Retired Simon Riley who becomes impatient with his new sedentary life. So he takes up on some projects in the garage and in the back yard in order to keep him same as you went away to work.
Retired Simon Riley who’s past injuries left him with aches and pains, forcing him to take things slow.
Retired Simon Riley who refuses to let that stop him from fucking you deep and rough against your king size mattress. He loves putting all his weight on you, holding you down as his hips connect with the plush of your ass. His cock thrusting deep inside your aching cunt, fucking his cum deeper with each stroke.
Retired Simon Riley who needs to use a cold compress on his bad knee the morning after he fucked you relentlessly in a mating press. All because he wanted you to “get it until it takes”
Retired Simon Riley who can’t keep his hands off you during your pregnancy. Worshiping your body at any given change, kissing at the roundness of your belly. Fondling your breasts while sleeping next to you in bed and rutting his aching cock against your lower back because he cannot get enough of his woman.
okay no he CAN. okay? but it's very much- chop up whatever the fuck is in the fridge throw it in a pot, add as much meat he can find. then he's sorted. creating some sort of stew. but if not that. he thrives off 2 minute noodles.
listen, he's a working man. he can't be fucked thinking about what to make.
and if he needs to eat while not deployed and wants something, he'll get takeaways so he doesn't have to think about it.
and if ya'll are together - whatever you make... motherfucker eats that shit up like he's in a 5-star fucking reasturant.
you made scrambled eggs with bacon??? he's astounded. absolutely in love. has never been more satisfied in his life.
but oh lord. when he retires..
retired!simon fucking riley finds his fucking calling in cooking.
you no longer have to worry about cooking. nah-uh. not with this man who has all the time in the world to hone in on this new culinary world.
idk i just think it's so cute to think about simon going from beans on toast for breakfast to fluffy buttermilk pancakes or french toast with bacon a berry compote.
then for dinner; it's suddenly a whole line of sushi with all your favourites, dumplings to follow and a beef udon recipe dish. or maybe it's a simple roast - however, a perfectly seasoned meat has been sitting for a while in the oven for so long that when you cut into it, it's juicy and tender. and simon fucking beams at the faces you make.
dessert is a whole other game that simon fucking mastered. seriously. because he's placing down a skillet brownie, topped with ice cream and cream. And when you put a spoon into it, it fucking drips with chocolate ya'll.
just rahhhh retired!simon that turns into chef!simon. who just spoils you day and night with food. who gains the ability to make whatever dish you want, whenever you want. 3am and you want a grilled cheese? he can whip it up in seconds and it'll taste like the most gourmet grilled cheese you have EVER had.
btw, i'm torn between making him a gordon ramsay in the kitchen or him being the complete opposite and being so sweet and patient with you when you want to help him.
WAIT- speaks like gordon ramsay but treats you softly. like, you're not cutting with the knife correctly you fucking donkey. but instead of taking it off you, he presses up behind you, gently cups your hands with his and shows you how to do it safely. and he's speaking so sweetly and softly. a stark contrast to when he called you a fucking donkey - but hey you'll get your bite back. ;)
a/n: i can't fucking breathe this was so funny to write. i'm sorry idk why he called u a donkey. i'm fucking hungry if it wasn't obvious with this post.
a nice and simple dinner with simon, thats all you had planned on doing after work on an uneventful Monday evening. you had assumed the dinner would be uneventful as well, although you were hopeful it wouldnt be. silly is an understatement for that hope you held, but it wouldnt be silly after a major incident occurred on the outing.
your former coworker and you, now both retired, had finished dinner and made your way to find a place to drink. a friend of yours had mentioned a place nearby that had 'astonishing drinks', as she put it. little did you know that it was a strip club, one that didnt advertise itself in the slightest until you were inside.
both of you had stopped shocked at the promiscuous scene unfolding before your eyes. seconds later you found yourselves laughing wildly as you walked back to your car, not bothering for drinks in the end. that of course puts you where you are now, having a frivolous conversation that you never thought youd have.
"'Course ive been tuh few of em", he chuckles out in amusement, eyes lingering on you for a moment too long.
"ive never! thought it was ju's good drinks".
"not s'prised, doll like you aint have no business in there".
rolling your eyes you flip him off, leaning slightly against your car as he leans back against his. he isnt wrong, but thay doesnt stop you from being unamused by his antics. everyone around you has always viewed you as a sweet little thing that needs to be protected and cherished. all of thoes people are also deeply mistaken.
"right, 'n i s'pose you fit right in".
simons eyes lock on yours the second the words leave your mouth, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions. what could simon 'ghost' riley be hiding behind that war stained mask of his you wonder. for a moment your heart skips a few beats, his gaze becoming more unbearable as time passes.
"nev'r much int'rested me, prefer the look of'a real woman- one that fucks with'a burnin' passion- not 'cause shes paid tuh".
"ha! 'n where'r you findin' a lady like that", the question isnt an empty one, but one that holds a weight neither of you expected.
"aint been laid inna minute doll".
heat floods your face with the nickname, something he rarely uses. but when he does- oh when he does you find yourself flooded beyond belief. there has always been something about simon that sets off your entire nervous system, catching it aflame within an instant.
"hm, 'n why not"?
"'cause".
"what if'a lady was to come ontah you", the words are so quiet that they almost count as a whisper. anxiety tugs at your veins as simons eyes burn into your face. its a pity he decided to continue wearing his mask after he retired, you would love to know what expression his face holds.
"eh, shed havetuh be drop dead".
a light laugh, "s'pose i aint makin' it in that department".
burning eyes once more, but this time his gaze holds a light in it that cannot be extinguished. his entire body language shifts, his now positioned towards you and not slightly away. the ungloved and scarred hands that were in his pockets come out to rest on his belt loops.
"would suggest 'ure comin' ontuh me dolly".
"wouldnt suggest otherwise sir", a hesitant but cocky smile rests on your lips as he takes a step closer. legs become jelly as he takes another more confident step towards you, his breath becoming heavier. yours joins in but hitches as he steps directly infront of you.
"'n who told yah that yah aint drop dead gorgeous".
"aint ever been told otherwise".
"now yah have doll, 'ure truly one of a kind".
and thats how you end up in the backseat of simons pick up truck, both of your pants disguarded in the front seat. slick slapping sounds echo around you, mixing in with the sounds of heavy breaths and deep moans. his cock throbbing as it slams into your wet hole, hands gripping your hips with a death grip.
"'ure so good for me doll".
that does it, your inner core becoming undone as he finally looses himself as well. simons hips snap sloppily now instead of the face pace they were at. his arms threaten to give out as you squeeze around him, milking him as he pushes your cum out.
youre only able to speak as he pulls out, hands desperately stroking at his length. you coo at him as he spills himself all over your stomach, face flushed from the nose down, his eyes wild under the rest of his mask. a laugh follows after he finishes, both of you giggling about hooking up.
now it just has to happen again and you know that youll finally have the infamous simon "ghost" riley.
imagine trying to keep up with retired simon’s sleep schedule (or lack of)
-
You and simon live in a small town with a comfy home to call your own. An attempt to at least try and give Simon a clean slate of some sort, but there's always remnants of the past. Late at night while you're curled into each other, he lays awake sometimes watching you or the ceiling, but always plagued with haunting thoughts escaping from his subconscious. He usually waits for you to roll over before he slips out of bed silently, not able to stand laying down helplessly in bed void of rest. He puts on his house shoes and makes his way to the porch, waiting for the sun to eventually rise and giving your outside set up some use. Sometimes he'll bring a cup of tea, or take the time to roll a few cigarettes, maybe pull out his pocket knife to mindlessly whittle a stick, but every time ends with him carrying you back to bed.
You eventually notice his disappearance and haphazardly throw on some sweatpants and drag your slippers across the floor as you make your way to the front door. He hears the door open and smiles to himself as he hears you hiss at the morning air, "It's cold out Si."
"I know" he responds, moving a pillow to the side, so you have room to sit.
"Gonna get sick" you sigh, still audibly tired, sitting next to him and letting your head drift to his shoulder.
"I'll be alright" he hums passing you his mug and draping his arm over your shoulder, letting the extra fabric hanging from his oversized sweatshirt cover you at an attempt to shield your goosebumped arms from the cold. You sip from his mug a few times before you pass it back to his off hand, the two of you silently enjoying the view from your front porch.
“It’s so pretty out here this time of-” you’re interrupted by a yawn that makes him glance down at you.
He scoffs out a laugh. “Should get back in bed” he suggests, knowing that you won’t, you never do.
“It’s okay. I’ll stay up with you, keep you company” you muse, trying to convince yourself that you’ll actually stay awake.
He’s amused listening to you try to talk yourself out of exhaustion, only humming low responses that eventually taper off the less you talk. Simon likes that you can find sleep so easily, it’s a comforting sign that you’re happy for a lack of better words.
Eventually he can feel the pressure of your head on his shoulder increase as the sound of your breathing changes and he knows you’ve fallen asleep without even looking down at you. It’s a routine he knows well, maneuvering with skill so that your head lulls inward towards his chest and his arms can support your back and the underside of your legs. He stands up and tries his best to gracefully open the front door to carry you bridal style through the house. You only make a brief mumble of complaint when he places you in bed, the cold of your abandoned sheets are a drastic difference compared to your heater of a husband. He tucks you back in and retraces his steps, neatly placing your fallen slippers together by the bed, bringing his mug in from outside, and locking the house back up. Usually around this time it’s easy for simon to get back in bed, even if he can’t sleep, he no longer feels restless. He lays back down, letting you roll back over into him at the sense of his presence. Simon tucks you tightly into his side and keeps his eyes closed until he feels you stir again in the morning, whether or not he actually went to sleep isn’t important.
retired!simon riley - sorry chef!simon riley x reader
imagine this motherfucker learns how to cook your cultures traditional foods better than you.
like maybe he had hit up an aunty, your ma, your dad, uncle, sister, brother, cousin, nan, granddad - whoever - to ask about one of your cultures traditional food that's special to you.
so they come teach him, or send him detailed steps, or probably video call him (but let's be fr they probably went over to teach him)
and that is the only time he doesn't ever raise his voice or back talks the person he's sharing a kitchen with - because why would he??? they're teaching him.
idk i just - AHHH i find it so cute imagining this towering fucking goliath of a man standing next to your nan or maybe even your dad - whoever - and he's just listening and watching so intensely.
the kitchen is filled with spices, there's music playing that he doesn’t quite understand the lyrics but it's nice and catchy.
but you come home, and you think that perhaps a family member come in and cooked it because there's no way - yet there he is. making it himself in the kitchen. hands working far better than yours at a task that you were practically raised doing.
and when you sit to eat, maybe you should feel jealous - but fuck
it tastes exactly like your family member that makes it... maybe even better.
as you eat, you look at him, eyes shining with a sort of warmth that's not just loving - it's far more intimate - more homey and one that's so personal. and he can tell because when he's looking in your eyes and there's thousands more staring back at him.
"you're making more of this..." the demand is firm, but with the way you speak, it's clear it's just covering up how much it means to you that he did this.
"whatever you want, lovie..." he softly chuckles, more than happy to adhere to your demands, pressing a kiss to your forehead before eating it himself.
Would you write something about a service dog hybrid puppy girl? I feel like if Simon retired he’d definitely benefit from one 💕 Just imagine puppy picking up on Simon’s negative aura and coming over just to squish against him to comfort him 🥺 I’m sorry if this is too much!!! I love your writing 🫶🏼
retired!simon who suffered serious facial injuries after an explosion. burns on 30% of his face, loss of vision in his right eye, tinnitus. never fully adjusted to these changes but flat out denied help from anyone. the boys stopped coming over to visit as often, tired of being snapped it at by their grumpy friend
it’s when he’s on underground, the loud screeching of the central line wreaking havoc on his hearing ailment. the lack of air conditioning is making him sweat under his balaclava and the breaths pick up in tune with the sudden twitchiness of his hand and leg
he closes his eyes, trying to calm himself. he already knows people are watching him, trying to work out if this man is going to be a threat or not. meanwhile, he’s just trying to figure out how to breath normally again
he feels a smaller hand grasp four of his fingers, all but his thumb, and squeeze gently. his eyes burst open, his vision struggling to readjust to the lighting but when he does, he sees you, the sweet service dog who was sat opposite him before. ‘In training’ written all over your collar and lead making him chuckle slightly
“someone’s lookin’ for brownie points.” simon chuckles at you and it’s the first time he feels like he’s breathing even slightly close to normal. your handler watches on with a proud smile as you repeatedly squeeze his hand in a rhythmic pattern to keep him grounded
“jus’ doing my job, mister.” you say so sweetly, tilting your head at him. he loves you.
you stay by his feet for the rest of the train journey, your handler striking up a conversation with him after you helped calm his panic attack. he supposed the idea of a service dog wasn’t so bad. especially when your handler gave simon their card and told him your training would be over by the end of the week :)
