⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

DIANA YOU CRAZY QUEEN!!

husband!simon who refuses to bring his wedding ring on missions, fearing that it will put you in danger if he’s captured. he wears it around base on a chain around his neck, only putting in back on when he’s sure it won’t get dirty. he’s got a dirty job, after all.

refers to you as ‘the missus’ to his team

always checking in to tell you if his plans change or he’s going to be late coming home. johnny teases about him being whipped but secretly enjoys seeing his friend so dedicated

fidgets with his ring during briefings. spins it back and forth on his finger as he listens to price and laswell discussing intel

makes a wood burned plaque that says ‘the rileys’ and hangs it on your porch. sometimes you catch him staring at it, a faraway look in his eyes

always grins when you introduce him as ‘my husband, simon’. rubs his hand up and down your back after you say it as if to say that’s right, love.

got very drunk with johnny and kyle one night while you were away. you received a video of simon slumped on the couch, mumbling nonsense before you could decipher “fuckin’ miss my wife” over the snickering of johnny behind the phone

gets a tattoo of your lipstick mark somewhere on him (be creative here. i dare you)

holds your hips whenever you're speaking to someone he doesn’t know. presses a kiss to the top of your head while he stares at them for good measure

has a photo of the two of you on his desk, one from a 141 gathering that you’d attended at the bar. he stood behind you, his arm slung over your chest in a show of possession. he keeps a much more candid photo of you on him

gets hit on by some of the new recruits (understandably) that don’t know he’s taken yet and just stares at them. if they persist, he hits them with a “not sure you’d like to meet mrs. ghost.”

appreciates when you make him dinner, but really loves when he has the time to make you a nice dinner. likes grilling a lot, but likes having you sit outside and watch him even more

forever entranced by the sight of his ring on your finger. you’ll be talking away to him when he grabs your hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a light kiss above where the ring sits before looking back up at you. “continue your story, lovie.”

lets you stitch his balaclava up if the threads come loose. you sneak in a little heart with some red string that sits under the skull, hidden from view. only he feels it sitting on his cheek in place of a kiss

Simon never heard his father say sorry, or please, or thank-you, or I love you.

In their house, when his mama would put down hot, heavy casseroles, her skin damp with sweat, eyes darting for some sweet words, his father never said one word of thanks, let alone 'some'. Only waved his thick, impatient hand.

His father never took the plates to the sink. Never noticed when she stayed up at night to sort the screws by size and purpose—organizing the chaos he left behind just to find one damn hammer.

His father never said ‘please can you—’ only grunted with that bitter mouth, glared with those unkind eyes when he needed something.

Simon never heard him say I love you. And he couldn’t believe his eyes the day his father plucked out his baby brother from his mama's arm, and didn’t spare one glance for his Ma. She didn't deserved that, did she? Her weak frail body, cracked murmuring lips — she should be celebrated with adoration, comfort, love.

Love, and an infinite of it.

His father never sat beside her just to drink tea. Never told her about his day. Never asked about hers — what she did, or liked, or wanted. Never reached out his thumb, however calloused it was, to wipe away the sprout on her chin. That he was grateful she's next to him, that he loved her.

So when life happened, and Simon was left to pick up his pieces and place them in a way he wanted to be—he thought whomever he will be, anything, but his father.

Anything but him.

And then life happened again but this time it arranged itself in beautiful ways. Because you came with it this time. You and all your silly lovely ways, you who kissed your knee before resting your chin, you who cheered up catching up with fridge' light switching off, you so beautiful, so kind, made up of sundust. His sunshine — lighting up his world.

And God, he was so, so grateful. Every moment, every day !

“I love you,” he’d say the moment he wakes up next to you. Pressing his love on your lips, on your shoulder, on your neck.

“I love you,” when you spill milk in the morning daze and stare at it like it might disappear.

“I love you,” when he wipes your chin and kisses your forehead.

“I love you,” when he takes your hand in his and rubs it between his palm, why ? Because he'll spend his whole life keeping your hands warm than anything else.

“I love you.” because he loves, loves, and loves you so much that it hurts, so much that it heals, so much that it's everything sweet ever happened to him.

“I love you.” for all the ways his father failed, and Simon too, as a son, as a brother — failed to save his mama and lil' brother. I love you, because in loving you he is allowing himself to be loved.

Masterlist

the desire to be in a relationship only comes around when you’re about to sleep, on the journey home alone, sundays, after the club, when it’s raining, winter, at the cafe, today, tomorrow and yesterday

feeling like such a failure for not going out. for not being wild. for not having dozens of friends. for not having clear skin. for not knowing everything already. for not being naturally extroverted.

cold evening

"si."

"doll."

"what's this flower called?"

simon looked at the billionth flower you showed in just twenty minutes, sighing. "im a soldier love, not a gardener." though he took the pink colored flower from your hands, and placed it in the small box you brought, just to turn them into a sticker later and put it in your notebook.

"makes sense," you murmured. "though i thought you'd knew since you guys are always on the forests or mountains."

"we don't really have time to search which flower is which doll." he said softly, moving everything that was sharp in front of you, in the small forest you two discovered in your hike. you liked getting lost in nature walks with your husband, who was as useful as a swiss army knife in your eyes.

"shame." you murmured, holding his hand when you felt like you were stumbling. though you liked to be a little dramatic sometimes. as you both continued to hike, and pick flowers, you occasionally liked to touch big tree's. "how fast you can climb this?" you asked curiously, looking up at the big oak tree.

"three minutes, max." he said with a casual confidence that made you remember why you falled for this man. he could do anything, and it was impressing you embaressingly enough.

"wanna test it out?" you asked with a mischief smirk on your face. simon mirrored.

"what do i get in return?"

"a big kiss."

he started climbing that moment, finding bumps to step on or using his big knife to help him climb, going all in for a kiss. you chuckled as he sat on one of the sticks, looking at the time. "two minutes and a half, lieutenant!"

as if it was nothing, he jumped down from that tree, landing on his feet with a loud thud. "my reward." his hands immediatly reached out and you happily hugged his neck, giving him the biggest smooch.

the next time he returns from a deployment, he has a bunch of squished mountain flowers on his gear pocket, a few of them losing their leaves but it mattered to you nonetheless. because he thought the weird and rare flowers would look great on your little notebook, and you felt special that he remembered that while fighting for his life.