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mitoad · 14 hours

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MIMIS. WRITING . IS . ABSOLUTELY MASTERFUL I KERBARBLED AND WAHOOD READING THIS . THE WORDS LITERALLY YANKED ME OFF MY FEET AND HURLED ME ACROSS THE ROOM (like simon in this chapter) OH EM HEE . GUYS TEAD THOS WHOLE SERIES IT WILL FIX YOU .

—THE WEIGHT OF BLOOD.

pairing: outlaw!farmer!141 x fem!reader

series masterlist taglist (closed.) next

contains: pov change, graphic violence, gore, reader’s husband insults her, mentions + use of knife in this chapter, reader is called a whore, implications of kidnapping, drugs.

summary: slippery floors.

wc: 4.7k

a/n: oh…

You always felt as if you were walking on eggshells with him.

It’s how you used to feel with him. When the sun was barely shining on your life and peppering your face with light, guilty, kisses.

Now that the sun is hidden by the horizon, no longer are the kisses light and guilt ridden, but they are harsh and forceful. No more are the rays hitting your skin with a warm embrace, but its replaced with a chill so unforgiving it’s like a whip against your skin.

No longer are the eggshells digging into your skin, because glass shards are piercing into your feet, digging into the flesh and staying there so that every time your once delicate, soft feet hit the floor, a wave of pain and realization washes over you.

Every step is a reminder; you’re never going to be free of him.

You let out a shaky breath and wince at your husband’s booming voice. Pointing fingers and yelling curses.

Johnny and Simon are doing little to nothing to stop him, in fact, they seem to be holding back.

Why?

Why are they holding back when your husband, James Fitzroy, is insulting their mothers? Their sisters, brothers? Them?

“We didnae do nothin’ to ye,” Johnny starts, standing in front of Simon when James gets too close for his liking. “So back the hell off.”

James scoffs with a sick smile on his face. “You didn’t do anything to me?” He spits. “Of course not, you just came into my house, and fucked my wife, is that it? Hm? Had your fill already?” He taunts, his hair flying wild.

You always loved his hair. His golden, rich dark hair, suggestive of the precious metal, mimics the beauty and luxury of his picture perfect world; compared to you however, your soul hides what’s really behind closed doors.

You shake your head to rid your mind of those thoughts. He’s not shining gold anymore, the secrets in this house are slowly coming to light. He resembles something that seems kind, but hurts you when you actually expect it, when you know it can hurt you. Like the sun.

“We didn’t do anythin’ to your wife.” Simon defends. He steps forward so he’s now side by side next to Johnny, the kitchen looking too small for them. “We just came here to deliver the meat she ordered, is all.”

“Oh really?” James says. He shoves an accusing finger in Simons shoulder.

He’s going to hurt them. He’s going to hurt them and you’re just standing there.

Like the pliant little housewife he made you to be.

What are you doing just standing there?

When you let the heavy coat drop from your arms onto the floor and you take a singular step in their direction, you can feel the glass digging deeper into your skin.

Every step is a reminder.

As you near your husband, you shudder. His wrath is like a toxic air that’s slowly killing you from the inside out. Taking and taking until there’s nothing left of you to take.

You reach your James, scared to meet the questioning gazes of Johnny and Simon, and reach a trembling hand to touch his shoulder. “James—”

He whips his body around to face you. You can see, feel, his anger as it burns everything it touches. Hungry for more. He grabs your outstretched hand and squeezes. Ignoring the whimpers of pain that fall from your lips and the tears that blur your vision and fall down to meet at your chin.

“You.” He says it with so much, loathe dripping from his voice, painting his lips, his chin, neck, black with anger.

“You fucking whore, playing around with these, little boys, getting their dicks wet while I slave away at work and provide for you?”

His face is too close. So close, you can smell the stink of alcohol on his breath, recoil as you feel the spit flying out of his mouth land on your face. You feel your tears falling fatter and faster as you see the hickeys and lipstick prints on his neck.

“You let go of ‘er—”

Your free hand feels like lead as you raise it to bring it down with such force it leaves a red mark on his face the moment your skin touches his, his face forced to the side, facing the wall.

You feel your soul getting doused in gasoline and set on fire.

You see James’s body turning rigid and stiff as his face turns a canvas of anger.

You blink away your tears.

He stiffens as if he endures the horrors you have to watch him do at night. He stiffens as if his body is constantly being clawed, dragged, down by hands that burn. He stiffens as if he has glass stuck in the soles of his feet, spilling his blood onto the floor and staining the wood, the walls, you. You, you, you.

He turns his head back to its original position to at you, but he’s stopped. Stopped by a scared hand deep his hair wrenching back so his body topples to the floor with a reverberating thud. You almost fall with him with his tight grip on your wrist, but you feel Johnny’s hand pluck yours out of his and cradle it, cradle you, to his chest.

But you can’t focus. You see your vision blurring and a ringing, your soul screaming, in your ears is blocking out the noise of Simon’s fists connecting with James’s face.

You watch with horror gleaming in your eyes as you see your husband’s face and body grow more and more unrecognizable by the second.

Why are you just standing there?

“Get—” Simon’s fist interrupts his slurred cries. “—th’ fuck off ‘f me you d’rty bast’rd . . .”

Your husband is getting beaten, and you’re standing in the arms of another? A stranger?

Simon’s eyes. They’re burnt a charcoal black and only seemed to be getting darker by each blow he landed on your husband’s face. It scares you to no end.

“You stain your wife’s skin with that mouth?” A sharp sound, a slap echos throughout the room. Right where your hand hit his face. Right where your hand can be seen on his face as a bright red gone darker by Simon’s force.

Your eyes catch a gleam in the light, a gleam of something sharp, of something used to kill.

A pocket knife.

James struggles to fully pull it out of his pocket but when he does, he grips it with a shaking hand and stabs blindly at Simon’s arm.

You suck in a breath and can only watch as silence consumes the room with Johnnys arms tightening around you.

He didn’t even flinch as the knife was forced into his skin, didn’t even react as he gripped the handle and yanked the knife out of his arm, his blood following the knife like a lost dog before splattering on the ground like abstract art.

Noises of pain and fear escape the opened mouth of your husband, noises that you’ve never heard him make. Only noises of power and rage.

Simon rises to his full height and takes a handful of James’s hair, dragging him up with him add dropping the knife on the floor

“Simon—” You beg, but it’s too late. With the grip Simon has on James’s hair, he pulls his arm back and swings it, swings James, towards the kitchen counter at full force.

His head ricochets off of the counter and he lands back on the floor, right in front of your shaking form.

He lays there sideways and still as the long gash running straight across his forehead leaks blood onto his clothes and floor at a rapid pace. You stare at it as the blood slowly runs towards you.

You’re staring at your husband’s bleeding body.

Simon grabs James’s pant leg, pants that you bought for him, and yanks his body towards him to resume what he hadn’t finished.

When the blows continue, you find yourself wincing at each one, unconsciously sinking deeper into Johnny’s warm body.

A man you just met that day is beating the life out of your husband.

You feel like cold water is raining down on your body.

“Stop—” Your cry escapes your lips broken. “stop, please! Simon please—you’re hurting him!”

You try to push Johnny off of you, try to yank your limbs out of his strong grip but that’s just it. His strong grip is like a snake that captured its prey, rolling its body around it and holding onto it until it dies, until it can’t feel anymore, until you can’t breathe anymore.

“Let me go—Johnny let me go!”

He shushes your cries and doesn’t even bat an eye when you turn to bang your fists on his chest and run your nails down his skin. He just cradles your head to his chest right where his heart is so you can hear his heartbeat and be soothed.

But how can you be soothed when—

“Simon.” You hear him say. “That’s enough.”

Like changing tides; Johnny’s voice sweeps into his mind and altered his landscape of emotions. Changing from the beast in a story to a soft bear.

A bear with blood dripping from its mouth.

Simon stops the torture that he inflicted upon your husband and keeps his back turned to you and Johnny as he stands. Blood, James’s blood, dripping from his clenched fists and escaping into the crevices in your tile floor.

He turns at the waist to you and Johnny. You, who’s still struggling to escape his arms, you whose tears are never ending on your damp cheeks, you who’s watching your husband struggle to breathe, blood exiting his mouth in bubbles, popping and splattering the red mess everywhere.

And Johnny, who watched with a satisfied smile growing on his face.

Bells were ringing in your ears, stars were dotting your vision, your hands were shaking, you can’t breathe. “James . .?” You whisper. Your voice coming out so broken that Johnny almost felt sorry.

He still has his arms around you, still feels your beating heart pound against the cage around it, against his chest, still feels the sting of the bruises and scratches you left on him, the latter leaving blood trailing down his arms, dripping and dripping until they bleed into your dress, bleed into you. He still feels, you.

“What . . . No . . . no, no!” Your wail runs deep and escapes raw from your soul. You wail and it breaks Johnny’s heart, breaks it into tiny pieces scattered all around this cruel world you all live in. This world filled with cruel people.

“You killed him! You killed him!” You struggle, and Johnny grunts out curses as you elbow his stomach, slipping in blood and failing to the floor, your dress pooling at your feet, shaking in the blood staining the floor and dying the front of your once blue dress red. You fall right in front of Simon. Right in front of your husband’s still warm body. Still bleeding. Still breathing.

You burn the part of you that feels disappointed in that fact.

“James,” You whisper, cradling his face, his broken face, his face that is broken and bleeding, in your hands. You know it will haunt you for life. “Please, please, wake up. . . wake up . . .”

Blood was everywhere.

Your cries are silent except for the horror filled gasps you let out in between breaths. Your hands shake and you feel as if the coldest of waters were dumped on you. Hoping there would want you up from this dream, this nightmare.

“Why . . ? Why did you do this . . ?”

Your face is drenched in your tears running down your face, some fleeing into your mouth, making you taste your own sweet nectar tears. A nectar that is sticky and leaves a bitter rather than sweet taste in your mouth, a nectar that clings to things that aren’t theirs and never lets go. A nectar like Simon and Johnny.

“He was hurtin’ ye lass,” Johnny says. “We couldnae let ‘im hurt ye like tha’” He walks towards you, the squelch sound coming from his boots walking on blood make you flinch and cover your mouth in terror with your shaking hands, spreading blood, your husband’s blood, all over your tear stained cheeks.

Johnny squats down next to you, his thighs brushing over yours as he watches you. Watches you process that your husband might as well be dead to you, and he’s not coming back no matter how hard you pray.

You feel Johnnys hand, his warm hand, his soft hand, his dry hand, guide your face to lock your eyes with his.

“Ye know we had to do tha’.” He says. His eyes aren’t bright anymore. Now they’re dark waves at night. Luring innocents into its waters and taking, drowning, keeping. “Right, love?”

Your eyes shift back to James’s body in your peripheral, still feeling the cold gaze of the two men on your face.

His eyes are swollen shut; but if they were open, you could imagine they’d be looking at you, piercing you with that gaze you used to love so much, The gaze you find yourself missing; back when things were good, not burnt and soaked in blood.

His skin is pale. It turns as white as the pure clouds that once blocked the heat of the sun. But now the clouds are dark, they’re dark and they obscure the warmth of the sun to let the cold chill of death sink its claws into the fertile earth.

His chest barely rises with the painful breaths he’s taking.

He’s still alive.

Your shaking eyes peel away from James and they lock with Johnnys’ again.

And you know, with a heavy and pained heart, that he can see the tiny part of you that agrees with him.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your eyes burned and your head is pounding. All you can hear is ringing. Ringing, screaming, crying, all the same to you in this moment.

You hear someone call your name, you feel a wet hand touch your shoulder, you feel something sharp sink into the fragile skin of your neck.

You feel the cold shadow of darkness embrace you.

Your body feels heavy.

Heavy with guilt, fear, and an overwhelming sadness.

Heavy with whatever drug was forced into you.

In your milky haze, your eyes open slightly and the sun burns your eyes even through the thick curtains blocking it.

You think they’re curtains. They could very well be something else; but they move with such a fluidity in them that you can’t think otherwise.

This room you’re in moves as if it’s a vehicle on a bumpy road, your ears pick up the sound of an animal trotting on the rough road.

Someone moves, blocking the shining sun with their body as they move to learn towards you.

“Sh, Bonnie lass.” A voice coos at you, brushing their—his—hand over your temple to gently move the hair that rested there. “Yer alrigh’, we’re gonnae get ye someplace safe.”

When you let out a hoarse moan in protest to his action, another hand, a bigger hand, pets your hair and plants a chaste kiss on your sweating forehead.

You let out a dry cry and try to move your head in another direction, any direction, but the poison burning your veins and warming your skin is making you a limp doll.

Your lips are cracked and your throat is raw. When you try to speak, the sentence gets lost on the way out of your mouth and only one word escapes.

“. . . home . . .”

The soft voice, the first voice, shushes you again, moving your body and placing it sideways in a laying position so your head rests on his lap and your legs dangle on something else. Someone else.

“It’s gonnae be okay hen, don’ worry that pretty head. We’ll get ye home safe with us.”

You last see the curtains move after going over a particular bump in the road, revealing dancing trees and a large sign; though you only see the last part of it before your body succumbs to sleep:

—POPULATION: TWO HUNDRED SEVENTEEN.

In the murky shadows of the dimly illuminated room, wisps of smoke curled and danced around the man seated amidst the gloom like a dragon.

With each inhale, the ember of the cigar flared, casting fleeting glimpses of their features into the obscurity.

The apple of his cheeks, his beard shining auburn, his eyes that reflected an angry sea.

“She sleepin’?” He asks into the shadows. His voice is rough and deep, his words escape him in a cloud of smoke as dark as his eyes.

“Yes. Brought ‘er in an hour or so ago. A ripe peach she is.” The shadow answers, stepping away from the window that covered an entire wall adjacent to the grand desk. The shadow walks the length of the room to stand in front of the desk, he picks up a random trinket from the desk and starts twirling it between his fingers repeatedly.

“And the husband? Tell me the bastards’ gone.”

The smell of smoke and ash covered the room. But nothing could cover the smell of blood coating the shadows fingers, staining the trinket, the knife, in his hand.

“He’ll never hurt her again.”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

TAGLIST.

@the-faceless-bride @chickennn-soupp @starabigail @drenix004 @dogboyfoe @lostintro @tonylagsagne @sobasicallyimpoppee @ahervyn @ghostlythots @flowerloversthings @sugar-brains @midnights-song @poohkie90 @minecraftflowerpots @cand1c @mortallydelicatedinosaur @coffinfae @wiotas @missinghosty @rataaaaail759 @crazy-phan-girl13 @riw3 @dmitriene @coy2u @storxii @uglycoyote @idioticsqu1d @iloveramensm @starluv @darling006 @ivuravix @mitoad @miss-mistinguett @totallynot-mac @tallicaside @imagine-valhalla @deputy-videogamer @ggpayer44 @yellow-paper-duck @sharkient @kaoyamamegami @kariiiel @chaoticla @lovelydays2night @lostintro @tonylagsagne

#spoilers in tags !!!!!! warning warning weeewooweewoo #but honestly the most devious smile formed on my face when james got his ass WHOOPED absolutely DESERVED #and look i know james used to be a good husband nd all but like …. he beat us the fuck up and cheated on us lmao #so his death is very very very deserved #thank u johnny and simon 🙏🙏🙏

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mitoad · 3 days

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grahhh i love yu too !! cant wait 2 see u grow ^^ grhhfhdgsgshhg (mimito ???? oh em gee .,,,)

dad!ghoap au | ghoap x fem!reader

sun burnt eyes and bunnies

tw: ( mentions of ) nightmares

a/n: simon is so whipped here um… ( unedited )

Teddy woke them up before their alarm did.

“Da, Da! Wake up, wake up!”

The body pressed into his front let out a grunt. Meanwhile the tiny body jumping on their bed was stepping on their legs.

The sun barely showed itself above the horizon and their daughter was up before them and full of energy. Johnny would say that she got the early bird genes from him. Simon would counter saying she inherited his golden retriever attitude.

With groggy eves and slow, sleep ridden movements Johnny sat upright against the headboard and pulled their daughter in his arms with a smile. "Whit's keepin' ye up at this time hm, leannan?"

Simon shifted to his side and drank in the sight of his lover and his daughter speaking in hushed whispers, trying to be discreet and quiet while occasionally looking at him and giggling. He loved his daughter with his whole heart. From her dark black hair to her bright blue eyes, he loved her.

He loved Johnny with his entire soul as well as his heart, he'd always find a way to fight his way in anyways. Johnny always liked to brag to everyone he'd meet that Simon was his rock, his fortress, but Simon didn’t feel much like a rock with how he felt like he would tumble and break if anything could happen to his family. He felt less like an imposing fortress and more like a ball of tumble weed with how he felt his walls break and tumble when his daughter came crying to him with a scrapped knee.

His heart was so fragile and seemed to be on the verge of breaking. But when nights were bad and he'd wake up with sweat making his clothes cling to him, suffocating him and making him choke on his own breath, Johnny would be there. Johnny would be his rock, making sure Teddy was still asleep and making sure he was changed into clean clothes. Johnny was his fortress, making sure the monsters of his eternal night were far away from him, making sure they wouldn't be able to taint their house, their family.

He loved them so much. He loved the way Teddy tickled her way out of Johnny's grasp and crawled his way towards him, and he loved her big cerulean blue eyes that only gazed at him with wonder and love.

Her face made home on his warm chest, her small hands grabbing at his large ones, playing with his fingers. "What's wrong Dada?"

Simon smiled and rested his free palm on her head, playing with her soft curls. "Nothin" my darlin' Teddy. Just love you." He placed a kiss on her forehead and laughed as she giggled.

"I love you more!" She exclaims. Suddenly sitting on her knees and spreading her arms as wide as she can. "Love you an' Da this much!"

The weight of the bed shifting more to Simon's side made him aware of Johnny leaning towards Teddy and lifting her up, gaining a squeal of joy from her tiny lips.

"Oh yeah? Let's show yer Dad how much ye love in then, eh?" He smiles. "How's breakfast in bed sound Si?”

Simon smiled a toothy smile and met Johnny halfway to meet his lips in a kiss. "Sounds like heaven.”

Johnny already felt his body shivering when he stepped outside.

Though he has a long sleeved shirt on with long pants, his thighs pressed against the fabric and his biceps were so prominently outlined with this shirt that it felt like he was walking outside bare naked; the clothing doing nothing for warmth he would’ve felt the same unforgiving chill if he was naked.

Johnny scratched his hair, his mohawk in need of a trim, he’d make sure to ask Simon to cut it for him. That or he’d just grow it out.

He let out a yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Even with the barrier, he watched his breath escape him as a white cloud, vanishing into the air.

Reaching his mailbox, he smiled fondly at the pink hands of Teddy that greeted him.

‘RILEY HOUSE’ was written in a mix of yellow and green paint, three sets of hands in three different colors painted on the once white box.

‘SIMON’ , ‘JOHNNY’ , and ‘TEDDY’

Simon’s badge was written in black, blue for himself, and Teddy’s name was written in pink. Their hands forever painted on the mailbox below their names.

Johnny patted the mailbox with a fond look in his eye. He remembered Simon complaining about how the paint wouldn’t come off his hands. How Teddy ran around the house and stuck her tiny hands to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and how Johnny smiled at her with love even though he knew the paint would never come off.

He loves his family. His Riley’s.

Johnny opened the mailbox and took the mail out, walking back to the front door with his eyes reading the mail and his hips jutting out with every step.

Bills, scam, scam, letter from his Ma he’d read once inside, bills, scam, clearance sale coming up, and a letter addressed to Simon.

Johnny’s thick brows met when he reached the last paper in the stack. A letter for Simon? He rarely gets any letters.

Pushing his worries aside, Johnny was near his door when he heard the opening and closing of another.

He looked to the house on his left and out came you. His neighbor that he never met. His neighbor that always seemed to wake up earlier than him and Simon.

Johnny stood pin straight on his porch, mail in one hand and the front doorknob in the other.

You were speed walking to your mailbox, your hair was out and the breeze was getting it in your face, your robe was flowing in the wind doing absolutely nothing to protect your soft skin from the chilly air and all the while, revealing the oversized shirt you were wearing.

If Johnny was a bad man, if he looked hard enough, he could see the little pebbles of your nipples and the form of your breast outlined by your shirt. But he wasn’t a bad man.

He was a good man, a respectable man. So he only saw the was your pants squeezed your thighs just as his own did his.

Though that didn’t seem any better, did it.

Distracted by the cup of coffee in your hands and the person you were calling on your phone, at the same time turning your phone over to your face every couple of seconds, likely checking the time and hoping it was earlier than 6:47 in the morning, you didn’t notice that you were almost in the middle of the street. You didn’t notice the car speeding.

You certainly didn’t notice Johnny dropping his mail, running towards you and scooping you up by your waist, placing you on the sidewalk in front of your house. Your hero.

The sun burnt his eyes. It was too early to be here. If he came later though, it would’ve been too late.

He heaved out a deep sigh and ran a calloused hand through his blond hair, wincing at the feeling of his fingers catching tiny knots and tugging at his scalp.

There were a dozen or so cars parked near the front of the school, parents eagerly waiting for their children to walk out of the big doors and into their arms. Parents who couldn’t stop gawking at him.

He’s not here to meet the stares of the married parents trying to lean on his car discreetly, he’s here for one thing and one thing only: his daughter.

But he can’t not stop thinking about the way the sun’s rays pierced his eyes and made him wish he was blind.

So, here he was, wishing he was deaf instead with how loud the end of school bell screamed in his ears, and wishing he had the eyes of a hawk so he could look at and wait for the beautiful elementary teacher to walk towards him with his daughter grasping her hand.

When you did come out, Simon realized why your name always fell from Johnny’s lips.

It’s might be the dress. Might be the sun. It might just be you.

But the way your dress curves with your hips, forms with your thighs, your glowing skin kissed by the sun. You’re vibrant in the fabric, big eyes shining so bright it makes his knees buckle and he feels his breath catching in his throat. He can’t look away.

You’re a dove, perfect and pure, kind and naive, skin so soft he would feel like the softest of feathers were blessing his skin with kisses.

If he got close enough. If you’d grace him with the air you blew his way with a flap of your feathers. If.

You finished guiding the children to their parents, bidding them farewell with a wave accompanied by a delicate smile that made your eyes scrunch and cute footprints that reminded Simon of crows appear on the corners of your eyes.

Simon stood up straighter when you approached him with his daughter skipping and giggling without a care in the world. He felt his lips tug on his cheeks.

Teddy was looking side to side trying to find the tall man that was her father, when she met his eyes, Simon felt his smile match hers. Fun of life and love.

Teddy let go of your hand and almost broke into a full sprint, almost because your palm on her little stomach stopped her from doing so. You bent down a bit to match her height and reminded her about looking both ways before crossing the street.

Teddy smiled up at you and grabbed your hand once more, sticking her head to see the road better and seeing her head both right and left making her pigtails sway with the movement.

You patted her head with your free hand and now that you were a few feet away from him, Simon could hear your sweet voice.

“Good job Teddy! Always remember now, okay?” You smiled at his daughter with such, care, it made his heart squeeze.

“Mhm!” Teddy answered. She looked at Simon and a gasp escaped her lips as she let go of your hand and ran into his arms.

Simon smiled and squatted down to match her height, picking her up by her armpits and twirling her around in the air.

“There’s my girl,” He said, propping her on his hip and kissing the crown of her head.

You were just about to leave, midway into turning around and going back into there school into your classroom. But Simon wanted to actually see you up close. He wanted to drink you in and get drunk on your sweet nectar.

Teddy giggled, he’d never get enough of that, and she pointed at her teacher, at you. “Look, look she’s my teacher Daddy, isn’t she pretty?”

You turned around and paused, looking at Teddy in surprise. As if you haven’t heard a compliment like that before. As if you hadn’t heard a compliment done right, a compliment said by the right mouth.

Simon has the right mouth. He can shower you in compliments right and pure if he tried his hardest. If you gave him and Johnny a chance to.

“You’re right, love,” He says, looking at you with flowers blossoming through his eyes. You with the bright and lovely skin, you with those perfect lips he wished to kiss. “She’s beautiful.”

The way your eyes widened, Simon could tell your cheeks were warm, your ears burning.

“I—” You paused. Seemingly deciding your next words carefully with a hesitance that resembled one of a bunny. Meek and lovely.

Simon could see in your eyes that you were debating on how to answer, how to speak after what he and his daughter just said. You looked so confused and cute Simon couldn’t help the slow smile spreading across his face.

“Thank you, Mr. Riley,” You said softly. A shy thing you were. “That’s very kind of you.”

Simon thought your voice was heaven.

He would’ve kept taking to you, kept you tucked in his chest right next to Johnny in his heart. But he forgot he’s not alone.

He’s in the burning parking lot with parents pretending to look anywhere but him and the lovely teacher, trying not to eavesdrop and likely spread gossip that would stem from the lines of “why not come to my place-” or “i missed you, let’s do this again-”

However, Simon wouldn’t think those words would be such a bad idea to spread. You were a lovely woman who deserved men to cherish and flaunt you. Simon and Johnny could do that job.

Johnny already does with how much he boasts about how amazing his daughter’s teacher is.

Teddy’s stomach started to rumble. Hungry clawing and cramping her poor stomach.

“Hungry, love?” Simon asks her, tilting his head down to look at her tucked into his neck. Teddy blinks up at him with tired laced eyes and nods softly.

“Let’s get you home to eat then, hm?” He assures, giving her a small smile and patting her head back into his neck for rest.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Riley.” You say, and the breeze answers you with a cold wind that erupts your arms in goosebumps, making you shiver. Making Simon wish he brought a jacket to drape over your shoulders.

“Nice meetin’ you too, dove.” He nods his head at you and leaves you with a warm smile.

His heart pounds.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

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