toph

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

[banditophi]

Imagine bantering with Ghost which ends up in a heated argument

Y/N: Since your mouth’s so dirty, why don’t you wash it with soap?

Believing you are so clever, blind to everyone’s reaction.

[banditophi]

^ྀི Synopsis: Being alone is a horror you will never have to perceive again.

^ྀི Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

^ྀི Warning: Mention of booze

^ྀི This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

To evoke what shattered your heart into smithereens is a torment that you cannot conclude. Just as time cannot cease, the agony which the evening conducts cannot be evaded. A fathomless grave he dug for you. As if you are a ghost living among strangers. When were you last able to taste food? Have you withdrawn from the comfort of your bed? A lie you tell yourself, as the only being to ever surpass the hatred you have for the mattress you lie on is him.

When did you last bathe? You reek of sorrow and ire. Perhaps the fabric your vessel is wearing has clung to your skin. Would he remain if you had done the same? How bubbly you were. Pierced through his stout dermis without a tussle. Were you a servant of grief that you failed to console him? Lament has devoured your psyche, grasping what he loved most.

The day he absconded from your dwelling without an utter was when your heart turned to stone. There it was- that dreadful feeling once again. As if your whole world is crumbling to the point of no return. You abhor all things; nought could please you. A chipper you were, and what are you now? How would you describe yourself? A filth I see. I can comprehend why he left you. A grotesque being you have become.

Warmth you have found in another man; at least that is what you convince yourself. Oh, how haughty and distant he is, yet none could match the loneliness Simon made you feel. It is pathetic of you to replace him with an imitation. If Simon were to glance at him, he would cackle himself to death.

How long has it been? You have never counted to begin with. I could swear there has been a day when your thoughts were empty, as still as the ice that reigned over the land. Yet you could never fail to remember the tread of soles forsaking you.

The drowsiness that shadows the blithe your pupils once had impels you to gaze at the descending snow outside. “Are you alright?” Fret plain in his voice, which startled you. “I am.” The warmth of his palm engulfed the frigidness of yours, giving it a gentle pressure before hunching over your frame. “I cannot be here for you if you do not let me,” he avowed. It is a virulent unbosoming of spiralling ache, and if he is to comprehend the truth, you may be forsaken once again. “I am open with you.” A murmur you gave him, a shun it was.

Such admiration he has for you, yet no amount of his endearment could tweak the moroseness of yours. A mirthful situation that never entered his mind, yet here he is. A fool for love, and an ever bigger fool for falling for you. “Alright.” Defeated, he withdrew from the lounge and set foot onto the balcony, where the dozen bottles lay resting. Resting his head against the railing, hearkening the bone chilling gale, he shifts his gaze to the intoxicants. “Just this once.”

Adamant to speak of your fixation with liquor, the impulse to sip a taste called out to him. Grasping one with a forethought of compulsion, he reads the label.

“Bourbon.”

[banditophi]

^ྀི Synopsis: Grief brings most couple together, can you say the same for you and him?

^ྀི Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

^ྀི Warnings: Angst, loss, unfaithfulness, eating disorder

^ྀི This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

⌞Next⌝ 𓅫

A state of euphoria it once brought; the streaks of sunshine borrowed from above, the meticulous imitation of clouds and the aircraft hanging from the ceiling as if they were airborne.

“When I am away, you tell him I am on one of those planes, yeah?” Simon’s gnarled hands caressed the oven where his bun is being baked, the crook of your neck giving his chin shelter and your feet giving warmth to the nursery.

The man you grew to love uttered promises, and most of them are absurd, yet to a woman in love, they were everything, even if they were a talk of fairytales. He was enchanting and dreamy, the kind to give what was desired, and a call away if you needed to be wooed. A false pretence he manifested, and all it took for your romance to come to an end was a loss.

You wondered if any of it was real, or perhaps he grew bored of warfare and needed entertainment. Perhaps Simon wanted someone to warm his bed or to play house as wonderful family he never had. Questions to remain you awake in the late hours of the evening… They never seem to leave, yet those uncertainties are your companion when he is drinking his ache away.

The side of his bed is bare, as Simon prefers to return when the light reaches the windowsills. Bourbon to replace his scent and hickeys to stain his image. The glimpse of his adultery was cruel and wounding; a loss of appetite is what it brought you, yet he never pestered what was on your plate.

As an attempt to get aid and to grieve appropriately, you scheduled a visit to a local shrink. Simon mentioned how much hatred he has for them, so you conceal your sessions as if they are a sin. The advice given is heart shattering, yet it is what you need to do to move forward.

The gifts and belongings of your now-angel lay together as you photographed them. One in particular brought you great sorrow.

“You think he is going to like these, luv?” Simon chuckled as he placed the weeny shoes on his palm, yet they stood no chance as a rival to his size. “Yes, he will.”

Baby shoes, never worn. Free to those who need them.

Weeping your loss away, the arrival of Simon from his mischief is unforeseen. He uttered no word, yet the pregnancy test with seemingly two lines in his possession is a different kind of torment.

[banditophi]

ྀི Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

ྀི Warning: None

ྀི This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

Ghost is not one to manifest endearment- an imperishable wall he has built throughout the years of labour and untold agonies. An astonishing discovery for others; you are the complete opposite of the man they had known as a bearer of a cold heart.

A facade they are acquainted with, as behind closed doors, when the exhaustion is stripped away and the notorious mask is off, is Simon, your Simon.

Still, you have to thread carefully; there were times, and certainly there will be times when it is difficult. The gnawing hollowness you tolerate when he is deployed has remained on the far end of your tongue until today.

Simon expected the tender engulfment of your embrace when he arrived; however, he was greeted with the bedroom door slammed shut. His duffel bag is to be released from the unforgiving grip of his gnarled hand as he unveils the oranges he bought from the market before heading to your shared home. The favourite of yours and the resentment of his.

There you lie in the comfort of your bed, sulking with a heavy heart, unknowing of your lover’s presence in the room. A familiar scent is detected in the air, which causes you to face your surroundings. “How many more oranges can you peel, Simon?” you questioned, aware of his hatred of citrus. Placing a peeled fruit on a bowl, his sunburned irises gaze at you. “How many would it take for you to forgive me?”

[banditophi]

A painstaking read I have committed and exhaustive assumptions I will make. The comics laid bare his disquieting past, and oh, how he had suffered…

Simon is the first to agape his slits; slumber is torment itself, ridiculing the disturbed state of his, manifesting the terrors he bore. Hesitance and refusal, he despises the dusk; a forewarning of what is to come. The hours of darkness bring him an unsettling sensation he cannot seem to elude. A man of a few words he is, yet he cannot withstand the silence of the night. To cease remembering the anguish his past self had gone through, the glass of Bourbon in his hand unburdens the hollowness he cannot fill. Quite a companion he has; a vessel created out of pain is all he is and all he will ever be.

Venom seeps out of his organ of speaking when he is in control, a sensation he wallows in and takes pride in. A nuisance to his fellow men the words he speak, an unsought advice he provides- perhaps it is a reminder for himself. “Be careful who you trust, sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.” Wise to heed until it makes your ears bleed.

Formidable is how he is avowed- a ghost that ambles among us- unseen, unspoken, and unheard. A myth bickered amidst warfare, a shiver on your spine, the very last thing you will descry, then you are to be buried six feet deep. Simon fulfils the name and persona he brought to life; Ghost is what he is called. Ghost is what he is affiliated with. Yet when the doors are shut and the walls are erecting still, he does not recognise himself. The stain he bestrewn on his image is to be laved with a cloth, and the reflection of his is to be shunned.

If the distraction he creates is to fail, hysteria consumes him. Bottle after bottle, and pummel after pummel. Orbs to fret his state, yet none could approach and offer a hand, sensing no words could comfort or relieve him of his ache. Shrink after shrink, Simon prefers to assuage everything with an intoxicant he heavily depends on.

Reluctant of the coquettes that attempt to court him in pubs, spurning them without a word. His dusky irises focused on the distance, impatiently waiting to be left alone. Simon has no interest in a swift shag or a relationship. Sensible of what he cannot give, frantic of what it may bring. He is hesitant to pleasure himself, not wanting the sight of him bare, remembering the incident he desperately yearns to forget. Simon loathes being touched without his permission, catching the heedless arm with ease and an unforgiving grip. “Watch it, luv.” The consent of his is important; do not tempt him.

Despises having his picture taken; he would avoid gatherings and remain in the comfort of his quarters. Simon may not admit the truth he intensely veils, which is that he found contentment in the presence of the Task Force. Daunted by what may repeat, he determines to linger among the shadows.

Finding serenity in Johnny’s companionship, it is a salvage he ought to correct after the passing of his brother. Simon cannot lose another person dear to him, and God forbid what happiness he had. A ghost they call, the Ghost they will meet.

[milomossy]

Feb 2024

A phantom memory huh

[banditophi]

You end up right where you began.

[banditophi]

Me when there’s a Ghost skin

[banditophi]

“I created this world to feel some control; destroy it if I want.”

[banditophi]

ྀི Synopsis: “If the children are unkind, you should meet my mother.”

ྀི Warnings: Angst, eating disorder (?), body dysmorphia, ill-treatment

ྀི This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

A hesitant stride of my foot is placed on the frigid floor, avoidant of the certain creak that seem to always stir her awake from a peaceful slumber. As if I have forgotten to breathe, my slits are shut with a force so secure you cannot agape them, awaiting for the dreadful stomping to alert my organ of hearing of her arrival. The stillness is deafening, almost as awful as the bickering of the neighbours whenever I set down a foot away from the comfort of my home. It is ghastly how it remained silent, the warmth of the bed of mine slowly dissipating with each passing second, and I could only erect still, an amble away from a craving I need to gratify.

The berating attempts to infiltrate my sensibility, the wounding words recurrent and gnawing to a depth so great one cannot crawl out. To cause myself pain, I ruminated, wretched by the penitence that was consuming me. The sound of hunger sent a piercing chill down my spine. I am a vessel too broad for my mother’s liking. A void fills my stomach with despair and longing, lambasting my hesitance to reach what is beyond me.

Numbers are only as they appear to be, until they are no more. To me, they have become deprecating of my existence, and I loathe them far more than who birthed me. They whisper grotesque words to her and she is a puppet of their little game. To secure victory, dear mother have to berate the appearance I cannot control, yet the reward is unbeknown to me.

A lonesome indication of frailty descended from my pathetic cheek. I can recall when she adored pinching it, until the day she could not bear it no more. Why do I feel this way? I do not understand. Does it make me less of a man? If she were to gaze upon me, would she connect her palm to my sensitive buccal with an impact sufficient to make me plummet to the unloving floor of a place I must call “home”?

A man must not manifest meekness; otherwise he is a nuisance, and such a man has no place in our home. I connect the sleeve of my clothing to the cheek of mine; no one should sense the sudden absence of my masculinity.

As old as tales, it is known that there is no greater love than a mother’s love. A pastry sliced and shaped like a heart I filch from the neighbouring juveniles, aching to experience what I lack. My lunchbox is as bare as I am of nutrition, my orbs examining how their mouths chew in a hurried pace, blissfully unaware of their privilege. Their utterances, filled with revulsion upset me without fail. It is becoming repetitive to hear the unceasing and same insults; perhaps one day I will be numb to their belittling. Yet, they will only guffaw if they were to gaze at that word. How does one belittle an adolescent that struggle to fit through a door?

My clothing is to be discarded and replaced with a size unbefitting to my form. It is a scheme to raise awareness of my sudden and unceasing growth. My identity plastered on the cobblestone walls, labelled as a burglar whenever I seize a garment proper to my measurements. They do not remain in their position longer than half a day as I rip them away; do not fret. Mother must not find out.

Placing my hand on my stomach, I attempt to veil the weep of my hunger. If only I were nimble, then I would not be petrified by the approaching stomp of a certain pair of feet.

Hastily, I rushed to open the refrigerator and grasp what I could within reach, undisturbed by its raw scent and atrocious taste. The excess fat cramming the corners of my mouth, the crimson waste tumbling from my cheek, yet I chew and chew and chew.

“König! You pig!” A wail departed from the lips of my mother, a twig suffocating on her unforgiving clench. I am aware of what is to come, not that this is the first occurrence. I have lost calculation; perhaps it is because I grew to loathe counting.

I am exhausted from counting the calories I am allowed to consume, the disgusting weight I never seem to lose, and the remaining dignity I have left.

Yet for the first time, I did not cease, and I devour the meat until its hue dissipated, negligent of the mess I created.

“1.” Mother began, announcing the pain she will bestow upon me. “2.” I did not dare to gaze at her. She will always despise me, and there is nothing I could do to please her. “3.” My organ of hearing became aware of her approach. Out of compulsion, I balled my fist, which she berated for being colossal, and struck her. I have never raised a hand to anyone, yet I felt no remorse.

To ill-treat someone is to cause harm. Stupor is apparent in her silence, and I observe how she remained still on the ground as if to gain my pity. The wounds she has given me will never fade, just as I will never fail to remember how kind of a mother she never was.

[banditophi]

“I think we’ll all remember this moment. Some… More fondly than others.”

[banditophi]

ྀི Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

ྀི This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

If there is one thing to remember from the day you left your hometown, it was when your dear mother held you close. Her tears painting melancholiness on your uniform, the arms of hers never wanting to let you go. “My girl. You are so big now.” She weeped and weeped.

A white floral dress she clasped in her trembling hands and the sight of it made the walls you built plummet instantly. “On the day you fit in, I want you to wear this.” Most of your life, you had trouble making friends. Although you never spoke of it, she could read you well.

A year in the service you have been, so many things happened, so many memories created… There you erect still out in the balcony, looking for a signal so you could call home. There are a lot to share with your mother and you could not wait any longer.

It is a New Year’s Eve celebration at the base, the night you finally wore the dress she gave you. Numerous orbs to gaze at you, to admire you. Out of all of them, a pair stood out.

The one and the same that gave you a hard time during drills, no matter what time of the day. At first, you thought that you fell behind your peers; however, it became clear that he took an interest in you. Yet he never approached you as he is your superior. He valued his years of sweat and blood to gain his position, he will not put it to waste.

A moment passed, and you were accompanied by your lieutenant, his presence bringing you comfort and uneasiness. Ghost is not fond of conversations or crowds, perhaps that is the reason why he is here. Yet you could not ignore his lingering gaze, you took notice of it after some time, wondering if he wanted you to break the ice.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You finally questioned him. A bottle of Bourbon in his hand, his orbs to never leave your form. “Because I want to.”

[banditophi]

ྀི Synopsis: Troubling his thoughts like a plague, Simon decides to test the water- or is it your delusion?

ྀི Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader x John “Soap” MacTavish

ྀི Warning: Suggestive

ྀི This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

When the mysterious friend of Johnny was introduced to your life, it has gotten interesting to say the least. Appearing in places where you usually go… “A mere coincidence,” you thought at first, until it became more of a surprise to not come across him.

Simon is his name. When he held your hand during meeting, it is as if you are made of glass, a ravishing porcelain opposed to his roughness and aggressive nature.

Except it did not end there, no. Johnny loves to bring you during celebrations, “You are part of the Task Force now, bonnie,” he uttered with pride and affection. It is expected of him to appear in those moments and it never made you feel unsettled until the very first of the many strange behaviour he manifested towards you.

It was a night after a successful operation when their captain decided to carouse at a nearby bar, inviting everyone at the base. Of course and as usual, your lover decided to pull you along. How unfortunate that your favourite dress shrunk during laundry day, nonetheless you chose to wear it over the dozen of gifts from Johnny, even if it means tugging it downwards repeatedly throughout the evening. He was the first to notice and you care about his concern yet he shut your worry down in an instant. “Do not worry, I can fight.” You could not be any more attracted to him.

You were just on time when you arrived at the bar, greeting the members of 141 with a pleasant and polite smile. Not one to drink, you stayed by Johnny’s side mostly however he informed you that you are free to roam around and dance, sensing your boredom while listening to tales about missions and whatnot.

Attentive to others’ fortuitous motions, you slowly made your way to the dance floor, the hands of yours clasping the hem of your dress. Relief and euphoria rush through you when you reached the centre, just below the disco ball. The music bewitching your body, making you sway in an almost illicit and risqué manner.

A sudden brush against your soft skin made you cease dancing, a gasp departed the lips of yours, surprised by the contact. You turned and find Simon standing in front of you, the infamous mask of his veiling emotions and identity. “Johnny allowed you to wear this?” The deep voice of his vibrated your organ of hearing, it never fails to. “Lieutenant,” you greeted him, your orbs examining your surrounding to search for who is responsible. Simon is the closest yet you fear of accusing him. “May I?” He sauntered towards you, a hand to grasp your dress, an excuse to touch your skin so he could pull your cover downwards. “Don’t want anyone looking at you seductively, love.” Tongue-tied you were, sensing how he consciously slowed his movements. “T-thank you, Lt.”

You attempted to brush it off yet you could not. Goosebumps arose on your skin as you ponder about the occurrence. Did Simon caress you? Perhaps not. Perhaps it was unintentionally. Perhaps you interpreted his polite doing wrongfully. He is your lover’s friend after all.

[banditophi]

Meet the Task Force 141:

Kyle “Why is there a gagged woman in your basement” Garrick

John “Get your own” MacTavish

John “Did you help him” Price

Simon “It was my idea” Riley

[banditophi]

[banditophi]

Meet the Task Force 141:

Kyle “Why is there a gagged woman in your basement” Garrick

John “Get your own” MacTavish

John “Did you help him” Price

Simon “It was my idea” Riley

[banditophi]

⟣ Warnings: Angst

⟣ This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

Blue is the warmest colour.

A rather perplexing judgment for many. An eyebrow uplifted, a head angled to the side, a slit agape in astonishment…

A statement to desert you, a hope to derive a desirable response… How foolish of you.

There he erected motionless across you, at a loss for words, emotions drained from his face. How amusing to convince yourself that you can read people yet here you are, tongue-tied and sensing sorrow.

Sincerely, what did you expect? That it would be as it is in fairytales? That he would put a palm on your cheek and connect his lips to yours?

Oh, sweetheart.

Delusions filled your pretty head. Romanticising his every move, reasons only to be disregarded and abandoned. Your name buried deep along with other insignificant information, your figure forgotten the moment the attention of his shifts, your existence providing no benefit in his life.

Who are you? Really?

Are you so grand to have the authority of disrupting his slumber? What for? Some silly confession to be shunned before he returns to the warmth of his bed?

“Dishonourable.” König reckoned.

The colonel is your superior and to be only treated as such. He is not your family nor your friend. For you to want beyond those is degrading. Had he manifested any illicit behaviour towards you to get such an idea? Perhaps you are one of those who will willingly throw themselves at him to advance in position? No, he does not find you that ignoble.

Divulging your affection through a poem is admirable for many, König is an exceptional. He is a soldier that had been through numerous battles, in the field and not- He is not one to adore poets. Any and everything that humanises him has been stripped off long ago.

And if he is to reciprocate your endearment, it will only lead to a dreadful mess, troubling one another, tolerating the unsettling presence of the other. That he cannot have and does not want.

You amble away to one side, unable to consume the deafening silence and the belittling gaze he had on you.

So, blue is the coldest colour.

[banditophi]

⟣ Synopsis: Anxious about your lover’s whereabouts, you send his brother to return him home safe and sound.

⟣ Pairing: Cowboy! Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader x Outlaw! John “Soap” MacTavish

⟣ Warnings: None

⟣ This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

The sun resurfaced from the horizon, its warmth engulfing the bustling town and the unforgiving barren land. For you, it is a new beginning just as each day is; “A bundle of buoyant you are.”, a wise man once said.

Attaching the lace to your frock, going through every opening before twirling it to a flawless ribbon, you could not help but think of your lover, John. It has been days since you last saw him.

A handful he is- stubborn and clever, nonetheless you love that man to death. So there you are on your feet, your reflection long forgotten, as worrisome drowns your pretty mind. You are well aware he can handle himself and the dangers of the long road ahead, you just happen to be a lady deep in love.

So the wind blew through west, the bells are ringing, the folks are running and your working hour is about to go by. “How many more days, Johnny?” You wondered before leaving for your duties.

The rays climbed the windowsills and upon your winsome orbs, you sheltered them with the palm of your hand, earning a wave from a stranger. “Mornin’, Darling.” A straw hanging from his mouth and a hat situated on his lap. His chin is clear of hair, though a scar is hollowed near his bottom lip.

Landing your feet on the boutique, you take notice of the bouquet placed on your bench. It is a reoccurring gesture and you grew quite used to it. Yet you feel a gnawing guilt every time you are given flowers, aware that your lover is not responsible. Johnny has knowledge of your preferences and he is away, whoever is trying to pursue you is a mystery to be solved. Despite being kind and respectful, you do not tolerate the shunning of your relationship so to the bin the posy goes.

“Does not know when to stop, does he?” Your superior questioned, interest apparent in her tone. A cup of tea accompanied the tailor, a dose she must have to function well. Wanting to put the matter behind, you only glance at her. “Mornin’ to you too, Laswell.”

Being the favourite seamstress is an advantage you have, acquiring commissions left and right, leaving no time for a thought to creep into your mind. This is what you needed lately; a distraction from Johnny. That man is digging his own grave and you could not wait to cover him with dirt-

The arms of yours flopped, ceasing your sewing as you could not believe you cannot have a day without thinking of that smug gentleman. You miss him greatly, it is true however you worry greatly, he could be in danger.

Your sweet, sweet Johnny.

What will you do without him?

Losing your sanity and unable to stitch without twitching, you decided to visit the opposite of sunshine and rainbows.

His snub of a brother.

A sight for sore eyes you are, a head-turner wherever you go. Any hue is beautiful with you, no matter the length or kind, so you are no stranger to orbs glancing at you every now and then, apart from the murmurs. Still, you continued your amble and paid the folks no mind.

“Day drinking is his pleasure; to waste his life away one glass at a time.” Johnny informed, his expression blank and sincere. Not thrilled to visit him, halfway through your journey, hesitation made your feet heavy. “Do it for him.” You scolded yourself over and over until the saloon is visible from afar.

Horses awaited out in the front, saddles lay rest on their backs and their riders please themselves with a pint. A gentleman is obstructing the entrance, his buffed arms crossed on his chest. Blue like the sky his irises are, you attempted to avoid their gaze. “Now why does a fine lady want to enter the bar? You do not seem the kind to drink, am I correct?”Wondering whether to tell the truth or to make up a fabrication, you cease in front of him, his towering height intimidating you in the process. There is no reason to lie after all, you are here for one thing and soon will head out. “I am here to see Simon.”

A chuckle departed from the man’s lips before motioning for you to enter. “Be my guest.” Strangely, you obliged without a second thought. “He is just polite.” Right? There is no reason to be so tensed.

Liquor, cigars and sweat danced and dominated the saloon. The setting is dimmed, the tables are sticky and the chairs are about five sits away from breaking. Taking your time to form an opinion about the place, you took notice of a stranger by the bar. It took a while, nonetheless you recalled where and when you laid your orbs at him before; when the sun arose to call you to your affairs.

His skin made love with the rays above, the hat once situated on his lap now lay rest on his head. How attractive, you must admit… Still your aching heart belongs to your lover, Johnny- still his whereabouts unknown. The man is dressed in a muddy overcoat that had been through the hostility of the barren land, though it suits him well. The fists of his are placed on the bar, his knuckles becoming white from the pressure and pain.

The attention of yours shifted when a glass is placed by the man’s hand with a thud. Castles in the air you built, how silly of you. A column of empty glasses is displayed on the counter, perhaps a challenge is occurring between him and-

“Simon?” Solace departed from your lips as you recognised him, a glass imprisoned in his hand. Johnny’s brother is exactly as you envisioned him; a drunken fool. “Fuckin’ hell.” Simon mumbled the moment he spotted you, his orbs lingering longer than the usual folk.

The stranger gave you a glance before placing a hand on the tippler’s shoulder. “You had plenty already, mate.” He informed Simon, concern and impatience written all over him, only to receive a scoff and an excuse, “I will speak when I finish.”

Simon motioned for another drink, his grip tightening by every second’s passing. Tolerating the tension between the two you could not do any longer, drowning because of the distressing silence and the troubled mind of yours. “I was wondering if you are aware of Johnny’s whereabouts?”

That is all it took for Simon to hiss in anger. “You might as well give them the name of my horse, sweetheart.” Settling yet another empty glass of his on the bar, he let out a deep chuckle. “We are going to be here for a long time.”

[banditophi]

⟣ Synopsis: A coming of age Simon Riley experiences what it is like to have feelings for someone.

⟣ Pairing: Pre-Military! Simon Riley x F! Reader

⟣ Warnings: None

⟣ This is my work, my writing. Do not steal or repost elsewhere.

Have you ever seen someone so graceful? You would wonder if you are gazing at an angel without her wings, ambling among us. Time would seem to slow down and everything…

Everything just becomes a blur.

You lose your senses and you cannot help but admire. Her doing the simplest things appear as an art so carefully crafted, leisurely thought of with love.

There I erected still at the pavement on a sunday morning. You would think the season is beautiful…

It is.

Yet incomparable to her.

No matter how sun kissed the trees are or the leaves gently descending in different hues, different routes…

Nothing could compare to the beauty of Y/N.

Y/N L/N.

Even her name is like a song, a melody and you just close your slits and dance and your heart…

Oh, your heart is fluttering with joy.

Though hearing her name makes me timid. Having her around makes me timid and I stutter on my words.

The things she makes me feel…

It feels wonderful and yet it scares me.

A fusion of red and blue she wears, a knee-length dress and a beret. That beret I saw yesterday as I passed by the high end street. A high end street where the best shops erect tall and proud.

Of course, she was the one to purchase it. Y/N deserves the best of all and the best of all appears plain when it comes with her.

Yet there I erected still, wearing the same clothes from yesterday. The clothes I wore the day before yesterday, covered in filth, covered in meaty bits, smeared with blood. I should have not worn the apron yet for she may consider me a sight to be disgusted at.

Yet there I erected still, admiring her. Not a care in the world, I could admire her for the rest of my days and not once get exhausted.

Platforms she wore and they rest flawlessly on the bicycle pedals as she travel in a usual speed yet time seems to slow down. The wind blowing her hair, everything just seems to be perfect with her.

I swear I could smell her scent when she passed me by. The aroma of hers is like a field where the prettiest flowers grow.

Does she even have a flaw?

Could someone as beautiful as her have a flaw?

Seriously. I have been wondering.

Yet there I erected still, my copper irises bore still.

How could my mind be tranquil?

How could I be civil?

When there she is, doing the simplest thing yet appear so beguiling.

Yet there I erected still until something collided with me. My vessel swiftly detected the pain and soon enough I tumble to the ground.

Despite the pain and the harm, what a sight to gaze at.

Above me is the angel I dream of.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and the stunning orbs of hers never gazed at me this way, not once in my life and her nose scrunches every now and then… Her lips plumped and pink, appearing as kissable as ever.

Despite my hand trembling in anxiousness, I reached for her face and there I rested my palm on her cheek. “I am alright.” She aided me to sit up, her hands so soft and gentle.

Although her hair is messy…

Did…

Did she rush towards me?

And her breathing is swift and heavy…

Y/N rushed towards me.

She cares about me?

She notices me?

Questions overflowing my mind and I just stared at her as she sanitize the wound on my arm. Her mouth muttering words yet romantic songs are all I could hear.

Y/N L/N is so concentrated in bandaging me, caring for me and in that moment…

I…

I dreamt a life with her.

I fantasized about her in the same dress and the same beret. She greeted me with an embrace as I came home from work. I could smell the freshly baked pie and the tea she prepared just for me. The fireplace has been lit and the season… the season is the same as now.

Autumn.

Yet still incomparable to her.

Can she perceive?

Perceive how much I gaze at her, how much I adore her?

If only she knows.

If only I could tell.

I could however…

What for?

When there goes John doing the simplest thing yet her orbs follow as he walks by.

Why confess what I feel when her orbs confess what she feels for John?

Just as my orbs confess how I feel for her.

I could only get to this point…

The point where I admire Y/N in autumn.