Hii ya'll!! I'm Rho. I go by she/her. Bisexual. And new here on Tumblr. I write fics and imagines of Call of Duty's - Simon Riley. Let me know if you have requests for any other character of Cod fandom.
ISRAELIS PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW ME YOU DISGUSTING PESTS.
Please Let me know if any of the links below is broken. I'll update it 🐛
How to navigate :
#semwrites for oneshots
#semimagines for imagines
What I won't write aka my big ass No-Nos:
misogyny and transhate/ I dont fw omegaverse (idk what it is + I can make him a cockroach at most)/ homophobia is not tolerated/ any sort of non-con.
not a request but i simply had to tell you that i read one of your works- first impression, did a double take at the blog name and laughed my ass off. fuck it’s brilliant.
I JUST EDITED A POST AND WHEN I CLICKED "SAVE TO DRAFTS" IT DISAPPEARED AND A POPUP CAME "SOMETHING FLUBBED TRY AGAIN". I AM STARTING TO HATE TUMBLR SO FUCKING MUCH.
Cause where did it go tumblr? Up your ass or what!!
(also yes please do write a fic where ghost is a cockroach)
So far I've written only fluff and blurbs. But I am open to writing smut. It's just that I don't have any original ideas yet...but I will be happy to have requests for it.
A/N : This is pure chaos. Enjoy it guys I wrote this on 2 hours of sleep. Likes, reblogs and comments are more than apprecisted. And if you see a grammatical error or a spelling mistake - NO YOU DON'T.
Masterlist 🌊🏖️
It was a beach date with him.
The same beach you’d chewed his ear off about for weeks.
"I need to get there" you’d insisted. "It’s so serene. It’s literally on my bucket list."
Simon - huge, broad, built like the sea itself might bounce off him sighed.
"Aye, alright. Christ. If I hear 'serene' one more time…"
Now the sun was sinking low, the sky painted in the prettiest shades of pink and orange. Soft. Unreal. Serene.
If this wasn’t heaven, then what was?
You smiled, padding out into the waves, skirt fluttering as the wind teased at it. You lifted your phone, snapping photos.
"Don’t go gettin’ soaked" Simon called from behind you. "I ain’t carryin’ you back."
You laughed. "You absolutely would."
He snorted. "Push yer luck, woman."
You were mid-photo when you heard sand crunch behind you. Heavy steps. Familiar ones.
You turned.
Simon Riley...Simon 'Ghost' Riley - mountain of a man - was down on one knee. The man who won't ever kneel save for the time he had to tie his shoelaces.
You froze.
"…Simon?"
He was holding a greasy paper bag of fries???
You blinked. Once. Twice.
You walked closer, squinting down at him.
"Why are you on the ground?"
Beat.
"…Do you need the toilet?"
"For fucks sake" he muttered. "Could you not ruin the moment?"
"But do you need the toilet?"
"I do not need the toilet!"
"Because this looks medical" you frown looking at his face.
He huffed. "Just come here."
He shifted, one knee up, fiddling with the bag. "Just hold on, yeah?"
And then ---
WHOOSH.
A seagull dropped from the sky like a missile and snatched the fry bag straight out of his hand, feet kicking as it took off.
And you lost it.
"Oh my God" you laughed, already filming. "Si!!! DID YOU SEE THAT?"
"Hehe, cute bird!" you giggled into your phone. "This was epic. Never thought it’d happen to us!"
Simon stood up slowly. Very slowly.
His eyes followed the bird, wide and unblinking, like he’d just spotted an enemy sniper.
"Oh no" he breathed.
You glanced at him. "Why do you look like you’re about to throw hands with the sky? Are you sad love. I'll buy you another one".
But he stood there frozen.
You laughed. "Simon, are you genuinely scared of a bird the size of your palm?"
"That weren’t just fries" he said quietly.
You paused. "…What?"
"That weren’t fries."
You grinned. "Chips, then?"
"That was your engagement ring" he swallowed. Hard.
The world tilted and your laughter died instantly.
"…Excuse me?"
"It’s in the bag" he rushed. "I thought - right...I..I..I thought if I hid it in fries you wouldn’t poke yer nose in an’ get suspicious. Not my fault you're a dangerously curious woman."
You stared at him in horror.
"…You hid my engagement ring in CHIPS??"
"Sound idea at the time! I thought you wouldn’t poke around!" he screamed putting his hands up.
Your shock wore off and it hit you - The fries, the ring, the bird.
"YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD!!!!" You screamed.
And then you ran dropping your phone.
Barefoot. Ferocious. Fully feral.
You tore down the beach after the seagull, shrieking louder than that winged bastard could -
"DROP IT! DROP IT RIGHT NOW!"
People froze. Conversations died. Phones came out.
Sunbathers lifted their heads as a tiny woman sprinted past, shrieking, while a massive man thundered after her.
"LOVE! WAIT!! STOP!!!"
You did not stop. This was a matter of life or death for you.
You ran straight over some bloke’s ass as he lay face-down.
"Ow!"
"MOVE!"
Simon ploughed through behind you, accidentally demolishing a kid’s sandcastle. Hell it was two-storey with a balcony.
"Mama!!" the kid screamed. "OGRE ON THE BEACH!"
Phones were out. Fingers pointed. Chaos bloomed. Simon could swear he saw you run over some old ladys homemade muffins at one point.
"Love!" Simon yelled. "They always drop it! Just-just slow down!'
"No!" you screamed back. "It’s a criminal bird!"
The seagull finally landed on top of a beach hoarding. You skidded to a halt, chest heaving.
Simon reached you seconds later, hands on his knees. "Christ almighty" he panted. "You’re five foot nothin’ and pure menace."
He rattled the support pillars. Nothing.
He sighed. "Aight. We’ll wait."
You turned slowly.
"Oh ffuck no."
Before he could stop you, you grabbed a massive parasol from a fruit vendor.
"Oi-don’t!!"
Too late bitch.
You started jumping and whacking the hoarding like a possessed goblin.
"Jesus" an old lady muttered to the crowd. "Pair of gremlins, those two."
It still didn’t work....
You shrieked and hurled the parasol.
The bird dodged. The audacity.
Then finally, it peeked into the bag, realised there were no fries left, and dropped it.
You dove and caught it.
Silence.
You looked around at the wreckage.
"…Simon?"
He stepped closer, voice suddenly soft. "Gimme it, lovie. We’ve got an audience now. I’ll do it proper."
He took the bag, knelt and pulled out the ring.
It was perfect. The prettiest ring ever with your birthstone on it...no diamonds. You hate diamonds. And he remembered as always.
Your eyes filled instantly.
"Will you be my wife" he asked, voice low and Mancunian and sincere, "My forever?"
You nodded, laughing and crying as he slid it onto your finger. Fucking hell you earned that ring.
The beach erupted: cheers, claps, a few annoyed grumbles.
He cupped your face in his massive hands. " I love you, you daft woman."
"I love you too, Si."
He kissed your forehead...and flinched.
" You’ve gotta be jokin."
Something wet slid down his head and onto your nose.
You both looked up.
The seagull flew off.
Simon sighed. "I’m fightin’ God next."
You laughed into his chest. Best proposal ever.
𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯
P.S : Yes he got a little seagull tattooed on his bicep to tease her. There were videos of her running like a little demon on beach, thanks to strangers. And they got fries banned. Not Simon googling 'Are seagulls edible' after the incident.
Simon bloody! Riley who eats like every meal you make is his last on Earth.
Hell, he would lick his fingers clean and swipe the plate with his thumb.
“Si” you laugh scandalised by his table manners.
“What?” he grunts, already reaching for you instead of the sink. “Said it were good, didn’t I?”
“That doesn’t mean you lick the plate!”
“Saves water,” he shrugs before hauling you up like you weigh nothing.
You smack his chest, giggling. “Put me down –kitchen”
“Bedroom,” he corrects.
“Food was good. Wanna thank the chef proper.”
...and he does. Always does. Kissing you stupid until you forget what you were even laughing about in the first place.
But.
There’s one thing.
One absolute, non-negotiable line.
Onions. Onions.
“Put that knife down.”
You blink at him from the chopping board, already halfway through peeling one. “It’s just”
“Put. it. down.”
The look on his face is ridiculous. This massive, terrifying man who’s seen war and walked through it like it owed him money was now staring at a vegetable like it personally offended him.
“They make you cry,” he mutters, already stalking over.
You snort. “Everyone cries, Simon. It’s normal.”
“Not you.”
He takes the knife from your hand, ties on that stupid flowery apron your mum got him (which he pretends to hate but never actually takes off), and squares up to the onions like he’s about to interrogate them.
“Fucking useless things,” he grumbles, slicing into one with unnecessary aggression.
You lean against the counter, watching, amused. “You know you don’t –”
“Shh.”
“Simon!!”
“Shh, woman. Let me do me job.”
His eyes are already watering but he refuses to acknowledge it. Aww he looked adorable sniffling as his pretty brown eyes water. A pretty crier for sure.
“Your eyes–”
“Shut it.”
“You’re crying.”
“Am not.” Yeah he was openly sniffling now.
He pauses just long enough to shoot you a look. “These are tactical tears.”
You burst out laughing. Grinning you hug him from behind as he carries on chopping.
But in his head, he’s somewhere else.
A smaller kitchen. Earlier days. Both of you lived in a small rental place. He had just started training under 141 while you got a new job. But that small house was everything. He remembers the day he walked in and saw you hunched over the counter, shoulders shaking. Eyes red, tears spilling, knife abandoned.
He’d panicked. Proper panicked. Thought someone hurt you while he was gone for training.
“Who did that?”
“What?” you’d sniffed.
“Tell me who–”
“Simon, it’s just the onions. These ones are too strong!!”
He hadn’t believed you at first. Thought you were covering for something, someone. Thought he’d walked in too late.
He remembers how his chest had tightened. How his fingers shook as he pulled you into a crushing hug while you sniffled.
And he remembers thinking: never again.
Back in the present, he finishes chopping, shoves the board aside, and turns to you.
“All done.”
You smile, softer now. “Thank you.”
He just grunts, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just go to war with a vegetable for you.
Later, when dinner’s done and you’re tucked into him, he presses kisses all over your face –cheeks, nose, eyelids.
“Simon” you whine, squirming. “Stop. I'm sleepy love”
“Didn’t cry today,” he murmurs against your skin.
You huff. “Because you’re dramatic.”
He hums, unconvinced, still kissing you. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Means I did it right.”
You roll your eyes, but your hands slide up his arms anyway, holding him there.
And he stays.
Because yeah - he’ll eat anything you make, lick the plate clean, carry you off like it’s instinct -
...but onions?
Those are his job. Always have been.
And later on you both have a small wee baby girl who throws tantrums and hates onions soo very much. She starts crying the moment she even sees them in grocery bag. Oh god it was as if she inherited the hatred from her idiot dad.
You swear you just saw Simon holding her steady on his lap as he handpicks and removes every small onion piece from her food.
"Mum loves em for no reason. They are proper bad aren't they angel", he mumbles as she nods shoving spoonful into her little mouth. Her chubby face lighting up as she notices you standing.
You just glare and roll your eyes at the duo waging war against a vegetable.
yo can i get uhhhh more simon x desi reader pls something nsfw with mentions of bangles and payals and shit on the side pretty pleaaaasseeeee (whenever you have time no pressure love tc ily muah)
I think I'll be posting Sarg's wife × Simon next.
But I did write one desi fic earlier.
It's here 💗🌷
Ily too anon. I might write some nsfw stuff later on. 👀
Enjoyyy guyss. For non-desi readers : Sometimes married women in here hide names of their lovers in their henna. And the harder it is to find - the stronger love will be....a cute asf thing to do!!!
Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. 🦢
Masterlist 🌷
Simon Riley who goes dead quiet the moment you come back with fresh mehendi, still darkening on your palms, smelling like earth and something sweeter. His eyes drop straight to your palms.
“…that for me, that?” he walks closer, already reaching for you.
You barely get a laugh out before he’s hauling you into his lap with his thumbs hovering over the patterns like they might smudge. (They will idiot)
“Si baby, I need to sleep.”
“Yeah? Sleep here then.” he mutters, dragging you closer and hooking his chin over your shoulder. God this will be a long night huh.
“Ain’t movin’ till I find it.”
You swat at him grinning. “You’re insane.”
“Shut it.” he grumbles tilting your wrist toward the light.
He squints. “Where’s it then?”
You blink. “Where’s what?”
“Don’t play daft.” His thumb brushes dangerously close to the design. He never touched it deliberately until it dried. Not when he knows it’ll smudge.
“Me name. You always hide it.”
You smile teasing him, “Maybe I didn’t put it this timeee.”
He glares and ignores what you just said. He'll be damned if you didn't hide his name in henna patterns this time.
Hours. Actual hours. He holds you for two straight hours.
You’re half-dozing against his chest, his stubble scratching your temple, while he traces every swirl like it’s a map. Every now and then –
“that an S?”
“No.”
“…looks like one.”
“It’s a leaf, Simon.”
“Shite leaf then.”
You laugh softly, your eyelids growing heavier. “Si… seriously…bed”
“Nah.” he presses a kiss to your knuckles without looking away.
“Be worth it when I find it.”
And when he does...oh boy.
It’s like a switch flips.
“–there. There!!!” his breath catches, rough, almost disbelieving. “Tha’s mine. That’s me.”
Before you can even react he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, dragging your hands up like something sacred, kissing your palms over and over. You are swaying from sleep while he is acting rabid.
“Oi! Simon–!”
“Mine.” he mutters against your skin. Jesus even his voice goes soft. “Got me name on you… fuckin’ hell…”
His thumb presses over the letters, like he’s memorizing the exact feel of it. He looks up at you then with such sweet hopeful eyes.
“–this permanent, yeah?”
You pause.
Because you know it isn’t. You know it’ll fade in a week.
But he’s looking at you like this means something carved in bone. Something his...finally something permanent.
“…yeah.” you whisper anyway. Stupid Bri*ish man.
He exhales like you just handed him the world.
“Good.” he murmurs, kissing your palms again, slower now, almost reverent. “S’how it should be.”
And after that?
You start getting it done every week.
Different patterns. More intricate. Hiding his name deeper each time just to watch him lose his mind all over again.
Leaning back with his arms crossed and oh that smug edge in his voice as the lads try to ignore him-
“Missus got my name on her hands.”
Soap snorts. “Aye? Painted it on yerself, did she?”
Simon just smirks. “Nah. Proper done. All pretty an’ that–flowers n’ shite round it.”
You walk past and he catches your wrist immediately, dragging your hand up for them to see. You gasp being stopped midway with him showing your palm to the room. Like it's some damn museum artwork.
“Look at it.” he orders, like it’s not a suggestion.
“You’re embarrassing!!” you hiss trying to pull away.
“Good.” he cuts in, pressing a kiss right over where his name sits hidden.
“Next time, hide it better, yeah? Wanna see how long it takes me.”
So I am working out these days. At home but I do have few dumbells. You know what I realised - it's hard finding stuff on internet designed just for women. Most of it is so intense and does not focus on our cycle and stuff.
So what all videos or creators do you girlies recommend?? 🥹💗
RHOOO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW OBSESSED I AN WITH VAMPIRE SIMON AND HEALER READER. LIKE OMGGG SIMON WHAT DO YOU WANTTTT WHAT'RE YOU GONNA DOO DON'T EAT HER BABYYYY .LIKE- I ACTUALLY SCREAMED INTO MY PILLOW WHEN I READ THAT ITS AMAZINGGGG
You'd think Simon Riley would fall in love like every other man. No. A BIG NO.
It wasn't until he was out for a walk one evening. Got a month off the base so might as well act like a normal civilian eh? Have some pancakes by the lake, whistle a tune as he walks. Sure why not.
Until he walks past you and mutters sideyeing your dog "wet rat". You freeze looking at the huge ass man walking past you...what did he just say.
Did he just whistle and call your sweet angel puppy a wet rat!!???
You shriek stomping to match his pace and tap his shoulders to make him look back.
"What", he mumbles looking down at you. Jesus who let their pet gargoyle out. He was tall enough to fix street lights.
"You are so rude for what reason man. Have I stepped on you or what" you frown sizing him up.
"You heard it then eh. Wanna hear it again", he scoffs already turning back.
"No no. You say sorry right now mister", you reach out to hold his elbow to make him face you.
Uh...why wasn't it working. It usually does.
You see his gaze drop to your dog again who was very much barking at his boots. Her little bows shaking as she shows him teeth and growls. Couldn't even reach his knees. He leans his head lower to see her better.
"That's one hell of a stupid looking rat if I ever saw one-
Thwack!!!
Your fist, his nose, perfect!!
You had imagined this scenario a hundred times. Punching a random man on street. Because why not.
You gasp waiting for a reaction.
Instead he just stands still touching his nose. And oh...he grins stepping closer. Before you could land another punch, he shoves his phone into your reaching palms.
"Your number.Now".
"What why", you were so confused. Was this a dream. Nothing made sense. You just punched him and he is asking for your number.
"I'll apologize tomorrow evening at the cafe down the street", he says taking his phone back as you type your number frowning.
He crouches down and take a little pink bow off your pups collar and walks away.
While you stood baffled, Simon damned Riley was planning ways to win your heart over. No one, especially a civilian had the audacity to do what you did - without an inch of hesitation.
That too over a little dog.
He looks at the screen smiling at the name you saved your contact under "Not happening cocksucker".
Oh he'll make sure it happens. You wanna make him apologize so bad don't ya??
A/N : I have no idea how vampires work guys. So sorry for any "that doesnt work that way". So I just hoa hoa hoa-d my way through this. I hope you all like this though. Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated 🌷
MASTERLIST 🩸
Emberholt was the richest kingdom across seven seas – and still, the cheapest thing in it was you.
A healer.
A curse with a pulse they said. There were just twelve of you.
Magic in your hands and a target on your back. You learned early – keep your head down, don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t even exist unless needed.
Because healers didn’t get thanked here. They got punished. Used. Disposed of.
You were twelve when you held a bleeding puppy in your little palms. Crying because it was you who left the door open and she bolted out when a carriage thundered through streets. Poor baby was dying because of your carelessness. You also remember hugging her sobbing, palms too warm and just like that - she was all good.
Yeah, that's when your parents threw you on streets. They couldn't risk having a "rotten one" at home. Couldn't risk getting caught for harboring sin knowing your baby brother was just months old.
So you were handed off to the palace where you have been and still are for the last twelve years.
Still–
“Oi, healer,” the Prince calls, all lazy grin and mischief, falling into step beside you.
“You plannin’ on ignorin’ me forever or what?”
“My!! Your majesty, I wasn’t–”
“Don’t start,” he snorts.
“Hate it when you do that. You do it when people are around don't you.”
“You shouldn't talk to me."
“Have I ever cared” he responds. It was true, he never gave two shits about rules. Even little he would sneak into kitchen and spaces you were in just to make you smile. It was comforting really. A little blanket in the kingdom of shadows.
You bite back a smile.
He leans in, shoulder knocking yours. “Miss me, yeah? Been ignoring me all day as if I bite.”
Before you can answer – the ground shakes.
Boots. Hundreds. The air shifts.
“The army’s back”
You’re already moving. The window. The courtyard. The chaos. Cheers. Screams. Offerings thrown like prayers.
Victory. Five kingdoms fallen.
And at the center–him.
Black stallion. Still as death. Oh so posh and oh so regal.
And the rider – Simon Riley. Ghost of Ember.
Death wrapped in a skull mask. He was not a king. No, he was something worse. A vampire. Older than the damn kingdom itself, and kneeled to no king.
Because kings die. He doesn't. A thing without a beating heart can't die can it?
Women surge forward, desperate, stupid and hungry for him.
He doesn’t even look at them properly. Just takes. Uses. Discards. Like they’re nothing. Even princesses break ankles if it meant he would notice them for once. He had slept with many, a new girl every week. But hell he would die than be tied down to a woman.
“Healer!” Hands grab you hard.
“Move.”
“I–what?” you frown looking back the prince who was now very much distracted by some pretty girl in a gown.
“He needs you.”
He??...uh-oh.
You’re shoved inside before you can think of exit plans.
The room feels smaller with him in it. Darker even.
He sits on the cot like it's some twisted version of a throne. His armor was torn and he was just so...damn quiet.
“Sir” your voice almost betrays you.
“What happened?”
A grunt. He flexes his arm. Wrong angle. Broken.
“Use your eyes, yeah?” he mutters. Yeah he was better quiet.
“Or are you just as thick as you're cursed”
Your jaw tightens. 'Cursed' is what seems to be your name.
“I’ll need you to stay still” you approach him standing in front of him.
“Christ, you lot love givin’ orders for people who ain’t worth a damn.” His head tilts. “Get on with it. You’re wastin’ my time.”
Why was he acting as if someone had shackled him to the cot just so that he could heal. Such a rude man.
You step in anyway. Careful. Even sitting you had to look up to see his eyes. What if he stands and squishes you under his boots....nah. You lean closer. Hands hovering for a bit —then touching.
Jesus he was colder than anyone you've touched before. So it's true huh, vampires are disturbingly cold.
Magic blooms. Warm and steady. A white glow through your palms. And seeps into his arm tugging it.
The bone slides back into place. Clean and perfect. You've been practicing to get it right. Bones were harder to mend than wounds. You smile feeling happy with your work.
And you wait for a reaction. Or maybe a thankyou. Or Pain. A flinch. Anything. Nothing. Not even a twitch.
He just…watches. Heavy. Unblinking. Like he’s sizing you up for something unpleasant.
You pull away quickly. “It’s done.”
He flexes once. Twice.
“Aye,” he mutters. “Took you long enough.”
Your fingers curl. You say nothing. Did you kick his balls in some dream of his or what.
You turn to leave – and brush his chest. Just barely.
“Sorry, sir. If there’s any further pain you can ask for–”
“Stop.” It’s not loud. But it hits harder than a shout.
You freeze and turn. “Sir?”
Your eyes drop automatically to his chest. The tear in his armor. The skin beneath. There was a scar there. Deep. Ugly. Looked old. You had seen it the moment you entered.
But it was gone now. Your breath stutters.
“You see that?” he says, voice low.
You nod, barely. He was gonna say thankyou won't he?
He stands. Slow. Deliberate. Each step toward you feels like a threat.
“What you did.”
“I–it happens when I touch”
“Don’t talk over me girl.” Sharp. Cutting....so cruel.
You snap your mouth shut biting back pride.
“I healed you,” you try again, quieter.
“Wrong.” One word. Flat. Final. Oh fuck jesus - He’s closer now. Too close. You need to count your breaths now.
“Don’t dress it up like it’s nothin’.” His head tilts, voice dropping rough.
“You.erased.it”
You step back. He follows. Uh...
“Scars don’t just piss off like that,” he continues, almost mocking.
“Not mine.”
“I don’t know what you mean–”
“God, you’re thick. Aren't you stupid girl.”
The insult lands like a slap.
His gaze drags down. Slow. Deliberate. To your stomach. Your hands fly there instantly.
Shit. Shit. Shit–He notices. Of course he does. You swear you could see his nose twitching and sensing air beneath the mask. From what you know : Vampires killed human babies, it was coded in their DNA to do so, from centuries of war between two worlds. And right now you were at the very center of it.
Pregnant humans never shared spaces with vampires or even hybrids. If they wanna stay alive of course..
You had told no one. It was three months ago when you had some cheap alcohol in the tavern right outside the southern areas of the kingdom. It was a celebration night for New Year....and yeah you slept with a man whose face was a blur in your memory. A mistake. A huge one. You were desperate for company. And then it happened.
But you decided to keep it. A foolish mistake yet again. Healers never birthed. It was unlawful. Because "magic is drawn from the devil so it must not have offsprings to transfer it to."
But sometimes loneliness makes you do stupid things.
He towers closer and pulls a knife free, casual as breathing, spinning it once between his fingers.
“Please! sir–I haven’t done anything”
“Yeah?” he cuts in, stepping forward again, forcing you back.
“Then why’re you lookin’ like I’ve already got your throat in my teeth?”
Your back nearly hits the wall. Everyone in the room freezes. Some soldiers having the same smile as of watching a hunt. Sadists.
His blade lifts. Not touching. Just there like a warning.
“What’re you hidin’, then?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something meaner.
“Go on. Say it.”
“I–”
“Spit.it.out,” he snaps.
“Or I’ll gut you open and have a look myself.”
Your breath shatters. Your hands press tighter over your stomach. And that–that’s all the answer he needs.
A slow, cruel chuckle rumbles out of him.
“Ahh…” His head tilts. Mocking. Satisfied.
“Little healer,” he mutters, voice laced with something dark and ugly, “you’ve got more problems than just bein’ a freak.”
A/N: Yeah yeah...hell yeah...Likes, comments and reblogs are loved and fucked.
Pairing: Simon Riley× Reader
MASTERLIST🥣
Simon Riley, yeah, that Simon Riley – who’s got your name inked just above his heart.
Not hidden, not subtle, not anything close to discreet. Nah. He shows it off.
Man acts like a peacock for fucks sake.
Rolling his sleeves up on base, vest hanging just low enough, chest flexing like he’s got something to prove. Training new recruits? Oh, he’s leaning in real close.
“Keep yer stance steady – nah, like this c’mon, don’t wobble.”
And there it is. Your name. Bold. Permanent. Sitting over his heart like a claim.
Marked.
He likes it. Loves it, even.
On missions it's worse.
He’ll sit there, back against cold concrete, helmet tipped back and fingers ghosting over the ink. Tracing every letter. Again. Again. Again. Grounding himself.
“Stay alive” he mutters under his breath, thumb pressing hard over your name.
“Got someone waitin’, yeah?” And just like that he is steady again.
So obviously…you decide you need one too. For him. (you’ve never had a tattoo in your life but that’s irrelevant.)
Simon gets back from a mission, barely through the door, gear not even off properly and you’re dragging him out again.
“Oi–what–dove, gimme a second!??”
“Nope.”
“Where we goin?”
“You’ll see.”
He narrows his eyes the second you stop in front of the tattoo parlour.
“…absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“It hurts, y’know–”
“No hush. I want one too.”
You drag him inside anyway.You are not joking.
The shop smells like antiseptic and bad decisions. You’re sitting on the chair, fidgeting with your shirt, suddenly very aware this might’ve been a terrible idea.
You shove your phone at the artist anyway.
“Something like this…small skull.”
She smiles. “Cute.”
Simon snorts behind you. “Cute, she says” he mutters. “You gonna cry in five minutes.”
You shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”
Everyone in the shop is staring at him. Of course they are. Big. Masked. Standing like a bouncer no one ordered.
“Oi” you tug his belt, dragging him down.
“Sit. Don’t loom, it’s weird.”
“I’m weird? What are you then woman?” he scoffs, but sits anyway, spreading his legs, arms crossed and eyes that never leave you.
“You sure you want this, love?” he asks, quieter now.
“It stays for life.”
You frown at him. “We’re for life, Si. What do you mean?”
He just…stares at you. Like you’ve said something fragile. Something he doesn’t deserve. Three years married and he still looks at you like you’re temporary. Like you’ll wake up one day and realise you chose a monster. Same dumb look in his eyes, waiting for a tragedy–
“Simon” you sigh, grabbing his arm.
“It’s just a tattoo.”
“…yeah” he exhales.
“Just a tattoo.” (he doesn’t believe it. not really.)
And then the stencil goes on your shoulder. Fine. Easy. You’re fine. You’re so fine.
Then the needle starts. — and OH FUCK.
The buzzing. The burning. It’s not a needle, you weren't scared of needles. It’s a machine, a weapon.
Your entire soul exits your body. You gasp and immediately bury your face into Simon’s chest. Hard.
He freezes.
“Hey” he says quickly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
“We can stop, I told ya it hurt–”
“No” you choke, gripping his shirt.
“No, keep going”
“You’re cryin’, dove.”
“I’m NOT!!” your voice breaks.
“Just...just continue”
The artist hesitates. Simon nods once.
“Go on.”
Worst mistake of your life. You’re sobbing. Full-on. No dignity. No composure. Tears soaking through his shirt, hiccuping, clutching him like you’re being executed. You thought you had a decent pain tolerance. Until now.
“OH MY GOD” you gasp.
“IS THIS WHAT JESUS FELT LIKE”
Simon chokes, "Last I checked you were an atheist...so you might be the last one to know what he felt like."
The entire shop is shaking with silent laughter.
“SHE'S IMPALING ME–” you wail.
“SIMON–”
“I’m right here” he mutters, pressing his cheek to your head, trying not to laugh.
“You’re fine. You’re bein’ dramatic.”
“I’M DYING”
The artist pauses....
“DON’T STOP” you shriek instantly. “I’M OKAY!!! BITCH ASS NEEDLE!! KEEP GOING”
Simon loses it.
Actually shaking now, shoulders trembling.
“Christ” he mumbles into your hair, voice wrecked with suppressed laughter.
“Brave little thing, ain’t ya?”
“SHUT UP”
Finally. Finally. It’s done.
A tiny black skull on your shoulder. Small. Clean. Cute. Absolutely not worth the trauma.
You pull your face away from his chest, sniffling, eyes red, nose stuffy – and he is fully gone. Head tipped back, wheezing, laughing like an idiot. A huge ass damp patch on his shirt. Hell you could even trace your eyelids on it.
“You’re dead,” you say flatly. “I risked my life for you.”
“Yeah?” he grins.
“Did good, though,” he murmurs wiping your cheeks. “Real proud of ya, my little soldier.”
“…it didn’t even hurt that much,” you mumble, grabbing water.
“Course not,” he smirks.
You walk out together, his arm heavy around your shoulders.
“Thinkin’ of getting another one on my back,” he says casually.
“Small one. Under the wings.”
“Yeah? Cool," you reply gazing ahead.
“We can match.”
“No.”
He laughs. Loud. Unfiltered. Bright. You blink at him.
You end up by the lake, sunset bleeding gold across the water. He hands you an ice cream cone.
“Helps with pain.”
“It was not surgery, Si.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
You lick the cone, still a bit dazed, shoulder throbbing. He watches you.
“So proud of you,” he murmurs.
“Did it all for me…my sweet angel.”
You narrow your eyes. “…you took pictures, didn’t you.”
“…maybe.”
“SIMON!!”
“Blackmail material, love. Precious stuff eh? You sounded like a squirrel”
You take a slow lick of your ice cream. Then look him dead in the eye.
“When we get home…you’re gonna kiss it better.”
He freezes. Completely. You could see the wiringa of his brain short-circuit.
“…uh.”
You keep looking taking another slow lick.
“…y-yeah,” he stammers, suddenly very interested in the ground. But oh how he shifts his hips to look decent. Who wants to see the loch-ness monster in a public park afterall??? (Not me..definitely not me)
“Yeah, alright.”
And just like that, Simon Riley, decorated soldier, feared man and a walking nightmare is reduced to a flustered mess because of you.
He places a little kiss over your shoulder and prays this will be his forever.
