Husband Ghost who is obsessed with his wife. He refuses to tell her no, whatever his wife wants, she gets. Anything she even mentions wanting ends up in their shared home. She mentions a beautiful cookware set, she finds it in the cabinets later that week. She complains that her nails are grown out, later her nail tech calls and says that Ghost has paid for a years worth of nail appointments (with tip). Anything to make his wife smile
When Ghost is home his wife doesn't have to lift a finger. He loves the idea of a "traditional marriage" but he's actually a traditional man. He comes home and and does any repairs you need on the house. He's going to buy groceries, doing car maintenance, landscaping the lawn, doing the laundry. Anything his little wifey needs.
Any hobbies she has are always encouraged and paid for by Ghost. Constantly sending packages full of cooking supplies, yarn, stationary, and paints to the house while he's gone. He always wears the things she makes for him. They are bundled in blankets she knitted while eating brownies she baked. All while you are going through the scrapbook you had made while he was on deployment.
He refuses to argue with his wife. A firm believer in "happy wife, happy life". Anything his wifey doesn't like or want to do doesn't happen. She doesn't like his tie, he's changing. She doesn't feel like going out, he's helping her out of her dress and making them hot cocoa. Nothing she can do can upset him. He's so in love with her that anything she does is perfect to him.
Husband!Simon Riley that lurks behind you constantly. in your home, at the grocery store, at a bar - he’s just looming behind you. sometimes he just stands and stares at the back of your head, absolutely smitten that you’re his and he’s yours. he’s not the best with words, but he’s great at following behind you
Husband!Simon Riley that’s silently delighted when you lean against him. he’s sturdy, a wall of a man - he’s cracking a small smile under his mask when you lean into him. he’s wrapping his arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you glance around. he tried leaning against you once, he didn’t tell you and caught you off guard, almost sending you tumbling to the floor
Husband!Simon Riley that likes when you give him mundane tasks. he’s always been good about following through on orders, yours just happen to be less life-or-death than his job. he’ll do exactly what you tell him to do, no comments or complaints. you want him to fold laundry? he’s doing it how you showed him, folding shirts and pants the way you like. you want him to change a lightbulb? he’s already walking to the closet. you want him to give you a kiss? say less, he’s stalking towards you
Husband!Simon Riley that spritzes his clothes with your perfume/cologne. just a little, he likes that he can walk around alone but it still feels like you’re with him. it doesn’t matter what scent it is - floral, fruity, smokey, musky, he’d happily drown in the scent. sometimes he sprays his balaclava with it before he leaves on a deployment, the 141 silently side eyeing each other because they can smell Ghost coming before they can see him
coming home to you was simon’s favourite part of any mission. even the fun ones. he liked to joke around, exchange shitty one liners with soap and learn new ones from price- and, at the bones of it, he actually sort of loved his job.
but he loved you so, so much more.
hence why he put a baby in you. your son was almost ten months old, now, and he was coming on leaps and bounds, especially when his father was around to teach him new things. but it was often the case that by the time simon returned home from running combat drills, or even long stretches abroad, it was late at night, so any dad-ing would have to wait until the morning.
daddy-ing, on the other hand, was a different story.
“oh, fuck.” you whined, hips shuddering upwards against simon’s tongue as it dragged over your core. “babe, fuck-”
“missed you.” he hummed against your spit-drenched clit, making you shiver again and slip out another whine. “missed the fucking taste of you, darling, thought about it every day while i was gone.”
you dropped your head back, able to moan as loud as you wanted, because your son’s room was down the hall, equipped with the mother of all white noise machines. you kept the baby monitor close by, but tried not to think about it too much.
it was almost enough for you to get off just from the things simon was saying to you. he prided himself on his filthy mouth, still frequently bringing up the time that you actually came completely hands free- just from the sound of his voice and what he was saying with it.
“so pretty f’me, mumsy, think i wanna put another baby in you tonight.” simon drawled. his big hands were pressed to the insides of your thighs, holding your legs spread open for him because they had a tendency to snap shut when you got close.
“you think it’ll stick?” he asked sarcastically, plunging two fingers into your soaking cunt. “you want me to make you a mummy again? fuck you deep, so my cum sticks in you?”
“yesss, please-”
simon laughed at your begging, not mockingly, but as if he found it endearing. cute. he kissed you when he was level with your lips again, and you moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue.
he let you get lost in the kiss for a while, because he knew how much you enjoyed it. one of his big hands, the one that wasn’t holding him up above you, reached down between the junction of your bodies and started to press slow, hard circles into your clit.
you moaned against your husband’s lips, your body going completely lax against his, just drinking in the pleasure you hadn’t experienced for the last six weeks whilst simon had been away. you could make yourself cum as a quick fix, of course, and for a while, you thought that was the extent of the satisfaction you were capable of. then, the first time you met simon, he blew you away, and nothing was ever the same.
“s’it feel good, mummy?”
“mhm,” you hummed, voice cracking. “fucking fantastic, my love, don’t stop.”
you had no idea how you could always relax so heavily whenever he was working you over with his fingers like this. sure, he could really make you scream, but every so often, he just wanted to level you out.
it might have been the unconscious feeling of safety you got when he came home. after being subtly on edge the whole time he was away, being back in your husband’s immediate proximity was enough to make anyone feel zen. or, it was the fact that you knew you were delivered from parenting duties, so you didn’t have a single thing to get up for in the morning.
whatever it was, it was bloody relaxing, and it was damn near making you cum.
“oh- fuck, don’t stop.” you breathed, fluttering your lashes so that your vision could focus again, your glassy eyes landing on simon’s face.
he looked utterly exhausted when you saw him this close. he probably could have passed out. he probably was going to pass out, as soon as his cock was in you, and forget about all his talk of breeding until the morning. and yet, here he was, two fingers in your cunt, thumb dragging lazily over your clit, refusing sleep until he’d given you an orgasm.
you felt yourself starting to tense a little more as your orgasm built, but that was over as quickly as it began. your thighs trembled as you came, walls clenching around simon’s fingers when he pressed the spongy spot inside of you for the final time.
“fuck, yes!” you cried, a shiver running down your spine. your slick coated your thighs and soaked the bedsheets, creating a wet spot that you would make simon sleep in later because it was ‘his doing’.
you knew it absolutely wasn’t over for you, but your husband was gracious enough to give you a moment. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, and then stood up from the bed.
“m’going to check on the boy,” he said, adjusting his stiff cock in his trousers. “then you’re in for it, mummy, y’hear?”
you giggled, nodding as you tried to haul a little further up the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. you gave simon the once over with your eyes, smirk spreading across your face as you checked him out shamelessly.
Hi ! Do you write pregnancy/ baby stuff? I have an awful baby fewer and NEED this kind of content!
Hope you have a great day/night ❤️
baby fever !
simon riley x f!reader
genre: sfw. fluff
warning: pregnancy
synopsis: simon riley as a dad
word count: 1.1k
simon never wanted kids.
he always thought himself to end up being a horrible dad, given his awful history with his own.
but then you came along.
at first you were happy to oblige in his no kids thing, no biggie. you just wanted him.
simon was grateful.
however, there came times when you had to babysit or maybe a kid mistook you for their mom or maybe said kid was just lost completely and you each time, you handled the situation with that sparkle in your eyes and care. you were no mom but your maternal instincts were very present.
and the dreams came.
he saw you, swollen with his child. you were either laughing about something or playing with the baby. his child was in your arms being doted on or being pushed around in a stroller.
his child.
his wife.
his.
and suddenly that's all he could think about.
a million emotions threatened to consume him all at once when you presented the double lined pink stick to him.
his reaction was priceless, and it made you cry as well, given how nervous you were about even thinking of telling him. so when he stared at you, expression blank, face blank, eyes staring into your soul, you panicked.
"say something!" you'd screamed, cheeks went and chest heaving. you were so scared.
that brought him back to reality.
simon blinked and then it seemed like he was in control again. his arms wrapped securely around your shivering body and his heavy hand patted your hair- and you loved it. you nuzzled into him as much as possible even as he struggled to find his words.
"i- i'm sorry, dovie..." was all he could muster.
you sniffled and nodded against him.
he sucked in a deep breath. "we'll do whatever you want."
flash forward to a few months later when you’re finally showing, scarfing down everything in sight. simon can barely keep food in the fridge for more than two days. if you don’t make it yourself, too worn out from carrying a whole human being for so long, he indulges you.
simon hates to leave you alone even for a second so when he leaves for work, he makes sure one of your friends/family was there with you. he makes you check in with him as much as possible- which isn’t a lot given how much you nap. it worries him, but he doesn’t want to stress you out, opting to seek out your ob-gyn who ensures him everything is fine.
simon often pays for massages for you both. he would never admit it but he loves them. you know it and love how relaxed he becomes. he even learns a little something just for you, keeping oils and soothing candles on the bedside table for whenever you need the relief.
simon would never consider himself jealous of a pillow, but the way you cling onto your pregnancy pillow at night instead of him? yeah, he's totally not fuming or anything. he definitely manages to get his cuddles in whenever he can though. often tracing your stretch marks to lull you to sleep, while reading a book or humming a lullaby for both you and the baby. but when he sings? you can't get enough of it. it's something he's reserved just for you, and now you have one extra person to share it with.
when you wake him in the middle of the night, he's startled each time. "'s the baby?" he asks, eyes wide and body ready to spring into action.
"yeah, the baby wants sushi," you pout.
simon sighs loudly in relief and relaxes against the soft sheets again, pulling you on top of him. "love, you hate sushi."
"the baby doesn't."
he rolls his eyes but doesn't complain as he gently moves you and sits up, throwing his feet over the side of the bed.
"i love you," you coo.
simon brings home baked goods for you every evening after work. "is it cupcakes or cinnamon rolls this time, dovie?" he asks you over the phone.
"cookie s'mores," you reply, rubbing your heavy tummy.
simon raises an eyebrow, and though you can’t see, the silence is enough make you rethink your answer.
"and cupcakes."
"aye, tha's m' girl."
simon makes sure your diet isn't all junk food, and cooks every meal he can for you, making it as yummy and nutritious as ever, making fun things like chocolate raspberry bites and dried yogurt with a fruit sauce on top.
the further you go into pregnancy, the slower you move, and simon is a patient man. he holds you hand every chance he gets, he takes small steps with you and never complains when you have to stop half-way up the stairs to rub your tummy. hell he’s scooping you into his huge arms and rubbing your feet as soon as he places you down on a soft surface like your bed or the sofa.
and simon glares at anyone who even thinks about touching your pregnant belly without consent. a subtle look from him is all they need to retreat awkwardly. he knows you don't like strangers touching you so you definitely don't enjoy them touching you tummy (strangers or not). "what if i'd randomly walked up to someone and rubbed their belly? i'd be labelled a creep, would i not?" he'd heard you exclaim one evening.
simon who tries his best to accommodate your mood swings by letting you cry into his chest about some anime you were watching, where the girls riding a bike crashed into a pole. it’s supposed to be funny, he guesses, but he keeps that to himself, opting to smooth your hair down and squeeze you closer to his body. he whispers sweet, calming things into your ear, showering you with light kisses.
and when the baby finally arrives, simon dotes on her like she's the most precious thing ever and she is in his eyes, you both are– his two girls.
he couldn’t wish for anything better.
he’s very particular about your rest. simon wakes up when she's crying in the middle of the night, not letting you argue with him about going to check on her because he's already there.
he feeds her when you look too tired to even stand, suggesting pumping if it something you can handle, and keeps the milk carefully stored so he never needs to disturb you when you're exhausted.
simon takes you two out on walks and even encourages cute family activities together like baby yoga, which he recently found out was a thing after much much research.
simon is very insistent on maintaining a healthy work-life balance so he can be there for his baby girls whenever you need.
and when her first word is 'dada,' tears spring to his eyes and he absolutely melts.
simon's convinced he'll be the best husband and father ever because his love for his two girls is eternal and unconditional.
a/n: tysm for requesting lovely anonnn hope u like <3
As much as I adore him, being married to Simon is betting on a losing dog.
It’s missed anniversaries and important dates, it’s him only being home a few months out of the year, it’s having to break down his walls every time someone close to him dies, it’s having the patience of a saint with little to no reward, it’s a rushed apology every single time; maybe with flowers if he manages to find the time, it’s vacation time cut early because he was called for an emergency deployment, it’s walking on eggshells to make sure you don’t trigger him, it’s providing him with constant reassurance that you’ll be safe despite being married to him, it’s giving him all you’ve got until there’s nothing left.
18+ Simon Riley/Fem Reader — PIV, semi-public sex — 800 words
You surprise Ghost with a quickie between missions
A thrill shoots up your belly, straight into your throat, as you watch a massive, masked man step into the bar.
Everyone else is doing a double take as he lumbers by, clearly thinking, 'What's with this skull idiot? It's well past Halloween.' But your eyes are locked onto the smudged black of his, as he efficiently clocks you across the room.
He's practically a stranger by now, your brain matching his form with the man in your memories, but not really registering him as familiar. It's only been a few months, and he's already been erased from your short-term memory banks. It's oddly frightening, and unexpectedly exciting.
From your bar stool you watch him approach, your face mirroring what you know his expression is behind that mask — wary, with his focus completely narrowed onto your face in the crowd.
Quickly smoothing your skirt atop your thighs, you manage a smile as he settles into the empty seat next to you, black-clad knee brushing yours from how long his legs are. 'Yes,' your body whispers to you. 'This is mine. I remember.'
“Hi, baby,” you say sweetly.
"Thought you were pulling my leg," the fearsome creature rumbles. "You really drove three hours just to see me between flights?"
"I really did.”
Those dark brown eyes flick down to your fingers, sporting your sparkly wedding ring. His is safely at home, tucked away in his nightstand.
Paranoid, he looks out across the bar, as if he’s expecting to see his men stalking him from afar. “I have to be back at the gate in an hour. Shouldn’t have come, really.”
“There’s a bathroom here with a door that locks,” you offer, getting straight to business.
He yanks his gaze back to you. You watch his eyes unfocus, as he meticulously runs the risk analysis of what you’re suggesting: a mindless fuck in a dirty public bathroom, in between flights. Off to who-knows-where in an hour, but there’s just enough time to get between your legs.
Your husband isn’t exactly a horndog, but he also hasn’t seen you in months. Hasn’t felt the warmth of your skin or the soft give of your breast in his hand, and you can tell he’s considering it. It’s not the logistics holding him back, you believe. It’s the… propriety.
“Please,” you whisper, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.
He tracks the movement, blinking slowly. “I… can’t. Haven’t had a bath in…”
“I haven’t had you in…” you trail off with a pleading expression, pussy warming just from the proximity and the risk you’re dancing around.
You can practically see his heart begin to speed, as his eyes crawl back to yours, and he reaches out to take your fingers in his. His gloved thumb rubs lightly over the top of your ring. “I can only give you twenty minutes.”
“Then let’s go.”
By the time you slide the bathroom lock into place, his mask is already bunched up over the bridge of his nose, cigarette-scented and musty. You make a happy noise and wrap your arms around his neck, finding the scruffy side of his face to press against your lips as he breathes in long drags of your hair.
Simon washes his hands before he touches you, because he knows where his gloves have been, and it hasn’t been good. Soon after, you’re leaned over the sink with your tits hanging out the front of your shirt, legs trembling as he massages his spit in gentle circles over your clit, murmuring quiet instructions in your ear.
He tells you in detail exactly how you’re going to get back to your car safely, which town is the best stop for petrol, and how you’re going to text him every step of the way until you’re safely home. Makes you repeat it back to him between whimpers while he rubs your clit and watches you in the mirror.
When you both leave the bathroom ten minutes later, he has his gloves back on and you have a freshly stretched pussy and wobbly legs, leaking remnants of him into your underwear. You said your goodbyes in the bathroom, with his forehead resting on the top of your shoulder while his dick softened inside you.
“Missed you,” he kept saying, kissing whatever skin he could lazily access. You were too spent from your orgasm to do more than mumble it back, thighs trembling after the exertion of cumming while standing in heels.
“Where’d you get off to, Ghost?” his team asks him later, when he cuts his return to the last minute.
“Had a chat with the missus,” he explains flatly, dick practically still wet.
A/n: So I'm back. Not for very long due to lack motivation. I feel like this episode is kinda repetitive with the words. This came to me while listening to the bridge of "Die with a Smile" and i just imagined the scene where you two reunite to be on the bridge. Very edit worthy scenarios. This is kinda a mini fic. School ends this week and lucky me, my birthday is the weekend.
It's said that when a person dies, they have seven minutes left when their brain is still active for one last time, flashing before them memories of when they were their happiest.
In a moment of acceptance came a will to refuse, and Simon felt the numbness after what seemed like an endless burning heat of hell.
It seemed like he was in a haze with the look in his eyes reflecting the burning building around him as he remained unable to move.
~
“Breathe, love. Just breathe with me,” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed, one hand wrapped around yours, the other smoothing damp hair from your face. His voice trembled even as he tried to be steady, calm—for you. But fear and awe danced in his eyes as he watched the woman he loved battle pain for the life they’d created.
The midwife was focused and firm, her voice cutting through the haze. “You’re almost there. One more push, sweetheart. One more.”
You shook your head at first, gasping, your body exhausted, bones trembling. Tears welled in your eyes. “I can’t— I can’t do it.”
The next hour was the most excruciating for you, but it was all worth it after getting to hold your child. On the other hand, your husband was struggling to process that he finally gets to hold his little one.
~
"Adadadada— dadada... mmmm" The baby stimming herself by calling Simon over and over, "Yes, bee?" he responded with a chuckle.
He'd never be tired of her sweet little voice, the little yawns accompanying her babbling. She giggled her little heart out as he rested for the night. There was no other way to sleep comfortably when home with his family.
~
"Daddy, don't leave yet, please? Mommy and I will miss you," His daughter sniffled..
"I wish I didn't have to, princess, but you understand why daddy has to work, right? So I can give you and mommy everything you've ever wanted and needed."
"But daddy.. we need you too.." she cried.
Simon's eyes darted to the fridge and the colorful magnets that displayed the pictures, the drawings.
From the moment she was born, until now.. until the end of time, he knows deep in his heart that she'll need him. They'll need him.
How could he ever have left this behind?
Just for a second, that's all it took for Ghost... well, Simon Riley to realize.
He still has a family, imagining your reaction, what about his daughter? And yet here he was..
Then, nothing...
Waking up to the scent of medication and the ache in his body was a feeling he had become accustomed to—a strange kind of nostalgia he wished he could avoid, but found himself reliving time and time again.
He was used to the medical attention at this point, nurses and doctors checking every hour until it was visiting hour. Price came in.
"You've been out for two weeks, lieutenant. Wife's been calling me none-stop since the day I informed her of your state"
Price understood the importance of stepping aside when Simon demanded to be booked on the earliest flight home. After all, nothing comes between man and his family.
...
Simon didn't care if his feet burned, the sharp pain in his ribs meant nothing but seeing you bolting towards him at that shitty airport squeezed his heart dry.
You held your daughter in your arms, not caring all that much who you bumped into after weeks of waiting for news on your husband. All that went through your head was "What if he died? What then?".
After receiving that call from Price, which he knew made you mad, he didn't call you until the last minute, when your husband's flight was already landing. You just rushed there, not caring if you were in your sweatpants or unbrushed hair, just held by a claw clip.
His world froze as he ran.. the sheer force of the two of you colliding in an embrace was almost enough to set you both off balance. Simon groaned, "Shit.." you apologized to him as you tried to pull you away but his grip just tightened..
"Si.." your voice cracked, "You stupid bastard, can't believe you'd just.. ugh.." you couldn't help yourself, the tears just made their way out into a sob.
Simon felt your hand pounding on his chest, his little girl crying with you, cherub face buried in her own pudgy hands.
This needs to end— family is the only support he has left, and he's causing them pain, constantly worrying them and leaving them to fend for themselves. He can't care for them the way he truly wants if he stays out of reach.
He has a fucking family, he's not have a proper one all his life and he almost died, he almost left them..
He hasn't lived a good life yet.
Maybe now is the time to finally, actually, be happy—the happiness he was deprived of all his life.
The farmhouse had been a sanctuary for four months. You had turned the sunroom into a makeshift laboratory, using your expertise to synthesize basic antibiotics and water filtration charcoal for the small string of survivors who traded with them from the valley.
But the valley had gone quiet. The winter was unusually cruel, locking the roads in ice and driving the scavengers further south. The trade stopped. The canned goods vanished.
You sat in the armchair by the cold hearth, wrapped in three layers of wool blankets. Your cheeks had hollowed out, the vibrant light in your eyes replaced by a dull, persistent ache.
You were a scientist who understood exactly what was happening to yourself—the stages of glucose depletion, the slowing of your metabolism, the way your body was consuming itself to keep your heart beating.
Simon stood by the window. He didn't need to eat. He didn't feel the bite of the frost that seeped through the floorboards. To look at him, he was perfectly preserved—the same blue sweater, the same neat hair you combed for him every morning.
He was a monument to a world that had ended, while you were a flickering candle running out of wax.
Simon spent hours just watching you. His clouded eyes followed the shallow rise and fall of her chest. He knew something was wrong; he could smell the change in your chemistry, the sweet-sour scent of ketosis.
He tried to help in the only ways his stalled brain remembered:
He would bring you empty cans he found in the pantry, placing them in your lap with a hopeful, jerky tilt of his head. He would tuck the blankets around your feet, though his touch was as cold as the air around them. He stopped moving entirely, standing over you like a gargoyle, as if his sheer presence could ward off the shadow creeping over you.
"It’s okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely a thread of sound. You reached out, your hand trembling. You didn't have the strength to sew his clothes anymore. "You’ll... you’ll be okay. You don't need what I need."
Simon let out a low, mournful vibration. He knelt beside your chair, his movements uncharacteristically fluid in his desperation. He took your hand—so small and frail now—and pressed it against his own gray cheek.
For the first time since he turned, a single, thick drop of moisture gathered in the corner of his milky eye. It wasn't a tear in the biological sense, but a leaked bit of the soul he had fought so hard to keep.
He watched your eyelids flutter and close. He stayed there as the sun set and the room turned to ink. He didn't move when your hand went cold, matching his own. He simply waited, the silent protector of a house that was finally, truly empty, holding the hand of the woman who had spent her last days making sure he looked like a man.
—
The world had been a series of blurred shapes and muffled echoes for a long time. To Simon, time wasn't measured in hours, but in the temperature of your skin and the specific vibration of your voice against the quiet of the house.
He felt the static in his brain—the white noise of the virus that had tried to eat his mind and failed. It was like looking through a frosted window. He could see you, but he couldn't quite reach you.
He watched you now, slumped in the chair. You were so small. Every time he tucked the blanket around you, you seemed to take up less space, as if you were evaporating into the cold air.
He didn't feel hunger, but he felt a different kind of void. It was a hollow ache in the center of his chest where his heart used to beat—a phantom limb of the soul. He saw the way your breathing had changed, turning into a shallow, jagged rhythm that reminded him of a bird with a broken wing.
He knelt. The floorboards didn't feel cold to his dead nerves, but he knew they were. He knew you were freezing.
He wanted to tell you not to go. He wanted to tell you that the blue sweater was itchy, or that the tea you tried to make him weeks ago smelled like the spring they met. But the muscles in his throat were like rusted iron. Every thought he had turned into a low, dry rattle before it could reach his lips.
He pushed. He fought the fog in his head with a ferocity he hadn't used since the day he was bitten. He gathered every scrap of who he used to be—the man who bought you lilies, the man who danced with you in their first kitchen, the man who promised forever.
He took your hand. It was transitionary—no longer warm, but not yet as cold as his.
Your eyes flickered open one last time. They were dull, unfocused, searching for him in the twilight.
Simon leaned in. He forced air through lungs that didn't want to move. He broke the rusted locks of his own throat. It felt like glass tearing, like a mountain moving, but he forced the sound out into the silver silence of the room.
It wasn't a groan. It wasn't a vibration. It was your name, clear and heavy with a decade of unspoken devotion.
Your lips curved—just a ghost of a smile, a tiny exhale of relief. You closed your eyes, your head lolling against the chair.
Simon didn't stop holding your hand. He didn't move when the last of your warmth faded. He simply stayed, the name still echoing in the hollows of his chest, finally understanding that his "forever" had just begun.
—————————
a/n: i did so much research on zombie mannerisms—let me know if you want a prequel!! <3
