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staytrueblue

shawn hatosy at 24 and 50

wxntertoast

Fishing with Simon when you complain that nothings caught.

In one swift movement, he reaches into the water, pulls out a fish now caught in his grasp, and grumbles, "fish."

arborislender

No cw, just a little Simon Riley angst but it’s really just a setup for fluff and really he just loves his wife more than anything. Love u guys

Simon shuffled around the bedroom as you slept just a few feet away. His rough fingers found the cool metal of his belt buckle, clinking softly while his dexterous digits pulled the leather out. The sound of his zipper had him cursing quietly as he slipped his jeans off, squinting in your barely illuminated room. He wouldn’t turn the light on, refusing to wake you up just yet.

You’d washed all of his clothing while he was gone, save for one or two hoodies. It was an anxious habit of yours, to wash and fold his laundry a few times despite none of it being worn between. It almost felt like he was home, as if he would walk in the door while you folded and put his fresh boxers away.

Simon always appreciated how you kept his belongings neat and clean while he was deployed. You dusted his nightstand, polished the one pair of leather oxfords he owned, and even mended his older clothing. You just needed to be busy while he was away, and sometimes he’d leave things a little strewn for you to tend to. Some might call it inconsiderate, he called it preventative.

It had been five months, this time around. Simon would wake up, rub his eyes with his palms, call you if he could, and get dressed. The routine once relied on so heavily, the routine he had now come to hate. He was getting older, there was no denying it. They weren’t terribly obvious due to his blonde locks, but the occasional greys began to pepper his head.

He stretched for a little longer every day, partly to use the time to imagine what you were doing at that exact moment. He couldn’t be distracted with thoughts while in the field, couldn’t afford it, but he let his mind run during trainings. Wonder how you’d make the crappy mess meal he stared down at nearly a million times better. Simon would fold his laundry begrudgingly, wishing it was your nimble fingers situating his shirt in the perfect square he could never figure out how to achieve.

It had been five months of too much time without you. Each time he’d get called up now was like an arrow to the chest, another pound added to the shackles he trudged in. He had been staring down the barrel of retirement for over two years now, wishing something would force his hand, and never make him acknowledge the fact he found something better than the life he’d known for so long.

It wasn’t that you were a bad thing, god no. No, at this point Simon could confidently say you were the only good thing to ever happen to him, everything else was just noise.

He was terrified of the fact that a decision he made when he was so young, so young and had no possibility of knowing what his future held—who his future held—could be the reason neither of you every saw eachother again.

He shook his head slightly, middle, index, and ring finger rubbing his left eye to wipe his mind from the spiral. He was home now, safe, every limb and appendage still intact, somehow. He took a breath, head tilted downward, spine poking out of the nape of his slightly hunched neck, his hand toying with the cold dog tags.

Simon carefully pulled the warmed chain off of his neck, shivering slightly as the tiny beads slid against his buzzed head. They sat in his palm for a moment, the cliche, clenched fist kind of scene you’d watch in a movie. His feet felt like they were going to melt if he stood on the hardwood any longer, his arches screaming for rest already. A quiet sigh, and the gentle clinking of metal as he laid the tags down on top of the dresser. His head turned to you, eyes tracing down your relaxed form.

You didn’t even know he was home yet, still blissfully asleep in your bed, wearing one of his shirts, no less. Simon felt his lips tug upwards at the sight, his heart softening slightly as he exhaled, and bent down, fishing around for his phone out of his crumpled jeans.

He opened it, the bright light causing him to close his eyes and jerk away for a moment before he adjusted, blinking burns out of his retinas.

New Message To: John Price

Cap, it’s Riley. Think I’m done.

Delivered at 3:42 A.M.

The bed never felt so inviting as your husband slipped in behind you, the dip hard to ignore as you felt yourself sliding in your sleep. You woke ever so slightly, making soft hums and huffs as you drifted in and out of REM.

Simons large arms pulled you to his chest carefully while rough, calloused fingers tilted your head upwards. His eyes studied your puffy, sleep stricken face, hair wildly sticking out in whatever direction it so chose. You had a small remnant of a healing pimple on your cheek, which his thumb grazed over tenderly.

In earlier years, Simon would’ve woken you up to make up for lost time, have you breathless under him while he worked out all the guilt he felt for leaving you for so long. But now, all he wanted to do was look at you. All he wanted was to study how your face had changed, if it looked any older.

He pressed a soft, tender kiss to you. His lips, chapped and bitten from anxiety, scratching against your soft, plump ones. It woke you slightly more, but you were too tired to do anything besides curl into his chest.

“Si…” you mumbled softly, inhaling his chest on instinct.

“S’alright love… I’m home, an’ m’not goin anywhere.”

Football coach!Simon riley x librarian!reader

fluff. that’s its. i’m still learning.

This wasn’t at all how you expected your Friday evening to play out. Your fingers clutched tight at an eraser, zigzagging the thing back and forth over stubborn doodles that the juniors had stupidly left behind.

Your brows furrowed together with enough force that your annoyance could be seen a mile away, and who other than Simon Riley, the high school football coach, who got to witness it himself from the hallway.

He thought such a pretty thing like yourself shouldn’t get so worked up, even if he did find that pinched look on your face irresistible. The way your bottom lip worried between your teeth and the loose pieces of hair from your braid swayed with every vigorous movement you dealt towards those marked pages.

“Looks like em pages personally offended you, love.” He states with a tight expression, like watching you work this hard physically pains the man.

Your head snaps up the moment you hear that familiar accent, the one you’ve gotten so used to hearing when he would pop up out of nowhere, which was often.

“More like the students who keep doodling crap in them…” You huff loudly as you slam the book closed before you finally find those dark brown eyes of his steadily watching. You softened, like you always do for him, almost like it were second nature.

“Sorry , si, m’just tired… Wanna go home already…”

Those stubborn heart strings of his tugged to life at the way you softened, down to your relaxed expression and the soft lilt to your voice, laced with fatigue from a long day of dealing with moody teenagers.

He just had to do something to help his irresistibly cute librarian! So the next day he asked the boys he coached, bribed them with “training” that could easily get them out of any of the classes they pleased, and boy did they talk fast.

“I know for a fact tha lot of you don’t even pay attention in class, tha faster you talk tha more inclined I feel to pass these out.”

He held up three free class slips, waving them around at the bunch of them like they were hungry dogs eager for a treat, and that’s when the three closest guys on the team happily gave up the information.

Come to find out, it was the pompous tennis team, the kind that didn’t see the value in things that weren’t their own. Who cared if they scribbled away in books? Marked up pages? It’s not like it came out of their ridiculously fat wallets.

But Simon cared, (not so much about the books, he was never much of a reader) but more so about you and the effort you put in. It was endearing the way you gently handled every book in your possession, like each one was more or of equal importance than the last. He’s witnessed on coincidental planned lunch breaks in the teachers’ lounge how you practically glowed when you talked about different literature from all kinds of genres.

The way your eyes sparkled and your hands moved about as you explained your likes and dislikes down to every single detail, the way your eyes crinkled when you just couldn’t contain the smiles from tugging at your lips.

Hell, he could listen to you go on and on all night if you’d let him, but how is he ever going to get the chance to ask you out when you’re stuck here on nights like these?

Well, he knows how to now.

When Monday comes around, you’re prepared to tend to your poor abused books by the end of the day, eraser in hand and ready. Instead, you’re surprised to see six boys, the tennis team to be exact, and each of them is carrying a stack of books. Your brows pinch together in confusion as they settle them across the check-out counter, and then you hear a whistle.

You turn towards the entrance to see a pleased Simon. His arms are crossed over his chest, eyes sharp as he stares down every single one of the boys before he clicks his tongue, nodding his head towards the exit as their cue to leave. They all but scramble, hurriedly moving their feet as they slip out of the room.

After an entertaining display of Simon’s authority, he walks over to the counter with a proud smile that tugs at his lips and his stride speaks volume of victory, one that you find both amusing and cute.

“so this is all your doing huh?” you grabbed a book from the highest stack before running your fingers over the cover and flipping its pages, finding not even a single one marked. You smiled to yourself, feeling a certain tug at your chest that was becoming all too familiar when he came around.

“couldn’t stand by darlin..no need for you to spend your precious nights here when you could be somewhere better…” he says it like its a simple statement but it sounds more loaded than anything.

“somewhere better? and what exactly does that mean?” you hummed softly, pushing the book aside as you settled your chin in your palm, looking up at him with those doe like eyes and a warm smile that he can practically feel on his skin.

“means i’d like to take you out for coffee and you can tell me about the latest book your reading, how’s that sound lovie?”

“-yes.” you blurt it out faster than you realize as you grab your bag and coat before rounding the counter, setting yourself against his side as you boldly hook an arm around his own.

“my car or yours?” you smiled softly with red dusted cheeks and that same spark in your eyes he’s grown to adore.

he’s exactly where he wants to be.

#simom riley x reader #fluff #writing #he’s authoritive #he’s nurturing #simon riley call of duty #simon riley imagine #tongue click would have a chokehold on me #cod simon ghost riley

kjscottwrites

[X] <- psst click this

idk if this sounds good, this is literally my first time writing anything. be nice to me please. :,)

simon riley one-shot with reader! some fluff, he’s honestly a sweetheart.

—————————————————————

You look like a fish out of water, mouth gaping for air, nose annoyingly stuffed as you struggle to fight this stupid cold. It all started with one act of kindness. Curse your big heart.

You just had to help out your sister, agreeing to watch your little gremlin of a nephew, Caleb, while she went out into the bustling city,eager to visit their various pubs.

At least you had Simon to help you out, and he was an absolute godsend. The man was a natural when it came to kids, surprisingly that is, considering how intimidating he can seem. Your adorably patient boyfriend had suggested going to the park, something to wear the kid out and let him have his fun.

“Let’em run round doll, he’s bound to get tired after a while, yeah?…”

That option sounded a lot better than imagining him running around the flat, toys being strung around the floor for you to inevitably trip over.

“…Well, that settles it, everybody, slip your shoes on!…” You beamed in that excited tone that always got Caleb hyped up. He clumsily slipped on his light-up Crocs, chunky little fingers slipping those suckers into sport mode before he bolted to the door, tugging Simon along with barely contained squeal.

You couldn’t help the slight tug at your lips when you watched Simon buckle him into his car seat all practiced ease and speed before starting up the truck, the rough rumble of it making Caleb grow restless as he called out from the open window.

“Hurry, aunty!! You’re too slow!!” Simon chuckled from the driver’s seat, flashing that crooked smile as you settled Caleb’s Spider-Man backpack over your shoulder before hurriedly jumping into the passenger.

The ride was chaotic to say the least. Between Caleb asking for his snacks and belting out to Simon’s divorced dad rock, you could only chuckle at the thought of your little nephew coming back home, completely exhausted and ready for bed.

Simon turned right at the last block, one hand settled at the wheel while the other found purchase at your thigh, index finger tapping to the tempo of the song as he pulled into the parking spot.

“Alright, Caleb, remember to stay close where we can see you…” You gave him one of those signature looks like his mom does, and it seems To work when he gives you an eager nod before he’s jumping out of his car seat, running off towards the biggest slide.

Suddenly, Simon brushes against your side, tangling his hand with yours as he leads you to a bench. “Looks like he’s already made a friend.” He chuckles as you both take a seat beneath the tree.

You look out and find Caleb running around with another little boy as they scream and giggle excitedly.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” You hum softly as you look up from where you’re tucked against his chest. “And how you’re an absolute genius? Your best idea yet, babe.” You gestured a pointed finger to your nephew as he swung on the monkey bar. “He’s going to drop once we get home, and it’s all because of your incredibly smart and sexy brain.”

This earns you a huff from Simon, his lips twitching into a smirk hearing you praise him with that soft lilt in your voice that always scratches his brain just the right way.

“Ain’t gotta worry your pretty lil head, luvie. Just doin’ what I can to help.” He settles with a kiss to the top of your head as his arm snakes around your waist. All seems right with the world as you sag against his side. Birds chirp, and the kids squeal and laugh excitedly, nothing could go wrong…….

Until it did.

It was harmless fun. The boys were scooping up gravel and setting it into make-believe plates like food, babbling on about whatever 5-year-olds talk about, and then it all goes downhill. The other little boy halts, his expression looking uneasy as you sit up, suddenly alert with worry.

He sneezes. Okay, not that bad. He could’ve sneezed in his sleeve, but what 5-year-old would? You reach in your purse, digging for the travel-size hand sanitizer you keep tucked away.

Just as you look back, moving to slip from the bench, you notice the kid looking paler this time. No, no, no, no. You’ve seen that look before. He’s going to puke.

his eyes suddenly flutter in attempt to keep it at bay, little hands grasping at his stomach as his cheeks puff up. “caleb! cmere now!” you yell out frantically, but it’s too late.

it’s spews out too quick, landing on the front of caleb’s favorite shirt. he absolutely freaks as he wastes no time running in your direction, tears building in his honey brown eyes as he cries out to you, “HE PUKED OM ME!!”

simon moves as quick as you do, your brains practically syncing up as you strip the soiled shirt off caleb, trying to console him as best you can while simon slips his own t-shirt off, handing it over without a second thought.

you slip the clean fabric over your weeping nephew as it practically swallows his small frame before scooping him up in your arms. the tiny culprit is long gone amongst the chaos, no doubt running back to the nearer houses facing the park.

“cmon, let’s get him back and run a bath..” you murmur to your very much shirtless boyfriend. he’s a saint, a hot one at that for giving up his clothing. he wastes no time, ushering you into the truck as caleb clings to you and he starts up the engine.

doesn’t take long getting back to your place and getting him into the tub with as many bubbles as he wanted and all toys he’s could fit. you scrubbed gently at his face as you knelt along the side, making sure to wash away the smell and stickiness.

he looks up at you, little hands playing with the bubbles and blowing them up in the air for them to land on his nose. it tickles just enough that he sneezes on you, boogers and all.

“mmm, thank you so much for that..” you speak tight lipped with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, but he’s non the wiser as he beams, wiping your face to help clean you off only to spread those germs. that’s all it took.

now you lay in bed, practically lifeless as you whine with frustration, used tissues lay haphazardly on your sheets, surrounding you, mocking you, because no matter how many times you blow your nose, you never feel the relief.

simon finally pops back in from being in the kitchen, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and cough medicine before he settles at your side, propping you up with the fluffiest pillows and placing a kiss to your forehead, “your worst idea ever…” you huff before he lovingly brings the spoon to your lips.