#manicrouge

[manicrouge]

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PROLOGUE

John Price x F!Reader

[About]: A small sail boat can be seen on the horizon of Homestead, the inhabitant a man who is rough around the edges, and who also holds a peculiar grudge against your white sandals.

Series Masterlist

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A development greeted you with the turn of the breeze as the month of July graced the small town of Homestead. 

You sat, perched on a large rock like a bird on a branch on the cliff edge, the gentle, warm, yet somehow cooling, breeze nudging your hair from off your shoulders. The tips of your fingers were sticky as you pinched a red apple between your fingers and took another bite. From below you, you heard the laughter of children, and the crashing of the waves. 

When you had first discovered the spot, during your morning walk. 

A barbed wire fence surrounded a lot of the land around the cliff, and you recalled the story you’d been told by one of the locals in the town; originally, it had belonged to a farmer, who had been in the family for generations. Unfortunately, when he grew sick, his children chose to stay in the city which resulted in the collapse of his home and his business. It had remained vacant ever since, a for sale sign nailed just outside of the barbed wire as he sold it. 

That morning in particular, you noticed there was a gap in the fence and, with a mischievous grin, opted to duck beneath it to explore the land you hadn’t quite had the opportunity to roam. You walked about, the path you took resulted in small stones getting stuck in your sandals. Even with the discomfort, you pushed onwards, and when you reached it to the top of the incline, you peered over the cliff edge to observe the little town from above. At that moment, you felt like a God. Watching as the sun broke through the horizon with a burning redness, colouring the blue ocean with licks of orange light and the occasional car moving down the (very few) roads in the town).

It compelled you so thoroughly – this lust-like, sweltering desire that tore through you like scissors shredding paper – that you almost ran the entire trail home for the sake of fetching your breakfast with you. That had been quite a while ago and every morning since, you sat on the same rock, biting into a red, juicy apple with delight, and marvelled at the brilliant sight below you, taking great satisfaction in playing God – even if it was only for an hour a day. 

You knew that, when winter would inevitably rear her head, as she always had and always would, that the peace you found in the morning in your spot, would surely be soured by the cold weather. The plants: orchids, daisies, even the dandelions would rot and wilt into the ground with the cold, and you supposed you too would disappear from the area until the sun appeared once more. It brought about a sense of dread, the winter, how the summer sun was so finite and how you wished you could bottle her up and contain her for an eternity.

Yet, nothing of the sorts had been invented, and even though you had contemplated it for a while, not even you had found the answer to an eternal summer. Forever doomed to feel the goosebumps on your skin when the early autumn breeze rolled in, a hushed whisper of the inescapability of the fate you’d much rather disendow. 

One morning, while you were resting, absorbing the sun like a lazed cat in a stray sunbeam, you blinked and reared your eyes upon the horizon at the sight of a small mass in the ocean. Your diary folded in your lap as you sat forwards, the core of your apple screwed tightly in your hands as you maintained your interest, actively sinking into it as your knees pressed into your stomach, the muscles in your neck strained in an attempt to pinpoint just what it was you were looking at. 

It bobbed on the water, short and stout, not unlike the buoys strayed out along the coastline. Only, it seemed to grow bigger as it ebbed closer and closer to the mainland.

It was when a sail was raised, the fabric of which white, as though to say I am not a threat, that you realised that what you had been eying was a small boat. It hardly bragged about what it was like the yachts you’d seen in magazines did, and it did well to disguise itself as just another fisherman’s boat. But, you knew from the colour of the base, the bone-like ivory, that it was not a boat from the town as it lacked the distinctiveness of craftsmanship – the human touch of slightly jagged or even the discoloured wood of the boats you’d seen docked in the town.

The character, essentially.

You dropped your apple core into your basket, sticky hands closing your notepad and dropping it beside it. Sand stuck to your hands as you pushed yourself up, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand as you pressed the side of your pointer finger against your brow. If only you had a set of binoculars, the thought crossed your mind as you watched the boat cut through the deep blue, heading directly towards the belly of the small wooden pier of the town. 

Like a siren’s song, the sight beckoned you, demanding you leave the spot and you collapsed to its very demand, grabbing your picnic basket and turning to race down the trail just as you had done the morning you had first uncovered your favourite spot in the town of Homestead, wondering just what was waiting for you on the beach. Or maybe even who was waiting for you. 

Admittedly, the latter excited you much more than the former and you hadn’t the slightest clue why.

[manicrouge]

idk if anyone needs to hear this but it is so so important... pls take care of urself and know ur worthy of love, please don't let anyone make you think differently.

It breaks my heart knowing there are so many beautiful souls out there questioning their worth because someone they loved made them feel unloveable.

[machveil]

Simon “Ghost” Riley Fic Recommendations🎀✨

this post will contain sfw and nsfw content - nsfw below the cut! please support the writers!! they deserve a lot of love for sharing their fics with us<3 comment, reblog, and like their posts - there are over thirty (30+) authors here! I feel like I assembled the Simon Riley writers Avengers haha

SFW:

from our lovely @dmitriene, domestic kisses with Simon

@go-go-gadget-autism kindly gave us SuburbanDad!Simon

@manicrouge wrote water gun training with Dad!Simon, Dad!Simon and his nails, and Dad!Simon drawing

wonderful @ink-n-shadow wrote SoftDad!Simon

@novasintheroom gave us body comfort with Simon

@drop-cherries wrote birthday comfort with Simon

@sunni-stuff wrote Simon gifting you a sketchbook

a fun one from @feralforfrank, TikTok binge with Simon

@starsofang wrote a cute fic about LittleSpoon!Simon

@qwimblenorrisstan wrote about cuddling with TF141 (+ Roach)

@lxvvie graced us with blowing raspberries on Simon’s tummy

@fishsinsareacknowledged wrote Simon staring at you

@gothghostiie gave us Simon taking care of his sick little

three sweet fics from @urmomschocolatemilk - TF141 with a Reader that likes coloring books, Biker!Simon, and AnimalLover!Simon

@ghostsangel wrote QuietYapper!Simon, low-key really funny

@the-palelady posted this Simon coded video

a personal favorite author, @writersdrug posted Bartender!Simon taking care of mean customers - from their collective Bartender!Simon works!!

and, to end off on wedding bells, @the-whispers-of-death gave us slow dancing with Simon

please make sure to read content warnings (CW) and/or trigger warnings (TW)! your comfort comes first, check the fic before you read it<3

NSFW:

rounding back to dmitriene!! Simon creaming your pussy, Simon eating better, and Simon’s jeans

back at it again with ghostsangel - catching Simon’s eye and Simon playing with you

@void-my-warranty blessed us with OlderBF!Simon waxing you

four fics from @nighttimealone - oral with Simon, waking up before Simon, reader living with the 141 men, and GymOwner!Simon

@gazlightmehardergazzy wrote about TF141 and their favorite positions

followed up by @devil-in-hiding with goofy moments during sex with TF141

@amaranthinespirit gave us soft oral with Simon

our lovely @evilgwrl wrote Munch!Simon, Simon popping a boner, Possessive!Simon, somno with Simon, and period sex with Simon

@feralgoblinqueen wrote Simon giving oral

@moldycigarette gave us a little size kink

@last-starry-sky also giving us some Short!Reader

gothghostiie, back again, with SoftDom!Ghost

very sweet, @sherriesherbet gave us rough and tender Simon

@skyrigel wrote Simon fucking you dumb

back to writersdrug, a fan favorite, Bartender!Simon getting off

@sunsetsimon popped off and wrote BlueCollar!Simon

a handful of fics from @simonsrileyhusband - Simon x Glasses!Reader, one more Glasses!Reader, cnc and somno, PervyNeighbor!Simon, and PervyBF!Simon

reblogged from a deactivated account, MeanBF!Simon

@konigslittleliebling wrote a stunning piece on Simon getting a noise complaint

to contrast that, @bi-writes wrote Mute?Simon

a blog that specializes in fics and links, @codnasties gave us a video exchange with Simon, cnc, driving Ghost, and a size kink

and, icing on the cake, @tacticalprincess wrote Ghost and König

[angelicglib]

‧₊✩ Christmas Comfort ✩₊‧

[ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 25/12/23 (REPOSTED: 28/12/23)

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: After Johnny's death and a failed mission, Simon returns home to his girlfriend.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 3,252

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt/comfort, angst, a somewhat happy ending (it will never be fully happy without soap I am sorry) possible mw3 spoilers (if you have been living under a rock please avoid)

[ᴀ/ɴ]: This is my first story here, please be kind I beg <3 also very sorry for this but I had the idea and thought it would be quite a bittersweet story for the holiday season !!

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot) so, if you would like more stories from me, my new blog is @manicrouge !!

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Christmas this year is going to be tough.

You know it from when you open the door to him on Christmas Eve. 

Time has passed, he hasn’t been home for months and you were starting to convince yourself that it’s going to be years before you ever see him again.

When you were talking on the phone earlier, sometime during the middle of November, he had made a comment that he wasn’t going to come back home until he had made sure he had the pleasure of declaring that the enemy that had murdered his best friend was officially gone for good. While your chest tightened at his comment, you had nodded along and assured him that they would catch Makarov eventually; there were only so many places one man could hide before he’d revert back to familiar ground. 

You feared the same for Simon at that moment. In fact, even with him home safe, you still do.  

Of course, you would never say that to his face.

Despite his capability in combat, however, you often find yourself awake at night wondering just how capable he was when it came to processing and dealing with loss. Had he done what you assume he has done, he was most likely going to run from it instead of addressing it. Problems will build up and up until they came tumbling down. It’s a simple thought to construct during the late nights you have been spending alone since the news of what had happened to Johnny had found its way to you. Just as such a thought is easy to construct, you find that another one comes to you quicker than the former: where would Simon be when the building he’d constructed over the years fell to pieces? 

There were only so many places he man could hide before he’d refer back to familiar ground. Even if said ground was crumbling around him. Maybe in his misery, he would find solace in falling to his doom with the chunks of shattered earth surrounding him.

If that assessment is wrong, it doesn't matter; your brain has decided it before your heart even gets a say.

You have very little to go off of concerning with how he dealt with loss, the occasional comment about his mum was enough for you to know that he wasn’t the type to completely forget about a loved one. 

He's vague about his past. The less said about it the better. 

‘You keep pawing an’ clawing at my brain like a damn puppy,’ he said, trailing his hands through your hair. You were guilty, for sure you were. Curiosity was sure to be the death of you in that regard. He’d let small facts slip on occasion, although, you knew his accidental slip ups were most definitely intention. 

Of course, Simon Riley was no fool.

’Just tell me something,’ you begged, ‘like… I don’t know, what was your favourite food to eat at Christmas when you were younger? Ooo, I bet it was something like liquorice. You’d so make your nan pissed by robbing all the good shit out of the sweet tin.’ You laughed at the thought of a tiny Simon Riley climbing on top of a chair, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he attempted to snatch the sweet, sweet treat of liquorice. 

‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me?’ he scoffed, ‘actin’ like I’m an old man doll,’ he snorted, ‘stop tryin’ to pester me f’r memories you have no business viewing.’

‘Is it illegal to be curious now?’ you asked with a playful smile. It was silent for a moment, and you lifted your head in an attempt to find his eyes in the darkness.

‘Yes, it is,’ he said, ‘you don’t wanna know me from the past, love,’ he huffed, ‘doesn’t matter now.’

‘You won’t even tell me what your favourite food was during Christmas?’ 

‘No,’ he reverted back to the same Simon you had seen when Johnny had been talking his ear off during the rare nights out you had had with 141. ’Now go t’ sleep, gonna be tired in the morning if you keep rambling on. My ears are burning with ya, doll,’ he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest. 

Despite everything telling you to pull away from him, you maintained your closeness, the warmth of him far too appetising to refuse. Exhaling deeply, you rested your head against the pillow, staring straight at the wall in front of you. Your heart hurt at the very thought that he cared so little about his past that he fought to keep everything from his earlier life away from you. Even the smallest things. Of course, you would never had pried him, only the few passing comments in hopes for him to slip up as he had done a few times before. 

Another hard sigh escaped you as you close your eyes. He shifted behind you, resting his head against your shoulder. You thought nothing of his sudden movement; it wasn’t uncommon for him to do so while you were sharing a bed together. Only, he turned his head, his breath ghosting your ear. Inhaling, he swallowed hard. ‘Mum used to make us roast dinners,’ he whispered, ‘used to always slap my hand away whenever she was cooking cause I used to always rob the pigs-in-blankets while she was still getting dinner ready.’

A small laugh passed your lips as you turned in his hold, placing your hand against his cheek with a cheeky grin. He stares back, blue gaze gutting through the darkness, slicing your soul to pieces.  ‘Now, will y’ stop huffin’ and puffing and just go to sleep?’ He asked, placing his hand over yours. 

‘Soundly, Lt.’

Even behind the mask, you could sense the sadness, the loss. A flurry of emotions hits you when you first see him after what has happened. What can you say to him? Anything other than I’m sorry seems to be an insult to him and to the memory of the man that is sure to haunt him.

The mask hides his face, but it never hid his eyes, his tired and war-weary eyes. It's a brutal sight to see the man who had put the fear of God through you when you had first met reduced to this crushed soul. 

‘Simon,’ you say after a while of the pair of you just standing there, staring at each other. For a brief moment, it felt as though you had opened the door to a stranger instead of your boyfriend. Lifting his head, his Adams apple bobs beneath his balaclava as he steps forward. You take a step back, letting go of the edge of the door. Still, he doesn't speak, only standing there, observing you. ‘I thought you said you weren’t coming home until—‘

‘Don’t wanna talk about it,’ he answers, closing the door behind him.

His clothes are branded with the stench of war, and you take note of his bloodshot eyes. Has he been crying? You thought it impossible for such to be the case, he’d do no such thing. But, when he shakily inhales, grabbing the edge of his balaclava, your stomach dropped.

‘Place looks nice,’ he says, though his eyes don't leave you, ripping his mask from off of his face, shoving it into of his cargo pants. His words were shaky despite the stoic expression on his face. ‘You been alright?’

You look at him with wide eyes. ‘I- uh- yeah, yeah, just sorting out last minute things for Christmas,’ you answer, ‘how about you go and get a shower, get changed into some fresh clothes? I’ll make you something to eat—‘

‘Not hungry,’ he answers frankly, ‘appreciate the offer, doll, but I think I’m just gonna go straight to bed,’ he says. All the moisture in your mouth disappears and you’re forced to swallow a dry mouthful of air as you look up at him. 

‘Right,’ you nod, ‘I- I’ll be up right after you, just gonna turn everything off down here,’ you say.

He doesn’t answer you after that, dropping his duffle bag down on the ground by the front door as he traipses up the wooden steps of your home. The garland wrapped around the bannister winks at you as you watch Simon walk up the stairs, almost mocking you for ever think it was a good idea to decorate.

The entirety of your house is wrapped like a Christmas present, reds, greens, colourful lights- everything. Whether it was the right thing to decorate or not, you choose not to focus on it too much as you rush around the house, switching off the decorations and the lights, leaving the washing you had been doing on the counter in the kitchen. 

All of it can wait. But he can’t. 

So, with such a thought in mind, you busy yourself with your plan. What is included in that plan can be decided as you’re walking through the house, back to the staircase you have just seen your poor boyfriend walking up.

Jogging up each step, you decide that ultimately, everything that has happened in the past few months with be something he will not be willing to discuss with you; he made it clear when he walked through the door. Don’t push him on it.

When your foot hits the last step, you nod to yourself as you consider what you would do if he did want to talk to you about it. If he wants to talk to you about it, then you rejoice in his openness. But it isn’t necessary for him to have your undying support. No matter what he decides, ultimately, your heart is never going to fail on him. 

Before heading into your bedroom, you gulp when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out of your pocket, your eyes scan over the message, a shallow exhale escaping your lips. 

Mum &lt;3: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. made sure to grab extra pigs-in-blankets incase Simon decides to appear sometime. Love you xx

Begrudgingly, you stare down at the message before looking at the bedroom door. From beyond it, you can hear the running water in the shower and all you can think about is him. So, with a deep breath, you look back down at your phone and begin to type. 

From ‘me’: Slight change of plans but I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it there tomorrow. Simon’s just got home and he’s not good. Don’t think socialising is what he needs right now. Sorry, I love you xx

Choosing has never been easy, yet, when you pushed open the bedroom door and saw his clothes sitting on the bed the pair of you share, you decide that that choice was the easiest one you have ever made in your life. It isn’t a sacrifice when it is necessary. At least, not when it comes to Simon at least. 

--

‘I’m not going home tomorrow,’ you tell him when he walks out of the bathroom. Part of you feels bad for bombarding him with something as soon as he walks out, but the affirming text from your mother causes your heart to swell, and when you see him again, it bursts. His hair is damp and he pulls his face out of the towel with a surprised look. His scarred cheeks are branded with a subtle red tinge from the heat exuding from the bathroom. The heat works well to melt his features just enough for him to mould them into a dissatisfied sneer. ‘I don’t wanna fight you on this, Si.’

‘You can’t cancel on your family,’ he says, approaching his dresser. ‘Not right. I don’t want you to do that for me,’ he continues, grabbing a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. ‘Go spend time with them, am fine here.’ 

‘I already told my mum,’ you say, ‘she’s fine with it,’ you quickly reassure, far too aware that he very well may be a ticking time bomb.

Oddly, you request of not fighting on it seemingly works as he looks over his shoulder at you. There is simply no fight left in Simon Riley anymore, you conclude it from the way he shrinks as he exhales, padding up to the bed. It was as though he had left the house as a grenade left the hands of a soldier. Upon his return, the body of what made him him: his danger, his determination, and his strength had all been lost and you find he has been reduced to the pin pulled from the grenade. 

Looking up at him, you find that it is up to you if you’re going to discard it or keep it as a keepsake.

Pulling the edge of the duvet, you pat the side of the mattress, ‘c’mon,’ you say gently. He doesn’t wait to climb into bed beside you, resting his weary head against the pillow. It’s as though someone is pressing down on his chest as he heaves a sound unlike anything you have ever heard. Exhaustion was clear, but grief was easier to identify in his eyes. Leaning over, you turn the lamp on your beside off, trying your attention to him, lying on his side. 

There’s nothing to say. Not to him, not for him, not for yourself. You just lay there and stare at him hoping something will come to you. Anything said will be a bittersweet lullaby, you’re convinced. Nothing is going to put him to sleep. ‘Your minds running; faster than mine, sweetheart,’ he says. His eyes are closed when you look at his face. ‘Don’t want you doin’ stupid things ‘cause of me.’

‘Nothing is stupid when it comes to you, Si’,’ you weakly state.

At this point, you heart is racing, your tongue tangled as you contemplate every single word on the edge of your tongue. ‘Mum said she’ll bring us dinner tomorrow,’ you say with a weak smile, debating on whether or not you should spoil the surprise. ‘We can eat it and watch something… if you want to.’

‘What’s she bringing,’ he asks.

‘A roast,’ you answer, ‘it is Christmas after all.’

He’s quiet for a while, almost as though he doesn’t even want to think about what day it is. December 24th. Christmas Eve. You’re unsure how exactly the holidays work in 141, only noting that he had been away a few times during Christmas. Oddly, this is one of the first ones he’s home with you. His second Christmas since knowing Johnny that he isn’t with him. Your heart weakens at the realisation, your brain cursing you with the knowledge of something so agonising.

They had spent Christmas together.

And now they won’t and never will and it isn’t just because of the distance between Manchester and Scotland.

Rather, it’s because of the distance between this life and the next.

Your eyes well with tears and you close them. Your heart hurts for the man lying in front of you, and when you hear him clear his throat, you find it difficult to contain your own sorrow. ‘Doesn’t feel like Christmas,’ he tells you, his voice trembling as he does. ‘Haven’t slept at all since ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about him just… lyin’ there,’ his throat tightens and his tone grows pitchy as he inhales deeply, swallowing hard. ‘I shoulda done something, I should’ve been there f’r him.’ 

He’s crying at that point, but not sobbing. In fact, you only know he's crying because, when you place your hand against his cheek and the pad of your thumb wiped away a tear that falls past his eye. ‘You were,’ you choke out, ‘even in death, you were loyal to him, Si’, don’t you dare go cursing your own name for something you were not responsible for,’ you demand. ‘You’ll get him.’

‘We’re fallin’ apart without him,’ Simon sniffles, ‘bet he’s sitting up there pissin’ himself seeing me like this,’ he utters. The pair of you share a laugh at the thought and you move close to him. ‘I just… I told myself after everything that happened to mum and Tommy, I wouldn’t feel anything ‘cause that fucked me up, but then I met Johnny a- and I met you.’

You hold your breath. 

‘Simon—‘

‘And what if I can’t keep you safe? I’ve failed at it so much and that fucking pricks got me doubting myself now—‘

‘Shut up,’ you firmly say, ‘I don’t wanna hear it, Si’,’ you utter, ‘and neither would Johnny.’

You press your thumb against his cheek, ‘doubt is a killer, and it’s not me who you’re not gonna be able to protect if you keep thinking the way you are, it’s yourself,’ you continue, licking your dry lips, ‘and… and if you die, then who’s gonna steal the pigs-and-blankets on Christmas Day?’ 

Whether it was time for humour or not, you’re unsure. But, as you thinking for a moment, you recall the tales told to you by Simon during his time away, particularly his time with the Shadows. 

Two goldfish are in a tank… 

‘You still remember that?’ he asks eventually. You feel the muscles contort in his face as he smiles at you. 

‘Always,’ you respond, ‘mums got them with the dinner tomorrow ‘cause I asked her too… said she got extra incase you planned on robbing any of them.’ You feel bad telling him such information knowing that you had chosen to cancel the holiday. If anything, you’re worried about the guilt you’re causing him by rambling on about the stupid fucking pigs-in-blankets. ‘My point is Si’,’ you take a deep breath, ‘I need you here with me so you can fulfil your duty.’

He shifts and pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, pressing his face into the nape of your neck. Your hand brushes through his hair, melting in his arms as his hot breath fans against your neck. ‘Wanna see your family tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘Are you sure—‘

‘’Ave been stuck in my mind for nearly two months,’ he confesses, pulling away from your neck. ‘Fighting with myself over everything, I’ve hardly spoken to Price or Gaz,' he says. You press your lips together, the thought of him being alone nauseating. ‘Be a waste of money as well if I didn’t try pinching the food your mums made, wouldn’t it?’ 

You feel him smile as he presses his face back against your neck, his grip on you so tight its almost painful. But you relent, allowing him to have the comfort he so deserves. Resting your head above his, you close your. Whatever awaited you in the future can wait, you conclude.

‘I proud of you,’ you whisper, pressing a kiss onto his head. 'Never gonna let you doubt yourself ever again, not on my watch,' you continue, 'now sleep. We can talk more when you're ready.'

He smiles again.

'I know I can sleep soundly now,' he utters against your skin, 'got you beside me.'

With that, the pair of you fall into silence. You don't sleep, not until you feel his breathing steady against you skin, the subtle rise of his chest as he keeps his arms around you. You keep running you fingers through his hair before eventually, you find your eyes growing heavy and you drift off.

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[manicrouge]

People always talk about like, Price being with a younger woman (mid-twenties), and can we all just take time to realise that, if this was an actual thing, he would be subjected to gen z humour.

Like imagine sitting in the living room with him, he's watching football and you're sitting on tiktok, scrolling through your fyp and your phone blurts:

START DIGGIN IN YO BUTT TWIN!!!

Like, what would he do? Stare at you? Laugh? Question his life? Like what would realistically happen in this I am so intrigued by this thought.

Personally, if he broke up with me there and then, I don't think I could even be mad about it.

[manicrouge]

Literally never ever wrote smut but the past few days have just been naughty words after naughty words.

[manicrouge]

Part 2

Simon always goes for a run, doesn't matter where, doesn't matter when, that man is keeping fit no matter what. The last run he went on, he dropped his water bottle and it cracked. He'd told himself he'd replace it but, with a busy schedule and getting deployed the day after, well, it slipped his mind.

So, when he's jogging the next time he's home, in the summer heat, sweat dripping down his face, wet black t-shirt in his hand and he sees your little van, why, he is relieved. He stops in his tracks, panting like a dog as he approached, dipping his hand into the pocket of his shorts, cursing under his breath when he realises he has no change.

You spot him immediately, grinning ear to ear, chirping like a songbird, 'what can I get'cha?'

He waves his hand about in the air and shakes his head, 'never mind,' he says, 'got no money on me.'

He turned his back, head throbbing, prepared to make the long run back home all for you to call out to him, 'hey! Wait - it's fine,' You sound urgent, almost alarmed that he was daring to leave, 'I'll get you whatever you want, on the house. You'll overheat in this heat without something to drink.'

You figure he would take advantage of the offer, granted, you've only done this a couple of times whenever you eyed someone who looked as though they were one step away from collapsing.

'Water,' he says, turning to face you, stuffing his hands back into his pockets, 'please, love.'

You stare at him, 'just... just water?'

'Yeah,' he says, the corner of his mouth twitching, 'jus' water.'

You give him a bottle of water and he thanks you. You expect for it to be the last you see of the man as he leaves just as quickly as he appears. Only, the next day when you return back from your lunch break, you find a twenty pound note taped to the closed shutter on your van, with a note. The handwriting is messy, but you know exactly who left it there.

Thanks for the water, birdie, would've collapsed if it hadn't been for you. Buy yourself somethin' pretty - SR

[manicrouge]

Dad!Simon staying up late, using your daughter's makeover doll to learn how to do different hair styles after she asked him and spent the rest of the day pouting because he didn't do them right - the way mummy does them.

When you see the light in his office, you think nothing of it until, one day, your daughter bounds into the living room, grinning ear to ear, pointing at her neatly done hair.

'Look mummy! Daddy did my hair sooooo good! Don't I look pretty?'

You look at her, and then at your husband looming in the doorway, smiling, 'you're the prettiest girl ever, flower,' you say whilst giving your husband a knowing stare.

In response, he shrugs his shoulders and scratches the back of neck. 'Is it okay, sweetheart?'

'They're perfect, daddy! I love them so so much!'

You notice his shyness, and when you're in bed later that night, you're surprised when he asks, 'was her hair okay today?'

Closing the book on your lap, you nod eagerly, 'it was perfect.'

'She wasn't just sayin' tha' to be nice?'

Your brows furrow, 'she's your daughter, Si'. If she didn't like it, she would tell you... have you been staying up to learn?'

'Was tired of her saying I wasn't doing it right,' he confesses, rubbing his mouth with his hand, 'so I was using her doll. I thought learnin' to tie ropes was fuckin' difficult.'

You giggle, 'she's gonna be asking you to do it every day now, she was bragging to all her friends that you did her hair this morning.'

The smile on his face is brighter than anything you've ever seen and he nods to himself. You reach your hand out, placing it over his and say, 'you're a good dad, Si'.'

His voice is the quietest you've ever heard it as he whispers, 'thank you.'

[manicrouge]

Johnny buys a pool for the garden claiming it's for your pet dogs.

You looked at him with a slightly scrunched up face when he explained it to you in the store, arms crossed as he rattled on - it's just so warm, lassie, he'd told you, the dogs need somethin' to cool 'em off, you want them to melt, is that it?

The accusation had your arms suspended in the air as you took a step back and motioned towards the trolly, 'it's all yours, Johnny.'

So, as you make up some fresh lemonade, peering out the window at the man, he stood red in the face, exuding all the air from his lungs as he attempted to blow up the paddling pool. You hear him gasp before essentially blowing raspberries, and swear you even see the vein popping out the side of his forehead. You do nothing, however, opting to focus on your lemonade.

When the pool is finally inflated, it takes up an embarrassingly small amount of the garden. You'd made a passing comment of how you'd only need one bucket of water to fill it up and your beloved husband, oh, he is red in the face.

He excuses it as the sun - the heat, the excuse he continues to rattle as he circles the pool, hands resting against his hips grumbling to himself. It's like he's urging it to grow; he'd watered it like a plant so, by his knowledge, it very well should have tripled in size.

His behaviour becomes clear when you hear the honking of a horn and the chatter of voice as the gate to your garden opens and his comrades walk in, carrying with them a cooler and deck chairs, all to stop when they see the pool which, in your very humble opinion, looks more like a puddle than anything else.

You look between the men before bursting out into a fit of laughter and, through your giggles, your hear Simon's say, 'are you fuckin' kiddin' me, Johnny? You said you had a pool!'

Your husband holds his hands out either side of himself, turning his attention to you as he stiffly announces, 'Surprise?'

[manicrouge]

I have been set up this entire thing is a set up that literally not even my name haha YOU LITERALLY SAID IN THE TAGS THAT YOU'D LET HIM GET IT TOO SHUT YOUR MOUTH

Cannot believe how down bad one person can be over a low res GIF. @manicrouge, care to explain??????

[manicrouge]

Kyle is a PRETTY BOY!!!

This man knows how to look after himself, he smells divine, has a longer and more extensive skincare routine than you -- quite the feat, by the way, and he always, always looks good.

So, when he stoped in his tracks when you call him what he is -- a pretty boy, you can't help but be gobsmacked.

He looks at you like you've just kicked a puppy, wide eyed with his eyebrows raised, so much so that you say, 'what?'

It takes a moment for him to respond and, when he does, he asks, 'what did you just call me?'

'A pretty boy,' you repeat with a grin, 'my pretty boy.'

He stands still, a bottle of cologne in his hand hovering by his clavicle, his finger braced against spray nozzle.

He gulps and says, 'I like that.'

'You should,' you say, pushing yourself up off the bed. You reach your hand out and pinch his cheek, 'cause you're pretty, very pretty.'

You can't help but giggle at his shyness, and he answers you with a chaste kiss on the lips. 'Thanks, love,' he says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, 'first time anyones ever said that to me.'

'Well it won't be the last,' you swear.

[manicrouge]

Simon's never been a person to actively pursue someone romantically - the less said about his bloodlust concerning his job, the better.

But, when he first sees you, you beauty, clothes sticking to your skin as your burdened by the lovely Northern England Summer while your standing at a bus stop, he stops through puddles, his grip on his umbrella tight.

You lift your head when you notice a body beside yours, initially tensing as, really, he is quite a big man. But he says nothing, standing to your right like a loyal guard dog, holding the umbrella over the pair of you.

His heart is throbbing in his chest, he feels dizzy, yet, all the internal noise is silenced when you say, 'thank you.' He turns his head to look at you, your eyes meeting. When you laugh, its melodic, the best damn song he's ever heard. 'I didn't think it was gonna rain... shoulda known better, really.'

'Fuckin' weather always takes the piss,' he said, 'always keep one in my gym bag, jus' in case.'

'Smart,' you hum, all for a gust of wind to yank the umbrella. He keeps hold of it just fine, the issue is that nature, in a clear attempt to spite him, turned the umbrella inside out.

There's a moment of silence between the pair of you before you burst out into a fit of giggles. With a sharp breath, you ask, 'don't suppose you keep a spare one just in case something like that happens, do you?'

Rather than grumble, for the first time in a while, he laughs himself and shakes his head, 'no... but I do know a nice cafe round here. Get us out the rain for a bit.'

You grin brightly, and even he's shocked tat he managed to squeezed out any words past the lump in his throat. Truly, he'd expected an awkward rejection yet, you turn full to face him and say, 'lead the way.'

[manicrouge]

Part 1

When you see him again, you're surprised to see that he's dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt and he isn't running. No, in fact, he's standing completely still beside the exit to the van. You'd kept the shutters down as you gathered your things up preparing to go home and, when you stepped outside, admittedly, you got the fright of your life.

It takes a minute for you to recognise him - the man with the blond-hair, the man who goes by SR, the man whose twenty pound note weighed heavy in your pocket. You hadn't had the heart to spend it, so, when you realised who he was, the first thing you did was reach into your pocket and retrieve the note.

You held it out to him with a shaky hand, "here, I- I- uhm, I appreciate the gesture, but this is too much, really."

He made no effort to take it. "It's not mine anymore; it's yours."

"No," you insisted, "really, I wouldn't feel comfortable keeping it."

He sighed and took a step towards you. You're surprised when he plucks it out of your hand, closing his fist around it. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, birdie," he explained, "was actually here to ask you if you wanted to go for a drink w' me."

You blinked, "you want me to... go for a drink with you?"

"Yeah," he said, a grin forming on his face, "had a feeling ya wouldn't spend the money. What do y'u think?"

You twisted your heels into the pavement, looking around. "Why?"

"Cause I think you're pretty," he said so as though it was blatant.

Your heart fluttered in your chest and, in spite of knowing better, you couldn't keep yourself from nodding, "okay."

(continuation from my other post - slightly shorter because I'm currently working on my price x reader story! But I will do a part 3 of this if you would like me to :3 Just let me know !!)

[manicrouge]

"Wake up, babe, Min just revealed when the first chapter of her price x f!reader is coming out."

See you (hopefully), this sunday :3

Min <33

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

BLURB

A small sail boat can be seen on the horizon of Homestead, the inhabitant a man who is rough around the edges, and who also holds a peculiar grudge against your white sandals.

cw: slow burn, violence, eventual smut, angst, mentions of character death, vomit, description of wounds, grief, suicidal ideation, description of anxiety attacks, size difference, incredible yearning my goodness

(If I have missed something, please, please, please let me know!)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

CHAPTERS

➸ PROLOGUE

╰┈➤ [About]: A brief introduction to the small town of Homestead.

➸ CHAPTER ONE

╰┈➤ [27.07.25]

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[manicrouge]

Policeofficer!Simon

Simon's patrol of the main street on the city in the late night had his breath clouding in the air, his hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform as he trudged along the round, listening to a mixture of blaring pop songs from every club he passed by.

Crowds of people surrounded him, but he didn't move for them, parting the people like the Red Sea. He continued on doing that until the clumsy clopping of heels filled his ears and a body collided with his own. He'd hardly had the time to process it, staggering backwards slightly.

A drunken giggle escaped your mouth as you peered up at him, swaying side to side. 'Did it hurt?'

He raised an eyebrow, 'what?'

'Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?'

He near enough rolled his eyes into the back of his head, watching as you steadied yourself. 'If you're gonna blame anyone, blame my friends,' you said, pointing behind you. He followed where you were pointing, all to find no one amidst the moving groups of people bar-hopping. 'They pushed me, an' thought it was funny.'

'There's no one there, sweetheart.'

'Oh,' you said, glancing over your shoulder, 'well, it's been fun talkin' officer,' you hiccuped, heels clomping against the ground as you held your hands out either side of you, 'imma go... find my friends.'

He catches your arm. 'Where do you live?'

You grinned ear to ear, 'why? You wanna do something?'

'No,' he said, pressing a button on the radio on his vest, 'Johnny, you alright patrolling main street?'

'Sure thing, Lt.'

'C'mon, let's get you home.'

You giggled happily, 'sure thing, officer.'

[manicrouge]

Kyle is a clean eater, this man is NOT, and I mean under any circumstance, letting you eat fast food. No sir. He could be on his deathbed - hell, he could be dead, and you wouldn't even question why the pots and pans in the kitchen were floating, or how that fresh, divine homemade meal appeared on your table.

Fortunately, he's a good cook, a brilliant one even and you weren't surprised; you met him at the small family restaurant that his mother runs in the city.

He'd been helping out during the summer and had caught your attention when you walked past, explaining that the place had just opened and it wasn't getting a lot of business.

You, who had woke up with the intent of going to a local chain for lunch, stopped in your tracks at this handsome man stopping you in your tracks, blinking slowly. You caught the smallest bit of what he said, the rest lost to the ether as you stared deep into your eyes.

'Would you mind eating here?' he asked, 'I'll pay for your meal... I just hate seein' her so dejected. She's put her everythin' into this place.'

He looked at you, eyes doe, pursing his lips as he near enough shook with anticipation. His looks were that of a sirens song, you the sailor who fell victim as you followed him into the restaurant.

His coaxing was the single best thing you'd given into in your life. The food you ate that afternoon had you unable to move and, when he tried to cover the check, you stopped him.

'No, seriously, thank you,' you said, reaching into your purse.

'Don't be silly, love,' he said, looking over his shoulder to his mother who was grinning ear to ear, 'you've made her day. That's everything I needed. I've got this.'

'I'll feel bad.'

'Well, if you want to repay me, I accidentally prepped extra food for dinner tonight and I'd hate to waste it.'

Your cheeks flush red, mouth dry. You found yourself nodding before you even had the words to speak, 'I- I'd love to!'

'Great,' he said, scribbling down his address, 'half seven.'

And, ever since then, you hadn't so much as looked in the direction of a fast food chain.