Giggling At The Thought Of You Moving Into Ghosts House - Barely Furnished, Almost Looks Like No One

POV : you have been scrolling for the past hour and all you see is SMUT

Please...life is lot more than fucking🙏🏻

Ex-Boyfriend!Simon Riley X Reader

Secret Baby AU | He broke your heart. You left. Then you found out you were pregnant. A year later, fate throws you back in his path - with a baby that looks just like him.

I | You and Simon had a whirlwind romance during one of his rare long-term assignments. He was intense, quiet, and hard to read—but with you, he tried to open up. You gave everything. He gave just enough to make you believe it could last.

II | But it didn’t. One night, after weeks of emotional distance, Ghost shut you out completely - told you it was over, with no explanation. You tried to fight for him, asked what changed, begged him to tell you what he needed. He just said, “You deserve better."

III | Heartbroken, you packed your things and disappeared from Ghost's life. A few weeks later, you got sick. Tired. Nauseous. And then the test turned positive.

IV | You stared at the ultrasound photo alone in a small clinic. You thought about calling Simon. You typed out the message a dozen times. But you knew the damage. He made it clear - he didn’t want you, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him rejecting the baby too.

V | So you kept the secret. Moved somewhere new. Found a tiny apartment. Took on remote work. You did everything alone. And when your baby boy was born - dark eyes, a stubborn pout, and Simon's nose - you cried because it hurt and healed at the same time.

VI | Three months later, you’re walking through a rainy plaza in Manchester. Your son is tucked in a sling against your chest. You’re just trying to pick up baby formula when you hear a voice behind you - deep, clipped, unmistakable: “...Y/N?”

VII | You freeze. Turn slowly. And there he is. Simon Riley. No mask, just a hoodie. Taller than you remember. Paler. Scarred. Your eyes widen - but his eyes are already locked on the bundle against your chest.

VIII | Simon stares for what feels like forever. Your son makes a soft, babbling sound, and Simon’s breath catches. He takes a slow step forward and says, voice rough: “Is that…?” But you interrupt, panicked, breathless - “I have to go.”

IX | You rush off, heart pounding, trying not to cry. Simon doesn’t follow. Or maybe he does. You don’t look back. But that night, you can’t sleep. You can still feel his eyes on your son.

X | A few days later, you hear a knock at your door. You don’t answer. Then there’s a note slipped under it.

“I don’t deserve answers. But he does. Let me see him.” —S.R.

XI | You finally agree to meet. In a park. Neutral ground. Not for him - for your son. When he sees your son again - really sees him - he sinks to a bench like the wind’s been knocked out of him. “He looks like…”

He looks like you, Simon

You nod. “Yeah. I know.”

XII | Simon holds the baby like he’s made of glass. His voice is barely a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your hands shake. “Because you didn’t want me. I thought… if you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t want him either.”

He goes silent. Then says something that breaks your heart all over again:

“I pushed you away because I thought it would keep you safe. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And now, he’s here. And I missed it.”

XIII | There’s a long pause. Neither of you knows what happens next. You’re still angry. Still afraid. But when your son curls a tiny fist around Simon’s thumb, something in both of you shifts.

XIV | t’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But when he looks at you - really looks - you see the man you once loved, and the man your son might need.

I LOVE THE SECRET BABY TROUPE AND I AM NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT 🗣🗣🗣🗣

All rights reserved © 2025 DarlingsBlackBook

I remember during puberty talk in 6th grade they handed out permission slips for parents to sign if they didn’t want their kids getting sex ed and like five students ended up having to wait in the library while the rest of us learned about puberty and health stuff.

Afterwards during lunch recess almost everyone in class spent our time telling those five kids what we learned and showing them our handouts.

psychotic!obsessed ex!bf simon riley

tears skid over your collarbone, melting into your pores till sympathy bubbles up onto the surface. he’s breaking down, like he always did, forcing you to see past his mistakes, past the disgust of his protectiveness, his psychotic rage.

“please, please, mama,” he sobs, tongue cleaning up the salty mess he leaves behind. hips chasing a steady pace, one that knocks any sense out of your head, one that melts you into a dizzy mess. “i’m better… i’ll be better, please, i need you. i- i love you, baby.”

and his nails split your skin, grounding deep within your soft flesh to keep himself level. he’s fucking into you desperately, letting himself drip deep within you, till you get the memo, till he knocks you up and traps you to him with a sweet baby.

you have to stay, you have to be with him. you couldn’t run, you couldn’t leave. he would make sure of that. and he’s losing himself, head spinning in a feral mess. his neurons split, a deep seated, demented rage suddenly rushing through his arteries, zinging his nerve endings.

and he’s grabbing at your cheeks with shaky hands, smothering and smearing his lips over yours. and when your tongue presses to his, his lips tilt, into that sweet downward smile, one that knows he won, one that strikes his heart in adrenaline. and his personality cracks, tears drying up till a new creation crawls from the crevasses of his being.

“i don’t even care if you love me,” he growls, tears fading till his teeth are snapping, till his pupils dilate in an angry, red mess. one that has your heart stilling, one that has your hips pressing to meet his. he was addicting, you couldn’t fight the corruption, you could only fill his void.

n he’s laughing above you, leaning down to huff in your face. he presses his hand to the column of your throat, grinning in a melting, hazy mess as he pins you by the throat down to the bed. “you’re mine, you got that yet, huh? you try to run, i will find you. don’t make me hurt you, baby, please.”

so who’s therapist has some free time? 😊

man with horns >>>>>>

Pov: you're reading fanfiction and suddenly y/n starts to call him daddy

Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts. 

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—” 

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself. 

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly. 

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence. 

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.” 

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?” 

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry—”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

your strange relationship with butcher!simon riley cw: murder and mention of unintentional cannibalism (not by reader or simon)

simon was scary. a retired soldier now working back in the butcher shop he had when he was a scrawny teenager, taken over the business from the lad who trained him back in the day. you couldn't help but swoon over him, you looked pathetically out of place in his little roadside butcher's shop. a sweet little thing in comparison.

to you, he was all bark, and no bite. snide remarks with no real hint of malice under his tongue, a smirk creeping up under his thick mask as his dark eyes stared you down. it made you queasy, fluttering behind your soaked panties that made your thighs clench.

your relationship with the man was strange, every week or so, you'd pop in for a hunk of meat that, unfortunately, wasn't him. he'd gave you the finest quality there was, and told you, "'s on th'ouse this week," in that gruff voice that was slightly softened when talking to you. except he told you that every week.

he always offered to walk you to your car, especially if you paid him a visit later in the day, claiming in a grunt, "lo'ta bad men ou'ere, pre'ty thin' like ye'self's need'a guard dog." you merely giggled. or he would walk you back to your place of origin if you didn't bring your car, tugging you close to his side and refusing to let you walk on the roadside.

or whenever he 'wasn't around', you swore you felt the hairs on your neck stand and an undescribable feeling of being watched, in a way that spread warmth up into your chest and down to your weeping cunt. somehow you knew it was him.

and you always wondered why the men in your town who hit on you disappeared without a trace, or the low-lives on the street who whistled and hollered had gone without a scream. the male population was slowly dwindling, and those left fled to other nearby areas in fear.

it's not like you complained, less hassle in your life dealing with pathetic excuses of men and feeling safer walking back home on the sidewalk at night after a late shift at the diner, or studying at the library, if simon wasn't at your side.

little did you know, stashed in the back of that bloody butchery, hung about a dozen or so bodies and counting, ready to be prepped and cut to sell out to his customers. not you, of course, he couldn't do that to you.

like clockwork, you appeared on monday, picking up your regular order of your supply for the week. the bell chimed over the door as you stepped in, dressed in pretty colors, a harsh contrast to his all black and white bloodied apron. god, it looked good on him.

"wot'sit f'r today, li'l lady? the usual, yeah?" he cocked his head to the side, burly arms crossed over his broad chest, making him look bigger in appearance in a way that made your pussy clench.

you nodded shallowly, a polite expression on your pretty face, "yes, sir," you replied kindly, a sweet, comfortable smile despite the blood smeared up his arms, dried crimson between his fingernails. if anything, it made him hotter.

"sure thin'," he nodded once, turning into the back, the smell of metallic and carnage blasted his senses, walking over to a special fridge with meat supplied just for you. he'd been so lost in his thought, he hadn't heard the rustle of the plastic overhead the door, but he sure heard the horrified gasp, and he froze.

"simon?" your voice quivered as you eyed the poorly hidden bodies, some hung up, others cut to pieces, limbs strewn about the countertops, ready to be prepped.

fuck, you'd gone and done it now. guess you're his forever.

tumblr pls fix this I BEG.

[nsfw!] you giving rafayel a handjob

i can't stop thinking about him entering me and me cumming on his cock right away. it must be an amazing feeling :((