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peachesofteal · 3 months

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Simple Math / Part Ten

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Masturbation, dirty (self) talk, brief daddy kink. This fic contains mature themes. Domestic violence. Grooming. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Nurse!reader. Kissing. Lots of dialogue. Bun considers making a friend. Penny is cute. Flirting. Touching. Comfort. Bun refers to herself as "heavy". Simon is Simon. POV switch. Dinner date.

“I’m Philip.”

The handsome brunette smiles, grabbing onto your hand. You blink, trying to understand, trying to make it make sense, when he prompts you with a teasing grin. “This is the part where you tell me your name, sweet thing.”

Oh. You stumble over it, tongue tied into a million knots, sweat from the Texas sun beating down your back, sweat slicking your shirt to your skin.

He’s still holding your hand, and you’re standing there with wide, doe eyes, shell shocked.

He’s… so handsome. And older. Older, and handsome. Polished type, with good teeth and good hair. He looks like he just stepped off the golf course.

Why is he talking to you?

He glances down at your drink.

“You even old enough to be drinkin’ that?”

“I-“ You’re terrible at lying, and like he can read it on your face, he chuckles.

“You live around here?”

“I go to Rice.”

“A bit young for college, aren’t you?”

“I just turned eighteen!” You’ve heard it a million times. You’re too young to understand something, or know something, or do something. You don’t get the way the world works yet. You’re not an adult.

He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I bet you’re one of the really smart girls that make all us men look like Neanderthals.” Your face heats.

“N-no. I just… I graduated early. I’m not a know it all.” You defend yourself, desperate to create distance from the usual stereotype, the way most people see you. The way boys see you.

Too smart. Face buried in a book. Awkward and stiff. Uncool.

He traces you from head to toe, appreciative gaze grazing over the swell of your hips, the generous curve of your ass. “I didn’t think you were. Too mature for that, I bet.” He croons, and your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah. A lot of people say I’m really mature.”

Two things compete for your attention when you open your eyes.

One: there is a soft, lovely song playing downstairs, something spring-like and sweet, vibrant without being too loud.

Two: the house smells like pancakes.

You check your phone, shocked to see you’ve slept for yet another 12 hours. There’s a text from Nia, and a text from your boss.

>You have a lot of time accrued. Take as much as you need.

That settles that, you guess.

There are also text messages in the group chat, one from Simon, and one from Johnny, coming in only a few minutes ago.

Simon: >Penny gets pancakes on Saturday mornings. They’ll be plenty, come down and eat when you’re ready.

Johnny: >I’m missing all the good stuff.

You stretch, cautiously, wiggling fingers and toes, spreading your limbs as far as you can without pushing it too much. You’re sore, uncomfortably so, and still exhausted, but if you stay in bed any longer, you’ll rot.

In the kitchen, Simon holds Penny and a mixing bowl, alternating hands to get a whisk through the batter while humming to his daughter on her hip.

You stop dead in your tracks.

He’s… he’s not wearing the mask.

You stare at his face, his whole, naked face for the first time, taking in the broad jaw, every shiny white scar, and his (twice, if you had to guess) healed broken nose. He’s handsome, differently from Johnny but no less striking, and you can’t look away, stunned by his raw, depthless and rugged beauty. Penny’s leg has kicked up the hem of his shirt, exposing his midsection, and the flash of skin there feels like a scandal, something you shouldn’t be seeing but cannot get enough of. He looks nothing like you expected and yet… everything you hoped for.

“Morning.” Pen tucks her face into his chest shyly, peeking out from the corner of her eye, curious and cute. “Can you say good morning to bunny?” He bounces her a little, and she giggles.

"Bunny." She says quietly, and Simon laughs.

“That’s right. Good job.” After a second of silence, you try to ask him about the missing mask, but the question gets confused on your tongue, and what comes out instead is clumsy and stunted.

“Your mask.” You cringe, immediately. It’s the first thing that slips loose, insensitive, and uncouth. “I uh, I’m sorry, I’m just… surprised?” you falter, and makes it worse. You think about trying to run back upstairs, hightailing it for the hills when he smiles, and points to the empty stool at the kitchen counter with a batter covered whisk.

“Sit.” There’s already a stack piled high, plain, and ones with big, juicy blueberries. Your favorite.

“So, pancakes every Saturday?”

“Mhmm.” He settles Penny in her highchair to your left, and pulls an already cooled pancake from the stack, cutting it up into little, tiny pieces with a child’s knife and fork. “Pen and her Da,” he pads some butter across the top of his handiwork, grabbing her sippy cup and filling it with milk. “Have pancakes every Saturday when he’s home. It’s their favorite. Right?” He points at her, “your favorite?” and taps his middle finger to his chin, others outward, straight up. “Your favorite?” Signing?

“Are you teaching her sign?”

“Trying to. Pen’s birth mum is deaf. It’s important to us, that she’s able to connect with her when the time comes. Plus, my hearing is shot. So is Johnny’s. It’s a great way for her to communicate with us.” He strokes some fingers through her curls, and she doesn’t even look up, too busy shoveling as much pancake into her mouth as she can. You have a million questions now, curiosities bubbling to the surface, about Pen’s mum, about her life, about how she came to be their child. All too rude, and too invasive to ask. “Or, to use when she’s feeling sassy and can’t find the words. That happens, too.”

“She’s what…sixteen months?” You watch her intently, unable to not smile when she cheeses at her dad with a mouthful of food, even though your tender skin stings with the movement.

“Yeah. Top percentiles in a lot of things for her age. Said her first word before she was one.” He’s rich with pride, a deep well of love shining in his eyes, and you force your own down to the plate, stifling the ache bleeding from your heart.

“Of course she is.” Penny holds pieces of sticky, syrupy pancake with both hands, attacking them with vigor, smearing her cheeks purple with the squished blueberries.

You need to eat something, but your brain is buzzing, unnatural discomfort stretching long in the back of your mind.

What’re you doing? Sitting here eating pancakes like everything is normal? Like everything’s okay?

Everything is not okay.

You drift, back to your apartment, back the venom of Phillip, the hands around your neck, the twist of your shoulder, back slamming into the wall. You can still feel him, still hear him, these memories like all the others, your body beaten on the floor, mind nearly broken. Trying to shift away from the hot end of a cigarette, screaming for help, running through a-

A hand covers yours.

He coaxes the fork from your fingers, metal vibrating within flesh.

“I think… I think I should go back to bed.” You whisper.

“Are you tired?”

“No… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to run away, you know.” He flips a pancake onto your plate from the stack. “Just because you were somewhere else for a little bit.” Your cheeks burn. “We’ve got a pretty nice couch in the living room though, if you want some time alone and don’t feel too keen on the stairs.” Saturday morning pancakes and curling up on the couch? It sounds so nice, so normal, and must show on your face, because he chuckles. “Help yourself. You might have to share the TV though, in a bit. We watch baby Einstein on Saturdays, and she’ll need some entertaining for a minute while I get ready.” Your lips twist, an entire hearth lighting up in the bottom of your heart.

“Alright.”

Baby Einstein is as enthralling as you thought it would be, though Penny disagrees. She stares at the screen, wide eyed, open mouthed, sippy cup long forgotten, and even Simon struggles to get her attention after returning from getting dressed.

You force your eyes away from the strain of his thighs in blue jeans.

“We’re goin’ down to the hospital.” He tells you, pulling her upward over the back of the couch and rubbing his nose through her curls. It’s still… weird, to see his whole face. To clearly watch his expressions, sublime bliss pushing his mouth upward whenever he looks at his daughter. “Want to come?”

“I can’t, not if I’m taking time off. It… looks bad to admin. I can probably go in at night but, during the day is just a recipe for disaster.”

“Of course.” He looks around, for what you don’t know, shoulders tensing, then relaxing. “Well, you’ve got the remote. And my number. Are you… going to be, okay? Alone?”

Say yes.

You can’t. All you can do… is nod.

“Okay well if you’re not. Just call.” You nod again, getting to your feet. Once you’re standing, you’re out of place, flailing in their living room, about to be here alone, with your memories, your poisoned mind.

What’re you doing? You’ve ruined everything. Broken all your rules.

“We can stay.” Simon steps close, hand grazing the middle of your back, and you shake your head.

“No, no- I… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t-“

“Yes, I do.” Your voice shakes, and you slam your eyes shut. You can’t do this. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m putting you in danger, and I… I’m putting myself in danger and I’m being so- so stupid, Simon.” His gaze is heavy, serious, and he steps around you, sliding Penny into her bounce seat, turning it to face baby Einstein.

“Listen to me.” As he returns, he reaches, carefully pulling you close, close enough you’re nearly in his chest, timing the rise and fall of his diaphragm. “We are safe, you are safe, sweetheart. ‘m not going to let anything happen to you, or Penny, or any of us. Alright?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me.” You almost laugh, but something comes over you instead, something delirious and desperate. You lean into him, letting him hold you, hand smoothing over the back of your head. “You can tell me. You can trust us. We’ll take care of you.”

God, you want to. You want to so bad it aches, burns a ravenous fire in your heart. You want tell him, let them in. Tell them everything.

“Bun.” He murmurs, bringing you back, a finger under your chin.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s… it’s too much.”

“It’s alright.” He soothes, but doesn’t pull away, and you’re drawn in like a magnet, rising to the balls of your feet, stuck in a trance, luring you closer.

He meets your halfway.

And then-

He’s kissing you, plush lips on yours, pancakes and fresh laundry and stained-glass windows of sanctuary on his tongue.

You’re standing in the sun, in the trance of another spell.

It’s a mouthful of butterscotch and maple. Sweet, delicious breakfast in bed, lazy Saturday mornings and whispered, tender words. It’s life unlike your own, a home, the promise of a love not fractioned, chipped away, or strangled… but multiplied, magnified. His touch is painfully gentle, slow and easy, encouraging you to follow his lead, carefully constructing a tiny universe to disappear to, where shadow cannot touch. A fantasy, cocoon of stars, ambrosial and sacrosanct, an escape from the hell nipping at your heels, the hell chasing you through your dreaming and waking hours.

The anxious hum radiating through every cell in your body flatlines.

The girl in the mirror weeps.

Everything goes silent. Your breathing slows. Your hands fall to the side, listless and stunned.

Penny grunts. The moment shatters.

You can only stare with wide, terrified eyes.

“Johnny.” It’s the first word out of your mouth, the only thing you can conjure. “I’m sorry, I don’t know… I’m sorry.” Johnny. Johnny’s not here. How can he kiss you when his partner isn’t here? His heart will be broken, you’re destroying their family, you’re-

“I kissed you, bunny. Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Simon hums, still holding your face. “Johnny’s okay. He’ll be a bit jealous he didn’t get one too, but he won’t be upset.”

“How?” the question squeaks, and he takes your hand, tugging you towards the couch, settling you back into the cushions, easily guiding you with deft hands. He's so careful, so gentle, the touch of a man who raises a daughter, who loves his partner, adroit and nimble, anticipating movement before it happens.

“After Penny goes down tonight, let’s have a drink. Or some late dinner. We can talk, and I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can. How’s that sound?” He strokes a thumb across the apple of your cheek. Talking can’t hurt, can it?

“O-okay. Yeah.” You try to shrug, pain lancing through your shoulder, and you try to smother your wince. He frowns.

“I want you to get some rest today.” A small grin creeps across your face.

“You always tell people what to do?” He nods, solemn.

“It’s my job. Takin’ care of you lot is an added bonus.” He breezes by the grouping of you with his family, like it’s a normal thing, rubbing circles in your palm. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I can-“

“I’m here. Let me help.” You don’t say anything at first. Can’t say anything, can’t formulate a response that encompasses everything you’re thinking and feeling, stuck on the mile high wall that is your fear and denial, afraid to jump. Afraid to fall.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to respond, He just… settles you, cautiously arranging the pillows to support your injuries, lets you sit there atop the wall, staring down at the ground where they wait. Patiently. He rubs your back and your good shoulder until you’re drifting away in heady, hazy dream world, unable to stir when he slips free, tucking the blankets in around you, and pressing another long, lingering kiss to your brow.

You wake in a panic to the doorbell ringing. Your heart races, and you’re up off the couch, tucked around a corner of the hall, hiding, in a blink, even though your shoulder and neck scream at the sudden change of position.

Breathe. You’re losing it. Philip wouldn’t ring a doorbell.

The door clicks open.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice echoes to where you’re still curled around the hallway, back pressed flat, eyes closed. “Hello? Anyone home?” Who is that?

You peek, like a child. Peering around to see a familiar woman with grocery bags in her hands, depositing them on the kitchen counter.

She spots you immediately.

“Hi!” She’s grinning, pretty and bright, pulling a carton of milk from a brown paper bag and putting it in the fridge. “I’m Lou. Sorry, did I scare you? I tried to ‘announce’ myself.” She makes bunny ears with her fingers before and after the word announce, with half of an eye roll. “John’s always telling me I have to when I come over. Can’t be giving anyone surprises, and I knew you were here. Just wasn’t sure if you’d be up for visitors. Sorry if I gave you a fright.”

“No, I…” you trail off, readjusting, giving her your name. She nods and smiles again. “I remember you. In front of the elevator that day.”

“Yeah, that was me.” She’s earnest in her focus, beaming at you, almost like she’s excited.

“You look a little different out of your cute scrubs.” That gives you a small laugh, and you smile honestly at her, flattered.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I was just… I’m fine.” She pulls a flat of eggs free and stacks them next to a colorful pile of produce.

“I do the store runs for Simon right now. It’s too much, with Johnny in hospital and taking care of Pen. We’ve been trying to lighten his load.” Guilt twists. And here you are, adding onto it.

“That’s very nice of you.” She waves it off.

“They’ve kept my husband alive a million times over. It’s the least I can do.”

“Right… they… work together?”

“Simon is semi-retired but yeah. They’re in a global task force. It’s the four of them. Have you met Kyle yet?”

“Oh, yeah. At the hospital one day.”

“Best guy, really.” Her clothes swish, warm and sweet aura practically glowing.

“Yeah, he was really nice.” She rests her hands on her hips and looks you over.

“You okay?” This woman is direct. She's got a no nonsense approach, and through intense, there's true ardor in her, passion and care.

“Yeah, I’m just… still recovering.” You don’t know what she knows, not sure what they’ve told her or John, so you’re not sure how much, or what even, to say.

“Simon told us, about you being mugged. I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.” She’s sincere in her sympathy, big brown eyes sad and considerate.

“It’s okay, thank you. I’m okay.”

“If you need anything, I’m always around. Or if you want to talk to another girl that isn’t a toddler.” It’s an olive branch of friendship, you realize, or the beginnings of, and you’re startled, considering it, wondering if it would be so bad… to have a friend.

“Thank you.” She gives you her number, and you tap it in, shooting her a text with your name.

“You should sit.”

“I can help with these.”

“No, no. No offense, but you look half asleep. I’ve got it.” You laugh even though it hurts, awkward half shrug with good shoulder, and agree.

“Yeah, I’m still recovering. It’s been slow.”

“I’m sure.” You sit at the counter, watching her organize the fridge with scary efficiency. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. Just had to drop these off.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” It’s nice. You’re nice. She feels safe, the proximity to Simon and Johnny naturally leading you to feel comfortable, knowing she’s welcomed by them, she’s a part of their life. It makes you feel more at ease, and you try to convey it without getting tangled up in awkward words.

You don’t know how. Not really sure how to make genuine friends anymore, so you just sit there and watch, listening to her talk, enjoying how she rambles a little bit, laughing at herself.

When she says goodbye at the door, she promises to text you the next time she’s coming by, so you’re not surprised, and you linger there, watching her go, wondering if it’s real, surprisingly mourning the loss of companionship already.

“Johnny misses you.” The ice in Simon’s rocks glass clinks together as he sips his bourbon, corner of his mouth lifting in a partial smirk. “Not too fond of his new nurse, I’m afraid. Think he’s spoiled now.”

“How is he?” You’re on the edge of your seat for an update, but not wanting to pry too much. It’s a delicate line, one where you don’t know on which side to stand.

“Good. Wrist fracture is nearly healed, so he’ll be able to start on crutches soon. Once he does, he’ll be doing physical therapy for most of his day, and ready to come home. Should be soon.” He really smiles now, and you mirror it, unable to deny the infectious bloom of happiness spreading from him to you.

“And his liver?”

“No complications. Grafts for his burn are in great shape. Hip is the trickiest part.”

“Yeah, they take a lot longer to heal, but I’m sure he’ll do a great job of it, just like everything else.”

“Thanks to you.” You sip your wine, citrusy peach and passionfruit coating your tongue. It’s a nice bottle, and you were surprised when Simon brought it home, bag of takeaway in one arm, Penny in the other.

“No.” Your cheeks heat. “I was just there. You guys did the hard work.”

“Wouldn’t have made it without you though. Think I would’ve lost it. Him too.”

“You would’ve been fine.” You brush it off, and he shakes his head.

“You’re too modest.” He drains his pour, uncapping the bottle on the coffee table between you and refilling it halfway. Glass on glass chimes, and you sink deeper into the couch, relaxing, tucking your knees up until you’re half curled into a ball, wine glass cradled between your palms.

“So…”

“I told you; you can ask me whatever you like.” You knew this was the case, but hesitance is still brimming in your heart, uneasy feelings festering beneath your skin, burning question shoving to the surface.

“Did you tell Johnny we kissed?”

“I did.”

“Was he upset?”

“Only because he feels like he’s missing out. I told him we’d make it up to him.” Fire enflames your skin. We?

“And by we you mean… us. Together. Like… the three of us.”

“I do.” The girl in the mirror screams. She doesn’t understand, why you continue to act against her better judgement. Why you’re entertaining something so, so dangerous, something so stupid.

“Simon, I… I can’t.”

“You keep saying that but look where you are, bun.” He motions to the table, takeaway cartons scattered across the top, half empty bottle of wine, his bourbon, and a baby monitor. It looks like a nice night in, a simple, sweet life, not even close to being your own.

Still, the girl in mirror combats. Still.

“This isn’t… this isn’t a thing it’s just… we’re hanging out. I’m not going to be here forever, I’m looking for a place and I-“ His face changes, flicker of shadow fading across his brow before being chased away by the sunlight in his eyes. You thought he'd be easier to read, without the mask, imagined you'd be able to place his expressions but you're just as confused and lost as ever.

“Slow down. There’s no need to look for a place to live.”

“W-what?” The wine has made you a little slow, a little sleepy, and you blink through the stupor.

“You’re still healing, sweetheart, and I know you're scared. I’ve known since the first day you stepped into Johnny’s room.”

“No.” You shake your head. Pain fizzles, numbed by alcohol, and your head swims.

“I know you weren’t mugged.” How? “I know you’re running from someone.” Oh god. The urge to get to your feet and bolt washes over you like a wave.

“I- I’m not.” The lie is bare-boned, pathetically unconvincing, and you know it. He knows it too; you can tell by the look on his face.

“You’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine. I’m patient. But you won’t be going anywhere if I don’t know you’re safe. And right now, to me, it doesn’t seem like you’re safe.” The pale yellow of your wine shines in the low lights of the living room, and you get lost in it, swirling around in his words, trying to put them together and pick them apart, desperate to understand what he means.

“Are you… are you saying you won’t let me leave?” You gulp. It’s a ridiculous conclusion, but the first one you jump to.

And in that, you know you’re giving too much away.

His face softens, and he reaches, pulling your free hand into his own, petting some sort of sequence into your skin.

“Of course not, sweetheart. I’d never, ever force you to do something you didn’t want to do. But I do want you to stay, here with us. Where we can keep you safe, take care of you.”

“I don’t need-“

“I know you don’t. I know you take care of yourself just fine.” The indignant roar in the back of your mind settles. “But I’d love an opportunity to do it instead.”

“Simon…”

“Did you know the cells in our body hold onto trauma? They carry imprints of traumatic events. It can change your biology, the way you function.” He squeezes your hand. “It’s hard to realize… that it’s not normal, the way you might be, the way you think, or do things, when you’re carrying the physical memory of terrible things.” He’s not talking about you. There’s a fleeting flash of sadness in his eyes, ghosts circling the drain around his irises, and your heart aches. “We can help you. I don’t know who you’re hiding from, but I can guess what they’ve done- look at me.” You force your eyes back to him, and he cups your cheek. “You do not have to be afraid here. You are safe with me, with us. I know you don’t believe it, and I’ll tell you as many times you need, but it will never not be true. We can help you.”

“You don’t know… you don’t know what you’re saying.” Your denial is steadfast. They cannot possibly understand.

A small seed of light blooms under darkness. It’s the sun, struggling to break free, trying to drag you into its warm, golden rays. It tugs and tugs, clawing towards you, illuminating the path forward.

The words come out before the girl in the mirror can stop them.

“You don’t know him. He’s sick and… powerful. He’s a monster but he’s smart, has connections, has ways of doing things that… I don’t even know. He’d kill you.” You clap your hand over your mouth in shock, surprised at yourself. It’s the most you’ve said about Philip in years.

You expect pushback. Expect Simon to flinch, or cower, or have good sense… a rational reaction to being told someone might try to hurt him.

He smiles instead, settling back on his side of the couch.

“I’d just have to get to him first, then.” Is he… is he? Simon watches you, reaches into your brains to peer inside, rooting around in your head. The way he looks at you, like he knows everything you’re feeling, can see what you're thinking, makes you shiver, makes you feel like you’re a tiny mouse in the shadow of a mountain. He sighs. “Give us a chance.”

“A chance?”

“A chance, to know you. Let us in, let us try. Stay here, with us, spend time with me and Johnny and Pen. No strings attached. If you decide it’s not for you… we’ll understand.”

No strings attached.

You could pick up and leave if you wanted. If you had to.

What’re you doing?

“How does it work? Would we all…” you trail off, confused.

“Date?” Simon finishes gently. “Yes.”

“So, you guys are… bi?” He chuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re bi.”

“Is this… a thing? Something you guys do?”

“We’ve never taken another partner before, no.” Your eyes widen. “You’re our first.” You don’t know why, but knowing is exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. You’re their first.

He’s talking about it like it’s already happened.

Fatigue settles in around you, thick fog of it draping over your shoulders and clouding your head.

“I… I don’t know.” You stifle a yawn. “I need to think.” He abandons his perch for one next to you, pulling your wine glass free and setting it on the table.

“Tired?” His fingers sweep over your cheek, skin warming under his touch.

“Mhmm.” You mumble, sleepily. Your head is very heavy, suddenly, hard to hold up.

“Alright.” He stands, bending to slide an arm under your knees, the other supporting your back in one fluid movement.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, grabbing onto him as he rises, lifting you into his chest at full height. Panic floods your nervous system, fevered tone pitching into a plea. “Put me down! I’m too heavy. Please, I’m too heavy, you can’t-“

“I’ve lifted a car off a teammate before.” He tells you, the thick of his body beneath your ear vibrating. “And I’ve dug Johnny out of a collapsed concrete wall. I’m made to pick things up, bunny. Heavy or not.” He holds you right there, all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the guest room, before settling you back on your feet, big hands around your waist for balance. Your back is to his chest now, and his nose drifts across the top of your head, slow path of his fingers stroking down your hip. “Alright?” He asks, and you nod, throat too dry to speak.

He squeezes. You stifle a gasp, resist the urge to press your thighs together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched, since anyone has handled you with reverence, with affection. You almost don’t recognize it.

His hand drifts, slipping between your thigh and cheek. “This okay?” He murmurs, and you manage a rough yes, word sticky and thick in your throat. Yes. Yes, don’t stop. A fingertip strokes along the crease there, back and forth, before trailing upward. He takes as much of your flesh in his palm as he can, squeezing again, caressing, mouth skimming along your neck.

“Oh.” you breathe. The room is warm, barely lit by the bedside lamp, and you burn in the dark, sensations sparking alive that have long laid dormant.

The girl in the mirror curses you.

“Need help getting to bed?”

“N-no.” Yes! “I’m… fine.” His lips touch your cheek, then your ear, breath blowing over you, firm, solid warm mass at your back exhaling shakily.

“Get some sleep.” He steps away, but not before he swings, slowly, softly, into the pillow plush of your ass. It’s a gentle tap, but the fire between your legs roars. “Goodnight, bun.”

“G-goodnight.”

Simon's got his sweatpants and boxers off before he's even fully in the bathroom, running right into the shower, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as the water flicks on. It's not hot enough, but he doesn't even notice, cock heavy in his grip, tip already smeared wet with pre-come.

"Fuck, bunny." He grits, trying to stay quiet but unable to hold his tongue.

He's awful, for this. Awful for doing this after you've had such an emotional night. Awful for touching you when you're still healing, awful for grabbing a handful of your ass and imagining sliding his dick through the space between those cheeks. He can't stop, strokes himself long, squeezing the base and pulling up and back as he imagines you on all fours, perfect globe perked up in the air for him, his cock sinking into your soaking wet pussy as you moan. He knows you would make the prettiest sounds for them, sweet gasps and cries, bouncing on Johnny's cock in his lap.

"Hop like a bunny." He'd coo, and you'd whine, riding Johnny as Simon coached you until you were so close, almost there on the edge. "Show daddy how bad you want to come, little bunny."

He jerks himself harder, eyes closed, imagining the ripple of your flesh, the way you'd bounce so perfectly, how Johnny would be gripping your hips with his head tipped back, throat exposed for Simon to nip and suck a mark into.

His bunny. His boy.

His toes curl. Water streams down his back, slicking his skin, forearm burning with each stroke, imagination running wild as he gets closer and closer, thinking about you and Johnny and him together, finally, your legs spread wide in front of their faces, perfect pussy on display. He can almost hear the way you'd whisper their names, and it blinds him, fills his head with white light. He knows you're beautiful when you come, as beautiful as you are when you let your guard down and give him a real smile, as beautiful as you are everyday, so pretty and perfect, kind, even as a ghost. He imagines it, pictures it, the sight of his and Johnny's come leaking out of your hole, fingers shoving it back inside, marking you as theirs.

He comes with your name on his lips, a strangled whisper, painting the tile with himself.

He falls asleep with a new addition in their bed, on top of Johny's t shirt and the baby monitor... there's now a long sleeved tee, plucked from your dirty laundry this morning as he was getting ready to leave. It smells like you, something he wishes he could bottle, and he holds it close, tied in tandem with Johnny's, curled in his arms on top of the pillow.

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #if you saw my technical difficulty earlier no you didn't!

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mydearestdaryl · 2 months

Text

ಇ. 𝑚𝛼𝑚𝛼 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

summary: you've loved daryl's daughter since you met her, but becoming her mama is only recent. warnings: twd violence, blood & gore, character deaths, mildly explicit language, implications of sex, not really proofread. pairing: dad! daryl dixon x greene! reader (fluff, angst if you squint, kinda). setting: terminus. credits to: @louifaith for the amazing plot idea, hope you like this! a/n: my first post so please be kind. i tried to keep daryl's character but it was hard. anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it, and i appreciate constructive criticism. ♡

it started on your dad's farm when daryl got shot by andrea. heather, his daughter, was younger then, almost two years old, and to keep her from seeing her daddy in the state he arrived that day, you showed her your childhood dollhouse, playing with her until your dad let you know daryl was better and resting in the guest room.

you went to visit him, baby in arms, and she immediately jumped into her daddy's arms when she saw him. he invited you to stay a little longer that night, not even knowing why he did that.

you became heather's (and daryl's) favorite person since then, and when her daddy was better and resumed the search for sophia, she pretty much demanded to be babysat by you and only you.

then the group lost the farm and spent months on the road. heather became more and more attached to you during this time, who would try to keep her positive and happy by telling her you were all looking for a treasure together.

she believed you when you found the prison, where you helped her decorate her and carl's cell with colored chalks you found.

one day you came back from a run with glenn and rick, happy and smiley as you handed heather the coloring book and crayons you found for her. glenn told daryl that the gift almost got you killed that day. too focused on the girl, you missed daryl's adoring eyes when he looked at you.

this happened multiple times. you missed how he was so protective of you, how he always made sure you and heather were fed and safe, the subtle blush on his cheeks when you complimented him, or how his eyes never left you if you weren't next to each other.

"i didn't even know 'er," daryl started. you were sitting next to him on a bench outside the prison watching the sunset as Heather sat on your lap, napping peacefully. "her mom," he added, stroking his daughter's downy cheek softly.

your eyes met his stormy ones, and after staring at each other shortly, he looked away, suddenly interested in the fences.

"me and merle had been holed up in our trailer as usual, him bitchin' 'bout how i never wanted to go out no more. jus' to shut him up, i agreed to hit the bar with 'im one night," he explained, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

he didn't even know why he was opening up to you. but there was something about you that had attracted me since day 1. his daughter was a shy little girl with most, but she seemed right at home with you, bubbly and happy in your arms.

and his father was no different. his walls came down in your presence, even if he tried to avoid or deny it. and there was something between you and the hunter, everybody knew. everybody saw it but you two. idiots.

he believed you only liked him because he was heather's dad, and because he provided for the group. that was the only reasonable explanation to him. and you believed firmly he was only grateful that you took care of heather, so he was friendly in return. fools.

"i knew t'was a mistake soon as we walked in. place was too damn loud, too many people. but merle shoved a beer in my hand, said i needed to "loosen up." so i started drinkin'," he said, clearing his throat when he paused. "merle kept passing me drinks, an' i got real drunk."

"next thing I know, merle's leadin' me outside, sayin' he's got a 'surprise' fer me. turns out the damn fool hired some lady, had her waitin' round back. i told him no way but he kept calling names, tellin' me I wasn't a man…" daryl talked and lowered his volume as he stared at the girl in your arms, eyes always softer when he looked at her. "woke up in the mornin' feelin' lower than shit."

"'bout nine months later there's a knock at the door. the lady's standin' there with the tiniest baby i ever saw in 'er arms. pink lil' face scrunched up and her hands like fists—looked real funny then.” he chuckled at the memory and you smiled as well, imagining newborn heather until daryl went on.

“couldn't believe somethin' so fragile was spawned from my sorry ass," he added. you wanted to speak, to tell him he was an amazing man, but you knew that right now he needed just you to listen.

"the woman told me if I didn't keep her she was gon' get rid'a her somehow. i wasn't sure she was mine but I didn't care," his eyes finally made contact with yours again, smirking as if he was about to tell a joke. "then she grew up and…"

"she's your twin," you giggled and he nodded, his gaze finding his shoes. If only you knew what the sound of your laugh did to him. "how did you choose her name?" you questioned. it was something you wondered often.

he chuckled again, meeting your gaze again, "she didn' have a name for a month," he explained with a smile. "then ma uncle said she needed one, and i called her all the girl names i could think of until she smiled at one."

"she named herself," you said with a breathy laugh, placing a kiss on the head of the adorable girl holding you while she slept, your eyes were this close to turning into hearts, and unbeknownst to you, his were just the same, but while looking at you.

the memories seemed too distant now.

the second prison attack seemed like a blur. one moment your dad was dead, and then daryl was cupping your face, telling you to get heather and leave. now you both were camping in an abandoned rv five days later, the almost-three-year-old blissfully unaware of the stressful situation, for all she knew, you two were on a little vacation. a girls' trip.

maybe keeping the girl in such a state of ignorance was foolish, knowing the chances of never seeing her dad again were high, but she was a toddler, a baby, and you'd keep her unaware and happy as long as you possibly could.

sleep claimed you at some moment of the late night, much to your dismay, since you had been too paranoid to allow yourself to sleep and not keep watch for the past days.

"mama, mama, maaaama," heather called you in a sweet, sing-songy voice as she cradled your face with her tiny hands, shaking your face gently. you opened your eyes quickly, instantly searching for dangers, but there was none nearby. it was now morning, though.

then you realized what she called you, and your heart skipped a bit. she called you mama. she considered you her mom.

"hey baby," you softly cooed. you smiled brightly at her, cupping her sweet little face and placing a short kiss to her nose.

"when we gonna eat?" heather spoke letting go of your face to play with her bunny plushie. a gift from daryl.

"oh, you're hungry? we still got an apple left, let me slice it for you," you said, moving her off you to go get the apple and knife from your bag. a grumble was heard from your stomach as you sliced the red fruit, reminding you that you hadn't eaten in 3 days. all the food was for heather now since it was getting harder and harder to find any.

"mama's hungry," heather giggled as she took the napkin with the apple slices and started munching on it. you hummed and tickled her, not wanting to deny or confirm it as you sat next to her. heather handed you a slice, and even though you wanted her to remain fed, you figured you'd find more food today and took the slice from her hand, eating it slowly to make it last.

yes, you knew it didn't work like that.

"you know what we're doing today?" you started as you got the baby wipes you found in the last drugstore you came by, cleaning her face and hands. oh, how you missed showers.

her cute face lit up with excitement, she had already complained of being bored in the trailer before. "we're going on an expedition today!" you explained, eyeing the stain on heather's shirt she had been wearing for the past couple of days. "we're gonna find food, and maybe new clothes, perhaps a toy, how does that sound?"

"yay!" heather celebrated, making you laugh, "and we gonna find daddy!" she added with a gasp, beaming excitedly. your heart dropped, but you didn't let it show, simply faking your best smile.

"oh, but we're on a girls' trip, honey, daddy will have to wait a little longer." heather nodded and you got your bag ready, although it was almost empty.

you got your quiver on and held your bow with your right hand, heather holding the other hand. "now, remember the rules? if i say yellow…"

"i hide, close my eyes, and be quiet," heather said, skipping as she walked next to you, "and if you say red we run," she added, looking all adorably serious.

"perfect," you praised her. "we're also looking for a new place to sleep, would you like that?" she nodded, crouching down to pick up a rock she found pretty.

in the trunk of a car, you were lucky enough to find two bags of chips on the verge of expiring, but still good, along with a bottle of water—it was a little warm but it was good too. the girl happily helped you put the stuff in your bag before you both quietly continued your journey in search of somewhere to camp.

on your way, you found a sign with a map. some place called terminus seemed to offer shelter for anyone, it claimed to be a sanctuary. it seemed too good to be true, but it was also too dangerous to stay out here with heather another night, so you decided to give it a shot.

you walked almost all day, holding heather when she was too tired, and boy, was she getting heavier, but at last, you found terminus that night. there, the people seemed kind and attentive, perhaps too attentive. obsessed, almost. mentioning how rare it was to see a little kid lately, and going on and on about how sweet kids are.

your gut was telling you to run, to take heather far from this place, so kindly declining the food they were offering, you took your girl in your arms and told them you still had to find her father, as an excuse.

this infuriated these weird people, making them point their guns at you and the sleeping child in your arms as they threatened you to try and move. your heart was beating so fast you thought heather would be able to feel it. you begged them to let you go, holding your kid as tight as you could so she wouldn't see what was happening.

an older woman approached you, attempting to pet heather's hair, but you slapped her hand away. she huffed and whispered in your ear, "oh, don't worry, we'll keep you together. kids and women taste good together."

a couple of the men dragged you to a sort of shipping container, locking you and heather in there, taking your weapons and bags away.

you felt thankful for the darkness for hiding your tears, so when heather asked you what was going on, you faked a happy voice and told her you were in a cave and you'd be safe here until tomorrow. rocking her back to sleep.

you got no sleep at night expecting these cannibals to show up. you were ready to put up a fight. the kid woke up in the morning, maybe around 7 or 8 a.m., which you guessed based on the slight shift of light that peeked through the thin gap below the door of the container.

to keep heather from being afraid, you played with her to guess the number, letter, or word you spelled on her back with your fingers, earning a bunch of laughs from her. but all too soon, one of the men who welcomed you suddenly opened the door ordering both to come with him, dragging you when you begged him to let you go.

he took you to a room with tables that had all kinds of stuff, from toys to jewelry, to clothes and shoes. they were belongings of other people.

the man's voice interrupted your thoughts. "first, take your earrings, necklace, and shoes off, and put them where they belong," he instructed. "the kid can put the toy over there," he pointed at the pile of plushies and toys. your heart ached for the kids that you assumed died here.

"mama?" heather spoke to you, hugging your leg. "i don't wanna leave bunny," heather quietly said, and you could tell she was getting scared, but you didn't know how to turn this into a game or a story, and only a nervous stammer left your lips.

"i'll come back to let you know when you can take your clothes off," the man said, eyeing your body in a way that made you want to poke his eyes out. "try anything funny and i'll make you watch as we eat her," he whispered in your ear, almost making you gag from the way his hot, stinky breath hit your neck. you stared daggers at him as he laughed and left through the back door. "i'll be right outside," he said all too cheery.

you felt grossed out. the only difference between these people and walkers was that they were alive and aware, and that thought alone made you feel more uneasy.

"daddy!" heather squealed happily, making you turn your head so fast you were surprised you didn't break your neck, but you only found her reaching for the crossbow on the table of weapons. how did you miss it? It was daryl's crossbow, no doubt. with the little stick figures that heather drew on one side. "nama, daddy's here!"

"yeah," you said almost breathlessly as you grabbed the weapon. "he is," you said, still processing the new information.

"let's go get him!" heather declared, but a loud explosion made both of you jump, heather let out a little scream, hugging you again before she started crying. you held her as you slowly approached the door to hear the commotion outside, hearing the guys that were on guard rush away.

you opened the door, seeing nothing but chaos outside.

you closed it again, setting heather down and kneeling to talk to her. "okay, baby, right now we're going to get away, okay? we're going to run. it's red, got it, honey?" you said as calmly as you could manage. She nodded as you gently dried her tears.

"okay," she whispered. "i trust you, mama," she said holding you tightly.

after a few seconds, you rushed to grab your bow and arrows, as well as daryl's crossbow, slinging each on one shoulder before grabbing a machete that was on the table also. you held heather who wrapped her little arms around your neck, hiding her face in your neck with her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to see anything.

everything felt in slow motion when you stepped outside, stabbing in the head the walkers you came across almost robotically, adrenaline and fear rushing through your veins, and trying to find a way out without being bitten. though a gap in the fence you managed to get heather through, and you carefully climbed over it.

you walked for about ten minutes until you heard voices. daryl's voice among them. heather's wide eyes made contact with yours, and she pointed to where the noise could be heard from.

"heather and (y/n)?" your hunter asked.

"yeah! i saw them, i thought they were behind us. i called them. they probably didn't hear me!" carl explained, a hint of stress and sadness in his voice.

"the're still there, i'm goin' back for 'em," daryl announced.

you whispered something for heather to say, which she repeated brightly: "you're probably gonna need this!" her tiny voice made all eyes turn to look at you immediately. there were some new faces, but you were only focused on daryl.

his teary eyes made contact with yours, his breathing was heavy, and his lip trembled. you stared at each other for a minute until his gaze dropped to heather and he finally broke down. heather and you ran to him, he and you kneeling for a family hug. "daddy!" heather called happily, eyes closed from the big smile she wore.

you were finally home—the three of you were. his arms protectively around his two girls as heather beamed peppering his father's and mother's faces with sweet kisses, drying your tears too. she didn't understand why you cried when she was so happy, but she didn't question it.

impulsively, he held your face softly with his free hand and his lips met yours. it was a peck, quick so he could pull away before you reacted in case it wasn't welcomed, but you grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in again, pouring all the emotion both had been too blind to notice before into the kiss.

you only pulled away when you heard heather giggle next to you.

taking a proper look at her daddy now up close, she gasped, looking at his blackeye. "mama, daddy got a owie," she pouted, "mama gonna make it better," she told her father, placing a hand on his shoulder in utter seriousness—adorable.

"i'm sure mama will," daryl hugged his daughter, meeting your gaze again, but this time his eyes were softer, adoring, and loving, and yours were just the same. heather nodded before his dad tickled her with his beard, making her laugh loudly, which made the rest of the group smile as well.

maybe things weren't perfect yet. life was not perfect, but this moment absolutely was.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon headcanons #dad!daryl

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