summary: Simon Riley marries you under a beautiful lilac, lavender and rose arch. The vows that were made didn't last too long though. It's too bad he misses you, and your cunt.
notes: this was written on a whim :) fem pronouns used, married au, reader finds a new husband, simon has it out for husband, pining for each other, Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, not really divorced just...complicated, Medical Discharge, simon is a bit desperate here, angst, fluff, filthy ending I love it
read it on my ao3 <3
When the soft warm spring breeze wafted in between your veil and teased at his old scars, whistling a tune of communion, only then did he kiss. Lips met with melting need, sucking at each other's flesh, his thinner, yours plump with life, the ring glistening on your finger like a moondrop. He wondered where it all went wrong. His lips locked like a silent vow, and he held it just for a second, hungry, before releasing it. That was his mistake. He let her go for far too long, and the wolf in him was hungry.
He wondered why it got this bad. Where the line was crossed. He became something unrecognizable, unruly, and incompatible for the softness you were. He was gravel, where you were glitter. He was a strung bow, where you were the chords of harmony, tugging at him and singing your song.
Then the petals from above rained with a soft caress to your cheek. White, papery, and cradled like a cocoon on itself. He swiped one off your veil with a crooked finger and when you lit up like a firefly, all embers and glow, he couldn’t contain the intimate tug at his split lip. All around you soft lavender and pearl moonshine blurred, you were the only thing he focused on. Until it narrowed to a tunnel, edges burning with sparks now dulled.
As for you, when the wedding commenced you’d been absolutely thrilled. On cloud nine and bouquet clutched so tightly to ground yourself in the melting sun light. The bouquet was sitting now though, untouched on the table, and flowers wilting.
But later that night his fingers skimmed the back of your corset, a hiss whistling between his teeth, making your thighs clench. He nosed at the delicate skin of your neck, breathed in the mix of fresh sugar, water, and lilies, and his chest deflated. The surmounting pressure of need had been growing like weeds since the engagement, entangling you two tight.
‘’So pretty f’me, lovie. Trussed up in your ivory corset, my ring–sittin’ so nice on your finger.’’ He groaned, voice velvety in your ear and running deep where your stomach clenched. He said he’d wait. And he did.
He didn’t shove himself in you at all before the vows. Before the ring. Before anything had unfolded. He said, ‘’don’t wanna ruin somethin’ so sweet…’’
But gave you his fingers he did when it rained, warm and wet earth fuming the air as he bent you over by the windowsill, knuckles notched deep and curled. The stretch was delicious, but it left you hungry for more of him.
One by one the laces undid, thin, like cream against his shaking, scarred hands. He pressed against you once the material fell like a book, parting for him, and just by feeling the graze of your supple skin he shuddered.
You could see it in the mirror, his reaction. It made you ache all the time, his reactions to your body. The longing gazes dragging over each mole, each freckle, counting them as if they were stars, and then gaze darkening to coal when your plump backside waved at him.
‘’Simon, I need you…you said you’d touch me after we’d marry.’’ You breathed out, heart fluttering like a flower shaking in the breeze.
‘’I did, lovie. And I said I’d ruin you the night we did.’’ He growled out, with barely restrained hunger.
He laid you in bed when he stripped you of all your dress, removed anything that would tug on the sheets, but left the ring on. Above you, he braced his forearms by your head so he wouldn’t crush you, and gazed into your eyes. Something soft peered back at you, but behind his lids, the ghost of predatory need swirled. Curiosity, even, at the sounds you’d now make when it wasn’t his thick fingers filling you, but his cock.
He notched himself, the bed shaking with movement. You whimpered when the first inch went in, the stretch burning, unfamiliar with the girth he had. This was nothing like his fingers. Your eyes fluttered down to watch his length hovering, with only your cunt mouthing at his head.
He groaned just at the visceral sight of your gaze setting onto something so terribly slutty.
‘’Si–’’ your voice broke, mouth falling open in a gasp, legs parting wider, ‘’Its too big–’’
And that killed him so softly. ‘’I know, I know…’’ He crooned, and it was heaven living inside you. After all the moments hushing and slow rocking, your whimpers bubbling out, then something ravenous came out of you. He smirked against your neck, his entire body laid on you now, like a blanket but heavy, warm, and beating. ‘’There she is…mm, sweet cunt finally openin’ up. Give me those noises.’’
The moment your nails clutched at the nape of his neck, he sucked in a breath and his hips hounded, balls slapping at your ass with rhythm, shoving your hips up, body jostling. Taking you.
‘’Mine, my pretty wife, only one f’me. Only one takin’ my cum.’’
When he came, creamy white pooled at the base of him, dripping out. His entire body was soaked in sweat, hair matted and he collapsed on top of you, basking in the heaven you were for him.
Your arms once felt like a home, but now that home was shut, empty, and the windows to your soul were obscured.
You had gotten too used to sitting at the windowsill, peering at the stormy skies, fresh rain rolling over the lawn. Too used to the way the phone rang with news, hoping it was Simon being okay, but the Scottish man's jokes held no comfort. Too used to using only one plate now. The table was quiet where you bought a yellow daffodil cloth to spread, hoping he'd see it. It was a pity, something so sweet now laying stale.
The night he came home from medical discharge was due to his banged up knee. ‘’Mission gone wrong, lovie.’’ Was all he said, pressing a short, and firm kiss to the side of your head after so long. You’d stare off into the distance like his presence never registered, hands floating, where to touch, where to hold.
The nights were worse. His knee acted up, and when he’d climb up on top, he cursed and grit his teeth, looking not at you with the softness you remembered, but pain. Shame. Hungry all the same, but nowhere for it to go. He trembled like a tether yanked him back, and he was holding onto your hands, fingers intertwined, almost to the point of crushing.
‘’Simon, please. Let me…’’ You squeezed back gently, then released him. Your hand stroked his scruffy cheek, the shadow of his stubble coming in. It drew his gaze, where his eyes were bloodshot, hollowed, and your breath held.
Truly, this wasn't the man you knew.
Every touch became a thorn pricking skin. Rousing blood pumping with not heat, but something old and habitual. Like the way he’d went back to smoking cigarettes, boot against the siding of the house, staring out into the sky. Your voice floated in one ear, out the other, ‘’Simon, you know I hate it when you smoke–’’ His jaw jumped, like a band.
Every conversation became dreadful. He knew it was wrong, his behavior and casual dismissing of what was so clear: the breeze wasn’t singing. Instead it howled, not sharp, just low and coarse, and cowering into the darkness. He resented it the way he come up with excuse after excuse.
So, it wasn’t a surprise when the ring hit the table. You stood, chest heaving, tears flowing, and he was making breakfast. Your cunt ached with use, hips already sore with regret, and hickies lining up your neck like he was impatient to scale your every inch.
He gave no response, just turned his head, like you were never there. Never under the arch. Like his fucking seed wasn’t sitting in you. Like you were a stranger he rutted into now.
‘’I can’t do this, Simon.’’ Your voice broke.
His hands gripped tight against the countertop, willing himself to not look at what he ruined. He smelled it too, the sweaty sour twang of sex, how earthy it was. Floating in the air, hanging like smoke. His cock was still aching, but his knee was done.
That was the last he heard from you.
And all the pretty white roses stained dark, shriveling up at the windowsill. Wilting like they cried for retrieval. No amount of water brought it back. He filled it every day, hoping it would shoot to life. To see the same embers and glow in your face, but instead something dark and nasty festered in him.
He saw you months later with another bloke. Just out in the sun, your pretty sun hat lilting to one side, ribbon flying. Your sundress fluttering at the hem, the sweetheart neckline gracing your chest. Your lips stretched wide, cheeks flushed from the summer heat. The guy wasn’t too far in terms of height, but leaner, like he ran marathons, narrow at the shoulders, legs built. And the fucking idiot dressed like he was in some tennis club. Those thorns curled around his neck, and suddenly, the banana felt useless in his hand, basket hanging in the other.
Impatience then killed the flowers. He tossed it. Glass shards broke at his boots, water permeating the kitchen tiles, traveling in the cracks. He heaved, chest rising and falling, jaw banded tight. His chest was strumming. My pretty wife gone off with some arsehole.
Flashes of your hem bellowing, skin sunkissed and familiar with a sheen he only saw in bed when he’d tired you out. He knew it. Knew the bloke was using you. And he’d fed you well too, saw the way you’d fatten up well, hips fuller, arms softer, cheeks rounder. Giving you something he couldn’t. Hands gripped tight where it curled into his palm, staring at the glass not with fondness, but unbridled rage.
‘’Fuck–’’ He gritted out, spit flying.
You’re leaving with somebody else.
Could the bloke cherish you the way he did? Probably shoved his stick for a cock up in you, pumped for a few, then knocked out like some boy. He’d imagine you laying there, head turned to the window, mind somewhere else. The same hair he’d grab was wrapped in someone else's fist.
The sound drowned out. He let everything spill. The food, the plates, the cloth you bought–stained.
Yellow, and yet none of it was as innocent as it seemed.
He thought he could approach you. So, he studied your schedule. You only seemed to come out when tennis bloke guy was with you. He scoffed, lip curling, teeth digging in, ‘’she’s good on her own.’’ Simon repeated in his mind, ‘’didn’t need him.’’
He was like a babysitter for you. Hand at your elbow, steering you when you’d nearly tripped over your heels, then you’d smile at him, giggling.
‘’She’s gone off.’’ He said to Johnny, hoarse and sunken into the stale couch. All the life had been drained out, head upturned to the ceiling, phone clutched to one ear, ‘’Found somebody else.’’
One evening he was fixing the white picket fence where it broke. A dog gnawed at it incessantly and then headbutted it. He’d only pet it, a big scarred hand traveling down its back, ‘’Just like me.’’
As the sun dipped into a purplish bruise, Johnny had taken him out to the bar. Handpicked a few rowdy women dressed in leather and smoked out eyeliner. Dragged one over to Simon who nursed a bourbon. His eyes were fogged over, zoning out the night.
He moved mechanically. Taken one into his bed, and when his cock came out bursting with a terrible need to release, his knee jerked. The woman lay there, scoffed, shoved him aside. He fell onto his side, bed bouncing from the weight, and cock in one hand, breathing heavy.
If only it were true his knee stopped him, instead it was the smell of the breeze wafting in again, sweet and fresh, nothing like this woman dowsed in alcohol and petulant whining, ‘’Give it to me. You’re one of the big ones, aren’t you?’’
Old vows twisted into regret. Painful, choking regret.
Nights came nasty. He had half a mind to find you. To drag you by the hips to feel the padding, softness, and dig his fingers in, eliciting a squeak from you.
The other was more instinctual. His ego hid. Stupidly. What a weakling.
At the farmers market, he found himself lingering again. Studying the green apples shined well, picked by hand. By convenience, or by his scent tracking you, the bell rang announcing your arrival with of course, the bloke.
‘’Stay where I can see you, yeah?’’ He kissed your head.
You kissed his cheek, not even having to tip toe as your kitten heels had made up for the difference.
Simon clocked the difference faster though.
He could take him on easily. Tackle him. Shove him head first into the wall. Corner him. Beat him till his knuckles were red, but it didn’t matter when the bloke had stained you. Bloke wouldn’t last ten seconds, and couldn’t even defend you.
His throat clicked, moving his gaze from the bystander to you.
It was only you stopping him though. You looked happier.
He turned, shoulder jostling as he picked up his groceries, all organic and whatnot. Tossed in some mangos he’d come to peel, waiting for you at the broken fence he’d fix. That was your dream. White picket fence family.
He was broken out of his daydream by a push from behind. ‘’Sorry, you’re in my–’’
Your voice hit him like shards at full speed, and the thorns returned, tethering you two. It yanked, pulling him to face you, lids retracted, mouth parted. His mouth went dry.
‘’In my way…’’ You trailed off, bang clutched in one hand, eyes peering up wide at him, lashes brushing your brows. You’d curl them all pretty. Pretty eyes now flooding with alarm, as you shook.
‘’Simon.’’ You regarded, so softly that he almost missed it. He could’ve fallen to his knees there.
Instead something caught his attention. Glittery, shining, and like a boulder.
Ears rushed with the roar of his pulse.
Then his mouth moved, tone callous. ‘’Fancy ring.’’
You stuttered as if you were a broken record, mouth opening and closing, eyes darting everywhere but his. All he wanted was to say, ‘’eyes on me.’’
The silence gaped wide, but he stood unformidable, immovable.
‘’Looks expensive.’’ Simon’s fingers curled around his basket, the heavy weight weighing. But it wasn’t weighing as much as his anger did.
You looked at Simon. ‘’I-It's n-none of your business…’’ But your words fell flat. Like you didn’t dare question Simon.
His chest filled your vision and you had to tip your head back, incomparable to what you had to do with that asshole. The smell of your lillies, the spring breeze, the lavender soothing smell rushed in. He inhaled it all in, desperate, chest filling.
He leaned his head low, and you two looked like lovers sharing a moment. Except with nights unspoken. Desire hidden. Longing shoved away like a box in a closet. He took in a shaky breath.
‘’I miss you.’’ His voice was a hoarse whisper, the words dug somewhere with his teeth, now dangling in the gaping air.
‘’I can’t–’’ You shook your head, looking for your other husband, while the muscle in his eye ticked. ‘’I can’t be seen with you like this.’’
As quick as you came, you left. Heels clicking off, hair bouncing to meet your soon to be other husband who raised a brow, holding a watermelon that looked ready to burst.
‘’Just a friend…someone I used to know.’’
When the bloke looked at Simon, he swelled his chest, stared daggers into him. Pinned him in place. Never let his gaze sway.
Until the bloke broke first.
You didn’t mean to find him. You swear. But it was no good, because now you kept thinking of Simon. In the car the ride was silent, and when your soon to be husband called your name you gazed for a second too long out the window into the cedar trees, then looked at him.
“I’m fine.” It was a lie.
All the nights memories with your soon to be husband couldn’t replace what you had with Simon. Not even when you wore your ivory corset, detached from your wedding dress. It resembled something more of broken vows, old memories, and a quick grab for lingerie. When you turned around from the mirror your partner sat on the bed, book in one hand, something about athletic fitness.
You smiled. Plastered it on.
He looked up, more like a glance thrown your way. He wrinkled his nose. “Ivory doesn’t match your skin tone. But I like the corset.” His voice replayed over and over in your ear even though you rode him. Having to shorten your thrusts since…well to be accomodating. There wasn’t much going on vertically. The corset was ripped now, thrown to the side on the floor by his hands. Undone, like something else in your life.
When he came, it was a few bursts in the condom and nothing else. Thin. Watery. You’d seen it when he pulled it out, how it ballooned the condom tip.
It left a distasteful impression on you.
And it grew into something more. The rose was dry, and in need of water. It wasn’t getting its fill there, so where else would it?
And that’s how you ended up at Simon's door. Once, your shared door. You remembered the pots dressing the porch with english lavender, rooted thick and deep. Along with mint in other, and rosemary as you said, it warded off evil.
To which he gave a rumble. “What evil? Not when I’m around, lovie.”
The edges of the memory curled inward like paper closing in on itself. Till it was tiny, and tinier.
And there he stood, tall, filling out the frame and one arm bracing on it.
When he heard you breathed out his name, all was abandoned. He curled his fingers around your waist, pulled you in, and the door shut like a second thought.
“Simon, Simon wait—“ You pleaded, but his hands, bigger, thrumming with electricity, skimmed your sides, feeling if you were true to his sight. As if you were there for real. He breathed you in, crowding your body, his own scent of gun oil permeating your space.
“You have some nerve showin’ up at my door, girl.” His words were molten against your skin. Your pulse skyrocketed at it, neck crawling with heat and stomach churning with desire.
He pressed you against the front door firmly. Your head collided and you widened your eyes.
You couldn’t hold back the gasp of what you saw.
His pupils were like match heads now, lit and burning with heat. Hands curling like restraints on your hips, digging into the plush skin, a rumbling groan leaving him, with the flutter of his lashes. “Fuck…been dyin’ to get my hands on these hips. Feel how much you’d soften up.”
“Wait, Simon. I only came here to—“
You squeaked as he dug in more, satisfied when the skin was easy to grasp. Like handles. Your face went red and he enjoyed every bit of it.
“Yeah? What had you runnin’ over here so fast, lovie? Thought you were gettin’ married again.”
The nickname. It had your head reeling, spinning with warmth and dizziness. The familiar flood below betrayed you, panties sticking to your lips, inevitable around the likes of Simon. His voice was a trance, wading you deeper into his embrace.
The embrace was unlike anything sweet. This was a cage. And you walked into it.
“Missed these fuckin’ hips.” He leaned in closer, shy of your neck, where your pulse jumped like a rabbit. He inhaled, deep, eyes shut in bliss. “Smell like those lillies…smell like the day I married you.”
You couldn’t help it. You melted ever so slightly, and when he felt it he grinned slowly against your neck, lips curling, and he pressed a devastating soft kiss against it. “I…I only came here to talk.” You conceded, but trembled like a stick in the wind.
“But?” Simon nosed up and down the thin flesh of your neck, behind your ear, breaths fanning against you. It pushed some strands out the way.
“That’s not why you’re here.” The trap shut.
It caught your ankle and no amount of fighting would get you out.
“And why am I here then?” You breathed out, shuddering when he nipped at your ear, the lobe of it, worrying it between his teeth. You couldn’t hold back the whimper.
“You couldn’t stand the way he was fuckin’ you, could you? All sweaty like a fuckin pig, cock barely filling anything—“ He tightened up, chest caging yours, “couldn’t fill what I could. Couldn’t bury deep right against that womb the way I did. Couldn’t pound you for so long till your voice went all raw and pleaded for me to stop. Wasn’t strong enough to fold you, toss you, pin you.’’
“But you didn’t want me to stop, no.” His hands trailed up, slow against your belly, palming it. “You wanted me right here.” Then he pressed where your womb was. “Filling this up every, single, night.” He punctuated.
“God—“ you shuddered so hard your knees knocked. In an instant he cupped your ass and hoisted you up, making you squeak the way he missed. Despite his knee, he moved swiftly to the couch and tossed you there, your tits bouncing and hair strewn like a curtain. You moved to take off your pants, tossing it on the floor to let your cunt breathe. He inhaled it like some feral wolf, drunk on the scent.
“Missed this fuckin’ sight.”
He then groaned, one hand moving to his belt where it was a barrier against you two, gripping it tight. His cock was chubbed up now, pressing so tight against his cargos, the outline bold. It visibly twitched like a snake, making your cunt gush. His cargos were tight, thighs straining against it. The outline of his quads were bulky, reminding you of his strength and size.
When you got up to move, likely to help, he pressed a mean hand to your forehead and shoved you down like you were insolent. You yelped.
Then he leaned over you, breathed into your ear, “Or should I say, my good wife.”
Your thighs clenched so hard since your clit was aching. The bundle was pounding, blooding filling it the more he spoke. The more he breathed. You panted, without his hands undoing you.
“We shouldn’t do this.” Your voice trembled.
“Oh, but you want to.” His gravelly voice egged you on.
Slowly, he undid the thick belt. Unbuckled it. It had your mouth watering, lips parted and thighs spreading in anticipation. You were sweating, neck prickling and heart thrumming with it all.
He delighted in it, eyes raking over your trussed up form, throat working. “Yeah, that’s the look I want. All doe eyed, all stunned by what your husband carries.”
The word just slipped in naturally. Husband. But this time, it carried more than a sweet ring. This was borderline predatory, and unpredictable.
The risk of it all made you excited. Maybe you weren’t once the sweet wife he remembered.
The belt jangled and dropped. Pants pooled at his feet. His boxers were soaked through, a patch forming where he tucked to the left. Your mouth ached for him, tongue swiping out.
“Oh…” You whimpered out at the sight, helpless.
“Gonna make you feel so much.” He stepped out and climbed over you, as you lay back, wide eyed.
“Need your real husband to do you good.” He hissed, low and threatening in your ear. You gasped, but it was muffled by his hand snaking around your mouth, pinning your head in place.
“Struggle f’me. I like my wife like this.” He groaned and licked your cheek, tasting the sweat and desire. Then the other hand slid your wet panties down. A long string of wetness snapped, and he shuddered at the sight.
The notch burned. More than it had in a long time. Your cunt wasn’t used to his size. “She missed me—“ He cursed, tendons in his neck straining. His shoulders tensed, hips rocking once to try and fit the head in but that made your legs kick up, a loud moan vibrating his palm.
“Mm—“ He groaned, lips pressing when you cunt clenched, but parted to speak. “Gonna have to teach her to take me. Stretch you out again.”
Your head swam with dizzy euphoria, rites half lidded.
“Be a good girl and open up, she knows it’s just her husband comin’ back to fuck. There you go—“ He shuddered and when his cockhead slipped right in with a squelch.
‘’Uhmf–’’ You squeaked out, eyes shutting tight and chest heaving. Every time it did, it brushed his. Your nipples were pebbled, irritated against the shirt you wore from the constant rise and fall.
‘’Doin’ so good, wife. I’ll fuck you real good–give you a real good pounding like a husband should in a second.’’ He leaned his head down so his tongue circled your nipple through the shirt. Your hips bucked, but he applied more of his weight, pinning it, causing your walls to clench greedily. He hoarsely moaned, sucking the cotton and your nipple into his mouth.
‘’Sweet, sweet things. Husbands here.’’ He took time sucking them, lavishing them fully once your shirt was off. You rucked it up carelessly, itching for his mouth. He swirled, sucked them into his mouth, cheeks hallowing like he were nursing. You keened, a loud cry trying to escape, head throwing back but his hand following you, staying firm.
When your walls accommodated his head, he then pushed in more, inch by inch filling you deliciously that it had your eyes rolling back, back arching, and hands scraping the couch leaving marks. It tore the leather, but he didn’t care. Your body spasmed, once, twice, and he chuckled, drinking in the sight with ravenous eyes.
The pounding came. It hit like a freight train. His solid weight hovering just above to give you room to breathe, your legs wrapped around his back. Wet sounds of slapping filled the room from his balls hitting your ass, with every push and pull making you squeal against his palm, tongue pushing against it.
‘’Fuckin’ take it.’’ He snarled, then leaned upright, pausing. He repositioned on his knees, grabbing your thighs like handles, tipping your hips up, and began pummeling into you, no longer able to cover your mouth.
Right into your front wall where that spongy spot lived.
Screams left you, high cries that bounced off the walls, head tipped far back to expose your neck to him.
‘’Simon–Oh god–’’ Your moans dragged on, shaky on every thrust, air punching out of your lungs.
‘’If that fuckin’–’’ He spat, panting heavy, ‘’No. That fuckin’ bastards not marryin’ my wife.’’
He buried to the hilt. Held it. Made you wail.
Let your feet kick, thighs spasm, muscles jumping under his hold.
‘’You bring that bloody ring around, I’m bending you over the nearest thing and fuckin’ your brains out. You hear me?’’
You were too lost in it to respond.
So he slapped your cheek, and you nodded, a slow wide grin breaking out in your face. He grinned as well, sweat dripping from his hairline to your body. ‘’There’s my filthy fuckin’ wife.’’
When he was done, you spent from multiple orgasms and flushed head to toe with a sheen, he was curled up on top of you, cock still buried deep to plug his creamy cum inside. It pulsed still, throbbing with a heartbeat, making you stir. One hand was cradling your head, right in sweaty locks.
‘’You go back to him…’’ He began, waiting for your eyes to open. Simon pinched your chin to direct your head to him. ‘’Fuck him. You take his seed. Be a good little fake wife for the night.’’
He leaned in and rasped, ‘’But he’ll know I was there first.’’
© 2025 fromevangeline (do not translate, copy, reproduce, or reupload my work)
