pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader
word count: 1k+
warnings: reader smokes, likes to crochet
note: for @powerfultenderness , ( also on AO3 )
summary: what the fuck is a mr blobby.
you and syd had been at hereford base for a while, assisting your boss nikolai in a chimera/141 joint operation. its strategising and intel work, but it's mostly waiting and sitting around. you spend it by crochetting simple items for your teammates after getting to know them a little better.
soap and gaz were the first you and syd befriended, with the four of you lobbing spongebob quotes back and forth any chance you get. you made little crocheted spongebob keychains for your friends; spongebob for gaz, patrick for soap, sandy for syd, and a little gary for yourself. captain price and chief laswell gets spongebob's dad and mom respectively, since they act like gaz's parents and bicker with him at work.
you would very much like to get to know ghost more, but the man was elusive during off hours, doesn't join nightouts, and—the most devastating blow—he didn't watch spongebob as a child. giving him squidward would've been perfect, but syd pointed out that explaining squidward to him would be a bit problematic.
"oh yea lieutenant you're squidward, he hates fun, ill-tempered, and is a buzzkill."
soap piped up, "not to mention the big nose."
gaz laughed, and added in exagerrated nasally voice, "and who you callin' big nose, big nose?"
the guilt lingered for a bit, since he has definitely noticed that everyone has a little keychain of a cartoon character but he doesn't. you don't even know what to crochet for him, since making him just a skeleton would be too basic and feels like a pity gift.
until you ran across him during a particularly rainy day, smoking underneath the little awning of the gun range. he didn't even bother taking his mask off and just lets the smoke waft out of it. it looked cool as hell and you had to fight to keep your composure as you decided to approach him to maybe bum a cig or two if you're lucky.
alas, it's a vape.
but you decided to ask anyway, maybe he has them hidden somewhere in of his pockets.
"this is all i got." he handed you the pen he was smoking, and by god it was one of the flashiest vape you've ever seen.
its mostly black with a familiar gold triangular pattern on the pen itself, complete with a quartz tip and a glass mouthpiece and everything. you stared at it to recall the gold pattern and heard him lower his voice.
"nicked it off one of the blackcells."
aaahh, that's why it's so familiar. it's the same gold pattern that you have seen on atom and io.
you knew as you walked closer earlier that he was smoking something fruity, but it surprised you as you take a hit that it was watermelon. and not the cheap one that tastes artificial either. it's a high end one that tastes very close to a real sweet watermelon. "damn lieutenant, didnt know you were boujee." you said as you relished the taste in your mouth.
"yeah, you like? never seen you smoke before."
you shrugged, "never felt the need to."
"stressed?"
"something like that." you pulled that straight out of your ass. you hope if you were mysterious enough he would ask more questions and you get a chance to ask questions back and forth.
a light started to flash as you take another hit of his fancy watermelon kit, and before the both of you could speak, a private popped up in your periphery.
"lieutenant riley, captain price would like to see you at the meeting room, sir."
ghost stared at you for a while before you see him grab something from his pocket and handed it to you in a closed fist. he dropped something hard and plastic onto your outstretched palm and gingerly closed your fingers around it to hide the item from view.
staring at their backs, you started to look around, making sure no one was anywhere near you to see whatever this was in your fist. you opened your hand and immediately recognised it as a little battery. it was a matte black rectangular vape charger; it had a circular hole on one end and a usb-c port on the other. it was mostly unmemorable, until you turn it over and see a creepy little sticker above the power button.
it's a character you've never seen before. a pink humanoid with yellow spots, with a little red clown nose and unsettling neon green eyes.
you quickly plugged the vape into the charger to fish your phone out of your pocket and typed it's general description on google.
what the fuck is a mr blobby.
watching videos on youtube—your eyebrows raising higher and higher after each short clip in the montage—you start to understand the 141's lieutenant less. does he hate this thing? does he like that type of comedy? or… is this a sex thing? oh. maybe you don't wanna know. but you do know what you have to do now.
a day passed and you couldnt help but to look for ghost every chance you got. you want to see his reaction when you gift him the little mr blobby keychain that you now have sitting in your pocket. apparently he's a popular figure online, with the crochet pattern readily available and even for free on blogs you frequent.
stopping by the break room, you heard your name being called, and you saw him nursing a steaming cup in a far corner, motioning you come over with a beckoning palm.
"you better have charged it." he said in lieu of a greeting as you came over, looking around as he outstretched his hand towards you.
you produced a crinkled envelope from your pocket—containing the vape, the battery, and the little keychain—and you saw his shoulders shook.
"thanks. as you were."
unmoving, you had hoped that he would open the envelope here and now, maybe see or hear a reaction, but he stared at you in a menacing way so you left, your heart heavy in your chest.
—
the weeks went by without any word from the lieutenant, you had resigned to the thought that he didn't like the little crochet at all until one day you got a text from soap.
watching könig interact with his co-workers is such a fascinating phenomenon and had made you fall in love with him harder. he barely changed over the years; he'd always been a man of little words, and a man that wears his heart on his sleeve. he's the kind of person that would walk on the outside of the sidewalk to block the wind, covering his shorter teammates from the sun on outings, supplying fruit snacks for his teammates on missions out of pocket, or staying behind and round up coffee cups after meetings so the janitors have an easier time. all of that without saying anything.
but he opens up more with you, if only by a little bit. he points out birds and discusses little creatures on your walks, carries your bags when you're out together, prints recipes out on paper so you two would have an easier time cooking, buying matching books so you could have a little reading date, and you caught him purposefully slowing down and stopped reading so you two could be on the same page as you read so he doesn't accidentally blurt out spoilers. he's a man that would watch his words carefully so he wouldn't hurt anyone's feelings, and takes the don't say anything if you don't have anything nice to say concept to heart.
so when that night you caught him so passionately typing on his computer with the corners of his mouth turned down an his eyebrows furrowed, you wanted to know what it was that upset him. he never had that expression when he does paperwork, not when he is scrolling his warhammer forums, not even when he replies to mean comments on his airsoft sniping videos.
when könig bid you goodnight with his arms around you and his legs tangled around yours, you thought you had no chance to see what he was upset about earlier. but luckily your chance came as his hold loosened and his breathing relaxed; you waited with bated breath until he turned around and rolled the duvet into himself like a kebab. this would usually annoy you, but for tonight you're glad he's such a little weirdo sleeper.
♡
bless that gigantic heart of his because he didnt's even close the tab properly to even hide what he was doing. his settings are so transparent, his web browser just opens whatever tabs he had on before he turned his computer off. you quickly found that the love of your life was on etsy. on a page of a crocheted bee wearing a green bucket hat with a little daisy on it. apparently the item had arrived but he didn't like the item at all.
your eyes widen and your eyebrows start to raise up towards your hairline and stayed there as you read his review from start to finish.
"the picture shown on the storefront doesn't match the final product at all. the yarn used was not the same yarn in the picture, it is visibly cheaper, made of some shiny plastic blend, and the colours are too vibrant that it looks cheap. will not purchase from this person again, because if they are lying about this one product i am sure they are lying about their other products. one star for packaging because the wrapping paper is nice and neat. zero star for item itself."
you stare slack-jawed at the monitor. könig has never been this mean before. not even to misbehaving privates, not to his teammates when they take a joke too far. he may be stern, he might be concise, but he has never been mean before. never in your life had you ever thought könig capable of saying anything like this.
the past purchases button caught your eye immediately. you couldn't help but want to see what he wrote on other reviews.
"great item. good quality. the picture matches the product exactly." ★★★
"item matches price." ★
"wonderful, just the way i wanted." ★★★
arms raised towards the monitor, it was your turn that night to have furrowed brows in front of the computer. you want to yell at your boyfriend. why is it only three stars when he loves the item!!
you tiptoed back to bed a little huffy and couldn't get this newly discovered little quirk of his out of your head. you know he had always been honest with you, but you don't know to what extent his honesty goes, and after a little evil scheming you can't wait to find out tomorrow.
♡
"morning sweetie!" he greets you with one of his widest smiles, landing a kiss on your forehead as you sidled up next to him while he checks his ipad.
smiling sweetly back at him, you replied as you wrap your arms around him. "morning. i love you, könig."
there's a flash of worry in his eyes when he looked at you, hugging you in return. "i love you too, schön. what is—"
"how much?" you could feel the ghost of a grin morphing your smile so you bury yourself in his warm chest to hide your smirk and tighten your hold on him, "on a scale of 1 to 10, könig. how much do you love me?"
his answer came without hesitation and it made you scream laugh into his chest.
pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader
word count: ~2.1k
warnings: mundane life, fluff, comedy
note: also on AO3
summary: “You’re terrible at stalking.” He exhaled, coming even closer, deliberately peeking into your trolley.
You squatted by the wine aisle, staring and comparing different brands of red wines to better understand what could make one bottle cost twenty quid while the other a whole two hundred and eighty. The chef on the cooking channel had assured in the video and in the comments that any red cooking wine would do, but her favourites are merlot or cabernet sauvignon, and if those aren’t to your liking, a chianti or pinot noir would do.
Whatever those words mean.
You were never a wine person, and seeing the terribly vast price difference but no visible difference in ingredients made you question yourself even more. Googling the wine names and skimming reddit tells you barely anything. A lot of them say there's ‘hints of the type of wood the barrel it’s aged in’ which is kind of useless since you’re going to dump it in a sauce anyway?
You tried looking around, hoping to spot a middle aged white woman shopping for wine that could maybe help you, but there was no one save for a man standing not too far away that looked your way, seeming impatient. You didn’t realise that you had hogged the space for an extended period until you stared at him a little too long and the man gestured at the bottles in front of you, “You done?”
“Oh yeah sorry.” You grabbed one of the cheap wines, and were about to stand—hoping your knees won't crack too loudly in front of this stranger—but then his voice registered in your brain. The pitch and the gruffness might not match, but you recognise that tone and inflection anywhere. It’s the same one that orders you around at work. Your eyes snapped to the visible tattoos on the sliver of skin showing on his left arm before craning your neck up to stare at his face. The man wore semi-rimless glasses and a black disposable mask that covered his mouth and most of his nose, but your mind still clearly comprehends him as your lieutenant.
You see recognition in his eyes, and your expression is definitely not fooling anyone either. Staring at each other for what felt like hours, your mind had conjured acceptable action for this, and that is to walk away. But then again, this is Lieutenant Riley you’re accidentally meeting. Who knows what Ghost deems acceptable. Man might just knock you unconscious right here in the middle of the fucking aisle to make absolutely sure you “forgot”.
“Do you live nearby.” He started, extending an arm that wasn’t holding a shopping basket to help you up. You didn’t hear a questioning tone at the end. He phrased it as half a question and half a demand. He wants to know, and you have to answer.
“Yeah…” You try looking anywhere that’s not him. You had made the mistake of rechecking what you saw as you got up. As much respect as you have for your superior, the man wore grey sweatpants, and it’s a little distracting.
“Did you drive.” His voice had taken an interrogatory tone, followed by that same head tilt you’re used to seeing at base when he’s questioning his underlings. You’re thankful that he hasn’t said anything hurtful or insulting, but Ghost isn't exactly friendly to you. You notice the difference in his demeanour when Soap and Gaz are around compared to when it’s just the two of you. You contemplate just leaving your cart here and running away. Maybe if he takes a step closer, you will.
“No.” An awkward beat passes, two, then three. You might as well ask back since he’s being nosey. “Did you?”
“Didn’t either.” He answered curtly.
“I see…” You try to imagine his living quarters. Guns under every surface. Rigged windows. Every cupboard filled with whiskey.
“Didn’t know you live close by,” he said flatly.
The words shot up from your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Didn’t know you live close to people at all.”
Ghost replied with a little gruff laugh that he suppressed immediately, making you look up at him. There’s something odd about his glasses, but you can’t place it yet.
“Sorry, Sir. I’ll let you browse the wine.”
Moving to the spice section to see if they carry Italian seasoning or you have to mix stuff up yourself, you were still preoccupied with his glasses and you wonder how to bring this up to Johnny naturally when you see him round the corner and then quickly turning away when he realises he’s going to be on the same aisle as you again.
Oh please no, please don’t let there be a third coincidence. Not in succession like this.
Getting to the tinned goods aisle, you froze as you see him stand there, the hand not holding the basket firmly secured in his pocket. You wonder if that’s a knife that he will stealthily jab you with as you walk by.
Pleading to a non-existent entity that he’s not standing in front of the tomatoes, that he’s browsing some tuna or sardines, you inwardly curse as he does. Right in front of the brand of tomatoes you wanted, too. Luckily the one you wanted is distinct and easy to spot so you just quickly drop it on your trolley as you power walk away.
He walked up to you as you scrutinised the rows of olive oil. “Uh..” You wanted to accuse him of following you but he was faster with his quips.
“You’re terrible at stalking.” He exhaled, coming even closer, deliberately peeking into your trolley.
You took this as a friendly sign and peeked into his basket. You saw the same-ish ingredients, different brands and different prices. You notice very quickly that he picked up the expensive wine. The joys of an officer’s paycheck instead of a soldier’s, you’re sure. Blud probably saw the most legit looking bottle and picked it up without a second thought.
“Are you also doing bolognese, lieutenant?”
“Yea.” You could feel him eye your cheap wine.
“You wanna come over then?” You jokingly asked, “I’ll make the pasta and you… do garlic bread or something.”
Eyeing your expression, you were a little taken aback when he finally broke eye contact and reached into your trolley to take out your cheap wine and swap it with his. He turned around without saying a word, leaving you speechless and alone.
Trying not to look for him as you grab the rest of the ingredients, you didn’t see him again until the cashier, where he waved for you to join him and skip a couple of people at the queue. He lifted his basket a little to get your attention. It held nothing but a baguette, a pack of butter, some parsley, and a string of garlic. The previous things he picked up were nowhere in sight.
You made a face at the bread in his basket. Even through the paper bag you could see that the bread is not of good quality. You pointed out that it looked a little flaccid.
Ghost flinched, moving the basket away to look at the front of his pants before returning his gaze, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised, all the scars visible on his face stretched and skewed to silently ask for confirmation of who the fuck you think you were talking to.
Catching such a scathing look from your boss scared you a little. Never before had your posture fixed itself so quickly outside of work. “I was talking about the bread, Sir.” You quickly clarified as you look forwards.
In the corner of your vision you could see him visibly relax. “Oh.”
Exasperated, you try to tell him about the bakery a block away that sells better, fresher bread with not much difference in price. They even sell them at half price at night, just after ten, for maybe midnight snack purposes.
Ghost—again—eyed you suspiciously but stayed quiet, putting his basket down and walking away with the bread firmly grasped in his hand. It took him a little too long to come back, making you wonder if that was probably his last straw of you prodding into his life. Not even Soap knows where he lives and here you are, not even a core member of the 141 and you already know he lives a walking distance from this shop, and that he knows how to make bolognese and garlic bread. He’s definitely chucked the bread across the shop and left already.
In the end, you decided to keep his items—trying not to visibly cringe when the cashier scanned the wine—since you had actually wanted to make the sauce anyway. You could always ask for reimbursement, if he decided to be mean about it in the future.
But you spotted him as you left, his hulking figure methodically sweeping the store as if he’s looking for something.
Ah fuck, he might be looking for his basket.
Waving at him to catch his attention, you hold up one of your colourful recyclable bags and exaggeratedly point at it to show that you have paid for everything.
The way he immediately made a beeline for you almost triggered your fight or flight response, there’s something incredibly menacing and domineering about his gait and posture that made the hairs on the back of neck prickle, even if he doesn’t mean it.
“Waited long?” He muttered, grabbing the bags off your hands. “Had an episode at the bread station.” He added apologetically, avoiding your eyes and focusing solely on the bags’ contents.
“I didn’t, no.” You shook your head. You’ve been there before. You know what it means and how it feels. Saying anything at this point feels like pity or fake sympathy.
Arriving at the bakery, you try not to waste your time and dashed towards the baguette. You’re worried he would have an episode here with the abundance of bread. If that was that triggered him in the first place, anyway. As you queued and paid for your bread, you looked around to see where Ghost was, and he seemed to enjoy browsing at the bakery, looking at the artisan breads and the homemade jams they have on the counters. You took note of his body language, lingering by the colourful doughnuts, bending down by the pretzel, poking the pillow breads through their plastic covers. Maybe you don’t need to worry?
The sunlight hit his glasses at the right place and you learned what was so off with it. You could see clearly through it. When you look through other people’s glasses, it’s supposed to distort your vision since your eyes don’t need the extra adjustments, but looking at Ghost’s glasses, the edges don't have the deformation that other prescription glasses have.
His fuckin’ glasses are fuckin’ fake.
Oh how you wish Soap was here to witness and share the revelation with, so you both could point and laugh at him without repercussions, since Johnny gets away with a lot when it comes to joking around with the lieutenant.
Not realising you’ve been spacing out, you were startled by Ghost’s voice by your side. “You done?”
“Yeah. Did you buy anything? A pretzel or two maybe? They’re pretty allright.”
“And ruin my meal?”
You shrugged, “I mean, the sauce will take a while?”
—
Ghost had very kindly bought soft pretzels and croissants for you two to eat, while nibbling on some of his garlic bread as the sauce bubbles and simmers in the background. In hindsight, he made the bread a little too early, but it was good, and you get to see his knife skills.
It was dark out when the sauce was finally done. You had offered one of your unused pots for him to take half of the sauce home so he can eat it safely at his own discretion but he insisted on eating it at your place. His excuse doesn’t really hold up, saying he doesn’t own a toaster at home so the garlic bread would be soggy, but you don’t argue. Since the mask came off immediately as he sat down.
You couldn’t help but stare. “Holy shit Soap owes me fifty quid.”
Ghost answered mid chew, not even looking up. “Why’s that.”
“Well, I bet you were good looking and he said you weren’t.”
He slowly looked up with a confused look on his face, “But he’s already seen my face.” His spoonful of pasta momentarily forgotten mid-air.
You giggled, “Oh yeah I already gave him his fifty quid. Now it’s his turn to give me his.”
Watching his whole face scrunch and unscrunch in perpetual confusion might just be the highlight of your year.
summary: the first time he came home with his mask on, you didn’t let him in.
you weren’t even convinced it was simon at first. the man held himself too differently; he stood up too straight, his shoulders too square, there’s too much confidence in his stance as he stared you down.
the mask makes you feel uneasy, it makes it seem like he’s looking down at you with perpetual hostility in his eyes. normally you’d look up, but right now you opt to just glance up at him from time to time. but you do see from the corner of your eyes that he tilts his head at you, his gloved fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on the door jamb.
“it’s me, love.” he assured you in his gruff and gravelly voice, recognising it as the one he reserves for drunks at the pub.
“can you take the mask off then? please?”
he sucked a breath, both his hands now have come up on either side of the door. “just want to shower and go the fuck to bed, love. don’t be difficult.”
you stood your ground, eyeing him coldly. “and how difficult would it be to take the mask off before coming inside?”
his dark eyes bore into yours, brows drawing close together. “christ fuck, woman.” he finally says, bitterness bleeds through his muffled voice as he yanks the thing off his head, “happy?”
no.
finally seeing him, you notice the deepening lines on the corner of his eyes, and the bags underneath it worse than ever before. his lips twitch as if to say something as you open the door wider for him to finally pass you.
simon trudged his boots off by the shoerack before heading upstairs, you hear your shared bathroom door slamming shut as you still stood by the front door. you almost wanted to cry, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. you know simon’s job tires him out, he’s quieter and more reserved the first few days back; but today he gives you no hellos, no instructions to make tea, no offhand comment about the squeaking door that he complains about.
only silence greets you.
~
“come here.”
you barely turn from your little console, “no you come here.” giggling as you tried to find a safe spot so you could look at him and away from the game.
the bed dips heavily, you were tugged towards a warm chest as an arm snakes tightly around your waist and another slides up your collarbone, his finger absentmindedly tracing patterns on the side of your neck. he leaned his head on yours, pulling you flush against him; your back bumped against his solid chest as he leaves soft kisses on the top of your head.
it’s weirdly….foreign.
simon’s love language had always been physical touch; whether it’s a hand on your shoulder, his feet next to yours, knees touching on a hot day, but at this exact moment you can’t fathom why his touches felt so unfamiliar.
his kisses move downward, more insistent, lips lingering longer than it should. intoxicating but peculiar at the same time.
“stop playing.” he warned, his hand getting worryingly close to squeezing your neck.
his hold had never felt so constricting, as if he fears you’d disappear if he loosens his grip on you. his mouth had found its way to your neck, sucking and biting until he’s had enough and places a large hand on the screen, forcing you to set the thing down.
“i said stop.” he ordered, voice worryingly close to a growl.
leaning further into him, he tightened his embrace on you. seeing you’re no longer distracted, he went back to marking your neck, lapping at the bruising skin.
you sighed into his touches and kisses, fully surrendering in his hold. as he turned your head with a hand on your jaw, you could now see every scar, every freckle, every little imperfection on his face, and it was harder to form thoughts when he’s so close like this. “sim–”
his lips press into yours; harsh and domineering, as he pushed you into the mattress, making you gasp. taking your open mouth as an invitation, his tongue greedily swipes across yours.
the kiss ended as quickly as it started, with simon pulling back and opting to have a go at leaving marks on your neck again. he left a particularly hard suck by your pulse point, making you let out a nervous giggle, “stop, simon. i don’t think i have turtlenecks that high.”
“then let them see.” he breathed hotly against another part of your neck he hasn’t left kisses on. it made you shudder, no one had ever made you feel so desired before.
wrapping your arms around him, you smiled weakly, “i love you, simon. you don’t have to worry about other people.”
hearing you say that made him finally pause his persistent abuse on your skin.
“say it again.”
you couldn’t even look into his eyes, your cheeks burn from the constant attention he’s giving you right now. but even that couldn’t dissuade the little voice in your head that's trying to tell you this isn't right, this doesn’t feel like him; but you said it aloud anyway, “i love you.”
“again,” he breathed, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips, “i want to hear you mean it.”
“i love you, simon.”
you could feel his smirk as he peppered kisses on your skin.
~
“simon you can’t be serious.” you chided him coldly, he has been wearing a face mask at home more often now. this time for a whole week straight. neither of you are even ill.
you could see something ominous and unpleasant underneath his glare as he turned his head towards you. “let me be, love.” he doesn’t even call you by your name anymore, as if he had completely forgotten what it is.
you groaned, “ugh, fine.”
cutting the distance between you in record time, simon seized your wrist and held it up by his face, making you tumble into him. “what–”
“i love you.” he stated.
at this exact moment you thought him insane. you looked up at him, confusion and exasperation clear on your face.
“i'm sorry?” was the only thing you could think to say right now.
never have you thought simon was intimidating until this very moment. his eyebrows furrowed so deeply it made his pupils seem darker than it should. “say it back.”
you have no intention of saying it back.
his grip on your wrist had start to hurt at this point, and trying to wriggle away only made him hold it even tighter. the little yelp of pain you let out didn’t faze him even the slightest.
you only now realised this is not simon. in your mild attempt to break free from his grip you couldn’t help but to acknowledge his growing desire that’s been insistently prodding your front.
alarmed, you couldn’t help but to try and wriggle away harder. his insistent hand on the small of your back doesn’t help with the situation, either.
when he finally lets go of your wrist, opting to hold the back of your neck to hold you closer to him, you had already given up resisting.
at that moment you felt as if you’re something of him to merely possess, and nothing else. tears escaped you, at first a little before cascading fully into sobs and whimpers. you don’t feel the love and warmth simon had, right now his grasp felt stiff and constricting.
“you’re not him, are you?” you hiccuped into his chest.
hearing no answer, you look up to see a man you loved, with a dangerous glint you don’t recognise in his eyes.
“no, you're not,” you answered your own question and his hold breaks. you let out a shuddered breath as you stare blankly at nothing, tears blurring your vision. “is he still in there?”
note: never played the game. dont know jack shit. i just have tall people wearing masks kink.
summary: your housemate ghost fell asleep on the sofa with paint on his face and you help.
You went home to silent snoring coming from the sofa. It was your 6’3 housemate Simon Riley, curled up against his duffel bag, recently arrived home from whatever job he has.
Sometimes he’d be missing for weeks, sometimes months, and one time it was a year and a half. Three months into that year and a half absence, an extremely handsome man came knocking on your front door and hands you an envelope full of cash, saying “He said this is for rent.” before just walking away.
The man was full of mysteries, telling you funny stories about his unnamed friends when he got tipsy, having random knives on him when you needed something to be cut, scoffing at the TV when they have bad trigger discipline in movies and tv shows.
But at this very moment, he looks like an ordinary man. An ordinary man with ordinary black paint around his eyes. You know, normal people stuff.
You went upstairs and quickly grabbed your makeup remover, cottonballs, and a couple cotton swabs. You debated whether micellar water would be better, but whatever it is around his eyes seemed industrial strength.
It was a miracle that he didn’t wake up at all. Only swatting your hands away once or twice, muttering “Fuck off, Soap.”
Admiring your clean and stealthy work, you smiled to yourself and wonder what else you can get away with while he’s knocked the fuck out on the couch.
You brought down your whole tray of face products. It’s a sin to skip washing his face entirely, but you feel this is the micellar water’s turn to shine. So you start there.
—
You got startled awake the next day, someone had shoved you in your sleep. The first thing you saw was Simon Riley looming over your bed, his large body preventing sunlight from hitting your face and your whole upperbody.
“Why the fuck does my face feel nice.”
What.
Blinking sleep away from your eyes for a couple seconds as you stared at his face, you can tell he was miffed. But there’s also something else there that you can’t place.
“If it feels nice then why did you wake me up?” You squinted at him.
simon ‘ghost’ riley trusted you with his home address so you decided to:
im supposed to be asleepge but this came to mind and had to write it quick (gn!reader)
♡ prank him.
harmless pranks ofc. you replaced his front door mat. quick and simple. it says “this is not a whore house, but a whore home.” if you had stayed long enough you wouldve heard him laugh. the mat is still there to this day.
♡ send postcards!
his house is mad boring and you decide he’s another person you would send postcards to. he gets those corkboard thingies and pins them (with the back scribbled out after taking pics of them ofc)
♡ visit.
his place might be dead empty as fuck but he’s got the comfiest sofa and blanket. you know that story anthony mackie tells people about sebastian stan’s sofa? that’s you with ghost’s sofa. he’s even got the large cashmere blanket and you don’t shut up about it.
♡ send foods.
yeah he subs to hellofresh or something equivalent (or more expensive even), but sometimes you just wanna send him some fruits or some leftover baked goods. dude forgets his fruits and just stocks up on biscuits and crisps and chocolates so you gotta lookout for him.
You roll your eyes at him, shooting him an annoyed glare as you grab the edge of your blanket. “König you can’t just take it.”
“It was out there in the open, schön.” his pallid blue eyes stared at you intently, “I thought everything in the living room can be shared.” He gestured vaguely at the room before wrapping the blanket tighter around him as if to make a point.
“I left it there for two fucking minutes, König, I went away for fucking two minutes to answer the fucking door.”
“Scheiße, fine. No need to swear that much, I’ll give it back.” He pouted, unwrapping himself.
You sigh in resignation, “Just wash it after you’re done.” Your shoulders hunching in defeat as the mountain of a man looks at you with puppy dog eyes underneath his hood.
“So this blanket is mine now?”
Why in the fuck is he obsessed with your blanket.
“König you can’t just make it yours just because you want it.”
“Who says I can’t?” He squints at you before standing up to his full height; blanket draping his shoulder to his waist like some sort of cape.
Time slows down for you as he walks over to where you’re standing before leaning down, close to your face. He lifts both his hood and mask up, showing a glimpse of his marred lips before brushing them gently against yours. He lingered for a while, his other hand coming up to touch your jaw gently.
“Mine.” He whispered. You caught yourself when you started to stand on your tippy toes as he withdrew, looking anywhere in the room but him while he slipped his hood back on. Taking in your silence and flushed face with satisfaction, the edges of his eyes crinkle in happiness. “See? I can.”
He used your flustered state as an opportunity to scoop you up into his arms before plopping down on the couch, covering you both in the blanket.
note: have you hugged your simon today? :3 (also on AO3)
summary: oh. he’s having those thoughts.
“Why are you with me?”
You turn around, tilting your head to the side, confused at his words. “You never liked grocery shopping, Simon.” Trying to hold his hand, you can see him flinch away, “So I came with you.”
He has lapses in memory, for sure. A lot of the time Simon lives in his own world, the one where he relives the most horrible moments of his life over and over; as he lives his real life on autopilot. But to your experience it had never been this bad. He had asked what day it is three times in a row, he had forgotten the address you’ve lived in for several years, his own birthday, favourite foods, but never where he is.
“No. I mean why are you with me, with me.”
Oh. He’s having those thoughts.
“Really Simon? At the groceries? Now?” You slowed your pace, waiting for him to catch up to you.
He looked down at the trolley he’s pushing, defeat written all over his body language.
“We’ll talk all about it at home, okay? Let’s just get some food right now. I’ll make that parsley butter you really like.”
“No.”
You were caught off guard, heartbeat spiking as he said it with a hard edge that you have never heard used towards you before. “You don’t want parsley butter?”
The resigned sigh you hear lasted for what seemed to be a full minute. “Just leave me alone.” His eyes focused on something far away.
It was your turn to sigh as you place whatever it is you were holding back onto the aisle and walk towards the front door to wait for him there.
That seemed to snap him out for a bit. His brain is so mean to him, and you know he doesn’t mean whatever it is he said, but you’re just so tired. Grabbing your hand, he looks at you, eyes red, and you know groceries will have to wait another day.
It’s odd, being with him. He exudes power and confidence when he’s with his friends, and yet he becomes a sad hopeless blob when he’s with you. You missed his boisterous personality, the man that tells dark jokes and puns every single sentence he could. Sometimes you wonder if you’re doing this to him. If you’re the villain in his life, sucking all the happiness out of him.
Walking him to the car empty handed, you placed yourself in the driver’s seat. You see him hunched on his seat, fists balled on his thighs, his mind is probably wandering somewhere horrible again.
“Simon can you face this way?” You gently requested.
The man did as told but looked at anything but you. He made a cutout of your outline with his eyes and you held the urge to laugh. You slowly put your hand up and hugged his neck, burying your face on that sweet junction on his collarbone. It took a long while before you felt his hands around your waist.
“M’sorry.” His voice a low whisper.
“Don’t apologise.” You patted the back of his head. He mirrored the motion by patting you on the waist with his thumb.
“Didn’t mean anything I said.” He sounded close to tears, “Didn’t actually want you to leave.”
You nodded sympathetically, “I know those weren’t your thoughts, Simon.” You released your hold a bit and kissed him on the chin, the only place you could reach right now. “You’re not that kind of person.”
He shuddered against you, something akin to a sob tore through him; you didn’t know what else to do but wrap your arms tighter around him. You held that position for as long as you could, but ultimately you had to let go. His eyes searched yours, the sombre expression etched onto his face mellowed just a little bit as you felt your heart beats a little less painfully at the turmoil he seems to be facing. He leaned forwards as you sunk your forehead onto his chest.
“Can we continue shopping or do you wanna just order in?” You offered.
“Parsley butter.”
His nonsensical answer brought a smile back to your face. Now that’s your Simon.
