#simon headcanons

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who grabs you and pulls you in tight behind cover when things go wrong, one arm locked around you, solid and immovable. which is often and he never fails every. single. time.

dominant!simon “ghost” riley who mutters against your ear, calm even then— “stay put. don’t make me come looking for you.”

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who lingers for a second after the danger passes, like he’s checking you’re still there, still steady because he'd rather die then let you die because he was too lazy to double-check.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who does not like to be ignored, especially by you, and always makes sure to get your attention in whatever way possible if you don't give him it.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who notices when you’re nervous, when your pulse picks up, when your breath catches and adjusts accordingly, either easing off or leaning in depending on exactly what he wants.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who always checks you after—subtle, quiet, a hand lingering a second longer, eyes scanning your face to make sure you’re okay—even if he never says it out loud.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who pulls you back with a hand around your wrist when you drift too far, grip firm but measured, thumb pressing just enough to remind you where your place is — here. by my side.

dominant!simon 'ghost' riley who positions himself between you and other people without even realising he’s doing it, body blocking, presence heavy, like no one gets too close unless he allows it.

Rewritten.

When Does Simon Realize He Wants More?

Probably not when he falls in love, that happened way before. The realization comes later, when he catches himself planning a future that automatically includes you.

When Price once asked him what he's planning after the curretlnt deployment, Simon answered without wven thinking: "We're thinking about going to Scotland for a week."

The word 'we' leaves his mouth before he can even think it straight or stop himself, and when he realizes he stopped thinking in 'I' and whenever the future came up he instantly associated a 'we', he's stared into his coffee like it personally betrayed him. Whenever he imagined the future from some point onward, it was not something he was facing alone anymore.

Simon Riley has bad— weird? habits.

And a lot of them.

It started when he was just a kid, picking old scabs off his skin. Watching the dried up blood peel right off, only to squeeze at the small wound until it bled again. Repeating the process enough to the point it became habit, creating oh so many scars.

Speaking of his youthful days, the rare times he remembers on the playground was spent sitting alone on a far away pile of dirt. Gently pulling earthworms from the ground, keeping them safe in his small palm. Small friends, he thought.

It was a short time, but when Simon was in school his leg tapped under the desk he sat at. Everyday. Every class period. Every lunch. The stimming being loud enough for the teacher to lose concentration, their eyes breaking to the same spot under Simon’s desk.

When Simon was 10 he picked up the first butt of a cigarette he could get his hands on, hiding away while his dad was too drunk to notice. The moment he put it to his lips, the taste immediately burned the tip of his tongue, he hacked and threw the thing like it had truly wronged him.

Although.

4 years later and Simon is pick pocketing strangers off the street to get money for a fresh pack.

The nasty habit sticks with him to this day. His teeth yellow and rotted. Nicotine that stains his fingers and smoke that clings to his clothes no matter how many times he washes it.

At 28, he no longer picks at his scabs. Bullet holes and deep gashes being no contender for such things.

But.

His nails now bleed weekly. If not daily. When dark leather is no longer protecting his big digits the real damage is seen.

All around his nail is dry, cracked. Rubbed raw and red. His cuticles non-existent and overgrown in an impossible way.

At 30 Simon stopped smoking.

After all, with all the hospital visits he’s taking to see Johnny the habit becomes something more irritable than soothing.

He now wears nicotine patches. Plural. One atop his shoulder the other stuck to his lower back, killing the cravings before than can begin, allowing him to stay as long as he wants with Johnny.

Now?

32 years old, a small nicotine patch on his skin, your feet in his lap.

He no longer picks at scabs, nor steals for cigarettes, or even fills his pockets with dirt.

But habits don’t just disappear, they change into other smaller things.

The Tv is on, playing some late night show neither of you are paying too much attention to.

Simons finger moves over a hangnail resting on his thumb.

Just once.

Like habit, he brings his hand to his lips, ready to rip off the extra skin.

Like it’s nothing, you sit up taking his wrist.

Confused Simon looks over at you.

You meet his gaze without question.

“Let me get that taken care of for you.”

You hum, always happy to help.

Simon can’t get a word out before you’re already up and off the couch.

You return holding a small black case full of nail tools.

Simons dark eyes bounce between you and your new pack of toys.

“Wots that?”

He asks with a tilt of his head. Sitting down, you take his hand, opening up the case expertly with one hand.

“It’s nail care Si, just relax.”

You suggest before moving to start your gentle work cutting away extra dead skin.

Simon watches you.

Watches the gentle treatment of each nail, like his hands haven’t put others in the dirt.

Gentle, like they’re not ugly worn things.

The smallest smile pulling at his lips.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone held his hand any reason other than a medic checking for injury. A teammate pulling him to his feet. A weapon being handed to him.

Never because they just wanted to.

Simon knows he’s not soft, that he’s not gentle or patient but you?

You treat him like he is.

You look up at him just in time and smile right back before going back to your work.

Simons throat tightens.

His fingers wrap around yours, stopping you from snipping around his nails, you look up in confusion.

Then, you hear it, he’s turned away from you, but his words still meet your ears.

softdom!simon who only wants you to submit from a place a joy and not out of fear or shame. he would never compromise your safety. helping you regulate and making sure your in the right mind space is his first priority always.

softdom!simon who prefers orgasm denial over overstimulation as a form of punishment. he has built his life on being disciplined and being able to control his impulses. he will always lead by example if you need a bit of redirecting.

If your passions called, Simon would answer. Boxes arrived while he was gone, filled with fresh journals for your poems, new pens for your writing, and all kinds of baking supplies to spark your creativity. He wanted you to always feel his presence, even if he was half a world away, each package a testament to his unwavering affection. When he returned, you would often slip him small, handwritten notes—your own words of love and encouragement—folded neatly, and he’d keep them close to his heart, tucked in a pocket as if they were a part of him. The others joked about him looking like a:

“proper husband”

for always stopping to read your handwriting, touching every letter as if every word you wrote was a treasure on its own.

There were nights, long ones, when you’d catch him sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a scrapbook you’d made during his deployment. Pictures of the two of you, your annotations in the margins, your thoughts and memories, capturing moments he hadn’t even noticed you were holding onto. He’d touch each page, almost reverently, lingering on the edges like he was afraid his touch might ruin the paper. And when you’d join him, sliding into his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, he’d tuck his face into your shoulder, silent, holding you close as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

Simon never argued with you; never needed to. He believed in “happy wife, happy life” with a fervency others might never understand. If you didn’t like something, he’d change it without hesitation. If you felt uncomfortable going out he would take you back home in his arms, helping you out of your dress with gentle hands, making your favorite tea in the kitchen, casting you warm, lingering glances as you sipped your cup by his side with the prettiest smile he swears he has never seen before in his life.

There were times you’d tease him, testing the boundaries of his devotion with light-hearted remarks about your whims. But no matter what you said, he never wavered. If anything, his dedication seemed to intensify, his love quiet but resolute, unwavering in the face of your every wish. You could see it in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world he wanted, needed. To Simon, you were perfection, and nothing you did could ever change that.

When it came to intimacy, Simon was utterly faithful. At night, his hands would roam your form reverently, memorizing every curve, every detail he’d missed in his months away. When you traced the veins on his neck, his breaths came out heavy, the weight of his love pressing down on him. Your touch left him trembling, his normally steady hands shaking as he held himself over you, eyes dark with an almost sacred devotion as he rocked into you with slow, deep movements that left him weak.

When you’d murmur his name, kiss his scarred knuckles, and hold him close, Simon felt himself unraveling in your arms, reduced to nothing but his love for you. His broad, muscular form sank against you, a sturdy weight softened by your warmth, and he’d surrender completely, letting you hold him, a silent confession of his trust and vulnerability.

In the stillness of those moments, he would remember a time when he hadn’t believed in softness when life had taught him only to take and endure. But now, in your arms, Simon Riley found a new truth: that he could give, could cherish, and, most of all, could love without fear. And as he drifted to sleep, wrapped in your love, he knew that he had finally found his purpose—not in battle, nor vengeance, but in this quiet, steadfast devotion to the woman who had taught him that he was worthy of peace.

I'm going to pretend like this request isn't from February (I'm so fucking sorry, I totally forgot i had this in my inbox) Anyways, this idea is really cute.

Simon never expected to date someone in general, much less someone who was absolutely obsessed with crocheting. You two don't live together yet but you've gifted him so many things no matter what room he’s in, there is something there that reminds him of you. Honestly he’s not sure how it happened, he kept telling you no, you didn't need to spend your time making him stuff, but you just didn't listen.

Every morning when Simon goes into his closet to get dressed for the day there's just an odd pop of color. Everything in Simon's closet is black, with maybe an occasional gray, but you say using just black to crochet is too boring and not colorful enough, so now Simon has a whole little pile of clothes that are just super bright and colorful. Most of it is winter stuff, but he has multiple hats in different colors. He has two pairs of mittens, one pair is colorful and covered in little hearts and the other is just plain black, which you only made because you learned his original pair of mittens had holes in them but he refused to get new ones, so you made him the plain black ones first with the yarn you still had, then later the heart ones, and yes Simon wears both. His wardrobe is filled with crocheted sweaters after you learned he only had like two non work shirts, you kept them mostly neutral but still added a small pop of color, maybe a little flowers or hearts on the sleeve. Simon loves it, it reminds him of you, and he will absolutely wear any of it, if someone thinks he looks a little odd wearing an all black outfit with a brightly colored hat and gloves they can mind their damn business. 

His wardrobe isn't the only area you've added crocheting too, his kitchen is also filled with crocheted items. Simon doesn't do any homemade cooking but he is amazing at following instructions so as long as something just needs to be warmed up Simon's got that. Does Simon have plenty of burns on his hands and arm from cooking, yes. And that's why you've made him multiple oven mitts, pot holders, and mug cozies, just in hopes that he won't burn himself anymore, it's majorly helped but every once in a while he still somehow manages to burn himself.    

Then there's the little random things you've crocheted for him. A bunch of coasters, he switches them out every once in a while, they're so many different ones but his favorite is the ghost. You noticed his wallet was absolutely falling apart, he can’t even hold coins in it, but it didn't bother Simon enough to buy a new one so you just made him one. So now he has this super cute red and black wallet that's just big enough to carry his cards, a few coins, and a picture of you. Soap makes fun of him every time he pulls it out. Simon doesn't mind though, especially because he knows you've decided to make one for everyone on the team, and Simon knows damn well Soap will use it if you ask.

BloodyMary x Reader, texting au

It wasn't always like this, quietness used to let him hear his thoughts, let him live through any of the bad again.

But now he had simply accepted it, and when ue looked past that. He found a warm safety.

But when he started living with you, the mornings of his days at home were anything but still.