For simon & Johnny’s day, can I ask for Simon in a relationship with angst and fluff?

In The Orange

The earth beneath his boots isn't hard enough yet to prevent the heels of his boots from sinking into partially soft ground. He grips his hand tightly around the handle beside him, fingernails digging into the leather before he takes that initial step.

The air cuts through his lungs with every step he takes down a worn path that's committed to his memory. With every step it feels as if his chest is being crushed, as if there's an insurmountable weight that is being pressed to his body.

The thick limbs of trees that encompass this path like Guardians watching him make this Trek toward the end goal, cast shadows upon the ground. Simon feels the cutting edge to his lungs and his chest, the ache makes him hesitate as he wonders if this is even worth it.

But he knows who waits for him at the end of this long trek, the door that obstructs him. If he can make it to the front steps, if he can cross that divide and complete this journey, then he will be able to breathe. It cuts deep, however, with every step that makes his heels dig in. It's ever present there, the ache that rattled the sturdy soldier who was returning home with invisible wounds.

Simon Riley was a damned man who tried to catch something and someone good in his hands. The blood that stained his hands, that afflicted his body and soul with a darkening haze, was pressing. It was a reminder that he was a monster, a phantom that terrorised his enemies.

There was less than ten feet between him and the house at the end of that long drive. There was less than ten feet when he stopped where he was and dropped the bag in his hand. The leather handle that weighed him down had nail marks permanently altering the composure. The edges were rough and the zipper was at the end of it's lifespan, threatening to spill the contents inside like they were his deeply guarded secrets.

Simon stood there, at the end of the long drive, with his blue eyes settled upon the front door. There was a plume of smoke coming from the chimney, promising warmth inside. The front door was closed and shut tight, with only the scribbled markings of Sharpie staining the door as decoration. Through the front window Simon could see the car lounging on the shelf, a small Ragdoll kitten with a beastly attitude that reminded Simon of himself.

He stood there until the chill of the turning weather had begun to eat at his hands, and only then had he stopped low to pick up that bag. The weight that returned to his hand was inductive of his guilt, of the pain that are away at him internally like slow acting poison. Still he moved, he closed the ten foot distance until he had walked up the steps.

He raised his hand to knock on the door, once and then twice. The footsteps behind the door had given Simon hope, the cold soldier had felt the frozen state of his heart thawing. He held his breath as the door opened and a familiar face stood on the other side, the beauty of that face drawing Simon forward.

"Hello love." He spoke instinctively, his voice hoarse and rough from years of abuse via cigarettes and alcohol. He stood on the other side of that door, his blue eyes sweeping over the form of his beautiful wife, the woman that he left behind to pursue duty.

This place was so untouched by the hands of war and strife, by the duty that plagued him at night and drove him mad some days. This place, far from the UK, was settled in the United States and surrounded by woods and nature. It was the perfect place for a young boy to grow up, to feel bark beneath his fingers and explore the world around him without the threat of urban conflict.

"Simon," you breathed his name as you stared at your husband, those rings around your finger still representing a promise, "you're in one piece."

His wife stood on the front porch of their home wearing one of his old shirts that he should have thrown out ages ago. You stood barefooted on the mat set before the door, not a welcome mat but one that was more crass and to Simon's liking. There, behind you, was a curious face with eyes that were a carbon copy of Simon's, and a smile that was yours.

"Were you a good lad for your mama?" Simon had crouched to meet his son who peeked around your legs, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"Daddy," your son, eager and excited to see his father again, had darted around your legs to crash into Simon's body, and his arms enveloped his boy. Simon held his son tightly to his body as he lifted him from the porch. Simon stood, his boy's arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist as best he could.

"There's my boy," Simon hugged his son tightly, feeling the cutting ache and coldness to his heart melting once more, "I missed you."

Simon watched you as his son hugged him, he watched you and gauged your reaction. Your eyebrows were furrowed as you stared at Simon, as you watched him with those eyes that he loved so much. You were mindful of the time he was spending with his son, and had waited until Simon set his son down again before you inches forward. The cutting breathlessness that afflicted him when he first arrived, was settling now that you were within reach.

"I missed you, sweetheart." He touches you before you say anything, before you even had a chance to. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear that rolls down your cheek. Simon knows he's been gone far too long, he knows that there's an uncertainty in this marriage that hurts you as much as it hurts him.

"You're home." You finally speak, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between you both. "Simon, you're home."

He raises his other hand to your cheek, his palms warming under your flesh. Behind you he can see the baby, his girl that he has yet to meet, nestled in a baby rocker, sleeping soundly. She is the second of your children, and yet another reason why Simon had to make the decision he had.

"I love you," you speak the words he dies to hear and you press yourself against him, hugging him the same way you did when he had left, "don't leave again, Simon."

He rests one of his large and heavy hands against the small of your back to keep you pressed against him, while the other rests against the back of your head. He smooths down your hair, comforting you while your tears stain his shirt, the relief you feel now that he's home is matched with his own.

"I have to tell you something," Simon shifts his foot as he stands, the edge of his heels touching that worn bag with the leather handle, "sweetheart-"

"Please don't leave again." You pull away from him, your eyes searching his as he looks down at you, vulnerability making his chest ache again. "Simon-"

"I'm done," Simon spoke over you, his chest heaving with the painful twist of a heart that beats for his wife and his children, "I'm coming home. For good."

He couldn't leave you again; he couldn't leave his children. Not again.

He was a soldier, he was a Lieutenant who had taken blood and eliminated targets. His body, mind and soul were tired, and he was ready to retire. He was a tired soul who craved the love and devotion of his wife and kids, who had felt the last mission nearly breaking him.

"You mean that?" You ask him with hesitancy and Simon knows why. He has said he'd retire before but he always went back, he was drawn to the fight that never seemed to end within him. But not now, not this time.

"I'm done." He cups your cheek and tilts your head back in order to kiss you softly, sweetly and intimately. "I'm tired, sweetheart. I'm home for good."

It was a new promise; a new vow. He was back.

I am begging for a crumb of the arranged marriage historical au 🥹🥹🥹

As you know, Rhett is immediately smitten upon meeting his future wife for the first time. She's not the meek and obedient girl he expects, but a woman with her own mind who literally says "I suppose you'll do" when she first sees him. Lou is beautiful and intelligent, she makes him laugh, and all he can think about when he shows her the house they'll move into after the wedding is all the babies running around. Babies with black hair like hers and blue eyes like his. Lou is nervous that she won't live up to what a wife should be like—she's always been strong-minded and outspoken. Instead, she finds that Rhett is a gentle soul who sees her as equal.

Don't even get me started on their wedding night. Rhett will love teaching his pretty and innocent wife all about pleasure, both that he can give her, what she can give him, and what she can give herself. Just the sight of her naked body, untouched and all his, is enough for him to almost come in his trousers. And when she gets pregnant and starts to swell with his child? Feral. He has a raging breeding kink and cannot get enough of her.

It may have been arranged, but it turns into true and everlasting love.