la douleur exquise

(n.) the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable

[havenchy]

NAVIGATION

ABOUT ME

FIC RECS:

— marauders

— fred weasley

— draco malfoy

— marvel (s.r., b.b., t.s.)

— derek morgan

— derek morgan II

— aaron hotchner

— simon riley

MOOD BOARDS:

— being in a relationship with remus lupin

— being draco malfoy's date at a ball

— regulus black royalty! au enemies to lovers

— nature dates with james potter

— spending time with fred weasley at the burrow

— loving sirius black

[underoospeterparker]

in the dark

mean!Steve harrington x fem!reader, angst, 1.8k words

Summary: When Steve gets migraines, he gets angry. This time, he takes it out on you. Or, you're Steve's punching bag, and this time it hurts too much.

part one part two part three

Steve comes home in a silent, white-hot rage.

It’s in the way he shuts the front door—too carefully, like he's afraid to slam it, like he's afraid you'll know he's angry.

It’s in the dead look in his eyes as he scans the living room and finds you there. He doesn’t greet you.

He walks to the kitchen instead, and you hear the violent crack of an ice tray being twisted, the hard clatter of cubes hitting glass.

“Bad day?” you ask gently when he comes back to the living room.

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Is there another kind?” He doesn’t look at you. “Just… don’t, okay? Don’t do the understanding girlfriend thing tonight. I can’t stand it.”

You don’t flinch. You just nod, watching him. “Okay. What can I do?” You don't add that you'd do anything for him to feel better. He probably knows it already.

Steve finally looks at you, and the frustration in his eyes is a live wire. “Nothing. There is literally nothing you can do. My dad called to remind me I’m a disappointment. Keith scheduled me for a closing shift after an opening for no goddamn reason. My head feels like it’s splitting in two."

His words are meant to push you away, to hurt you because he’s hurting. But you won't let him push you away.

"So let me help you carry it," you say quietly. "Please. That’s what I’m here for.”

He stares at you for a long, silent moment. The air in the room tightens. “Help me carry it?” he repeats, his tone dripping with a disdain so sharp it makes your breath catch.

"You want to help? You can't. You're not built for it. You're built to sit there and look concerned and absorb," he continues, his gaze dissecting you. "That's your whole function. You're a emotional pet."

The insult is so mean that your vision actually swarms for a second. A pet. Steve thinks of you as that?

"And I'm sick of having to tend to you, sick of having to manage your disappointment that I'm not happier, that I'm not better for you." He watches the pain flicker over your face.

You want to protest, to tell him that's not true, but your throat has closed.

He shakes his head, a dismissive jerk. "You don't get it," he says, and his voice is low, flat, drained. "You never have. All your little questions. Your little suggestions. Your little worried looks. They don't do anything. They're just... noise."

Your heart aches with this horrible pain that makes you feel nauseous. The warmth has drained from your face, leaving you cold and numb.

"So do us both a favour, and stop trying. Stop with your little attempts at trying to make me feel better. Just be quiet. Be still. Or better yet," Steve says, straightening up, his gaze sweeping over you with a finality that chills your blood, "just be gone."

For one more second, you remain. A statue of hurt in his living room. Then, without a word, you turn. You walk to the hall closet, take your coat, and open the front door.

You don't look back.

The door clicks shut behind you.

Steve stands in the sudden, absolute silence of his living room. The quiet he demanded.

It’s awful.

He was mean. God, he was so mean, to bright, innocent, perfect you, who doesn't deserve his anger, not in the slightest.

He stares at the space where you’d been standing. He can still see the exact way your expression had shut down, like a light switching off behind your eyes. You hadn’t cried. You hadn’t yelled. You’d just… accepted it. And that was worse.

Emotional pet.

The words curdle in his stomach. He called you a pet. He reduced your kindness, your steady love, the very thing he craved most in the world, to the function of a dumb animal waiting for a scrap of affection.

A low, wounded sound escapes him. He sinks onto the arm of the couch, his head dropping into his hands.

He sits there for a long time, motionless in the dark. The silence he created is a loud, accusing thing. It gives him nowhere to hide from the replay in his mind.

Steve doesn't sob.

He just sits there, letting the tears fall, silent and relentless, dripping onto his jeans. He cries for the horrible pressure of his life. He cries for the easy target you’d become. But mostly, he cries because he knows, with a certainty that hollows him out, that he might have just broken the one pure, good thing he’d ever managed to hold onto. And he has no one to blame but himself.

He doesn’t move to wipe them away. He lets them fall. It feels like the only honest thing he’s done all night.

Hours pass. The streetlamp outside casts long, skeletal shadows across the floor. He’s shivering, but he doesn’t get up. He’s punishing himself by staying in the exact spot where he destroyed everything.

Destroyed you.

Then, a key scrapes in the lock.

His breath hitches, his whole body going rigid.

The door opens. Soft footsteps. The gentle shush of a coat being hung up. He doesn’t dare look.

You walk into the living room. You don't look at him, hunched and broken on the couch. Your own face is carefully blank, but your eyes are red-rimmed, the only evidence of the silent storm you’d weathered alone in your car. You saw him crying. Your heart, already shattered, had cracked into even smaller, more painful pieces.

You hadn't planned on coming back inside, but you do.

You move to the kitchen. Not to hide, but to do what you do. What you’ve always done. The tap runs. You open the aspirin bottle, shake two into your palm. You take the glass of water you’d poured and walk back to him.

You stand in front of him. Steve finally lifts his head, his face ravaged with tears and shame. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

You don’t speak either. You simply hold out your hand, shaking, the two white pills sitting in the center of your palm.

An offering. A habit. A terrible, loving reflex he no longer deserves.

He stares at your hand, then at your face. The kindness there, even threaded with so much hurt, is worse than any slap. He takes the pills with trembling fingers, his touch brushing your skin. You flinch, just a tiny, almost imperceptible recoil.

He wants to cry again.

You hand him the water. He takes it, his eyes never leaving yours, drinking under your silent, weary observation. When he’s done, you take the empty glass back.

Then you kneel in front of him. He flinches, expecting… he doesn’t know what. Instead, you reach for his shoes. Your hands, usually so sure, fumble with the laces. Your fingers are shaking. You set them neatly aside.

You stand, motioning for him to lie down. He obeys without a sound, stretching out on the couch. You disappear again, returning with the soft throw blanket from the armchair. You drape it over him, tucking it around his shoulders with a soft care that you've always lended him, expecting nothing in return.

Every movement is precise. Every action is love. You are taking care of him, thoroughly, completely, while your own soul bleeds out quietly inside you.

You sit on the floor beside the couch, just as you had when he was in the armchair earlier, but now your back is to him.

The space between your spine and the couch feels like a mile.

Steve lies under the blanket, watching the tense line of your shoulders, the way you won’t let yourself touch him.

He can’t stand it.

His voice, when it comes, is ruined. Raspy from disuse and tears. “You came back.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of awe and profound shame. You don’t turn. You don’t answer.

Steve swallows hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. “You shouldn’t have.” A beat. “I didn’t think you would.”

He pushes himself up on one elbow, the blanket pooling at his waist. He’s a mess—hair wild, eyes swollen, shirt wrinkled from where he’d been crying into it. He looks at the back of your head.

“I called you a pet,” he whispers, the words foul in his mouth. “I told you to get out. I meant it… in the moment, I meant to hurt you. I wanted to.” He confesses it like he’s pulling out a poison dart. “Because you were there. And you were good. And I am so... not."

You close your eyes tight, but you can't block it out. The words find their mark all over again, fresh and brutal. Your heart doesn't just ache; it seizes, a tight, physical cramp of pain high in your chest.

It's the hurt of betrayal, sharp and clean, but beneath it is a deeper, more desolate ache—the grief for what you thought you had, the safety you felt that has now been revealed as fragile.

“Stop,” you whisper, the word so soft it’s almost inaudible. You press the heels of your hands against your closed eyelids. “Please, just… stop talking.”

The plea slices through his confession. He falls silent, the poison dart half-pulled, his own guilt choking him.

You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you keep your back to him. “I heard you the first time. I felt it. I don’t… I can’t hear it again right now. It hurts too much.”

Steve hears the pain in your voice, the way it scrapes over the words. It’s a different kind of devastation than your earlier silence.

This is the sound of the wound, exposed and bleeding.

“Okay,” he breathes, the word full of shattered remorse. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

The silence returns, but it’s charged now with your request. It’s a silence you asked for, to protect the pieces of yourself that are left. He respects it. He doesn’t try to fill it with more apologies or explanations. He just lies back down, the blanket feeling less like a comfort and more like a shroud.

You stay on the floor, your hands now limp in your lap, staring at nothing. The hurt is a living thing between you, a third presence in the room. Steve can’t fix it with words. He can only lie there in the wreckage of his own making, and you can only sit beside it, guarding your broken heart.

The love is still there, a battered, bleeding thing, but for now, the only thing to do is to not make the hurt worse.

And so, in the dark, you both hold perfectly still.

part two

[specsthesecond]

[🏠]

Something came up and your orc boyfriend has to stay at your place for a little while.

Only problem is that your flat is small even by human standards and he's used to his orc sized apartment.

He feels sooooo guilty for intruding on your space and that's just made worse when he has to duck his head through every doorway and squeeze past your furniture so he doesn't break anything.

Thank god you have one of those mattresses without springs because he already broke one side on your couch and if he broke your mattress too he'd probably cry.

He promises to fix or pay for everything he breaks and he's pretty honest about it. So far he's broken and fixed; 2 door handles, 3 draws, the kitchen and bathroom faucet, your cupboard door and the top of your doorframe (you held a bag of frozen peas to his head and kissed his bruise while he apologised)

It warms his heart how much you do to make him feel welcomed. You moved the coffee table out of the living room so he can sit on the carpet and watch TV (he refuses to even try sitting on your couch again). You started placing the tupperware and cutlery he uses in higher cupboards so he can reach them easier.

You let him keep a mountain of his clothes in the corner of your room and he lets you steal his shirts for pajamas.

He doesn't even complain about your shower being way too small even though he's literally taller than the showerhead.

You're both actually kind of sad when he gets a text from his landlord telling him he can come back. You made living together work so well even though the circumstances weren't great and maybe you also both realised you want to be together for the rest of your lives?

[ghostedink]

Compared to you.

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

You hated when people looked at you after they looked at Simon.

Because it always happened in that order.

Their eyes would land on him first— broad shoulders stuffed into dark clothes, that permanently tired stare, the kind of presence that made rooms quiet without him even trying — and then they’d shift to you.

And every single time, you swore you saw the same flicker of confusion.

Them?

It made your sick.

You knew Simon didn’t notice it. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. But you noticed. God, you noticed.

Especially at the pub near base.

You worked there most evenings, weaving through crowded tables with cheap trays balanced on one hand, apron dusted with flour from the kitchen because the cook kept dragging you back there to help plate when things got busy. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t important.

You were just… you. A waitress.

And Simon Riley was him.

Lieutenant. Decorated soldier. Feared. Respected. The kind of man people whispered about before he even entered a room.

The kind of man who looked absurd sitting in your tiny apartment kitchen at two in the morning drinking tea from a chipped mug while your socks slid across the floor.

You still didn’t understand why he stayed.

“You’re staring again.” Simon muttered one night from your couch.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Sorry.”

He watched you from beneath heavy lashes. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

“Nothin’.”

A lie. Simon always knew when you lied.

He sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees. “C’mere.”

You obeyed automatically, crossing the small apartment until he tugged you between his legs. His hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy even through your clothes.

“You’ve been distant all week..” he said quietly. “Talk.”

You tried to shrug it off. “I’m tired.”

“Try again.”

Your chest tightened.

You hated this part. Hated saying things out loud because they sounded even stupider once they existed in the air.

Simon waited patiently.

That made it worse.

“I just…” You laughed weakly, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“This.”

One of his brows twitched.

“You.” Your voice got quieter. “Us.”

Simon stared at you like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.

Which was insane.

“You could have anyone.” you murmured. “Anyone, Simon.”

His grip on your hips tightened slightly.

“And you’re with…” You gestured vaguely to yourself with a self-conscious smile that hurt more than it should’ve. “Me.”

Silence.

Not angry silence.

Not cold silence.

The dangerous kind — the kind where Simon got very, very still.

“You think I’m too good for you?” he asked finally.

Your face heated immediately. “When you say it like that it sounds—”

“Answer me.”

You swallowed.

“A little.”

Simon leaned back against the couch slowly, eyes never leaving yours. There was something awful in them suddenly. Something wounded.

Like you’d hurt him.

“You think I come here because I settled?”

“No—”

“You think I look at you and see someone lesser than me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it.”

You looked away.

That was answer enough.

Simon exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tightening beneath faint stubble.

“Christ.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m sorry.”

That made his head snap up instantly.

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Apologizin’ for existing.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Simon’s hands slid from your hips up to your arms, gentler this time.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head.

“I see someone good.”

You almost laughed at that.

But Simon continued before you could.

“I see someone who remembers how I take my tea. Someone who works ten-hour shifts and still manages to smile at strangers.” His thumbs brushed absentmindedly against your sleeves. “Someone who treats people kindly even when they don’t deserve it.”

His eyes softened.

“You look at me and see the rank. The size. The scary reputation.” A humorless huff escaped him. “You don’t see what I see.”

“And what’s that?”

“A soldier.”

You frowned immediately. “Simon, I’m literally a waitress.”

“Aye.” He nodded once. “And every day you deal with rude customers, drunk men, shitty management, sore feet, exhaustion, bills…” His gaze locked onto yours. “And you keep goin’.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

“You think strength only looks like violence,” Simon murmured. “Like guns and combat and knowin’ how to kill.”

One hand came up to cradle your jaw carefully.

“But I’ve seen men in the military weaker than you.”

Your eyes burned.

“Simon…”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped lower now, rough around the edges. “You walk through life soft. Do you understand how bloody difficult that is?”

That finally broke you a little.

Because Simon said it like softness was something sacred.

Something rare.

You looked down quickly, embarrassed by the sudden sting behind your eyes.

“I’m not special.”

Simon’s expression twisted like the sentence physically hurt him.

He stood abruptly, forcing you to tilt your head back to keep looking at him. Big hands framed your face completely.

“Don’t do that.” he said sharply.

You startled.

“Don’t tear yourself apart in front of me.” His voice cracked slightly around the edges now. “Not when I love every part.”

The room went silent.

Simon wasn’t good at saying things like that. He showed love easier than he spoke it. Through quiet touches. Waiting outside your work after late shifts. Fixing things around your apartment without being asked. Standing between you and the world like a wall.

But this?

This was raw… and terrifyingly honest.

His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t need someone impressive.” he whispered. “I need you.”

Your chest ached so badly it almost hurt to breathe.

“You make my life quiet.”

One of his hands slid into your hair carefully.

“You make me feel human again.”

Your eyes finally spilled over.

Simon caught the tears immediately with his thumb, looking almost angry at them.

“Don’t cry.”

“You’re being too nice.” you whispered shakily.

A small, disbelieving laugh left him.

“Too nice..” he repeated. “That’s what did it?”

You laughed weakly through tears.

Simon stared at you for a long moment before pulling you against his chest so suddenly you nearly stumbled.

His arms wrapped around you tight. Protective. Certain. Like there had never been a question.

“You are not lucky to have me.” he murmured into your hair.

His grip tightened.

“We’re lucky to have each other.”

୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧

Thank you @madddzshady for this request!

[adelineriley999]

simon accidently yelled at you

The apartment had gone unbearably quiet after he yelled.

Not the comfortable kind of silence either. Not the kind Simon liked after long missions where the world finally stopped demanding things from him.

This silence was wrong.

You stood by the stove with your back turned, shoulders tense, blinking rapidly like if you just tried hard enough the tears would disappear before he saw them.

Too late.

Simon stared at you like he’d just watched himself pull a trigger he couldn’t take back. His chest rose once. Heavy.

“...Fuck.”

The word came out under his breath, barely audible.

You wiped quickly at your face. “It’s okay.”, you whispered , hurt and embarrassment blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t okay.

And Simon knew it immediately because your voice did that tiny shaky thing it only did when you were trying very hard not to cry.

He felt sick.

The kind where the person you love looks hurt because of you.

Simon took one cautious step forward. Then another.

“Love.”

You shook your head without turning around.

That hurt more than the tears.

Usually when he came home, you gravitated toward him automatically. Hands on his chest, arms around his waist. Soft little smiles like he was something worth waiting for.

Now you were standing as far away from him as the kitchen allowed.

Because he yelled.

Because he came home carrying all his anger and dropped it right at your feet.

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”, you mumbled, trying to smoothen your voice.

“Stand there acting like you deserve that.”

You finally turned a little at that, eyes glossy. “Simon-”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face harshly. “No, don’t excuse it.”

You went silent. He looked wrecked now. More wrecked than when he first walked in.

Rainwater still clung to his jacket. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but guilt sat on him even heavier.

“I came home to you,” he said, voice rough. “Warm flat, food on the stove, you waiting for me.” He laughed once bitterly at himself. “And first thing I do is bark at you like some miserable prick.”

Your lips parted slightly.

Simon looked away, jaw flexing.

“Spent two bloody weeks thinking about getting back to you.” His voice got quieter. “Then I walk through that door and make you cry inside five minutes.”

The tears you were trying to stop spilled over again.

The second he saw them, he looked genuinely devastated.

Not angry. Not frustrated.

Devastated.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

He crossed the room immediately then stopped himself halfway, hesitating.

Simon Riley, who would walk through gunfire without blinking, suddenly looking uncertain about whether he was allowed to touch his own wife.

“You don’t have to comfort me,” you whispered.

That nearly broke him, his eyes shut briefly.

“Christ.”

He finally stepped closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. His hands settled lightly on your arms, almost tentative.

“I’m sorry love,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Ever.”

You looked down, vision blurring, “I know you’re tired.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I wasn’t trying to annoy you-”,you huffed ,choking slightly on the tears.

“I know.” His voice cracked slightly then steadied. “I know you weren’t.”

The guilt in his expression got worse somehow.

“You were taking care of me,” he murmured. “That’s all you were doing.”

You tried to look away again but Simon gently caught your chin before you could.

“Look at me.”

You did. Big mistake.

The second he saw how hard you’d been trying not to cry, his entire face softened into something painfully guilty.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”, he murmured ,gently cupping your face.

“You never yell at me.”, you sniffled.

That one hit directly to the ribs.

Simon actually flinched.

His thumb brushed carefully under your eye, wiping away a tear with absurd gentleness for a man built like a concrete wall with emotional constipation.

“I swear to you,” he said quietly, “the second it came outta my mouth, I wanted to take it back.”

You could hear how honest it was.

Simon wasn’t good at pretty apologies. He wasn’t poetic, wasn’t smooth. But guilt made him painfully sincere.

“I hate that you looked at me like that,” he admitted softly.

“Like what?”

“Like you were trying to figure out if I was angry with you.”

His voice nearly disappeared on the last part. Because that was the thing eating him alive now. The fact that for even one second, you’d looked at him uncertainly instead of safely.

Simon pulled you against him suddenly, firm and desperate, burying his face into your h.air.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly against your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You felt the way he held you tighter after every apology, like he was trying to physically make up for it.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a low murmur. “Missed you so bad it felt wrong sleeping without you there.” His arms tightened. “Then I come home and act like that.”

Your hands slowly curled into his shirt. Simon exhaled shakily at the feeling.

“There she is,” he whispered, relief and guilt tangled together. “Thought I fucked this up properly for a second.” he mumbled ,inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You didn’t.”

“Nearly did.”

And judging by the way he kept pressing little apologetic kisses into your hair like a man trying to repent for his crimes against domestic peace, he was going to spend the rest of the night making absolutely sure you knew he regretted it.

lol yeah i'm procrastinating my long fics TT

[cyberdrream]

18+ mdni simon riley is a horrible lay, everyone says.

that’s what you’ve heard around base, from men and women alike. he’s too fucking big, apparently, fucks like the mean bastard that he is. hurts. apparently, he’s so cold he doesn’t even care for his partner. and apparently, every time anyone’s tried to sleep with him, they’ve always stormed out of his room, pissed off at him because his room is a hellhole. 

apparently. it’s all word of mouth, but you believe it. 

but after the end of the month drinks at the local spoons, you can barely get simon off you, he’s pawing at you with his big hands. the two of you split a cider in two, and he looks at you with his big brown eyes, “y- you’re really fucking hot.” he blurts out, kissing your nose with chapped lips.

his face is red, blushing deeply as you try your best to not flush the same. “and johnny told me you can’t ever think about the pretty lass on floor 3 with the filing cabinet, but guess what, i can.” he kisses you on the side of your head this time, and you’re enjoying his affections.

it’s only back in his room on base that he fumbles with his belt, before he looks at you again, “s-sorry, it’s just, i don’t really get to spend the night with pretty women like you-“

you want to hide your face in his pillows, his room is really fucking nice. he has plants, actual plants growing from gaz, sketch drawings from johnny, photographs of him and the captain. 

his cock is huge, hard and leaking, slapping against his stomach, but he still looks at you with his sweet brown eyes, “love, it’s okay if it’s too big…” he sounds dejected already, but you just shake your head, it’s nowhere near as big what the word around base was. 

“it’s fine simon-“ you whisper, licking your lips and placing kitten licks on his length, feeling the taste of him coat your tongue. 

“no no no-“ he shakes his head, pulling away before his hands touch your wet panties, “fuck, you’re so wet love.” 

and then he dives in, tugging them off, before licking at your cunt with a sloppy tongue, he doesn’t have a technique down but whatever the fuck he’s doing it’s good, your legs are shaking as his tongue dips inside you.

“gotta make sure it’s good for you-“ okay, what the fuck was anyone talking about?

he slides into you with ease, and thrusts into you? his hands above your head, his eyes still looking at you. “you’re very fuckin’… mmmph… hot.” he says, with a grin on his scarred face that would look terrifying if it wasn’t for the way his brown eyes shone with sweetness.  

it wasn’t long before his cock twitches inside of you, and his eyes roll back, “oh fuck love, right there— fuck!” he was filling you deep, his cum thick in your stomach. 

“love?” he asks, whimpering, his head on your chest, “love, did you find it good?” he’s desperate for your fucking approval. 

you kiss his head, his soft curls growing out of army regs.

“yes darling.” fuck the word of mouth, did anyone even try this with him?

“th-thank you dove-“ he pants, his cock deep inside you as you keep stroking his hair, feeling his breath even out. 

__

[bittersweetlyblue]

simon “ghost” riley who…

doesn’t mean to get attached to you, but it happens anyway. quietly. gradually. like something inevitable. one day you’re just “someone in the unit,” and the next, you’re the only voice he listens for in the comms.

who pretends he’s unaffected, but the moment you go radio silent for even a second too long, his entire body locks up. he’ll bark orders, keep moving, stay sharp but inside, it’s all static and worst-case scenarios.

who never shows his face, not fully… but lets you see pieces of him no one else gets. the edge of his jaw when he lifts the mask to drink. the faintest ghost of a smile when you say something dumb.

who remembers everything about you. the way you take your tea. the exact tone your voice drops to when you’re tired. the difference between your real laugh and the one you use around others.

who stands just a little closer to you than necessary. not touching, never that obvious, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, grounding, steady.

who calls you by your name in private, not your callsign. low and rough, like it actually means something. like you mean something.

who gets protective in a way that isn’t loud amd isn’t possessive just…absolute. if you’re in danger, he’s already moving before anyone else has processed what’s happening.

who will patch you up himself, even if you insist you’re fine. silent, focused, hands surprisingly gentle for someone who’s spent so long breaking things.

who doesn’t do affection the normal way. no grand gestures. no soft confessions. but he’ll sit beside you in silence after a mission, shoulder brushing yours, and that’s his version of everything.

who, one night when it’s just the two of you, finally says: “you’re safe with me.” and it’s not a promise he makes lightly.

who doesn’t say “i love you.” not at first. maybe not ever in the way people expect but you’ll hear it in every stay close, every i’ve got you, bird , but every moment he chooses you — again and again.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE , do not copy, translate or edit my work as your own nor feed it into anything for your amusement.

a/n: taglist for simon ghost riley maybe??

[lil-yearnings]

The most surprising bond your long time boyfriend, Simon Riley would have, would not be with a soldier, but with your evil cat.

Your cat was a one-person cat. She hated people, except for you. Many have tried charming your stone-hearted princess, none have succeeded.

Until Simon. Sort of.

He’d never make you choose between him and your cat, but would appreciate if she stopped yowling and swatting at him just for walking in her general direction.

When you move in together, he can’t even do things in his own home without being criticized.

“Why’re mad?”

“Meow.”

“I’m putting this away.”

“Meow.”

“I live here too, you know.”

“Hissss.”

“You’re right. You’re always right.”

For someone who allegedly hates him, your cat follows Simon around everywhere, with her tail straight up in the air, too.

And she’ll complain about her own proximity to her spare human your boyfriend every chance she gets.

You’d be mindlessly staring at Man Uni and the cat would voluntarily lay on Simon’s half-asleep form. Then yowl.

“…The fuck I’d do to you?”

And she’d refuse to move.

“Get off. I don’t want you on me.”

“She’s comfy!”

“You just want to yell at me, don’t you, y’ little—“

Swat.

Simon’s wide eyed at her audacity.

Nevertheless, Simon accepts defeat, and sinks further into the couch.

“I’m sick o’ your shit, Ganondorf.”

“Meow.”

Nevertheless, it’s obvious Simon adores the cat. He senses a kindred spirit. Yeah, he knows, he tells her as he scratches her behind her neck. She allows him. He doesn’t quite like people either. Well, besides your mum, of course. He talks to your cat like she’s a grown adult person.

“Why’re mad now?”

“Meow.”

“Your mum’s in the bath. You can wait five more minutes with me, yeah?”

“Meow.”

“Y’ don’t wanna be in there with mummy.”

“Meow.”

“Don’t act like that.”

[biscuit-buddy]

soulmate first words au where Simon grew up with the words “oh my god, please, don’t.” plastered across his arm in dark black ink. since the moment he could read, he’d been terrified of what that meant. he’d heard those words from him mother enough times when his dad came home drunk and swinging fists towards anything that moved, he’d heard them in back alleys while undercover, some poor woman being groped by a man twice her size, and he’d even heard it once or twice from the poor fucker he’d put a bullet in after interrogations gone wrong. Every time he flinches, wondering if that was his one shot at something good he’d just killed in cold blood. Fitting, for a bastard like him, or so he told himself.

It wasn’t until a night off with the team in some sweaty, sticky bar that he runs into you. As much as he tries to ignore the girl on a shitty date who keeps pushing the man’s hands off her ass and fake laughing at his boring jokes, it grates at him for reasons he can quite grasp. Later, he’ll catch the tail end of a screaming match outside the bar. One that has your date storming off, and you sinking onto the grimy concrete in your nicest outfit. He’ll watch from the shadows, flicking the ash off a cigarette before finally saying, “Want me to kill him for ya?” and when your eyes shoot up to the stranger in disbelief he tacks on, “free of charge.”

He almost can’t make it out through your laughter, wet with lingering tears. “oh my god, please, don’t.” you chuckle, “i wouldn’t last a day in prison.” between the burning on his arm, exactly where those dreaded words are, and the way the air feels like it’s been punched straight from his lungs, simon can’t muster up a reply fast enough.

You, on the other hand, have a smile slowly forming as you rub your own burning mark. “Do you know how worried my parents were when they saw what this said? They put me in preemptive therapy and everything. Thought I’d end up in a gang or something.” The man reaches a hand out, offering to help you stand. “You’re not are you? In a gang I mean?”

Another puff of smoke leaves his lips in what you think might have been the beginning of a laugh. “No, military. Close enough, though.”

Dusting yourself off, you sneak a closer look at the shadowed stranger. your soulmate, a voice inside flutters with childish glee. “Well damn, there go all my mob wife aspirations.”

He sighs, and steps closer to you, just within the light of a flickering street lamp. Now, you can make out his features. Scars cover every inch of exposed skin, twisting and mangling what might have once been a fair face. Under your gaze, he waits cautiously, “Sorry to disappoint.” A double meaning you catch immediately.

You motion back to the bar the both of you had been in earlier, then close your fingers around his with a tug, “Make it up to me, then?”

[hellounicetomeetyou]

It's always his face

That's what Simon believed, that's why he hid it with his mask, it isn't a simple insecurity, it's something deep and ugly that's been rotting in his heart for years until it became an alter-ego.

Even after all his years, even if it was barely, he still felt it.

The shame and embarrassment, how he's saved children's life and they ran away crying thanks to his mask, how people would look at him like he was the problem and more than once he just wanted to dissapear.

More than once he tried to disappear.

So when you looked up at him, grateful for him saving your dog's life, hugging him, blushing, asking him if he had anything to do for the weekend.

"What? What do you mean? You don't disgust me!, how can someone feel scared of a sweet man like you, I don't really understand how people can act like that"

You looked genuinely clueless at why he pulled you back, saying such a pretty thing like you shouldn't be close to a broken, big man like him, and that's what made the walls on his heart crumble.

He was stunned, flushed, behind the mask his eyes were wide at your honest opinion and baffled expression, searching for any sign of mockery, the one's he's seen in his whole life and when he didn't find anything, just a pure, loving heart, he became a big giant softie.

That was the first time he met you, so that's why twelve years later, in his big house, his two pretty daughters sleeping in their own rooms upstairs, you on his lap with one of his shirts on you, hair messy, two marriage rings glinting on your fingers and the one he gave you when you gave birth to his first daughter, peppering his mask less face with kisses until he blushed like a schoolboy.

"Oh love you're blushing" you cooed sweetly at his shy smile, he simply squeezed your waist lovingly, whispering a soft.

"Thank you love, really, for being part of my life, my wife, the mother of my daughters, you're my hero"

He looked at you with such awestruck eyes all you could do was blush, giggle and kiss his lips, tilting your head.

"I love you too sweetheart, but the wine did a number on you didn't it?"

[daydreamingwishes]

your daughter immediately ran into simons arms as soon as you opened the door. she had a hard day at school today, eyes puffy and cheeks flushed.

she was in her first year of middle school but it seemed like it was hell for her. her friends left her and she felt lonely.

she jumped into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist as she hid in her father's neck. he felt like security.

simon held her tightly, his eyes meeting yours with concern. his hands patted her back softly as she sobbed into his neck.

you watched them with a soft expression.

when you were pregnant simon was terrified of becoming a parent. he freaked out everyday of your pregnancy, even after you had her.

but his worried faded when she started growing up. she loved him more than anything in the world. she was a daddys girl through and through.

she loved you, yes, but she leaned more towards simon. he was her security, her safety. you didnt mind. not when you saw the softness in simons eyes. not when he took her to her room after she fell asleep in his arms.

he came back, a concerned expression on his face. you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"she'll be okay, si. its middle school blues."

simon huffed, his hands tangling in your hair.

"she doesn't deserve that."

"i know." you whispered softly. "she'll find the right friends eventually."

simon nodded. it was silent for a few seconds until you suddenly heard a small sniffle. you looked up.

tears fell down his cheeks.

"are you crying?" you asked softly, hands coming up his cheeks.

"no."

he sniffled again. eyes turning a soft red. his nose flushed as well as his cheeks.

"i just cant see her crying like that. shes my baby girl."

you hummed, pulling him closer.

"its the harshness of life. but guess what? she has you. she just wanted you from the moment i picked her up. the only thing you can do is be there for her. you're her home, si."

simon smiled softly, a tiny chuckle leaving his lips. "i look silly, hm? crying over something so small."

you shook your head. "you look like a good dad."

"yeah?"

you nodded. "mhm. the perfect one."

simon smiled, lips pressing on your temple as he pulled you close.

"wouldnt be here without you."

[ilylovelyz]

simon doesn't know what to do with himself when you're mad at him.

growing up in an aggressive and abusive household has made simon avoid anything that can resemble even a disagreement. it's frustrating at times. you'll try to talk to him about serious topics and he'll immediately shut you down or go quiet because he fears it'll draw out a screaming match because that's what usually happened between his parents.

he knows you better than himself, so when your mood is the slightest bit sour he immediately notices. except, he doesn't ask you what's wrong.

instead, this behemoth of a man literally begins to cower. he goes dead quiet. not even his usual softspokeness, not a single word. simon becomes clumsy and tries to take up less space around you. he even fumbles with his fingers and watches you with those whale eyes a dog gives you when it's uncomfortable. he does all of this, while refusing to leave your side.

he doesn't prod, doesn't ask. he think's it'll agitate you more if he bothers you and hopes that by showing his devotion by staying at your side through whatever is going through your mind and is affecting you that it'll persuade you to have mercy on him and forgive him—even if he did nothing at all and you're not mad at him.

it's almost insane. he's more scared of the possibility of you being mad at him than an actual bullet. sometimes it makes things worse because you wouldn't even be mad at him and he'll refuse to engage with you from sheer nervousness.

but when he realizes you're not mad at him? relief floods through him faster and way more satisfyingly better than any morphine has ever done him. he immediately becomes more clingy and kissy and demanding of your attention and when you ask him why he's been so quiet for the past few hours he just mumbles a "i thought you were mad with me."

[softaestluv]

Friends with benefits!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who won’t look you in the eyes during sex, fucks you in a doggy and pushes your face into the pillow because absolutely no emotion can be involved.

Friends with benefits!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who fucks you in missionary, slow and deep, when he comes back from an assignment, forehead pressed to yours, making you hold eye contact with him the entire time because he needs to feel something real.

[softaestluv]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who keeps all his relationships casual.

You should be his dream, really, you two go at it for hours with no strings attached. Except everytime you hop up from his bed before he’s even gotten the chance to lay down next to you with his cum still in your cunt an ugly feeling settles in his chest.

When you moan another man’s name during sex and you think it’s funny laughing out an apology, but all he sees is red. Thinking of another man when he’s got his cock buried to the hilt in his your cunt.

When you ask him if the two of you can start using condoms because you’re sleeping with other men and he swears he draws blood from how harshly he digs his fingers into his palm.

When you see him at the bar with his arm around another girl and you just smile and give him a thumbs up like you’re happy he’s taking another girl home, but he almost knocks the guy out he sees you with.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley who can’t seem to keep this relationship casual when you do it so well.

[s-ghost-r]

ghost helping poor wifey crack her back (because titties are heavy man) and there is just the loudest crack ever

It'd be that one where you wrap your arms around yourself and he lifts you up from behind. Feels like every vertebra in your spine just disconnected from each other. Lets out a cascade of the most hellacious sound ever, one that he only really hears after an action with the intent to kill.

"Bloody fuckin' hell." A split moment of fear that he's just paralyzed you, immediately starts lowering you to the ground. Like, all the way laying you on the ground. Still has his arms clamped around you as if to hold you together. But the noise you let out is far from the agonized sound his mind expects.

"Ho-ly shit," you groan in nothing but pure relief.

"You a'right?" He's still not letting you go. Just in case.

"I can actually breathe now, Si."

"Well. So long as I didn't break ya."

He's glad your back is better, but the feeling of your bones and joints snapping apart so violently under his hands is one that he's not too keen on experiencing again.

[total-killer-brainrot]

Simon who doesn't know how to react when you say you love him. Surely you're joking. Surely you'll laugh in his face if he says it back. All a big joke. So he doesn't. Just grunts in acknowledgement. Going about his day like his heart wasn't racing and he wasn't about to throw up.

But that was alright. You knew what he was like. You would scream it from the roof tops and he would never have to answer. Eventually he'd believe you.

It was years. Years of soft kisses and holding hands. Whispering your love to him and never expecting a reply. You knew he loved you in the way he acted, you could survive not hearing it.

And then he said it. One night curled around your back, nose tucked in the back of your neck. So quiet you almost missed it.

"I love you..."

You couldn't just be subtle, couldn't just let it slide. You had to spin around and face him, taking in his surprised expression. Gorgeous dark eyes wide, face flushed bright red.

"I love you too." Said firmly. Making sure there was no room for argument.

Simon didn't know why he waited so long. The smile you gave him was better than any drug.

Now he said it all the time.

Hugging you in the kitchen and mumbling it into your hair. Leaning back just to see that love struck grin. Shifting closer in a meeting and whispering it in your ear so he could watch you struggle to contain the pure joy.

He'd be watching you through his scope on a mission. Heart so full he couldn't help but smile.

"Bravo 7-1 making contact with Tango 2. You read me?"

He watched you pause by the safety of an abandoned building.

"Affirmative, sir. There a problem?"

His grin spread wider below the mask, keeping a close eye on your expression.

"Love you, soldier."

Your expression lit up. Grinning uncontrollably as you scanned the hills surrounding you to try and find his position. You didn't, he was completely invisible."

"Say again, sir."

"I love you."

You blew a kiss to your mysterious man somewhere in the distance.

"Love you too, sir."

[ilylovelyz]

simon riley when he has a crush on you is almost hilarious from a bystanders point of view.

the man from manchester first began crushing on you just by a mere interaction. you didnt even do anything extraordinary, the two of you met in a meeting room, John Price introducing you to the rest of the team, and amid your introductions with the all five men, you made brief eye contact with them all, including ghost.

during that brief moment of eye contact, lasting no more than three seconds— when your own shiny and curious eyes met his dead ones— simon quite literally felt like an arrow shot through his heart. to simon, you unintentionally imprinted on him.

from then on, the rest of the men have noticed a theme between the two of you.

whenever you walk into a room, ghost's hard-to-get-attention is suddenly fixated onto you. he goes quiet, quieter than usual, and stiffens up entirely. the man sometimes even shushes others when you are talking with a harsh glare or a sharp "shh" that is too quiet for you to notice but loud enough for others to hear.

in social events, the man follows you like a puppy. youre always wondering why men dont approach you anymore and youve yet to figure that maybe its because theres this 6'4" 250 lbs man looming behind you like a menance, but his eyes are quite literally shiny and alive just by being around you.

the best of all is the bold caring side of him that hes eager to share with you. whether itd be him insisting that he be the one to carry you when youre injured amid a mission. its him who takes all the heavy lifting and just looks at you with a deadpan stare when you complain.

its him who drives you late at night home when you suddenly want to leave the bar, its him who always answers your call at the wildest hours when you need someone to pick you up from whatever trouble you got yourself in. its him who listens intently to you yap off about your niche interests and concerns, and its even him when youre upset and crying and want a hug even though he hates physical contact.

and if someone dares to slander your name? well, if they are a man, simon just gets to add the guy to his list of people he scares out the country.

so if its clear simon adores you with every might of his being, then why hasnt he asked you out? even soap is scratching his head.

the answer? nerves. youre just too good for him. simon rather watch you from the sidelines, from the view of being three steps behind you, he'd eagerly wag his tail in secret at the sight of you, just to be able to appreciate your presence a minute longer without losing you like the rest of them.