough to keep people from wanting to get to know you. I hate to tell you this, but it’s not working. I’ve liked you from the first session.”

The masked man glares down at his own scarred fingers, entwining them slightly atop his knees. “You’re paid to like people.”

“Something I find interesting about you is that you have, by your own words, a little gaggle of people in your life who won’t leave you alone. Follow you around everywhere, talk to you when they don’t have to, support you when you need it. What do you think is more likely, that lightning has struck you that many times, or that you might be a little bit likable?”

Ghost sits with that for a minute in silence, trying to manufacture a scenario in his own mind where different kinds of lightning just happen to strike the same spot, purely by nature of the infinite possibilities of the universe.

“I don’t like you,” he finally tells his kneecaps.

The therapist inwardly smiles. There it is again.

my brain rumbles with johnny mactavish a/b/o thoughts

medically discharged alpha johnny with an overgrown beard who relocates to a farm in the highlands in frustration, angry that he’s physically inept now, bullet to the head ruining some of his motor functions, fucks with his memory.

and you, the omega who moved into the abandoned neighboring farmhouse a few weeks ago, stopping by to introduce yourself— asking him if he has any tips on fixing the barbed fencing around your property.

and yeah, his hands shake in uncoordinated movements these days, and he has a hard time judging distance and picking out the right words— but there’s a deep ache in him that he can’t forget.

and he knows of it as clear as he breathes, damaged brain all but likened to a discussion about the weather.

he remembers the sweetness of an omega on his tongue, and you’re right in front of him.

Y/N: Simon and I are so close we even share a toothbrush! Simon: we what