reader with ex-husband!simon riley and fourth of july w/ the kids
idk i'm a day late but that photo in the middle is singing to me - [MDNI. cw: piv.]
"You're looking good, little yankee." Your ex-husband says to you in a horrible yet somehow sexy country accent, hopping out of his pickup truck. He tips his cowboy hat at your red, white, and blue outfit for the day. You eye him up and down. Even in a casual outfit of a white t-shirt and jeans that are too tight around his thighs, he still manages to look hot.
Stupid hot Brit.
You'd be lying to yourself if you said that the way you're dressed right now was not to spite him. You chose a matching set with a push-up bra just so your tits looked better in your top. You put a little more time in styling your hair today and makeup, just so he could get a tease of what he couldn't have anymore.
You shrug your shoulders, "I mean it's the Fourth. What else would I wear?" You fidget with the handle of your outdoor wagon, heavy with all the things the girls wanted in there along with bug spray, a picnic blanket, and portable fans.
Simon opens the door of his truck and your two little girls hop out, twinning in red and white gingham tops with jeans shorts and white shoes. You coo at their pigtails, clearly done by Simon but perfect for their hair type. He watches you greet them with sweet kisses to their cheeks. He notices the heavy outdoor wagon you're holding with one hand trying to greet them, and he silently takes it from you.
"Look it. All of my girls are red, white, and blue today." You squint at the way he puts you into his statement and not the twins alone. He smirks and walks closer to you, "behave today, for our girls and America, yeah?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Simon drags the wagon while taking the hand of one of your girls, Ayla, while you take the tiny hand of Kyra.
Finding some grass on the field for you all to sit on, Simon sets the picnic blanket onto the ground and gestures to you to make yourself comfortable first. By instinct, he sits next to you, placing a gentle hand on your back. You spot your twin girls playing with their bubble guns, giving you a chance to smack his hand away. "Don't even think that me being here means I want you. I'm here for our girls and to look at pretty fireworks, not to suck you off after."
He chuckles and takes off his cowboy hat, rubbing it against his chest in mock-hurt, "So mean to me, lovie." He frowns, "cause I'm British, huh?"
You roll your eyes. You know he's just teasing but this constant banter has continued even after your divorce. "It's too hot for this." You turn around and look in the wagon for a portable fan.
Luckily for Simon, he was given a perfect view of you on all fours looking for this portable fan. Your back arched slightly, your tits spilled a little out of your top, and your butt was perked perfectly to him. If it weren't for all these people here, he'd make use of your positioning here on this picnic blanket. All he needed was for you to stretch your torso a little further until...perfect.
Your bottoms lower slightly down your back but enough to let the red lace of your panties peek out and Simon feels himself grow harder by the second. Thankfully, his hat is more than big enough to cover his growing bulge. You're his ex-wife on paper, sure, but how can he forget all of the restless nights you shared while you're being an unintentional tease. You turn back around and start waving the fan around yourself, clueless about Simon's conflict.
To beat the awkward silence that you're both experiencing, you decide to stroke his ego a little, "their hair looks really good," you nod your head to the twin girls.
Simon's eyes light up at your compliment. He reclines himself a little, sitting now with his arms behind his back. "I'm glad you think so. They kept telling me 'only mommy does it good' until I was finished." He laughs recalling the scene of the girls sitting on his bathroom sink. Simon maneuvered their hair and the gel with tactical precision for the perfect pigtails and topped them off with American flag pigtail bows. He sighs before letting out a low, "I've mis--"
"Daddy!" The twin girls run in unison towards the both of you, bubble guns still in hand.
Ayla, a spitting image of you, speaks up, "when are the fireworks starting?"
Simon whips out his phone to check the time, "any minute, angel."
Kyra, who looks exactly like Simon, settles into your side and whispers a low, "I want Daddy to come with us after the fireworks."
You sighed because you hated that you wanted the same thing and all you could say was, "we'll see."
The fireworks finally started, making it Simon's cue to stand up and carry the girls in each arm so they could get the perfect view. You videoed them with the fireworks in the background.
After plenty of fireworks, the girls were finally tired and you walked back to Simon's truck, parked right next to your car. You stuck to Kyra's word and decided to ask Simon, "The girls want you to come back to my place." You pause, looking for any excuse for him to decline, "But you're probably on duty so I--"
"No." Simon shakes his head, cowboy hat on. "I'm a reservist right now. Don't worry." He crosses his arms and his forearms pump just a little but enough to make your legs clench. He walks closer to you and nudges you with his bicep, "Besides, don't think me saying yes means I want you. I'm coming for the girls, not to get sucked off after." He winks, slyly aware of his own remark.
It's going to be a long night.
Now in your house, which used to be the primary residence before the divorce, Simon changes out of his jeans into gym shorts. He spots you bent over the damned wagon again, but now in loungewear. He can't tell whether this wagon you bought was a blessing or curse.
Without any cowboy hat to hide his bulge now, he sucks it up and notifies you that he'll put the girls to bed. Not only because he's a good dad, but one more minute with you and he'll use that wagon to keep you situated as he bends you over in doggy. Bloody tease, he thinks to himself.
After putting the girls to bed, he passed the master bedroom that you two used to share. He walked in and thought it was missing something:
The both of you.
Before you could comprehend what was going on, your red lace panties were pulled to the side and your stomach was lying on that room's bed, abandoned for years until this moment.
You could feel Simon's torso sweat on your back as he pressed against you to slide in deeper. He settles his mouth by your ear, just where you like it. "You feel so good, mama." He finishes his statement off with a kiss to your temple. "Teasing me the whole day." He groans in pleasure and annoyance.
"Pretty red bra."
Thrust.
"Pretty red panties."
Thrust.
"My pretty woman." Thrust.
Your left hand clutches the mattress, while you triy whipping your right arm back towards Simon in an effort to push him off because it felt too good.
"Si," you mewled into the bed. "We're not using protec--"
He speaks roughly into your ear, now sensually sliding in and out. "You want a third one?" He lifts his torso off of your back, now using his hands to massage your lower back and hips as he keeps his tempo. "I'll come in this pretty little pussy right now. Get you pregnant. Say the word baby."
Two weeks later, an on-duty Simon in his office wasn't surprised when he got a text from you. A pregnancy test on a bathroom sink with a clean and clear "Pregnant" is attached, along with your text, I better not be popping out two babies this time.
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You giggled, cheeks flushed, eyes dizzy, and trying to stay up while grabbing a bottle of expensive wine, leaking against Simon's chest.
"y'know, uhm, you're cute as hell, let's get married"
You slurred, Simon chuckled, putting a gentle hand on your waist and keeping you close to him in the middle of the lively bar.
"We're married sweetheart"
The way your eyes widened when he showed you the stunning wedding ring that was on your wedding finger, plus the one he shared with you was seared into his brain.
And the high pitched, loud as hell overjoyed squeal you let out after that.
He swore his ears still buzzed.
The squeal you let out was the reason why you two were banned from that bar and it was a story 5 years later your little blonde daughter and with his eyes and your smile would always giggle about when Simon told her on the nights he called "Bed stories with dada".
With you leaning on the door, scoffing playfully, crossing your arms and saying you didn't remember that night clearly.
Maybe you didn't.
But Simon did, how would he forget the night he knew he wanted to stay the rest of his life next to you?
You, who cant STAND the horrible heatwave engulfing the UK right now, with the heat only being a million times worse on base.
Youve finally made the decision to switch to summer uniform, opting for a tank top when able to do so, and thinner cargos. And occasionally having your hair tied higher up, rather than the standard low bun, on more casual days on base.
Weirdly enough though, your Lieutenant seems to be more evasive these days. He already was, to a degree, but he was now moreso than ever. You chalked it up to the extra layers and mask he wore, making the heat all the more unbearable for him.
Ghost who refuses to spar with you nowadays. You thought you had finally proved yourself to him, saving his ass on the last op, but apparently not!
You, who, rightfully, gets annoyed, confiding in the other sergeants to which they placate you as best they can, but it only riles you up even more!
Ghost who is entirely unused to seeing so much of you, having seen you as nothing but a capable soldier before this... only to learn that you were doing things to him. Things you had no right doing.
Ghost who cant stand the sight of the exposed nape of your neck, the very sight of it setting off something inside him, drgging his thoughts to nothing but being able to bite and ravish your soft skin. Night after night he thinks about you, you and your stupid neck that make him think impossibly dirty thoughts.
Gaz and Soap who know how much Ghost is going through it right now, and at the same time, pissing you off. They both share a wall with the Lieutenant after all, and know all about the effects you've had on him.
Simon Riley who's a gentle giant outside of his work life, especially when he's staying with you. He loves your place, a cosy little cottage that's nestled away far enough away from the neighbouring city to be quiet but it's definitely not rural enough to be considered too far away from civilisation. It's settled in a nice medium ground. What he doesn't love however, is how far down he has to duck to get around it. There's been more than one occasion where he's banged his head on a solid wood door frame and instinctively you've come to kiss it better each time.
He treats you like you could break, like you're made of glass so fine even a slight breeze could cause it to shatter, essentially because he knows himself better than anyone, and knows the things he's capable of. He knows what he's done with his hands and that those actions are things that he never wants to bring home, he never ever wants to bring it to you. When he's not in his mask, he's not the revered Ghost of task force 141, he's just Simon Riley, and to you, he's just Simon.
His touches are gentle, hands carefully placed so that he isn't gripping you too harshly. He allows himself to be soft with you, cuddling you, kissing your plush lips like you're a delicate flower who's petals will wilt if you're too rough. He would never lay his hands on you, not after what his own old man did to his mother and how he broke her, he could never dim your light like that. Even the thought of it twists his stomach into a painful knot. Never in his life has Simon smiled as much as he has when he's with you.
Textbook princess treatment is what Simon provides. When the flowers bloom in the well loved garden you tend to, he cautiously asks if he can pluck a few, just to weave them into your hair, tucks them behind your ears just to see you smile. His lockscreen is a picture of one of those occasions, but he'd never admit that even when you confront him with his phone in your hands showing it one day.
When it comes to your sex life with Simon he's so tender, hands touching places so delicstely with his giant calloused hands, he always acts like he wants to commit your body to memory for when he's away. Desperate to remember each curve and dipof you, kissed every mole or blemish you think you have. You can't complain, he's gentle, you always get to have at least one orgasm, but his treatment of you feels like he believes you're a porcelain doll, going to crack and snap at any and every touch, and quite frankly it pisses you off, you just wish he wasn't so hesitant and careful witb his touches, wishing he'd just take something from you rather than dance around you with fleeting or careful touches.
He overhears you talking to a friend about it on the phone, military level silence coming into play whilst he hears your conversation. He doesn't want to spook you after all.
"Don't get me wrong, it's amazing, I can't really complain.. it's just he seems uncertain about placing his hands on me.." You trail off. "No, I'm not asking for him to throw me around and manhandle me. I just wish he was more.. I dont know how to word it.. assertive?" You let out a sigh. "I don't want him to be aggressive with me but I also don't want him to view me as something like a prized possession you dare not to breathe on."
After your call is finished he goes back to the sofa and waits for you to come down to watch your show together. You notice how his touches are a bit more firm and present, rather than the feather light ones from before. There's more confidence in his touches, more of an assertiveness and you think maybe he's just gotten a slight bit more comfortable with you.
The warmly lit room was quiet except for the low hum of the record player you'd begged Simon to get you after the two of you stumbled across it in a small, run down thrift store that was closing down. The elderly owners were trying to get rid of everything, and while Simon didn't really see the appeal in buying something like that, but he'd do anything to see that smile on your pretty face.
The way your warm brown eyes lit up when he finally let out a gruff, reluctant, "Fine," made it all worth it. Seeing you that happy made the corners of his lips twitch beneath his mask, and the sight of your excitement sent a warm feeling through him that settled low in his stomach, leaving his cock chubbing in his jeans. It came so naturally around you that he barely questioned it anymore. He'd buy you a hundred old record players if it meant seeing that smile again.
Simon rested his head against your stomach, his large arms wrapped securely around you as the two of you lay tangled together on your tiny bed. He always found it comforting to sleep at your apartment. He loved the way your room glowed with a soft, warm yellow, making everything feel peaceful in a way his own home never had.
Though he'd never admit it aloud, you grounded him.
You made him feel seen.
Safe.
Like the weight of the world didn't seem quite as heavy whenever you were around.
All he wanted was to protect that cute smile you always threw his way.
How could he stay angry at the world when the gods above had blessed him with someone like you?
Your rich brown skin seemed to glow beneath the warm lighting, your soft curls framing your beautiful face. You looked impossibly small beside him. Simon towered over you, his broad frame nearly swallowing yours whenever he held you, yet somehow you were the one person who made him feel at peace.
Whenever he came home after a rough day, you'd always find some way to make him feel better.
Most of the time, you'd bake him cookies.
The sweet smell would spread throughout the entire apartment before he even reached the kitchen. He'd wander in, crossing his thick arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorway, his eyes immediately finding you.
You stood at the counter with your curls bouncing around your face as you carefully mixed the cookie batter, completely focused on making something just for him.
He'd let out a low grunt.
"What're you doing?"
Without looking up, you'd smile.
"Making you cookies, Si."
"...Hm."
That was all he'd say.
Then he'd push himself off the doorway and walk over behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waist and pulling your much smaller body against his chest. He'd bury his face in your curls, breathing in your familiar scent as he held you close.
In moments like these, Simon realized something he'd never thought possible.
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Simon letting you test your new lipgloss on his face and wearing your lipmarks for the erst of the day like a dog showing off his new collar even though no one can see it under his mask.
