saw a post about divorcee!simon riley and wanted to do my own take on it, only to realize there's no way a man like simon would ever let you go.
simon would rather hack his own hand off at the wrist with a machete than sign any divorce paper you slide across the dining table. the same dining table that hosted date nights, supported you when he bent you over them and fucked you mercilessly, sat down and held deep discussions about your future—your wants and needs above his—where your kids had breakfast each morning.
the road to this point hadn't been easy. you and simon had plenty of ups and downs. from him leaving for weeks and months on end for missions, leaving you to worry if you'd ever have anything coming back home for you. each mission, you sent him off with a kiss and accepting it could be your last.
for that, you almost split until simon sat you down at that very dining table, resignation letter already drafted and waiting for your approval before handing it off to price. because he always wanted your blessing before doing what's best for the both of you.
you were in a mud pit now, one you weren't sure you could claw your way back out of. you don't know where you two went wrong, just that you had and now your search history is full of the best divorce lawyers and reverting your name back to its maiden title.
he should've realized how unhappy you had been lately, too worried about taking care of the house and kids to give you time to yourself when all along, you just wanted time with him.
god, when was the last time he ever touched you? not just a quick, passing peck on the lips that felt obligatory as you two turned your backs on each other before bed. real, passionate intimacy with your person. even a smack on the ass to your fleeting frame would've ignited the fire of your marriage again.
but from his end of the line, there was radio silence. now that he sits across from you, hands over his face—because he can't stand the thought of divorcing his person—as he racks his brain for what went wrong. in the end, his refusal to sign the papers frustrates you until he pulls you closer by the edge of your chair and forces you to talk to him.
it comes out with a heap of tears and snot, and simon still thinks you're the prettiest thing. it's a stab to his heart to hear the reality of your unhappiness. his negligence.
in a split second, he's moving. hands wrapped around your thighs as he places you on the table, standing between your knees that he knocks apart with his own.
it's just you two in the house. you didn't want your kids to have to witness this moment, taint their children with their parents' divorce, but it seems you protected their eyes from another thing.
you nudge his chest, "si, stop." the quiver in your voice doesn't escape him as he paws at your waist.
a kiss to your ear before whispering, "shh, lemme make it up t'ya, swee'heart." his voice is a soothing rumble, even as he gropes over your body. "lemme worship what I've been neglectin'."
and you let him. with his sweet words and dirty hands, he kisses all over your body to leave no area untraced. he said he wanted to worship you, and so he does. relearns your body for a second time while ignoring the aching erection under his jeans.
he doesn't undress you. doesn't need to expose your body to make you feel wanted, just enough to give you pleasure without the idea you need to return it.
after kissing and touching you enough to get you to squirm under his palm, he sinks to his knees with his fingers hooked into your panties. sliding them off in one fell swoop, he grunts at the glistening of your pussy. arousal coating the sensitive skin all because of him.
unable to help himself, he drags a thumb down the center, marveling at how sensitive you've become without being stimulated for so long. between taking care of the house and the kids, you've neglected yourself too. how long had it been since you've had an orgasm? too long.
clenching around nothing at the mere touch of his thumb to your clit was embarrassing enough, soft moans spilling past your lips as your head tipped back. he knew you like the back of his hand and what buttons to press to make you crumble underneath his touch. you were doomed from the beginning.
separation was never going to happen with the way he dove between your legs, lips wrapped around the sensitive bundle of nerves. tongue lapping at your pussy and drinking in your arousal. he had missed the taste of you, dopamine rushing through his body as he rehatched an addiction he unwillingly quit.
you were divine. a sweaty, teary mess on that dining room table as you clutched whatever was nearest to keep you steady. simon's hair, the edge of the table, his broad shoulders. your hands were everywhere, pushing and pulling as you fought desperation.
this was simultaneously the worst and best idea. you had just handed him divorce papers, and now you're on the brink of an orgasm right on top of them! you keened when simon slipped a finger inside you, then two before curling them against that delicious spot on your spongy walls.
your vision was coated with white as the strongest release you've have in months sent you spiralling into a place of no return, and he still didn't relent. not until the papers beneath you were soaked, and you had forgotten why you even brought it up to begin with.
so, no. there's no escaping simon. he made a promise when he slipped that ring on your finger, and he is not breaking it. til death do you part.
cw. fluff, fem! reader, simon and reader have two daughters, domestic bliss, established relationship, whipped! simon, very suggestive themes. 18+
synopsis. it's finally the day simon can come home to his family.
simon riley does not want to look at anyone, speak to anyone, touch anyone, or deal with anyone's bullshit today.
he doesn't normally, to be fair, but especially not today. today is the day he comes home to his family.
as he finishes up his final task of the day, some report that he has to give to price on the mission he finished up three days ago, his pen stalls halfway through a word. he leans back, clenching his jaw in impatience. he wants to burn through the last hours that stand between him and the front door of his house, but this shit is taking forever.
all he can picture is that little house tucked away from the noise of everything else, in a rural area with green fields that roll out in every direction, the white fencing around the house that needs repainting, the smell of soil. but really, he's thinking of you, of the way your face will light up when you see him step out of the truck, and the way his two baby girls will squeal when he wraps them up in his arms and blows raspberries on their chubby cheeks.
simon's already packed most of his gear up into his kit, everything shoved in sloppily and piled up on each other because he couldn't be bothered to fold anything properly. he just wants the time to pass so he can get in his bloody truck and drive home. bouncing his leg restlessly, he checks the clock again and grunts in annoyance. only two minutes passed.
"uh lieutenant, you got a sec?" one of the younger lads pokes his head in the door, sheepish, holding a clipboard.
simon looks up, trying not to take his impatience and frustration out on the quivering rookie, so he bites his tongue. he's keeping all his words stored for his girls today anyway. soft ones, silly ones, things he won't let anyone else hear. now? he's mute.
the kid fidgets for a second, taking the silence as a signal to bugger off. simon exhales through his nose, satisfied. good. let him get gone. there's another knock on the door not long after, which he ignores.
by the third interruption - soap barreling in to joke about simon brooding again through the crack of the door - simon slams his pen down so hard it snaps. "not today, johnny." he snaps, and the door shuts promptly after.
he prowls his office restlessly, his report cast aside. he keeps staring at your picture in his wallet to pass the time. you holding the girls and smiling on the porch of the house. he can hear the picture, somehow, the little voices of his daughters echoing in his head. their smell too - how they carry a scent of grass and strawberry body wash.
the hours continue punishingly. simon's not allowed to leave til ten in the evening, and it annoys him to no end. he tries drills to burn off some energy, cardio, weight lifting - but even when his body's focused, his mind is not. he keeps seeing the way your face will look when he finally walks through the door and the way you'll smell like the kitchen because you always cook him too much food the day he comes home.
it's always a huge spread of roast, bread, pies, stews, enough to make sure there's leftovers for days, but he always swears it tastes better the first night because it's his first dinner with his family in a while.
and after that, after he tucks the girls in, he gets to be in bed with you. under him.
he's spent three weeks alone, wrapping his rough hands around himself in the showers, tightening his fist as much as he could and trying to imagine it's you he's pounding into, but it's never enough. his release isn't as much when it's not inside you, so most of the time he won't bother anyway. but that doesn't stop him from imagining your body wrapped around his as you take him, giving him the relief he's been dreaming about every single night.
simon knows how it'll go. he won't let you undress yourself or tease because he'll get too impatient, dragging everything off you as quickly as possible. he hopes you aren't wearing panties when he finally has you. then he'll put you on the bed under him, his mouth finding yours with a hungry kiss. and when he finally pushes inside you - he's half hard just imagining it - he won't be able to be gentle. he'll bottom out in one thrust and start fucking into you until the bed creaks and you're screaming his name. three weeks' worth of restraint snapping all at once.
he knows you'll take him so good too. you'll coax him softly when he finally starts to shudder and empty deep inside you, in the third or fourth round, he calms slightly and the sex shifts into lovemaking, but the first round always begins with him plowing you. and he sleeps like a baby right after he's finished cleaning you up and calming you down.
by nightfall, he doesn't even care that his report is just a tad incomprehensible towards the end. he's out in the hall before lights out, face set with determination. nothing is standing between him and that drive home.
"right, 'm off."
"see ya soap. price. gaz."
"off to see the wife then, ghost?"
he nods briskly at that. "save the banter. m'girls are waiting."
he throws his bag into the passenger seat of his truck without looking, keys in, engine roaring, and then he's gone.
unfortunately for simon, it's a long drive. this part is nearly worse than the waiting he's done all day, because now he's on the road for nearly twenty hours straight from base to home, and he's doing it through the night because he refuses to waste a second more than he has to.
he's laser focused, driving down the long empty roads with his music to keep him wide awake, fingers squeezing the wheel.
around four in the morning, exhaustion finally gets him. "fuckin' wastin' more time." he swears at himself and drags the truck into a motel parking lot, but not getting out to sleep in a room. to simon, it's just time consuming, with all the unpacking and re-packing he'll have to do in the morning, and he doesn't want to cough up a hundred pounds for a single night.
after brushing his teeth out in the lot, he re-enters his truck, tips the seat back, and curls his arm under his head. it'll do for the night.
...
he jerks awake at six sharp, and the second his eyes open he's shoving the seat upright, turning the key again. no breakfast, no shower, not even a piss if he can help it. simon needs to be home.
the last stretch fills him with anticipation as the familiar routes he knows by heart fill his vision. his pulse skyrockets. when the house finally comes into view, his stomach does a weird jump, and he cuts the engine without bothering to pull the truck neatly into the drive, rushing outside. and right there on his porch are his girls. waiting patiently for him.
both twins close the distance towards him by running up to him. "daddy! daddy's here, mama! see! look, daddy!" he bounds up to the two of them and scoops them up easily, girls pressed against his chest, one in each arm. you come up soon after, and he adds you to the mix, squishing the three of you together in his arms. immediately, he feels a calm. he feels so weightless and at peace that he could collapse right now, but manages to hold himself up to smother all of you in kisses.
the twins squeal and squirm, their sticky little hands grappling at his cheeks, and you let out a startled laugh as he crushes his mouth against your cheek, your temple, your lips.
"bloody hell, i missed you lot," he groans into your skin. he kisses one daughter, then the other, then you again, switching sloppy smooches between each of you. he can't get enough.
simon feels alive again. for the first time in weeks, he feels whole. his arms are full, his chest is full, and he presses his face into your hair, breathing in the smell of home.
the porch reunion lingers until his arms ache from holding all three of you at once, but he doesn't let go until the girls wriggle free, clamoring for him to come inside, each of them grabbing one of his huge hands and dragging him up the porch steps into the kitchen with you right behind.
the house smells nothing like it does on base. gone is the stench of gunpowder, sweat, diesel, and musk, and in are the scents of warm bread, roasting meat, something sweet tucked away for dessert - it nearly makes him groan aloud. his stomach growls and his mouth waters as the girls lead him to the feast, sitting him down between them, which you tut at. "girls, can't we share daddy?"
"no!"
"you get to sleep with him in bed, mama! we have to get a turn first!"
he smirks. "aye, you get me all to yourself in bed, mama."
you give him a be quiet look at that, despite being obviously flustered and discreetly press your thighs together under the table while serving him and the girls their portions.
while you do so, one picks up her marker from the floor from earlier and starts scribbling on the back of his hand. "daddy, don't move!" she insists, tongue poking out as she scrawls a wobbly heart. and he lets her, doesn't so much as twitch. he'd let them carve their names into his skin if they asked.
the other one is kneeling on her chair to play with his hair and stubble, going on about how many bugs she found in the garden the time he'd been gone. their voices tumble over each other, little hands everywhere on his body. he looks up and mouths my girls at you, chest so full it hurts.
...
during dinner, being around you again has him worked up fast. his stomach is full, yes, but the ache in his cock is worse than ever, throbbing against the front of his trousers. every time you lean past him to set something down, or when you sit back down and brush your foot up and down his leg teasingly, he imagines standing, sending the twins off to bed, then bending you right there on the table, sweeping the dishes away and taking you while the food still steams.
he holds himself together for now, eyes locked on you hungrily. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he kisses each of the girls on the forehead, and pushes back from the table. he's had his fill of food. now he wants you. he's already thinking about the bedroom, and how fast he can get you naked. but when he reaches for you, big hands closing around your hips, you just smile and say, "mm. not yet, you've got bedtime duty."
he blinks. "come again?"
"you heard me." you stand up to start stacking dishes and carrying them over to the sink, calm as ever. "wash them up, do their hair, make sure they brush their teeth. then tuck them in." before he can argue with you and try to reason that he's been mind numbingly celibate for three weeks and that the girls can have him tomorrow, they're already tugging on his hands, squealing for bathtime. simon throws a glance back at you, but you just blow him a little kiss and disappear into the kitchen.
"bloody hell..." he swears under his breath.
inside the bathroom is chaos. the girls are splashing water, screaming, and too slippery for him to hold onto. somehow he's more drenched than either of them as he kneels by the tub, growling playfully when they swat a gust of water at his face.
he scrubs shampoo through soft locks while one kicks her legs like a frog underwater, the other shrieking with laughter.
"daddy, daddy, i want bubbles!"
"y've got bubbles bug—oi! don't drink 'em, spit that out!"
"daddy, look, my duck can swim!"
"ugh- yeah, love, i see him- do not dunk your sister's head underwater! that's not safe."
he's dripping by the time he wrestles them out, towels wrapped clumsily around tiny shoulders. one wiggles free and bolts down the hall naked, shrieking with glee, and he has to chase her, scoop her up under his arm like a sack of potatoes.
he scoops the second up with a "gotcha," and corrals them both into their bedroom, drying them off and grabbing their hair tools to start getting through tangles and plait their hair so it isn't a mess tomorrow. simon's big hands aren't made for this - his fingers are thick and clumsy - but he's determined.
"sit still, you," he mutters, holding one steady with his knee while he drags the brush through. the braiding is worse. he fumbles, fingers stiff, but he gets it in the end - lopsided little braids that stick out sideways. the girls beam like they're perfect, and he kisses the crowns of their heads, muttering, "good enough for m' pretty girls."
you lean on your tiptoes behind him to inspect, clasping your hands around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his jaw. "not bad, simon."
he scrunches his face a little, looking back to stare at you intently as you grin and strut away smugly. he has to dig his nails into his palms to compose himself so he doesn't end up jumping you like a wild animal. you know exactly what you're doing, making him drag this out when he's about to burst.
brushing teeth is another struggle.
one of the twins refuses the toothpaste, upset you only bought the bubblegum flavor and not strawberries and cream. he has to keep soothing her so she doesn't cry. "y'alright, bug, look- it tastes like strawberries when you really imagine it. and i'll get you y'favorite tommorrow, hm? no fussing."
twin two insists she's already brushed, but simon can confirm the scent of onions from dinner isn't akin to bubblegum. he wrangles them both to the sink, sitting them both on the counter while he makes them clean up, guiding the brush for them any time they stall. again, they make a mess, splashing water and somehow getting toothpaste on his wrists.
finally, he gets them tucked into bed. blankets up to their chins, stuffed animals wedged against their sides. They look angelic, both wide-eyed, lashes curling against their cheeks. "night daddy," one whispers, curling her little hand around his thumb.
he looks down at the twins who now blink slow, fighting sleep. he strokes their hair until their breathing evens out. he kisses each forehead, lingers, just staring at them with his heart full of adoration.
when he steps back into the hall, he finds you leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, having watched it all. your eyes are warm, your smile proud.
"my good girl kept it all together, while i was gone," he praises, wrapping his hands around you. "but she's cruel, makin' me wait another hour."
you giggle, patting his cheek. "you're exaggerating, si. clearly you could hold out an extra sixty minutes,"
he snarls and lifts you up under your thighs, carrying you off to the bedroom to finally have his way with you. "exaggeratin'? oh i'll show you exaggeratin', woman."
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Here’s to hoping we get some news soon! 🌱 my guess is they will be running away from something at some point and do the LOTR number in which they run endlessly across mountains.
(also, before anyone come at me, I looked up their heights and he’s a few inches taller than her 👁️👁️)
Not me finding a blog from a MIDDLE SCHOOL CHILD in the tags talkin sum ‘older men lover’, ‘love older men’, ‘older men have my heart’, ‘older x younger’ blah blah blah… LIKE PLS DO YOUR HOMEWORK TF??!!!
Getting to travel on Epona after walking and running for so long must feel like the greatest blessing for Link. I can feel that just playing the game lol.
Feels so freeing to ride on Epona across Hyrule after walking in an enclosed space for hours.
This is actually such a huge thing for an actor to do. Like we know he is wonderful and correct about this and not afraid to say so but when was the last time an actor this famous called for a boycott of a series this popular on a network THIS BIG.
