#maladaptivewritings

Soap as a overly cautious partner, he's seen hell on earth and wants you as far as possible from it.

He's the type of partner who'd insist on you taking every vitamin, eating veggies and giving any meds on time, because he got sick on the field once and it nearly costed him a leg.

He'll scold you for listening to music too loud, because he's nearly 30 and contemplating a hearing aid.

If you're sore? Hot baths, massages because he wants his hen happy and still wouldn't mind some hands-on help.

Restless? He'll fix that. He needs his sweetie all tucked in before it gets too late.

May it be your eyes, or how you'd ask a question; no matter how dumb anyone else would ask, saying it. He just couldn't and so he avoided you. First it was just on base, turning around in the halls and meticulously crafting a routine to keep you away.

Well, then you learned his new routine. Which would've been fine if you hadn't had that puppy dog look. The one where his heart churned, looking at you as if your eyes were pleading to know what you did wrong.

So you had him hooked, as you followed him about his tasks and likewise for your own. He'd hate leaving you to deal with recruits and privates, mainly cause he hated the task himself.

Correction: Simon doesn't eat right

He was never taught to take care of himself, he can hardly cook if it weren't for some of his peers teaching him the basics through the years. Mostly surviving through MRE's and takeout, he really didn't think much of it until he was reading by his window and saw some group go into a quaint restaurant on the other side of the block.

Within 4 km, he had at least 15 dinner options, excluding going to the store, and he had overlooked the dim open sign across from his own home. While he didn't want to leave his domain, a change of pace seemed to be more appealing.

It was small. Most booths were empty as he waited to be seated. The smell of fall wafting in from the door had reminded of the brutish man he was no longer in some war-torn country.

Another reminder of that when his waitress came by after he was sat. You had this smile on your face that could cause cavities. He almost melted as you read the daily specials, listening ever so intently to how you pronounced every single word.

So as he stands pitifully at your office door, his scent wafting that delicate tobacco he oh so adores into you inner sanctum, you feel kind of bad as he holds a bottle of some wine and a bouquet mere seconds away from falling apart.

Today wasn't a special day at all, just an average Tuesday. You smiled softly as you land a kiss on his cheek, grabbing his free hand to pull him into the small library he'd kindly dedicated to you when you moved in.

"Sorry love," His voice sorrowful, as he looked at you with those puppy dog eyes.

His hand snuck up your thigh as he closes the distance between the two of you. The heat that rises in your cheeks was paired with a sickening sweet feeling in your stomach.

This was a preemptive apology, as he waltzed you to your desk. Paperwork hits the floor and before you knew, he had those rich brown eyes asking to let loose. Kisses pepper you chest, and breathes escape your throat. His thick hand traced its way to your nape, locking you in the moment.

Simon Riley X Reader, Royalty!AU

Summary - The court has been overthrown, your husband the King now dead. The new King see's you as an asset and marries you off to his Knight. Can you find peace with this new life? Will this horror be a savior?

TW: Death, Mentions of gore, infidelity, power dynamics, dub-con, Not quite historically accurate

Context: Based around 1540's English court, Slow-burn, Enemies to lovers

Air thick with blood and sweat, hand tight on the touch guiding you the old tunnels of the castle. Hurried shouts of guardsman come from all sides as you and your ladies rush, tripping on the lavish fabric that adorn your robes.

The stone floors do nothing to comfort your ears, the wails of the many men you grew to know fall dead. Their groans echoing as if still alive, shouts from the main hall still loud in your mind as you stumble through the narrowing chambers. Cobwebs crowning your head in dusty silks as you push forward, the King hopefully greeting you at the end of this pilgrimage to damnation.

The cold night, smokey rooms was a contrast to the events that morning. The spring equinox, feasts and festivities had filled the courtyard with joy. You'd forgotten the sorrows of the deep winter, how your mind pushed back on how your lord-husband, King of the realm took up one of your ladies-in-waiting. Another friend who you could no longer even spare a glance at. You watched as old friends littered the gardens, their chubby children playing in the grass. Their eyes, all sharing the warmth that was once held by your dear husband.

You heard the screams before you could enter the room, gasps and sobs of mistresses and courtiers alike as you soon laid eyes on what remained of your dear King.

His figure lifeless on the floor, someone near divine stricken down like any other man. Huddled like cattle, you all stood in the lone chamber, paintings of old adorning the walls. Figures of myth watching,

'Will we too be forgotten?' Your mind reads out as the torch flickers.

The thoughts painfully loud as you sit upon the ancient stone, and then you hear it.

Shouting,

Heavy steps,

They came from the lone hall, more wails and groans as the gluttonous nobles plead for forgiveness.

Those chubby babies were gone, and so were their mothers. The girls that only tried to comfort you, a stranger from a strange land. They were only guilty of naivety and the same men that kept you.

What were they going to do with a Queen?

The pitter-patter of your heart hastening as the steps grew nearer.

The cruel blue eyes on John Price laid upon you. His men soon meeting their lordship at the chamber's doorway. One by one- your past friends, the foes and the frivolous nobility who've scrambled in are lead away. Demise eminent as they disappear into the pitch black

His eyes meet yours, a sole reminder of a dynasty toppled.

"Do you wish to return to your husband?" His voice cold, as he watches for any glimmer of hope in your eyes. "Or...you can be of use elsewhere."

The thought of escape from judgement flashes cross your mind, selfishly wanting to avoid the fate of the others.

A low sigh escapes you, a mournful sign of resignment. As you stand, your dewy eyes glisten in the glow of the flame you dust yourself of before the traitorous man, giving a low curtsy.

"M-My King, spare me from my husband's fate as his mind was corrupted be evil spirits." The air still awaiting his judgment.

You pray to maintain dignity, that you are not perceived as some coward. The fabric of chemise lets the cold breeze nip at your flesh as you wait, silence deafening. The captain's eyes give a slight break from the bitter coldness that entrapped them.

"Your wedding will be at dawn, your chambers shall remain as they were until you are no longer of any use." He says turning back to the depths of the tunnels. Slowly you follow, the stench of the man you had known slowly filling the old chapel.

𓆩:¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨:𓆪

The dawn comes, warm and humid as you rise from your restless slumber. The normal rush of the daily now silent, new women strange women flood your chambers. Old gowns you'd nearly forgotten of being laced and pinned as you try to slow the hum of your heart.

Deep ruby hues clash with soft buttery yellows as the dress takes shape on your form. Onyx ribbons lace up your arms, a truly morbid reminder of the horrors that occurred in the night.

Guided by guards and ladies, you find yourself in the main throne room. The same formidable man sits in your deceased husband's throne, a similar hungry gaze filling his eyes. To his right, a hulking knight. Face hidden by fabric and what remains of his now broken armour.

He stands solemnly, eyes turning to meet yours - a deep pitch, reminding you of the dangerous waters by your old home. His hand outstretching as you approached.

You glide, standing before the new king, his knight just watching as you try to prepare yourself for whatever may come.

"My liege," the words heavy on your tongue as you acknowledge the man allowing you to live.

Words fall from his lips, dripping with ego that rivaled any man you had known. He mocks your old husband, who may still be in that deep forgotten room, The courtiers who raised you to be be the perfect bride- a gem to the dynasty. His eyes meet your own and then shift to the looming knight.

You are married like that, no priest nor procession. None of the opulence that landed you in the palace in the first place, just a glance and a nod.

Your new husband; a man who looked he escaped the tales your grandmother spoke of, ones who came from the fae realm and the demons that aid evil men. His hand takes yours as you stand awaiting something, anything more.

The way the eyes follow as he leads you back to your chambers, some of pity and others fear. You feel like meat once more. The heavy doors seem weightless to him as he moves.

𓆩:¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨:𓆪

The quiet after the doors to your chambers close. The light twinkling on the ground as you move to sit by the window sill, your chest is tight as you look out into the courtyard. Still yet to bloom from the harsh winter, a similar dew greets the corners of your eyes.

You hear the creaking of the bed, the brute's body laying across your fine furs. A guttural noise escapes him, the air leaving his chest in a deep huff.

His face hidden still despite the more intimate expectations.

You had seen him before, late in the evening before the terrors of the night. He roamed the rose garden, your mind sharing the memory.

Remembering how you returned early from the festivities after watching the old king chase his bastards and wards. A smile gracing his wirey lips as he laughed. You came to sulk in your window sill, the rose garden was still barren when you looked down having seen one stranger in the rows of thorns.

"So what colour is my hair s'posse to be?" The gravely voice rumbled against your legs.

"well either black and orange or~ black and green..." You cooed out, "I already sketched the design, so just up to you now."

"Mmm, Green." He sighed out, just giving into what ever planned you had designed.

A hum escaped as you attempted to mix the colors. Calloused palms rubbing against soft skin.

The discomfort is brief as kissed are peppered onto you. Face hot as you finally fill in the florescent green stars upon his head.

An hour to process,

An hour to waste,

He notices how much you squirm when he gives orders.

How your ears turn pink when he congratulates you on a job well done.

Even when your eyes get all glossy when he scolds you and the other's.

He'll put his massive hand on your shoulder, looking down at you as he makes some snide comments about how you seem pent up and how he may need to help you later.

Including: Appearance, domestic life quirks, and more

Simon Riley is an elusive man, unknown appearance and private life. If he were to have a life outside of the military, so to combat this predicament, this is my list of HC's and some reasonings.

Appearance

His hair is a perpetually in the awkward growth phase, he gets a buzz right before deployment. He doesn't get it cut when he returns, just letting it be. The only routine self-maintenance is shaving his face, he hates the feeling of facial hair against his mask.

Speaking of hair, his hair is a mousey blond. Growing up it was closer to bright blond until he was around fifteen; when he was assumed dead he dyed it a chestnut brown. The first time it was dyed it stained his ears for over a week, he didn't know if he would laugh or cry.

Dark eyes, like devoid of light unless the sun hits it perfectly. You'll feel him watching you from a mile away. When the light does hit it, they are a stunning ochre.

His sleeve was done during a slightly manic moment, when he returned from one of his first long missions. He did it in two sittings, most of the flames were done in the second.

He's 6'3, barefoot and 6'5 with his gear on. He wasn't tall growing up, shooting up the summer he turned 17.

Scars, the majority clustered on his hands. Picking at scabs in the field, he fidgets on the little knicks and gashes if left alone on rounds. He doesn't really he does it. His oldest is a gash on his brow, no fun story just tripped as a child, got cut when his dad started throwing shit busted his face.

His Skin is a strange neutral tone, if he were to go out in the sun he'd tan easily. If he were to tan, it would reveal freckles across his nose bridge.

Thinking about his nose, it's crooked and bent from many uneven breaks healing over time. Scar from his lip just barely reaching it.

Domestically

He hates grocery shopping, but refuses to be a hermit. He know's that he could get them delivered, but he’s too stubborn and will show up to a small corner store wearing sunglasses at night with a mask and headphones. The clerk knows not to question it at this point.

Doesn't often drink beer or wine, whiskey of course is his vice. Though if dragged to the bar he will order tequila shots, and if he actually for once gets drunk he'll order a cocktail. (Soap has a photo of Simon drinking a fishbowl)

Smells like cigarettes no matter what, He will wear cologne when home from deployment and he's mastered how to pair it. No one knows this or cares, it's his little secret. The cologne he often wears is a sweet orange, with vanilla. Laswell got it for him, She saw his traumatized ass and decided to try and help.

Refuses to go to therapy, depending on how long he's home for he may meet with Price for 'coffee' every few weeks and chat. Simon thinks Price does this with the other guys. He doesn't.

Orders food atleast once a week, normally Thursdays. Theres a pub a block away he will pick it up from on his jog, same meal every time and same time every week.

Has the cilantro tastes like soap gene, Gaz does make fun of this.

Has no clue how to feed himself when he gets back from deployment, will either snack all day or not eat at all.

Weirdly into dinosaur movies, you'd think it was a bit but genuinely loves Jurassic park.

Specifically likes rock bands that most hate because they don't fit the mold. This is mainly being petty and liking what his father would hate.

Deployment Simon

The mask is soaked in hydrogen peroxide before he left, he cleans and mends it himself. He can sew, just not well. The skull is attached with fishing wire.

Hates coffee, would rather deal with the caffeinated gum. Soap once got him a Frap as an experiment one time when they're on base. He loves them.

Traumatized as fuck, he legit will dissociate when moving locations. Price only knows, neither says anytime about it.

Dry Humor to cope, most of the jokes came from his old history teacher in secondary school. He was a former soldier during the Falklands war, his time in the military was brief because his leg was severely injured. The only good role model Simon had.

Never personalizes gear, especially guns. Finds it dumb when he see's it being done.

In his mind will make jokes about whats going on. This had led to him accidentally saying "chat clip that" after he beat his personal record for kills before being noticed. Soap will not let him live this down.

His expectations of living to see tomorrow goes from 100 to 0 real quick, willing to take tasks no one else wants. If it weren't for Riley joining on certain missions, he'd definitely be in a pauper's feild.

Mentally,

Should be on so many mood stabilizers, claims it would just be a nuisance. Medicates with energy drinks and cigarettes.

High-functioning autism, undiagnosed.

C-ptsd, obviously

High-functioning depression and anxiety.

Talks to Price, sometimes Laswell about everything going on. He doesn't realize that he's venting.

No one lets him drive, too many suicide jokes.

Very petty, Cat-of-a-man. Will force himself to like things that his father would hate, as well as to prove a point to others.

Only has like a handful of colorful things in his office and home. Most its gifts from the rest of the guys or cards from the lady across the street who he may shovel the snow for.