Welcome to my humble abode! This is where youâll see my upcoming content and shenanigans that I get up to. So stay tuned if youâre interested!
A little disclaimer: my interests, or my obsessions if you will, can change at any point of time. So my content will change depending on how long they last. But feel free to ask for a character from a fandom that I have written for before, I don't mind!
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Requests are Open!_
Feel free to request if they are open! As long as you follow my rules then there should be no problem so request to your heartâs content!
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Ask box_
My ask box are always open! So feel free to send in anything you would like to share or just some brainrot thoughts. I'll be happy to look at them and reply!
Anons are always welcome too! <3
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Dms_
They are always open to anyone who want to have a conversation about a common interest. Donât be shy, I donât bite! :)
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : ANGEL - Toby Mai
Jack Hughes x Reader
Synopsis: Days when you're apart are always tough. They get lonely without your other half. Nightly calls make those days slightly better. Especially when he falls asleep after a tiring day.
Word count: 822
Masterlist
Your phone starts ringing. Jackâs contact name shows up on your phone. You answer the call and the familiar sound of the call getting connected chimes. âHi, baby.â Jackâs tired voice rings out through your phone. You get comfortable in bed before replying. âHey. You looked great today. How are you feeling?â You ask softly after praising him. He lets out a low chuckle. âItâs a win, so I feel great. You were watching? I thought you said you were going to be busy.â You hum in response. âI was.â You pause, a cheeky grin forming on your face. âBut I happened to be watching when you scored.â You can already tell heâs rolling his eyes at your remark. âIâm glad you were watching for a few seconds.â He retorts. You laugh, âcome on. I might be busy, but Iâll always be watching you play when I can.â He huffs. Unbeknownst to you, he smiles behind the phone. Heâs immensely grateful that you always manage to watch him play, whether thatâs on the TV or laptop, or when you show up at the home or away games sporting your devilsâ jersey with the number 86 and the name Hughes.
He yawns quietly. âThank you for watching. Wish you were here though.â He says softly. âWant to switch to video call? I want to see your pretty face.â He adds. You chuckle but press the camera button, requesting to change the call to video. He instantly accepts. His face fills your screen. He shifts in bed before propping his phone up on an extra pillow. He smiles when he sees you wearing his shirt to bed. âAre you tired?â You ask quietly, concern laced in your voice. He blinks a few times, trying to blink the sleep away. âA little. Iâm fine though, Iâm not falling asleep on you.â You raise an eyebrow. Knowing him, heâll be doing the exact opposite. âAlright, if you say so. If youâre tired you donât have to stay on call with me. We can talk some more in the morning.â You offer him. He immediately shakes his head. âI want to talk to you. I miss you.â He says stubbornly. Your heart swells at his last comment. You miss him too, a lot. Youâre not apart from each other often. Youâre usually by his side whenever he goes away on his roadies. However, this time you had some affairs that you needed to deal with. Hence why you didnât go with him.
You talk for a while as the night becomes darker by the hour. You can see that heâs starting to fall asleep. âYouâre tired. Go to sleep.â You try convincing him. He hums, âin a little bit.â He says stubbornly yet again. A couple of minutes pass while youâre talking about your day. You realize itâs getting quieter and quieter on his side. The occasional hums and shuffling from him turn to pure silence. You look at him through the screen. Only to see his eyes closed, arms tucked into him, and his mouth slightly agape. Heâs sleeping. He actually fell asleep on you. Even though he so stubbornly told you he wasnât going to. He did end up doing the opposite. You donât hang up on him and you certainly donât wake him up. He had a long day, so itâs no surprise he fell asleep. Itâs oddly peaceful having him sleep on the other side.
You continue scrolling through social media on your phone. Having the video call minimized in the corner of your screen. Eventually, you feel yourself growing more tired. Sometimes you hear the occasional snore coming from him while he sleeps. You close the app and return to the video call. âGood night. I love you.â You mumble quietly, to not wake him up. He lets out a murmur but stays asleep. You cover your mouth to minimize noise as you let out a chuckle. You leave the call and place your phone on the dresser. You close your eyes. Before you know it, youâre asleep yourself.
The next morning youâre greeted by a flurry of texts from him. You smile to yourself and shake your head. You hope this boy never changes. Heâs the reason you wake up with a wide smile.
I fell asleep
Sorry baby didnât mean to
Did you sleep well at least?
Iâm going off to morning skate in a bit
Remember to eat well since I know you like to skip it even though itâs not good for you
Iâll call you later
I love you
You put your phone down after replying to him. You get up and start getting ready. You should get started on your day. Heâs returning home in a few days. You canât wait for that day. You have so much to tell him that a phone call wonât do justice, and youâre sure he feels the same way.
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : Love Lost - Mac Miller, The Temper Trap
Synopsis: Sick days usually arenât fun. Especially for Jack. He hates them. But you somehow always make it better.
Word count: 1.401
Masterlist
Am I watching the canucks game while writing this? Yes, and stressing over it
When they said that men are always the most dramatic when they catch the common cold, you didnât believe them. You thought it was an exaggeration. But the way Jack has been acting the past three days? Yeah, itâs not an exaggeration. Youâre both curing his cold while nursing your own headache. One thatâs been a product of his whining. This man is acting as if heâs on his deathbed, a damsel in distress, a whiny little-. You love him, but you wouldnât be opposed to the idea of sedating him for a day so that you could get some peace and quiet. You would like to know how Ellen handled him whenever he got sick. Itâs almost unbearable.
âBabyyy?â
âAm I dying? It feels like Iâm dying.â
âEverything hurtsâŚâ
âMore medicine? I donât need it. Itâs disgusting.â
âCan you please get me a painkiller? I do need itâŚâ
The need to hit him with a pan to knock him out for a few hours is concerningly high. Youâre trying to be patient with him. Heâs not feeling well, and not being active, those are things that he hates and you know that. Youâre really trying to be patient with him. However, he makes it very hard to when heâs whining every other minute.
You hide yourself in the kitchen to make sure Jack will leave you alone for a minute. You absentmindedly stir canned chicken soup in a small pan. When it starts smoking you take it off the heat and grab a bowl. You pour the soup into the bowl and grab a spoon. You carefully walk to your bedroom with the bowl, a bottle of water, and a pill. You open the door a little wider and walk up to him. He sniffles but manages to crack out a small smile. âThere you are. I missed you.â He says softly, making your heart melt. Sick as ever and he still manages to make butterflies flutter. âI was only gone for a minute.â You say gently as you place the bottle and pill on his nightstand. You hold out the bowl of soup. He grimaces at the sight of it. You give him a stern look. âYou need to eat something. Otherwise, you wonât get better. And make sure you take a pill after or while you eat.â You canât help but fuss over him a bit.
He groans in response but takes the bowl from you. He starts eating at a slow pace. You sit by his bedside and watch him eat. Pale, sweaty face, hair pointing in all sorts of directions, and yet he still is so handsome to you. He notices that youâre staring and glances at you. He lets out a raspy chuckle. âThereâs nothing noteworthy to stare at right now.â You smile and move his hair out of his face. Itâs starting to become a little long again. âThereâs plenty to stare at. Youâll always be pretty in my eyes.â His eyes shine at your comment. âPretty?â He asks with amusement in his voice. You roll your eyes but canât help but let a grin creep up your face. âSorry. Handsome.â He smiles triumphantly. âThatâs what I thought.â
He soon finishes his bowl of soup. You take it from him and set it aside. You hand him the bottle of water and the small white pill. He takes it from you. You notice how clammy his hands are. You frown as you watch him down the pill followed by big gulps of water. You place the back of your hand against his forehead. Your frown deepens when you feel how warm he still is. He knows better than to fight you back so he lets you do your thing. âYour fever is not letting up. You should get some more rest. That might help.â You say softly. He nods and slides underneath the blankets. He pulls it up to his chin. You gently run a hand through his hair. âIâll be in the living room. Just holler if you need me.â You say softly. Although, youâre secretly hoping heâll sleep for a couple of hours. For both of your sakes. âAlright.â He croaks before shutting his eyes. You watch over him until youâre sure heâs fallen asleep. You get up carefully and make your way to the living room.
***
Time passes by quickly when youâre finally able to relax. You check the time on your phone only to realize Jack has been sleeping for a while now. You get up from the couch and quietly walk back towards your bedroom. You peek your head in only to see Jack snoring away without a care in the world. You smile at the sight, happy that heâs getting some rest. You realize that the blanket has slipped down a little. You carefully walk up to him and tuck him back in. You tuck the sides underneath him. Tightly wrapping him up in the blanket. He looks like a burrito. A 5â11 burrito.
You step back and take in the sight. You let out a quiet snicker. You pull out your phone and take a picture. Saving that for later. You look at him one more time before leaving the room and going back to the couch. You throw yourself down onto the couch and look at the picture youâve taken. You snort. Jackâs going to kill you for sure once he finds out. You send it to the Hughes brothers group chat that Jack has ever so kindly thrown you into.
Another hour passes as youâre peacefully watching something on the television. You laugh at the conversation going on in the group chat. You hear some rustling from the bedroom. Youâre about to get up when you hear a hoarse holler. âBaby!â You chuckle, âyeah bub?â He lets out a loud groan. âYou did not send that picture in the group chat!â You let out a laugh and make your way towards him. You snicker when you see his phone in his hand. The group chat is still open. âI did. It was way too hilarious to pass up. You were like a burrito. Or should I say a Jackrito? One of a kind.â He pouts at you. âReally? A Jackrito? Was that necessary?â He asks, almost offended by your shenanigans. You snicker. âYes. Itâs funny.â He crosses his arms and huffs. âI donât find you very amusing right now.â He retorts before he gets into a coughing fit. You pat his back, helping him through it. âYouâll find it amusing when you get better.â He glares at you and shakes his head. He stops coughing. âYouâre still in trouble. Donât forget that, because I certainly wonât.â You let out a snort. âWhatever you say bub.â You look at him affectionately. You suddenly get a great idea. âI should send the picture to your mom.â His eyes widen at what you said. âNo!â He exclaims. You burst out into laughter. He huffs and pulls the blanket over him. âIâm glad you are having fun while Iâm dying.â You roll your eyes. âNow youâre being dramatic again. For the millionth time, you are not dying Jack. You simply have the common cold.â He lets out a raspy chuckle. He lifts the blanket slightly and pulls you into him. He covers you both with the blanket. âIt feels like Iâm dying, especially when you arenât around.â You canât help but smile at that, despite his theatrics. You can feel yourself getting tired. Even though it isnât that late yet. The warmth heâs emitting is so comforting. You let yourself fall asleep in his arms.
***
A week later heâs back on his feet. But he transferred his germs to you. Youâre as sick as a dog. He walks into your bedroom with a bowl of soup in his hands. âThis will make you feel better.â You glare at him. He laughs, âare you still mad at me for getting you sick?â You nod, âwhat do you think?â He snickers and sets the bowl aside. He sits by your side and rubs your arm tenderly. âI said sorry baby. ButâŚâ he trails off. He shows you a cheeky grin. âItâs only the common cold. Donât be so dramatic. You still want to hit him with a pan. âI hate you.â He rolls his eyes before planting a kiss on your forehead. âI love you too. Get better soon, okay?â
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : we canât be friends (wait for your love - Ariana Grande
Nico Hischier x Reader
Synopsis: At the end of a get-together, your cookie jar always ends up empty. You hatch out a plan to catch whoever is eating all of the cookies. Not once, did it cross your mind that they might be your Swiss neighbor friend from across the hall.
Word count: 1.615
Masterlist
Iâm a sucker for neighbor auâs. Anyway, not too happy with this one and it probably doesnât make much sense. But itâs late, and itâll do for now.
You wouldnât say you have a ton of friends. You simply have a select few close ones. They range from being high school friends that youâve known for years and kept in touch with, to friends youâve made at work, to your hockey-loving neighbor. Truth be told, youâre not that big of a hockey fan. So itâs a miracle how you became such close friends in a short time. Nico likes to say that itâs nice to have a friend who barely knows anything about the hockey world. He likes the fact that he has a clueless friend in his life for when he wants to relax after a few tough games. Of course, heâs also glad to celebrate with you when he does have some smooth-sailing games. Even though you might not know whatâs going on half of the time, youâre always genuinely happy about his achievements. This he appreciates a lot. He might even love you for that, but he wonât admit that to you.
Every time you hold a get-together at your apartment. Youâve noticed something peculiar. The jar of cookies youâve set out for your friends to eat if they decide to come over is always empty after they visit. Now, you arenât mad about this relegation. You are just curious about who is eating all of your cookies. Youâre glad someone is enjoying your homemade cookies, but you'd like to know who this cookie monster is. Itâs a small jar that can only hold a few cookies. So you donât mind it that much. If anything, you think itâs quite funny.
Youâre hosting another get-together after your last one, which was a few weeks ago. Youâre determined to catch your cookie eater. Youâre going to try to keep an eye on your jar while mingling with friends. You put some of the newest batch of cookies in the cookie jar and set it on your kitchen counter. Free for them to take. Shortly after the silence in the apartment gets interrupted by knocking at your front door. You wipe your hands while walking over. You open your door. A smile instantly spreads across your face. âNico! Itâs good to see you again!â You say happily as you usher him inside. He chuckles softly, sending a tingle through your body. Are you crushing on your Swiss neighbor? Definitely. You canât deny that. But will you tell him? Absolutely. Not. Youâd do anything for him. âItâs good to see you too. How have you been?â He asks and sits down on the couch. You shrug, âitâs been okay. Been busy recently, itâs great to have some free time on my hands again.â He nods. Heâs about to say something before he gets interrupted by another knock on the door. You offer him a small smile. âSorry about that.â He waves it off. âItâs fine. Go ahead.â Without needing to say more you let more friends in. With a quick hug and a quick exchange, everyone is sitting in your living room and conversing with one another.
You come out from the kitchen with drinks and some snacks on a platter and set it on the coffee table. You hop onto the couch next to Nico and join in on the conversation. Time flies by quickly, and before you know it you and Nico are the only ones left in your apartment. Nico looks at the time on his phone. âI think I should get going. I need to take care of some stuff.â He says and gets up from the couch. You follow suit. âAlright. You should come over sometime soon again. Itâs been fun.â He nods and smiles. âOh yeah, for sure. Weâll talk about it. You should come over to mine next time.â You nod. âWeâll talk about it.â You say your goodbyes and he leaves. You watch him enter the apartment across from yours. He gives you a small wave before he closes his door.
You shut your door and head to the kitchen. You didnât pay attention to the cookie jar like you said you would. You lay your eyes upon the jar, only to find it empty again. You sigh and grab the jar. You put it in the sink and clean it before storing it away again. So much for catching your cookie monster.
***
Youâre holding once again another meet-up. Youâre baking another batch of cookies to fill your jar. This time you have a solid plan. Some would say itâs foolproof. One by one your friends start piling in and welcoming themselves on your couch. Nico is the last to arrive this time. He apologises but you shrug it off. It's not a big deal to you. Youâre just glad he was able to come. Everyone converses with each other again. You and Nico mainly talk with each other. The others donât mind they encourage it. They know you have a thing for the 6 ft 1 Swiss hockey player. Itâs as if itâs obvious to everyone but Nico. You stand up, âIâm going to the bathroom for a second. Iâll be back in a minute.â You tell him. He nods. âAlright. Go ahead.â You take that as your sign to set your plan in motion. Youâre not going to the bathroom. Youâre going to hide in the hallway, it has the perfect view of the kitchen. If you wait here long enough youâll know whoâs leaving your cookie jar empty.
Sure enough. A wandering Nico enters the kitchen. He sees your cookie jar. Some cookies have already been eaten by your friends. He grabs one and eats it. He smiles happily as he munches on them. He quickly eats one by one. Theyâre all gone in five minutes. He wipes his mouth to get rid of the crumbs and heads back to the living room. Youâve finally caught your cookie monster. It was oddly cute how he was scarfing down your cookies. You shake your head but canât help but let out a small chuckle. Youâre pleasantly surprised that Nico has been liking your cookies so much. You make a mental note to make another batch for him so that you can give him those the next time you go to his place.
You enter the living room. From a supposed bathroom break. You have a knowing grin on your face. Nico chuckles, âWhatâs that grin for?â He asks curiously. You shake your head, ânothing. I just came to a realization.â He doesnât believe you, you can see that on his face. But he doesnât pry you further. âWhatever you say, Schatz.â He has been calling you that a lot lately. You donât have a clue what it means, and every time you bring it up he says itâs something they say back in Switzerland. He likes calling you that, and he has been doing that ever since he first slipped up.
Soon enough everyone leaves again. Before Nico leaves he turns to you. âCome over this weekend if youâre free. Iâm going to be free. I wonât mind your company.â He says with a small smile. You let out a chuckle. âSure Iâll come over. Iâll see you then. Is Saturday good?â He nods. âPerfect. See you then.â
***
Saturday comes quicker than you thought it would. Youâre making another batch of cookies, this time itâs solely for Nico. Now that you know he has been eating them you work hard to make them perfect. You put dollops of cookie dough on the baking sheet and flatten them. You shove the cookies into the oven and set a timer of ten minutes. You clean up in the meantime. The timer goes off and starts beeping. You take the cookies out and let them cool for another ten minutes. After they cooled you put them in the jar again.
When itâs time to hop over to his place, you make sure to grab the jar and lock the door behind you. You cross the hallway and knock on his door. He opens and his eyes flicker down to the jar of cookies in your hands. He motions for you to come inside. He leads you to his living room and offers you to sit. You place the jar on his table. He looks at it and smiles at you. âItâs only us two tonight. You didnât have to make them.â You give him a knowing grin. âI was starting to wonder where all my cookies went. I think itâs safe to say I found my cookie monster.â He stumbles over his words before you interrupt him with a laugh. âItâs okay. Iâm not mad or anything. I find it rather endearing.â You point to the full cookie jar. âThese are all for you. Just return the jar to me when you finish them.â He visibly relaxes and lets out a sigh of relief. âThank you. Although you didnât have to.â You let out a small chuckle. âI donât mind baking you more cookies if you like them.â He smiles. âIf it isnât too much trouble. I wouldnât mind it.â He says softly. You nod determinedly. âThen more cookies are coming up for Nico Hischier.â You tease him a little. He lets out a boisterous laugh. He winks at you. âIâll be waiting for them.â
You canât help but feel like youâve gotten closer, despite him being your cookie monster. And who knows? Perhaps tonight will be the extra push you need. One thing is for certain. Your feelings for the Swiss in front of you are blooming strongly into something more than just a silly crush.
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : Latch - Disclosure, Sam Smith
Jack Hughes x Reader
Synopsis: A trip to the local grocery store to stock up on food and other necessities, turns into a play fight with foam sticks.
Word count: 1.002
Masterlist
A little different from my usual fandoms that I write in. But I wanted to dabble a little in here since I wanted to write a little for my favourite hockey boys :)
You and Jack are on a mission. Itâs off-season, meaning itâs time to relax and recharge during the long summer and spend some good quality time together. In previous years you would always go to the familyâs lake house, to spend some time with family and friends. This year it wonât be any different. Except this time, youâll be there together with Jack a lot earlier than the others. Theyâll be arriving a few weeks later. This means you get Hughes Michiganâs summer home for yourselves. At first, it seems like a great thing. You get to spend time alone with Jack, without any nosy brothers or friends to tease you both. That was until you looked in the fridge, almost completely empty. Clearly whoeverâs been here last hasnât refilled the fridge, or other necessities for that matter. Which leaves that task to the two of you, much to Jackâs dismay.
You find yourself at the local grocery store. Jackâs pushing the cart like the gentleman he is. Except, heâs slouched over as he pushes it. âAre we done yet?â You donât even know how many times youâve heard him utter that in the past 15 minutes. You sigh as you look at the grocery list youâve made on your phone. âJack. I love you, but please. Youâre worse than a cranky hormonal teenager.â You retort. He looks at you, almost as if heâs offended by what you said. âIâm not a cranky hormonal teenager.â He mutters under his breath. You bite back a laugh. âYeah, sure. Whatever you say hon.â You quip while you put the last of the fruits and vegetables in the shopping cart. He opens his mouth, probably to say something full of sass back. You shush him by placing your finger over his lips. âCome on. Weâre done here.â He huffs in response. âFinally.â He mumbles. You give him a pointed look before moving on to the next part of your shopping list. You walk over to the meats and fish. Jack trails behind you, begrudgingly pushing the cart.
You glance over the various fish and meats they have. âWhat do you want to eat for the time being?â He points to the steak, chicken, and salmon. You nod, pick a few that look good, and toss them into the cart. He groans when he sees it messes up the organized cart. âBaby, please. Everything has a place in the cart. You know this.â He scolds lightly while fixing the mess you made. You grin sheepishly. âSorry sorry, wonât do it again.â He shakes his head but smiles. You both know this wonât be the last time, not by a long shot.
You cross off meat and fish on the list and make your way to the dairy products. While you grab a carton of milk, Jack grabs some yogurt and puts it neatly in the cart. He takes the carton of milk from you and puts it next to the yogurt. You grab some eggs that lie nearby and move on to get the rest of the list.
You stock up on some toilet paper and other necessities. You also remember to grab some pretzels for him, knowing he likes to snack on them. Jackâs still trailing behind you with the cart thatâs gradually getting fuller. As you walk around like a busy bee, you walk past some pool noodles. You look at them for a solid minute. Jack raises an eyebrow. âDo you want them?â He asks curiously. You think about it for a moment. You grab one and look it up and down. You glance over at Jack. Without warning, you smack his arm with it. It doesnât hurt, itâs made out of foam. He flinches and rubs his arm. âWhat was that for?â He asks. You shrug and smirk. âJust wanted to test it out.â He scoffs and laughs. âReally? Just wanted to test it out?â He repeats. He grabs one as well and hits you back. He smirks, âit does work well. Donât you think?â He teases you. You roll your eyes but smile. You swing to hit him again. He blocks it with his own noodle. Youâre locked into a stare-down with him. âNoodle fight?â You challenge him. âNoodle fight.â He takes the bait. You look around to make sure no one is paying attention to you both. When you see no oneâs looking at you, all hell breaks loose.
You start relentlessly swinging. He blocks most of your âattacksâ, even if they hit, he doesnât feel a thing. The aisle gets filled with your combined laughter and the faint sound of foam being smacked around.
He gets a few good hits on you. Your face scrunches up every time he lands one on you. His heart melts at the sight of you. You could be doing the most mundane tasks together, yet youâll still find a way to bring a smile to his face. You know how to make doing chores fun. Maybe heâs just completely in love with you. Whenever people make fun of him for being completely whipped for you, he would usually give them sass back. But if someone were to do it right now, he would most likely agree with them. Nothing is certain, especially in his life. However, there is one thing for certain. He wants to marry you one day, he simply doesnât see a future without you and your signature laugh in his life.
You let out a boisterous laugh when you smack him across the face with the piece of foam. He canât help but let out a laugh himself. Yeah, this is the girl he wants to marry and have a future with. And he doesnât want it any other way. The velvet box is already sitting underneath all of his old hockey gear. Waiting to be presented to you. All he has to do is plan the perfect proposal for you. He simply canât wait to make you his, until death do you part.
like what if reader decides to unalive herself? cant take the grief anymore and knowing that drinking and binge eating will not do anything but just burn money and delay the inevitable. and simon is too late to save her. cue simon grieving in return and drowning in guilt and self hatred for putting her in that situation.
â˘Â°. *ŕż Drowned
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : Let Me Down Slowly - Alec Benjamin
Simon âGhostâ Riley x Reader
pt. 1 - pt. 2
Synopsis: By the time Simon returns to your shared home, it's already too late for you. You've hit rock bottom in the rabbit hole, and Simon is ready to jump into that same hole.
Word count: 2.606
Masterlist
First of all Iâd like to apologise for my two month(?) absence. I got overwhelmed with school work that I needed to focus on and some personal problems happened. For anyone who has stuck around, this is the long waited part 2 that I promised a while ago. I havenât written anything in my long break so bear with me. Second of all you guys really want more angst from me. I was planning on doing a happy ending but this will do.
TW!! Suicide, alcoholism
For the people that wanted to be tagged: @somehopeatlast @yyiikes
Itâs too much. Everything is too much. Everyone has been telling you that healing takes time. When in reality, all that you feel is despair. Instead of the wound gradually closing, all thatâs really happening is your heart getting ripped out day by day. You donât know how much longer you can keep this charade up. Youâre throwing people fake smiles left and right, and âIâm fineâ has left your mouth more times than you could actually care for. Itâs as if youâre living life as a mindless zombie. Barely doing the bare minimum to sustain yourself. Every time someone checks up on you, you tell them youâre doing okay, could be better but youâre fine. At least, thatâs what you want them to think. Youâre just a shell of the person you were when Simon was still here and alive. Youâre blowing through your money like no tomorrow. But can you get yourself to care enough to do anything about it? No, and not for the foreseeable future. You spend your days drinking away, either at home or in bars. Youâve tried moving on, but the only thing youâre able to see in them is Simon. You chicken out before anything can get serious. Your bingeing habits haven't changed a bit, youâre on the same routine.
It's been months and you canât get out of this rabbit hole youâve dug yourself. Months.
Itâs crazy to think about the chokehold Simon has on you, even when he isnât physically here himself.
Youâve had enough. Youâre not living life as is. Youâre practically a dead person walking, a mindless being. All youâre doing is blowing money when you could be doing anything else but that. Youâve contemplated long and hard about this decision, and to be frank. You see no negatives to this option. Taking the way out seems like a way better alternative for you than continuing to waste the air around you with useless breaths.
The hooded figure that you sometimes see outside your window has started showing up less and less. Youâve made eye contact before, but before you can even mutter a word out the shadow has vanished. As if he never existed and is a figment of your imagination. You couldâve sworn that those were the eyes of Simon. His sharp brown eyes are unmistakable. You can recognize them from anywhere. But, he is dead. The possibility of it being him is simply impossible. You stare solemnly out the window. You want to see whether the shadow really is a figment of your imagination, or if itâs actually a person. But they never show up. If the shadow had shown up, would you have gone through with your plan? Probably not. As insane as it might sound, you feel a sort of pull for the shadow. As if itâs calling out for you.
When all you can see is the dark starry night. You sigh and shut the blinds. No one needs to see what youâre going to commit. You head upstairs to your once-shared bedroom. You walk absentmindedly to Simonâs bedside drawer. Revealing a small handgun. He always keeps weapons on him, or around him. To keep both you and him safe in case anyone ever dares to try anything in your own home. You pick up the piece of iron. Simon has taught you how to use it, in case thereâs an emergency and he isnât there to protect you. Back then it felt like a light piece of metal. Now, it sits heavy in the palm of your hand.
You slowly sit on the floor. Your back against the side of the bed. You expected to feel afraid. But to your surprise, you donât feel anything at all. As if everything is numb. For that part you are a little thankful for, itâll make this so much easier for you to do. You turn the gun in your hands. Inspecting your executioner. Minutes pass, and youâre still sitting idly on the floor. Youâre waiting for the right moment. Deep down, youâre hoping that Simon will walk through the door. Wrap you up in his arms and tell you how everything is okay now. That it was simply a mission gone wrong, which made it so he couldnât come home at the promised time frame. But as the silence of the house engulfs the house in an eerie peace. You close your eyes. This is the right moment. Simon wonât show, and he wonât show. You need to get that in your thick skull.
You look around your shared bedroom for the last time. Picture frames litter your dressers. His clothes are still hanging in his section of your closet. You put the gun away and back into his nightstand. You canât do this, not here at least. Not at the serenity that belongs in your bedroom.
You scramble up from the floor. You pick up the crinkled piece of paper sitting on Simonâs desk. You go downstairs and pin it on the fridge with a magnet. Visible for anyone who comes looking for you. You rush outside, not bothering to bring a jacket with you. Youâre not going to need it anyway. You run outside, not noticing the shadow blending in the night watching you. He wants to follow you, like he usually does, wanting to make sure you donât do anything stupid or that youâll regret. But this time, he canât bring his feet to move. He simply watches you run off to whatever destination you have in mind.
You run off to the bridge you frequent with Simon. Not a lot of people go across it during the day. No one ever comes through at midnight. Giving you time alone to think and reminisce. You lean on the metal railing. Images of the various late-night dates Simon would take you on during his off days flash through your mind. You crack a small smile at that, embracing the pleasant memories once again. Your smile drops. Memories, thatâs all theyâll ever be. You wonât be able to recreate them or make new ones anymore, not with Simon or anyone else. You brush away stray tears and let out a soft sniffle. You climb over the railing. You stand on the other side, peering down at the frigid cold water below. You look behind you, making sure no one is there. You suck in a deep breath, close your eyes, and let yourself slowly tip over the edge. One to two seconds feel like minutes. You feel the wind rushing past your face. Soon the cold water greets you. Despite the freezing temperature, it feels like a warm embrace. As if itâs welcoming you. You let yourself sink, letting more memories of you and Simon flash through your mind. Soon enough, everything goes black. Youâve lost this battle. Was it worth it? Some would say not, but to you? It was. You were miserable day after day. This was a peaceful alternative.
***
The shadow gets worried when hours pass by and you donât return home yet. A bad feeling settles in the depths of his stomach. A nauseating feeling overwhelms him. He emerges from the shadows of the night. His mask was illuminated by the moonlight. He wants to know where youâve gone. He shoves a flowerpot on your front porch aside with his foot, revealing a spare key. He grabs it and unlocks the door. It opens slowly. He steps inside, he takes off his worn boots. Not wanting to have anything traced back to him, anything thatâll show someone has been in the comfort of your own home. He looks around with confusion. He spots your phone and keys on the dining table. Thatâs weird. You never leave without those items, something Simon has drilled into your mind. He frowns behind his mask. He looks around everywhere. Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary. He squints his eyes at the fridge. A note is pinned on the piece of metal. He takes big strides towards the fridge and reads the note. His heart sinks to his stomach. The urge to throw up is getting to him.
To anyone who finds this note. Itâll most likely be you, Price. Iâm sorry. I know Iâve said that Iâm fine, that Iâm getting better. But I think you know this as well, that Iâm not. If anything, Iâm getting worse by the day. Iâll keep it short. I have nothing much to say anyway. Not that anyone would care. Donât come looking for me. Iâll be long dead by the time you find this note. I donât even know where I am. I might be in my bedroom, bathroom, in a ditch somewhere, or even floating in a river. On the bright side, Iâm happy. Happier than ever. Donât worry, Iâll be okay. I have Simon to keep me company.
I love you Simon, Iâll see you soon.
He rips the note off the fridge. He rereads it over and over. Hoping, no, praying that his eyes are deceiving him. That this is just some sick joke being played on him. Youâve done your fair share of pranks on him, but theyâve never been this extreme. He crumples up the note and shoves it in his pocket. He rips his mask off and throws it on the table near your phone and keys. He lets out a snarl. He slams his palms on the wooden table. âFuck!â He exclaims. He pulls out his burner phone. He dials a number. They immediately pick up on the third ring. âSimon.â A low voice comes through. âPrice.â He replies. He clearly doesnât sound happy. He canât let out tears, not now. He doesnât deserve to. âDid you find something?â This sets something ablaze in Simon. He lets out a dry chuckle. âIâve found something alright.â He sneers. He canât help but convert the feeling of anguish to anger, and frustration. Anything but sadness. A low hum follows. âWhat did you find?â He takes a deep breath in. âIâve found a suicide note in my own home.â He spits out. A painful silence ensues. âWhat?â He glares at the wall, lined with your pictures together. âYouâve fucking heard me. Want to explain that to me? You said she was doing fine!â A sorrowful sigh could be heard through the fun. âThatâs what she said. I-â Simon interrupts him. âAnd you believed her?! How didnât you see what was going on?! I told you, I fucking told you to keep an eye on her while I am gone!â He snaps. Something he probably shouldnât do to Price, but he canât bring himself to care right now. Another sigh could be heard. âSimon, listen. The mission-â He scoffs. âI donât give a damn about the mission right now. My girl is dead for fucks sake!â He shouts. He continues. âI wasnât happy with this mission. I already told you, Iâd only agree to do this if you keep a close eye on her. I trusted you, Price. Now look at what happens. I faked my death, and now sheâs dead!â He takes another deep breath to calm himself. âAfter this mission, Iâm done. Iâm pulling out. Itâs about time I retire from this shithole anyway.â He sneers and hangs up. He throws the phone down on the table as well. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.
He takes a seat at the table. He runs his hands down his face. A million thoughts run through his head. How did it end up like this? Multiple what-ifs pop up in his mind. What if he showed himself to you on the first day he came back to see you, would you still be alive? He lets out a low growl and slams his fist down on the table. Silent tears stream down his face. How does he always fuck up whatever good comes in his life? At this point, heâs just cursed. He canât have happiness without something ruining it.
After he collects himself he gets up, but he still has work to do. And as much as he wants to drown himself in guilt and self-hatred. He understands that he still needs to finish his mission. He narrows his eyes as he walks out of your house. The people at the other end of his wrath need to watch their backs. Simon will make anything and anyone suffer, to make them feel the same pain heâs feeling. Deep down, he knows nothing will compare to it.
***
A fucked mission later, a hell of debriefing, he comes back home as a retired soldier. A home that has turned into a cold, haunting, and uninviting. Everything that made this house a home was you, you were his home. You arenât here anymore. And itâs all his fault. If only he went against orders, let you know what was happening. You would still be here. If only he came to check on you more often, he couldâve seen the signs and stopped you. If only he couldâve shown any sign heâs still alive, you would probably still be here. Alive, breathing, at home, doing whatever you love to keep yourself busy while heâs gone. But no. He fucked up, and heâs paying the price for it.
For days on end, he will feel the remorse, the regret, the guilt. He would fall into the same rabbit hole you dug. Instead of you going down it. Youâre already rock bottom, heâs simply joining you. He spends his time drinking. Thatâs what he knows helps best in this situation. Whenever heâs not drinking heâs spending time in his home gym.
A thought crosses his mind. The same one that has yours at one point. He lays in bed, your pillow still has your smell and it haunts him. He reaches over to his nightstand and opens his drawer. What he sees breaks his heart all over again. His gun. It has been moved. Heâs certain this wasnât how he left his gun before he left. He always made sure that the grip was facing him so he could grab it quickly in a time of emergency. It isnât lying in that position anymore. He sits up with the gun in his hand. He plays around with the piece of iron in his hand. Unloads and loads the bullets over and over. Pushing the safety back and forth. Anything to distract him from the void heâs feeling in the pit of his stomach. Your note that youâve left on the fridge rests on his nightstand. You said you were going to be okay. That youâll have Simon to keep you company. Well, he isnât fucking there, is he? He wants to join you so desperately. But heâs afraid, not of death. But even if there is an afterlife, would you accept him? He lied to you. A lie that cost you your life. He doesnât know if he could endure that on top of the grief heâs feeling. But even seeing you one last time would be better than this.
So he sits there, in the darkness of your shared bedroom. Contemplating if he should join you. Something you were doing a few nights prior. If only he didn't accept the damn mission. He wouldnât be drowning in his grief and self-hatred if he let the mission go. You would be here, in his arms. And that thought would forever haunt him until he does opt for the other route.
Ah whoops. Iâve been a bit busy recently, hence my small disappearance. But, I should have some more free time soon so Iâll be pumping out works then. Please have some patience for me, Iâll be back before you know it! :)
If the reader from stay high just completely decided to end it do you think ghost would reveal himself? Iâm actually so obsessed w it I love angst
Well why donât you find out in pt. 2? Itâs in the works right now đ. Another anon sent something similar so I guess youâre in luck. I was planning on making it a happy ending but you guys want more angst from me, so thatâs what you shall receive.
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : Habits (Stay High) - Tove Lo
Simon âGhostâ Riley x Reader
pt 1. - pt 2
Synopsis: You lose yourself in your grief. You do various things that you never did, or occasionally did. As much as you know itâs wrong, you canât get yourself to stop. You need to keep him off your mind somehow.
Word count: 2.263
Masterlist
TW!! Mention of character death, eating disorder, alcoholism.
Please donât read this, read my other work instead if this triggers you. This time itâs pretty heavy on the latter two topics. Stay safe lovelies.
Simon has been officially declared MIA on a mission gone bad. Or so, thatâs what youâve been told. Itâs been months and youâve been spiraling ever since the news broke out. Youâre clinging onto the smallest of hopes that heâs still out there. Alone, injured, but alive. Itâs scary how you can go from being completely independent to being dependent on someone, only for it to be ripped away from you in seconds, being left alone to figure out how to be fully independent again. Youâve gone from being able to sleep in your bed alone like a baby, to being not able to sleep at all. Tossing and turning, wondering if Simon is still out there kicking, or if he already has kicked the bucket. His body lying in a ditch somewhere or in some organizationâs basement. You donât know, no one knows what happened to him. All that is known is that he was on a solo mission, observing a high-value target. Only for it to be an ambush and get surrounded by tangos. From there on out it was radio silence.
You lay on the couch. Eyes swollen and red from continuous crying. The TV is playing some show that you canât be bothered to care about on repeat. Itâs been months, and youâre still as miserable as the day they came to your door and sent you their condolences. They promised to let you know if there are any updates about him, even if they end up finding his body. They promised theyâd tell you. You donât know if the lack of updates is a good thing or the exact opposite.
I get home, I got the munchies
Binge on all my Twinkies
Throw up in the 'tub, then I go to sleep
You havenât eaten all day. You either donât eat for days on end, or eat an unhealthy amount of junk food to keep you going. You know itâs not healthy. You know itâs not what Simon would want you to do. But you canât help it. You need something, someone to numb the pain. A knock sounds at the door. You rush off the couch to open the door. You hope that itâs Simon at the door. You stumble toward the door and fling it open. Your heart sinks to your stomach when you spot two military officers at the door. They look at you grimly and hold out Simonâs dog tags, bloodied balaclava, and a small wooden box with his personal effects. Your entire world crumbles at that moment. The sight of his dog tags and bloodied balaclava sends bile to your throat. You reach out with shaky hands for the items. You put the wooden box down. You clutch the piece of cloth and metal tightly in your hands. One of the officers speaks up. âMrs. Riley, we regret to inform you that Simon Riley has been declared KIA,â they take off their hats and bow their heads, âour condolences.â A sob escapes your throat. You nod meekly, wish them a good night, and shut the door. Once the door is closed, itâs only you in the lonesome cold house. You slide down the door and sit on the floor. Cries leave your body. Heâs gone, heâs really gone, and heâs not coming back.
You get up shakily and walk to the kitchen. You raid the kitchen cabinets for whatever junk food you can reach for. You grab several candy bars, cookies, cakes. Whatever you still have left, whatever you havenât touched. You glance at the fridge. All of the food stored is starting to expire. You know you should eat healthier if youâre going to eat at all. But it isnât appetizing to you anymore. More tears fall from your eyes. You trudge over to the couch. You slump over and start eating. You binge on whatever you grabbed until itâs all or mostly gone. Not even a minute later you feel yourself growing nauseous. You send yourself to the bathroom to throw up. You donât make it to the toilet bowl. Instead, you empty all of your stomachâs contents into the bathtub. After you finish throwing everything back up. You slump over the side of the bathtub. You rest your head on your arms. Sobs racked through your body. Binging on junk food made you temporarily forget about Simon. Giving you short bliss. Now youâre back into that rabbit hole and you canât climb out. Eventually, you fall asleep on the cold, hard bathroom floor. Having been tired out by sobbing your sorrows out.
The following morning you wake up with a sore and scratchy throat. Your head is pounding. And the thoughts of Simon are flooding your mind. All of the past memories youâve made together are looping in your mind like a movie. All of his sweet nothings are playing in your head like a broken record. Itâs as if heâs haunting you in your own house. A house you used to share with him. You begrudgingly get up from the bathroom tiles. You walk towards the living room, wanting to go back to sulking on the couch and feeling miserable for yourself. For how far youâve fallen. Then you eye the liquor cabinet. You arenât much of a drinker, you never were. But youâd sometimes join Simon in the activity, as heâs fond of dabbling into the occasional night spent with whisky in one hand, the other entangled with yours. You swing open the liquor cabinet. Grabbing the first thing you see. Whisky. Great. Another thing to remind you of him. You walk towards the dining table. A table youâve always kept neat, a table that is now littered with all sorts of things. You havenât cleaned the house in ages, not having the energy to do so.
And I drank up all my money
Dazed and kinda lonely
You're gone, and I gotta stay high all the time
To keep you off my mind
You sit down and crack open the bottle of whisky. You donât bother pouring it into a glass. You take a huge gulp and swallow. Your throat burns as the liquid traverses from your throat to your stomach. You grimace. You never got used to the burning sensation, perhaps you will later. You keep drinking until you feel yourself getting sick.
The same pattern repeats in the following days. Youâd binge eat junk food, throw it up, and pass out. The next morning youâd drink yourself stupid and sick. After you run out of alcohol, youâd buy more. You run out of junk food, you order a huge amount of takeout. You burn through your money without a care in the world.
Spend my days locked in a haze
Trying to forget you, babe, I fall back down
Gotta stay high all my life to forget I'm missing you
All of this has one goal, to keep Simon off your mind for as long as possible. Even if itâs only temporary. Youâd rather forget about him temporarily than torment yourself with all sorts of trinkets around the house that remind you of him. The picture frames on the wall. His closet. His favorite drink, alcoholic and non alcoholic. Even his toothbrush will torment you till the day you die. Every time you try to pick your life back up. When you try to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart that he has left behind. Youâd regress and fall further down that hole. Youâve gone from being an occasional drinker to someone who canât function without getting drunk at least every other day. To someone who eats healthy and promotes it, to someone who doesnât bother anymore and eats a very unhealthy amount of junk food. From someone who seldom goes to bars, to someone who frequents them often.
Pick up daddies at the playground
How I spend my daytime
Loosen up the frown, make them feel alive
I make it fast and greasy
I'm numb, and way too easy
You find yourself in another bar. Youâve been hopping in between bars for the last couple of months. People are always telling you that with time grief will get easier. Oh how wrong they are. You feel the same amount of grief, if not more. The bartender recognizes you the instant you make yourself known. He already hands you your preferred drink. Youâre a paying customer after all, even if you look like you went through hell and back. As you down shot after shot. You see a man walk up to you and take a seat next to you. You ignore him. Wanting to drown yourself in your sorrows in solitude. But the man is persistent and orders you another shot when you finish yours. You glance at him. âYou didnât need to do that.â You say indifferently. The man shrugs before grinning. âYou look like youâve had a rough couple of days. You could use a treat.â You scowl at the shot on the counter. You down it quickly. The man orders another for you. âMake that a couple of months.â You retort bitterly. He looks at you surprised before he gives you an understanding nod. The bartender gives you another shot. You down that one just as quickly as you did the other couple of shots. âIf you need a distraction Iâd be willing to give you one.â You arch an eyebrow. Heâs offering you to hook up with him. You dwell on his offer. You canât believe youâre even considering it. It must be the alcohol talking. Before you even realise it you blurt out your answer. âSure.â
One thing leads to another. A sloppy, messy kiss develops into a makeout session. From the living room to the bedroom. Clothes being torn off. When he climbs up onto you, a thought rushes through your slightly sobered-up mind. You promised youâd stay loyal to him. Even if heâs dead. Everything starts rushing to you and you canât take it. You push him off you, gather your clothes, give him a rushed apology while throwing your clothes on, and storming out of his apartment. You call yourself an Uber to get you back home. You swear to yourself, that this is going to be a night youâre going to forget. Erase from your mind.
You sit in the car, pondering on the actions that youâve just done. You were ready to give yourself to another man, a stranger no less. You donât even know his name and he doesnât know yours. Tears fall from your eyes. That thought scares you. Yes, you want to keep Simon off your mind, but not like this. Anything but this.
Staying in my play pretend
Where the fun ain't got no end, oh
Can't go home alone again
Need someone to numb the pain, oh
The next few days you spend your time revisiting old places that you often visited with him. Places he would take you out on dates, places that you begged him to take you to. Youâd stay out from morning until late in the night. Youâd bring enough thatâll be enough for two people. You and Simon. Youâd pretend heâs still here with you, telling you about his day. How his teammates, friends are doing. People who pass you by think youâre insane, and honestly, they might be right. But do you care? No. This is your way to grieve. You keep his death off your mind by pretending heâs still here with you. Your own little play pretend. Because you know when you get home, the harsh reality will sink in and destroy you again. You want to savor these moments as long as you possibly can. Oh, how it hurts. That the one you need to numb the pain is Simon himself, and no one else.
You're gone, and I gotta stay high all the time
To keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
High all the time to keep you off my mind
When you get back home from your adventures. The loneliness, and coldness from the house you once called comforting, and warm, seep into your bones. You go back to your routine. Drown yourself with more junk food or alcohol. Cry yourself to sleep. Wake up. Cry again. Go out until late. Rinse and repeat.
A figure hiding himself in the shadows outside your shared home observes your behavior. His heart breaks when he sees how far youâve fallen. He watches how his strong independent woman, resorts to bad habits to keep herself afloat, mourning the supposed death of her husband. He wishes he could barge in, and comfort you. But he canât. At least, not yet. And that fact hurts him tremendously. He just wishes heâll be able to finish his mission before you fall rock bottom in that rabbit hole youâve dug up for yourself.
For now, the only comfort he can give himself is watching you in your home. Heâll have to stay in the shadows and watch from afar. Keeping you at armsâ length.
Sometimes youâd see a dark, hooded figure by the window. They wear a mask similar to Simonâs. But it canât be him. Heâs dead and isnât coming back. So for now youâll ignore the figure. As long as they donât come in here and interrupt your peace, you donât give a damn about them. But you canât help but have that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if it really is him?
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : Loud - The Home Team
Simon âGhostâ Riley x Reader
Synopsis: Few of the many times Simon had to come to your rescue.
Word count: 861
Masterlist
âSIMON!!â You scream out in fear. Simon comes running out of his office with a combat knife held up. His heart sank when he heard you scream. All that was running through his mind was that either you got hurt, or that there was an intruder. He slides as he runs towards the living room. He scans the room for any visible threat. When he sees nothing that could hurt you he lets out a breath he didnât know he was holding and sighs.âLovie? Whatâs wrong?â He asks with concern lacing his voice as he stares at your figure standing on the couch. You point shakily at the floor. He squints his eyes to see what youâre pointing at it. Itâs a small cockroach. âKill it, please.â You plead with him. He can feel amusement creep up and shakes his head. He grabs a shoe and smashes it. He grabs a tissue. âBloody hell, I thought you got hurt.â He says as he cleans up the cockroach with the tissue and throws it into the trash. You look at him with a serious expression. âI couldâve been.â He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. âDonât be ridiculous itâs only a cockroach, a small one at that.â You scramble off the couch and walk up to him. âItâs the spawn of the devil.â You defend yourself. He lets out a laugh and pulls you closer. âMhmm, sure lovie. Iâll kill all of the cockroaches for you. Your pretty little face doesnât have to worry about them anymore.â He says and rolls his eyes. You grin happily up at him and kiss his cheek. Your cockroach problem is solved.
***
Simon is lounging on the couch, reading a book. Heâs enjoying his peace and quiet. Youâre cleaning up the bedroom. Changing the sheets, and dusting off the closets, nightstands, and dressers. He has offered to help you but you have politely declined, saying he should enjoy his time relaxing. He went along with it, thinking youâd be fine cleaning up on your own after convincing him. A terrified scream interrupts his peace and quiet. âSIMON!â He slams his book shut, gripping it tightly, and runs up the stairs to your shared bedroom. He holds up the book, ready to use it as a weapon for whatever is threatening you. He barges into the bedroom and looks around. Yet again, thereâs nothing there that could harm you. He notices that youâre standing in one corner of the room, staring at the other side with a terrified stare. He sighs, âis it another cockroach?â He asks exasperated. You shake your head frantically. You point at a small black speck on the wall shakily. âItâs a spider!â You squeak out. He walks closer to the speck and itâs indeed a spider. He groans and slams the book on the small spider. He wipes off its remains on the wall and book with a tissue and throws it in the bin. He looks at you and smiles. âItâs gone now, it wonât hurt you.â You shuffle closer to him. He wraps his arms around you. âYou need me to stay here while you clean?â He asks with amusement lacing his voice. You nod, âthat would be nice.â You say softly. He chuckles, his chest vibrating with laughter. He watches you as you clean. He canât help but stare at you with fondness while you clean.
***
Youâre both peacefully watching a movie on the television. Youâre cuddled up to Simon while he runs his hand over your arm repeatedly in a soothing manner. Heâs so invested in the movie that he fails to notice the huge moth flying by your faces. But you have. Once you see its humongous self whizzing by, you tense up. As long as it doesnât get too close youâll be fine. Simon notices that you are tensed up and looks at you. âWhatâs wrong, lovie?â He mumbles. Youâre about to tell him a moth is flying around but you get interrupted by your own scream and cling onto Simon like a koala bear. He flinches at your scream and looks at you with wide eyes. He holds you close to him and looks around with confusion. He spots the moth resting on the lampshade next to him and sighs. âSeriously, again?â He asks. You nod, âjust kill it!â He looks at you like youâre crazy. He smirks. âItâs huge, we should keep it as a pet.â He comments. You glare at him and slap his arm lightly. âKill it.â You demand. He chuckles and grabs a tissue from the tissue box on the coffee table. âFine, only because I love you.â He quips. He brings the tissue closer and pinches the moth. Effectively crushing it. He stands up and throws it out and returns to you. He wraps his arm around you again and you continue watching the movie again in peace. This isnât the first time he had to kill an insect for you, he also knows it wonât be the last. But he doesnât care. As long are youâre happy heâs willing to kill every insect that even looks in your direction.
Synopsis: Simonâs wife gets taken hostage by enemies. They use you for ransom. Simon is not impressed. Heâs willing to cooperate as long as they leave you unharmed. But they donât, and Simon is out for blood.
Word count: 2.869
Masterlist
Down on my knees for protective Simon⌠anyway
Simon enjoys the moments when he can return to your open, welcoming arms. Where he can turn the Ghost part of him off and be Simon Riley. The person that you deserve. Every time he comes home he makes sure that Ghost is in the back of his mind. He doesnât want to bring that part of him back home to you. A calculated, ruthless, and cold killer. He refuses to show you that part of him as much as possible. No, he only shows you the softer side of him. The side thatâs capable of treating you right, the way that you deserve. Heâs driving home from base. He touched down a couple of hours ago and sat through a long boring debriefing. He couldnât help but be unattentive during the debriefing. All he had in his mind was you, his perfect little wife who was waiting for her husband to come home. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other is leaning out of the window. His sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoo sleeve to other drivers who care to look. He taps the wheel on the beat of the music playing quietly in the background. Heâs driving over the speed limit but he canât be bothered. The sooner he gets home to you, the better.
Soon he pulls up into your driveway. He notices that the lights are off both inside and outside the house. He arches an eyebrow. Usually, youâd leave the light outside on. In case he comes home when youâre already asleep. Itâs your way of welcoming him home when you canât do it in person. He thinks nothing of it. Maybe you have forgotten it this time. Youâre human after all. He marches his way up the front porch and pulls out his key to open the front door. He immediately notices something is wrong. The front door is slightly ajar. Barely noticeable. He pulls out his combat knife from his vest and holds it up as he opens the door slowly. He stalks his way inside. He stays alert with his eyes peeled. The moonlight illuminates the house just enough that he can traverse his way through the house. But dark enough that he can stay in the shadows, like a ghost. He walks by the living room. Coming to an abrupt stop when he notices a bloody handprint on the doorframe. His heart sinks. He knows itâs yours. He can clearly tell that itâs yours, he doesnât even need to take a closer look. He checks everywhere for you. The bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, but no sign of you. He grows more restless. He looks for any clues of where you couldâve gone.
He clears the house and sighs in frustration. He takes off his mask and puts it down on the dinner table. He ruffles his hair and runs a hand down his face. He walks towards the kitchen to grab a drink so that he can clear his head. While he walks to the cabinet to grab a glass he notices a note on the kitchen counter. His attention switches to the note and he roughly grabs it off the counter. His heart sinks even further as he reads the note. He tightens his grip on the counter while he reads. They want a ransom out of you. He can feel his anger grow. Theyâre asking for a hefty sum but he canât seem to care. He doesnât care about the money. He cares about the fact that someone took his wife right under his nose. Someone laid their hands on you. His eyes harden. He will make them pay.
He wastes no time. Within an hour he withdraws the money and shoves it into a duffel bag. He slings it over his shoulder and walks over to his car with big strides. He throws it onto the passenger seat and slams the door shut. He walks around to the driver's seat and gets in. He puts the key into the ignition and starts the engine. The car roars to life and not a minute later he speeds off back to the base. Heâs not stupid. He wonât go there defenseless. If shit goes down he needs to be able to keep you safe. If it takes a couple of bullets in between several pairs of eyes then so be it. He doesnât care. They fuck with his family, theyâll feel his wrath. He steps onto the gas. When he gets stuck at red lights heâll tap the steering wheel impatiently, occasionally slapping it in frustration.
When he arrives at the base. He hastily steps out of the car and marches his way through the base. Not giving two shits about the noise heâs making at midnight. He walks by Priceâs office and sticks his head out at the commotion going on outside his office door. âGhost?â He asks in confusion. Simon doesnât look at him but stops briefly, acknowledging him. âWhere are you going?â Simon breathes heavily. He does not need to be interrogated right now. Not when you need him. âThey took my wife.â He spits out in anger. He storms off to the gear room. Price in pursuit. âWhat do you mean they took your wife?â Simon ignores him. He doesnât have time for this clownery. If anything, he walks faster. Wanting to get back to you as soon as possible. He swings open the door violently. He walks over to his gear and gets ready. He splays out his weapons on the table. He angrily puts his vest on. He reaches for his mask before he growls. He forgot his mask at home, itâs still on the dinner table. He grabs the spare one from his locker and slips it on.
Simon Riley is no more, heâs been replaced by Ghost. Price puts a hand on his shoulder. âGhost, talk to me.â He says with an authoritative tone. Ghost turns to face him. He has a deadly look in his eyes. One that seeks bloodshed. âThey took my wife for ransom.â He explains calmly. Price arches an eyebrow. âWhat do they want?â He asks. Ghost averts his gaze back to his gear on the table. He blurts out the amount of money they asked, as if it isnât a big deal to him. Price is astounded. Thatâs a hefty sum for one man to pay off. Ghost tucks a few hidden knives in his vest and his boot. Holstering his pistol on his leg and concealing it. Price looks at him sternly. âYou donât have the authority to carry this out.â He warns him. Ghost turns to him and glowers at him behind the mask. âRespectively, Captain. I do not give a damn. Iâll do it off the books.â Price narrows his eyes at him. âSimon, think this through.â Ghost scoffs, âSimon wonât save her. Ghost will.â He says coldly. Price sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes. âThe money.â He points out. Ghost growls. âI have it.â Price looks at him shocked. âItâs a lot-â he begins before getting interrupted. âJohn. Quite frankly. I am not emotional about the money.â He gets closer to Price and glares at him. âBut I am emotional about the fact that someone laid their hands on my wife.â He feels the anger coursing through his veins. He slams his palm down on the table. âMY WIFE!â Price doesnât flinch in response. He expects this kind of outburst from Ghost. He is a man who holds a lot of patience. But that same patience will fly out of the window once his loved ones are involved. Ghost breathes heavily through strained breaths. âI want a pound of flesh.â He mutters coldly. Price nods. He steps away from Ghost. He looks at him sternly. âOff the books.â He gives him a pointed look. Ghost nods and leaves the room quickly. He has wasted enough time already.
He rushes towards his car. He gets in once again and glances at the duffel bag. He doesnât care. He just hopes they wonât renege on their promise. In exchange for the money, theyâll let you go. He starts the car and speeds off to the warehouse theyâre keeping you. His mind races while he drives. The bloody handprint on the doorframe. They hurt you. You bled. Your battered and bruised figure is going through his mind. He growls in anger. He slams his fist onto the steering wheel. âDamn it.â He scowls. The first mistake was coming after you. Theyâve laid their hands on his wife. Thatâs the second mistake. He can only hope that youâre mostly unharmed. For their sake. If not? All hell will break loose.
When he reaches the warehouse he puts the car into park sloppily and grabs the duffel bag. He steps out of the car and slings the bag over his shoulder. He checks his gear once more, checking whether his pistol and knives are still concealed. Once heâs satisfied he stalks his way inside. He pushes the door open. Immediately all guns are pointed at him. He throws one hand up lazily, showing them he wonât harm them. At least, not yet. He slowly shrugs off the duffel bag and puts it down on the floor. He straightens up again and throws both hands up. He analyses all of them. It would be unfortunate if he had to fight through them to get you. Thereâs quite a lot of them. He lets out a deep breath.
âYou have the money. Let her go.â He speaks up warily. He doesnât trust them with those guns. Especially when theyâre all standing very close to you. The burliest man scoffs. He turns to a scrawny-looking guy. He waves the pistol towards the bag. âCheck it.â He looks at Ghost and narrows his eyes at him. âEvery pound better be in there,â he points the gun at you. âOr I shoot a hole through her for every missing pound.â You whimper in fear when he points the gun at you. He can see out of the corner of his eye that the scrawny guy is counting the money. He keeps his eyes trained on you and the man pointing the gun at you. He glares at him. âPoint that gun away from her.â The man smirks. âI donât think youâre in the position to negotiate here.â He turns to you and trails the gun down your neck. âShe wonât get hurt if you have the money.â He says coldly to Ghost. Ghost grits his teeth. âThe money is there, I assure you. Point the gun away from my wife.â He snarls out. The man rolls his eyes but lowers his gun from you. Ghostâs posture relaxes slightly. He keeps his eyes on you. Heâs trying to reassure you that everything will be fine with his eyes. The guy finishes counting the money and turns towards the man. âEverything is accounted for.â This pleases the man. He pulls out a pocket knife. Holding it in between his index finger and thumb and raising his hand. Showing Ghost he wonât hurt you. He cuts your binds and lifts you by your arm. He throws you in the direction of Ghost. âNow scram.â He orders Ghost. He didnât need to be told twice. He wants to get you out of here as soon as possible.
While you stumble toward Simon he catches you. He checks you over quickly. He notices various cuts in your arms and legs. Bruises littering your body. He can only imagine what else theyâve done to you that is covered up by your clothes. He stands up wordlessly. He would princess carry you. But he wants to make sure he has at least a hand available to pull out his pistol in case they try anything while he takes you out of here. Instead, he whispers to you to wrap an arm around him and lean on him. Let him carry your weight. You do just that. He quickly gets you out of the warehouse and ushers you into the car. He opens the door to the passenger seat and gently sets you down. When heâs sure that youâll be alright in the car. He pats your leg comfortingly. âIâll be right back, lovie.â He says softly. As if heâs talking to a wounded animal. You look at him with worry. You reach a hand out to his gloved one. He laces his fingers with yours. âWhere are you going?â You ask quietly. Not wanting for him to leave you. He shushes you, âIâll be right back. I need to take care of something.â He says vaguely. You know exactly what he means, but you let his hand go. Knowing he wonât be content until he knows that those men have been taken care of. âBe careful.â You tell him. He nods. He rolls up his mask so his mouth is revealed. He plants a kiss on your forehead. âYou know I am, princess.â He leans away from you and rolls his mask back down.
He leaves you behind and walks back to the warehouse. He saw the power box at the side of the building before he entered the building. He makes his way to it and cuts the power. The lights immediately get shut off. He sticks to the shadows as the moonlight illuminates his path. When he gets inside, chaos ensues. Multiple shouts could be heard. All centered around one man, Ghost.
âWhere is skull face?!â
âFind him!â
âSomeone turn the power back on!â
âSpread out!â
He smirks. Big mistake. It makes his job so much easier. He makes quick work of them. Emerging from the shadows. Killing them quickly before stepping back into the cover of darkness. He deals with everyone, except for one man. The one that pointed the gun at you. The man growls, realizing that all of his lackeys got taken out when they stopped answering him. Ghost stalks him. âGoddamnit! Where is that son of a bitch?!â The man yells out in frustration. Ghost points his pistol at the manâs leg and shoots. Pain crashes over the man. He clutches his leg in pain and crumbles to the floor. He looks around in a panic. Ghost has concealed himself again in the shadows. âIâm right here.â He says menacingly. The man hears him and whips his head in his direction and points the gun at him. He was about to shoot before he realized. Thereâs nothing there. Ghost shoots his arm. Making him drop his gun. The man cries out in agony. Ghost emerges from the shadows once more. Revealing himself to the man. The man scrambles with his other arm for the gun. Ghost steps on his hand and kicks the gun away from him. Ghost leans down towards his face. The moonlight framed his mask. Showing the true terrifying notion of wrath. He glares down at him. âItâs one thing to take my wife. Itâs another to use her for ransom. I couldnât give a damn about the money. But it was a mistake to lay your filthy fucking hands on her.â He snarls at the man. He whimpers in fear. Ghost is livid, rightfully so. Ghost narrows his eyes. âNot talking? Thatâs alright, Iâll make you beg for your life.â He stands up to his full height. Crushing the manâs hand in the process. He drags the man by the collar and drags him to an isolated room in the warehouse. No one will come to his rescue. No one will know what transpired here. After all, itâs off the books. The manâs screams echo through the warehouse before it eventually dies down. Blood splatters onto Ghostâs mask.
***
A couple of minutes later you see Simon walking towards you. With his mask in his hand, he looks a lot calmer now. He pulls his gloves off his hands and holds them with the other hand. He throws them in the back of the car and gets into the driverâs seat. He sits down and lets out a deep exhale. He starts the car and turns to you. He abruptly pulls you into his embrace. He breathes your scent in. He clutches you tighter. âBloody hell, lovie. You scared me.â He says softly. He pauses before continuing. âWhen I came home and saw you werenât there. My heart sank.â You wrap your arms around his torso, trying to show him youâre alright. If not, only a little shaken up. âYou came for me.â You say in a small voice. He pulls away from you. He looks you in your eyes and caresses your cheek. âIâll always come for you. Never doubt that.â You nod. After today, you definitely wonât doubt it ever again. He gives you a small smile and sets the car into gear. âLetâs go home, get you all fixed up yeah?â You smile slightly. âThat sounds perfect.â You say softly. He nods and drives off. You have some cleaning up to do but thatâs alright. He has you back now and can drop the mask. He can be Simon Riley again.
ᴺᴟᾠᴞᴸᴏáľá´ľá´şá´ł : Beautiful Things - Benson Boone
Keegan Russ x Reader
Synopsis: Keegan isnât fond of ice skating. But heâd do anything to see you smile.
Word count: 908
Masterlist
âI can't believe I agreed to thisâŚâ Keegan grumbles out as you walk through the entrance of the ice skating rink. You look at him giddily, âcome on, Keegs! Itâll be fun.â Keegan lowers his gaze to the floor as you walk up to the ticket booth. âThe only fun thing will be watching you fall on your ass.â He quips. You playfully roll your eyes. âI get it. You donât like skating. But itâs the winter season, we canât just not go skating.â Heâs about to retort before you interrupt him. âTwo tickets please.â You tell the receptionist. She nods and hands you two tickets, âthatâll be 8 dollars. Rental skates are up ahead.â She informs you. Keegan swipes his card before you even get to take your card out of your wallet. She smiles at you and wishes you a good time. You move to the rental skates. âYou didnât have to do that, Keegan.â You say. He scoffs, âdarling. You wonât have to worry about paying when Iâm around. You should know this by now.â You smile, âit doesnât hurt to try.â You mutter under your breath. He hears it and glances at you but says nothing.
You make it to the rental skates booth. You ask for two skates for both your and his sizes. The man running the booth asks for an ID card from one of you. You hand him yours. He takes it from you and checks it briefly before disappearing in the back. A few minutes pass before he finally emerges and hands you two pairs of skates. âThatâll be 6 dollars.â Keegan immediately pays, not giving you a chance. You shake your head. He grabs both of the skates and thanks the man. You walk side by side to the indoor skating rink. You spot an empty bench where you can put your skates on. You sit down and put on your skates. Keegan makes quick work of it. When heâs done youâre still struggling with the laces. He sighs and crouches down to your skates. He gently moves your hands away and does it quickly. He makes sure itâs tight before patting your ankle gently. âThere, all done.â He says softly. You thank him and drag him over to the ice. The scowl on his face gets bigger the closer you bring him to the ice.
âMaybe I can just sit at the sides for now, darling.â He says. You roll your eyes and smile. âYouâre getting on the ice whether you like it or not.â He glares at you playfully. You get on the ice albeit a bit wobbly. He gets on like thereâs no difference between the ice and the hard floor. Eventually, you get the hang of it and skate around like normal. Keegan skates next to or behind you very casually, with his hands in his pockets. A couple of minutes pass by. You notice that he doesnât stumble once. You come to a stop at the wall. He stops beside you. He smirks, âtired already?â You scoff, ânope. But I thought you hated skating. How come youâre so good?â He laughs at that. âJust because I hate it, it doesnât mean I canât be good at it.â He flicks your forehead gently. You look at him incredulously, âyou learned it somehow.â He rolls his eyes, âmy family used to go a lot when I was younger. Thatâs how I learned.â You shake your head, âso you do enjoy it.â He chuckles, âI never said that.â You skate away, leaving him behind. You turn your head to him, âwhatever you say, Russ!â You call out to him. He laughs and shakes his head. âUnbelievable.â He mumbles before skating towards you. He quickly catches up to you. You try going faster but heâs too fast. Eventually, he wraps his arms around your waist and spins you around. You shriek in surprise and clutch onto him tightly. Not wanting to fall. He chuckles as he holds onto you tightly. He slows down and puts you down gently.
He laughs as you slap his chest lightly. âYou scared the shit out of me.â You say with feigned annoyance. He smirks, âcome on, donât you trust me, sweetheart? I wouldnât drop you.â You scowl at him before smiling. âYouâre lucky I love you.â He shakes his head before planting a chaste kiss on your lips. âI am a lucky man.â He says softly. He chuckles and pinches your cheeks gently. âAre your cheeks turning red because of me or of the cold?â He teases you. You swat his hands away, âthe cold.â You say confidently. Itâs clear to both of you that youâre lying. It's definitely because of him. He throws his head back and laughs. He looks you in the eyes. His eyes crinkle as he smiles. âRight right. Because of the cold, sure.â He shakes his head, âgod youâre cute.â He shifts backward a little bit and holds out a hand. âCome on. You wanted to skate right? Letâs skate.â He says smiling. You grin and take his hand. You both skate around the rink with your hands intertwined.
The way your eyes are crinkling with happiness makes his heart swell with love for you. If he has to skate more often to give you such happiness he would in a heartbeat. Ice skating with you isnât too bad either. Heâd gladly take you ice skating again if you ask.
Hey my lovelies! I wanted to take some time to thank you for 100 followers. It means a lot to me that at least a hundred of you like my writing, so thanks for that!
I will continue bringing out more stuff for you guys to read and Iâll try to be somewhat consistent. I didnât expect to grow this fast after having disappeared for a couple of months at a time. So really, thank you!
This is also a reminder that requests are open, so if you have any prompts or fic ideas that you want written out (request rules are here) Iâll be happy to to write it out for you.
Remember to take care of yourselves and others around you! And until then, bye bye lovelies! đ
Have a crappy picture of my lego plants that I got for my birthday as a thank you
