welcome

idk i like to write // Lvl 26

[bunniibabex]

The Masterlist

Hello, helloo and welcome to the Masterlist 💕 below you will find a comprehensive list of all my works, enjoy the stay 🩷

Post divider by cillmequick💫✨💖

Key:

Fluff = ❤︎

Angst = ⟡

Smut = ✮

Darker Themes = ☾

Suggestive Themes = ❀

18+ = ⓘ

Call of Duty MW Reboot

TF141

Drabbles

၄၃ Price’s BBQ ☾❀ⓘ

၄၃ Guilty Pleasures ❤︎

၄၃ GhostGaz & Clubbing ❀ ⓘ

John Price

Drabbles

၄၃ Simon’s Leftovers ✮☾ⓘ

Simon Ghost Riley

Drabbles

၄၃ School Chums Simon ❀ⓘ

Full Fics

၄၃ Realistic HCs ❤︎❀

၄၃ Realistic Dating HCs ❤︎ ❀

၄၃ Bird Watching ☾❀

Kyle Gaz Garrick

၄၃ Coming Soon 💕

Johnny Soap MacTavish

၄၃ Coming Soon 💕

Secret Project Under Construction (:

[bunniibabex]

perchance an 18+ MDNI post

Your reminder that John Price is NOT a peepaw! He is canonically in the reboot like late 30s / very early 40s. He’s maybe got some salt and pepper hair going on, a little more fat than he used to with his metabolism catching up to him,he’s definitely slower than the other blokes on the 141 but he’s not ancient compared to them! That man is NOT suffering from severe joint issues, major fatigue, or lessening eyesight! And he DEFINITELY is not suffering from ED!!! He proves it to you almost daily when he’s home, can’t you feel it all the way deep inside? Isn’t it so good at stretching you wide? Can you feel how hot it is? Do you like the way the veins add a little extra friction? None of this was caused by a little blue pill, dovie - it’s all for you. Does it feel like it’s broken? No? Yeah he didn’t think so. That’s because it’s not and he’s not a fuckin’ oldie but if you like the age gap thing you can still call him daddy

[bunniibabex]

(: Simon is a shitty boyfriend and John is a little too morally corrupt

18+ MDNI

TW: mentions of micro-cheating, cruel Price amid sex

Masterlist

~^*^~

Simon is such an emotionally unavailable arsehole that after many years of trying to make a relationship work on false promises you both know he can’t keep due to much unresolved trauma, you finally decide to put yourself first. You love Simon, and you know somewhere deep down in his cold, dark, dead heart he loves you too. Just not enough to stop fucking disrespecting every boundary you put in place. It comes to a head when he is again caught texting another female from the SAS. They have never been in the same division, not even close, and you know she’s had eyes on YOUR boyfriend for months. They don’t work anywhere in proximity, so why does he need to speak to her?!

Simon is both naive to her advances (you genuinely believe he isn’t trying to fuck her) and stubborn against what he dubs your “control” and keeps talking to her after he promises you he’s unadded her number and won’t speak to her again. In his eyes, he is just being polite to a coworker, and you have to learn to deal with that. You know that she’s got nefarious intentions, and honestly, if Simon wants to ignore one of the only hard boundaries you’ve ever put in place, he can get screwed and fuck up someone else’s mental health. If she wants him, she can have him.

Enter Price, who sweeps you off your feet. Literally. He’s been waiting for Simon to cock this up for a long time and he wines and dines you at the immediate ample opportunity.

The motherfucker even grins at you, when he’s his entire length stuffed into your pussy and he starts talking about Simon.

“Don’t worry, dovie. I’ll never hurt you like that.”

The thought of Simon’s deceptions and lies hits your chest like a wrecking ball, and despite the fact John is dragging his cock through your cunt like he was made for it, you feel the first hot sting of tears. Your heart is still very much cracked in your chest.

John leans down and you feel the almost bristled surface of his hairy chest meet your soft breasts. He’s dirty, licking the first tear that falls so he can savour it. He’s going to be the reason no more of these are shed for Lieutenant Riley ever again.

“Don’t cry, angel, can’t you feel how hard you make me? I’ve waited and waited for Simon to fuck things up with you to the point where you come to my bed instead.”

The next tear falls, and the next, and you’re gripping the sheets more so to stop yourself from full on sobbing as Price fucks you through your torment. He likes seeing you like this. He knows it’s wrong. Maybe he should stop and make sure you’re alright. But you’re shattered and clearly hung up on Simon’s betrayal. Just not enough to stop his Captain from rutting his cock in and out of you.

“Bet he never made you feel this good, eh?” John coos into your ear, gently tucking your hair behind cartilage and running a big hand down the column of your throat. “You feel that? The way your pulse is singing for me while your heart and mind latch onto him?”

The sad thing is that you can feel it. It’s definitely all for John - the way your hips twitch and grind upwards to meet his. You’re breathless but not from the tears of your heartache. John’s cock is different to Simon’s. It’s not as long but it’s definitely a fuck lot thicker. It makes the way he grinds against the spongey bulge of your g-spot euphoric. Your back arches up into him.

“There she is.”

John could get used to this. He doesn’t mind the fact that you’re devastated over Simon. He actually loves the fact you are choosing him amidst your grief. Big ego and grey morals and all that.

“Sing for me birdie. Sing and I will set you free.” He grunts, working his way deeper into you, harder, faster.

You’re sobbing silently as Price fucks you. Your mind is full of Simon, the fact he is probably already screwing that other girl (he is), while you’re here in his superiors bed doing the same. Every now and then, Price manages to hit that spot deep in your cunt again that does have you crying out in pleasure and at that, a wolfish grin appears beneath his facial hair. Cry for Simon and moan for him. He can deal with your mind being preoccupies for now.

John doesn’t care about the split in your heart between the two. He wipes your tears with every intention of fucking Simon’s face out of your mind before dawn.

[salt-lake3]

[bunniibabex]

Simon Riley who visits nightclubs not because he likes to party but because it’s one of the only civilian places on the planet where he can actually hear things properly. He can sit, have a drink and actually hear the music that’s playing. It’s nice to be in an environment where it’s acceptable to have the noise levels at a decently high decibel. He likes the feeling of the music vibrating through his toes, and the fact he doesn’t have to squint to make out the lyrics of the songs. He keeps to himself, engaging in polite conversation should it happen, but considering everyone is too busy drinking and partying, they usually don’t pay him much mind. He’s really just here to hear clearly for once.

Vs

Kyle Garrick who tags along with Simon for “team bonding” or some absolute utter shite. He maybe has a drink or two with Simon before he buggers off to the dance floor. He likes trying to find a pretty thing that isn’t going to turn around and smack him in the face for ruining girls night. He’s yapping to basically everyone, buying rounds and just there to have a good time. Makes friends with half of the girls there within 2 hours. He knows people are staring, who wouldn’t? Have you seen him? Of course, whilst Simon’s intentions are to deal with his IED induced hearing loss, Kyle is just out to find the first pretty thing that will let him drag them to the neatest bathroom (:

Masterlist

[bunniibabex]

18+ MDNI

Masterlist

AU where reader knew Simon from primary and secondary school, they weren’t really friends, but their friendship circles kind of overlapped? They were in the same year, and same classes but never really became more than acquaintances

- Reader lowkey had a crush on Simon because he was the brooding bad boy who smoked behind the bike sheds, would absolutely be the one swearing at teachers, walking around school with his headphones on blasting Korn or NIN or Chevelle or something else that’s loud, and reader was the little geeky girl who always listened, got the higher marks in the class, was never called out in any of her years for truancy or misbehaviour - what do they call it again, juxtaposition?

- Simon disappears pretty much as soon as GCSEs finish, he doesn’t even show up to prom ):

- Years go by, and Reader pretty much forgets Simon, and surely Simon didn’t even notice her in the first place to forget her at all

- She goes to college, and ends up in uni studying something grand like science or law

- Simon in the meantime bunks off of civilian life but he ends up getting kicked out because he’s got a mouth and doesn’t fucking listen to orders - he might know better than half of the superiors but that doesn’t mean he disregards orders

- So he becomes a 🔌 since thanks to his, ahem, family connections, he can wedge one of his ginormous feet into that door

- Reader who outgrows her dorkiness and lowkey becomes a baddie who likes to party and occasionally 🍃

- Anyways it’s the apex of the summer, with scorching temperatures and parties every fucking weekend

- Reader finds herself at a rave very scantily dressed and is chatting to some Scottish lad named Johnny who swears his mate has the best stash of weed on the planet, as well as other, stronger shit

- Reader who takes Johnny’s hand and then

- “Si, mate! This is… er, wha’s yer name again?”

- Simon looks up from where he is stuffing something into his little Nike man bag and he just freezes

- it’s you

- Sure, you’re taller, older, you filled out sooooo nicely but all Simon can see is the dorky girl at the front of the class who made anime references and glowed in the sunlight

- “oh my god? Simon? Simon Riley?” Your face lights up, the last you heard, he had buggered off to the army!

- “Yeah, it’s me, you’re-“

- “[First], we went to school together but you probably don’t remember me, right?” You chuckle

- Simon’s eyes rove over your form, your basically strutting around in a tiny bikini and some boots

- “I remember ya.” He drawls, “you was a boffin.”

- “Excuse me?!” You shriek with laughter, and it’s then that Simon realises you’re probably a bit too drunk

- “Ya heard me. Always gettin’ top marks and never living life to the fullest. Boffin.”

- “Oh, just because I wasn’t down the back of the PE hall smoking weed, I was somehow a dork, huh?”

- Simon smirks wryly at your response

- “Never had you for a party girl type.”

- “Yeah well, uni life and all that crap. What’ve you got in there anyway?” You reach forwards to his bag, and almost immediately a large, rough hand is curling gently around your wrist

- “Ah, ah, ah, luvie, no one touches the goods.”

- You pout at him, and Johnny is chuckling before some other pretty thing has his attention and he skeeters off

- The music is loud, thumping through your feet and abusing your eardrums

- “What do I gotta do to get something then?” You ask, cocking your head?

- “Wanna go somewhere a bit more quieter to discuss?”

- You nod, and Simon takes your hand

- His form easily parts the sea of people, and you trail behind, watching the way people glower at Simon for pushing through

- Simon isn’t just taking you somewhere quieter, he’s taking you to his car

- And he’s thinking about his chances of getting you out of that piece of string you call an outfit

[bunniibabex]

TF141 and their guilty pleasures for you <3

Masterlist

~^*^~

Price

- Hear me out

- Romance movies

- Yes he’s a grown man in his mid-to-late-30’s who enjoys his cigars and bourbon

- He also adores flicks from the 1930s/1940s where the screen flickers in black and white, the transatlantic accents break through the speakers from a shitty outdated mic and there’s an actual plot line to the story being told

- But oh the way your eyes light up when the FMC realises that she was wrong all along and it was romantic love she needed

- You curl up into his side, hands balling into the thick material of his shirt as you try not to cry when the main conflict happens

- He can smell your shampoo from how close your head is nestled under his chin

- Inch by inch, you keep worming your way towards him, first your head on his shoulder, which drops to his chest

- A hand on his sternum, which eventually is just wrapped around his waist

- One leg thrown over his, thigh wedged between his two solid ones

- Before finally, you’re just perched on him, arms wrapped around his middle, your legs drawn up to keep you balanced and the film is ending

- “Dovie,” he coos quietly.

- The end of the film is predictable; there was a misunderstanding or somebody was wrong or she got off the plane

- But you’re half asleep, teary eyed and all John’s

- “C’mon, it’s getting late, time for bed.”

- You only curl into him closer as the film credits roll and a cheesy pop song plays

- God, these movies are dreadful from start to finish

- But every single time, you end up on John’s lap, and how could he ever say no to that?

Simon

- Simon is cold, detached from anything that spells happiness

- Mainly because he stopped knowing how to feel that particular emotion a long time ago

- But you will always catch this man on a Friday evening with you and the sight is… well

- Let’s just say you have a weekly ritual called a Pre-Weekend Pamper

- what this involves is fluffy robes that you pre-warm in the dryer, some calming meditation music, cucumber water, a whole skincare routine, and a big box of chocolates served with rosé

- Simon knows it’s time when you’ve finished loading the dinner plates into the dishwasher and the clothes drying lets out its little jingle to signal that it’s all finished with the short cycle that you put it on

- He takes it as a warning shot - get himself into his pyjama bottoms, and get his arse back on the couch within the next five minutes

- As ritual, he gets to go first

- You plonk yourself on the couch, and tug him down to the floor where he sits cross-legged - squeezing himself into the small space between the couch and the coffee table

- The warm, fluffy towel is enveloping his torso it is too short on his arms, there’s a small tear under his left armpit from the strain of stretching around his huge biceps and it is inappropriately short

- Somehow you have managed to coax him into wearing a pink headband with little bunny ears on too (to keep his buzz cut out of his forehead apparently)

- You have some lavender scented hair oil that you lather onto the palm of your hands and then start gently rubbing into the roots of Simon’s hair and he immediately grunts in satisfaction

- He gets a full head massage, then a face massage, followed by one of those face masks that dry out and peel off, accompanied with some cucumber on his eyes <3

- When the peel off mask comes off and he gets his final face serum, it’s your turn

- This is what Simon likes

- His calloused, beat up, metaphorically dirty hands gently coaxing some Korean plumping moisturiser into your pores, your head heavy on his lap as you sigh contently

- The chocolates and the wine are long forgotten

- All Simon needs is to see your pretty face under his hands as he slowly works his fore and middle fingers up and down the bridge of your nose

- He does sometimes feel like a bit of a Pomeranian when you’re slathering him up in oils and facemasks

- But when you’re so sweetly resting in his arms, and he gets to think of nothing but making sure his touch remains tender on your skin, it is all worth it

Johnny

- One word.

- Stuffies

- Your relationship with Johnny is somewhat established before he’s ever able to breach the threshold of your flat

- It’s not that you are one of those secretive people that doesn’t allow anybody in like Willy freaking Wonka, but it’s just between his busy schedule and his flat being closer to the barracks, you’ve never had the need to end up at yours when he’s in your company

- So the first time Johnny does show up, it is already pre-discussed and, admittedly, you have committed treason against your own

- It’s embarrassing to be a grown mortgage paying, job working, sex having adult and still have a bed full of plushies

- youshovedthemallintothebottomofyourwardrobe

- Johnny is impressed with your little flat, it’s neat and tidy and so you with trickers and posters of all of your interests here there and everywhere

- So, of course, your little flat tour ends up in the bedroom

- Johnny steps over the threshold, his Mohawk brushing the top of the doorframe and he looked around at your little Groovy Chick rug at the end of your bed, the small desk with your computer and some stationary neatly organised, your wardrobe with some boxes piled on the top (probably more storage), and then finally to your neatly-made bed

- “Ah, lass, ye didnae tell me you already had a fella in yer bed.”

- You whip your head so fast towards your bed you’re surprised you don’t get whiplash

- Of all the god damned stuffies, you forgot the most used loved, a white unicorn with now matted fur from hundreds upon hundreds of nights of sharing your bed with you, the stuffing has migrated making the limbs a little… gangly and the horn a wee bit deflated

- You dive towards the bed, and Johnny dives right after you

- The metal frame groans in protest as both your and Johnny’s forms land on the mattress and Johnny is fast to pin you down so that you can’t try to snatch up the stuffie

- Long story short, your next two hours are spent going through the lifeline of every stuffie in your apartment (when you got them, their names, etc)

- Johnny encourages you to keep them around, you look so cute all cuddled up in bed, Johnny’s arms wrapped around you and in turn, your arms bundled up around one of your stuffies

- He is so so so considerate that he even gifts you stuffies for anniversaries/birthdays, and he starts buying ones specifically to be left at his house (,:

- Don’t be shocked when he starts buying his own, because honestly the plush, boundless of stuffing and beads reminds him of you when you’re not there

- He raves about the little microwavable stuffies that are full of dried lavender

- He buys you matching stuffies ):

- And in the corner of his own wardrobe, tucked away is one meant for a future he hopes to have, a little fluffy brow bear engraved ‘Baby MacTavish’

Gaz

- man oh man

- Gaz was the hardest to write for because he is already such a big sweetie, and truth be told, you are his guilty pleasure

- It sounds so cheesy I know

- Look, he is constantly in competition with the 141 in terms of these are three of the most domineering men in England, if not in the world, so he has to sort of… get in line with the rest of them

- He cannot be caught gushing over his pretty thing in the mess because Ghost will look at him like he’s crazy and Price will just roll his eyes and call him a simp

- but he is a simp!

- Gaz is so lovely sweetie cutie

- Yes, he’s on the field, he’s a soldier who can absolutely hold his own and holyyyy is he good at being the man that his jobs demands he is

- But in that space where he can let his hair down, and just… be

- Catch him watching those soppy movies, getting you adorn him in every facemask Boots could possibly sell, and of course your bed is house to stuffies

- Scratch that, this man is watching Bridget Jones, with a facemask on and cuddling one of your Squishmallows

- He wants it all

- He has a tattoo of your lips on his pec, where only he can see

- There’s a picture of you sewn into the in-seam of his hat that he will look at when he’s alone in another country

- He sprays the inner side of his hoodie sleeve with your perfume so that he can smell you on him when he’s out and about

- If you’re physically together, he always always ALWAYS has a hand on you - strategically on your thigh, gently on the curve of your spine, wrapped around your wrist to keep you close

- He’s whipped with a capital W, H, I, PP, E and D

- You are Gaz’s guilty pleasure

- He wants to breathe you in, he wants you to swallow him whole and welcome him in like that one song you listen to all the time, he wants to adjoin his body and soul to you just so that he never has to let you go for a second ever again

- He doesn’t care that the others call him this or that or the next thing

- Especially when he turns down drinks at the end of the day stating “I want to get home to my missus”

- Not need, not you want him home - he wants to go home

- he’s so yours it’s gross

Bonus 141

- FLEECE PYJAMA PANTS

- This is how it started

- You had to show up to base on one of your days off and chose to forego the commodity of daytime clothes

- Instead, you rock up in an oversized tee and the fluffiest pyjama bottoms ever made

- Immediately, Johnny is pawing at your thighs, Gaz rubbing a hand up and down your shin and Simon is just… staring.

- It reaches a point where Price has to bark at them to get off, but does use the free space around you to have a little feel of his own <3

- Anyway, long story short, the next time you show up, you’ve been to Primark and each of the 141 have their own fluffy pyjama bottoms!

- Price is gifted some plaid navy blue ones

- Johnny gets the same as Price but in a classic tartan red

- Gaz receives some pretty grey ones littered with a cute white star pattern

- Simon is the one you’re most excited for - black with a Kuromi design

- All four of them turn their noses up at first, but do thank you politely (they’re not rudearses!)

- Surprisingly, it’s Price who you catch first, lounging in his office with his legs swung upon his big oak desk and the pyjamas snugly on his legs

- Gaz is the next, chilling in one of the commons, scrolling his phone looking mighty comfy

- You find Johnny in his bunk, tangled between his sheets and his pillow, snoring away with his new pyjamas securely on and riding up to his knees

- Simon…

- Well, Simon decides that since you went out of your way to buy him something soooo cute, he might as well make sure you appreciate the pyjamas in all of their glory

- You turn up to the 141 quarters late on an off day, only to have the door swung open by your LT

- He’s shirtless, with just the Kuromi pyjamas on, slung low on his hips like the whore he is

- Your brain literally short circuits

- And the next day, all four of them are in nothing but those stupid pyjama pants, all fluffy and cute, with their torsos on full display

- Ink here, muscle there, a flex of a bicep just to really pay you back for being a smartarse

- All four of them are controlling smirks or comments as they watch you quietly deconstruct internally

- They do genuinely love the pyjamas, though

- They’re soft against rough skin, with elastic aged waistbands that help accommodate their bulky forms, and they help combat the cold in the night

- That’s how all five of you wind up sprawled out in John’s office, all comfy in your pyjamas

[bunniibabex]

18+ content MDNI

Masterlist

~^*^~

Oblivious!Reader who shows up to Price’s annual BBQ with a homemade devil’s food cake, prettied up in one of those milkmaid dresses that accentuates her figure, a soft smile on her lips when she steps down from the kitchen to the patio.

Johnny is eyeing up the cake, practically leaping to her side to get a good ol’ sniff. Simon is nursing a beer, condensation dribbling down his fingers as he raises it, along with his eyebrows, as a sign of greetings to her. She giggles at Johnny’s elbow nudging her side and plops down next to Gaz at the little picnic table. “Hiya, sweetheart.” He flashes those pearly whites, eyes ever so soft and warm as they take in the length of her lashes. A hand finds its way to the small of her back. “Ready to be fattened up?” Price’s voice cuts across the chatter, he lifts up the spatula he’s using to flip the burgers. Grease glistens under the golden hour.

Some of the family friends have brought their kids, and you end up finding yourself handling a chubby little baby. He’s mouthing your shoulder as you giggle, keeping him securely on your hips as you talk with his mother. Gaz is sitting beside where you stand, inhaling the subtle sweetness of your perfume as coos as the baby and reaches out to tickle his titchy foot.

When food finally arrives, you demolish a hotdog, getting a little sauce on the corner of your mouth that Price takes great pleasure in beckoning you over with one of his lengthy, calloused index fingers. “Y’look a right state.” He mumbles, eyes going half lidded as he reaches forward with the pad of his thumb to swipe off the sauce. You thank him so sweetly, a cock of your head, eyes crinkling into crescents as you smile.

Simon has you sit next to him when you return, offering you swigs of his beer. You happily take turns with him swapping the bottle, tipping your head back to swallow as the bottle becomes more than half empty. Unlike the other, Simon doesn’t hide the way his gaze lingers on the bob of your throat.

VS

The 141 who are all collectively just disgusting

Johnny is running circles around you, bonnie thing being so thoughtful bringing a homemade cake , dressing so nicely for them, he wanders if you’d let him take a big glob of that dark, rich icing and slather it over you so he can lick it off, no harm in playing with your food sometimes, eh?

Simon who is unphased by the cool condensation running down his fingers and forearm, but on god he wishes it was your slick instead. He watches the way your throat bobs when you throw back a swig of his beer. He can’t help but wonder how that pretty throat would take something a little more… solid

Gaz who is so wickedly deceptive that you don’t so much as flinch at the pet names. But you are his sweetheart, right? And he just loves feeling the warmth of your skin under that thin, flimsy dress fabric. Do you realise how easy it would be for him to just tear it off. And oh, look at you with a little one sitting so sweetly on your hip. Would you like one of your own? He’s sure he can help with it.

Price who set this whole thing up just to watch you walk through the door practically playing the part of wifey. He loves how standing at the grill gives him the perfect view of you giggling at Johnny, drinking with Simon completely unknowing to the way he stares at you, getting cozy with Gaz and the little one… Oh, how he loves how obediently you traipse over to him when he beckons you, how your soft lips pillow under his touch when he wipes them clean for you. He gets the perfect view as host.

Gross icky 141 who spend the entire night feeding you, carefully flirting with you as to not cross a line, all until it’s just you and them. Everyone else has suddenly disappeared.

“Just stay the night, dovie.”

“It’s alright, bonnie, we can keep you company, eh?”

“You won’t mind if it’s a bit crowded will you?”

“C’mere, honey, if you aren’t tired yet, I’m sure we can think of something to do.”

[bunniibabex]

omg !! I saw ur headcanons abt simon, i locked in to the part where he turned down girls who are interested in him

Realistically speaking babe, if Simon would have an s/o, what's the most realistic way Simon would have one?

Like I saw many tropes, neighbors to lovers, the girl being a member of 141, medic reader, and also a character where she's the caretaker of her mom and all that

But from all the tropes, what's the most plausible way for Simon to meet his partner for life? 🥰

Hi angel 🥰

I lowkey dodged this on the HC post because I genuinely needed time to figure out Simon’s love life, but here we are at last (many days later I’m so sorry love!)

Masterlist

~^*^~

- So we know Simon turns the ladies down with a cheeky little pet name, sometimes a sly smile at the corner of his mouth

- He can be a bit of a prick but he isn’t rude

- Thinking hard, I don’t think Simon is likely to date a fellow military person, he’s not one for drama or unnecessary bullshit so bringing any romance to the workplace is a no no for him

- He’s an army LT, he does not have the time to have a partner on base trying to pull him into the nearest office, or having to worry about them when they’re on a mission (vice versa)

- Like he’s out here trying to keep the streets clean (even if that means getting his hands extremely dirty in the process), he doesn’t have time to be dealing with some emotional bullshit on base during his free time

- That’s not to say Simon isn’t an emotional man we all saw the end of MW3 so we know he’s got a heart, albeit a cold one

- He just needs the right person to warm it up a bit wink wonk

- Work-based relationships are a no-no for him though

- Too much to jeopardise on a mission, and in a relationship if you’re dating a comrade, there’s going to be a pre-established power imbalance which is icky

- Side note, could you imagine how much shite he’d get from Johnny if he had some on-base romance? Yeah, no.

- Anywho, so, back to the question at hand, who would Mr Riley pick to share his heart with?

- Personally, I think he would need somebody independent and able to carry their own

- Getchyo Y/N ass outta here we don’t have time for 3’0”-giant-blue-eyes-stuttering-better-than-Price-at-shooting sillies right now

- Simon isn’t going to be turned on by a co-dependent partner, he needs his space and is happy to respect yours, somebody who is clingy and emotionally over-needy is going to end up ghosted (pun intended)

- On the flip side, somebody who is hyper-independent is also not going to do, what do you mean there is nothing for Simon to do around the house? He needs mind-numbing cleaning tasks to do too, you know!

- The meet cute that I see for Simon is going to end up as a kind of “right place right time” scenario

- Maybe he’s sitting in a tattoo chair getting his newest piece on the inside of his bicep and this totally smoking individual appears from the back, holding some fake skin that’s been tattooed by an apprentice and is barking about how the linework is “too deep”

- Simon just goes immediate googly eyes because hello tattooed person with an attitude how are you

- Or maybe he’s walking the route back to his flat from the off-licence when he comes across a cute little calico that starts trailing after him and rubbing against his feet, it would be very rude not to say hello to the little fellow!

- And the next moment, he’s kneeling down stroking this little being of white and ginger and black, looking up as someone in a nicely fitted suit is stalking quickly down the path from their front door, “Lucifer I thought I told you to stay inside!”

- or or or

- stick with me

- It’s a Saturday afternoon and it’s just his luck that his only Pyrex dish has finally succumbed to his heavy hand and has broken - he’s hosting Gaz and his missus for dinner tonight so fuck he really needs a new one

- Anyways, look, he didn’t mean to do it but one thing led to another and, well, he kind of caused a bit of a fender bender at a roundabout

- Just a little bitty one

- Ok it was kind of a big dent.

- He wasn’t looking before switching lanes because he needed to go right and then all of a sudden a sleek BMW is just shoved up the rear bumper of his Jeep

- Oops

- Anyway, he exhales very deeply out of his mouth, before a string of curses leaves his lips

- After a moment, Simon concedes and steps out of his shiny black Jeep Avenger, boots hitting the tarmac and crunching against the gravel

- The other car involved rocks as the driver door slams shut and Simon is internally wincing because he really can’t be arsed to deal with some pissed off bloke right now

- He lifts his head and shuts his own door a little more mercifully then starts walking the length of his car towards the rear end where he had cut off the purple BMW M2 CS (he hadn’t checked his mirrors or signalled before switching lanes in the middle of the roundabout - idiot)

- Simon stops in his tracks because you are just standing there, back against the side of your car, legs propped outwards to keep you steady and arms crossed as you glower at the floor - you are waiting for him to come to you

- When he starts moving again, you turn your head towards him was that bells he just heard?

- Talk about if looks could kill

- You aren’t backing down, that much is evident in the drop of your eyebrows and the downturning of the corner of your lips

- Even when you realise this giant guy who is both tall and bulky is stalking towards you, you don’t soften your face even a fraction

- He doesn’t intimidate you

- That sets something off in his stomach that Simon opts to ignore

- “I’m really sorry about that, luvie.” Simon drawls as he gestures to where your car and his car are still touching

- On closer inspection, Simon sees that despite the fact you were technically travelling into him, his Jeep has remained mostly intact and it’s your BMW that has paid the price for his lack of driving skills

- He snaps a few pictures for evidential purposes

- He’s thinking it might be a quick job of pulling the dent out, or maybe a new bumper altogether, either way, he’s calculating the loss from his bank account

- He’d rather not deal with his insurance premium skyrocketing over a mistake

- The pet name doesn’t quell your anger

- On the contrary, it pisses you off more, because who is this man who doesn’t know that you don’t switch lanes in the middle of using a roundabout without looking or indicating first, and then has the gall to start calling you “luvie” after he’s hurt your car?!

- “Maybe you need to refill on your blinker fluid?” You quip at Simon, a little bite behind your words

- Valid

- “Why don’t we move our cars just off the roundabout so we’re out of people’s way and we can sort this out?” Simon offers, gesturing to the first exit

- You push yourself off of the side of your car with your shoulders, sighing deeply with your whole chest, “how do I know you’re not going to drive off and leave me with a fucked up car and no way to fix it?”

- Simon blinks at you, slowly, too busy watching the way your legs stretch as you straighten up your posture

- “You can lead the way.” He offers

- It’s your turn to concede and a few moment’s later, your eyes are on your mirror as Simon tails you

- You pull off the roundabout and into the first available side street and Simon is quick to hop out and go and inspect the damage to your car again - he doesn’t even bother with his own

- “Maybe driving something this pretty in Manchester isn’t a good idea, all sorts of idiots on the roads.”

- “Yes, you must be very familiar with them.” Your quick wit earns a scoff of amusement from Simon, “I want your insurance details.”

- Aaaaand there goes his plan of paying you off quietly

- “Are y’ sure you want to do that?” He rumbles, hoping he can change your mind

- Your eyes narrow, “do not tell me you’re uninsured.”

- “No, luv, I’m insured.” Simon chuckles, pulling out his wallet to he can yank out some folded up A5 lined paper pieces that have his details (he’s not great with his phone, ok?)

- “Stop calling me that.” You cock your head backwards to keep your eyes trained on his face, left hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun

- You’ve got a nice assortment of rings on your fingers, but nothing on your ring finger

- Simon notes that away mentally

- “I’m sorry swee’heart. No offence.”

- “I don’t care how tall you think you are, I can and will take you down.” It’s hard to tell if you’re half joking or not, but the fact that you’re not losing your tempter altogether is a good sign. You’re pissed - obviously - but you’re not berating him

- It’s then that you notice the Blue Light Card in his wallet as he’s copying down his details

- “You’re a doctor?” It’s said with a little more cynicism than you care to admit

- “Doctor? Heh, no, try again.”

- You step back an inch, looking Simon from top to toe.

- He’s tall, bulked up like a bitch, and has a good few scars lining one side of his face

- “Fireman?”

- “Wrong again, swee’heart.”

- Tall, muscled, scarred, driving a Jeep, a slightly cocky attitude

- “Don’t tell me you’re military.”

- Simon doesn’t respond, just hands you the paper with his details on, scrawled in scratchy handwriting

- ‘Simon Riley, S121LEY, Admiral Insurance, Insurance No. [XXXXXXXXXXXXX]’

- You take the paper from him, albeit a little too quickly but at least you mutter an apology!

- You scribble down quickly some details for him

- Simon watches the way your fingers curl around the pen, how you chew on your bottom lip in frustration

- God, he hopes his insurance doesn’t go up too much

- Price will be pissed if they go over budget again due to Simon’s rapport with his driving…

- “You can just send me the money,” you say, extending your hand with the paper carefully wedged between your fore and middle finger, “I can’t be arsed with insurance companies.”

- Simon breathes a sigh of relief, then looks back at you. There are freckles on your nose

- “Thought you wanted t’ go through insurance?” He cocks a brow

- “If you’re military and driving a Jeep, it means you’re high enough ranking to fix any problems you create with civilians.” You say it with enough conviction that Simon genuinely wants to ask you out right then and there

- You haven’t been rude to him, not really, and you clearly don’t find his scars or his form scary

- You haven’t cried, you haven’t called anybody for help

- Who the fuck are you?

- “I have to go now, I’m going to be late. I have your reg plate so if you don’t sort this out, I’ll come and find you, ok?”

- And now you’re threatening him? In a calm, collected tone?

- What carat do you want? The cut? Yellow or white gold? Say it and it’s yours

- Simon watches as you turn away from him and stalk back to your car.

-“Oi!” His deep Manchurian voice cuts though the otherwise quiet road

- You turn back towards him, hand coming up again to shield your eyes from the sun, “yeah?”

- “D’ya reckon I could apologise some time? Grab you some lunch?” He can’t even believe the words are coming out of his mouth

- “You already have the answer.”

- “Wot?”

- You don’t respond, getting into your car and peeling off, honking twice at him as you leave.

- He already has the answer? What kind of spiritual, meditation, intuition, weird bullshit- his fingers curl and it’s then that he realises he’s still holding the scrap of paper with your details on

- He looks down at the paper in his hand

- ‘[First] [Last], PayPal [XXXXXXXXXX], call me [07XXXXXXXXX]’

- In short, Simon’s driving that everybody likes to call awful lands him his first date in like six years LOL

- When Johnny finds out, he is absolutely certain Simon is fibbing until Simon pulls out his phone and shows him the evidence

- But no matter how Simon meets his future partner, I do think that it’ll be somebody who makes an impression on him

- Somebody who won’t be afraid to bite back a little or show that he doesn’t scare them (but not in a rude mean bitch way!)

- Also not one of those freakie deakies who are just barking at him to try and climb that tree LOL

- When it comes to the act of dating, though, I think Simon is a traditional man

- He won’t be calling you his partner for a long time, slow and steady all the way, he needs to build trust (aforementioned in my last post, PTSD and other issues) and honey, we know trust doesn’t come easy

- He has a burner phone which you get the number for, and he will text you rarely

- He doesn’t have social media so it’s hard to really break the ice with him

- Simon is an untrusting creature, it means you are always on your toes, walking on eggshells, trying to make sure he realises that you are a safe person for him to be around

- Your dates usually consist of fast food, in his car, sitting down some backroad where you can watch the skyline of Manchester glisten in the twilight like stars

- Sometimes you will put a movie on your phone to watch as the sky darkens to navy

- You somehow managed to get him to watch White Chicks while you ate a Burger King and he hates to admit it but it was a good movie

- Simon finds that he does like talking to you

- He doesn’t really open up about his family, or his personal life, or his job, but he likes to listen to you about yours while you crunch on some fries

- Sometimes he will show up to your home and you will sit on the couch watching Escape to the Country with a cuppa each and it feels oddly domestic

- This goes on for months, maybe over a year, just hanging out and spending time together, talking about this and that and the next thing

- You never label it, and neither does he

- Simon wants to pull away multiple times over this period

- He doesn’t want to get attached

- So even when he goes weeks without talking to you, then misses you so intensely he finds himself calling you at like 5am when he knows you’re getting up for work, you answer

- You understand him, that he’s busy, that he’s messed up

- You accept his apology without him even needing to utter one

- Your arms are open for him whether he needs it or not

- And it’s that perseverance, that respect for him, that truly solidifies to Simon that maybe falling for you spending time with you isn’t a risk

- When Simon has to go on a mission with 141, he explains it bluntly, and you just.. accept

- “Okay, be safe, go kill bad guys.”

- Wtf?

- Gaz and Johnny put it in his head that if Simon returns, you’ll have shacked up with some civilian guy instead of waiting for him

- He doesn’t worry, per se, nor does he get so insecurely jealous that he just bulldozes through the enemies

- Honestly? He just kinda goes numb with acceptance

- Like yes this person he has connected with, and feels uncomfortably comfortable around isn’t going to wait for a shitebag like him

- He knows that somebody like you will just move on as soon as Simon becomes an absence

- Spoiler; you didn’t

- In fact, when he gets home and there’s one of those deliveries of a cake that fits through a letterbox and a little note from you, he calls to your house to ask why and to tell you he expected you to have fucked another guy by now

- That earns him the most glorious string of curses, ending in probably his favourite phrase ever “you bone-headed, giant douche, mask-wearing, hunky, Neanderthal fucking cunt!” Punctuated with a punch right on his left bicep (it doesn’t hurt him in the slightest but it was so cute)

- Safe to say he actually apologises (rare) and then asks if you would like to make your relationship official

- Woot woot!

- I do see Simon with somebody very confident and self-assured

- Somebody similar to Johnny, who can match Simon’s wit, and doesn’t need to lean on him for much if anything at all

- He likes not having to be depended on, since the entire world near enough depends on him at work

- He likes that you stand up for yourself against him and you have done so literally since you met

- It’s nice to be with somebody who gets him but will also call him out on his bullshit

- And it’s nice to have an intelligent conversation with somebody

- Also lowkey your comebacks to him are hilarious and he loves you likes you very much for that

- You make him laugh (:

[bunniibabex]

Hey just wanna drop in and say i liked your recent HCs of Simon :D !

Hey thank you so much I really appreciate it!!!! 🩷

[bunniibabex]

I always see a lot of OOC HCs for Simon (which is totally fine we don’t judge around here), but I always love imagining what Simon is probably actually like…

Masterlist

~^*^~

- He’s very quiet, as in he moves with the precision of a feline

- You could be just minding your own, pacing the barrack’s halls and turn around and boom there he is right behind you, and he has been since you passed his office two minutes ago (you were walking at reasonable speed he felt no need to overtake)

- His quiet feet have earned him the nickname ‘Creepin’ Jesus’ from Johnny; it always makes Gaz bite down a smirk when the Scot uses it

- Like, the dude is 6’3” and yet if he’s not in his combat boots, you’re not going to hear him

- He mostly keeps to himself or whichever squadron he’s with, but do not misinterpret this, he does not intentionally segregate himself

- Simon is by no means a sociable creature, but he also isn’t one to deprive himself of human interaction - he won’t really speak if he isn’t spoken to first but he’ll jest with his comrades and won’t act like some Sigma Male on base - he’ll absolutely chill in the mess hall or other common areas, even if it’s just to be around other people

- If someone does come up to him, he’ll have a natter but in all honesty, he is a little blunt

- Social cues/situations are not his strong suit

- He likes to sit opposite Price in the mess hall, reason being if he sits opposite Johnny, he has to watch him scarf down food and that’s… not something he wants to see at 5.30 o’clock in the morning

- It also means he can have a little chit chat while they sip on tea

- Cuties

- Simon strikes me as somebody who is both neat and organised messy

- His actual office is pristine - work space tidy and organised to insane detail - all of his paperwork is filed, annotated, tabbed, and stored in date order (are those glasses sitting on the edge of the desk…?)

- He doesn’t like to allow eating in his office either (says it’ll attract ants), so there are no plates, wrappers, etc. sitting about

- His quarters, on the other hand…

- Look, he has long days, so while he won’t just drop his clothes where he stands (unlike a certain Captain…), he will throw them on the nearest appropriate surface (chair, wash basket, or in the vicinity of either, the floor in front of the wash basket is acceptable and tomorrow’s problem)

- He also tends to not always make his bed, too

- When the insomnia hits, the last thing he wants to do when he has to yank his arse out of bed is make it, he’s done his fair share of perfect bed-making, now he’s a freeman with his own bedroom

- He doesn’t talk about it much, but the insomnia really does get to him, the frustration he feels at 2am when all he wants to do is fucking sleep, but his mind and body say no ): he has, on occasion, shed a few angry tears, because on god all he wants is some rest

- I don’t think he goes out of his way to cover his face on base, but I do think his mask is a safety blanket for him

- Like, no, he isn’t going to pummel someone in the face for seeing his

- Also, considering that even Johnny has had to ask him to take it off to show his face alludes to Simon feeling most comfortable with it on

- But he’s super confident in his looks, or at least comfortable enough to outright state he thinks he looks good (coughhedoescough), so I really don’t think going maskless would be the biggest deal in the world to him

- Also he’s definitely not going into civilian spaces wearing the fucking thing? Catch my man doing his weekly in Tescos or Asda with his mask on, bffr

- Ok now I’m just imagining Simon in Home Bargains sniffing the candles and grimacing at the “bargain” of the McVitties prices all the while he’s got his mask on LOL imagine the poor old ladies and their shock seeing some hulking man in a mask putting a can of Febreze into his basket

- Aaaaaaaaanyways LMAO

- Back to Simon socialising, I think he’s rather polite - remember we only see him with his brothers in arms so y’know, he’s gonna banter with them a little

- He isn’t going to flat out ignore or name-call any of the lesser ranks

- I also don’t think he would be the type of LT to be unnecessarily harsh during training, like, yes, no tomfoolery on this man’s watch but also he’s not going to be cruel

- He makes the dumbest fucking jokes all of the time

- Always

- 141 has just come back from a gruelling mission, Gaz has literally been staring at the back of Price’s seat in the humvee for almost 45 minutes, Johnny is sure there is actual shit and piss in his boxers, Price won’t even speak a word. It’s just… silent

- “Oi,” Simon nudges Johnny with his foot “did’ya hear about the accident that happened on base?”

- All three heads whip towards Simon

- “Tank run over a box of popcorn and killed all the kernels, heh heh.”

- Or they’re cooped up in some safe house that’s half-falling down, there is literal snow drifting in from a partially open wall, settling on the rotting, moth-eaten carpet

- It’s 1, maybe 2 in the morning, the squadron cooped up together like penguins to reserve warmth, they hadn’t anticipated the air strike that had been called in to get so close, yet here they are

- So, recap, very cold, very quiet, very late, much sleepy

- “Wha’ d’ya get if you drop a piano in the barracks?”

- Silence follows

- “A flat major.”

- More silence

- “Heh heh.”

- Even more silence

- “Simon.” Price grumbles, while Soap just exhales out of his mouth in exasperation, Gaz is half asleep and just flat out refuses to acknowledge what is actually happening. He does earn a few sympathetic chuckles from some of the others but that’s as far as it goes

- Nobody ever said his jokes were good, but you can be sure he’s going to break the tension with them

- Call it a coping mechanism

- He definitely has some wit about him, he’ll throw a quip here and there if he’s in a decent enough mood

- He doesn’t have a switch to flip, either, in terms of his rage doesn’t go 0-100 in a second flat - he’s trained to withstand torture, so any big boy feelings aren’t going to derail him easily if at all

- If anything, he will methodically tear you apart mentally before using one of his pretty knives on you, all without breaking a sweat or raising his voice <3

- He’s a calculated man - nowhere near on the level as Price but Simon knows the game and he knows how to play - he is also very aware of his stature and isn’t afraid to use it

- All of the guys are big, but Simon is still just bigger

- Boba eyes stare for days

- And it works like a charm every time

- Some low ranking Sargents pissing about? Just stare at them

- One of the recruits not working hard enough during morning training? Just stare at them

- He very rarely practises it in public, too

- Like the time he was grabbing a Maccies breakfast and some drunk knobhead was raising his voice at the clearly underage cashier

- Cue the boba stare

- Problem solved

- Time-wasting is hard for Simon, he doesn’t strike me as a gamer or a reader or a hobbyist (his hands are too big to be fiddling with painting figurines or crochet or something similar)

- In all honesty, I lowkey see him bringing work home and having a (REGISTERED) firearms collection - obvs firearm laws in the UK are strict, so they’re locked away and disarmed at all times, but you will catch him polishing his shotty or just gazing lovingly at his little hand pistol

- He also has a mad knife collection that is also stored away securely that he will get out and polish once a week when he’s on leave

- He’s partial to some clay pigeon shooting too, he likes to go and show up all the old men at the range shahaha

- But Simon knows how to relax when he’s actually home and not on base (and I fully believe the man has a house when he’s not active), he loves his telly

- Social media? What? Who’s she?

- Not once has this man doomscrolled, he doesn’t understand or appreciate the concept of social media (and lowkey good for him)

- He also has no idea about the concept of a dating app

- What do you mean people pick their future spouses based on a handful of photos and cringe responses to basic questions?

- Yeah, no

- Simon isn’t unfeeling but he’s a busy man in a dangerous job, and that combined with a lot of military-inflicted PTSD does mean he won’t be so much as glancing at the pretty civilian girls in the pubs he frequents

- He’s polite in shooting them down, “sorry love, not tonight” “it’s a no, swee’heart” “I’ll buy ya a drink if you promise not to come back over ‘ere again” he never saw the point in being rude

- He’s the same with the women on base who even so much as try him with a line, if it continues, though, he won’t hesitate to flatten his tone into something a little cooler and sharper and remind them that he’s an LT, and not the one that they want to attempt at pissing off

- He just doesn’t strike me as immediately rude or unnecessarily cold in any context

- He’s just socially inept

- In short, because I’m aware this post is growing exponentially, Simon Riley isn’t a cold, unfeeling robot LT, nor is he a hot-headed bozo, nor a simp/fboi, he’s just a regular bloke with regular military-grade PTSD doing his best (: and we love him

k it’s like 5am and I’m tired lol bye

[astrwww]

Hii guys! Soo i got a mssg saying that there's an acc, @whimsyunicornxd that's been rewriting others and my fics alike on their blog and posting it as theirs. So I just want you to go ahead and be aware and report it ig.

Just be aware, the blog is reposting other's fics too! 💔

[bunniibabex]

Bird Watching

Neighbour!Simon x Reader

Themes: Fluff (kinda-ish not rly), creep!Simon, some darker themes if you squint

A/N: First post and first time writing in like 6 years (am nervous to post this!). I finally got the writer’s itch after so long so of course I had to use Simon to write about. I’m not sorry (:

Word Count: 2200~

Masterlist

~^*^~

Simon had always promised himself that should he make it to retirement, he would reward himself with a house. Weird, he knows. A single veteran man in his late 30s would usually have bigger dreams. Price had already gotten his lifetime supply of cigars. Gaz was happily playing house with a pretty civilian he had met just after everything went down with Makarov. Johnny had always talked about buying a boat. Of course, that had never come to fruition.

So, here Simon was, in Greater Manchester’s suburbs, nursing a Madri in his very own garden.

England had been on one for weeks. Since the middle of May, if he recalled correctly. For the first time in a long time, summer had been not just warm, but hot. Blisteringly so. Rainfall had been sparse and the dreary, grey summers of the past had not chosen to rear yet another ugly head this year. In fact, the hosepipe ban had already been called down south and officials were nearing to declaring the weather as a national drought. Yes, the rain had certainly chosen to depart for its own summer holiday and leave Britain a scathing hotpot of molten pathways and wilting flowers.

Today, Simon had been to Argos to pick up yet another fan to strategically place in his house, and then he had come home to watch the telly to recover from having to deal with the general public in such undesired temperatures and finally spend his evening parked up in the garden.

Gone was the scorching sun, leaving only warm air and a gentle breeze in its wake. The sky had dulled slightly, an eggshell blue stretching overhead with licks of thinned clouds. There were a few chemtrails scarring the airspace above, diagonal left to right and beyond. With no sun to burn his retinas up, Simon could tip his head back and watch the slow roll of the clouds as the wind blew them by. They were only very light, and even the breeze was slowly separating them further into little streams of white that tapered off into nothing.

Then, Simon’s eyes moved back down towards his own land. The patio needed a little TLC; the few weeds that had withstood the heat and humidity would not last against his weedkiller (or so the bloke at B&Q had promised - Simon had no ample opportunity to test this new brand out as of yet). His eyes narrowed at what seemed to be a particularly stubborn one, weaving through the cracks in the grout.

And the grass… oh his poor grass.

What had once been a gorgeous mix of fern and Amazon greens was now yellowed and riddled with bald spots of dirt. Despite the sprinklers being used most evenings to combat the dry weather the grass simply could not survive the heat. There was a small patch of clovers in the far corner that was shaded by Pampas grass that had been carefully planted in the corner since before he owned the property. The honey and bumble bees were fond of the little clover flowers that had bloomed under the influence of the sun, and Simon ensured to keep that spot hydrated. But for the most part, his grass most certainly was not doing so well.

The scent of wet dirt drifted into Simon’s nostrils and he inhaled deeply. He missed the scent of jasmine from his tree that Gaz and his missus had gifted Simon when he completed on the purchase, he had to admit that, but the smell of the wet dirt and grass was euphoric. Warm, earthy, delightful. It permeated though Simon’s brain and he couldn’t stop the twitch at the very far corner of his mouth. It was nice after all this time to be able to just appreciate the little things.

A small plane hummed up above as it passed by. It was mostly quiet now. The Friday night rush hour traffic had long gone and people were either basking in the freedom of the weekend or out drinking away a week’s worth of work-related stress. A few houses away, there was small chatter from what sounded to be a gathering. There was laughter, a few children giggling here and there, and just the overall sound of human socialisation.

At the back end of the garden, where the fence connected to the property at the back, Simon’s eyes wandered to the next row of semi-detached homes where he suspected the chatter was coming from. Warm red bricks, with the upstairs windows glinting ever so slightly with the last ebbs of sunlight. Two pigeons were back and forthing on the apex of the roofs, between the chimney tops and the satellite aerials.

And, oh.

He shifted ever so slightly in his seat, hips rolling as he shifted upwards to crane his neck just a little higher.

The chatter that had been barely audible already melted into nothing. The plane’s hum dissipated into silence.

Another warm breeze came by, and along with it came another hit of grass and dirt, but this time Simon did not so much as inhale for any longer than necessary.

His entire being was laser focused on something else.

On you.

Your bedroom window faced you back garden, which ran opposite to Simon’s neighbour’s garden. Which meant that any time you were in that bedroom of yours, Simon needed only to come to the back of his own home, and he’d have a front row seat.

Tonight, your windows were open, navy curtains flapping in the breeze. Music was drifting outwards. It was something bassy and quick. By no means was it Simon’s preferred genre, but it wasn’t a bother by a long shot.

Over time, Simon had deduced that there was an ottoman or perhaps even a small seat under your window, as you would often times end up kneeling in front of the glass to open them or fetch something off the sill. It meant that every time, he got his own private outfit check and not once had you failed to impress him. Least of all today. You were still in your office attire - a simple blouse and skirt combo that accentuated your figure and was hopefully versatile enough for the suffocating heat outdoors and chills from an office air-con.

You had never noticed Simon. Or, at least, you had yet to notice the way he noticed you.

Tonight, you were grabbing at the makeup bag that usually sat on the middle of your windowsill. As soon as it was in hand, you slipped backwards into the centre of your room and disappeared from Simon’s line of sight. He took the opportunity to take a slug of his Madri. Cold, bitter, refreshing. The music continued to pump quietly from your property, and five minutes after your appearance in your bedroom, the bathroom window cracked open. Another five minutes and steam billowed out from the crack, the frosted glass thickening even more so.

And finally, you appeared once more in your bedroom.

By this time, the warm breeze had turned to a chill that aroused goose skin on Simon’s arms. He paid it no mind. He’d been in much colder climates than this. Besides, going to grab a jacket would take away from the sight of you, in nothing but a white fluffy towel, a toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth.

Yeah, like he was going anywhere right now.

‘Pretty little birdie.’ He thought, taking another swig of his Madri as you paced back and forth, grabbing this and that from each ends of your room.

Then, you disappeared. Long enough for him to finish the final dregs and get to the bitter right at the bottom of the bottle. Simon grimaced ever so slightly. When the sound of a door slamming shut came from your direction (likely the bathroom), he knew that he had time to push himself up against his aching joints and saunter inside to throw the empty bottle into the recycling.

His house was a sauna. Even with all the fucking fans, sticky heat welcomed him between the four walls of brick and mandatory insulation. Britain had never been built for this heat. Every Briton in the world had been saying it for weeks, and yet those from hotter climates still had the nerve to declare the British public as ostentations when it came to heatwaves. Alex and Farah had received a fair amount of abuse from Johnny at one point for even hinting at the idea that the Brits were just sensitive to warmer temperatures.

Simon’s eyes landed on his fridge. A long pause where his brown eyes just stared like he was trying to memorise what was inside. The fridge hummed expectantly at him. He definitely didn’t need another drink.

So, his hulking form left his kitchen once again and he stepped back onto his patio where cool air and the scent of the evening greeted him once more. His seat on his faux wicker garden furniture was still a little warm from where he had left it, and he settled back into the thin cushion with ease.

You were already back in your bedroom by the time Simon had gotten comfortable once more, leaning over the ottoman to grab at the hairbrush also on your windowsill. Your left hand was clutching the top line of the towel, your bust threatening to spill out of the material. As you extended your right arm further for the brush, the towel began to slip and your head whipped down to watch in horror. Down, down, down towards where a nip-slip was just about to happen. Simon’s eyes were burning holes through the glass of your window now, he was certain. Had he blinked in the last 10 seconds? He didn’t know. Just as you adjusted your grip on the fabric, your right hand made contact with the brush and you quickly dipped backwards away from the window. Close call.

A moment later and the curtains were zipped shut.

Simon cleared his throat and let his head tip back once more to focus on the darkening sky above. In the far distance, the purr of an engine echoed outwards, the whine pitching higher and higher, then lower as it was shifted a gear. And again, and again, the sound growing steadily louder. More clouds were accumulating - still soft and barely opaque - as they rolled with the breeze.

Summer evenings always had such a tranquility to them. Like every single atom was finally revelling in a break from the heat and humidity. It always felt like everything had finally come to a rest and existing was no longer a chore but a privilege as the earth turned on is axis and the stars began to twinkle ahead.

Simon was pulled back from his thoughts when the thump of your music cut halfway through the crescendo of a song. His eyes moved first, darting towards the structure of your house, before his head tipped forwards once more. He exhaled slowly from his nose. Then, your curtains drew backwards.

He could have groaned right then and there had he been a lesser man without the military-installed self-control he did have. What a sight for sore eyes you were, all prettied up in a skintight white dress that was adorned from the scooping neckline (that gave the most mouthwatering view of your chest), all the way down to the hem in holographic sequins. And the cut of the hem left nothing to the imagination in terms of your silky legs.

Your makeup was minimal, just a dab of highlighter, some false lashes and eyeliner and you’d applied a lipstick close enough to your natural colour that it just highlighted their shape and made them pop a little. Your hair, as always, was sleek and shiny, framing your face and only accentuating your features further.

Where were you off to looking like that?

Definitely not a pub, Simon decided to himself. Perhaps a bar, or a nightclub? Were you headed into Manchester? Or maybe Stockport? Nah, definitely Manchester since it had a wider variety of nightlife. Were you going out with some friends? Work colleagues? A date?

Simon chose to ignore the way the pit of his stomach knotted ever so slightly at that final thought. If someone as gorgeous as you greeted any bloke in the entire United Kingdom wearing that dress on a date, well… it was guaranteed they’d be planning any way to get you out of it by the end of the night.

As you pushed open the curtains fully, you leaned forwards a little more, hands bracing on the silk, sequins glinting in the twilight as you nosied up and down the gardens. The way your arms were outstretched pushed your breasts together in such a way that forced Simon to look away for a brief second. Fucking hell.

When he looked back, you were finally retreating from the window. Simon watched as you disappeared one last time into the darkness of your bedroom. He swallowed thickly.

Hopefully it was just you that he would get to see though the glass once you returned home. It would be a great shame for another one of those male suitors of yours to end up ghosting you again.

And everyone else they’d ever met.