So I’m stuck on my military program spouse and this idea that you and Simon have gotten to the “we’re like roommates and kind of friends” stage of things and one day Simon overhears a group of guys from the same program talking to each other. Technically the program can’t make the spouses sleep together because that would be a teeeeeenty tiiiiiny bit illegal, since it’s technically paying for sexual acts. But some of the guys joke about how they essentially buy kisses and other…things from their spouses, a little extra pocket change for a little bit of sugar.
And maybe, just maybe, the idea intrigues Simon a little. Not the sliding slope of possible financial abuse. No that idea makes his skin crawl a bit. He knows you work and like having your own money. But he wouldn’t mind funneling a little something into your fun money account if he knew you’d let him. As for the sugar…if he spends parts of afternoon burning a hole into space thinking about what kissing you might be like well…that’s between him and god and not even the threat of million years of guinea pig wheeking could make him confess. (He’s grown to appreciate the furry little fuckers but Jesus do they get loud when they hear him open the fridge).
So cue Simon starting Operation Sugar. Too bad for you that step one isn’t you know, talking to you. No instead Simon decides that clearly the way to do this is through the pigs. Cue late night research into what goes into guinea pig care, random Chewy boxes that you didn’t order coming to the door all from an anonymous sender of course (you assume they’re from your mother, who does send gifts to her grandpiggies sometimes), and a week later a fridge surprisingly full to the brim of all the veggies the pigs like to demand for.
The last one is what gets your attention, looking for Simon, who’s in the living room, totally not looking online on his phone at some new cage set up that you want to get that would take up half the damn living room. When you ask about it he shrugs, pocketing his phone and mumbling something about how all of it was on sale when he went shopping. The smile and arm squeeze you gave him wasn’t the sugar he originally wanted, but the thank you that accompanied them made it all so much sweeter than he thought he deserved.
Edit;
I've made a playlist to keep track of all the random ideas for Simon I get for this
I have a brain worm that is very indulgent and self inserty
Please note I get my COD knowledge from here and AO3 and no I don’t want to change that lol
Please note note that upon thinking about it there’s a bit of influence from @bi-writes mail order bride
Anyway imagine that the military creates this program to boost moral for soldiers who don’t have families, by essentially hiring people to become their spouse! Does it have flaws and leaves a huge window for exploitation and abuse, it’s the military are we surprised? But we’re not gonna talk about that…
So there’s this program and Laswell and/or Price are like Simon we are worried about how fucking alone you are when you’re not deployed you’re enrolling in this so help us god. Either you’re picking someone or we’re picking for you. And I can’t decide if Simon just picks someone at random without looking at the files or he picks you because you seem like least needy and intrusive. The list of hobbies you have takes up nearly half a page, you have to be too busy to bother him.
Either way, you’re the one that’s picked to be the new Mrs. Riley, much to your surprise. (You were only doing this as moral support for your friend who didn’t want to sign up alone. You didn’t think you’d be picked.) Cut to the day you’re moving into the programs cookie cutter house and you’re glaring at Simon because how dare he imply your guinea pigs are anything less than perfect and angelic, and Simon is just wondering why he has to live with these fucking weird looking rats now
Edit;
I'm adding some more to this idea so I've made a playlist! Here is the Masterlist for this AU
God I love this au, it's feeding me so good today.
The last one with the part about only one bedroom has me thinking about a sick reader, the gross kind of sick where you're sweaty and wheezy and snotty, and the fact that if it were anyone else Simon would be quarantining them. But because it's his spouse, he wakes up to you nasally wheezing and mouth breathing while sprawled across him, and all he can think about is when you're due for your next round of medicine and if he needs to buy more tissues.
Sometimes love comes coated in mucus, and is reciprocated with an artificial cherry taste.
Also do the guinea pigs have names and what do they look like?
I'm dying. This is the first ever ask I've ever gotten (that I recall) and I'm going to pass away. Also "sometimes love comes coated in mucus, and is reciprocated with an artificial cherry taste" that is such a good line, I'm apologizing in advance if I steal it.
Also warning for content of being sick, this is based off my last bout of plague.
Also Also Here's the Simon & Thimble playlist
Also Also Also Here's the Military Program Spouse AU masterlist
Bedsharing in general does not happen at first. (Now I want to percolate an idea about sharing the bed for the first time). You're way to use to having your own bed that sharing with someone means you're not sleeping easily and I think Simon would rather sleep with the guinea pigs in their cage than have another human being that close to him when he sleeps. (This was also not something he initially thought about when being told a spouse was to be picked)
So what's the solution? Obviously bunk beds! Kind of, sorta...okay not really but the look on Simon's face when you had suggested getting bunk beds had been entertaining. Who knew so much indignation could come through a medical mask. Really his eyebrows did so much talking.
With the dream of bunkbeds dashed, the next best solution was either two twin beds crammed into the bedroom with a bedside's worth of space between them, or a pull out couch. You managed to find a couch same day that didn't terribly clash with the artwork you have yet to hang up.
You two actually manage to come up with a schedule for who slept where. Obviously you'd get the bed when Simon was deployed, made no sense for you not to. And when he was home the bed was all his unless he was having a night that he knew he wasn't going to trust a deadbolt to keep monsters at bay. Then he made himself comfortable, TV playing low until he managed a few hours in the early morning before you try to leave a silently as you can for work.
(Funny thing, even if you aren't sharing a bed traditionally, you both most certainly have your own sides, along with bed stands that told two different stories)
The first time you get sick is when Simon is technically deployed. Well actually, the day he returns is the day you spike a 101.8 fever and work forces you to go home so you don't become a walking petri dish and expose the college kids that come into your office.
Once you're home you appease the little beasts demanding some sort of vegetal boon, change into the rattiest clothes you have, and then huddle under a staggering amount of blankets that have made their home on your bed. (Simon may have side eyed them when you first set them out, but you've seen the mountain he creates under them, you knew the magic of weighted blankets)
Sleep isn't peaceful, you hadn't broken out the Nyquil quite yet, but you do manage to drift off for a few hours. And then the coughing starts. It's the kind that's a bitch to deal with, dry and pushing your ribs to the limit with how often they can expand and contract. By the time Simon comes home you've steamed yourself twice, taken only a smidge over the recommended amount of cough suppressant, and slathered yourself with Vic's Vaporub. All in all, you were properly miserable.
You're in the kitchen, staring into the abyss of your over-steeping tea as if it will magically make you feel better if you only sell your soul to it, really a tempting offer, when the wheeks of the pigs announce that another person they know has arrived.
If Simon wasn't clued in that something was off at seeing you home before the end of your work day, the pungent smell of menthol would have been a dead give away. You're still communing with your tea when he knocks against the wall, pulling you out of the deal for your soul to meet him with bleary eyes and a flushed face.
You croak out a greeting that makes Simon wince in sympathy, though that's about all he really does. Simon doesn't really do pleasantries and doting probably wouldn't be the first word people use to describe him, so with your brain function reduced by an overflow of mucus and fever, the kitchen was rather silent.
Until you started coughing, face buried into the crook of your elbow to try to keep your contagion to a minimum and back bowing to nearly double you over. That drives Simon to action, coming to try to keep you up incase you collapse, grabbing your free arm.
When you feel him touch you, you try to pull away, shaking your head and finally finishing your bout, gasping a little as you try to daunting task of breathing and speaking to dissuade him from getting close lest he catches what you have. He clearly wasn't persuaded, hands clenching and unclenching like he simply wanted to pick you up and put you...somewhere.
How exactly Simon Riley would take care of you, he didn't know but he'd be damned sure to at least try. He'd been left to fend for himself while sick before and he didn't like the idea of you going through that. When it was clear that he wasn't going to just leave you to your suffering you relented enough to try to reach a compromise; if he'd be alright watching the pigs while you were sick that would be more useful than a nursemaid while you camped out on the couch.
That...that was something Simon could do. He'd watched how you took care of the boys, surely this was something he could do. And then his brain caught up to the rest of what you had said. There was no way he was going to let you sleep on some pull out couch, as nice as it was. Being Sick meant sleeping in a proper bed, on a mattress that didn't spend it's days folded up.
You tried to insist it was alright but he wouldn't listen to a word of it. Instead he practically herded you back to the bedroom, ignoring your murmurs of your abandoned hot beverage. He didn't lift you to plop you onto the bed itself but it was a near thing. He had to bribe you with the promise of a proper cup of tea for you to even lay your head on your pillow, eyes already heavy with the need for sleep. By the time he had actually made a cup you were out for the count, nasally mucus filled snores letting him know you hadn't perished in the time it took him.
The next few days were filled with mucus, the attempted escape of your lungs via coughing fits, and more Vics than the human body should be exposed to. And the entire time you insisted that you could fend for yourself. Simon didn't push to play nurse, but your tissues never ran out, a dose of medication was always ready on your bedside, and a warm cup of tea stood waiting for you after each nap, like a solider committed to his guard.
Edit;
I'm going to make a separate post for the guinea pigs, because honestly I'm torn on if they're based on my guinea pigs I used to have, or guinea pigs I'd want to have in the future
Military Program Spouse has spiraled into this entire cinematic universe, it is going to include the other guys, the master playlist is here. This is the playlist for Simon and his reader Thimble
Note; hard limits are the following (meaning I don’t write for them) Piss, Scat, Animal Cruelty, Knife/Blood Play, Rape (cnc toes the line), Wanting to do Actual Serious Harm to your Partner. (This list is likely to expand as I think of more things)
Note note; I try to keep non Drabble asks under mps asks, we’ll see how well that works
Note note note; the only order these are in is the order of which I’ve thought of them and posted lol
Note^4; this AU is probably going to be a slow burn type thing. If I get an ask for something or I get inspiration for sure I'm going to post it, but I'm really liking thinking about about how this relationship really develops from strangers to whatever it is my brain cooks up. If you want an answer as to why check here
Original Idea
A Little Sugar
Welcome to the Crafter Life
Walking Petri Dish
Who’s God Damn Baby its That?
Good Soup
That’s My Purse
I Don’t Know You (Sequel to That’s My Purse. The titles make sense to me when you put them together)
Mean girls, Goggles, Goggles, did I mention Goggles? Also Simon Riley's eyes.
Out of all the places you thought you’d be on a Saturday night, the middle of a busy club was not one of them. Yet there you were. Though you could admit that you were having more fun than you had originally anticipated. You hadn’t known what to expect when the news that friends from Mexico were visiting. It wasn’t as if Simon was the most forthcoming about any of his past experiences, and Johnny tended to exaggerate things. Alejandro and Rudolfo settled somewhere in the middle of no information and the tall tales you had been told. Though given the easy smile and corny kiss on the back of your hand ‘Ale’ had given you upon introductions, it did bring to question how much did Johnny really exaggerate?
When the suggestion of clubbing had been made you hadn’t thought you were included in the affair. It had come from Kyle while they all lounged in the living room after dinner the night before. You and Simon had been washing up when he had nudged you, catching your attention as you dried a plate.
“Hmm?”
“Wanna come?”
For a moment you hadn’t known what he was talking about, just letting the sounds of the conversation wash over you. When it clicked what was asked you had looked over your shoulder to find the rest of the men waiting for your answer. How was the best way to politely say that you would rather file your taxes in a foreign language? Given how you didn’t drink, clubbing became an uninteresting attempt at an anthropological study of those who imbibed a little too much.
“Oh I wouldn't want to impose on a boy’s night or anything.”
You must have been imagining the disappointed look in Simon’s eyes at your decline. You certainly didn’t have to imagine the protests coming from the living room.
“Come on lass, ye wouldn’ be a bother-”
“Yeah it’ll be fun-”
“You don’t have to but-”
“We need to thank you for the delicious meal-”
The clamor of it all hadn’t sounded like polite insistence. Though Alejandro certainly knew how to drive a bargain, given how he seemed to know exactly how to catch your interest.
“You can’t deny Rudy and I the chance to dance with you, we’ve seen your salsa linda.”
“How did you-”
“Ghost sent us a video.”
It was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle in your neck the way your head had snapped to look at Simon, who was very intentionally not looking at you while he had been putting plates away. Too bad for him he couldn’t control the blood flow to his ears or hide the rosy hue of them.
“He did did he?”
He must have known that ignoring the situation wouldn’t have worked for him, instead choosing to take a nonchalant tone.
“You’re good. Figured people should see.”
Oh. You hadn’t been expecting that. Suddenly your own face had been feeling warm and the dishes very much needed attending to. It didn’t matter that your husband had sent a video of you dancing to his friends. It was completely normal. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. The not shyness you were feeling was only overshadowed by the feeling of all the eyes on you as the men had waited for your response.
“Fine. Guess I can tag along if you’re all so keen on it.”
And that was how you had gotten talked into going clubbing on a Saturday night. Thankfully it had only taken hours of doom scrolling social media, one almost botched DIY sewing hack, and an afternoon nap to get you there. But now that you were? You could admit you were having a good time. Between Rudy and Ale, you’d barely had enough time to get a sip of water, let alone be pestered into drinking anything harder. It was fun to be twirled and passed between the two as they seemed to skip from one dance to the next.
Of course Simon had chosen to stay at whatever table Kyle had managed to secure, keeping watch along with John while the two sergeants had disappeared somewhere. Last you had seen between a hammerlock and a side wave Johnny had been doing something with a woman who seemed vaguely familiar. You would have called it dancing but it seemed much too aggressive and Johnny’s chest was seriously being groped. Thankfully he seemed to be into it, possibly? Honestly you couldn’t have helped with how you had been whisked away.
Eventually your dance partners let you have a break after a decent amount of begging for a chance to catch your breath. You were certainly getting it as you waited at the bar for the busy bartender to notice you standing there. You couldn’t blame them, it was packed with patrons who wanted a drink that wasn’t technically free. It was just a shame that it was really taking so long. You could feel the giddy joy starting to fizzle, until it completely vanished with someone pressing up against your back. Before you could firmly suggest that they step away with an elbow to the gut, two arms were caging you in, a familiar voice filling your ear.
“You doin’ alrigh’?”
The way your heart was beating in your chest was simply because you were out of shape. No other reason. Nothing to do with the solid warmth you could feel as you instinctually leaned back.
“Of course. Why you ask?”
“Seem more red than usual.”
The on-brand bluntness made you laugh. Right, this was Simon. Usual everyday Simon.
“It’s hot in here. Just gotta get something to drink...”
Your words trailed off as you turned to look at your husband. Somehow he was even closer than you thought, head ducked to be able to speak into your ear. It practically brought you face to face. The only thing stopping you from feeling his breath was the medical mask he insisted on wearing before and after the bouncer had cleared him. The way he was looking at you reminded you of the night you had accidentally seen his face. Like he was trying to see every thought inside of your head. Maybe he would have been able to tell you what was in there, because at that moment it just felt like it was white noise and cotton.
“Whatever the lady wants is on my tab.”
“Wha-”
You turned back around to see that the bartender had finally approached you, drawn by the cash Simon so casually held between two fingers. Before you could insist that it wasn’t necessary the cash was gone, along with your shadow. Well if Simon wanted to pay...
“Diet coke please. If you have it.”
It wasn’t the most hydrating but if Simon was willing to feed your aspartame addiction, you weren’t going to argue it. As you always said, there were worse things to be addicted too in life. Unfortunately before you could enjoy your sweet sweet chemicals, there was another body colliding into yours. Thankfully the damage was minimal with most of the mess landing on the floor, though your chest did end up the splash zone.
Apologies fell from your lips as you looked up, but whoever the other person in the collision was, had seemed to vanish. Well it was better to deal with the soon to become sticky mess than try to find someone who didn’t stay long enough to offer their own apology. Only once you were in the club bathroom, you weren’t alone. It was practically like a horror movie the way you went from being the only person in your mirror to having someone pop up behind you. No you didn’t shriek, you simply squeaked. A wheek if you will.
The other woman was easily gorgeous, looking much like the influencers you had doom scrolled through earlier that day. Assuming she needed the mirror you side stepped with an awkward smile, still trying to wipe at your cleavage with a wet paper towel.
“Let me get out of-”
“We’ve fucked.”
Wha-Huh? While you certainly weren’t straight, you know you would have remembered having sex with someone who looked like that. It was the kind of effortless pretty that you knew took so much more effort than anyone would know. Add in the way her clothes accentuated her body and the assets she had, forgetting was impossible.
“We’ve never met before.”
That was clearly not the response that was expected, given how your pretty accuser huffed and rolled her eyes. Again in your defense you would have remembered if you had fucked.
“Oh my god. The guy buying you drinks. We've fucked.”
“The guy buying...you mean my husband?”
“Duh, why would I want to fuck you?”
One, ouch. Two, that made much more sense. So this was what Simon’s type was? The man had good taste aesthetically you had to give him that, though bitchy wasn’t really your taste.
You didn’t know what she was expecting you to do after that admission, though you could take a guess at the way she stared at you with a self satisfying smirk. She probably had this expectation of shouting and crying. That you’d deny any chance that Simon had cheated on you. Probably had some grand plan of staking her claim or something. Points for the drama. Too bad you were more focused on cleaning up.
“Well someone had to I guess. Thanks.”
Clearly that was not what Miss Tryst was hoping for given how the smug look dropped. Oh to be thrown off one’s grove. Maybe you could both laugh it off and you’d get another soda.
“What?”
Or not. The tone she took was very defensive, arms coming to cross in front of herself. Were you seriously going to have to explain your sexuality to a stranger in the middle of a club bathroom? You really should have picked the taxes.
“Listen. Sex isn’t really my thing. So if the guy wants to get his rocks off he can, we have an agreement, so thanks for the charity?”
Well that really wasn’t what she had wanted to hear. Or maybe it was more that she didn’t know what to do with that information. Which was fair, it wasn’t like it was every day someone confirmed that a man actually had a hall pass. Though perhaps being called charity wouldn’t sit right with her?
“Well it’s not like he’d want someone like you anyways.”
Oh yeah, she didn’t seem to appreciate being called charity at all. Before you could try to dig yourself into a deeper hole and a possible cat fight, two arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, someone making themselves comfortable against your shoulder. What was with people coming up behind you tonight?
“Wow this is giving some real pick me energy. It’s kind of desperate baby girl.”
Looks like you didn’t need to bring a shovel to your own hole digging. Joy. And with the way that your defender(?) had her arms wrapped around you it wasn’t like you were able to get out if someone decided to flying. Double joy.
“I’m just saying-”
“And I’m just saying I watched your ass get rejected already.”
Well, that was, uh, awkward? You looked at how Miss Tryst’s mouth twisted like she had sucked on lemons. It did help highlight how young you were realizing she was. God she couldn’t be older than what, twenty three? You could remember your early twenties and the dumb choices you made then.
“He’s just playing hard to get. He wants me.”
“He wants nothing to do with your desperate ass. We both know he couldn’t take his eyes off of his wifey here.”
What? That seemed...a little exaggerated. Simon had probably just been doing his usual gloomy stare into space hoping no one would interact with him. There was no way he had been watching you more than he normally did. It was you. And it was Simon. The small spiral you sent yourself on had you missing out on whatever the rest of the conversation was because the next thing you knew Miss Tryst was storming out of the bathroom with a huff and the clack of her heels.
The woman on your back snorted, loosening her grip enough to come stand beside you, letting you see who it was.
“Oh, you’re the groper.”
Yes, out of context it sounded bad, but she had been literally groping Johnny’s chest not too long ago. Plus she looked proud of herself. You should’ve been worried about that, probably. But well, hey Johnny was responsible for his own chest.
“Normally I go by Goggles. Lieutenant in the Ordinance Corps.”
That was how you recognized her. You must have crossed paths somewhere on base before.
“I’m-”
“Thimble. Ghost’s girl.”
The bewildered look on your face made Goggles laugh as she dropped her arm to go lean against the sink.
“He’s talked about you on base.”
Oh. That...was normal. Spouses totally talked about each other at work. It was fine. You were strictly ignoring any implications that were made by Goggles’ tone. You still had soda on your titties. Thankfully your savior didn’t seem to want to point out any heat in your face, though she didn’t leave the bathroom either now that you were no longer being confronted. Instead she seemed happy to hang out as you finished drying yourself. Until...
“Even though he isn’t my type, I don’t really get why you’re not bumping uglies with him.”
What was it with people and their commentary on your lack of a sexual relationship with your husband? Before you could tell Goggles that it wasn’t any of her business she simply pushed on forward.
“I mean I wasn’t lying about him not taking his eyes off of you. Plus everyone could see the way you two were practically eye fucking at the bar. Probably why the hussy spilled your drink on you. It was some intense stuff.”
It always annoyed you when people pointed out things that had the possibility of being true. It meant you’d have to acknowledge it eventually, and so far it’d sacrificed a diet coke!
“That’s being dramatic. Simon has a staring problem and the best way to handle it is just to stare back.”
No, you didn’t sound flustered as you washed your hands again. Nor were you avoiding looking at Goggles in the mirror as you checked to make sure you didn’t look like a mess. It was a coincidence that you saw the way she rolled her eyes.
“Yeah and I bet you twenty bucks he’s staring at the bathroom door like a pointer dog waiting for you to come out.”
That seemed...excessive, even for Simon.
“I doubt he’s doing that.”
You were mostly sure of that at least. Goggles didn’t seem as confident in the statement, brow raising in question as a smile tugged at her lips. You had no idea what she found so amusing and you were getting a suspicious feeling you were better off not knowing. You watched as she pushed away from the sink, sauntering towards the door.
“Right, well I have a Scott I need to bend over.”
You thought you were finally free and clear as she opened the door, but she paused to look over her shoulder, the music almost drowning out her words.
“If I were you I’d finally go and get me a bite of that bigass wall of brisket.”
And with that piece of advice(?) she was gone. The mean spirited part of you hoped that Johnny ran away from her. It’d probably be for his own good anyways, given how she seemed happy to make things up. Clearly that’s what she had been doing, what with the implication that Simon was interested. Man simply had a staring problem and as you said, the only way to combat it was to stare back.
You knew this, and yet once you left the bathroom you felt yourself freeze realizing that Simon had in fact been watching the bathroom door, and now he was watching you from a spot at the bar. A spot he hadn’t been in before, but would give a clear line of sight. God he was such a creep, and you weren’t any better seeing as you couldn’t bring yourself to mind it.
No the only thing you could seem to do was focus on the implication running around in your head. An implication that couldn’t possibly be true. Because it didn’t make any sense if was. Right. It was time for a dose of reality. Nothing delivered that like a good ol’ rejection, and you knew exactly what’d do the trick.
With new found confidence in your failure you made your way over to Simon, ignoring the way your palms seemed to get clammier the closer you got to him. It’d be fine. You’d ask, he’d say no, and everything would go back to normal. You tried to remind yourself that when you finally made it to Simon, but the fact that you had to stand chest to chest with him to even be heard was making it rather difficult.
“Dance with me.”
It was meant to be a question, but the near order slipped past your lips with no way to pull it back. Instead it made its way to Simon, tilting his head in consideration.
“Why would I do that?”
Why wasn’t he saying no? He was supposed to give a gruff ‘I don’t dance’ and then insist you go entertain yourself with one of the others. You’d planned on it. You knew him and his responses, as well as you knew your own.
“Because I want to dance with my husband.”
What were saying? Why were you goading him on? It felt like someone else was in control as you met his gaze with a tilt of your chin, challenge in your tone.
“Unless you can’t and I should just go find Rudy. Maybe even Ale...”
Simon was supposed to tell you to go do that. He was supposed to let you down easy. Say no and then have everything go back to normal.
But he didn’t.
No, instead without a word you were being lead to the edge of the dance floor. You had no idea what song was playing, your heart beat too loud in your ears. You couldn’t tell what everyone else was doing, your vision was filled with broad shoulders. Was it an accident of the crowd that pushed you into his chest or was he pulling you in? Did it matter as his hands settled on your waist?
Whatever madness that had taken over didn’t let go. Instead it held you tight in its’ fist, pulling your arms around his shoulders. Like this you were pressed against every inch of him, able to feel the subtle push of his hips into yours. His thigh slipping between yours felt like heat settling in your stomach.
You had to twist your fingers in his shirt to keep grounded, the fibers soft.
God did he have to look at you like that? Eyes lidded and gaze heavy, like he didn’t want to look away. It made it impossible to look away from him. His eyes were so dark, you were falling into them. Into him.
Then his eyes dipped. Where was he looking? Your mouth? The ghost of what his lips looked like flashed in your mind. It was enough to make your eyes flick to where they were hidden before returning. He caught you.
His mask was rough against your skin. When did he get so close? Or did you lean in? Did it matter? The only thing stopping either of you was the mask. Was it actually going to stop you?
You didn’t think it would.
You were on the verge of madness. About to open a box you wouldn’t be able to shut.
Vile and terrible salvation came in the form of a gruff voice.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we got trouble.”
Before you could even begin to understand how to ask what was going on, a commotion was finally reaching you. Reality came crashing back harder than an avalanche as you turned to watch a fight start to break out from where you had come.
Your lapse in sanity could wait. It looked like Kyle needed to be stopped from making bad decisions and...wait was that?
“Dovey?”
Author's notes;
There is most likely going to be a part two, but do not expect it any time soon.
Aight fine, I didn't get you with that one?
Then how about Simon being forced on leave due to having too much saved up or injury, so now he's just always sat at home, looking like the world's most unamused housecat.
Reader leaving for work and coming back and this man is sat in the same exact spot, with the same furrowed brows and crossed arms, definitely pouting because he's being forced to not go out and kill bad guys.
More Simon & Thimble playlist
The MPS AU masterlist
I just wanted you to know I got your other ask but I am hoarding it because, to quote River Song, spoilers.
This isn't replacing the idea of us trying to teach him one of our hobbies, but I do enjoy the idea of us having a shared hobby that we parallel play with.
Anyway whatever shall we do with our big ol' grumpy grumpy man?
You didn't know how many days constituted a problem, but you were pretty sure you were coming up on a problem. Simon was out on medical leave for two weeks. Why? He wouldn't tell you, simply said it was all bullshit and he was fine. You're pretty sure Johnny had tried to tell you, but going by the look of not-terror on his face, Simon had been behind you, probably making some non verbal threat like to eat his eyeballs or something if he said anything. John, at least, had been able to tell you that it wasn't anything life threatening. That Simon just needed a little R&R before coming back.
You were day three into a fourteen day stint of having your roommate husband...broski(?) back and well to say it was going poorly was probably an understatement. For the past two days you'd leave your home with Simon stationed on the couch, staring down the wall like it owed him money. Then you'd come home and he would still be sitting on the couch, still staring at the wall like it hadn't paid up. The only reason you even knew he hadn't gone into some catatonic state was because when you got home he'd at least respond to you in grunts and get up from the couch if you offered to share a meal with him. Outside of that you weren't entirely sure he moved. Which was concerning.
So now you were standing outside of your front door, almost positive you knew exactly where Simon was going to be. With a sigh you pushed open the door, took a step inside and....yup that man was still on the couch, looking like the wall still hadn't paid him.
"Simon?"
"Hn."
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Hn."
"Have you...moved from the couch? Like at all?"
"Hn."
Well still not catatonic. Though honestly you were pretty he was going to get there sooner or later. With a sigh you decided that fuck it, you were going to try one thing and if it didn't work well he could rot on the couch then, at least you tried to help. So without a word you turned and walked back out into the wilderness for a solution.
--
Med leave was bullshit. The incident that lead him to med leave was bullshit. The fact that Soap nearly told you about the incident was bullshit. So he was going to spend the two weeks of forced med leave showing that he was completely fine by sitting on his couch, protecting his god damn house. A man had to keep his fucking dignity sometimes damnit.
No he was not being dramatic, and no he was not pouting. He would even respond to you when you asked him questions. He was fine. He didn't know why you had decided to just leave and come back an hour later, dumping multiple boxes onto the couch beside him. A quick look answered that they were some kind of build kit?
"The 'ell are those?"
"Something for you to do."
Simon didn't need something to do. He already had something to do, showing that he didn't need to be on med leave.
"Don't need 'em. You're just wasting your money."
"A) Your money, and b) I'll do them if you wont. So how about you stop bitching and fucking try one okay?"
Wait-what did you mean, his money? When the hell did you get your hands on his wallet? Before Simon could decide if he was offended or impressed by your acts of theft and audacity, you seemed to decide to just plop yourself onto the floor by the couch with what appeared to be your own stash of kits.
You didn't seemed bothered by his demanding stare for answers, instead already getting into the contents of what seemed to be pieces of wooden flowers. After seven and a half minutes of silence, he counted, you looked up to see if he had started anything.
"You know you don't have to be so embarrassed to admit you can't do them."
Who the fuck said anything about him being embarrassed? Or that he couldn't put a fucking wooden toy together. Given the skeptical look on your face you were fucking saying. Simon Riley could put together a fucking toy. He still had his dignity damnit.
With a huff he inspected the kits you had gotten. If he wasn't so affronted he may have been able to appreciate that you had gotten what seemed like a good variety of things, from a puzzle box to a few cars, even a tommy gun that seemed to actually be able to shoot rubber bands. He was going to put all of it together and show you that he wasn't fucking embarrassed and he could do it.
By the end of the evening he only got the puzzle box together, having spent a long time making sure everything was sanded and waxed so it was opening and closing smoothly. Of course you had an entire vase of wooden flowers and some sort of music box together. The smug smile you gave him at the fact you had more completed didn't sit right with him.
So the next day he tackled the rest of the kits you had left him. He got his revenge that night when he shot a rubber band at your ass with his completed and functioning tommy gun. Maybe those kits weren't so terrible after all. Ignoring the way you were glaring daggers into the back of his head, he happily started yet another kit, some sort of space rover looking thing.
He didn't question that the pile of kits never seemed to get smaller, or that there were sizeable purchases coming up on his account. He'd let you enjoy the spoils of actually managing to get his card without him realizing.
And so by the end of his forced med leave, Simon had his own army of wooden creations, with a few extra kits left. If anything they were something to look forward to on his next mission. And even if he wasn't expecting the new shelves in his office when he got back, he could admit that his wooden army looked rather good on them.
Maybe he'd keep an eye out for more flower kits. For variety sake.
----------------
Edit; He's on med leave because he got shrapnel in the ass. Don't worry his bum is okay, we can still touch it...one day
Simon is not prepared for all the shit you come with. Yeah sure he picked you because your laundry list of hobbies should keep you busy enough to not bother him for attention or god forbid companionship, but he never actually...read the list of hobbies. He only saw the sheer volume of them and it was good enough for him.
Now he regrets not actually looking through your file. First there's the rodents. After a rather sharp conversation about how guinea pigs weren't rats and that no, you were not getting rid of them, he had watched as you brought in box after box of things for them. Seriously, how much stuff did they need? For only being a pound each it seemed like Simon was rather quickly loosing space in what is supposed to be a shared home. (He already had an opinion on the fact there was only one bedroom in the place...it's safe to say he's not pleased about it) The argument you two had about if there was going to be a cage if the only bedroom for the guinea pigs only further cemented the fact that you were rather...passionate about them.
Then came all the fucking yarn. Baskets and storage drawers filled to brim with different colored balls and squart tubes, that were apparently called cakes, littered the floor in what seemed like random spots. After that it was needle point, and after that felting, whatever that was. One after another more and more craft supplies invaded. The fact that there was still space for anyone else would be a shock. Hell it was a fucking battle just for him to claim the only fucking home office. Which he needed for all his stuff...that realistically fit within a large duffle bag and a cardboard box.
Simon always lived minimally, sue him.
It was an adjustment to go from living with only what he needed, what he could travel with, to living with things that could tumble out of their cluttered spot, or would shout at him anytime he so much as crinkled anything plastic. But...There are times when he's on the couch, laying his head on the handmade blanket strewn on there and resting his eyes, with the sound of the guinea pigs making their way through an afternoon meal of lettuce, that he'll admit it's all rather...cozy.
I was missing everyone's favorite slow burn duo and thought of this funny scenario.
Fair warning it's got a little spice, but really it's mild.
MPS Master Playlist
Simon and Thimble Playlist
Content warning;
A little self love, a little voyeurism, Simon is a naughty boy, and masochist, roses
"Fuck."
Simon can only watch the way you lounge back in your bed, thighs spreading lazily. His eyes trace the soft slope of your legs, following the way they lead to the apex hidden by the shirt you still have on. You're wearing his shirt again. Only his shirt.
He can't see what your hand is doing as it slides down your body to that shadowed area, but he can tell everything he needs to know. It's in the way your back arches as you moan. Even without the muffled vibrating sound it's obvious.
He doesn't know if you know he's there, but he's too selfish to say anything. He wants to keep watching as your writher against the sheets, heels digging in as you find the perfect angle. He watches as your breathing speeds up, small sounds escaping your throat.
You're close, he can tell. Just a little more and you'll-
Simon Riley was not a snoop. He wasn’t. There was a perfectly good reason as to why he had been looking into your nightstand drawer. You’d texted him from work, asking him to check for some envelope you were convinced you’d left there. Something to do with something that he was completely paying attention to when you had first explained it to him. You were convinced you’d left it at home, claiming it had to be either in the kitchen or somewhere on your nightstand. And it hadn’t been in the kitchen. Only the envelope hadn’t been on the nightstand, so the logical next step had been to check inside the nightstand. So he did, and came face to face with that.
Both of you were adults, Simon could recognize that. And adults could have adult needs. He understood that. He wasn’t judging by any means. He wasn’t a prude. He just wasn’t expecting to see several toys innocently sitting in your nightstand is all. He couldn’t say how long he was standing there, staring at them. Honestly he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
At first he’d been confused. He couldn’t think of a reason as to why you’d have some blown up plastic plant in your nightstand. Then he took in the rest of it. A sudden recollection of Soap talking about some new wonder gizmo came to mind. They’d been in the middle of a short mission and the Scott wouldn’t shut up about how some rose had his latest conquest singing for him. Again, Simon was not a prude, but he highly doubted that Maize from the armory wanted the dirty details spilled.
You had some adult toys. Several of them. With varying levels of infamy. So what? It wasn’t like that mattered to Simon at all. It didn’t. You could do whatever you wanted. It wasn’t like he never wanked one out. (Simon would never admit how the fact that you rubbing the pearl somehow felt earth shatteringly different) It was with a slow, measured, and calm demeanor that he shut the drawer and made the conclusion that no, the envelope was not near your night stand at all.
“Simon Riley, you fucking dirty sneak.”
He isn’t expecting the heat in your eyes as you stormed towards him. It’s like flint sparks flying, seeking out whatever tinder is available to catch. Simon swears he can feel flames licking at his skin where you’re grabbing his face, thumb and fingers pressing into what little give his jaw has.
“You like looking into a lady’s drawers?”
This aggression isn’t like you, but Simon can’t say he minds it. Instead of making his hackles rise it makes him pliant. Makes it easier for you to shove between his legs and into his space. The hand on his inner thigh feels like a branding iron. His blood is roaring through his veins, pounding with a base urge.
“You do, you little pervert.”
The twisted part of him likes this. Likes the demeaning tone you take, the way you talk down at him. He craves the rough way you grab him, grip firm even through his sweats. His world narrows down to you and the way you sneer at him.
“Nasty pathetic man. You get hard thinking about it?”
You’re stunning like this, commanding and powerful. A deity ready to deliver punishment. You’re making his heart race.
“Got nothing to say?”
His words are locked in his throat, a glutton begging for his penitence. His pleads are met with your nails digging into his jaw.
“Answer me Simon. Admit you’re a filthy little boy. Go on Simon. Do it Simon.”
“Simon?”
He came back quick, blinking away his vision. You weren’t clutching his jaw, dead set on making him bend to your will. Your eyes weren’t full of fire and glee at his misfortune. No you looked concerned, paused in making whatever cabbage rolls you were insistent on trying that week.
How long had he been lost in thought?
“Hnn.”
His responding grunt didn’t seem to assure you. Your hands didn't restart the quick tuck and roll rhythm you had built as you had gotten used to the action. Instead you let the leaf unroll, abandoning it to come closer to him.
"I said I'm sorry I had you search the house. Didn't mean to bother you on your day off when I ended up having it the entire time."
Shit. Now you looked contrite. Sure it was a little annoying to have to search high and low for no reason, but it's not like he spent the entire day doing it.
"Not an issue."
You didn't look convinced, but thankfully you didn't push the issue. Instead of letting it linger, Simon looked for any distraction he could find, locking back onto the little green rolls you had been working on.
"What flavors are these suppose to be anyways?"
To Simon's relief you turned back to your culinary project, explaining the flavors and techniques you were experimenting with. Honestly he could have cared less about a 'cheeseburger roll' or one with the crab filling you were obsessed with from the Chinese takeaway shops. He just wanted your attention off of him and the way he watched your hands.
“S-Si-“
The satisfaction at hearing you moan his name feels like a battlefield victory. Like he’s finally found his target and all that’s left is to close in. Getting closer to you is all Simon wants.
You’re already under him, caged between his arms while your thighs cradle his hips. Every thrust jostles you, your chest bouncing with the movement. There’s a flush that starts from there and makes its way up your neck to warm your cheeks. It’s all begging for his mouth. To lean in and taste the rosy hue.
You whimper, nails biting into his back as he nips at your throat. He’s determined to leave a garden of love bites, each bloom a reminder to everyone who it is you share a bed with. The sting of your nails pairs with warmth of your body mimics that of chocolate and wine. Decadent and heady.
He savors it as he works his way up to kiss you, to finally give in. Simon can just feel the words you’re whispering against his lips.
“Beep. Beep. Beep.”
Reality came crashing down on Simon like a wave of cold water. It was with a frenzied force that he slammed down on the alarm clock. Fuck, he'd tried to let it go after dinner. Had tried not to think too hard about if there was ever a time you had used your toys while he was home while you both sat on the couch watching some new documentary he could care less about.
He'd tried not to wonder if you had ever forgotten to change the sheets after. He hadn't tried to test that by seeing if your scent was on your pillowcase. He certainly hadn't been disappointed when it wasn't.
Simon Riley was not being consumed by the thought of you making yourself cum over and over again in the bed that you two shared. He wasn't wondering what you sounded like...or looked like...or even tasted like. He was unaffected by those thoughts of you.
With a futile look down his body he saw the truth.
