Sincerely To Whoever Made An Hc Of Toji Calling Reader 'Mama', May Your Nastiest Fantasies Come To Life.

Simon Riley absolutely refuses to let you pay for your own nails. He noticed them on your first date, so pretty and delicate.

When you’d texted him a couple weeks later, mentioning offhandedly that you were going to get new ones done, he had replied immediately. A generous amount of money sent to your account and a note. ‘Get somethin’ pretty for me, Lovie’

Any arguments on the matter were not accepted and eventually you got used to it. (You’d tried paying for your own set only once and the man had pouted for weeks).

Not that this was entirely altruistic, of course. Simon liked to provide for you, yes. But he also loved the feeling of you running your nails through his hair and over his back when he lay on top of you. Lord knows his military salary and hazard pay were generous enough to cover it.

What had really sold him was when you added a special detail to the nail on your ring finger. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time but the way he froze when he noticed was enough to make it a permanent thing.

That small letter ‘S’ painted delicately on the tip of your fingernail rewired his brain chemistry. He was half tempted to get a tattoo to match. But he’d settled for staring at it non stop. (For now) Caressing the smooth, shiny surface with his calloused fingers and thinking of a ring he could get you to match it.

Knowing that Sebastian Stan is the one saying this makes it even better

words to use instead of _______

"Know"

appreciate, apprehend, catch, comprehend, conceive, discern, envision, estimate, experience, fathom, gauge, grasp, imagine, learn, measure, notice, perceive, realize, recognize, see, think, understand

"Like"

adore, appreciate, care, cherish, commend, devoted, embrace, esteem, exalt, fancy, fond, glorify, honor, idolize, love, prize, respect, revere, treasure, value, worship

"Little"

bitsy, dainty, delicate, diminutive, infant, microscopic, mini, minor, minute, modest, petite, puny, short, slight, slim, slender, small, teensy, teeny, tiny, undersized

"Look"

behold, bore, eye, fix, flash, focus, gander, gawk, gaze, glance, glare, inspect, later, notice, observe, peel, regard, squint, stare, survey, view

"Funny"

amusing, capricious, comical, droll, engaging, entertaining, hilarious. humorous, hysterical, joking, jolly, laughable, merry, playful. priceless, rich, riot, silly, whimsical, witty

more words to use instead other words to use instead even more words to use instead

Writing Resources PDFs

i became a bsd girlie while none of u were looking

fussy. simon riley.

simon who is terrified of fatherhood and the child he cannot stop holding. a little over 1k words about simon accepting paternal love. gross fluff.

Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The hospital room filters the bruise of early morning through windowpanes that looked cleaner before the rain. Silver linings sparkle around cloud rims when thunder collapses between them. Aside from the yellow bedside lamp, and the sheet of light that flattens from under the door, the world is still dark.

The clock is one of two sounds. The other is your snoring.

You swelter under thin cotton. Rashes of red labor cling to the skin visible from where Simon guards. Hair mussed and barely contained in the complimentary hair ties from the nurses. Sleeping, sure- but still raw. Nearly burned alive, by what Simon can only assume was his own selfishness.

Despite all of this, it’s the first time you've looked at peace within the last 3 months. Beautiful- a word that grows low on trees, but Simon finds himself unable to reach much farther. Exhaustion taunts his mind and paralyzes the arm he usually holds you with.

But the bundle flinches, and he is once again wide awake.

Made from China glass. Painted in pink and tulip pollen. She’s got your nose, curving into small nostrils that breathe amateurly. Cheeks that swallow the crease of her lips and eyes that have not yet opened.

Simon is terrified that when they do, they’ll be his.

He is built from barnacles and the bottom bricks of a lighthouse. Iron that’s been fed to a kiln a dozen times until its edges sport burnt, flaking edges. Salt strung upon a wire until the saline coats his teeth when he speaks.

He probably looks ridiculous, holding a newborn. Even if she’s his.

Because nothing about him is soft, or new. He is decades beyond cradles, velvet rabbits and the grass that will undoubtedly grow when she takes her first steps. He is what happens to a man when you feed him hours not made by God. He is old and mean and none of that belongs to a baby.

But he pulls her from the incubator anyway, maybe with the hopes of proving himself wrong.

She stirs before settling between the crook of his elbow. A small thing, hair like thin field callows over her head, thumbs the size of mouse ears. Barely a beginning, despite it feeling like ages ago since you revealed the pregnancy. Hardly possible, to be looking at almost a year of his life, only for her to be as fresh as the morning and blissfully unaware of who she is. Who her father is.

And God, she’s warm. Practically burning him. Warm enough to ignite the ugly fire in his chest that he’s spent the more active, awake years of his life keeping at bay. A desperate creature that drools when softness offers itself to him. Bone marrow to a set of canines.

Told himself he’d only indulge it once- his marriage. To the bread dough and the goodnight kisses and the fresh clay that you envelop him with. The arms that wait for him. Something he really wasn’t made for. But something you fit him in anyway. Put your two hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye and told him,

“I want you and everything that comes with it.”

If that’s not a confession of love, damn the fairytales he’ll raise his daughter on. Knows shit about what it means to give and expect little. To take knowing you don’t deserve it.

Thunder blossoms outside, and the baby jolts. Her face scrunches, and Simon stiffens at what he knows will follow.

He’s never really been…fond of children. Too fussy, too loud, too flushed in the face. All delicate rounds, emotions nonsensical and unpredictable. Manifestation of a love he hadn’t understood. Not when comrades talked about it, not when Price had, not even, admittedly, when you had.

Held a peculiar, unviolent anger towards them. An ugly disquiet that had him convinced for years that children were his anthesis. The North of his South.

All of this dissipates when she starts crying.

Bounces her gently and pulls her closer against his chest. Swears quietly when she worsens, the poor, pathetic, toothless mouth opening wider to choke on her own sobs.

“I know, I know…” He shakes his head, “’don’t like the rain, either.”

She doesn’t stop, but neither does Simon. Guess she inherited his stubbornness, too.

“C’mon now…Is’alright I gotcha. Can’t get you from inside,” leans his head back when the cry rattles his teeth, “Just loud-shit…just loud…”

Re-adjusts her in his arms, and she chokes again, before her crying becomes a long, drawn-out thrum. Waters his ears until he’s looking over at you, praying you'll stay asleep and that his daughter will begin to like him.

Won’t blame her, if she doesn’t. Looking like the personification of danger probably doesn’t convince her he’ll protect her from it. He didn’t realize how quickly he was going to have to learn to be gentle. Kind.

She wails again, and he sighs, accepting defeat. Letting the exhaustion drown him before being pulled from the waters by her shaking, fat fingers. But Simon is void of the anger that attaches itself to interrupted peace. He couldn’t fathom looking at the swaddled thumbprint in his arms and feeling anything but immense…gravity.

A pull. The moon to the waves, waves to the shore, shore to the land he built his house on and will bring her home too. Not anger, not grief, not even joy. It was-

“Mm…love…” Simon’s head snaps up, and stares to where you have rolled over, eyes blinking away tear crust, “Is’at you?”

“I’m ‘ere darl,” a baby cry, “’m sorry I couldn’t get ‘er to…she won’t…”

“Si…” you reach out your hand and beckon him closer. He stands slowly, making sure not to stir the baby more than she has been, and starts to hand her back to you. But you shake your head, hand out to stop him. “Sit down.”

He blinks, before taking a seat next to the hospital cot. His jaw reaches the head bar, and he leans up against the beside table with the weeping child. You mumble something unintelligible, voice and body still plagued by sleep, before reaching over the mattress and stroking the top of the baby’s head. She still cries, and Simon sends you a desperate look.

Your hand travels down, before settling your palm over the baby’s chest. Make slow, small circles, and begins humming like you would when you bake, or when you read. Tiny normalcies amongst chaos.

And it’s a miracle. She stops crying. Hiccups a few times, fades into sniffles, and eventually a dove coo. Hands rest over yours, barely twice the size of your knuckles. Simon doesn’t take his eyes off his daughter.

“You did it.”

“We did it,” you correct, “You’re the one holding her.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t working before.” Still staring, watching for a crack, a fissure in this carefully crafted peace. It doesn’t come.

“’Cus you were doing it alone, Si,” You look at him, really look at him, and Simon feels young again for the first time since exchanging vows, “She needs the both of us. Should’ve seen her when it was just me ‘n her.” Laugh to yourself, before yawning.

Simon nods, even though he doesn’t understand. It feels like he won’t for a long time. Maybe he never will. But staring at his daughter, all flushed in the face and fussy and loud, he feels like trying.

“’gonna be alright, Simon.”

He looks up, mouth twitching into a dry smile, “Me or her?”

You reach across with your other hand and stroke under his cheek. “Us.”

And at least for this moment, Simon will let himself believe it.

tag your traumatized man comfort character

𝑇𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ ⋆.˚

photos of simon you took:

photos of simon that johnny/kyle send you:

photos simon send you:

(the guys in the photo are johnny and kyle)

Do I look like him?

Writing Notes: Foreshadowing

No one likes a spoiler, but everyone loves a good breadcrumb. When done the right way, foreshadowing brilliantly steers a reader’s journey through a story.

Foreshadowing - a literary device used to give an indication or hint of what is to come later in the story. It is useful for creating suspense, a feeling of unease, a sense of curiosity, or a mark that things may not be as they seem.

How to Use Foreshadowing in Your Writing

Foreshadowing does not necessarily mean explicitly revealing what will happen later in your story. In fact, when it is used effectively, many readers may not even realize the significance of an author’s foreshadowing until the end. Examples of foreshadowing range from the very subtle to the incredibly pointed. No matter how veiled your hints are, there are a few time-honored ways to weave them into your storytelling:

Dialogue: You can use your characters’ dialogue to foreshadow future events or big reveals. This foreshadowing may take the form of a joke, an offhand comment, or even something unsaid that adds personality to your characters while planting the seed for later revelations. A prime example of dialogue foreshadowing occurs in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, when Romeo says, “My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.” This line foreshadows Romeo’s eventual fate: committing suicide over the loss of Juliet.

Title: The title of a novel or short story can be used to foreshadow major events in the story as well. For instance, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher” foreshadows not just the destruction of the physical house, but the demise of an entire family.

Setting: The choices you make about the setting or atmosphere of your story can foreshadow events as well. In Great Expectations, Charles Dickens uses descriptions of foreboding storm clouds and inclement weather to foreshadow the dark turn Pip’s story will take: “So furious had been the gusts, that high buildings in town had had the lead stripped off their roofs; and in the country, trees had been torn up, and sails of windmills carried away; and gloomy accounts had come in from the coast, of shipwreck and death.”

Metaphor or simile: Figurative language like similes and metaphors can be effective foreshadowing tools. In David Copperfield, Dickens uses simile to foreshadow the betrayal of David by his mother, comparing her to a figure in a fairy tale: “I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this suppositious case: whether, if she were employed to lose me like the boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way home again by the buttons she would shed.”

Character traits: A character’s appearance, attire, or mannerisms can foreshadow that character’s true essence or later actions. On second reading, Lennie’s death at the end of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men comes not as a shock but as an echo of a moment much earlier, when George must put down a dog. For George, the two events are not directly linked, but the reader learns that he is willing to do something gut-wrenching in a moment of greater need.

Foreshadowing is a key tool for writers to build dramatic tension and suspense throughout their stories.

It’s a quiet flag from the writer to the reader to pay close attention, and it’s also a great tool to prepare your reader emotionally for big reveals.

For instance, if an abrupt revelation or plot twist is not adequately set up via foreshadowing, your reader may come away from your story feeling annoyed, disappointed, or confused, rather than surprised and satisfied.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs