#simonbeinganadorablemess

[i-am-just-a-slut-for-simon-riley]

Simon Riley Drabble 😭✨? Just some good old fashioned semi angst to fluff ✨

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! ──★

Simon Riley was an enigma—a ghost in every sense of the word. A man who existed in the spaces between shadows, carefully constructing an ironclad wall to keep the world out. His heart, locked in an icy prison, had long since forgotten the warmth of kindness, the softness of light.

And then there was you.

You, with your relentless optimism and that dazzling, sunlit smile. You, with your unshaken "Yes! Can do!" attitude that defied the weight of the world. Where Simon was steel and silence, you were warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the battlefield that had shaped him.

And in his merciless world of black and white, you were all the colour he knew he didn’t deserve.

He knew from the moment he met you—knew it in the marrow of his bones, in the far and few places untouched by war and death—that you were different. Special. A flicker of something he hadn’t dared to believe in for a long time.

Then came a mission. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the regular routine of spinning up , being stranded in a dry deserted terrain in the middle of god know’s where, putting down targets. Just a very simple mission.

Expect it wasn’t.

Four months. Eight days. Three hours. That was how long he'd been gone. And when he finally returned, it was in body alone. His mind, his soul—whatever was left of them—remained trapped in the places he'd been, lost in the echoes of gunfire and the scent of blood.

Simon was no stranger to this feeling, this quiet unraveling. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, thick and suffocating. The violence, the screams, the viscous crimson-stained dirt—it all bled together after a while, until nothing felt real anymore.

That was the job. To sever himself from humanity so others didn’t have to. To fight in the dark so others could thrive in the light. And Simon had done it dutifully, without hesitation, without question.

But then there was you.

And suddenly, he wasn’t sure if he could keep paying the price.

One moment, you were at the door, bright-eyed and eager, your heart swelling with relief at the sight of him. He was home. Finally.

The next, you were caught in a storm you hadn’t seen coming—spiraling headfirst into an argument that ignited too fast, burned too hot. Words, sharp as knives, were hurled like weapons, slicing through the fragile space between you. Your first real fight, raw and unrelenting, laid bare in all its blazing, destructive glory.

Simon never raised his voice. He never had to.

The frost in his tone was enough. Each word, clipped and cold, carried the weight of a blade pressed against your skin, cutting deep, deeper than any shout ever could. It was the quiet, the carefully controlled edge of his words, that shattered something inside you. Because silence could wound just as deeply as rage. And no one wielded it as lethally as Simon did.

And then came the final nail in the coffin.

Months of absence had already carved deep fissures into the fragile foundation between you. Months without the solace of your touch, without the warmth of your body to sink into when the weight of the world became too much. Without your gentle hands coaxing him out of the frozen terror that gripped him in the middle of day. Without your voice—soft, steady, unwavering—pulling him back from the abyss of his nightmares.

It all came to a head in that moment, every unspoken thought, every doubt, every buried fear boiling over into one undeniable, blasphemous conclusion:

You deserved better.

Better than the ruin of a man who had forgotten how to be anything but a soldier. Better than the never ending bitterness and the drawn out silences, the bloodstains he could no longer wash away and the scent of death that clung to him like a second skin. Better than someone who knew how to fight ugly wars but not how to hold on to something as delicate as love.

And so, like the fool he was, he convinced himself that the kindest thing he could do was let you go.

"Just fuckin’ admit it!" he snarled, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of something far more dangerous than anger. "Just say you don’t want me! You know it’s true. Go on, then—walk out. You know you want to."

Caramel eyes, once rich with warmth, were nothing but black voids now—hollow, empty, a storm raging behind them. His body was wound tight, muscles coiled like a cornered animal, bracing for the inevitable blow.

So, of course, you walked.

Not because you wanted to, but because for the first time, he was daring you to. Because he had handed you the knife and all but begged you to use it.

And you did.

No screaming, no pleading—just the quiet sound of your footsteps as you stepped past the threshold, out into the cold. You had always held his heart in the palm of your hand, but that night, you let it slip through your fingers, let it fall and shatter at his feet like fragile glass.

He was a bloody wreck when you left.

Heart torn to ribbons, mind spiraling into the darkest parts of the hellscape that he often hid away in, reaching for the only solace he knew—the bottom of a whiskey bottle and the black ocean that had always welcomed him with open arms, pulling him down deeper.

Not even an hour later, you came back.

Struttin’ your ass through the door like you owned the place. Like you owned him. Like he hadn’t just tried to push you away, like he hadn’t torn himself open and laid his ugly, broken pieces at your feet. There was fire in your eyes, defiance in every step, and something else—something that made his breath catch in his throat.

It was only when you stopped in front of him, tilting your chin up in that way that made his chest tighten, that he saw it.

Ink. Fresh. Etched permanently into the flawless skin of your wrist.

His enlistment number.

Subtle. Clever. Just how he liked it.

The room spun. His pulse pounded. He could only stare, unable to comprehend the weight of what you’d done. Of what you were giving him.

You had branded yourself in his name. Not because he asked, not because he demanded it—but because you chose to. Despite his flaws, despite the wreckage of his past, despite all the reasons he thought you shouldn’t.

It was the most beautiful thing Simon had ever seen. The most beautiful thing he had ever been given.

"You absolute fucking idiot," you huffed, voice thick with something raw, something he couldn’t name. "You think you get to decide what I deserve? As if you have any right to tell me that?"

He opened his mouth—to argue, to deflect, to do what he always did—but you didn’t give him the chance.

"Since you love taking orders like a good little soldier—" you cooed, saccharine sweet, teasing.

Simon bristled, growling low in his throat, but any protest died the second you climbed into his lap, your body draping over his like he was your throne, your rightful seat. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his jaw, grounding him, claiming him.

His world narrowed to just you.

"How about," you murmured, voice softer now, more certain, "you follow mine for once?"

His gaze flickered down—to the ink, still red and raw, permanent and his.

"Step up. Do your part." Your fingers ghosted over his lips, tracing, memorizing. "Be a good boyfriend and never—never—try to tell me I deserve better again."

Simon swallowed hard, every ounce of fight bleeding out of him, replaced by something else. Something deeper.

"Because if I ever did," you whispered, "it’d be from you. Only from you."

And just like that, Simon Riley—a hardened soldier, a cold blooded killer, a ghost haunting the earth, a broken fragment of a man—surrendered.

From that moment on, all he’s ever done is try.

Try to be the man worthy of the ink carved into your skin—the mark that tethered you to him, that branded you as his. Try to be something more than just a broken soldier with too much blood on his hands and not enough softness left in his soul.

Try to be worthy of being called yours.

.✦ ──────── .✦

Okay so … I do not know what I am doing.. this is like my second time posting here and I decided to do a (✨not so✨) tiny drabble in between because uni is killing me and I don’t have the time to do more than this (Procrastination and writers’ block goes brrrr -✨💅🏻) … but Yehh- please go easy on me chat ✨🥹