When he's forced on leave, before and after you come into his life, he holes himself up in his flat, sustained by a diet of tea and beer, only moving from the couch to grab another can. He almost never meets up with the team on leave.

He's "Busy."

Busy doing nothing.

Because nothing was a luxury activity.

With you, his habits aren't as self-destructive. He no longer drowns himself in alcohol, and actually gets up and walks around the flat, just to look for you. See what you're up to. Other than whatever football game is on, he's more interested in your own hobbies. What's going on in your games, luvie? What're making now? Is that a new recipe? Johnny's missus taught you, that right?

He even forces himself relents to go outside.

It's a big reason why the 141 likes you. You get their friend to come out of hiding and breathe some fresh air. With you, they could almost see the man they could call a brother begin to recover. Be normal.

It's Kyle that notices first. The men (plus you) are left alone at the quaint little pub John's selected, a feat accomplished by Simon's wicked RBF. You ask Sergeant MacTavish a question, and Kyle finally understands why people wrote "his gaze softened."

John catches on, too. The "normalizing" effect you had on his Simon. Your look, your voice, you were by no means a siren who made Simon lose control, but an anchor that rooted a ship to a safe bay, despite a raging sea.

Simon opens up more to the 141 whenever you're around. He responds in sentences, orients his body to you when you speak, and even cracks some jokes.

Ghost glanced at his sergeant, grunting as he sat down, leaning down to untie his boots.

"Fed 'er." He grunts, undoing the knots. "Was cookin' one of my mum's recipes, felt like it."

He pulls a foot free. "Smell must'a wafted over to 'er 'ouse. She was my neighbour at the time." He explains, Soap listening intently. "Well, not too long later I hear a knock at my door. I check and there's this pregnant bird standing there, askin' if she can have some o' whatever I'm cooking."

Ghost looked up, standing to take his pants off now that his feet are free. "'ow could I say no to tha'?" He scoffs slightly, throwing the balled up pants into the basket in the corner. "Sweet thing like 'er coming up to a man like me? Mum would've come back from the dead if I did."

Soap chuckles a bit, pulling a fresh top over his head. "So ye fed a pregnant lass and she stayed?"

"Aye." Ghost nods, top off, mask pulled off as he begins wiping the eyeblack off his face. "Couldn't refuse even if I wanted too. She was a vision, mate. Big belly, glowing cheeks, and..." He trails off, remembering how cute you'd been, standing at his door, heavily pregnant and hungry for that delicious meal that lured you into his home.

"Lt?"

Ghost grunts. "Kept feedin' 'er. Like a damn cat, she kept coming 'round." He mutters. "Was there when our daughter was born. She put my name on the birth certificate and I knew I wasn't letting 'er go." He says, opening his locker, pausing as he took in the photo taped to the back.

You and your little girl, only a few months old.

From behind him, Soap hums.

simon being a silent guy, but his daughter being the most vibrant, babbly baby possible. that’s because she’s gone on you.

you talk too much, it’s been on every report card since you were in year 5. your teachers recommended an adhd assessment, but the waiting lists were too long and your parents couldn’t afford to go private. so you’ve been bouncing off the walls since you were in school.

you met simon outside a coffee shop, whilst going to your corporate job, and after he’d been discharged. he seemed hollow, too silent, and you’d spilled coffee all over him, forgetting you didn’t have an extra arm when you were adjusting your bag’s strap.

you’d apologised (eight times) offered him another coffee (he wanted it black) and then talked his ear off for the next three hours. he didn’t say much, just nodded or shook his head, but you spoke enough for the two of you.

you left with his number on a piece of tissue, and that was how it began.

now, holding violet in your arms as she babbles away, you love to play with her, speak to her in baby talk, she’s so intelligent. but when she babbles at simon, it’s hilarious, because he doesn’t know what to say. 

she’s always making him smile though, and she can’t get enough of her dada anyway, so you count that as a win. 

her hands bat the scars on his cheek, twisting the skin, but he just smiles again.

“dada scar.” she says, seriously, “hurt?”

he looks at you, and then back at her, “not anymore.”

“no more?” she asks, her eyes big as she presses her face into the cheek. “owie.”

“no more owie.” he whispers, before putting a kiss on her head. she starts to babble again about her new favourite colour (it’s green, today.) and his eyes catch yours.

there's times when simon riley helps you trim the hairs on your pussy, it's an easy task for him, and he's more than happy to lend you a hand should you need so, feeling too tired to busy yourself with it, bending over, lifting your legs and spreading them out on uncomfortable angle, you have him for this, just ask.

he'd get on his knees against the shower's tile floor, your leg dangling at the stretch of his shoulder, exposing your pussy, hidden under a layer of outgrowing bush, water dripping down from your ankle, tracing a line down his flexing bicep, to the wretched tattoos and bulging muscles, as he nudges his crooked, sharp nose in the underside of your thigh, nuzzling in the suppleness of your warmed skin.

big hand hovering over your pussy, fingers swooping carelessly down your pubic hair, ghosting lightly where your folds hide, itching the trimmer close to cut the curling hairs, enough so they won't irritate you, and also look good at the same time, as his calloused fingers tap at your other leg, making you widen your stance, holding onto him softly, carefully, while he helps you, roughened palms enveloping and grounding at the same time.

bending closer, his wet palms smooth over both your thighs, as he tries to get a better view, your back leaning against the cold, wet wall, shudders snaking down your spine, and your hips buckle, so close simon can glance over the pretty, tender folds of your pussy, quivering in timid anticipation at close contact, your tummy clenching, as you feel the rush of the slick out your pulsing hole, and then the buzz of the trimmer shuts down.

simon purrs for you to — “hold onto me, lass”, voice low, tethering on a rasp, and you do, trembling fingers grasping, tangling in his short, dampening locks, as you feel the warm, thick swipe of his tongue against your sopping slit, cunt parting for his hungry mouth, the hairs on your mons tingling against his nose, and the pleased hum he let's out vibrates in a drawn out moan, syncing with your hushed whimper.

coming up behind you while you’re working, reaching around you to grope your tits, massaging them firmly in his hands, murmuring tiredly, “what d’you think we should do f’r dinner, luv?”

a glorious, strawberry-stained, unapologetically chaotic mess.

chubby fists full of crushed fruit, cheeks stained red like a tiny dionysus on a sugar high. the kid is perched in the front of a shopping trolley, squealing with unfiltered joy as she squishes another berry against her lips and then—perhaps in a fit of generosity—smears it into her father's shirt. you coo.

coo, like something soft and maternal has cracked open inside you, and simon watches it happen in real time—watches you light up like you’ve just witnessed the first sunrise in human history. “oh my god,” you whisper, slowing your pace beside him. “look at her. look at her face.”

simon is already looking.

he can’t not look.

that baby is a walking portrait of everything he doesn’t have and everything he’s been trying not to want.

the pink sneakers with velcro straps. the milk-drunk eyes. the chubby elbow rolls. the cartoon rabbit on her bib, now stained a bloody red from berry carnage. she's a masterpiece of mess and joy, and simon’s knees suddenly feel like they've gone soft.

he’s staring. hard.

“si,” you tease, nudging him. “don’t gawk.”

“'m not gawkin',” he lies, mouth dry. “just… watchin’. 'lil gremlin’s got a good arm.”

as if to prove point, the baby flings half a strawberry across the market lane with frightening accuracy. it lands near the produce stall. she shrieks with delight.

you laugh. and something in simon cracks.

he can see it, clear as anything: your laugh at the kitchen table, a baby in your lap, sticky fingers tugging at your shirt, the sound of little feet slapping down the hall in the morning.

simon's not just looking at a baby.

he’s looking at a blueprint for the life he’s never let himself build.

and suddenly, he wants it so badly he could scream. “bloody hell,” he mutters, turning away like the sight physically pains him. “she’s killin’ me.”

you tilt your head. “what’s that, soldier?”

he looks at you with the wide, haunted eyes of a man on the edge. “i want one.”

you blink. “a strawberry?”

your kisses get more adventurous until you’re on your knees, lips parting for him like it’s instinct.

at first, it was very cute. the way you'd press those soft, clumsy kisses on his mouth anytime you got a chance like you had discovered something magical.

he loved the way your ears would twitch and how you'd squirm whenever he teased you by pulling away too soon. the way you chased his lips for more made his cock swell every time.

he loved how innocent you were about it—how you'd kiss him with no technique, just pure, unfiltered want, like you couldn't get enough. how you'd sometimes forget to breathe, going dizzy and dazed against his mouth until he had to gently break away, chuckling as you gasped for air.

well that was until things took a turn. you were getting bolder. every time he sat down, you were in his lap, your mouth trailing lower—kissing down his throat, over his collarbone, along his happy trail and fuck, it was killing him. you were making it impossible to get any work done.

but this? this was new. you were on your knees between his legs, your fingers toying with the buckle of his belt in an attempt to kiss lower, those big curious eyes looking up at him like you weren't about to ruin his entire fucking life.

"kitten," he warned, voice already rough. "don't."

you ignored him. of course you did.

your lips brushed the fabric over his hips, your nose nudging lower and his self-control was hanging by a thread. he should stop you but the way you looked at him made him only grow harder.

"fuck," he hissed as you mouthed over the growing strain in his pants. "you're gonna be the death of me."

your nose pressed against the thick outline of his cock and he nearly busted in his pants like a teenager going through puberty. your tongue darted out, experimentally licking over the fabric and he groaned.

he shouldn't have given in but before he knew it, his belt was clinking as he unbuckled it, his cock springing free. it was thick and heavy against his stomach. your eyes widened, a soft chirp of surprise slipping past your lips. 

your tongue darted out again, hesitant but curious, lapping at the salty bead of precum gathered at his tip. he groaned, his fingers threading through your hair. "that's it, kitten," he rasped. "just like that. so good for me."

you didn't really know what you were doing, but the way his thighs tensed under your hands, the way his breath hitched when you licked the tip again, made something warm and pleased curl in your chest. you wanted more of those sounds. you wanted to make him happy. you wanted to make him feel good.

you nuzzled closer, your lips parting as you kissed along the length of him, slow and deliberate. you wanted to hear him praise you like that again. so you opened your mouth wider, your tongue flattening against the underside of his cock as you licked him from base to tip. that spot between your thighs was tingling again. you squirmed in a failed attempt to seek relief.

"fuck," he choked out, his thighs tensing. "yeah, just like that. love your pretty little mouth on me."

you purred at the praise, the vibration traveling straight to his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair. "christ, sweetheart. you're gonna kill me."

then you took him into your mouth.

it was clumsy, your lips stretched around him, your tongue pressing awkwardly against the thick vein on the underside. you didn't know how to move, how to breathe, but you tried, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked experimentally.

his head fell back with a groan. "fuck, fuck—you love my cock, don't you, kitten? been curious since you seen it in the shower, huh?"

you hummed around him, the purr in your chest vibrating against his length, and he nearly came right then. "such a good little thing, purrin' for me like that. s'like you were made to suck my cock."

your purrs grew louder as you bobbed your head, your lips sliding messily along his shaft. drool dripped down your chin and simon was transfixed at the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock. he had spent months fighting it and it felt so good to finally give in.

"such a good girl," he panted, his hips rocking up slightly. "gonna make me come just like this, huh? just from your sweet little mouth?"

you nodded eagerly, your mouth watering at the thought of his taste.

and that was all it took. he came with a groan, his cock pulsing against your tongue, his release flooding your mouth. you chirped in surprise you lapped at the hot fluid that filled your mouth.

when you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, your chin slick with spit and cum. you looked up at him, dazed but happy, your tail flicking lazily behind you as he scratched that spot behind your ears.

"fuckin’ perfect," he murmured, dragging you up into his lap. "my perfect little kitten."

find more of this adorable duo here!

he knows it’s not your fault, the change in hormones and what not.

you find disgust in foods that were once your favorites. you exchange your old perfumes for new ones because the smells just aren’t the same anymore.

even before pregnancy you never had such a bratty attitude, snapping at some of the smallest things, and talking back.

and simon loves it.

of course he loves when you puff up, cheeks red, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, a cat with its claws drawn ready to swat at whatever comes its way.

but he loves it even more when you’ve tested his patience far too many times, so of course he has to knock down that attitude a couple of pegs.

simon is gentle, aware of the changes in your body due to the life growing inside of you, but that doesn’t stop him from plugging your mouth with his cock.

your full of him, eyes watering. tears stain your cheeks as he intertwines his fingers in the strands of your hair and guides your head back and forth. you’re filthy on your knees like this. whatever had upset you before long forgotten thanks to his swollen tip tapping against the back of your throat, a soft gag and whine leaving you while more tears trickle down your cheeks.

you try to close your eyes, his dark eyes on you sending a wave of embarrassment through you, but he only forces more of himself down your throat when you do.

Older Neighbour!König who stands on his porch on an Autumn summer day, the glowing sun setting over the horizon, rays of golden reflecting onto his bronze and tanned skin.

One hand lazily grips a bottle of beer, shirtless and gleaming with beads of glossy sweat rolling down his muscular form, his beige trousers hugging his crotch perfectly from afar. His biceps tense as he inhales a sharp and sudden breath of humid air, his eyes widening slightly watching as you bend over in your tiny, skimpy babydoll dress to water your garden of tulips and dandelions, the sight hypnotising him.

His favourite pastime is to watch you from his porch while you’re wearing a dress, especially if it’s a milk maid or a sundress, where your breasts accentuated and the clothing is clinging to your soft curves. He plays off being a friendly neighbour so well.

However, after checking his surroundings, ensuring it’s just you two, he makes no attempt to mask his erect cock, unfastening his leather belt sloppily and freeing himself from the tight confines of his briefs that struggle to hold his size, his calloused hand stroking himself to the sight before him; your cotton white panties on display for him to obsess over and imagine depraved and perverted fantasies about - stuffing them in your mouth to stifle your attention seeking whines for more as he takes you for the first time, or wrapping them around his leaking boner to arouse himself while watching you shower, the slightly foggy windows thankfully not covering your bare form…

It’s even better when you come over to his house the next day in the afternoon holding a fresh batch of warm, sugary, and delicious chocolate chip cookies specially made just for him. You claim you baked too many - a complete lie just to get close with him, see how far you could take your teasing. You made sure to pull down the neckline of your sundress to show off your cleavage, faking an accidental nip slip while placing down the dessert just to see what he’d do with your hardened bud visible and right there for him.

“Oh, yeah, Ghost is a little stinky boy, but he’s my baby.”

“I couldn’t get up for an hour because Ghost was sitting on me, and I didn’t want to disturb him.”

“Ghost pretends he doesn’t like cuddling, but if I ignore him for even just a little bit, he always comes to snuggle up on me and—did you need something, Lieutenant Riley? You're not interrupting anything, I was just telling the sergeants here about my cat.”

Human Ghost, who looms behind Soap and Gaz, was tracking down the source of a curious rumor. He’s also familiar with who you are but has never had any significant interaction with you. After a quick assessment, though, he decides there’s no need to quell the rumors that the two of you are together. He’ll just make them true.

you'd never been so humiliated, yet somehow so aroused after coming out of a retail shop. simon swore up and down that he hadn't meant to do it.

"it was a 'spur of the moment' kind of thing", he'd said.

"spur of the moment'? kiss my ass," you'd replied.

"i'd kiss your ass any day, love."

you noticed that none of your bras were cutting it anymore; the cups were a bit too big, or the straps were too loose and would fall down at any chance, or the material was falling apart due to a certain someone's roughhousing.

and this certain someone picked up on it, too. well, why wouldn't he? he was your husband, he knew these things. he'd sit in bed and watch you getting ready for bed, his eyebrows scrunched in a little as he watched you mutter to yourself while staring in the mirror, giving an exasperated huff before changing your bra out for something else to sleep in.

he'd heard enough of your mumbled complaints for him to plop you down in the truck and drive you both into town, tapping his calloused fingertips against the steering wheel as he pulled into the carpark outside the retail shop.

it was pretty easy to navigate once you got inside; kids and babies at the front, men on one side, and ladies on the other. you spent a little while looking through some different options, asking for his opinion on a few. obviously, he liked anything you put on, so his opinion wasn't very helpful. thankfully, one of the shop clerks noticed your indecision and decided to approach.

you told her what you were looking for, and she asked the few routine questions: what colour? what style? what size?

before you could open your mouth and tell the young lady what your bra size was, simon stepped up, holding a few things you'd chosen under his arm.

"she's about..." he held up one hand in a claw-cupping motion, as if he was holding something that only he could see. "...this big."

your face flushed with embarrassment as the clerk nodded, looking a little confused but walking off to find what you needed.

and you didn't stay much longer in that shop.

as soon as everything was paid for and you'd both returned to the car, you buried your face in your hands and gave a nervous, humiliated laugh.

"simon! i can't believe you did that," you groaned.

"i can," he said gruffly. "got the right size, didn't i?"

you bet your ass he snapped that thing off you as soon as you were getting undressed.

and what was his logic?

i bought 'em, so i get to take 'em off.

RAAAA i hate this it's so short but i seriously couldn't find it in me to make it longer stupid writers block 😔

ENJOY :3

The first is tying his hands above his head and riding him. You know he'll get too overwhelmed if he has to control the pace, so you do it for him. Just a few strokes and hes already got brows pressed together, panting and thigh muscles twitching "fuck- im gonna cum- please please can I cum? You feel so good dont stop-". He begs u to keep going even after hes finished, wants u to ride him until he cant stand it. Already ready for the next round bc u feel that good.

Or