hbma

[hbma]

Wet, sad meow meow Simon who spots you at the pub with your new boyfriend. He's pushed you away so many times, made sure his walls never tumbled down before you and now you're laughing, the way you used to do the first few months with him, with another chap, a loser who wouldn't know how to protect you, nor care for you.

As if he, Simon, ever knew or tried to be a half decent man for you. He's made you cry more times than he wants to remember and never tried to protect you from the monsters in his head.

He deserves the cold seeping in his bones and the weight in his stomach. He never deserved you, or had made sure he never would. And now he has to live with the consequences.

[hbma]

PLEAAAASEEEEE just a lil knight smooch on the hand, even just a light kiss to her lock of her hair

EVEN JUST LOVE FILLED GLANCES PLEAAAAASEEEEEEE

or maybe medivel konig romance i am so lovesick i wamt to hear fluff aND UR DENYING US WITH GHOST KNIGHT YEARNING

OK but only because I'm really beating this poor princess down in two other asks.

You spend most of your day with Ghost, he's your escort for every outing, your companion for every event. You'd think you'd get tired of seeing him all the time but you never do. You love seeing him, and you think he likes seeing you too.

"Good morning," you smile up at Ghost as he comes near, your favorite part of your mornings.

"Morning," he pulls out the chair next to you, grabbing a thick slice of bread as he sits. You don't even need to ask your maids to set a place for him anymore, don't need to coax Ghost into joining you for breakfast. He leans his elbows against the table and breaks the bread apart between his hands, as he watches you.

"How'd you sleep?" You ask, too casual, he nudges you with his knee. "Did you sleep well?" You try again. He's worse than your old etiquette tutor sometimes.

"Same as usual, were you alright after the-" he pauses, clicks his tongue, like he's annoyed he doesn't have a polite word for it. He doesn't want to say "tantrum" but you know he's thinking it.

"I- yes. Thank you." You stare down at your hands, embarrassed. You're too old to be acting like that. Ghost stares at you a long moment before setting his bread on his plate. He reaches across the table to grab meat and fruit, filling your plate before you can stop him.

"Eat, you'll feel better." He plucks another slice of bread free of its warm basket and butters it. You watch him slide the little silver knife against the crumb and he stops, pointing the utensil at your plate. "Eat," he's not asking you.

You pick up your fork and knife to do as he says. You really don't know why you bother listening to him, you're in charge, not him. It's just that, you sort of like doing what he says, he always looks so pleased when you do. He doesn't even look at you when you take your first bite, but his eyes still smile and you know it's for you. His smiles are only ever for you.

"Good girl," He mumbles, sliding his bread onto your plate, neatly jam and buttered just the way you like it.

"You're free to leave," you tell your maids, glancing at them over your shoulder. You know they're hovering, waiting to refill your tea or bring another plate of food. You also know they're waiting for more information on last night's... fit. Gossips the lot of them. "You've left the pot, if I need more tea Ghost will serve me. Go."

The maids exchange a glance and drop to curtsy before scurrying out. You go back to eating. Ghost waits a beat before removing his mask and serving himself breakfast. You don't bother with glances or peaking at his face, you look. It's your right to look, he's yours after all.

"You're staring," he grumbles. Astute observation, you think with a smile. You know what he means, you spear a strawberry with your fork and pop it in your mouth.

"I'm eating."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," he hums, ignoring you in favor of his own meal. Does he know that you only breach etiquette to hear him correct you? Does he see you behave as a perfect princess for others and think he did that? No, you think he must know you're teasing him.

You set your fork down and reach to wipe away the crumbs that stick to his lip. Ghost catches your hand before you can touch him, his tongue darting out to do what your finger would have. His eyes hold yours, each of you waiting for the other to pull back. You don’t want to.

His lips are so much warmer than in your dream, softer, more substantial as Ghost bows his head to press them against your knuckles. You tilt your head, watching him turn your hand to kiss your palm and the delicate skin of your wrist. He looks at you with every promise in his eyes, and you love him for it.

"Good morning, my lady," he murmurs, holding your hand to his cheek. Your heart clenches, fingers curling against the stubble on his jaw.

"Good morning, my knight." You whisper back. The breath he lets out is almost pained, far too heavy for breakfast. He kisses your palm again, and you almost understand why before he drops it. I love you, you both seem to think at each other, I love you.

[hbma]

random gym sketch

gen z but loyal

[hbma]

TENEBROSITY

TW: suicidal ideation, depictions of death and grief

wordcount: 1.3k

masterlist, ao3

something something reader who dies. Doesn't particularly matter if she was a soldier or a civilian, if it was the blur of battle or the quietus of an accident, if it was a bullet or a blade or the cruel hand of Fortuna. Out with a bang, out with a whimper.

What does matter is that Simon, predictably, takes it not well. Worse that Price puts him on leave, and he has nothing to do but lay spread-eagled on the bed you once shared, stare at the ceiling and quietly thinks about the knives in the kitchen, about the pills in the cabinet. Not with any real sort of action behind the notion, but just the everpresent reality that they're there, that he can take the kind way out. The only thing that stops him, really, is that he knows if there is an afterlife, he sure as hell isn't going where you are.

Between the team's sporadic visits, Kyle's attempts to set him up with a therapist and Johnny's attempts to cheer the grief out of him and Price's attempts to have a normal conversation - as if normalcy exists, anymore - he takes to scrolling through your old messages. Little lines of text: years of love encapsulated in a single bubble, such small things. Messages that he once only spared a seconds' glance before responding, he now spends hours poring over, trying to find the secret to mortality etched into those pixels.

Still has your phone, too. Leaves your search tabs untouched, leaves your apps opened just as they were, just like your products still litter the bathroom counter, just like he put your half-finished leftovers in the freezer, cold and permanent as the dead.

It's not healthy, but he's never been healthy. Not a moment in his life: not his childhood, not the military, not now, in which there was not something, someone, searching for the best way to break him; best way to put those pieces back together and shatter them again. The only difference, this time, is that both are him: something about Ouroboros, something about Sisyphus.

He starts texting you again. Long, incoherent paragraphs about how much he misses you; simple love yous, all the hundreds that he never got to say. He could have told you ten times a day, for a thousand years, and he would still have so much more. Calls your voicemail, just to hear your voice once again, so he can pretend you're just out of the house, that you'll truly call him back 'whenever I'm able'.

Imagine his surprise when, one night, he sends a succinct, goodnight dove, and you reply.

I love you.

Of course, he's pissed: someone gets your number by some means, not only uses it - if they'd told him, fuck off, who are you, stop texting me - he could have has a modicum of respect, at the very least. But no: they imitate, they paint themselves in the image of a Goddess; something about Exodus 20:4, something about the Viceroy butterfly.

It pushes him into overdrive for the first time since you died - he pulls up the old software, hooks the phone up, tries to triangulate the location of the sender. All he gets, though, is a jumble of letters and numbers that apply to no coordinate on earth.

And then, you call him. Your name popping up drives into him an anguish deep enough to burn, moreso when he checks your phone, sees it just as inert since the day you died.

He shouldn't, but he answers.

When you say, "Simon," he's thinking about how he'd most like to kill these people: sure, get a number, hook up some voice changer, real convincing. It's going to fall apart when you beg him to send you a couple thousand dollars, or when you dig into him for some bit of intel: he won't be tricked, won't allow grief to break his last bit of dignity, sell his soul for a bit of false love.

And then, you tell him the last words you ever said to him. Same voice, same tone. Murmer more, as he sits there, shock dripping down every vertebrae in his spine. All the things you would whisper to each other in the dead of night. End your speech with a short, "It's me. I love you. I found a way..."

So for a week or two, it's almost enough: he spends every waking hour on the phone with you, sends you all the pictures he can think to take. It's fine that you never respond with any of your own. It's fine that, sometimes, on those phonecalls, you sound scared or sad or start halting, unfinished sentences with, I wish, or, if only. He can pretend that you're off on a trip, that this is some temporary fever.

Only, he can't, not really. Something about truffle pigs, something about pitbulls: something about the desire to dig, to sink his teeth into the meat of the matter and rip until bone is caught between his jaws. Whenever he asks you about how, or where, or, can I ever see you, you sound like you're crying while you deftly avoid answering.

Really, you have only divulged two things: one, you dying won't help. Two, when he visited your grave for the first time since your death: I'm not down there anymore, Simon.

A fantasy grows, some reversal of the five stages of grief, denial come last: he imagines that maybe you aren't dead, that maybe you were captured by some nebulous force of evil, are currently holed up in some dark basement. Got your hands on a phone somehow, sure, if it doesn't make sense then it will when he rescues you, when you explain it to him between kisses.

He gathers the rest of the task force at his - your - house, despite your pleas not to. Tells them. Almost relishes in Johnny's look of disbelief, in Price's evident concern - because he'll be proven right. Right, when he clicks the call button, when...

When it rings, and rings, and rings, and goes to voicemail. He swipes to your messages, but all are gone, all your responses wiped away to apepar one sided.

He's not a stupid man. Anticipated something like this, maybe - but the screenshots he took are nothing but black space, and the recordings of your voice carry naught but the sound of his own breathing, and before he can do something, anything, to prove this, Price has a hand upon his back and Kyle is saying something and he tears away, shuts himself in your room. Calls you four times, while they talk quietly outside. It's not until the fifth - after the front door closes - that you pick up.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I'm sorry, Simon, I... I came back for you, just you, came back..."

The wave of reality ebbs, flows. It's not all bad, eventually. Some days, he spends curled around your old pillow - which smells more like him, than you, at this point - while you whisper filthy words through the tinny speakers, rutting into the fabric. He tries to do the same to you, but you never make the same sounds you used to, and when he tries to ask about your body, your pleasure, you devolve into low notes of grief.

Maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's worse. Something about the carrot and the stick, something about Tantalus, ankle-deep in water.

Something about the inability to move on: about you, stuck wherever you are, ephemeral, blind and senseless but for your voice. About him, hand perpetually upon the phone, ignoring the calls of his team, caught upon the half-death he's able to live.

About a hunger and a pinprick of light and the world as it darkens, the crepuscule of existence.

[hbma]

the way usamericans talk about their military fucks me up. thank you for what service like which service are they providing you with. they're protecting your country from what. they're fighting for the freedom of whomst. why do they need to do that for and why are they doing in it in the middle east

[hbma]

hrrrngghhhh imagine high consort taking care of their husband- (could be sfw or nsfw)

It's been five years since you last saw your husband. Not the longest the two of you had been apart by far but still, it had been a while. Nikandreos, bless his hearts, had even suggested that you missed your other half. Hah! He could be so cute sometimes. Had he forgotten how you had told him about the time you had not seen your man for over two hundred years? Not a single word from him, not even a hair to be seen. Nearing the end of that time, you were almost convinced that the fool had somehow managed to die, despite his immortal soul.

Of course, he showed back up in the end, acting like no time at all had passed. You hadn't spoken to him for a decade after that.

But that was all in the past and you had not gotten this far by lingering on past hurts. Now, your husband had finally returned after his latest excursion. His arrival on Terra is immediately noticeable. Nobles and high officials momentarily ease up their pestering on you to turn their attention towards hi, to clamor for his attention and support. Good riddance, you think. Less ridiculousness for you to deal with.

You don't go to welcome your husband back, even if some appear to think that is your 'duty' as high consort. If the Emperor wanted someone to eagerly greet him every time he returned home then he would have gotten a lapdog, one of those tiny little things that the nobles love to show off. But you are no dog and as much as people seem to assume that you are subservient to the Emperor, you would rather be eaten alive by bugs for a millennia rather than lower yourself like that.

No, if the Emperor wants your attention, then he needs to approach first.

It takes him merely an hour to make his way from the ship and to your shared chambers, an impressive feat considering the fact that a baseline would have to walk hours to cross that same distance. He's still in armor when he arrives, all golden and splendent like the god he proclaims not to be. Hypocrite.

The smile that graces his face when he sees you does, admittedly, make your heart melt, just a tiny bit. Stupid man and his stupid, handsome face, daring to use it against you when you ought to be mad for him barely sending word while he was away. But never let it be said that you are a cruel spouse as instead of turning away, you rise from your seat and approach him.

His big, armored hand cups the side of your face when you get within reach, the ceramite cold against your skin. "My star," he calls you, expression softening in a way that it only does in your presence, "it is good to once more be in your presence."

You can't help the smile that tugs on your lips. "It's not even been a decade, dear. Don't tell me you are growing soft with old age."

The way he kisses your forehead is nothing but tender. His next words are whispered against your ear. "Why? Is it so wrong to miss my dear spouse?" Ah, damn him and damn your sentimental heart. When he's like this, it's near impossible to get mad at him, even when you want to. He's learned to play your heart like a fiddle and you can't help but dance to his tune. Besides, you've learned to treasure these moments of playfulness.

"Hmm, charmer." You lean into his touch for a moment longer before taking a half-step back, leading him towards a plush couch by his hand. "Come, tell me about your journey. I heard the system was particularly stubborn this time."

The Emperor sighs and as he starts talking, you both take a seat. "Stubborn is one word. I prefer the term 'foolish'. Did you know they worshipped a mountain? I had to actually convince them that a slab of rock did not affect their crops." You hum as you start removing part of his armor, starting with his gauntlets.

"Sounds exhausting. Did you blow it up?"

Again, the Emperor sighs, though this time it sounds more amused than exhausted. "I wish, it would have been deeply satisfying to see the expressions on their faces. But no, I simply removed the most vehement believers of the faith and replaced their church with an actual government."

His pauldrons come off next, along with the rest of his upper armor. The custodes, ever present and ready to serve, whisk it away without making a single sound. It would be more efficient and faster to simply let the serfs and tech priests remove the armor for him but you know he likes this little tradition the two of you have, even if he has never said it. It's why he comes straight to you, each time he returns from his travels.

Slowly, you glide your hands down his forearms to his wrists and finally to his palm where you rub small circles with your thumbs. "You work so hard, my dear" you tut softly at him. "Why don't you rest for a while? Let Malcador and I take care of everything while you regain your spirit."

"Tempting," the Emperor concedes, "but sadly, impossible. The Mechanicum has already requested a meeting and you know that the longer I leave them waiting, the greater their demands."

You can't help but chuckle. "Ah, so that was it was all about. I was starting to wonder why that delegation from Mars would not leave, even after the meeting I had with them. They must not have been very happy with my response."

"Hah!" The bark of laughter that escapes your husband makes you preen with pride. "Unhappy? More like terrified. I could smell the coming from the magos when he mentioned you. There's a reason why they avoid asking for things when I'm not here. You have a reputation, you know?"

The snort that escapes you is completely undignified. "Good. The less I have to hear their incessant chanting the better. I swear, they get worse every year. Pretty soon they will start performing a ritual every time they turn on a damn light."

The conversation continues like that, light and slightly teasing. It's nice. It reminds you of old times, way back before humanity had yet to traverse the stars and Terra still had its oceans. You were both so young back then in comparison, so carefree and, well, quite frankly stupid. But you had been happy, just the two of you. No Imperium, no armies, no ancients threats looming in the horizon.

You miss those days. You miss the him that was, before he threw away his name and took on the title as Emperor. But like this, when he's acting so playful and tender, you can almost pretend that you are back where you both started, in that little hut made out of mud-brick that sat right by the riverbank. But your love had always known that one day, life would lead you both right here. That's why he had painted those white walls with symbols and figures that once had looked so strange to you but now were so familiar.

Once he's out of his armor and dressed in something more comfortable, robes that cascade of his powerful body like waterfalls, he nestles you to his side, one arm flung around your body and the other intertwining its fingers with yours. Even outside of armor, and with you shifted to be closer to him in height, he's still so much larger than you. Yet another thing you know he likes even though he hasn't told you. It's not about power, you would never have stayed with him if it was, but a sense of comfort. Of feeling your smaller body fit so wonderfully next to his, like a puzzle piece.

The two of you will stay like this for a while, talking and laughing, just enjoying each others company. Treasure this little moment of simplicity. The Imperium and your duties already beckons you, urges you to action but for now, you allow yourselves to only exist in the moment.

[hbma]

I remember this sending some time ago a variation of this fic to a Warhammer fic blog but I don't actually remember which. But I guess since I love your writing I would send it here too!!

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were allegedly build by the Neo-Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar II for his Median wife, Queen Amytis, because she missed the green hills and valleys of her homeland. Even though it is probably a legend, I believe this is one of the greatest acts of love that ever existed! Now let's imagine this with sweet little baby boy Rogal Dorn. There has been already some time since he became the Praetorian of Terra and his beloved wife is desperately missing their homeworld, Inwit. It was a harsh place, with unyielding winters and deadly temperatures, but it was still home. Due to his love for his wife, Dorn builds a place just for herself, where she could practically live in the home where she grew up.

The Emperor, in the background, asks himself how could his generals, especially the one who's personality is that he has no personality, could be so emotional 😭🙏

Author's note: A very short thing, but this idea is cute and it's Dorn so <3 Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader Warnings: None

Dorn considers most verbal promises and declarations or fealty meaningless.

It was easy to say something, to promise loyalty and adoration. To act upon it and prove it was another thing entirely; What he abides by. He will never say he loves you in a million different saccharine ways- simply because why would he say it, when he could do it.

While it hadn't been intended, The Phalanx had become your home as the Crusade progressed. Dorn had little desire to have his wife so far away, even if he was far too busy to actually spend much time with you at all. To simply know you were close at hand and safe behind his stalwart walls and men was adequate enough for his peace of mind. His showing of love was assuring your safety.

However, you missed Inwit.

The cold brick of Inwit's main hold had been your home for some time now, and while the Phalanx was also quite cold, there was no wind whipping and slipping between the bricks, no constant snowfall, and no fire to sit by.

The unfamiliarity of the Phalanx had dampened your mood considerably over time. Even his men had noticed, oddly enough.

"Lady Dorn seems, forlorn. Has something been amiss?"

Dorn had, in the few moments he could catch for himself, begun to plan something for you. The Phalanx was massive, it would be easy enough to take one of it's many rooms and repurpose it for his needs. If his wife was dissatisfied, it was simply his duty to fix it.

He never mentioned it to you, in the time you had together he preferred to listen and enjoy said time rather than go on and on about his blueprints and his plans.

And perhaps, the idea of it being a bit of a surprise was appealing to him. A gift for the Lady of the Imperial Fists.

Upon letting you in, you were instantly greeted with the familiar smell of firewood. The crackle of pieces breaking, the ever so slight burn of smoke. It complimented the sight of so many things you found familiar; The bookshelves, the chaise, the fur pelts, it felt like home.

His secret project was finished after a few Terran months; It had unfortunately taken more time that he anticipated. Being unimportant in the grand scheme meant much else came before it. The next private moment he had with you he was quick to inform you he had something to share, and walked with the expectation you would follow. After only a short walk from your shared quarters he lead you to what would be the most complicated thing he had made for you yet.

Yet, being a key word for Dorn.

You could tell something was off about him right away, smart as you were. Even in his stoicism you kept looking up at him cautiously, trying to sniff out what was different. You knew him far better than he might like to say, if asked. No one could ever say that Lady Dorn didn't know her husband well.

Dorn never said a word the entire time- only watched as you touched every little thing. Your approval was immediate, sitting on the chaise and wrapping yourself in one of the pelts. The fur was soft against your skin and encircled your body with a comfortable heaviness. Dorn came over, and keeled in front of you.

While it was almost blasé sounding, Dorn's declaration of such an expected thing revealed a bit more of him than one might assume.

"Why did you do all this?" His answer was stereotypically muted and neutral.

"You missed Inwit."

To go through so much effort to recreate something down to the scent, simply because his wife was homesick. You've only heard him say the word love no more than three or more times, but each day he proved that he would move moons and stars simply to appease his lady.

You leaned forward, and your lips chastely pressed against his for a moment.

"Thank you, Rogal."

[hbma]

ghost is 1000% an emotional drunk

Like. Not in the sense that he's crying and throwing chairs n shit, but he's quiet about it. More in control of himself than anyone you've ever seen after 2 glasses of bourbon and however many shots Soap kept handing to him, but those feelings he usually keeps below that dumb mask flow a bit more freely. Moments where he's usually calculated and composed giving way to whatever he's feeling in the moment.

Like whenever some private you've been passively talking with gets a little too close for comfort.

He's up in an instant. Chair squeaking behind him as he slams his glass down and towers over the young solider who goes a few shades paler at the man looming above him. He doesn't even sway standing up so fast, doesn't budge or say anything. Just scares the guy enough to make him flinch and stumble backwards with a muttered Jesus Christ.

You watch, barely phased, from your seat next to him at the bar. Glancing up over a glass of your own at the Lieutenant who's hand is panted protectively where your arm sits on the counter. Steely, tired, pissed-off grey eyes tracking the movement of the poor shoulder who stumbles off. Pink heat dusting where his mask doesn't quite cover his cheeks, a dead giveaway whenever he's had one too many. You huff.

"You know I had that handled, right?"

He only grunts, gaze still locked across the room. Shoulders settling again as he calms down. He realizes what he did, and if he feels embarassed he doesn't show it.

"Don't doubt it," Ghost mutters, and there's just a hint of a slur to his words that makes you smile as he squints into the dim room to avoid your gaze. "'Was just tired of listening to it."

You chuckle, shake your head in that way that can't help but be more fond than annoyed. Place your glass down on the counter.

"You act like you actually have any competition."

He grunts, turns his head away more. His face turns just a tinge more red before you take his arm and pull him back down to his seat. He can't help but listen, melt back down beside you. This time a little more clumsy as he eases himself back into his seat, wrapping his arm around you to keep you close.

To his quiet joy, you allow it, reaching back to squeeze his warm shoulder. Grounding. Reassuring. It pulls a breath out of him he didn't realize he was holding, resting his chin on your shoulder to fall sound asleep mere minutes later.

You dread dragging him home later, when the time comes, but for now you're just happy to be the person he feels at home with. Warm against your back, snoring softly with both arms wrapped around your middle. Like you aren't in a crowded bar discussing war with your teammates.

[hbma]

"holy shit they finally confessed, what comes next--"

[hbma]

any zombie au i would write with simon would be like. he rocks up to the settlement that ur staying at and you do Not like him

he's off-putting, he has weird flat eyes that look right through you, he's massive and it keeps kicking some deep-buried prey mindset you have into first gear

but he's able to do the work of two men easily enough. an arsehole, yeah, but he's willing to go further out than most and all he wants in exchange is one of the houses to get out of the rain

maybe other people have an issue with the way he looks and speaks, but he's useful enough that they don't say it too loud

you don't know how to voice that you don't like the way that he stares over at you, how he barks at you to get back if you ever do find yourself in the same group - takes the lead into any unexplored buildings and treats you like a nuisance

he firmly tells you that you won't be going back out if he's not there and lets you bitch all you won't but you find that no one will let you leave if he's not there

the settlement setup seems to be working for now, so he's letting it be, but god help you when he decides everyone is interfering too much with the two of you or he decides you guys are better off making your own way

he'll be off in the middle of the night and you'll be coming with him - and you're not exactly asked for your opinion on the matter

[hbma]

Part Six of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom reader

September

Few things in life have come easy to Simon Riley

Growing up, his home life had not been an easy one, feeling as though he were walking on egg shells throughout every step of his turbulent childhood, waking from his nightmares only to discover he lived under the same roof as one

Enlisting straight out of secondary school hadn’t been a difficult process, though going from the tall scrawny kid he had been to the mountain of a man he’d had to become had been no easy feat either, a combination of blood, sweat and tears along with years upon years of intense training had resulted in a hardened military man the SAS was all too happy to claim for themselves

Retiring from the job he’d grown certain he would die doing, now that had been far from easy for the Lieutenant

An honourable discharge is what they had called it, handing him a thick stack of papers one day when he felt they might as well as have slapped him across the face instead

He could have fought it, was legally within his rights to appeal the decision and voice his disagreement before the board, could have tried to have it overturned

And yet, it was just as true that the four letters popping up off the paper to mock him held a flame of truth to their drying ink: PTSD

At first, he’d almost thought it worse, the fact that they agreed there was nothing wrong with him physically, that his body, as beaten and battered as it had been, had always bounced back and been able to keep up with the job, but that now it was his mind they had decided they could no longer put their trust into

But worst of all? His own captain, a man he considered to be more of a father figure than his own flesh and blood had ever been to him, someone who’d saved his skin more times than he could ever hope to count, let alone repay, was unable to meet his eyes when asked if he disagreed

To say that he had anything short of furious at first would be an understatement, he’d felt betrayed by the very organization he’d sworn his life to, had been willing to lay his life down for, had killed for time and time again, and now that a few screws in his head were supposedly coming loose, they wanted nothing to do with him anymore? They were so ready and willing to throw him back onto the streets he’d once come from?

Price had known the forced retirement was going to be a tough blow to his Lieutenant, that it would mean uprooting the only life he’d decided he was deserving of, that he would have to start over entirely without a single soul to stand by him

The captain had done his best in reassuring him that this needn’t be a bad thing, that this could be an opportunity for Simon to truly start over in a positive way, that there was hope out there for him if he would only just allow himself the chance to have it

Knowing his Lieutenant better than most ever would, Price knew his words of wisdom were in one ear and out the other, swearing to the younger man that he would check up on him periodically, as often as the job would allow, but that he should do his best to avoid sitting idly for too long, perhaps find work that kept both his hands and mind busy

As difficult as it all was, time refused to stand still and let him catch his breath, to gather his bearings, already it had been nearly a year off the battlefield and on the construction sites instead

But this?

Your arm tucked into his much larger one as he pushes the pram, your other hand occupied with the ice cream cone you take turns giving him licks of, all because he noticed you eyeing the ice cream truck on the walk home from the park?

Well this, this for Simon is easy

And though he’s decided he has a new disdain for ice cream men who keep their prices jacked up so high even as the last bits of summer cling to the warm breeze as the days roll by, he knows he’d pay whatever exorbitant price it cost to put a smile on your face

“Want another lick?” You ask him, holding the cone up to his lips again for him to have a taste, the early September heat still warm enough that the treat is threatening to melt onto your hands

He savours his bite, never faltering in his steps as he pushes along a sleeping Rosie in her pram, the visor pulled down to keep her eyes safe from the afternoon sun

It’s been weeks of this now, this blissful little bubble the three of you have been floating in

You’d recovered from your illness in no time once you had allowed Simon to take on some of the workload and help you to recuperate, Rosie being the team player she is, had even taken her first ever bottle from Simon, an honour he’d proudly wear on his chest over any other medal he could have ever received during his time in service

Since then, things have so seamlessly fallen into place, it was as though this were always the inevitable conclusion that was bound to happen

He’s enjoyed watching you blush each time he holds a door open for you, whenever he calls you love or birdy, when he slings an arm around over your shoulders or around your waist, but especially that time when he asked the waitress if his girlfriend could have a refill on her water

He’s felt his heart skip a beat each time you laugh at one of his jokes, whenever he catches you staring and you tell him that it’s because he’s handsome, when you stand on tip toes to kiss his cheek or reach a hand out to hold his, but especially when you land your lips over his own waiting ones

In lieu of the night terrors he’s grown used to, he’s now been waking up with the image of your smiling face tucked beneath his eyelids each morning, and going to sleep is no longer a dreaded affair at night with you as his last waking thought

He’s been loving every moment he gets to spend with you, learning more about you each day, discovering what puts a grin on your lips and what makes you squirm, finding out what your dreams are and what keeps you up at night, picking up on your habits and quirks and storing them into the recesses of his brain for safekeeping

He adores the time he spends with Rosie too, a tiny version of her mum who has this behemoth of a man wrapped around her pudgy little fingers, he finds his mind has never felt calmer than when he has you both by his side

Despite everything, Simon finds that he’s … happy

Unequivocally, incomparably, unbelievably happy

He knows he loves you, loves Rosie as well, likely has loved you from the very start, and though the idea of saying such a thing out loud undoubtedly fills him with a sense of fear, a dread that’s been ingrained in him for decades if not from birth, it isn’t as overwhelming anymore, isn’t as terrifying as it could be or even should be

Because even though each time he looks in the mirror he sees a reflection of a man whom he considers to be anything but good, a soldier still plagued with nightmares and regrets from the borderline barbaric things he’s done over the years all in the name of duty, whatever it is you see when you look at him, he wants to be that man, wants to find that same man in the mirror one day you’re so certain is already in front of you

For now, all he can do is keep trying

“Shoot. Probably should’ve grabbed more napkins.” Your voice brings him back down to earth, snaps his mind back to reality, spotting the trickle of chocolate ice cream streaming down over your fingers as you finish the last bite

Well, he did say he’d try to be a good man, not a perfect man, he thinks to himself as he watches your tongue poke out from behind your lips, licking up the frozen treat’s trail across your digits, biting down on his own tongue to stop himself from offering assistance

“Am I all clean?” You ask, tilting your head around to give him a better look at your face

“Hold on,” Simon tells you, halting his stroll as he turns towards you, reaching with a careful hand to cup your soft cheek. “Got somethin’ righ’ here.”

Leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, he lets his tongue run along your lips, catching the last remnants of chocolate left there, unable to hide the grin splayed on his own lips when he pulls back and meets your mischevious look with one of his own

“Cheeky.” You mumble to him, hiding both your smile and reddening cheeks as you duck your head down to glance at the still sleeping baby before you

Oh love, you have no idea

“Okay, well how ‘bout Friday? After work?”

“Hm, depends what time I’ll be finishin’ up that day. Likely it’ll go on late, I wouldn’t want to leave you waitin’ for me, love.”

“Saturday?”

“If I can get to everythin’ I need to get done by then, shouldn’t have to go in on the weekend.”

“As if they’re even making you work on weekends, with how hard you work already.”

“No one’s makin’ me go in, love.” Simon replies, stretching his arms above his head before slipping his jacket on. “It’s me who wants to see this job through. Besides, it’s only the finishing touches at this point, place’s nearly finished. Reckon Rosie’s gon’ be startin’ up pretty soon.”

“Oh, I know. Ugh, I don’t even want to talk about it. I’m not ready to let her go yet.” You pout, trying to be playful despite the honesty to your words.

The idea of leaving your baby in someone else’s care had seemed like such a far off idea when she’d first been born, something you’d have to do when the time came and money wouldn’t allow you to stay home any longer

But now that that date in question was rapidly approaching, you couldn’t help but to feel torn, divided between who you were before she was born, and this new reality where you were still expected to be that person while simultaneously revolving your entire existence around Rosie’s wellbeing

You wish you could just slow time down, hold onto her a little longer, soak in these priceless days and memories while ignoring your dwindling bank account

If only it were that simple…

“She’ll be alrigh’, swee’heart.” Simon tries his best to reassure you, ignoring the boots he’d been about to slip on an stepping closer to you, sliding a hand in between your shoulder blades. “An’ you can always think o’ my offer. No pressure, o’ course.”

As if you hadn’t been thinking about it constantly to begin with

Simon Riley, in the truest knight in shining armour fashion you’d come to know from him since day one, had made a suggestion over dinner the other day that had caught you off guard, an offer all too good to logically refuse

The two of you had been talking about the nursery yet again, your financial worries inevitably coming up as they went hand in hand with your need to get Rosie enrolled sooner than later, lest the lights get shut off or your water turned off before then

Simon had asked you how long you’d stay home with her if it were truly up to you, if money weren’t part of the equation and you didn’t need to go back to work

Of course, you’d thought about it before, hopelessly wishing you could keep her with you until she was perhaps a year old, at least at an age where you wouldn’t be risking the chance of missing out on so many of her milestones and development

None too awkwardly, Simon had brought up the fact that he’d worked another job before construction, one that had supposedly paid him quite well, meaning he had more money laying around then he knew what to do with

You’d been taken aback when he’d offered to pay whatever bills were preventing you from staying home with Rosie until you felt ready to go back to work, not as a loan or as a favour, certainly not something to hold over your head, but just as something he felt was right, something he felt both you and Rosie deserved

You hadn’t known what to say then, and you were still unsure of how to respond now, the idea being a very lovely and undoubtedly generous one, if not a daunting one

But things between you and Simon were still so new, so fresh, you wanted to continue exploring this relationship and see where things would lead, secretly harbouring hope that this would be the last first kiss you ever had, the last time you called someone your boyfriend before perhaps calling him something more serious, and to bring money into that equation, was scary

You’d witnessed numerous relationships gone wrong over finances, too many couples holding money over their partners head as leverage, and though your trusted Simon’s word that he genuinely wanted to share his with you out of the kindness of his heart, you couldn’t help the sentiment that you would feel as though you always owed him for it

Yes, it would have been a quick fix to the dilemma you were in, an instant solution to the worries that had been plaguing you for months now, but would you rather that, or potentially jeopardize what you and Simon are starting to build here?

And so you’d told him you would think about it, and think about it you did, over and over and over, and each time you came to the same conclusion; you just couldn’t take his money

“I’ll think about it, yeah.” You whispered, leaning farther into his touch. “In the meantime you think about what day is going to work for you and I’ll let the sitter know.”

As if she knew precisely that you were planning an outing without her, Rosie began grumbling in your arms, straining out of your hold and leaning into Simon just as you were

“Well hey there miss Rosie,” he chuckled deeply, large hands reaching out to pick her up effortlessly, the sight of him holding your baby one that never failed to make you go weak in the knees. “No fussin’ now, alrigh’? We’ve had lots o’ date wit’ ya, and we’ll have more to come. But I’d like to spend some time with your mum too, ya know?”

“As if she doesn’t get jealous enough already.” You laughed, thinking of how your little two month old likes to protest any time the both of you aren’t holding her. It makes your heart swell, to think of how quickly she’s taken to Simon, and though you know she’s just an infant, you like to imagine it’s because she’s a good judge of character

He’s only been in her life for a short period of time, but the bond those two are forming is undeniable, hell there are some times you’ll glance at him holding her and swear she’s starting to look like him

“She just knows what she likes, don’t you lil’ miss?” Simon asks, his fingers running down her belly to tickle her, the both of you entranced by the grin she gives him, her smiles growing larger and more frequent with each passing day

The both of your freeze in place however, utterly awestruck by the new sound ringing out throughout your flat, a noise that is nothing short of music to your ears

“Did- did she just laugh?” You ask, your own lips stretching into an amused grin as you watch her. “Simon! Holy shi- she just laughed right?”

“She did.” Simon whispers back to you, eyes locked on Rosie’s still smiling expression, small coos coming from her now as her gaze flits between the two of you

“Oh my gosh! That was her first laugh ever!” You can’t help but to laugh yourself, smoothing your hands down her soft head, landing a loving kiss on her forehead as you lean into Simon’s arm

“Really?” He asks, glancing at you with an expression that makes your heart stop, the utter joy in his eyes enough to make your breath catch in your throat, seeing him love your baby so effortlessly.

“Yeah, really.”

“Well in that case Rosie,” He says, forgetting the fact that he’d been about to slip his shoes on and head home, ignoring that he has to be on the job site in less than nine hours, as he makes his way towards your couch, eyes never straying from the bundle in his arms as you sit next to him. “I’ve got a few jokes to run by ya. D’ya like goldfish?”

October

“I dunno, love.”

“Oh, but the pictures would be so cute! Maybe if one of us is holding her up from behind? Would that work?”

“Well hold on, let me cut the leg holes a bit wider, just wanna make sure she’s alrigh’.”

“She is getting pretty chunky on us, isn’t she?” You ask, shifting your hold on Rosie as you switch her to your other hip. “Aren’t you lil’ miss?”

With less than a week to go until Rosie’s first Halloween, you were keen on getting some cute photos of her to celebrate, your family constantly asking for updates and pictures of her

Watching his facial expressions, you’d had trouble keeping a straight face on as you explained to Simon your vision of carving a jack-o-lantern so that Rosie could squeeze her chubby little legs and bottom inside, inspired by pictures you’d seen somewhere or another of smiling babies sat in pumpkins

He’d been skeptical at first, but could never turn you down, especially when you were so excited about trying it at least

“I’d hope so, seein’ how she never stops eatin’.” He chuckles setting the carving knife down to give her bare foot a squeeze, his smile widening as she offers her own little giggle in response. “Wonder what she’ll think o’ real food when the time comes.”

“I’m thinking she’ll probably be a fan. Either way my tits will be very grateful for the break. They’re always so sore.”

“A dilemma I’m happy to help with.” Simon’s gaze meets your own for a moment before you’re both averting your eyes elsewhere, deep blushes staining your cheeks as you can’t help but to recall the way he’d ‘helped’ your aching chest just the other day

It’s been a few weeks now since Rosie officially started nursery, a bittersweet change to say the least, though your work had been gracious enough to allow you to slowly ease back into the job, starting off only part time so that Rosie’s transition away from you wasn’t so jarring

It shattered your heart each and every time you had to drop her off and she would bawl her little eyes out, but slowly she was adjusting, growing used to the new faces and new routine, including not being able to feed off of you on demand

If anything she was taking everything in stride much better than you were

You were emotional, physically at work but mentally still with Rosie, wondering if she was okay, if this was the right decision to be making, not to mention that your body was still producing milk as if she was still attached to your hip 24 hours a day

It was just after your first full week back at work when you’d mentioned offhandedly to Simon how sore your chest was, the two of you lounging on the couch after supper, Rosie fast asleep in her crib, the long days at daycare exhausting her

“Tha’ so?” He’d asked, voice dropping lower than you’d heard it all night, his fingers tracing imaginary patterns across the bare skin of your shoulder. “Can’t have my birdy in pain, now can I?”

Whatever movie had been playing on the telly was long forgotten when Simon’s silent gaze met your own, wordlessly asking for permission as he slowly slid his fingers beneath the fabric of your top, all too enamoured with unwrapping you like a gift soon as you’d nodded to him

Up until that point, the extent of your physical relationship with Simon had been kept to heated makeouts in the front seat of his truck after dates, and heavy petting on the couch after supper, any opportunity to take things further always being thwarted by the little life that depended on you, or by Simon’s insane work schedule

You knew you were both eager to take things further, never quite finding the right moment, the right setting, the right time

But at that moment?

Well, as soon as Simon had your shirt thrown across the room, eyes locked with yours as his large, calloused hand slid up your sides to tenderly grab ahold of your enlarged breasts, thumbs carefully teasing your sensitive nipples, it was as though time stood still

Looking into Simon’s eyes then was like the universe finally granting you a moment of reprieve from the stress and the worries and the money and the work and all the things constantly running through your mind, as though the look in his gaze alone was all the permission you needed to slow down and just feel

Not just to feel, but to feel good

And good lord, did Simon Riley ever know how to make you feel good

As soon as his lips had wrapped around your taut nipple, yours were letting out gasps and moans that only served to rile him up further, sounds that had his tongue swirling all the slower across your sensitive skin

When your hands weren’t slinking through his short locks, they were pulling at the fabric of his own clothes, all but ripping them off of him until he picked you up without so much as a grunt of effort, carrying you towards your room until your back met the mattress

Simon tasted your skin as though it were the antidote he’d searched for all his life, the cure to all of his woes, your body a buffet while he was a man starved, his warm hands lovingly squeezing whatever bit of flesh he felt his mouth had neglected for too long, though not an inch of skin went untouched by him that night

Whether it had been his original intention or not was still up for debate, but when he’d been slathering and sucking at your nipples for long enough, you’d hardly had time to warn him before your milk had hit his tongue, the instantaneous groan of pleasure he let out having you believe it was his goal from the get go

You’d all but had to pry him off your breast, wiping a lone drop off the corner of his mouth before you were tasting yourself on his lips, tongues meeting in a dance they’d performed countless times before, though the energy in the room felt as though this was the inevitable performance you’d been building up to all along

“Simon.” You’d whispered to him between panting breaths, chests heaving as you fought to catch air, skin tingling every place his fingers roamed and explored, the both of you bare before one another for the first time

He’d looked at you with such reverence then, bordering on adoration if you were bold enough to say so, calloused palms handling you with such grace and care it threatened to bring tears to your eyes, the way he knelt before you as though the body that hardly felt like your own some days were an altar he would gladly pray at for the remainder of his days

“Are you ready, birdy?” He’d asked, planting gentle kiss upon kiss over every inch of your face, his strong forearms bracketing you in as he’d climbed above you, the mattress dipping down beneath your combined weight

“Please, Simon.” You answered, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, fingernails scratching at his skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake, pulling him in closer for a proper kiss, just as the tip of his throbbing member kissed your seeping entrance

You remember rolling your eyes in college, whenever you heard the boys referring to sex as ‘sliding into home’, as though the whole affair were nothing more than one big game to them, something for them to tally on their score sheets and compare amongst each other, teasing their mates who only made it to third base

But with Simon?

You couldn’t help but to compare this to the same feeling as coming home, when Simon slid into you for the first time, your combined groans echoing throughout the room, hands grasping at each other as though you keeping each other afloat in a stormy sea that was only picking up speed

It was as though you had danced this dance before, had felt each other’s embrace in a previous lifetime and remembered the steps without fault, the way you both moved in perfect rhythm and harmony, understanding your partner without so much as a word needing to be said, eyes saying everything you would ever need to know

No one else in the universe existed in that moment, apart from you and Simon, Simon and you

It was the early hours of the morning by the time you’d both exhausted yourselves and ruined the bedsheets, eternally grateful that the headboard banging against the wall hadn’t woken up your tiny roommate

“Will you stay?” You’d whispered to him as he held you, legs tangled together as the sheets barely covered you, his hand smoothing along your naked back as he pressed a kiss to your temple, tightening his hold on you

“For as long as you’ll have me, love.” He’d answered without hesitation, his deep voice catching on the last word

“Better make yourself comfortable then. Don’t think you’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

Since that night, Simon had been staying over more and more frequently, your flat being closer to his job sites meant that sleeping over on occasional work nights just made sense, and you and Rosie were always more than content to have him there

Though presently? As he attempted none too gracefully to thread her flailing legs into a huge pumpkin, her cries of protest growing as his own voice tried to talk her through the process, urging her to give mama a smile as you laughed behind the camera at their antics, you knew she’d give him hell over these pictures one day

That very thought had your heart faltering, not wanting to set your hopes up too high too soon as your brain painted images of an older Rosie and Simon looking at these pictures in the future, the three of you still together years down the road

He had said for as long as you’d have him, didn’t he?

You wonder how forever would sound to him

November

He hasn’t had one in so long, that he’s momentarily stunned when it happens

Frozen in place, beads of sweat dripping from every pore of his body despite the chillier weather threatening to frost the windows over night, he doesn’t recognize where he is right away, your bedroom ceiling being one he’s only ever seen in better times, not a sight he’s used to seeing in the midst of a night terror

It feels as if every breath he fights to take only expels air from his shrinking lungs, unable to catch even a single relieving gasp, he begins to panic, kicking the sheets off of him in a hurry as his frantic eyes scan the room, intent on finding the threat he knows deep down isn’t there, but his brain convinces him is lurking around every corne

When he blinks next, your cold bathroom tiles are cooling his heated skin as he lays sprawled across them, the ringing in his ears louder than they’ve ever been before

He can’t bear to close his eyes too long, visions of spilled blood and unadulterated carnage flashing behind his eyelids, pain inflicted all too willingly by his own hands rippling through his core, a suffering like no other being inflicted upon him again and again each time he tries in vain to forget

His nightmares have changed recently

No longer does he picture himself at the end of a combatant’s AK, his skull beneath an enemy’s stomping foot, his throat the one bobbing against the edge of a razor sharp knife held against his oesophagus

Now, it’s you he sees, with a fear like no other shining in your eyes just before the light is taken from them forever, it’s you whose body he picks up from the wreckage, hardly recognizable from the awkward angles your broken and batters limbs point it, you whose death certificate he finds himself signing over and over and over again, a cruel trick of his imagination unlike any other

Tonight was worse than usual however, when he’d looked down at the corpse he’d been carrying in his arms, finding to his horror that his blood stained hands were holding the baby girl he’d come to know and love

He barely makes it to the toilet before he’s retching up everything in his stomach, the mere thought making him physically ill

That’s the worst part, isn’t it? That there is some truth to these nightmares

His hands are stained with blood each time he cradles Rosie, whether the violence is visibly etched into his skin or not, the same hands he holds both you girls with are the same ones that have slaughtered mercilessly, without hesitation, without consideration of whether that enemy had something like this waiting for him at home too, a family to hold

He knows this is his own doing, his mind having run rampant after your first fight last night

Well, fight might be a bit hyperbolic of him, an awkward disagreement at best, a scab he kept picking at until it threatened to bleed again

Just as he does any time things go well for him, any time things feel right, he just has to go and find a way to try and ruin it for himself, doesn’t he? His insecurities have been trying valiantly to poke their heads out and meet you head on, to pull the rug out from under you and expose himself for the liar he is, to shine the spotlight on every misdeed he’s ever committed and have you act as his judge, jury and executioner

Because what business did he have, asking you in the middle of Rosie’s bathtime, the both of you knelt by the tub as you giggled over bubble beards, if her dad was ever going to be showing his face about?

“Simon- she-,” you’d started awkwardly, the reddening of your cheeks and avoidance of his gaze having him feeling instantly guilty, though the subject had been one he’d never known how to address properly, how to bring up organically, as much as it spent time nagging away as his brain. “She doesn’t have a dad.”

“You’d gone to a clinic, then?” He’d asked, probing for any bit of confirmation that there wasn’t some other man roaming the streets out there, who could show up at any moment and lay claim to the home he was building for himself here? Whose measly DNA would hold more leverage over him, would bond him more legitimately to the two of you than he ever could?

“No. I- I didn’t go to a clinic.” You had insisted, pulling the stopper out of the tub and letting the water drain as you pulled Rosie out and wrapped her in a soft towel.

“Then she has a dad.” He had tried to reason, only just wanting to hear from you that no, there was no one else, no one was going to be taking this from him

“No, Simon. She doesn’t have a dad.” You’d snapped, turning your back to him as you dried off an all too happy Rosie, babbling away in your arms. “It was- it was a one time thing. I’d never met him before. I don’t even know his name so- look I’d rather not talk about this right now, okay?”

God, he was such an ass, wasn’t he?

He’d even let you kiss him tenderly that night, let you apologize for snapping at his question, let you explain that it was still a sensitive subject but that no, there was no other man in the picture, let you tell him that he was the closest thing to a dad Rosie knew

Though maybe it wasn’t the argument which had him paralyzed from fear in the en-suite right now, was it?

Perhaps it was more likely the stack of lies he laid upon each night was catching up to him? The prickly thorns of his deceit poking out to ensnare him in his guilt?

It’s not as though he’d gone and explicitly lied to your face recently, and none of his deceptions had ever come from a place of ill intent

But he knew all the same how upset you’d be if you realized the exorbitant daycare bill you received at the end of each month which made your eyes bulge out of their sockets, was only a fraction of the true cost? That the other portion of the fees were billed directly to him, yet another scheme he’d orchestrated without you realizing

He knew you were too proud, too headstrong to accept his money, despite his insistence that he had more than enough to share and that he wanted to provide for you and for Rosie

He knew you never wanted to feel as though you depended on him, as though you would owe him for his help, but birdy why couldn’t you see that he would never ask you for a single thing in return apart from what you already give him so freely?

He would never try to take your independence from you, your freedom, your stubborn pride, he only wants to help, to take away your worries and give them to himself instead, so that you can choose whether you go back to work or not, so that you can choose whether Rosie is ready for nursery or not, rather than being forced to decide

He can hear you beginning to stir in bed, his ears hyperaware of every noise in the flat despite the persisting tinnitus, knowing you’ll be up soon as reach for him and find the bed empty

He’s got to get his head straight, pull himself together, there is no threat, there are no enemies here, he’s safe, you’re safe, Rosie’s safe, and you’re all together

He’ll be damned if anything changes that

December

The stockings are lined by the fireplace, lights twinkling across the branches of the fir tree decorated top to bottom in ornaments of every shape and size, wrapped presents tucked away underneath the tree as Rosie sleeps without a care in her crib, an old Christmas movie softly playing in the background, but none of it matters right now, not when Simon’s presenting you with one of the most precious gifts he could ever bestow upon you

His story

Your legs are draped across his lap as you both sit on the couch, his fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your pants, running upon and down your calves, keeping his hands occupied as he struggles finds the right words, the right place to start, unable to meet your eyes as he hands his beating heart over to you, piece by broken piece

Your Christmas Eve dinner consisted of just the three of you in your flat, a warm homemade meal prepared together, an all too lengthy obligatory video chat with your family overseas to ooh and aah at Rosie in her Christmas jammies, a kiss or two under the mistletoe as you decorated the tree

There was nothing more you could have asked for

Well, perhaps other than asking what was on Simon’s mind all day

Because though he was present and engaged, you could tell him thoughts were elsewhere, his mind preoccupied with something that never quite rose to the surface, but was nevertheless visible beneath the waves

You’d been more than surprised when Simon sat you down on the couch after putting Rosie down for the night, holding your hand in his as he let out a deep sigh and told you that he wanted to tell you about his family

It was a subject you’d never dared broach with him, seeing as he’d never once brought them up to you

Though he’d never explicitly said so, you’d been able to discern that Simon used to work for the military, in whatever capacity you were unsure, but a former soldier at the very least

From the way he always stood a little straighter in public spaces, always positioned himself so he could see every exit and entrance, how his head was always on a swivel, looking over his shoulder, it was evident that Simon had a background that required him to watch his back

His diligence was one that might seem exaggerated now, but had clearly been the difference between a life or death situation at some point in his life before, and so you’d never questioned his quirks and habits, not even when he began having those nightmares you knew he thought he was keeping well hidden from you

But to now hear him confirm those suspicions? To lay himself bare before you in his most honest form and present to you his very heart and soul? It was almost too much to bear

You shared his anger and frustration as he told you of his turbulent childhood, joined him in his grief as he explained his mother and brother’s addiction, smiled with him as he remembered how he’d been able to help them out of their downward spiral, how he’d stood as best man in his brothers wedding, how he knew how to handle Rosie so easily from the get go because he’d held his own nephew from the day he was born

You cried with him as he told you of their fates, skimming over details without losing the harshness of their demises, how he himself had known nothing but pain and death and violence from that day forth, how his world had revolved around nothing more than killing and sleeping and killing, rinse and repeat for years upon years

You hugged him as he shared with you how lost he felt being discharged from service, how he had no idea where he would go from that point on, finding mediocre solace in the manual labour he poured himself into for months

That is, up until he met a pretty bird on the other side of the fence one day

You kissed him after he told you that he had hope now, that he wished for countless more Christmas Eve’s like this one tonight, consisting of little footie pyjamas and belly laughs and wrapping paper and bedtime stories and three stockings hung by the fireplace, because more than anything…

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, your combined tears streaking across one another’s cheeks as neither of you are willing to pull away from the other, the world could be falling to ruins outside and neither of you would notice, your whole world here in this very room. “I love you. I love you. So much, birdy. I- I love you.”

“And I love you, Simon Riley. Every part of you. I love you.”

Though nothing had physically changed of course, you swear you could almost see how much lighter Simon felt that next morning, how a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he held Rosie in one arm, keeping you close to him with the other, heaps of wrapping paper and ribbons and bows strewn across the floor as gifts piled around you three, not a single one of them worth more than what he already held in his arms

January

“I swear! Simon I’m not kidding, she just said it!”

“In the 30 seconds I was gone? Rubbish.”

“No I’m serious!” You giggle, playfully poking at his ribs before laughing louder once he lands a smack on your bum. “Come on baby, you can say it again. Mama. Mama! Go on Rosie, you’ve got it.”

“There’s no way, birdy.”

“Simon! Let her do it, I know she said it.”

“I know you want to believe she said it.” He says, a deep chuckle emanating from his chest when you land your own swat at his backside, Rosie watching all too intently from her high chair. “She’s just babbling, love.”

“Babbling is how talking starts, Si. First she’s babbling, next she’s stringing sounds together, next she’s talking our ear off night and day. But I know she said it just now, I’m not crazy.” You reason, undoing the safety buckles of her seat and lifting her up into your arms, slotting her against your hip as you go back to sitting on Simons lap at the dinner table, empty plates pushed aside as he wraps his strong arms around you both

“Alrigh’, well go on with it then Rosie girl. What’d your mum hear you say? Hm?” Simon plays along, running a loving finger down her soft, plump cheek, her mouth following the digit as tough it might be a tasty snack

“Aaaaah. Baaaaah. Aaamaa.” Rosie cooes, entirely pleased with the undivided attention she’s receiving from her two favourite people in the world

“See! She’s getting close.”

“Love,” Simon can’t help but to chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple in good spirits. “All I heard was gibberish, I’m sorry.”

“Just listen close, she’s trying to say it. Come on Rosie, it’s mama. Ma-ma. Can you say it? Ma ma ma ma mama?” You coo back to her, sounding just like every corny parent you swore you’d never become, until you became a parent yourself

“You hearin’ yourself?” He asks, laughing at the pointerd stare you shoot in his direction. “Let me try then, hm?”

“Have at it.” You tell him, handing her off to him as you stand back up on your feet, heading around the corner of the hallway. “I’m gonna go check the laundry real quick.”

“Alrigh’ then, my baby bird. Your mum wants to hear you talk, hm? What’d you say? Want to make her real happy and say mama? Mama?”

“Mmmmma. Mmmmma!” Rosie replies to him, slobbery, chubby hands coming to tap at his stumbled cheeks in amusement

“Holy shit, you actually are tryin’ to say it.” He says in a mix of disbelief and pure amazement, watching intently as he little pink lips try to hard to form the sounds. “Go on Rosie.”

“Aaaaa. Aaaaa! Daaaaa!”

“Well now you’re just all over the place, swee’heart.”

“Daaaaa! Daaaadaaa! Dada!”

At that, Simon is certain his heart has stopped beating, eyes gone wide in surprise as he looks down at the squirming bundle of joy who’s still babbling away without a care

Dada

She’s just called him dada

Obviously, she has no idea what that word means, she’s only just strung together some sounds, like you’ve said, she doesn’t realize the significance of those noises she’s just made

But for Simon?

He’s not sure life will ever be the same again, barely acknowledging the tears that are pooling in his eyes as he brings Rosie closer to his chest, cradling her against him as though she might disappear in the blink of an eye, the feeling of her tiny heartbeat against his own a comforting rhythm he finds solace in

“Yeah, it’s me love.” He whispers into the crown of her head, all too aware of your form watching from around the corner with unshed tears on your lash line. “It’s your dada.”

February

You had told him Valentine’s Day had never been something you saw as being worth celebrating, nothing more worthwhile than exchanging cards and lollies in primary school and unnecessarily crying over in secondary when you were without a partner for the dance

Simon already bought you flowers more often than you could keep track of, he cooked meals for you, paid for dates, made love to you until you saw stars, loved your baby like she was his own, what more could you ask of him?

You’d insisted you didn’t want any fanfare, didn’t want anything more than him, and certainly didn’t want any presents

And so when you got home and found a small wrapped box on the kitchen table, you were a little peeved

“I hope you know I didn’t get you anything.” You mention, already feeling a tad guilty that you hadn’t bought anything for Simon on your first Valentine’s Day together, though you thought he’d been on the same page as you

“Good thing this isn’t just for you then.” He says, sliding the box closer to you and responding to your raised brow with a wink of his eye. “S’for the both of us. Well, three of us, technically.”

“Well now I’m intrigued.” You reply, dragging your fingernails through the wrapping until your palm held a small cardboard box, wondering if the box was empty it was so lightweight. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you lifted the top off the box, revealing its single content inside. “What’s this?”

“A key.”

“Well, yes thank you. I can tell it’s a key, doofus.” You give him a playful kick under the table, spinning the cold metal key between your fingers. “What’s it for?”

“Our place.”

“Our what?” You ask, more than a little bewildered now, wondering if maybe Simon forgot to wear his hard hat today and took a hit to the head. “Simon you already have a key to the flat.”

“I know. It’s not for this flat.” He says, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, the creases in the page appearing as though it had been folded and refolded many times over. “It’s for our new place.”

As he unfolds the paper and slides it towards you, the wires in your brain connect, a gasp leaving your lips as you nearly drop the key

“Simon, you didn’t…”

“I did.”

On the paper before you, lies the listing for a house you’d been eyeing for a long time now, only now the ink on the paper tells you that the house is no longer up for sale, but is instead under negotiation

As lovely as your flat had been when you were living as a single woman, it had become cramped once Rosie arrived, and had only gottten that much tighter once Simon started unofficially living here as well

If only for the fun of it, you’d spent time looking through larger flats in the area, none of them within your price range, and so you’d gone down the rabbit hole of looking at homes you decided you’d never be able to afford and kept coming back to one in particular

This one hit everything on your checklist, and more

It was in a great neighborhood, was close to Rosie’s nursery and potential future schools, wasn’t that far from your work, had lots of parks nearby, on top of being spacious enough to accommodate the three of you

You’d shown it to Simon one evening, offhandedly asking him what he thought about it, wanting to get his opinion to keep in mind when you looked through future listings that were more within your budget, never thinking that he’d been paying that much attention to it

Yet, lo and behold, here in your hand was what was apparently the key to your new home together

“Simon- I-”

“I know your instinct is likely to say no right now.” Simon began, jumping in before you could start. “And I get it. I did this without askin’ you. But- love you should’ve seen your face when you showed me this place. I’ve watched you go back to this listing more than you realize. I’m already here practically every night, eventually Rosie’s gonna start walkin’ and we’ll need more space for her. This one’s got a great backyard righ’? I’ll build her a swing in the back, teach her to ride a bike out front. We could walk her in the pram to nursery on nice days, it’s so close by. We’d be able to-”

His own rambling is cut off, when you all but leap across the table to grab him by his collar and slant your lips over his

“Yes.” You say simply, pulling back to meet his loving gaze, leaning into the warm hand he’s brought up to cradle your cheek

“Yes?” He whispers back to you

“Yes.”

“I love you, birdy.”

“And I love you, Simon.”

It’s only a few weeks later, as you’re on your way to pick up Rosie from daycare, that the paperwork is finalized, the home officially yours, Simon’s and Rosie’s

Your first place together

Giddy with excitement, you make a quick pit stop by their office before slipping into Rosie’s class to get her, knowing it’ll be a lot trickier to speak with Emma once you’ve got your squirmy girl in your arms, always too ready to go home

You were on good terms with all of the staff at Rosie’s daycare, even the educators who weren’t in Rosie’s program, but you’d become actual friends with their assistant director over time, Emma, finding you had quite a bit in common, including your love for Rosie

It wasn’t so easy to maintain all of your old friendships since becoming a mum, your best friend sticking with you through thick and thin, though others had slowly dwindled over time, and so finding an unlikely friendship at Rosie’s nursery was a welcome surprise

“Hey! Was hoping you’d be here.” You say cheerfully, poking your head into Emma’s office, finding her sat behind the desk

“Oh hey you. Pfft, when am I not here?” She joked, shutting her laptop and giving you her full attention. “Coming to pick up the girly girl?”

“Yeah, just wanted to update some info with you first, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, well yeah. Of course. Come on in. What’s up?” She says, gesturing towards the chair across from her for you to take

“Our address is actually going be changing soon.”

“Oh my gosh! That place you were telling me Simon got?” She asks with surprise evident on her features

“Yes! The offer he put in went through and it’s officially ours now. Not sure when moving date will be quite yet, but I wanted to update you sooner than later.”

“Of course, that’s so exciting.” She replies, opening her computer back up and starting to type away

“And I figure it’s probably about time we add him as a contact as well. Or caregiver, whatever you prefer to call it.” You mention, reasoning that there are likely going to be times now where Simon might drop her off or pick her up by himself, and that they’ll need him on the list of approved caregivers

“Ha. Could you imagine? He only gets added now?” She laughs, still typing away at her computer.

“Hehe, yeah well, there might just be days where I can’t pick her up in time and so he’ll step in.” You add awkwardly, a bit confused by her reaction

“Right well, he’s clear to do so any time that might come up.” She assures you, giving you her own strange look now

“Wouldn’t you need him to be on her caregiver list first, though? I thought that was part of the policies, having the approved contacts?”

“Wait, sorry what? What are we talking about right now?”

“Adding Simon as one of her caregivers? I mean, I know it’s not ‘official’ or anything, officially moving in together isn’t a marriage proposal, but he’s still like a dad to her, is he not able to be added to the list?”

“Sorry- is- are you saying Simon isn’t Rosie’s dad?” She asks, her expression one of utter confusion

“What? No. No, of course he’s not her dad. I mean, not technically but in every way that matters yes. That can’t actually make a difference in having him be an approved pick up, can it?”

“He-” she begins, giving you an odd look as she spins her laptop around to face towards you now, the screen displaying Rosie’s contact information. “He’s already on there, babe. He’s been on there since day one.”

“Wait, what?”

Oh what an ending! Many, many more good things to come with these two, I promise. Simon just has to pay a little first, okay? Next chapter is already in the works!

As always your patience, support, comments and messages in my inbox mean more to me than you could ever know! It’s been a really tough month personally and writing is an outlet I find so much joy in so it really does mean a lot when my work resonates with others

- M 🫶🏻

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[hbma]

big fan of Simon who’s just a little too rough with his affection.

he’s got a vice grip on your jaw, digging dimples into your flesh so ironclad that it hurts anytime you do anything remotely cute. His teeth clenched, nose scrunched, voice gruff when he utters—

“Precious little thing.”

his lips bruise yours next, suffocating you so all that remains is him.

“Gon’ be the death o’me, you know tha’?”

[hbma]

I know this is a very “same shit different day” idea coming from me but

I’ve not been able to stop thinking about being Nikolai’s painfully shy, sheltered little house kitty hybrid. And of course he loves you more than anything, he’d give you anything in the world. You have a lace ruffle collar with a sweet little sterling silver bell because otherwise he’d keep losing you in the house— so quiet and withdrawn when it comes to anything and anyone that isn’t him. But there’s one thing he can’t give you, something he knows would be perfect for you—

He wants to see you round and cute with kittens.

So he’s looking into getting you paired, but of course he won’t trust just anyone around his precious kotonek. There’s only one person he knows who has a cat hybrid— and that’s John. His cat, Simon, happens to be terribly socialized, surly, and notably doesn’t get along with other hybrids. In fact, he doesn’t get along with most humans either. But he’s extremely well trained— so Nik decides to give it a chance.

You already know something is strange when Nikolai leashes you. He never does that— not unless he’s afraid you’ll run off. Which means something scary is about to happen. At first you think it might just be John— though, he’s one of the only people who you let pet you. Then, you see the massive frame of the scarred up hybrid coming in behind him, leashed as well, and your tail bristles. True to form, you do twitch and shudder, but you know you can’t run.

“Milaya, you remember John. This is John’s hybrid, Simon.”

You sniff the air, and you remember this scent. Nik placed a blanket in your bed that smelled a little strange a few weeks ago— you regarded it cautiously but eventually were able to settle against it, which he took as a sign you’d accept Simon. If only you’d know what happened at John’s house— how Simon had smelled the pillowcase from your bed just as soon as John was in the house and nearly tore it from his hands, stealing it off to his own bed. He buried his teeth and face into it, taking the scent in deep and tugging at his cock until the frilly thing was covered in his cum. Price sent a picture to Nik immediately when he found the evidence.

“Think he’s got a crush on her, Nik.”

Now, Simon’s looking at you like he wants it straight from the source.

[hbma]

Johnny: So you have to choose one between Y/n and — Simon: Y/n. Johnny: You dog, let me finish! Simon: Sorry, continue Soap. Johnny: It's either Y/n— Simon: Y/n. Johnny: Pick Y/— Simon: Y/n. Johnny: ... Johnny, looking at Y/n: Are you fuckin' seeing this? Y/n, proud heart eyes: :)

[hbma]

thank you scherz et al. for bringing us the frogs Mini ature, Mini mum and of course, the Mini scule

[hbma]

He means a little squeeze bottle with brine shrimp inside but… bottle feeding the loblings…

[hbma]

investigating the genesis of threats to the imperium, Lord Inquisitor Origen Thule of the Ordo Originatus. he believes every heresy has a history, every mutation a source. to him, understanding the beginning is the only way to dictate the end.