Crystal

9teen| writer

[dollcorefiles]

nerdsimon! falling in love while watching black reader do a new hairstyle

a/n: ngl this is just a random drabble first time shi! hopefully yall fuck with it! erm don’t mind me posting again

tags: college au!, roommates, he’s such a damn nerd lmao

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The dorm room was quiet except for the faint hum of Simon’s laptop and the soft, rhythmic click of a rat-tail comb against a mirror.

Simon sat at his desk, glasses slipping down his nose, highlighter poised over a page of notes he’d color-coded three times already. He told himself he was reviewing for their chemistry midterm.

He was not reviewing for their chemistry midterm. He was staring.

She sat cross-legged on her bed in an oversized university hoodie and biker shorts, carefully parting your blown-out curls. The sections were clean as hell as she worked product through them.

Simon swallowed.

“Are you… conducting an experiment?” he asked, because apparently that was the smoothest line his brain could produce.

She glanced at him through the mirror, one brow lifting. “On my own head? No, professor. I’m doing a new style.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “Of course. New variable. Controlled environment.”

She snorted softly.

He tried very hard to not to stare as she began braiding—clean, tight cornrows along the front, fingers moving with quiet confidence. He’d seen her in twists. In a sleek high puff. Once in a silk press that had him short-circuiting for an entire weekend.

But this?

This was different.

After finishing the front, she started installing long, honey-brown knotless braids, the color catching the dorm light like warm caramel. They fell over her shoulders as she worked, framing her face.

Simon’s chest did something deeply inconvenient.

“You changed the color,” he said quietly.

“Mm-hmm.” She secured another braid and shook it out. “Thought I’d try something softer. What do you think?”

What does he think?

He thought she looked like every love song he’d ever secretly listened to while pretending to study.

He thought he would gladly rewrite every equation he’d ever memorized if it meant watching her sit like this forever.

He cleared his throat. “The… the honey tone complements your skin. It creates contrast without overpowering your natural undertones.”

She blinked at him in the mirror. “Simon.”

“Yes?”

“That was the nerdiest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

His ears burned. “It was… sincere.”

She smiled at him. Soft and warm.

And that was worse.

She stood, the finished braids brushing the small of her back. The front cornrows curved neatly into the length, accentuating her cheekbones. She fluffed them lightly and turned to face him fully.

“Well?” She asked.

Simon forgot how oxygen worked.

“You look…” his voice faltered. He pushed his glasses up, heart pounding like he was about to present a thesis. “You look incredible.”

The room felt smaller.

She studied him for a second, something shifting in her expression. “You really think so?”

“I always think so,” he admitted before his brain could instal a filter.

Silence.

Her lips parted just slightly. “You always—?”

He shut his laptop like that would somehow undo what he’d said. “Statistically speaking, you alter your hairstyle every three to four weeks. I have… noticed.”

“You have noticed,” she repeated slowly, stepping closer.

Simon stood because remaining seated felt cowardly. He was taller than her, but somehow he still felt like the one at a disadvantage.

“You look beautiful,” he said, softer this time.

Her braids brushed his arm, when she moved.

“Oh,” she murmured.

Simon felt it then—this steady, terrifying realization somewhere between shared ramen at 2 am, arguing about whose turn it was to take out the trash, and her humming while studying, he had fallen.

Hard.

She tilted her head, braids sliding over her shoulder. “You’re staring again.”

“I know,” he breathed.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter ten: Where the light hesitates

Pairing: Amara Smith x Simon Riley

A/N: Not gonna lie I forgot my password…

The kiss should’ve felt like a release.

Instead, it felt like a fall.

Simon’s hand lingered at the side of her face, his thumb trembling slightly against her skin. Amara leaned closer, eyes fluttering shut as if the world had finally gone quiet. But just as her lips brushed his again, he pulled back.

It was subtle at first—a breath, a pause—but it carried weight. Enough for her to feel it.

Her brows knit softly, confusion flickering in her gaze. “Simon?”

He took a step back, shaking his head, the air between them breaking like glass. “I—I can’t.”

Her chest tightened. “You don’t have to rush anything—”

“It’s not that,” he cut in, his voice rougher now, strained. “It’s me. It’s always me.”

He turned away, bracing his hands on the counter, his breath uneven. The muscles in his shoulders were tight, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.

Amara stood there, the warmth of his touch already cooling on her skin. “You don’t have to keep running every time something feels real,” she said quietly.

He let out a shaky laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the problem, Amara. Real gets people hurt.”

She took a step toward him. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said, voice steady now. “You think you’re made of damage, but you’re not. You’re just… scared.”

He flinched at the word. It hit too close, too true. “You think I’m scared of you?”

Her gaze softened. “No. You’re scared of what you feel when you’re with me.”

Simon turned then, his jaw tight, eyes dark with something between longing and panic. “You don’t get it. Every time I let someone close, it ends bad. I don’t get to have normal. I don’t get to have this.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breaking, not from anger but from ache.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The answer died in his throat.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold—but it was heavy, full of everything he couldn’t say. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “I should go.”

“Simon—”

He hesitated at the door, shoulders tense. “You deserve better than someone who doesn’t know how to stay.”

And with that, he was gone.

Amara stood in the kitchen long after the door clicked shut, the scent of garlic and herbs still lingering in the air. The candles had burned low, their light flickering out one by one—leaving her in the quiet, staring at the space where he’d been.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter nine: The weight of quiet things

Pairing: Simon Riley x Amara Smith

A/N: Sorry for the late upload works been kicking my ass! But enjoy this chapter!

Neither of them spoke. The soft flicker of candlelight danced against the walls, catching in Amara’s eyes like small sparks of gold. Simon’s thumb lingered over her knuckles, tracing the faint rhythm of her pulse as if grounding himself in proof she was real.

“You always do that,” she murmured.

He looked up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re just helping.” Her smile was small, knowing. “But you stay. You always stay.”

Simon swallowed hard, his voice low. “I don’t know how to walk away from you anymore.”

The words came out before he could stop them, stripped of armor. Amara blinked, her breath catching in the space between them.

“Then don’t,” she whispered.

He exhaled slowly, the sound almost a laugh, almost a plea. “You don’t get it, Amara. Everything I touch—people, places—it all ends the same way. I ruin it. I ruin them.”

She stepped closer, her tone soft but unwavering. “You didn’t ruin this.”

His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, like he was afraid to let himself look too long. “You make it hard not to want more.”

Amara’s hand found his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “Then stop fighting it.”

He hesitated, breath uneven. “I told myself this was a mistake. That I didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve you.”

“Deserve doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper now. “It’s about choice. And right now, I’m choosing you.”

The words hit him harder than any truth he’d faced in years. He reached for her then, slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing the side of her face.

“Amara,” he said softly, as if her name itself might break in his mouth.

“Yeah?”

He took a breath that trembled. “I don’t know what this is supposed to be… but I know I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”

Her lips parted, a quiet gasp slipping out when he leaned in—close enough to taste the warmth of her breath.

And when their mouths met, it wasn’t a rush. It was an exhale. A surrender.

The city outside faded into the background—the rain, the sirens, the hum of a world still spinning. In her kitchen, there was only this: the weight of quiet things, the pulse of something new, and the slow, certain breaking open of two people who’d been holding themselves together for far too long.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter eight: Ghosts in the Daylight

Pairing: Simon Riley x Amara Smith

The day unfolded in ways Simon hadn’t allowed himself to imagine in years.

Amara’s apartment smelled like garlic and herbs, the soft crackle of oil in the pan breaking the silence. She moved easily around her kitchen, a loose tank top skimming her shoulders, locs tied up with a scarf. Simon leaned against the counter, watching her with arms folded, his broad cream awkwardly taking up too much space in the small room.

It should have felt strange. Him here, helping her chop vegetables with hands more accustomed to knives of a different kind. But it didn’t.

It felt dangerously normal.

“You’re terrible at this,” Amara teased as she glanced at the uneven slices on the cutting board.

Simon grunted. “I’m not built for precision work.”

“You’re not built for patience either,” she shot back, smirking.

He shook his head but didn’t argue, just went on slicing, slower this time. She noticed—and it made something warm curl in her chest.

Amara stirred the sauce, the spoon tracing lazy circles through the simmering red. The low hum of a jazz record filled the quiet —one she’d thrown to fill the space, but somehow it only made the silence between them feel louder.

Simon’s presence wasn’t easy to ignore. The kitchen wasn’t big enough for the both of them, not with his broad shoulders brushing the cabinets every time he turned. She liked the weight of him there, the quiet steadiness that came with it.

When she reached across him for the salt, his hand brushed hers. Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the bubbling sauce and the faint crackle of the record as it skipped slightly.

He cleared his throat, eyes still on the cutting board. “Didn’t think I’d be spending my Thursday night cooking.”

Amara smirked, tilting her head toward him. “What’d you think you’d be doing?”

He paused, knife halfway through a tomato. “Working. Drinking. Pretending that’s not the same thing.”

She watched him for a beat, the way his jaw tightened when he said it. “Well,” she said softly, “pretending doesn’t seem to be working out too great for you.”

That earned her a look—a quiet warning but also the faintest ghost of a smile.

“I didn’t say I minded this,” he muttered.

Amara turned back to the stove, biting back her own smile. “Good. Because you’re on dish duty after this.”

He huffed a low laugh, the sound rough and genuine. “Figures. You invite me over and still put me to work.”

“Consider it therapy,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Less brooding, more scrubbing.”

And when their eyes met again—her teasing, him pretending to be annoyed—it was the first time in a long while that the heaviness in the room didn’t feel like grief.

They ate by the window, two mismatched plates balanced between the candles she swore she only lit “for guests”. The city murmured beyond the glass—sirens, laughter, the hum of life that never quite went quiet—but inside, it felt like the time had slowed just for them.

Simon wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He’d been through firefights and interrogations without blinking, but sitting across from Amara, watching her laugh with her whole face, it did something to him.

“You’re staring,” she said, catching him. Her lips curved around the rim of her wine glass.

He blinked, a small huff of breath leaving his chest. “You’ve got sauce on your chin.”

Amara’s brows rose, amused. “Smooth save.”

He reached across the table before she could move, thumb brushing lightly at the corner of her mouth. The touch lingered, maybe longer than it should have. Her breath caught.

“Got it,” he murmured.

She didn’t look away this time. “Thanks.”

The word came out quiet, like it meant more than it should.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The candles flickered between them, and Simon could feel the pull—familiar, dangerous, and yet so achingly gentle.

Amara was the first to break it, leaning back in her chair but still watching him, still smiling that small, knowing smile. “You’re not as bad at this normal stuff as you think.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s ‘cause you make it look easy.”

“Maybe it could be,” she said softly, almost to herself. “If you stopped running from it.”

He swallowed, the words hitting somewhere deep. “You think I’m running?”

“I think you’re scared,” she said, meeting his eyes. “And I think you’ve been scared for a long time.”

The air shifted between them—something fragile, but electric. He wanted to say she was wrong, to change the subject, to laugh it off. But instead, he reached for her hand.

Her fingers slid against his like they’d been waiting for it. And fuck, he wanted to stay there just to feel something that didn’t hurt.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter seven: The Quiet Morning

Pairing: Simon Riley x Amara Smith

A/N: Sorry for being M.I.A a girl just forgot. But i did get a new iPad so i can write better ffs on here! I’m a chapter behind on posting im so sorry yall. Also I didn’t make a new collage cuz it time consuming sometimes. This one might be the one for now on.

The first thing Simon noticed when he woke wasn’t the stiffness in his neck or the muted light creeping in through Amara’s curtains.

It was her.

Her head still rested against his shoulder, locs spilling across his chest, one of her hands curled loosely against his arm like it had always belonged there. For a moment, he stayed completely still, his breath caught in his throat as if moving might shatter the fragile calm wrapped around them.

He wasn’t used to this —waking up next to someone, not in a bed but on a damn couch, not with regrets clawing at him but with something softer he couldn’t quite name. His body was trained for alertness, for rising at the slightest shift. But now? He found himself memorizing the way her glasses sat slightly askew on the table beside them, the faint curve of her mouth as she breathed, the rise and fall of her chest against her side.

Amara stirred, a low hum slipping from her throat as she blinked awake. Her hazel eyes, still heavy with sleep, flicked up to meet his. For a second confusion crossed her face then realization, then the smallest, most vulnerable smile.

“Guess we passed out,” she mumbled. Her voice was scratchy from the sleep she had.

Simon huffed out something like a laugh, though it came quieter, almost embarrassed. “Yeah. Not exactly my most graceful moment.”

Her gaze lingered on him, soft and searching. “Could’ve been worse. You don’t snore.”

That dragged a real laugh out of him. He shifted just slightly, his arm brushing against hers. The closeness felt dangerous, in the way it made him want to stay there longer than he should.

Amara eventually pulled back, stretching with a sleepy grin as she got to her feet. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some?”

He nodded, sitting up slower than usual, watching her move toward the kitchen. The tube top from last night was gone, replaced with an oversized t-shirt that brushed against her thighs. Somehow, that was worse — it made her look too comfortable, like she belonged in this space, like he could belong here too if he wasn’t careful.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck, fighting down the thought. He wasn’t supposed to want this. But the smell of coffee filling the apartment, the sight of her humming softly under her breath while she poured — God, it felt dangerously close to something he used to dream about having, something he told himself he could never deserve.

When she set his mug down on the table and slid onto the couch beside him again, their knees brushed. Neither of them moved away.

“This is weird, huh?” Amara teased softly, sipping her coffee.

Simon glanced at her, lips tugging into something like a smile. “Yeah. But not bad.”

Amara sipped from her mug, the steam curling lazily into the air between them. Her locs framed her face in a way that made her look softer, younger somehow, and Simon caught himself staring longer than he should have.

She tilted her head when she noticed. “What?”

He shook his head quickly, glancing down into the swirl of his own coffee. “Nothin.”

But she didn’t buy it — he could tell by the way her lips curved, her gaze steady on him. She always had that look, like she could peel him open without even trying.

The silence stretched, comfortable in a way that unsettled him. And maybe it was the hangover haze of the coffee in his hands, or maybe it was just her but the words slipped out before he could them.

“Forgot what this feels like.”

Amara blinked. “What what feel like?”

He froze, too late to pull his words back. His throat worked as he set his mug down, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. “Just this. Wakin’ up next to someone. Not havin’ to be on all the time. Feels…” he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle. “Feels dangerous.”

Her expression softened, the teasing gone now. She tucked one leg beneath her, leaning slightly towards him. “Dangerous how?”

Simon dragged a hand down his face, groaning low like he regretted saying anything at all. But she was still watching him, patient, quiet, and waiting.

Finally, he muttered, “Like I’ll want more.”

The honesty hung there. He hadn’t meant to give her that piece of him, but now it was out in the open, pulsing between them like a live wire.

Amara didn’t rush to fill the silence. She just let it sit there, heavy but not suffocating. And somehow, that was worse because it meant she understood.

Simon shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying and failing to find his usual armor of sarcasm. But it was gone, stripped away the moment he looked at her again.

And God help him, he didn’t even want it back.

Amara’s fingers tightened around her mug as she studied him. The silence stretched just long enough that he wondered if she’d let it pass, let him drown in the rawness of what he’d said.

But then softly, almost hesitant she spoke.

“You think you’re the only one scared of wanting more?”

Simon’s gaze snapped to hers. She wasn’t smiling now. Her hazel eyes were steady, sharp in the morning light behind her glasses, but underneath was something else vulnerable.

“I pretend like I’ve got it figured out,” she admitted, her voice low. “Like I’m just…breezing through life, doing my thing, smoking to take the edge off. But truth is, I get tired of feeling like everyone only wants that version of me that’s easy to handle.”

She paused, setting her mug down carefully on the table, her hands suddenly restless in her lap. “So when I let someone close, it scares me too. ‘Cause I don’t know if they’ll stick around once they see the messy parts.”

Simon’s chest tightened. The honesty in her voice echoed his own more than he wanted to admit.

Instead, Amara gave him a faint, almost teasing smile, like she was trying to cut through the heaviness even as she held it. “So yeah… if you’re feeling dangerous, guess that makes two of us.”

The words landed between them, not quite a promise, not quite a warning—just truth.

And in that moment, he realized he wasn’t the only one carrying ghosts — and maybe that was why he couldn’t look away from her.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter six: Threshold

Pairing: Simon Riley X Amara Smith

A/N: I want to write another ff but I don’t know who should I write for the reader!

Simon hated how many times he checked the address on his phone, even though he already knew where she lived. He’d been there once before — long enough to feel the weight of her presence, short enough to spend the walk home replaying every second like a fool.

And now? Now he was doing the one thing he swore he didn’t do showing up again.

His boots sounded heavier than they should’ve on the stairs, like each step was giving him back another chance to turn back. He told himself he was just going for a smoke, just another casual night. But the little gnawing twist in his chest told him it wasn’t that simple.

By the time he reached her door, he hesitated. One hand lifted, hovered over the wood, the dropped again. What the hell are you doing, Simon?

Finally, he exhaled, long and rough, and knocked.

The door swung open, and for a second, his brain just stopped.

Amara stood there in a dark green tube top that hugged her curves, shorts clinging to her hips. Her locs fell free, brushing her shoulders, glasses catching the light. And when his gaze trailed —just for a heartbeat, he caught the glint of a belly button piercing, the ink of tattoos carved low along her hip bones.

He’d never noticed them before.

His throat went dry, words caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. For a man who could keep steady under fire, he suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“You.., uh-“ he cleared his throat, trying again, softer this time. “You look…” he trailed off, and his ears burned hot. “…different.”

Amara leaned against the doorframe, a sly tugging at her lips as if she’d caught him red-handed. “Different, huh?” Her voice carried that teasing lilt, that one that always knocked him off balance. “That’s all you got for me?”

Simon shifted his weight, wishing the hallway floor would do him a favor and swallow him whole. He wasn’t the type to gawk — at least not where someone could catch him but hell, she made it impossible not to.

“You’re not making this easy,” he muttered, voice low, his accent heavier when he was off guard.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting behind her glasses. “Maybe I’m not supposed to.”

And with that, she stepped back, holding the door open just wide enough for him to enter. He brushed past her, trying not to let the faint graze of her shoulder undo him entirely.

The apartment smelled like vanilla and something sweet he couldn’t place, layered with the faint haze of smoke that clung to the air. She’d set couple of candles on the counter, their glow painting the walls with soft amber light.

Simon shoved his hands deep into his pockets, scanning the room like he needed something to anchor him. Truth was, the only thing holding his focus was her.

Amara dropped onto the couch, curling one leg beneath her, motioning to the spot beside her. “So, soldier,” she said with mock-seriousness, “what’s the excuse this time? Couldn’t stay away?”

He let out a short, unsteady laugh, running a hand over his jaw. “Something like that.” He lowered himself on the couch, careful to leave just enough space between them but close enough that the warmth of her body seeped into his.

She reached for the grinder on the coffee table, her movements slow, deliberate, like she knew he was watching. “I think you like my company more than you want to admit.”

Simon felt the back of his neck heat up. He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?

Amara glanced at him, locs falling into her face as she smirked. “Not yet. But I’m getting there.”

He huffed, shaking his head, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “God, help me.”

Amara rolled the joint with practiced ease, fingers sure and steady. Simon found himself watching, caught by the small details. The way she tucked the paper, the faint crease of her lip between her teeth as she sealed it, the lazy flick of her wrist as she lit it.

She took the first drag, slow and easy, and leaned back on the couch. When she exhaled, the smoke curled around her face like a veil before fading into the candlelight. She turned her head and offered it to him with a sly grin.

“Your turn, soldier boy.”

Simon took it, his fingers brushing hers again. He didn’t know why it still sent that spark through him, but it did. He pulled in a lungful, held it longer than he should have, and exhaled with a shaky breath. The haze filled the sharp edges in his chest and left the soft ones raw and exposed.

They passed it back and forth for a while, the silence sitting heavy and comfortable. But Amara didn’t leave him to it for long. She never did.

“So,” she said, tucking a loc behind her ear. “What’s the thing you never tell anyone?”

Simon blinked at her. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“Mm.” She took another hit, exhaled toward the ceiling. “That’s the point.”

He stared at the floor for a moment, his jaw flexing, the battle clear on his face. He didn’t do this. Didn’t just talk. But she was looking at him like she wouldn’t let him slide by with some deflection.

Finally, his shoulders sagged. He rubbed a hand over her his mouth before speaking.

“I don’t think I know how to be wanted.”

Amara blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his tone.

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, jaw tight. “I’ve been useful. Reliable. A weapon, a soldier, a name on the roster. But… wanted?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “That’s different. I don’t even know what that's supposed to feel like anymore.”

The joint smoldered between his fingers, forgotten, as he exhaled a humorless laugh. “Guess that’s pathetic, huh?”

Amara’s chest ached at his words. She reached out gently, her fingers brushing his wrist to ground him. “That’s not pathetic Simon. That’s honest.”

He finally looked at her then, blue eyes vulnerable in a way that felt dangerous — like he’d let her see a piece of himself no one else was supposed to.

“You’re softer than you look,” she murmured.

Simon let out a quiet laugh, smoke spilling from his lips as he finally brought the joint back up. “Don’t let that get around. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

Amara smirked, leaning a little closer. “Don’t worry your secret is safe with me.”

The joint was down to its last burning inch when Simon passed it back to Amara, their fingers brushing again. They were both sunk deep into the couch now, the haze of smoke curling around them like a blanket, making everything softer — edges, words, even the silence.

Amara’s head tilted back against the cushions, her locs spilling down her shoulders as she let out a lazy laugh. “We’re too gone right now. I can feel it. My body feels like it’s floating.”

Simon chuckled, his voice low and hoarse. “Yeah. You’re not alone there.”

They sat like that for a moment, just breathing, until Amara turned her head toward him, eyes glinting behind her glasses. “Do you ever miss it?” She asked softly. “The uniform. The structure. Being out there.”

Simon stiffened, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t answer at first, but the high loosened the grip of his walls. “Miss it?” He repeated. “No. Not the killing, not the orders. But sometimes I miss knowing who I was supposed to be. Out there, you don’t think. You just act.

Here? It’s like I’m lost all the damn time.”

He exhaled through his nose, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “That’s why I left. I didn’t want to keep being a ghost.”

Amara blinked, her buzz softening into curiosity. “A ghost?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s what it felt like. Out there… every day was just another mission. Another body. Another order barked into my ears. You stop being a person. You’re just useful until you’re not.” His voice cracked a little, surprising even himself. “And I saw too many guys hit that point. Just gone. And no one even blinked.”

“So you walked away?”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Walked? No. Crawled. Didn’t even know what the hell I was doing at first. Just knew I couldn’t be out there anymore, couldn’t keep looking at death every damn day like it was normal. Came back here, tried to figure out how to…live. Buy groceries. Pay bills. Hold a damn conversation without sounding like a drill sergeant.”

His hand flexed against his knee, restless. “Being a civilian it’s harder than you’d think. There’s no manual for this shit. No orders. Just… empty days.”

Amara inhaled slow, her eyes soft. “That’s why you're always so serious.”

Simon turned his head toward her, lips twitching into a half-smirk. “Serious, huh? Thought you’d say broody.”

Amara laughed, shaking her head, but her smile was gentle. “Both.” She let her hand rest fully on his arm this time. “But I get it now. You’re not cold, you’re just trying not to disappear again.”

Something in his chest twisted at that, raw and aching. He swallowed hard, unable to hold her gaze. “You make it sound so damn simple.”

She leaned a little closer, her voice soft but teasing. “That’s cause it is. You don’t have to figure out life in one night, Simon. Sometimes it’s just… letting yourself breathe around someone else. You’ve been holding your breath too long.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the warmth words settling somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t know how to touch. He let the silence hang without filling it, without running from it.

And Amara just sat there with him.

Simon turned his head toward her, still half sinking into the couch, blue eyes still hazy but sharp in the way they cut right into her. For a moment, he looked like he might say nothing at all. Then his voice dropped low, quieter than it had been all night.

“What about you, Amara?” He asked. “What’s the thing you don’t tell people? The one truth you keep locked up?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came at first. She blinked, her gaze darting to the joint smoldering in the ashtray, then back to him. The hesitation lingered, heavy. “That’s… not a fair question,” she muttered with a nervous laugh, fiddling with the hem of her shorts.

“I know,” Simon admitted, his voice softer. “But I want to know anyway.”

She let the silence sit for a long moment, the finally exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I’m terrified of ending up invisible,” she said. “Like I’ll go through life doing all the little things, being the girl behind the counter, smoking too much, laughing too loud and no one will ever really see me.”

Her confession hung in the air between them.

Simon’s expression shifted, some mixture of ache and understanding. He didn’t give her a speech or offer an easy answer. Instead, he just leaned back until his shoulder brushed hers.

Neither of them spoke again after that. The high had settled deep in their bones, heavy and warm. Eventually, Amara’s head tipped sideways, resting against his shoulder. He let it stay there, even when his arm twitched with the urge to move.

By the time their eyes drifted shut, the apartment was quiet but for the soft rhythm of their breathing. Two people who had sworn they kept their walls unshakable, now asleep on the couch, high and vulnerable, having let each other in more than either had planned.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter five: Round Three

Pairing: Amara Smith x Simon Riley

A/N: I’m trying to post biweekly at most.

The store was quiet that night, the kind of stillness those made every little sound sharper — the click of Amara’s pen against the counter, the faint buzz of the old cooler in the back. She learned her weight against the register, half-bored, half-lost in the thought, when the bell above the door chimed.

She didn’t need to look up. “Figured you’d be back.”

Simon paused in the doorway, hands buried in his jacket pockets, that familiar, half-scowl pulling at his mouth. “What, you psychic now?”

Amara tilted her chin up, her locs shifted as she pushed her glasses back into place. “Nope. You're just predictable.”

That earned her a quiet grunt, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward for half a second before it was gone. He walked over to the counter instead of grabbing anything from the shelves, his presence filling the small space between them.

“You said confessions every time,” he muttered. “So here I am.”

Her brows arched. “Oh? Round three already?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low, rough and he looked away before adding. “You make this too damn easy.”

Amara leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, chin balanced in her palm. “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

Simon’s eyes flicked back to hers — blue and uncertain. He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he said, “It is when I can’t shut myself up.”

She laughed. “Then don’t. I like hearing you.”

That threw him off. Completely. His ears burned as he looked away, pretending to study racks of gum like they suddenly fascinated him. Amara watched, amused at the sight of this big, stone-faced man fidgeting like a teenager caught off guard.

After a beat, she said, “So? What’s tonight’s confession?”

Simon let out a breath, leaning closer, his hands flat against the counter. “I hate the silence when I’m home. Too damn loud in my head.” His gaze lingered on hers, raw and unguarded. “But here.. with you? It’s not to bad.”

Amara’s heart skipped. She smiled, softer this time, the teasing gone. “Good thing I talk too much, huh?”

For the first time all night, Simon huffed out almost a laugh. Almost.

The bell over the door jingled again as a customer walked in, heading straight for the coolers. Amara straightened, tucking her smile away as she rang them up quickly. Simon stood there, quiet, watching her move behind the counter like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or slip away.

When the customer finally left, the silence stretched between them again — this time charged, heavier than before.

Amara broke it with a grin. “You look like you’re debating something.”

Simon rubbed the back to this neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “Maybe.”

“Well, don’t overthink it. You’ll hurt yourself.” She winked, her teasing pulling a reluctant twitch from his lips.

Then, more serious, she added, “My shifts over in an hour. You could come by. Same as last time. Smoke, talk…” Her gaze softened searching his. “Unless you’d rather pacing my aisles.”

Simon froze, clearly caught off guard. His throat worked as he swallowed, then he gave a small, nod.

“Yeah, I’ll guess I’ll come by.”

Amara’s smile widened, satisfaction sparking in her chest. She leaned just a little closer, her voice dropping low. “Good. I’ll save the good stuff for you.”

Simon stared at her for a long moment, his pulse loud in his ears, before he forced himself to step back. His voice was rough when he muttered, “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

Amara only grinned wider. “Guess we’ll see how much you can handle.”

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter four : Confessions at the Counter

Pairing: Simon Riley X Amara Smith

A/N: Sorry for taking a 2 month long break! I was pretty busy with life. But I have some other things I’m working on beside this.

It had only been two days since Simon stopped by for that water, but it felt longer. He told himself he wasn’t making a habit of this. Stopping in at the store every other night but his boots somehow found their way there again.

The bell chimed as he entered, and Amara glanced up from the counter. Her glasses slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up with one finger before smiling.

“You again,” she teased. “Either you’re the thirstiest man alive, or you just like torturing yourself with these lights.”

Simon grunted, shoving his hands into his jacked pockets. “Could be both.”

She laughed, low and warm, and the sound alone disarmed him more than anything else could.

This time, instead of heading straight to the shelves, he walked right up to the counter. The move surprised her, because her smile faulted into something more curious.

“No shopping tonight?” She asked.

Simon just shook his head slowly. “Not thirsty. Just…figured I owed you an answer.”

Her brows rose. “Oh?”

He leaned against the counter, his posture slightly unsure. “Last time you said — ‘confession per visit.’” His eyes flickered to hers, blue and restless. “So here’s one.”

Amara’s teasing grin softened. She tilted her head, giving him her full attention. “I’m listening.”

Simon swallowed, his voice low. “I don’t sleep well. Haven’t in years. And the other night talking to you…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “I slept. For the first time in a long damn time.”

The air between them shifted, heavier now. Amara blinked, her lips parting slightly before she caught herself.

“That’s…” she started, her voice gentler than before. “That’s not nothing, Simon.”

He nodded stiffly, clearly regretting the admission even as it lingered in the air. “Don’t make it weird.”

She smiled, soft and steady. “I’m not. I promise. I just -.” Her words faltered, her tone dropping. “I’m glad you let me be part of that.”

For a moment, he just stared at her. He didn’t know what to do with how she looked at him — with warmth, no judgement, no pity. Just seeing him.

He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Damn, you make this hard.”

Amara chuckled. “What, honesty?”

“Yeah.” His mouth twitched, half a smirk, half surrender. “Too easy with you. I’m not used to it.”

Before she could respond, the ding of the store’s bell cut through again. A group of loud teenagers spilled in, laughing and shoving each other as they headed in the back coolers.

Amara sighed, pushing her glasses up again as she straightened. “Guess confession hour’s over.”

Simon lingered, jaw tight, clearly reluctant to leave. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Then I’ll come back. For round three.”

She grinned, eyes catching his as she reached for the register. “I’ll hold ya to it.”

And as he walked out into the night again, Simon found himself almost smiling. Almost. Because for the first time in years, the thought of tomorrow didn’t feel so damn heavy.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter three: Familiar Places

Pairing: Simon Riley X Amara Smith

A/N: Thanks for reading! Sorry for taking so long honestly

The bell above the convenience store door gave its usual sharp ding as Simon stepped inside.

It was late, close to midnight, the store’s hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above the quiet aisles. He wasn’t even sure why he came. Maybe a habit. Maybe the restless pull of needing to see her again.

Amara was behind the counter, glasses perched low on her nose, locs tied in a loose bun. She glanced up when the bell chimed, and when she saw him — her face softened into that smiled he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since the other night.

“Well, well,” she said, voice warm with amusement. “Didn’t think I’d see you so soon. Couldn’t stay away?”

Simon froze halfway to the counter, caught like a kid sneaking into a candy jar. His hand automatically adjusted the strap of his jacket. “Just needed… uh smokes.” He cleared his throat. “And maybe a drink.”

“Mmhmm.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Funny how you only seem to ‘need’ things when I’m on shift.”

Simon felt his ears heat. Damn her. He busied himself with scanning the shelves, grabbing the first bottle of water he could reach. “What can I say? Timing everything.”

Amara chuckled, leaning her elbows on the counter, chin resting in her palm as she watched him approach. “Or maybe you just like the company.”

Her words hit deeper than they should. Simon placed the water, down avoiding her gaze for a second too long. “Maybe,” he admitted, voice low.

The silence stretched, comfortable but charged. Amara tapped the register, breaking it with a teasing grin.”So, are we pretending we didn’t have that deep therapy session in my living room the other night? Or do I ring this up with the ‘trauma discount’?”

Simon huffed out a laugh, softer than he meant to. “Pretty sure you already charge me extra just for looking at me.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me.” She slid the water across the scanner, her fingers brushing his as she handed it back. “I could start charging you in truths. One confession per visit.”

Simon swallowed hard, the touch sparking through him. He shifted, suddenly restless, his voice unsteady. “That… sounds dangerous.”

“Good thing you like dangerous, soldier boy.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes stayed steady on his, warm and unflinching.

Simon’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something sharp, something clever but instead what came out was embarrassingly soft: “I do like this, though. Talking to you,”

Amara’s teasing expression flickered, softening into something gentler. She tilted her head, studying him like she always did like she could see right through the walls he kept patching up.

“Then keep showing up,” she said simply.

For a moment, Simon couldn’t breathe. Just the sound of the register clicking closed and the hum of the lights filled the space between them.

The bell at the door rang again, breaking the moment as another customer shuffled in, noisy and impatient. Amara straightened, sliding Simon’s change across the counter.

“Looks like your session’s over, tough guy,” she teased softly. “Come back when you’re ready for round two.”

Simon lingered a second longer than necessary, hand brushing hers as he took the change. His lips twitched into something caught between a small and surrender. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’ll be back.”

And as he pushed out into the night, the cold air hit him sharp — but not enough to shake the warmth Amara left sitting heavy in his chest.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter two: Moments in between

Pairing: Simon Riley X Amara Smith

A/n: I don’t know if I should do descriptions for every chapter I put out. But I hope you enjoy chapter two. Since I wrote three more chapters literally yesterday I’ll be posting the chapters daily.

The apartment smelled faintly of smoke and warm wood. Amara sat cross-legged on the couch, eyes flicking toward Simon whenever he shifted. He hadn’t moved to reach for the joint again, though it sat close, glowing faintly in the ashtray.

Simon’s chest tightened every time she looked at him. Normally, he would have cracked a joke, looked away, anything to keep the walls intact. But with Amara, he couldn’t. Not now. Not here.

“So…” she began, her tone teasing but gentle, “you really do pretend no one matters?”

Simon swallowed, suddenly aware of the way her knee brushed his own. Heat crawled up his neck. He fidgeted with the cuff of sleeve. “I…uh… I don’t pretend,” he said, voice rougher than intended, softer than he wanted. “I just… don’t let people in. It’s easier that way.”

Amara raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with amusement. “Easier.. for who?”

He shifted, almost fumbling his words. “Me,” he admitted, quieter now, almost a whisper. “It’s easier for me.”

Her expression softened. “I get it,” she said, letting the space between them breathe for a moment. “But you’re not alone right now.”

Simon’s chest tightened further, and his hands twitched nervously. He wanted to retreat, wanted to deflect with sarcasm, wanted to hide. But he didn’t. He just stayed.

“I… I’m not good at this,” he admitted, voice raw, and the words felt heavier than any weight he’d carried. Vulnerable. Real.

Amara tilted her head, warm smile tugging at her lips. “Do what?”

“Being here,” he murmured. “Sitting with someone. Not running. Not joking to cover it all up,”

She reached out, brushing a loose strand of her loc behind her ear. “You’re doing it anyway,” she said softly.

Simon’s heart stuttered, and his throat felt tight. “Maybe… maybe I’m starting to see why you keep showing up,” he admitted, eyes locked on hers.

Her laugh was soft, teasing, like wind through leaves. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, Simon. You’ll get used to me.”

He tried to meet her gaze, flustered and uneven, and instead felt himself smiling awkwardly, fumbling with his fingers. His voice dropped low, almost confessional. “I like that. Even if it makes me nervous as hell.”

Before Amara could respond, a sharp buzz from her phone broke the moment. She glanced at it, frowning. “Shoot! That’s my cousin. I promised I’d check in tonight. I have to go.”

Simon nodded, running a hand through his hair, flustered. “Right.. yeah. I get it.”

Amara gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to pick this up another time.”

He hesitated near the door, lingering just a fraction too long, unsure of how to leave the warmth of the room with exposing more of himself than he intended. “Yeah another time,” he murmured, softer than he would admit. His voice barely carrying over the quiet of the apartment.

She watched him, her eyes warm, playful, and patient all at once. “Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me,” she teased lightly.

Simon managed a small, awkward smile, still flustered, and stepped back into the hallway. The apartment felt impossibly quiet behind him. He paused at the door, letting the tension of the night settle in his chest, before finally stepping out.

Outside, the city hummed around him, but all he could think about was Amara — the way she was him, the way she didn’t push, the way she lingered in his thoughts even as he walked down the street. He knew he’d be counting the days until the next time they could steal a moment like this.

[dollcorefiles]

Smoke and Shadows

Chapter one

Pairing: Simon Riley X Amara Smith

Description: Simon keeps people at a distance. Amara thrives on curiosity and connection. They meet in fleeting glances and casual conversations at her convenience store, but one night, boundaries blur. What starts as shared smoke and teasing words turns into something neither of them expected—raw, real, and impossible to ignore.

Warnings: Smoking w33d

A/N: This is my first fanfic on tumblr. Thanks for reading! Also I forgot to put that this is my own oc with him. Just thought I’d put something different. Than just ‘X reader’

Simon had noticed her long before he actually spoke to her. Amara. The girl with the locs, glasses, and a laugh that lingered even after she left the convenience store where she worked. He always saw her when he stopped in for gas or coffee — her moving behind the register, focused yet warm, always a little teasing with the regulars. Most people didn’t notice much beyond the transaction, but he did.

It had started with small things. A glance, a half-smile exchanged over the counter, a playful comment tossed his way that he didn’t quite know how to respond to. For months, they existed in that space of casual recognition — he, quiet and guarded, her sharp and observant.

Then came the night he stayed late at the store, out of boredom more than anything else. The fluorescent lights buzzed, the hum of refrigerators filling the quiet, and she was still there, cleaning the counter. They’d started talking, really talking about the stupid little things, then the bigger things: music, life, the ways they each navigated the world. He’d told her about his army days in fragments, careful not to give too much away, and she had laughed and rolled her eyes, but there had been understanding behind it, an acknowledgement that didn’t require words.

Now, months later, here they were. On the couch in her tiny apartment, the joint between Simon’s finger glowing red, the hum of the city outside like a distant pulse. He barely noticed it anymore, he was too busy looked at her.

“Alright,” he said, voice low, careful. “If you’re not that earthy… then what are you?”

He tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Besides being sneaky with that weed habit — what else I don’t know? Favorite color? Worst fear? Something real.”

Amara tapped a finger against her lips. “Hmm… something real?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “My favorite color is green, but not like obvious grass green. More like moss when it’s damp, soft, alive. My worst fear? Probably ending up stuck somewhere I don’t belong. Like… trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like mine.”

She smirked. “And what you don’t know is that I’m a hell of a lot sneakier than just weed, Simon.”

He froze for a moment, shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. She saw him, like really saw him in a way no one else ever had. And for once, there was no sarcasm, no dry wit. Just her, and the quiet pressure of being understood.

“It reminds me of things I should forget,” he murmured, voice rough, like gravel.

Amara softened, the usual teasing spark in her eyes dimming into something gentler. She shifted closer, letting her presence brush against him without intruding.

“Forget?” She asked quietly. “Simon, you don’t have to tell me if it’s too heavy. But you don’t strike me as the type who really forgets. You carry it. Every piece of it.”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been avoiding touch, huh? Afraid it’ll crack something open.”

Simon stared at her, stunned. She had seen through him, so young, so warm, with eyes that could strip armor bare with a single look. He gripped the joint tighter. For once, he had nothing to hide behind.

“Yeah,” he whispered finally. “Maybe you’re right.”

Amara’s smile softened further. “You don’t have to carry it alone,” she said, voice steady. “Even if it’s just sitting here, burning one with me.”

Her shoulder brushed lightly against his, grounding him. “I kinda like surprising you,” she added, playful again, but her eyes stayed locked on his, warm and steady.

He chuckled, the sound rough but lighter than before. “You’re gonna drive me crazy, you know that?”

Amara laughed, low and unguarded. “Me? Drive you crazy?” She teased. “Simon, this is level one of the Amara experience. You sure you can handle all that without losing your mind?”

The air between them thickened, charged. He leaned closer, knees brushing, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Bring it. Give me your worst.”

Her smirked sharpened, eyes glinted behind her glasses. “You don’t play fair.” She held the joint lightly between her fingers, tapping ash into the tray. Something deeper than colors or bad habits.”

Simon’s thumb rubbed over the joint. “Why’d you pick me?”

Amara blinked, surprised, then smiled faintly, smoke curling around her. “Simon… you see me. Not like I’m just some clerk or another face. I’ve always been curious about the grumpy guy buying gas and black coffee. Thought maybe there was more under all that armor. Guess I was right.”

Something tightened in Simon’s chest. She saw him, past the uniform, past the walls. He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling, and met her gaze. “I don’t let many people see me,” he said quietly. “And I don’t do this, sitting around, talking like this. But you’re right — I was looking at you.”

Amara’s breath hitched at his honesty, but she didn’t pull away. “I know,” she whispered softly. “That’s why I didn’t look away.”

Without breaking eye contact, she took the joint from his hand and inhaled, smoke curling between like a secret. “Your turn to ask again, soldier. Let’s see how deep you can go.”

Simon leaned in, close enough that her locs brushed his shoulder. His voice dropped lower, rough and vulnerable. “Deep, huh? What’s something you pretend to want but actually do?”

Amara tilted her head, smirk fading into a sharper edge, eyes locked on him. “Letting someone take care of me for once. I act like I’ve got it all handled but sometimes, I just want to let go of the wheel.”

She offered the joint back to him, eyes unflinching. “Your move.”

Simon wrapped his fingers around hers, the joint between their palms sparking contact. “Then maybe you just found someone who sees that too.” He drew in a slow drag, exhaling and leaning back, eyes dark and unreadable. “I pretend I don’t want anyone close. Might’ve already failed at that.”

Amara’s chest tightened, but she didn’t pull away. “You didn’t fail,” she whispered, voice raw. “You just… let me in, that’s brave as hell. And I usually keep it surface level, but with you… it’s different.”

The couch grew warmer with their closeness, knees brushing, the embers joint smoldering between them. Silence fell, heavy.

Simon’s gaze held hers, softening. Amara’s lips parted slightly, daring him, inviting him. “You don’t have to fight it,” she murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in years, Simon didn’t want to pull back.