#simon thoughts

[bi-writes]

simon knows something is wrong as soon as he comes home. (a little 18+, f!reader)

you're sitting on the floor of the living room. there's acrylic paint in your hair, and you're crying, eyes red and puffy cheeks wet. you're sitting around a floor of strewn about toddler toys, and you're rubbing your chest in the way that simon knows means your breasts are sore.

he shuts the door behind himself. there's dishes piled up in the sink. he smells something that's burnt. the kitchen table is littered with remnants still from breakfast, and there's clean laundry still piled up in the basket, forgotten next to the couch.

"wot the fuck is happenin'?"

you jump a little when you hear his voice, as if it's the first time you've noticed something in your house is different. you want to smile at him, but it falls short. simon kicks his boots off, hanging his jacket up, and he lets out a deep breath as he kneels down in front of you.

"hey, baby," he murmurs. you sniffle, wiping your face, and simon cups your cheeks to make you look at him. "wot happened?"

"he hates me," you whisper. "h-he hates me, simon, h-he said it."

"who hates ya, swee'eart?"

"joe," you whine. "i told him...i told him you wouldn't be here for supper, and he..." you start to cry. "he said he hates me. he wants you, he only wants you. he hates me..."

simon sucks on his teeth under the mask, shaking his head.

"mm...and where's our sweet girl then?"

"s-sleeping."

"havin' a nap?" he kisses you softly. "olright. time to pump, huh, love?" he cups under your breast tenderly, rubbing over your sore nipple. you sigh, nodding, and he nudges his nose against yours. "olright. you 'ave a go. take a nice bath. have somethin' ta eat."

you collapse against his chest in a fit of soft tears. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and he rubs your back gently.

"we'll 'ave a chat," simon murmurs. "sort this out."

"i-i'm sorry, simon."

"no need ta be sorry, baby. i've got it."

"i...i wanted to have it, too. i wanted..."

simon rubs a thumb over your face gently.

"you do, baby. you've got it. i know you do. there now, that's a girl..."

it takes a few minutes to get you to go into your shared bedroom. when he sees you relaxed as you get your breast bump, he makes his way down the hall, to where your son's bedroom door is just ajar.

when he pushes it open, it creaks. simon sighs as he sees your little boy sitting on the carpet, playing with his trains. he's quiet, which is unusual; when he comes home, normally his son is bounding towards him, jumping up and down, so happy and excited to see his father. now, he looks shy, and he won't acknowledge him.

"oi," simon murmurs gently. "that a way to greet me, lad?"

his son just shrugs. he looks up at him, the picture of shame, and simon closes the door behind him as he takes a seat on the little bed. it creaks under his great weight, but it holds up. simon looks positively funny—he takes up most of the bed, and he has to hunch over to get closer to his son.

"i missed you very much. been gone awhile, haven't i?"

his son just shrugs again.

"'n i come home, and i see y'r mum covered in rubbish, very upset. would y'like ta tell me wot tha's about? huh, joe?"

his son, predictably, just shrugs.

"y'r mum thinks y'hate her," simon continues. "tha' true?"

shrug.

"oi," simon's voice hardens, but it's still gentle. "i'm havin' a conversation with you, lad. i'd like it very much if y'gave me y'r attention."

joe finally stops touching his trains. he sniffles, looking up at simon, and simon tilts his head to the side. when they meet eyes, simon tries to be less intimidating. he wants his son to know he's done something wrong, but he doesn't want to scare him.

"y'r mum thinks you hate her. tha' true?" he asks again. when joe shakes his head, simon narrows his eyes. "then why'd ya say it?"

"wanted a lolly."

"uh huh. but mummy said it was supper time, didn't she?"

"yeah."

"so you hate her?"

"no."

"then why'd ya say it?"

"i dunno," joe shrugs. he frowns a little, thinking, and simon is satisfied with this reaction. punishing joe never works; taking away his toys, his coloring books, playtime, it never works. joe is like you—too smart for his own good. he learns when he's confronted with the truth. "i wanted..."

"ya wanted to hurt her," simon finishes. "like you think she hurt you."

joe turns back to his trains. simon sits up, taking a deep breath.

"one day," simon murmurs, "y'r gonna love someone the way i love y'r mummy."

"i am?" joe is interested. he turns his head a little, blinking up at his dad, and simon just nods. realistic. honest.

"right," simon tells him. "y'r gonna love them 'n y'r gonna wanna protect them, like i want to protect y'r mum. you can't stop everyone from hurtin' them, but i would hope that at least it...wouldn't be family. tha's y'r mum, mate. i remember when y'were the size of a tiny bean, inside of her tummy, yeah? she was so happy. 'n when y'were born, she cried so much. said y'were the most wonderful thing, said she would love you more than anythin', more than me." simon chuckles. "was a bit jealous of ya for a bit, won't lie. 'n she does. loves you with all of herself. tells me all the time."

"she does?" joe's eyes are big and bright now. he feels bad. he's sad.

"tha's right," simon mutters. "'n when i'm gone, i'm not here to protect y'r mum, so i thought you'd be a big help, but here we are, joe. 'n y'r mine, mate, all mine, but y'r mum is special to me, y'hear tha'? she's my special girl. my special girl tha' loves you more than herself, so i need you to go tell her y'r sorry, and i need you to mean it."

joe stands up onto his little legs, and simon watches as he toddles over to simon. simon scoops him up into a big hug, and joe wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face into his shoulder.

"i'm sorry," joe whimpers, and simon rubs his little head gently. "i-i don't hate her, i-i got...m-mad..."

"tha's olright," simon whispers. "you can get mad. but ya can't hurt y'r mum. she does oll the heavy liftin' when 'm gone, and...can't do tha'. won't 'ave it."

"i-i won't. i-i won't anymore—"

"good lad..."

when it's quiet in the house, and the babies are sleeping, simon is rubbing lotion into your hands gently. you're tired from feeding the baby, and you're tired from scrubbing the paint out of your hair, but now simon is home, and he's here, and your son sobbed in your arms blubbering about how much he loves you, how he's sorry.

"you come home, and everything..." you sniffle, "everything just gets better again. i-i...why am i so bad at this, simon?"

"you're not bad," simon tells you. "i'm the bastard, baby. the one leavin' ya here...all alone..." he sighs. he pushes your hair out of your face, thumbing at your cheek. "work so hard, love. make my life so easy."

"easy?" your eyes water. you reach up and clutch his forearm, leaning into him. "what you do is so hard, simon. a-and...and so scary."

simon shakes his head, meeting your eyes. you look tired. you look beautiful, but you look tired, and he feels it—he knew one day he would feel it, but he didn't realize that day would come so soon. it's time. it's time for him to come home. it's time to put the papers in, to stomach the desk job, to bite the bullet, because he won't leave you and come back like this. not again. he can't do it. not to you.

"my pretty girl," simon mutters. he licks over his teeth, moving his hand lower to cup your jaw in a big palm. you arch up to meet him, fisting his shirt, and you open your mouth as he bends to kiss you. his tongue is hot against yours; he devours you from the inside out, kissing you wet and eager. you whimper softly, sinking into him, and he smiles into the kiss when he feels you nearly liquefy underneath him. "open, swee'eart."

you do. you let your jaw hinge and mouth fall open, and you accept his fingers easily. you tongue at the pads of his fingers, closing your mouth around them and sucking softly. when he removes them, he slips them under the shirt you wear, where he finds you soft and warm and wet between the thighs. he tucks his fingers under the gusset of your panties, and he feels all the blood swell into his cock when he has to feel between a nearly full bush to find your puffy clit.

"didn't want to touch it while you were gone," you whisper.

"yeah?" simon smirks, slipping two fingers inside of you. his thumb keeps its place on your clit, and your toes curl as you leak onto his palm. "why's tha', love?"

"b-because...because..."

"cause why, baby?"

"cause...c-cause it's yours, simon. your pussy."

"tha's right," simon hums. "my pussy."

[dmitriene]

simon on his knees in front of you, his heavy arms wrapped around your waist with astonishing tenderness, his head resting peacefully on your lap, where your fingers run through his short cropped blonde strands, burrowing into the dark roots of his hair.

you scratch and weave the soft strands between your fingers, moving down the back of his head to his neck, running your nails over his nape and gathering short strands of blonde hair, immediately pulling a muffled growl of — “feels s' good, luv, don'' stop„ from simon's mouth before he stretches his neck.

there's tv with some kind of movie working muffled on the background, to which you periodically direct your attention, while your hand scratches and strokes simon's head, occasionally moving behind his ears and allowing him to press the side of his face against your warm palm, light eyelashes tickling your skin.

the next time, you don't hear unintelligible growls and purrs, but a soft snores in your lap, letting you know that simon fell asleep, so you gently turn his face on the side, so his cheek would rest on your leg, as you lean over to kiss him gently on the top of his head, whispering a soft — “sleep tight, si„ before continuing your stroking.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley that doesn’t correct people for thinking you’re dating. Simon’s minding the trolley while you grab a box of cereal at the store, idly standing by while watching people dip in and out of the aisle. when an older woman says you make a cute couple he just nods and says ‘thank you, ma’am’. he especially doesn’t correct someone when he stalks up behind you, a protective hand on your hip when they scoff and ask, “Is this your boyfriend?”

Roommate!Simon Riley that knows you like the back of his hand - ever changing, but still familiar at the end of the day. a new scar marring his knuckles? he’ll memorize what you like from that new café that opened down the block. a new nick on his wrist? he’s picking up that new movie you were gushing about wanting to see, a genre you wouldn’t necessarily choose usually - he’s ignoring how the main love interest looks like him. at the end of the day, some things never change, like how he’s memorized your smile and the way your nose scrunches

Roommate!Simon Riley that’s fallen into a comfortable pattern with you. your friends always say you act like a married couple, but you wave them off. so what if you guys are in the bathroom at the same time? you need to squeeze a shower in and Simon wanted to brush his teeth - besides, he can hand you a towel when you’re done. so what if you sleep in each other’s rooms? the damn AC is busted again, it’s not your fault Simon is as warm as a furnace and welcomes you with open arms

Roommate!Simon Riley whose favorite start to the morning is seeing you bleary eyed and groggy. your hair is messy, pillow lines across your cheek, and your t-shirt is askew - perfect. he doesn’t care if you have crud around your eyes, he doesn’t care if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet, he doesn’t care that you’re wearing his t-shirt— Simon pauses, eyes glued to you. his last name decorating your back… maybe Simon does care about you wearing his shirt

[elysianightsss]

Simon has always said he’s not a pussy man because he genuinely believed he wasn’t. In his mind he has better usages for his mouth, like talking your through your orgasm. Telling you how pretty you look when your back arches just like that. Then finally you can’t take it anymore, you’re begging him to eat you out and to make you happy he does. Huffing and puffing before he even gets down there. Then he finally gets a drop of you on his tongue and his pupils dilate. His cock becomes rock hard and he becomes absolutely feral for the way you taste. Rutting his hips into the mattress with every buck of your hips. Whining into your pussy louder than your moans. Staying down there even when you’re trying to pull away from the overstimulation. Pulling you back against his mouth with a “you’re not going nowhere lovie.”

[maluconino]

One rule your boyfriend has for you posting dress pics to social media

He gets to be in the background of the mirror

The last time your co-workers hit on you because of the first photo, you tried to explain that you have a boyfriend and he will kick anyone's ass if they hit on you. They laughed and said they can take his little ass anytime.

So now, here you are

Dress clad on, flowers in hue that compliments your skin tone and smile

His strong arm secured around your waist, your phone in the other hand taking the picture

It looked like a beast holding a delicate flower in his palm

The mirror pic was all they needed to see that your boyfriend, wasn't some lil boy

But a big ass man with a stone eyed look, and arm muscles bigger than your head

Needless to say, they still had the balls to comment on the post, but not in person anymore

[gothghostiie]

price with erectile dysfunction. beats himself up simply because his love is too pretty to not get hard over, but being the wise old man he is he quickly finds a solution. what does he have three young men for, if not to help him out?

he regularly let's the boys have at you, fuck your cunt raw while he sits next to you and watches, petting your hair gently. and you? you only have eyes for him. no matter which of them fucks you, no matter what they do, you just have eyes for your husband. gazing up at him, gripping his arm, moaning his name, begging him to go harder, to make you cum.

and the boys loathe it. they're the ones fucking you, the ones making you feel good, why are you only looking at him? calling out for him when you cum, clutching his arm when they hit that spot that makes you see stars? they stumble over themselves to make you look at them, moan their names or at least acknowledge them, but you never do.

and yet they still keep coming back to do it over and over again.

[lologoinsolo]

Main Masterlist, Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 2

Thinking about Simon with a runt of a kitten and it’s barely the size of his palm. Also thinking about the poor cashier that’s stumbling over her words when that hulking man has a kitten fisted in his palm and he just jerks it forward.

“U-Uh, sir, we can’t— I can’t keep that.” His eyes make you shrivel up and you delicately hold the little kitten in your hands. “We uh— the store can’t hold animals we only sell the stuff that animals need.”

He looks at you like that’s not what he’s wanted to hear. Granted you’ve had a couple people come up to try and surrender or drop of their animals like it’s a pound. “I need things for the cat.” He says and you feel like maybe you shot yourself in the foot.

You have a line piling up behind him but no one seems to dare speak up. Why would they when this guy could lay them flat out? Jesus what are they feeding this guy? Steroids and protein powders? You think before swallowing thickly. “I can… I can get my coworkers to—“

“No.” He reaches forward and you flinch when he picks up the kitten and holds it to his chest. “You’ll help.” Nodding off and he starts to walk leaving you dumbfounded and confused. He walks a couple steps before he turns to you with a ‘well?’ look on his face.

You hurriedly grab your pager and call for someone to go through the line while you help this guy. Leading him down the aisle for the litter and you list off the different types. “There’s crystal litter, wood pellets and those are pretty good when it comes to smell. We have tofu litter and that—“

“Does it need something fancy to shit in?” He cuts off the beginning of your speech with a huff. He sounds a mix of annoyed and amused with how you bristle from his remark. You’re tempted to leave, your manager can bitch later about you doing that butttt the kitten against his chest meows and you find that you can’t leave the little thing to suffer because their dad’s a right prick.

“Sir,” you take a breath, “the litter is moreso about preference. Do you want to hide the smell of their… ya know… poop better? Or would you prefer something that clumps or something that’s easy to clean?” You wait… and wait some more before he finally says.

“Pick one.”

You blink at him and he mimics it that bastard. He just stares the entire time you have this little contest. You’re starting to feel like you should’ve called out of work. You knew today would be horrible, your instincts never lie. “Okay,” taking a deep breath and spitefully picking the most expensive and heaviest litter that your store sells. You yank it off the shelf with a groan. If it’s hard for you to lift then he’ll probably have the time of his life having to lug this home. He doesn’t seem to care about the pricing nor the weight though as he grabs the litter from your struggling arms. He shoves the kitten back to your empty hands. “I—“ you stumble over your words, trying to come up with something but he beats you to it.

“Where’s the food she need?” Lifting it onto his shoulders, the muscles bulging as he holds that thing with ease.

“Well she,“ you cough to keep from ogling too much. “Will need some kitten food and maybe some wet food later on. A good kibble would be good to add later on once she gets older,” holding the kitten up gently and her little green eyes blink at you. You prod softly at her teeth to make sure she can handle those foods. You’re hoping she’s not to young or she’ll need kitten formula. You then check her ears and see some red marks. Noticing the little black specs moving about her neck and you cringe. “And a good flea bath. Poor thing,” petting the little baby as you walk off to grab a flea comb. He’ll have to buy it anyways so you’ll make use of it now. You pick at her fur with the comb and squish whatever fleas that you find, you hate those little fuckers. “What’s her name?”

You’ve noticed he’s as silent as a grave this customer of yours. He’s hardly said a peep besides caveman grunts and nods. If it wasn’t for him nearly against your side then you would’ve thought he ran off. That black surgical mask makes him look like he’s something important. Maybe mafia or something possibly dangerous. But… he did come in holding this tiny kitten and isn’t batting an eye at the things you’ve been telling him he’ll need to get for his new pet. Perhaps he’s nicer than your judgement of him is.

You clear your throat, he probably didn’t hear you since he hasn’t tilted his head down. “Does she have a name?” You ask once more and he pulls to a stop, he had came back with a cart earlier when there were too many things for him to hold in his tree trunk arms. It was comical seeing him try to hold a litter box, scratching post, and various foods though.

He doesn’t answer save for the roll of his shoulders that looks like it could be counted as a shrug. You mouth an ‘oh’ before you mind your business. He probably just found her or he’s gonna foster and send her off. Better to not get attached…

You chatter off the things he’ll need to do. See a vet, get her spayed, make sure she has no health problems, the usual things that you mention to pet parents. The little thing in your hands is a curious thing, she wiggles about constantly. Eager to move and escape your hands and arms. Tiny tail flicking about and the meowing and pawing is cute, makes your heart squeeze when he plucks her from your hands and he holds her close. You push the cart along and stop at the toys and bowl aisle.

“Well,” you pull some toys off the shelf, crinkle toys and mouses that should help with those prey instincts. “She’s a sweetheart. I’d probably call her Bailey,” you smile fondly and his brows furrow at your advice. Grabbing the kitten shaped bowls and hurriedly putting them in the cart when you squirm under his eyes. “Oh uh, my brother always wanted a cat named Bailey. It’s a nice name but if you don’t want to call her—“

“Bailey,” he holds her up a little and the kitten paws at his face. Her little nails snag on the fibers of his mask and he pulls them off quickly. “Better than garbage, yeah?” He speaks to the kitten like a human. There’s a crinkle besides his eyes and you realize he’s smiling but when you catch what he said you drop this cactus scratcher you thought he should buy her by accident.

“Garbage?” You look aghast. You’ve heard all kinds of names but never something like that. Quickly picking the cactus scratcher back up and placing it in the piling up cart. “You’d call her that?”

He shrugs his massive shoulders again. “S’where I found ‘er.” Grumbling his reasoning. He glares at the kitten like she’s the cause of his problems. “Couldn’t sleep with’er howling and rummaging about. Made a mess that I had to clean.”

You blink a bit and now it makes some sense why he’s so… snappy? “Well… maybe she knew you’d get her if she was loud enough.”

He scoffs, “she bit and hissed at me.” He rubs his finger over her head and you notice the little red marks on his hands. “Feisty little shit shoulda left ya out in the cold.” She nips at him and he chuckles something deep.

You can’t help the smile that reaches your face. She plays with his fingers and he doesn’t flinch when she bites hard or digs her nails in. He just looks down at her with something akin to wonder and begrudged responsibility.

You pull him to your cash register and his kitten racks up a pretty hefty bill but he pays for it with wads of cash. You don’t speak on the weird crumbled bills nor the faint reddish brown color. You simply bag his items and put them in his cart. “If you need anything, sir. Come find me and I’ll help, okay?” You can’t believe you said it AND actually ment it. What can you say, you love cats more than people and that little thing won your heart as easily as she won his.

He gives a gruff nod and pushes his cart out with on hand. The kitten is pushed into his coat pocket to hide her most likely from the cold outside. She pokes her head out to give a complaint but he just gently pushes her back in. He leaves without waving and you’re left to wonder if he’ll come back. You kinda hope he does come back.

[bi-writes]

ok ok how about mute?ghost who you aren't sure if he's actually mute or if he just chooses not to say anything. you hear a different answer from everyone you ask. (18+)

ever since mexico, wouldn't say a fucking word.

nah, mate, he's been zipped shut since he enlisted.

heard it was a mad accident.

what you mean? heard him telling off privates not even a year ago!

well, since you're a certified yapper, and ghost can't (won't) tell you to shut up, you make him your living diary. whenever you see him around, you sit next to him, stop by his office, hop up onto his desk and talk to him. you tell him about your day, about the recruits that bother you the most, about the meals in the mess hall being worse on saturdays than on mondays (fuck, you'd think the weekend would put some pep in their step, no?).

but gosh, when ghost finally had you seated in his lap with your pants around one ankle, you really weren't expecting to hear him.

pussy-drunk, tongue out, hands gripping your ass as he listens to the wet smack of your thighs against his, and that's all it takes for him to let out the filthiest groan you've ever heard, enough to make you spiral, see red-hot stars, to shake and cry until you're cumming and babbling and even more incoherent.

when they talk about ghost, you still keep your mouth shut. you're still not sure if he talks, fuck if i know, is what you say.

but if you suck his cock just right, you're certain he's singing.

[dmitriene]

simon riley is the man that rarely wears any shirts when he's at home, and you match him well, trotting around with no pants, wearing exactly one of his pajama, loose button up blouses, fabric long enough to stream down and sway at your supple thighs, a one of the most tantalizing sights, for sure, while he's left wearing the matching pants, hanging low on his wide hips.

you get to gape at the pretty body of his for days on end, at the way his scarred, tissued skin pulls taut over the rippling, sinewy muscles of his stretched out shoulders and ample chest, defined pectorals less soft than his stomach are, padded with a squishy looking, healthy layer of fat that hides the couple sculpted cubs of his abdominal muscles, underbelly sticking right atop the treasure tail of his happy hairs, turning more brunette where they run beneath the waistband.

the sharp, cut standing line that separates simon's waist from his hips makes you stare like a woman starved, roving all over everything you can set your enraptured gaze at, and it's a hard work to hold the simmering heat from flooding your face wholly, as if you didn't saw him like that before, and more than that, completely naked as well, but he's always an eye candy, messy all over from his tousled hair to naked feet, pale morning sun playing along to glow up his features.

you're not the only one to look, though, the unwavering, molten gaze of his amber eyes watching you from every corner of the house, hungry, attentively, tracing the swell of your ass that is clad in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties he get's to see when you bend over, or stretch up with your hands, making this blouse on you ride up, bunching into uneven folds, revealing glimpses of skin, round thighs and plump asscheeks, that he strives to squeeze and feel over his own.

there's pure greed when you paw at each other, not a single routine duty in the house passes without you and simon making out with each other, his roughened hands cupping over your curves and full parts he can fondle, your nails raking up from his waist and to his chest, crossing over line of spine and digging there, whispering with heat and desperation mingled when your mouthes meet, clattering teeth's and tongues fighting.

an obsession with each other, nothing less, and it's the best relationship in the world, where you can present yourself with need and want, body bracing over and down every surface imaginable, and he's already there, your sweet, gorgeous simon, with his cock standing ready and proud, slit beady with dripping precum, just as wet as your pussy, gushing and twitching in excitement, inviting him closer, in, until you both sate that chaotic need.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[manzanamarim]

These attorneys sure are ace or smth idk

[softaestluv]

obsessed with the idea of onlyfans model! reader x Simon

Maybe you’re one of the biggest creators on the platform and you’re very well known after doing it for a few years. Except, you only do solo content, despite your peers constantly asking to collab or getting requests from fans to see you getting fucked.

Then, one day you post a video showing off some new panties and Simon’s tattooed and scarred hand just appears, squeezing the meat of your ass, claiming and possessive. A subtle message he’s sending to your audience as he spreads your cheeks apart, sliding your panties to the side and shows off your pretty pussy dripping with his cum.

[skyrigel]

Simon with acne, and his balaclava only inflaming the skin.

It's so accidentally when you saw his face bare, and he expected some laugh, or nagging, or even a sneer. But you didn't give any off handed remark or say anything, you just left wordlessly — and it's even worse because Simon thought that you thought he's ugly.

Just next day Simon happened to find a box with homemade face mask which smelled heavily of cinnamon and honey, and a small tube with many iupac names all at once.

There was a note as well in your handwriting sticked over the box lid, “20 minutes then tube, for good skin Mr. handsome Riley”

And that's how Simon was found looking for a ring next week.

Masterlist

[machveil]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s always got presents on hand for your birthday and holidays. he’s almost embarrassed about stockpiling gifts for you, all neatly tucked in the back of his closet… almost. that nagging embarrassment is quick to fade when your eyes light up, always excited that he bought you something and how, “Simon Riley, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

Roommate!Simon Riley that specifically likes buying you rings. nothing too fancy that would raise your suspicion, but always something shiny and pretty - something he wouldn’t dare tell you how much it cost. silver, gold, anything in between, if he thinks it’d look good on you he buys it. he likes seeing those bands decorate your fingers, reflecting in the light when you happily show them off to friends and family

Roommate!Simon Riley that gets one engraved - his initials delicately printed inside the band. he plays nonchalant, voice even when you notice, “Hm? Engraved is it? Didn’t know.”. you laugh it off, tell him ‘thank you’ before grabbing your phone. he loves when your friends ask you about the jewelry, how you always point to him as the one whose covered you in pretty metals and eye-catching accessories

Roommate!Simon Riley who has a matching ring, your initials engraved on it. snug on his ring finger when he’s at base - pretends it’s a wedding band, that his spouse is waiting for him at home. Simon doesn’t flaunt that ring at home though, not when he can have you tucked against his side. no, Simon doesn’t have that band on his ring finger, he slips it on with his dog tags. tucked under shirt, safe and sound on that silver chain as he holds you tightly

[rdps01]

close enough

[manicrouge]

'I'm too old to do anythin' like that now,' Simon says, shaking his head.

'But daddy,' whines the little girl standing in front of him, her small hands tugging at his black t-shirt, 'mummy was telling me all about how you a- and my uncles used to save the world and I wanna learn cause I wanna be just like you!'

He lifts his head, spying you standing in the doorway with a bright grin on your face. 'What you tellin' her that for?'

'Because she wants to know how to beat the boys in the street when they're having water fights,' you say, 'thought your military experience would come in handy.'

'They're always laughin' at me,' she pouts, 'and sayin' I can't fight cause I'm a girl.'

There's a switch that is flipped at her confession and when he looks to her and then raises his head to look at you, you swear you're looking at the Lieutenant instead of your husband.

'Is that so?' he asks, to which your daughter nods her head quickly. He holds his hand out to her and she takes it happily. 'We'll teach them to mess with a Riley, ey sweet pea?'

[pinkthxt]

ExHusband!Simon Riley and his ex-wife who always made him lunches

Simon Riley wasn’t really the kind of man you’d expect to take care of himself, at least not in the long run. Sure, he showered, brushed his teeth, etc., etc.

But the one thing he always forgot to do was eat. It wasn’t on purpose—the man just never remembered, always justifying his forgetfulness with things like:

“Forgot my lunch at home.”

“Not really that hungry.”

For a man who was constantly working, training, and using his body like it was made of steel, it was expected that he would put some nutrition into it—but he didn’t. At least, not now. Not after he and his ex-wife finalized the divorce.

Simon remembers the days when his pretty little wife would pack his lunches into one of those lunchboxes that could heat up at certain times, keeping his food warm and ready.

Or when he’d dig through the damned thing, sometimes burning himself in the process (he’d always be too eager to turn it off before sticking his hand in). Just to see the note his pretty little wife would leave him, saying things along the lines of—

“Love you, soldier. Have a good day!” With a kiss mark next to it.

Sometimes, he would even keep the note, but he wouldn’t mention it—just gave her a sweet kiss when he got home.

When he was deployed for weeks—months on end—he’d hate the shitty food he was given, always craving a home-cooked meal from his favorite girl. Thinking about her at the stove, cooking something up for him—always for him.

Now, he sat on a foldable hard plastic chair, one of those shitty ones you could store in a closet. Glancing down at his palm, his eyes flickered over the note—her handwriting. He imagined what she would’ve cooked for him today.

Simon liked to imagine she thought about it too. He wondered if she ever cooked things he liked, just for the hell of it. Even if their marriage ended the way it did, he hoped she still thought about him

masterlist ⋆.˚

Sooo… my first post!