Oh honey, where's your crown? @theopaquee - Tumblr Blog

Simon Riley's Civilian neighbour was not your average "Y/N" no. 💪🏻💪🏻

A busted kitchen pipe? You fixed it.

A blown fuse bulb? Sorted.

Rats in your kitchen? You’d catch them bare-handed before asking a man for help. You were not only the eldest daughter, but the eldest grandchild, and your mum (eldest daughter) and dad (eldest son). So asking for help wasn't a default setting.

But sometimes - rarely - you were stuck.

Like the night your car started leaking something dark and slick onto the driveway.

"Shit. No. No" you muttered, crouching to inspect it. Oil. Maybe. Or something worse.

Seven in the evening. Makeup half done. Phone buzzing with *Where are you?* texts from the girls.

You straightened and felt it before you saw him.

Simon. Your new neighbour.

He stood on his porch, glass in hand, watching you with an intensity that made you shift your weight. Big man. Quiet street. The '141 Boys' sticker on his jeep caught the light.

Finance job, he'd told neighbours when he moved in. Didn’t explain the balaclava. Didn’t explain the way he watched - like he was assessing a situation, not a person. He was so...weird.

He set the glass down. Didn’t rush. Walked over.

"Car’s bleedin" he said flatly.

You blinked. "Oh. Right. Yeah. I noticed."

His eyes flicked to the stain under the car. Then to you.

"Need help, or you just starin’ at it?"

Your jaw tightened. "…I don’t know what’s wrong."

That seemed to satisfy him. Might've boosted that ego all men carry these days.

"Stay there."

He disappeared into his house and came back with a toolbox. Heavy. Metal worn. Not new.

You think he will ask for permission to enter your yard but nah. He crouched, already reaching under your car.

"Don’t start it."

"I wasn’t going to" does he think you are some dumb little girl.

"Good" he muttered. "That would’ve made it worse."

You hovered nearby, arms crossed. Watching his hands. Large. Scarred. Steady.

"Hm." He clicked his tongue. "Oil pan’s leakin."

Your stomach dropped. "Is that bad? That sounds bad."

"Depends how long you ignore it."

You exhaled sharply. "Can you..." You hesitated. "Can you explain it to me?"

He paused. Slowly looked up at you.

"…Explain it."

"So if it happens again" you said, "I know what to do."

Silence stretched.

"You tryin’ to fix it yourself next time?" he frowns looking up at you.

"Yes" you repeat firmly.

He opens his mouth maybe to argue just like every misogynist prick in your life but then -

"…Alright" he said quietly. "Get down here then."

You hesitated looking down at your new denim skirt "Under the car?"

"That’s where the problem is, innit?"

You crouched beside him as he jacked the car up. The space beneath was tight. Too close. His shoulder brushed your knee and stayed there.

"See this?" he said, pointing. "That’s your oil pan. Oil keeps everything from grindin’ itself to death. You crack it, oil leaks. No oil...engine’s fucked."

He reached past you and something warm skimmed your arm. You didn’t move.

Few drops of oil splashed onto your cheek. You flinched and wiped them away.

He froze, waiting for you to shriek and run away.

"You alright?" His voice was lower now. Sharper.

"Yeah" you said. "It’s just oil."

"You're not scared of gettin dirty?" he mumbled.

"Let's focus."

"You don’t have to be under here" he added. "I can do this alone."

You met his gaze. "Then I don’t learn."

Something unreadable crossed his face.

"…Stubborn" he muttered. Then, after a pause "Fair."

He talked you through it slowly. Made you repeat things. Corrected you when you got it wrong. You mirrored his movements carefully.

"No - look. Not there. Here."

His hand closed over yours, guiding your fingers. Firm. Professional. Too aware.

You swallowed but didn’t pull away. Any other man would've taken this opportunity to harass you or humiliate you for being helpless. But this one was treating you like you were paying for a tutorial.

Half an hour later, it was done.

You both stood, brushing dirt from your clothes. The air felt thicker than before. You open the car door switching it on and hell it was fixed.

"Thank you" you said. "Really. Do I owe you?"

He shut the toolbox. "No."

"You sure?"

He looked at you for a long second.

"Just don’t ignore it next-

The words die in his throat as you move closer wiping drops of oil off his cheek. He looks down at your proper now...oh.

The next afternoon, he heard the hammer before he saw you.

You were on a ladder, nailing a hand-painted sign onto your garden shed. The steps wobbled.

"Oi" he called. "That ladder's shite."

You looked down. "I’ve got it!"

The ladder swayed again.

"Yeah?" He moved fast, crossing over to your yard gripping the ladder. "You sure about that?"

You laughed nervously. "Okay maybe not."

You gulped as you realised the maxi skirt you were wearing was now flowing in every direction thanks to the sudden wind...that means he can definitely see your -

You look down to see his gaze cast downwards. His eyes never once lifted up.

"Don’t move" he said. "I’ve got you."

His hands stayed steady. Didn’t let go. And kept staring at the little ceramic mushrooms you had in your garden.

You glanced down at him. "You’re good at catching people."

His jaw tightened.

"Part of the job."

"What job’s that?" you teased.

He looked up at you. Held your gaze and didn't answer.

"Keep workin" he said instead. Yeah he did catch people, just not in the way you thought.

You thought - he must be married. A man this controlled had to have someone grounding him. No wonder he has so much control and authority. He must have someone who taught him this respect.

You didn’t know yet -

Simon Riley, Lieutenant of the SAS, was dangerously good at restraint. Dangerous. Everyone back at base, from rookies to colonels knew how much control he had over everything. And that included his feelings and emotions. Not to mention the staring problem he had. And right now he was thinking of 100 ways to make you ask for his help....don't be suprised if you wake up next day and see your front door broken with expert precision.

Simon god damn Riley has a purpose now. It was making you life hell just because he wanted to help ;⁠)

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A/N: Yes he pretends to be unable to cook so that you invite him over. But you don't know cooking either. So now he is even happier to learn watching youtube videos besides you in your cute kitchen.

Masterlist 🩷

Taglist : @niialuv @moraxrexviaa @theclassicvinyldragon @saeish @lowkeydepressedandscared @cascade05 @deriley @corpsebrideswifey @tessakate @sunflowertime @niialuv @madibookmarks @hshahabs @cringeycookies @ujjjjkjkkkkkooo @soapy-washcloth @xoxobooksstuff @sutancha @ilovetaquitosmmmm @iraaiitz

smoqueen-deactivated20251108

sorry for the nervous breakdown everyone im actuallt fine because i have to be

sleepyconfusedpotato

"You broke a lot of rules, Price."

"No more rules."

---

CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE IV (2026)

chillisoni

Hey everyone!!! I haven't figured out how everything works here yet, but here's my little fan art, I hope someone sees it and you like it😋

maulfrk

🥲

ghostedink

The room built for you.

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Simon Riley had never been good with women. He knew how to clear rooms, how to disappear, how to make threats stop breathing. But.. flirting, charming.. even talking to someone soft and smiling who brought him his lunch with a shy “here you go, love.” was another battlefield entirely.

Then there was you.

New café on the corner, stuck between a florist and a bookstore. The first time he saw you, you’d laughed at something a customer said and your eyes lit up. Simon’s chest did something strange.. he started going every morning just to watch the way your hands moved, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking…

He learned your schedule. Learned your likes, learned your habits.. learned the name of the useless boy who sometimes would be waiting for you after your shift—the one who never held the door, who barely looked up from his phone.

Simon decided that boy didn’t deserve you. Didn’t treat you the way you deserved.

But Simon would.

He planned for three weeks. Watched the cameras he’d installed along your usual route home, waited until your boyfriend was out of town. The cloth over your mouth was quick, clinical—military training made it efficient. No screams, no mess, just the soft weight of you in his arms as he carried you out to the waiting vehicle.

You woke up in his basement, except.. It didn’t look like a basement.

The walls were painted a soft sage green you’d once mentioned was your favorite color. String lights hung in careful loops across the ceiling. A nice bed with the quilt he’d seen you admire in a shop window. Bookshelves he’d stocked with the authors and novels you’d sneak on your break to read. A small kitchenette with your favorite tea and snacks fully stocked. A locked door at the top of the stairs, of course, but the room itself smelled like vanilla and fresh paint.

Simon sat in the armchair across from the bed, mask off, watching you stir. His hands flexed on his knees—nervous, almost boyish.

“You’re safe..” he said quietly when he noticed the fear when your eyes first fluttered open. “No one’s gonna hurt you here. Not him. Not anyone.” His voice was rough, unused to softness. “I know this ain’t… normal. I ain’t good at asking. But I’ll give you everything he never could. The world you deserve. You just… you gotta stay a while. Let me show you.”

He stood slowly, making sure to not scare you as he set a tray on the bedside table—tea, the exact kind you liked, a blueberry muffin, and a small vase with a single daisy. His eyes were dark, hungry, but trying to be gentle.

“I’ll be back in the morning. Door’s locked, but there’s a bell if you need anything. I’m not a monster, love. I just… finally found something I want to keep.”

He turned the lights down, casting soft warmth across the room before pausing at the door.

“Rest. You’re home now.”

The lock clicked.

Upstairs, Simon leaned against the wall, heart hammering like it never had before.

Downstairs, the room waited—pretty, quiet, inescapable. And somewhere in the middle of it, you, still blinking awake, trying to understand how the man who used to order flat whites had decided you were his to save.

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chillisoni

He was unhappy in the sketch, but I got carried away

maulfrk

😍

juliennevalery

Simon was such a heavy sleeper, which honestly made no sense. With the kind of work he did, you would have thought he had developed insomnia years ago. It was something you secretly envied. The way he could fall asleep so effortlessly felt almost unfair. The second his head touched the pillow, he was gone.

Actually, he could sleep pretty much anywhere, and waking him up was another story. It usually took a few gentle nudges and a couple of soft kisses pressed against his jaw before those pretty, sleepy eyes finally blinked open. And he snored, too. Not loudly, just a low, rhythmic rumble against your ear. It secretly became your own little lullaby, a sound that meant you were safe, he was home, and the rest of the world could not reach you here.

When he slept, he was basically a human weighted blanket. He was so big you often felt like you disappeared between the sheets and his massive frame, but you did not mind. You loved the way his hands always knew exactly where to find you. An arm draped heavy across your waist, his face in your tits or tucked into the crook of your neck, his chest a solid wall of warmth against your back or legs tangled up with yours.

He had this subconscious reflex: even in his deepest sleep, if you shifted or shivered, his arm would instinctively tighten, pulling you flush against him as if his body was wired to protect you from the very air around you. Seeing the man who could stare down a threat without flinching melt into a puddle of softness just because you were near? That was a sight that never failed to make your belly swim.

You used to be a notoriously light sleeper, tossing and turning for hours. Nothing helped. You tried everything. Different pillows, white noise, herbal teas, sleep schedules. It always ended the same way: staring at the ceiling at some ungodly hour while everyone else seemed to be asleep.

That was until you started sleeping next to Simon.

The moment you curled up against his warmth, your eyes would begin to drift shut on their own. It felt like your body had finally found something it trusted enough to let its guard down around. There was a profound, quiet magic in his steady breathing, and the way his raspy voice would whisper "g'night, luvie" or "c'mere, sweetheart, it's time to sleep" right before he drifted off.

And the mornings? Those were the best. He would wake up slow, his eyes heavy and hazy, and before he even fully registered the daylight, he would seek out your hand, lacing his thick fingers through yours. He would pull you back down for lazy, lingering morning kisses that tasted so sweet you could melt right there on the spot.

Somehow, between his snoring, his death grip on your waist, and the way he would steal almost all your blanket which you hated the most, Simon had become the only thing in the world that could keep you grounded. He was your home, your warmth, and the best part of every single day.

digitalhoe

𝓼𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 walks in one day and hands you a packet of body markers without saying a word. he knows you know what they’re for, saw you watching a video on your phone of another girl colouring in her boyfriends tattoos, and thought it would be a nice surprise. he sinks down on the sofa beside you, pulls his arm out of his hoodie and rolls it into your lap. “‘av at it, luv.” he says. he doesn’t care about what colours you choose or if he appears ‘girly’, all he cares about is that his girl is having fun and seeing the way your eyes light up as you slowly begin to fill in his entirely black inked sleeve with an array of colour warms his heart. he wants to poke fun at the way your tongue sticks out a tiny bit as you concentrate but he doesn’t - he thinks it’s adorable. and once you’re done, it only calls for a shower, which he always brings you along with him.