drownedinverse

[drownedinverse]

imagine being best friends with daryl with him being completely in love with you and one day you are telling him about how you think you are never gonna be loved bc all of your exes were bad and daryl almost colapses and thinks to himself: 😭😭BUT IM RIGHT HERE CANT YOU SEE😭😭

AHAHA I LOVED THIS BAE LIKE YES?? like poor daryl is just trying to breathe while you’re trauma dumping about your exes and he’s sitting there like 🧍🏻‍♂️ “I am literally in love with you”

⸻

You flopped onto the grass beside Daryl with a heavy sigh, arms crossed dramatically over your chest.

“I’m gonna die alone,” you announced to no one in particular.

Daryl blinked. “What?”

“No, seriously. I’ve thought about it,” you continued, totally unbothered by the emotional chaos you were dropping into the world. “Every guy I’ve dated has been the worst. Like, impressively bad. It’s actually kind of a talent.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, eyes narrowing. “You talkin’ about that douchebag from Hilltop again?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. He said my knife collection was ‘unladylike.’ Like okay…sorry I have hobbies.”

Daryl made laughed for a moment, stoping himself after you gave him a look.

“Anyway…it’s fine. I’ve accepted my fate. I’m just not the kind of girl people fall in love with,” you said, pulling a blade of grass and twirling it around your fingers.

Daryl’s eyes shot at you.

“What?” he asked.

You waved a hand. “You know! I’m like the funny side character. The comic relief. Everyone’s like, ‘Oh yeah, she’s cool’ and then goes and marries someone named Tiffany or whatever.”

He stared at you.

Stared.

Visibly in love.

Emotionally combusting.

Mentally screaming I AM RIGHT HERE WHAT DO YOU MEAN.

Instead, all he managed was a grunt and an awkward elbow to your arm.

“Sure there’s… lots of guys willin’ to give ya a go.”

You snorted. “Wow. Sooo romantic, Dixon.” Dragging out all the syllables.

He shrugged. “‘S true.”

“Think I’d scare ‘em off.”

He glanced at you.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “But I’d stay.”

“…what?”

“Nothin’.”

⸻

[drownedinverse]

[drownedinverse]

── .✦ 𐔌 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐒 & 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 𐦯

[ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 ⊹ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ]

✧ pairing: daryl dixon x fem!reader

✧ contains: fluff and sweetness without end. daryl being an awkward little bug.

✧ warnings & triggers: nothing really, just daryl being daryl. mention of walkers.

✧ era: early seasons!daryl — more specifically season 1, back at the atlanta camp, though some headcanons could be also for the farm & prision arc. (i love with all my heart how this man is at the beginning of the show, he's such a little baby boy).

✧ word count: 0.6k words.

a/n: hey there! it has been a long time, hasn't it? school keeps me busy and stressed, that's why i haven't been able to write anything 😭 i'm sorry if there's any grammatical or spelling error, i wrote this in a rush, but i hope you like it. 🫶🏻

ᡣ𐭩 : early seasons!daryl having a crush on you !

⊹ early seasons!daryl who thinks you're the prettiest girl in camp, even if he'd rather walk into a pit full of walkers than admitting it out loud. he's clearly not good with words, much less with people, but he can't deny that every time he sees you, it makes him feel something flutter in his chest, or rather in his stomach. whatever thing it is, though, it sure bothers him a lot.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who doesn't realize it is actually a crush, —or doesn't want to—, so he decides not to make a big deal out of it and leaves it like some kind of silly atraction towards you. (not like he knows his feelings and emotions anyways).

⊹ early seasons!daryl who finds himself glancing at your form more and more often than he'd thought, and every time he realizes what he's doing, quickly averts his gaze with a frown forming and a blush creeping onto his face. he just hopes that nobody —specially you or merle— has caught him staring.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who's always keeping an eye on you when you go into the woods, whether it is for taking a walk, or for picking up some little flowers. he wants to make sure you're safe and that there are no threats around you.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who absolutely melts into a puddle every time you thank him in that sweet voice of yours for the squirrels he brought to keep everybody fed. his heart starts pumping in his chest so hard that he fears he might be having a heart attack, but none of that happens, instead he just grumbles something inaudible in a gruff tone and walks off to where he's settled with merle, leaving a confused you with a cute pout on your lips.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who's constantly teased by merle about how he's finally got a pretty sweetheart like you, which usually ends up with daryl barking insults and cursers at his brother as he fiercely denies whatever he's thinking.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who's always avoiding you like the plague. he doesn't think he'll be capable of talking to you without being harsh or rude by instinct —or without blushing like a damn teenager—, so he does what it seems to be the most rational thing in these cases—run off when you're close.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who gets grumpier around you. his crush makes him self-conscious, and it comes out as irritation. he might snap or grumble more than usual—not because he's angry, but because he’s frustrated with himself for feeling something he doesn’t know how to handle.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who panics inside when you accidentally brush against him. he's not really fond of physical touch, so when for whatever reason you touch him, he's an absolute mess. he pretends to be unaffected, or even annoyed by it, but internally, it's chaos.

⊹ early seasons!daryl whose brain stops working every time you're really kind to him. a compliment about how good he's with his crossbow? a gentle look for something he did? a worried gaze when you offer him more food? it floors him. he might scoff or roll his eyes, but hours later he’ll be replaying it in his head like it was the only thing that happened that day.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who realizes —more like accepts— that he's actually in love with you after a very long time. but gets scared easily about it because he doesn't want to mess things up with his stupid feelings. deep down, daryl doesn’t think he’s good enough for someone like you, so he holds back, convinced that getting too close will ruin whatever fragile bond you have. he’d rather suffer in silence than risk rejection.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who does nothing about his crush and just settles for the friendship you have—if he can call it that, since you never really have the chance to talk to him properly because he always gets himself lost when he spots you walking towards him.

a/n: i have it bad for this man (who doesn't?)

[drownedinverse]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕: 𝟏

Summary: you are the daughter of a former criminal turned government informant and you find yourself held hostage as leverage against your father’s betrayal. Rescued by a silent, masked operative you know only as Ghost (for now teehee), you are thrust into a relentless cross-country flight through seedy motels, safe houses, and roadside diners, hiding from a network of enemies determined to have you back or worse. As the danger deepens, so does the uneasy bond between you and your stoic protector.

Tw: mild age gap (reader is 20ish Ghost is 37ish) kidnapping/abduction, violence/gun violence, blood/injury (brief but present), psychological trauma? (if i miss anything let me know! I'm still new to this🥲 lol)

The rain hammered the windshield, but it couldn’t drown out the ringing in your ears or the memory on a loop: the front door splintering, boots slamming against tile, masked men rushing in. Rough hands grabbing you before you could scream, dragging you backward into what felt like a box truck. The sting of a needle in your neck was the last thing you felt before the black took over.

Now, you’re awake.

Your head throbs. Your wrists are bound zip ties digging into your skin like they hold a grudge. The wallpaper peels in long strips, curling like old scabs, stained with mold and time. The air is thick sour with mildew, sweat, and stale beer. And the dingy carpet beneath you smells like it died years ago.

Panic builds in your chest.

How long have you been unconscious? How long have you been here? Where is here, even?

And God—your head. It hurts so badly you just want to curl up and cry.

But you don’t.

Your father raised you better than that. Just... not for this.

Fear twists in your gut, cold and sharp as broken glass. You know what this means.

They have you. They want him.

Adrian Vale your father. The ghost in the machine. Once the invisible hand behind one of the world’s largest illegal weapons networks, high-rise assassinations, and million-dollar laundering rings. The shadow behind shadows.

Then one day, he flipped.

You still don’t know why. The government had offered him amnesty for intel, and he took it. You didn’t even know he was considering it. He never explained he never explained anything, really. You only knew pieces of the truth from your own digging.

“New life,” he had said. “For both of us.”

But the underworld doesn’t forget. And it never forgives.

Now you’re leverage. Collateral. A warning.

It’s been, what four weeks? Since he turned state’s witness. Since he gave up names, routes, codes. Since he traded his empire for a new name and a quiet, government-issued life. And you got a new life too.

Or so you thought.

You’ve been telling yourself this isn't his fault. That he did it to protect you. That he'd come for you or send someone who would. It’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

He did.

It started with three short knocks.

Then silence.

The twitchy guy guarding the door leaned in to check the peephole. The one with the neck tattoo and dead eyes.

Boom.

The door exploded inward, slamming the man into the dresser with a wet crack making you flinch. Smoke flooded the room. Shouting. And then—

Him.

Black tactical gear gloves gleamed, smeared with blood or oil, maybe both. And over his face: a skull mask, stark and expressionless. The kind you'd only seen in grainy black-and-white surveillance stills.

He moved like smoke.

no wasted motion. No hesitation.

The second guard turned.

Too late.

And then he was in front of you.

One shot to the thigh. Another clean through the skull. He dropped like a ragdoll.

The third tried to run. He hardly took three steps.

And then he was in front of you.

Crouched low. Silent. Calculating.

He pulled a photo from a pouch, held it up close to your face. His eyes flicked from it to you, back and forth, scanning. Confirming.

You looked away.

He touched a finger to his earpiece. “I’ve located her. We’re heading to the van.”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs. For all you knew, this man wasn’t here to rescue you just to move you somewhere worse. Your father had enemies everywhere.

He drew a knife the steel gleamed in motel gloom.

You tensed.

but he only sliced the zip ties. Clean and precise.

You rubbed your raw wrists. “who are you?”

He scanned the room again.

“Call me Ghost,” he said, clipped and unreadable. “Your father’s new friends in the government sent me. there's no time questions. We need to move. before more people show.”

“More?” Your voice cracked.

The world spun, your balance still a half-step behind reality.

He paused, eyes narrowing behind the mask. “This was a message. They know your father flipped. They won’t stop.”

He tossed you a hoodie and a cap black, both of them. You could smell the faint, metallic tang of gun powder and blood in the air.

You pulled them on, trying not to think about the nausea building in you stomach.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“That’s my problem,” he replied. “All you need to do is follow orders.”

The rain needled your face as you stepped into the alley behind the motel. A black SUV idled at the curb, sleek and silent. No plates. No markings.

He opened the passenger door for you, eyes sweeping the rooftops. “In. Now.”

You climbed in just before he slammed the door shut behind you. The vehicle peeled away from the curb, low and fast, like a predator vanishing into the night.

You watched the city blur past, lights bleeding across wet glass like ghosts. You felt yourself slipping away with them.

“Where are we going?” you asked again, voice smaller than before.

Ghost pulled a tablet from his vest, scrolling through encrypted overlays and maps that didn’t look like they belonged to this country or this decade.

“Safehouse,” he said. “Eventually. But we can’t go direct. They’ve got eyes on everything—PD, DEA, DHS. Possibly more.”

You frowned. “So.... what’s the plan?”

He looked at you longer this time. Assessing.

“Right now?” he said. “We get distance. and then you need to disappear.”

You nodded. “And what do I tell people?”

You nodded slowly, the gravity of it sinking in.

“And what do I tell people?”

He eyes bore into you. “You tell them nothing. You contact anyone, you kill them.”

It hit you hard even though the list of people you loved wasn’t long.

Your father’s world never left room for that.

You leaned back in the seat. the SUV humming beneath you like a pulse. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only the hollow ache of exhaustion, and the cold.

City lights streamed across your face.

You didn’t know where this road led. Didn’t know who you’d be at the end of it.

But you knew one thing:

You were a target.

And the man beside you?

He was probably the only reason you were still breathing.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[drownedinverse]

My honest reaction:

Is this not literally Simon Riley

[drownedinverse]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral,ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: this is a repost to my new account! Tumblr has completely stuffed me over so I apologise. Just trying to be visible again!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

Continuar lendo

[drownedinverse]

Ridiculous

hello just a general announcement

everyone please go block this account. they are stealing other people’s works and claiming them as their own. this lack of respect for the people in this community who work hard is not tolerated.

either come up with something on your own or don’t post at all. it’s such loser behavior and honestly they should be ashamed.

i have contacted the original author of each stolen work and i encourage everyone to do the same as this person is literally following the people they are stealing from.

[drownedinverse]

whoever came up with kissing someone's hand as a sign of respect knew what they were doing. slut.

[drownedinverse]

This is the kind of fanfic that makes you want to watch the canon.

I have never watched GoT in my life and I'm completely enamorated.

💖

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Particular Risk

Synopsis: They say taking a risk could drown you-- but you knew it must be taken, and if you were to jump in the deep end, your knight would always follow you closely behind. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Realizations, Jealousy, Fluff, Princess Taking Risks PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: MWAH 💋

“No! I’ve already worn this last year— and this the year before that!” You explained as you tried to find a headpiece for your father’s name day celebration. It was a tradition that each name day of the king was celebrated with a masquerade ball— a tradition you had looked forward to each year, always amused and excited to attend such an event. Through the years, it had become vexing as you took it upon yourself to wear a headpiece unique and unlike the other you had worn or anything similar to other members of the court. “How about this, princess? It—“ You cut off the masque maker, “My cousin had already worn a mask similar to that one three years before,” You sighed, struggling to find the final piece of your ensemble for the ball that was fast approaching. 

“If I may, princess— perhaps you have a design in mind? If none of these are to your liking, we are more than happy to create a piece completly unique to you.” The masque maker suggested, not wanting to leave their princess unhappy. You paused for a moment and thought about the proposition before nodding; Ser Aemond was quick to your aid and handed you your leather-bound sketchbook and charcoal. You smiled upon him in gratitude, trying to urge yourself to grow accustomed to the quickening in your heart each time your eyes met and your skin brushed. Aemond marveled at how quick you were to sketch what you desired, quickly creating what you wished. You tore the page and handed it to the masque maker. It was a mask in the intricate design of a butterfly wing. “And I want it to be made with sapphires and… and perhaps gold, if it’s not too heavy,” You say, pointing at the places you wished to put the precious gemstones. “Of course, princess, we shall make it right away,” The masque maker bowed and proceeded to leave with haste to complete your masque for the ball that was merely three days away. 

As he left you, bit your lip and frowned, “Did you think I was too demanding?” You suddenly asked Ser Aemond as you rested your back on your settee. Second-guessing your particularity and having to ask the masque maker to make you a specific mask when, in truth, the masks he presented were completely adequate. “No, princess,” Aemond replied, questioning why you asked such a question. “Why would you think so?” You sighed and shrugged, “Well, it’s just… I feel guilty— maybe the masque maker thinks I do not think his designs are good to the point that I had to make my own; I do not wish to offend him…” You pouted, taking hold of the masques he had left, twirling the feather decoration between your fingers. “You are too kind, princess,” Aemond said, his heart warming and concerned at how such a little encounter made you feel guilty. “You know what it is you want— that is an admirable quality,” Aemond hummed.

“Is it? My mother always said my particularity is a sin because it makes me demanding,” You muttered. Aemond straightened his stance, “There is a difference between knowing what you want and demanding what you want, princess,” He said, “Being demanding is you take for granted all that you are given— asking and asking for more without even a speck of gratitude. That is not you, princess… that is never you,” You smiled at your knight as his words only made you fall deeper for him. “That is very kind of you to say,” You smiled, trying to reign in the flush that crept up your cheeks. Aemond bit the insides of his cheeks as he realized the smile on your lips was because of him. 

When the day of the ball arrived, the keep was busied to prepare for the night's festivities. Ser Aemond stood outside your door as you were prepared for the party in your father’s name, observing and listening to your pacing footsteps as you frantically got ready. “Tighter, please.” You say as you steadied yourself by the poster of your bed. “Are you certain, princess? Can you even breathe?” Your handmaid questions, apprehension heavy in her voice. You nodded and took in a deep breath as your corset was tightened to your liking. You let out a sigh as your body was hugged further by the bodice of your dress. You moved towards your vanity as your handmaid began to style your hair. Theodore lept upon the table, and you cooed at your cat, who was almost fully grown, placing a special collar and a special headpiece on his head so he would not feel left out for the day’s gala. 

A knock sounded out as your handmaiden finished styling your hair. You thanked her and dismissed her, and in exchange, Ser Aemond entered your chambers holding two silk boxes. “Your masque has arrived, princess,” Ser Aemond stated and placed down the boxes on your vanity table. A wide grin spread upon your lips as you inspected the mask made to your specifications and wants. He turned towards the other box, not certain of what it could contain, for he knew you had only sent out one design, but he did not question it. 

You gently placed down the masque and stood, taking hold of the unopened box, and walked to Ser Aemond, urging him to take it. “Pardon, princess?” he asked as he was uncertain what you meant. “It’s yours— I sent them another design and asked them to make a mask for you,” You smiled. Aemond blinked. “I… I am not in need of a mask, princess— I am not a guest.” He said, but you only shook your head. 

“All who will be in the hall later are in need to wear a masque! You are to be my side later on, are you not?” You question, and Ser Aemond nodded. “Of course, I will be by your side—but I do not need a mask— if anything, it would hinder me from my duty. I already only have one eye; it would be cumbersome if I wore a mask and obstructed the view of the other,” He explained, and you pursed your lips. “Which is why I designed one specifically for you,” You say and urge him once again to open the box. Ser Aemond did so hesitantly. Aemond pursed his lips as he was presented with a mask that matched yours. One that covered his damaged eye with a gleaming sapphire. Aemond swallowed thickly, at a loss for words. Had you known his secret? How did you know all that he hid? 

“Do you not like it?” You asked, slight dread in your stomach as your knight only gaped upon the mask you designed. “No— I…I do,” He suddenly spoke, fearing he offended you. You bit your lip as you could not read his eye, “If you truly do not wish to wear a mask, I understand,” You said and tried to take it from his hold, but he hindered you. “No, I shall wear it. Thank you, princess,” your knight assured, and you nodded, hoping you did not force upon your knight the mask. 

“Princess, the guests are arriving,” You hear a squire call out, and you move to wear your mask and carry Theodore in your arms. As you turned your gaze to your knight, Ser Aemond had already forgone his eyepatch and wore the mask that matched yours— a picture of unity that you could humor yourself with. You smiled as he led out his arm for you to take as the two of you went down to the reception hall. “Happy name day, Father!” You greeted as you saw your father standing by the great doors, already wearing his mask. “Thank you, my darling, and don’t you look lovely,” The king smiled, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and petted her beloved cat. The king moved to glance at the knight who stood behind his daughter, Ser Aemond giving a bow at the king, who gave a nod and noticed how Ser Aemond’s maks matched his daughter’s; the king said naught a word. 

You took your place by the left of your brother, and your knight stood behind you. “Did you truly bejeweled your cat’s collar?” Your brother asked, looking upon Theodore, who was perfectly behaved in your arms. “Of course! No child of mine would be underdressed!” You say, placing a kiss on your cat’s back, and your brother lets out an amused breath as you claim the feline to be your child. You greeted the guests who attended the celebration, but you could not help but be distracted and glance towards your knight— sneaking a look upon him as he surveilled all who came and, if any, presented danger. Gods, the sapphire truly suited him. You could not help but think. You let out a breath and returned to face forward to return at the matter at hand, fearing Ser Aemond would notice your glances and learn of your affection for him. 

When the party had moved to the great hall, you found your way back to your knight, ushering you along the crowded room. The two of you were supposed to make your way toward the long table at the end of the grand hall, but the call of your name, unchained by any title, made you both pause. Ser Aemond was quick to frown at who had the gall to call upon you so openly. He turned to you, and before he could utter a word, you left his side and readily ran towards the call. Aemond felt a twisting in his gut as you ran towards the man and threw your arms around him— the stranger twirling around and even went as far as to kiss your cheek. Aemond swallowed thickly, not knowing what to do. He knew he must be by your side, but he could not bear to be there when another took his place. 

“I did not know you would attend! Why did you not write to me?” He heard your question, watching as you took hold of the man’s hand and pulled towards the end table, walking past him without another glance. Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened as he followed you and the stranger whom your brother and your father readily and warmly welcomed. Absent was any recognition from your mother— which was not at all surprising. “You did not tell us you will attend!” Your brother greeted in surprise, hugging the man and giving him a clap on the back. “Of course, I would never miss the king’s name day,” He charmingly smiled, and Aemond watched you roll your eyes as if it were something amusing that completely flew over Aemond’s head— he could not even bear to look upon the man’s face as he was certain if he did, he would have to battle with the urge to maim him. Who was he?! 

Throughout the whole night, you were enveloped with merriment and were entertained by the man that Aemond had slipped away form your side, and he was certain that you had not even noticed. He watched from a distance as you spun on the dance floor, laughing carelessly whilst in the arm of another. Aemond looked away, unable to bear such a scene. Jealousy was consuming him, but at the same time, he knew he had no right to feel such emotions, for he was only your knight. And yet, envy gnawed at him— coursing through his veins and making the scar of his eye throb and burn. 

At the height of the party, you excused yourself to have a breath of fresh air; you looked around the hall in search of your knight. You had been trying to capture his gaze the whole night, trying to spot his unique silver hair, but he had been seamlessly in the crowd, denying you to gaze upon his lilac eye. You went towards the farthest balcony alone, wagering to yourself that your knight would somehow find you— that an unknown presence would pull him towards you. It did. 

“I haven’t seen you the whole night,” You stated, staring at the moon at the distant sound of the party filled the quiet night. You had felt him creep up by his rightful place that he had abandoned the past few hours. “How could you? You were distracted,” Aemond answered, tone holding bitterness that he tried not to seep through, but jealousy was an erratic and unbridled emotion that not many could control. You finally turned to look upon your knight, your smile faltering as you saw his overly stoic demeanor, and he had removed the mask you had made especially for him. “You’re not wearing your mask anymore,” you said quietly, a tad disappointed. “I did not feel the need to, princess,” He answered coldly.

You blinked upon the furrow in his brows. “Are you well?” You questioned, the air between you tenser than it was just a few hours before. “Yes,” Ser Aemond answered curtly. “But you’re frowning,” Ser Aemond shook his head, “I am not, princess.” You playfully rolled your eyes and step closer to your knight. “You are, there’s a line between your brows,” You say, reaching up and trying to smoothen the crease on the middle of his face. But as you did, your knight jerked his head away— as if your touch had scorned him— he moved away as if he were disgusted. “I—“ You say and quickly retrieve your hand, your stomach twisting as you find offense in his actions. “I’m sorry,” You finished your sentence, not expecting him to react in such a way. 

Aemond saw the hurt in your eyes, guilt creeping into his bloodstream, but it was overpowered by the jealousy he felt as he had to observe you with the stranger. “Go back to the party, princess,” He said, voice having the same tone of indifference it had during his first days as your sworn protector. “I… I do not understand you,” you said, resting your hand on your abdomen as the twist in your stomach never left. “One moment, you are warm and… and kind and obliging— then the next, you turn cold and detached… why do you do it?” You asked, as much as you hold affection for Ser Aemond, it was hard to overlook his differing treatment. It confuses you further, and you do not know if his sentiments were genuine or an act. Aemond shook his head once more, not wanting to answer your question. 

“Just return to the party, princess— I’m certain he is waiting for you,” He gritted, not able to meet you in the eye. You frowned, noting the bitterness in his voice, a bitterness you had grown to know as you had felt it more often as of late. You turned your gaze upon his gritted jaw, then to his clenched fists. “Are you jealous?” You suddenly asked, his stature not of anger but rather of jealousy. His reactions are quite the same as yours as you felt such emotions. Aemond scoffed, “What kind of question is that?” He asked in ridicule, once again toeing the line of impertinence as he addressed you in such a tone. 

“A simple one. Are you jealous?” You asked once more, curious as well if that was the emotion he felt and as to why he felt it and what it meant if he were actually jealous. “I do not know what you speak of, princess.” Aemond gritted, not wanting to admit that you knew the precise emotion he felt. You tried to meet his eye, trying to see if he uttered the truth, but he avoided your gaze. You bit your lip in defeat and embarrassment. “Very well then,” you nodded and walked past him and did as he said and returned to the party but your merriment had gone the moment your knight had left your side. 

“Come, let me escort you to your chambers,” Aemond heard the man say as he linked his arms with yours. He could not believe what he heard and saw— you nodded and let him assist you, bidding your family good night, and they only let you go off with the stranger without question. Even your brother, who was overly protective of you when it came to your suitors, only nodded and bid you goodnight, not even batting an eye as he let the man escort you to your chambers. Aemond wanted to scream— to let out his frustrations at what was happening, at how you, the one who had insisted that she wanted nothing to do with a suitor or the opposite sex, let this man escort you to your room. He tried to listen in to your conversation as he trailed behind you in the halls, but your voices were hushed and could not be understood; it was as if you two spoke a secret language— familiarity between the two of you evident and only twisted the heart of Aemond. 

You paused when you reached your door, smiling at the man. Ser Aemond held his breath as he watched you stand at the tip of your toes and give the man a kiss on the cheek. By gods, this was torture. What had he done to bear witness to such a scene? Aemond was ready to succumb to another dimension of hurt and envy, but before he could fall into a further pit of despair, he heard you speak. “Good night… brother,” You smiled fondly. Ser Aemond caught your eye as you quickly glanced at him before disappearing into your chambers, leaving him dumbfounded. Brother?

The next morning came, and everyone in the keep had a later start on the day except for Aemond, who still tried to piece together what you had said the night before. Borther? You had another brother? How did he not know? None had mentioned him before— he was absent from any other event— he was not even present in any of the portraits in the keep. How, then, could he be your brother!?

“Goo—Good morning, princess,” Aemond stuttered as you exited your chambers. His jealousy had simmered and instead turned into nerves as he did not know where the two of you stood after your conversation last night. “Good morning.” You replied curtly, walking past Ser Aemond, growing accustomed to the usual retaliation and routine of ignorance and silence whenever you and your knight would grow cross with one another. He followed you to the gardens, your usual lonesome place now housed your two brothers who waited for you. “There you are!” Your brother, whose name he was still yet to know, greeted. “I still cannot believe you did not tell us that you were coming! We could have prepared your room!” You greeted your brother as he assisted you to your chair. “Well, in truth, my coming was unplanned— I was only near the capitol as I had to buy supplies, and I thought I should come to the king’s celebration,” Your brother explained as he fought with you with the piece of pastry you were eyeing, smiling at his tease to acquire what you wanted but in the end, he only placed it onto your plate. 

“I actually have to leave— I had just waited for you to wake so I could bid you goodbye.” The smile on your lips quickly disappeared. “But you’ve only just arrived! And we have not seen you in so long— must you truly go already?” You asked, disappointed upon the revelation. “I’m afraid so; they are waiting for me in the Citadel… but I assure you, I shall come once again during winter— that is if your mother allows me to step foot on capitol grounds.” Aemond frowned upon your other brother’s wording— the prince letting out an amused chuckle as he popped a berry into his mouth. “Fine. But if you are not here by the holidays, I’ll have Father send out men to come fetch you, I swear.” You say as you narrow your eyes, and your brother only smiles. “I know, you’ve done it before.” 

Aemond followed as you and the prince bid goodbye to your brother by the gates. Aemond still wondered about what had happened— at how the man he thought was your suitor was your brother and how your brother was not acknowledged by the court. “Ser Aemond,” the prince nodded as he walked past your knight to attend his duties for the day. Aemond swallowed as he heard you sigh, the two of you now left alone and the tenseness in the air had never departed. You and Aemond were once again succumbed to the silence of indifference— one he hoped would be quick to be gone. It was nearing nightfall, the sky alight with the afterglow of the sun, and Aemond could no longer stomach the two of you not speaking. 

Your knight pursed his lips and let out a grieved breath, daring to take hold of your arm and pull you into an alcove of an empty hall. “What is it?” You asked coldly. “I…. I—“ Your knight could not articulate his words— confusion and remorse taking hold of his senses. You stood there for a moment as Ser Aemond could not make out his words, but the confusion in his eye told you all that you needed to know. “Do you recall when I told you when my mother and father did not marry for love?” You questioned, and Ser Aemond only nodded. “Father loved another… and from that love came our half-brother.” You explained the deepest secret your family had to your knight. “He was born a moon before my mother and father married— but his mother had died during his birth. Instead of disregarding his existence, Father placed him in the care of a distant cousin— and the court has been fed the lie that he is our cousin when, in truth, he was our brother.” 

“He is a bastard,” Aemond stated as he recalled all you had said. His words quickly made a frown slip to your face. “He, is my brother. No matter the state of legitimacy.” You said, and Aemond recoiled as he realized not all held the distaste for bastards as he did because not all had the same treatment he had from the bastards in his family. “I’m sorry, princess,” Aemond said in remorse, not even able to meet your gaze. You pursed your lips and rested your back upon the curved wall of the alcove as you assessed Ser Aemond. It should concern you that even though he had offended you, your heart still yearned for him. “I still do not understand you,” you say. “Whenever I think we are venturing towards a sense of normalcy— that we’re getting somewhat closer… you grow cold and distance yourself.” You hated this— you hated to sound as such before Ser Aemond because you knew, at its core, your relationship did not warrant any speck of closeness or anything that resembled intimacy. He was your knight, and you were simply his duty. 

Aemond licked his lips as he had no words to explain why he did such action— well, he did have the words, but he knew he could not utter it. “That is just how I am, princess,” he reasoned, but you sighed and crossed your arms across your chest, looking to your left and momentarily distracting yourself with the view of the afterglow. “I do not believe you.” You say quietly. “You do not have to,” Aemond answered. “So last night… your reaction was not brought forth by jealousy— what was it then?” You questioned, daring to utter the question even though you took the risk of hurting your pride once more. Aemond bit his tongue, having no way out of the conversation. He swallowed thickly, and before he could listen to reason and before his sensibilities could hinder him, he spoke the truth. “It was.” You frowned and wondered if you heard correctly. “Why?” You questioned in disbelief. 

Aemond turned to his right and stared out into the afterglow as well, knowing in himself there was no escape— he knew he must take the risk even if his station and pride would be on the line. “Because… because he took my place.” He said, not having the guts to offer half-truths or a made-up reason to defend his actions. “You had not even noticed my departure, for you were too consumed by his presence,” he mumbled, not able to hinder himself once more. “So you were jealous because you thought he was my suitor, and my attention was on him instead of you…” You trailed, your knight unmoving and providing no validation for your question. “Why would you be jealous?” In truth, you thought he had no care— that he was immune to such emotions, for your affections were certainly unrequited… wasn’t it?

You locked eyes with his unique lilac ones. The silence was palpitating but never uncomfortable. None uttered a word, but each moment you held your sworn protector’s gaze, you found your answer. You let out a shaky breath as you realized Ser Aemond’s gaze mirrored yours— that your emotions were one with his. And with such realizations, words were taken from you, and all you could do was close the damned gap between and take the risk. You stood on the tip of your toes and let your lips be met with your knight’s because you knew what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. Just him. 

[drownedinverse]

A Desperate Man- Part 6

Simon is so desperate for you, and he—still—can't bring himself to care.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You feel like you're floating—all night long.

Simon Riley? Turns out he's gentler than you expected.

You swap stories—some funny, some light, some heavy. But all of them real. True. And for the first time, you get a glimpse of the man beyond the mask—the one behind the eerie shadow of silence and solitude.

He tells you about his love for dogs—really, any animal. He's shocked you're still interested in him. Even when he gets tipsy and rambles on about guns—his favorite models, mods, and attachments. But you just smile, heart skipping a beat. He could be talking about paint drying and you'd still be enraptured. You'd just watch and listen in awe, as if he hung the moon and stars.

You share your own pieces—your hobbies, what you do when you're not patching up bullet wounds and broken ribs. When you tell this man that you cook—and bake? He's done for. Already picturing you cooking and baking for him. And you can tell—you can just see it in his eyes. Ghost, the man with a kill count larger than the number of patients you've saved, already picturing you barefoot in his kitchen, apron dusted with flour, offering him something warm and homemade. By you.

But more than that, he's in awe. Of you. Passing medical school, becoming a trauma surgeon good enough to be on his base? That's something to be proud of. Something to notice.

You keep talking, telling him bits and pieces of your childhood, and don't push him to do the same.

First-date rules: don't scare him off. Don't pry too deep. Not when you've finally seen the man behind the mask—and now that you have? Losing him is not an option.

...

You shift slightly, knee brushing against his under the table. His eyes flick down, then back up to yours.

"You're staring," you murmur, a teasing tilt to your voice.

"I'm allowed," he replies with a huff. "It's my first date."

You smirk. "Bold of you to assume there will be a second."

He leans in, just enough for his presence to steal your breath.. enough to silently demand dominance. "Oh, there'll be a second. Unless you've got a habit of ghosting men who tell you you're a beautiful, brilliant woman."

Your soft laugh rises from your chest before you can stop it.

"You tell that to all the women who stitch you up?"

"Only the ones who leave a scar and make me feel something."

You falter a beat, pulse thrumming in your ears. You glance down at your hands, then back at him—and he's already watching you like you're something rare. Precious.

"What?" you ask softly, smile still lingering as your cheeks flush a deeper pink.

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath the gaiter. "Nothin'. Just... you."

The air shifts. Warm, but electric. And for once, neither of you quips with a joke, or deflect into the safety of silence.

...

You feel the shift in the air—warmth creeping up your neck, settling in your chest, coiling low in your stomach.

You clear your throat, eyes darting away from his. “We should get going,” you murmur, voice barely steady. “We've got jobs to do in the morning, and I need to—uh—wash up, prep, all that.”

He nods slowly but doesn't respond or move to stand right away. Just studies you, head tilted slightly like he's weighing something.

Then he speaks, voice low and amused:

"You're nervous."

You scoff slightly, a quiet breathy sound. "No, I'm not."

"You are," he says, teasing you. Yet, it's the truth. "But, it's okay. It's cute."

Eventually you both push your chairs back and stand.

"I've got the bill," he says, already pulling his wallet out.

"Simon, you don't have to—"

"I want to." His tone leaves no room for argument. "Least I can do, considering you've made my entire week."

You don't argue. Not when he's already on his feet waiting for you. Not when he moves to your side and gestures towards the door.

"I'm walking you back."

You arch a brow. "Chivalry's not dead, huh?"

He shrugs, mouth twitching beneath the gaiter. "Just buried under a lot of Kevlar."

He opens the door for you, the night air cool against your flushed cheeks as you step out. He follows, close but not too close as you walk back to base. When you stop just outside your quarters, the silence settles in again—charged. Waiting.

He shifts slightly, eyes meeting yours. Theres a flicker of hesitation—of something unspoken. Then he reaches up, slowly and deliberately, pulls his gaiter down, letting it fall around his neck.

You blink, breath catching in your throat.

Sharp jaw. A faint scar that vertically cuts through both lips, one cutting through the stubble on his cheek. Soft pink lips, slightly curved up in a knowing smirk. He doesn't break eye contact.

"Can I?" he asks, voice softer now, bare in more ways than one.

Your heart stops—but you nod.

He leans in, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you don't. You tilt your chin, pulse pounding as his lips brush yours. Light. Testing. A question.

You answer.

Your hand finds his arm, steady, and he deepens it just a little—enough to really feel it, but not enough to rush you. It's not desperate. It's not wild. It's soft. Meaningful.

The kind of kiss that stays with you for a lifetime. Engraved in your mind.

When he pulls back, he lingers—forehead resting gently against yours.

"Yeah," he chuckles softly. "Definitely a second date."

[drownedinverse]

husband!simon who is being tormented with nightmares warnings!: nightmares (if is that even a warning)

Simon Riley was never good at sleeping. After years of trauma, his sleep was light. Broken. Sometimes hours, sometimes seconds.

And it wasn’t his fault. Scars that deep don’t heal right — maybe never will.

He was lying in the king-sized bed you two had wanted so bad, staring at the ceiling. Eyes open. You were asleep next to him. He didn’t want to wake you up.

Sweat. A tight grip on the tactical knife hidden under his pillow — the same one you said was reckless, dangerous. That’s what Simon was right then: A disgusting mountain of sweat and fear.

Fear? Fear of the dead. Of the faces. The sounds. Everything that followed him home from that mission.

Everything that still wouldn’t let him go.

If he could, he’d be crying.

Any normal person would be crying after dreaming what he just dreamed.

But Simon was a soldier. Not just any soldier. One who had seen too much. Too much, too much, to cry like some scared little boy.

A sound outside made his body tense. His grip on the knife tightened.

“Go back to sleep, Simon,” you mumbled, still half-dreaming, half-awake. His breathing had already pulled you from REM.

“I was sleeping,” he growled.

“No, you weren’t,” you answered, curling into his chest.

“I was. You were asleep, how would you even know—”

“Your damn breathing.”

Silence. He was about to argue. But stopped. His breathing… yeah. It wasn’t so quiet anymore.

Fuck.

A soldier, and he couldn’t even let his wife sleep?

“…Okay. Maybe I wasn’t.”

“Deep breath. One, two. Close your eyes. I’m here.”

And you really were.

And you’d never leave his side.

[drownedinverse]

I just had the most John Price-coded interaction ever

Im a cart girl at a golf course and I just pulled up to a group smoking cigars, and as we’re chatting (I’m trying to get tips, okay?) one guy(mid 40’s muscular) saw me looking at his cigar and asked if I smoked, I said no and he asked if I wanted to try, I agreed so he held it for me as I took a puff and chucked as I coughed, then told me I was “too sweet for smoke anyways” and bought a round of drinks.

His friends just kinda looked at him shocked

Anyway John price x cart girl!reader when?

Soon, maybe.

[drownedinverse]

Simon Riley being unexpectedly routine with everything he does, which in turn makes you more routine.

Simon Riley who was so used to chaos and uncertainty that when he finally had time to settle off duty, he was only able to feel a purpose through repeating his little daily tasks.

Simon Riley who inadvertently encourages you to take better care of yourself because of course you have to brush your teeth at night with him before bed and of course you need to eat breakfast at the table at the same time every morning and why wouldn't you join him on his evening walks every night at 6pm.

Simon Riley who can't help but feel a crushing lack of presence when you're not around some nights, only because you're not there to join him and make his routines "complete." </3

[drownedinverse]

kidnapper!simon riley when you warm up to him. cw: kidnapping and stockholm syndrome

simon was a selfish man, a pure debauched and corrupt soul with immoral fantasies. none of which he had acted out, because no one had satisfied that one itch he couldn't scratch, until he caught eye of a sweet thing like you.

met purely in passing, not sparing him a second glance as you ushered by. he wasn't surprised, a pretty thing like you wouldn't dare pay mind to a sickening man such as himself, even if you hadn't known it in the moment.

but he knew he had to have you, oh, you were such an enigma, one he wanted to pry apart himself, crack you rib by rib until your heart laid unprotected to him. such a pretty thing he wanted to have.

oh, and even prettier you are when you cried, thrashing and writhing against him. you fought hard, harder than he expected for a little darling he painted you to be. his dark voice cooed in your ear, asking, almost sweetly, for you to calm down.

how could you, though, as he took you far from the city, a little cabin in the woods with smoke billowing out of the brick chimney. homey, almost, if it weren't for the fact he dragged you through the forest, hauling you roughly over his shoulder the more you struggled.

he kept you in the dark, dingy depths of the cellar, your soft sobs causing his skin to crawl. sure, he felt bad at your broken cries, but he wasn't plagued with guilt, or remorse, it didn't keep him up at night.

he was a poor man, a social reject, and the fact you treated him as such is what kept him up. he was gruff, blunt, unwanted and cryptic. it didn't stop him from fucking his fist, rough palm tightly wound around his aching, meaty cock drooling with pre. head thrown back and pupils blown as he imagined your tear-stained face before he came on his soft stomach, cleaned himself up, and rolled over in bed.

but he took care of you, or at least he tried. you didn't eat the food he beared, in fear of poison, or wear the clothes he provided, because maybe that would be acceptance. it caused a frown to watch you grow thinner.

he watched the way you recoiled from his dirty hands, stained and tainted, even he was hesitant to touch your pure skin, but after a while, he realised you might never come around, and he couldn't let you starve. not after all his effort.

sure, you were squirming under his muscly arms, nails digging into his flesh as he gently spooned food to your lips, holding you against his broad chest. it was a slow process, but the more he managed through to your throat, the more you relaxed.

your body remained tense and poised, but at least you were no longer fighting him and now eating. admittedly, it tasted good, and maybe that's where everything turned around, he thought.

because now the house was free-reign, no longer did he keep you in that musty cellar, but he did proof the house of any escape. with this new space, unbound, it was like you had reverted to your old behavior, until eventually, your old habits began to die.

you didn't know why or how it had developed, but now you had such a deep yearning, an insatiable want, for domesticity that you'd start lingering by his side, like a rough shadow, but you'd still stumble back if he turned too sharply, or took a step too quick.

he didn't mind, though, he just hadn't expected it, not after you'd put up such a fight when he first took you, but he remained cautious. maybe you'd become a fawn, appeasing him until he had given you enough freedom to slip from his grasp.

but you looked to him with doting eyes as you slipped under his arm, face nuzzled into his broad chest, hearing the way his heart thumped. it made you feel warm, and fuzzy. you couldn't help but feel bad for simon, depraved and socially excluded, a truly sick man. maybe it was best to give him what he wanted.

the wooden floors creaked barely under your weight as you carried yourself from the uncomfortable couch in the living room, the flames in the fireplace burning out as night began to settle. simon lay in the haunting dark of his bedroom, blankets lazily thrown over him as he laid in his cold, lonely bed.

his ears perked at the sound of movement, hairs raised on the back of his neck, and he held slight fear that maybe you'd come to stab him in his sleep, but all worries dissipated as the bed dipped, sheets ruffling as you tucked yourself into his chest, leeching his warmth as he held you through the night. pressing a kiss to your temple at your acceptance, that you were now his.

[drownedinverse]

I still remember reading something about Kidnapper!Simon Riley a few months back and i still think about it. Heres my take 😭

Warnings: Kidnapping, probably a little ooc (not intentionally), dubcon

Kidnapper!Simon who thinks you’re the sweetest little thing to grace this earth, even as you kick and claw at him.

Simon would never force you into his arms, no, hes willing to play the long game. But when you refuse to eat or drink what he provides you out of protest, he wont watch his little bird starve.

“I know, birdie. I know.” He grunts in a sick attempt to be soothing as thick, gloved fingers push food into your mouth. His other hand is squeezing the hinges of your jaw to keep your mouth wedged open.

“I don’t like it either, love. I know your scared.”

He tilts your head back.

“Swallow, love.”

When he’s not forcing you to take care of yourself, he usually just quietly observes. He’ll leave puzzles out on the table for you, maybe even your phone on the days you dont bite him. (He doesnt tell you that hes bugged the damn thing so you cant text anyone for help)

Some days, though. Youre actions even suprise him.

There’s been days where he’s decided to give you more space than usual, where he wont even watch you. What catches him by suprise is when you purposefully seek him out, just to start hitting him or being all pouty in the corner of the rooms he’s in.

Its like you’re looking for a reaction.. He doesn’t understand why you walk in, all flushed and pouty just to start hitting him. Why do you-

Oh.

Wether it be sick delusion in Simon’s mind, or if he’s read you a little too well, he figures this is your reluctant way of asking for a good fucking.

He chuckles, striding over to the corner you’re pouting in.

“Alrigh’ sweetness. C’mere.” He croons, gathering you up against his chest even as you fight him.

“ ‘Ave i been neglecting you? Hm? Been too polite?”

He wrangles you onto the bed, ignoring the claw marks you leave down his chest and the weak protests and insults you spit at him.

You yelp as he makes quick work of your clothes, the cold air hitting your puffy cunt as soon as your panties are off.

God, its been ages.

“Fuck..” Simon breathes. If they could, his eyes would bulge out of his head.

He’s quick to fish his hard cock out of his trousers, the sight only amplifiying your protests and how you scowl and scratch at him. His arms are red with your marks.

“Easy, birdie. I’ll go nice and slow, yeah? It’ll feel so good..” He coos, pawing at your tits as his tip nudges your pussy.

When he finally fucks into you, as nice and slow as he promised, you hate how good it feels.

You hate that the slight curve of his dick nudges against that spongy spot inside of you so nicely.

You hate the praise and the way he coos at you, and how he tells you how ‘good ya feel wrapped around him’.

You hate the sounds that spill past your lips; mewls and whines for more, or just downright moans that bless his ears.

“That’s it, birdie.. doesn’t tha’ feel good, hm? Is this what you needed?” He croons, eyes fixed on your blissed out face as your orgasm peaks.

But what Simon loves the most?

The way you act afterward. All subdued and sweet; no longer scratching or fighting him. You lean your head against his chest, softly mouthing at it as your eyelids flutter shut.

God he hopes that seed took.

[drownedinverse]

don’t tempt me.

fuckboy!simon x nerdy!reader

cw: mentions of sex, no actual smut, angst, fever, mean girls, lowkey mean!simon at the beginning, swearing, roommate!simon

wc: 1.6k

The walls were too thin.

That was the first thing you learned about living with Simon Riley. That, and the fact that he was the human equivalent of a red flag dipped in cologne and ego. A nightmare wrapped in gray sweatpants and a jawline you could bleed on.

And somehow, impossibly, you ended up sharing rent with him. College rent to be exact.

Simon was loud, smug, and gorgeous in the kind of way that didn’t feel fair. You hated how casually he carried himself, how the air shifted when he walked into a room — like gravity bent a little in his favor. You hated the girls he brought home even more.

You never learned their names. Just the sound of their heels on hardwood, their laughter that never reached their eyes, and the wet, rhythmic thud of headboard against drywall that made you curl tighter under your blanket and wish you could disappear.

Tonight was no different.

Except you were sick.

Bone-deep, fever-slick, throat-on-fire sick.

You’d spent the last two days buried in blankets, lungs rattling with every breath, body aching like you’d been hit by a car and then set on fire for good measure. Your room, small and dim and yours, had become a cocoon of cough drops, half-empty mugs of tea, and tissues stuffed in your hoodie sleeves like some pathetic cartoon character.

You hadn’t spoken to Simon in days. Not that you ever really spoke to him. Not like he wanted to talk to you.

Ever.

He was all sideways glances and muttered “move”s in the kitchen, barely civil even on his best days. You were background noise in his life — the nerdy roommate with oversized glasses and earbuds always in, like maybe music or audiobooks could shield you from being seen.

They didn’t.

Simon saw you.

He just didn’t look at you. Not like a person. Not like someone who mattered.

You were halfway through a coughing fit when you heard it — the familiar pattern of footsteps, giggling, and the telltale creak of the front door closing behind them.

Tonight’s girl had a sharp voice. Sharp everything, really.

The sex was loud.

You pressed your fist to your mouth and coughed harder, trying to keep it down, swallowing tears because your whole body was sore and tired and you just wanted quiet. Just a little peace.

And then—

Your door opened.

Just like that. No knock. No warning.

The girl stood in your doorway like she owned the place, one manicured hand on the frame, nose wrinkled in disgust. Her hair was perfect, curled into glossy waves, and her bra strap was still slipping off her shoulder.

You tried to sit up straighter, panic thudding under your skin.

“Are you kidding me?” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been hacking like a dying dog for the past twenty minutes.”

Your mouth opened, but your voice didn’t come. Just a small, broken cough.

“Some of us are trying to have a good time,” she went on, stepping fully into your room like it wasn’t yours. “Like, is it really that hard to shut up for one night? Jesus.”

“I— I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, save it,” she rolled her eyes. “God, I’d kill myself if I had to live like this. What even is this? Your room smells like cough syrup and sadness.”

You flinched, eyes stinging. Your face burned, and not just from the fever.

And she wasn’t done.

“Does Simon seriously let you live here like this? What are you even— his weird little cousin or something? Gross.”

Him letting you live here, you thought. He hadn’t paid his share of rent in months. You’d be skipping meals so you didn’t have to go face-to-face with him and discuss the fact you're drowning.

You couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not with the tightness in your chest, or the way her words kept cutting through your skin like glass.

And then—

“The fuck are you doing?”

Simon’s voice.

Low. Cold.

She turned, startled. “Babe—”

He didn’t look at her.

He was staring at you.

You, small and sick and folded into yourself in the corner of your bed.

Tears in your eyes. Mucus drying on your lip. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders like armor made of cotton and shame.

Simon blinked once. Twice. His face didn’t change, but something in the room shifted.

“You yelling at her?” he asked, voice too calm.

“She was coughing,” the girl whined. “It’s disgusting. I can’t even concentrate—”

“Out.”

She laughed. Thought he was joking.

He wasn’t.

“I said get the fuck out.”

“But—”

Simon looked at her then. Really looked. And whatever he let her see in his eyes — it worked.

She huffed, stormed out with a muttered, “You’ve got issues,” and slammed the door behind her.

Silence.

Then Simon stepped inside your room and shut your door, gently this time.

You couldn’t look at him.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, even though you weren’t.

You didn’t want his pity.

“Didn’t ask,” he said. But his voice was quieter now.

You tried to get up, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. “I’ll just— I’ll clean the couch or something, I know I sound disgusting, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“Sit down.”

You did. Too dizzy not to.

He crossed the room, grabbed the mug from your nightstand, and disappeared. The silence was off-putting. You blinked at the space he’d been standing in like you’d hallucinated him.

Then he came back. Refilled it. Sat on the edge of your bed.

Offered it to you without looking directly at you.

You stared at the steam curling from the mug. Then at his hand.

“…Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stayed there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had answers.

“Why did you kick her out?” you asked finally, voice small.

He shrugged. “Didn’t like the way she spoke to you.”

You stared. “You don’t even like me.”

Simon snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let someone treat you like shit.”

You laughed, a bitter, rasping sound. “You treat me like shit.”

His jaw flexed. “I know.”

Silence again.

You sniffled. Tried to wipe your nose discreetly. Simon sighed, pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand, and gently nudged your chin up. Wiped your nose for you without a word.

You wanted to die. You wanted to cry. You wanted him to do it again.

“Why are you being nice now?”

He sat back, rubbing a hand down his face. “Because you look like you’re about to pass out. And I’m not a complete dick.”

You blinked slowly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

That made him grin. A real one.

“Alright, nerd.”

You smiled. Tired. Sore. But it was real, too.

Simon leaned back against your headboard like he’d been invited, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You hungry?” he asked after a minute.

“No.”

“You should eat.”

“You cook?”

“No.” He smirked. “But I order like a fuckin’ pro.”

You laughed. Coughed. Groaned.

He looked at you. A little too long. A little too close.

“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” he said, almost to himself.

“You gonna nurse me back to health?” you teased.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.

“Don’t tempt me.”

You flushed, looking away.

For the first time, you realized just how quiet the apartment was without his usual noise — without a girl’s laugh echoing off the walls, or music pounding through the floor.

It was just you.

And him.

And this strange, heavy calm that settled between you like something that didn’t want to leave.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe too loud.

You were afraid it might break.

part 2

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to all the people who commented on this post to be tagged: im not adding you to the official taglist its in my bio if you want to be added

[drownedinverse]

How can I NOT save it?

I just liked some COD Simon Ghost Riley pics a few times in pinterest. Now it's all pinterest recommends me.

Where are my cute pastel wallpapers too?

Edit: pinterest also recommends me topless simons and who could not save that???

I mean..

"Of course ghostie im always ready"

"you dont really have to ask"

Edit 2: not exactly topless pic but you get the idea