mostholy

[mostholy]

The 141 with a reader that suffers from cuteness aggression.

ghost is also a cuteness agression victim, sees you doing literally anything and wants to squeeze so bad. does not give a fuck if you bite him. please, leave teeth marks in his plush biceps, he'll endure teasing from gaz if it means you can be close to him for even a moment. proudly bears any marks you give him bc it means hes wanted, and thats worth more than any pride he has.

gaz is the least likely to put up with ur cuteness agression. not in a mean way, he just doesnt like receiving pain all that much. whenever you get that look in ur eyes, hes already pulling u in for a kiss to redirect ur attention. also the biggest hypocrite bc when +he+ gets cuteness aggression he has not qualms about squeezing you so hard it bruises or biting u. will stop if you ask, but give him permission and you will be covered in bruises lol. makes them hard to hide too bc hes lowkey possessive.

soap doesnt get cuteness aggression, he gets horny. im serious. if you go in to bite him he will assume ur trying to start something and reach for ur waistband lol. gets off on the marks you leave. also shameless enough to reach into his joggers while ur still biting and just jerk off. this, of course, becomes a bit awkward when u get cuteness aggression in front of friends and you just +have+ to bite his hand, but hes developed a pavlovian response to ur bites and is guaranteed to get a boner.

price is surprisingly willing to put up with ur bullshit lol. he would do anything for his beloved, but try to keep the marks easy to hide, yeah? prefers when ur cuteness aggression entails some firm squeezes, but doesnt mind a few bites. prefers for u to bite in private, he has a reputation after all, but doesnt mind a few aggressive squeezes in public.

[mostholy]

Stalker Simon

There was something about watching you move in the comfort of your own skin, so at ease in your little world, that did something to Simon. It soothed him, felt familiar, even if he’d never had anything like it before.

He loved watching you after a shower, wrapped in a towel, humming under your breath as you lathered your favorited lotion onto your soft skin. You’d pick out a fresh, oversized t shirt to sleep in and a pair of fuzzy, never matching socks to go along with it.

Those were the moments Simon longed for.

Maybe he’d sit there on the toilet lid, a little awkward but content, just watching you. You’d catch him staring and laugh, calling him a big dork before holding out your hand and asking for his arm. He’d give it to you without hesitation, trying and failing to hide the soft, toothy grin tugging at his mouth. The kind he hadn’t worn since he was a kid, back when his mum was still around.

You’d rub the lotion into his arm just like you did your own, and he’d look away, pretending not to care. When really he was content. Soothed because now he smelled like you, because your hands were on him, and because you were right there.

Maybe as you tugged on your mismatched socks, he’d reach for his too, plain black ones compare to yours. And maybe, a few days later, you’d come home with new ones for him, black with little skulls on them. You’d hand them over with that cheeky grin, and he’d pull them on without complaint.

Simon loved watching you every Friday night, when you got home from work and made yourself popcorn to eat as you rewatched your favorite movies, ones you knew line by line, but never seemed to grow tire of. Even if, halfway through, you always fell asleep.

Maybe he’d wait for you to get home, popcorn already made and your favorite snacks lined up on the coffee table. He’d hug you as you walked through the door, kiss your cheek then your lips and scoop you up with a playful grunt and toss you onto the couch, earning a squeal.

You’d press play on the same movie you always did, quoting the opening lines before nestling into his side. And like always, halfway through, you’d start to nod off, head heavy on his shoulder, hand still buried in the popcorn bowl.

Maybe the TV would play on low while the rise and fall of your breathing filled the room, and Simon would just sit there for a moment, watching you like you were the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever been trusted with. Because you were.

Maybe he’d gently tug the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over you, fingers grazing your shoulder just long enough to feel the warmth of your skin. He’d consider waking you, maybe even reach for your hand but stop himself, choosing instead to sit beside you until the credits rolled and the screen went black.

Maybe he’d clean up the cups, turn off the lights, and carry you to bed if you didn’t stir. Or maybe he’d just let you sleep there, letting himself rest beside you for a bit, soaking in the kind of peace he didn’t know he could still have.

But if that night never came, if it was still far off and Simon had to be content with watching you through the cold barrier your window provided.

He could wait.

He was a patient man. And for you?

He’d wait as long as it took.

[mostholy]

Hmmm thinking abt food aggressive simon and reader who likes to feed him.

He always grew up food insecure, not for lack of resources but because his old man deliberately withheld food. He learned to eat fast, became protective and aggressive over whatever food he was alotted before it could be taken away. Simon tries to hide it, and usually I works bc he is careful to eat alone.

But suddenly he has you, and you like to feed him constantly. You used to just share lunch spaces together bc u were insecure about eating around alot of people, but started to take note over how he would hunch over his plate, an arm slung in front as a barrier. Ur no stranger to eating habits caused by trauma, but you want him to feel comfortable.

So the next time you and simon eat together, you pack an extra bento box. Its rice, ham, and various veggies, same as yours. You silently slide it over when hes done eating his own meal, carefully casual about the whole thing.

It becomes a thing for u two. You begin to put some real effort into meal prep, researching how to properly balance macros and nutrients and everything else instead of just tossing together what u like. You also start carrying around granola bars and fruit strips, tossing them to the lieutenant whenever you happen to pass in the halls.

You wouldnt say he starts to fill out, but he definitely starts looking better, a bit plusher, more hydrated. His skin doesnt cling to his muscles anymore. Its nice. Feeding him, caring for him. It makes you feel warm that the guy you've grown so close to is doing better because of you.

He still clings a bit too tight to his plate, still hunches a bit, but hes slowed down to at least savor the food. Its fine, you still dont like eating in groups, but now you both can eat together.

Uhh...idk man I just wanna give him all the love he never had

[mostholy]

simon hitting on the cashier at his fav coffee shop !!!

 Simon was *your* regular.

You were 99% sure Simon only visited the little café if you were on shift, that he came there just for you. Though... that seems a bit delusional.

Simon—spelled S-I-M-O-N— you always made sure to spell it correctly on his cup because in your head it mattered to him. He exclusively let you take his order, ring him up, and hand him cash.

It was the same routine; his usual grunts, his VERY intense eye contact, a $5 tip, and a gruff "thanks." Every single time you saw him.

...

"There's something wrong with the cup today."

His eyes locked on yours as he handed it over, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You raise a brow as you investigate the cup and there on the back, in chicken scratch.. is his phone number. 

“Oh..” You had to bite back a grin, fearing he'd think you were laughing at him. “Oh, I see.. Let me make you a new one and I will just..keep this.”

You could see his chest puffing up in satisfaction as he grunted a quick “yeah.”

[mostholy]

Thinking about "came back wrong" Price, but he's come back better. John is brusque when he returns home from deployment, monosyllabic, closed off. He barely looks at you, barely speaks to you, sits in his office by himself for hours, cigar smoke creeping out into the hallway while you sit by and wait to see if the man that comes out of the room next will be the sweet, smiling, attentive man that you fell in love with, or the Captain.

You keep your head down when the Captain's home. He only needs two things from you when he's like this, and you're prompt with dinner, and bend over uncomplainingly when he tells you to. It's just a matter of time before your loving husband returns. You just have to be patient.

But this time... He's just John as soon as he walks in the door, and he beams when he sees you, and kisses you like it's all he's been able to think about during the long months away. He pulls you away from the kitchen and makes love to you, and the only smoke that fills the house is the dinner that burns while he refuses to let you out of bed. And then he offers to take you out, or order in. His eyes stay soft, and he doesn't reach for the whiskey or cigars all night.

He's buried face-first in your pussy when the door bangs open, and the Captain comes home. This is the husband you expected, eyes as cold as the stormy Atlantic, tense and ready for a fight, mouth set in a grim line. The look he gives you is murderous before he focuses on the interloper, dragging John away from you roughly.

The Captain hesitates a moment too long when he sees his own face staring back at him. It's long enough for John to lunge at him, the two of them hitting the floor, growling and snapping like dogs. The Captain goes for his gun, and John knocks it out of his grip. It skitters across the floor and stops in front of your feet.

You snatch it up, hands shaking. You tell them to stop, and they both freeze.

"Shoot him," the Captain orders.

It's obvious that John is the pretender. You should have known. It was too much to hope that he would come home happy to see you.

You study them both down the barrel of the gun, meeting the furious eyes of the Captain, and John's soft gaze. He expects that you'll do what you're told and shoot him, and he doesn't blame you. The understanding there is enough to shock you into pulling back the safety.

You take a steadying breath, and fire.

[mostholy]

You don't know how you ended up here. You try to run through the events in your head, but the math doesn't add up. You moved in with Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley. Johnny was always chatty, but he's been away from home for a couple of days. That leaves you with Simon. Now, you're sitting at the kitchen table - coloring with Crayola, no less - and filling in a Scooby Doo coloring book with Ghost.

It strikes you just how strange this is. Men are scared of Simon. He's a practical Grim Reaper, and you know he's a living legend. That big boy in the skull face mask? You can't escape him if you see him because you're dead already. What would those same men, who are so afraid of him, think if they saw him coloring Daphne right now?

When did you start thinking of him as Simon instead of Ghost?

"You said you wanted to talk." You clear your throat after an awkward silence. The pencil in his hand stops working on the orange of Daphne's hair. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You," he says simply.

"Well, there's lots of things about me to know," you murmur, your own pencil stopping on Shaggy's shirt.

"Why did you tell me those... those dad jokes that night?" he whispers. Simon's accent wraps around each word like a warm blanket, comforting like it has never been before. You wonder if he made his voice softer on purpose, or if it was just your imagination.

"I was just trying to break the ice," you admit with a shrug.

"Why? You could've just stayed in your room." His gaze meets yours, eyes impossibly brown. Simon doesn't have his mask on today, which is a miracle by your standards. It reveals his shaggy blonde hair, his strong Roman nose, his stubbled jaw, and all the other traits of a handsome man.

"I don't like being alone." You force yourself to keep your eyes on his. "And you are kind to me when it matters."

"Are people often unkind, love?" The way he says "love" - like a word meant for you and you only - makes your heart stumble. You don't think he's ever called you that before.

"No." You shake your head. "But they are louder about it. Kind because it gets them affection or attention. You are kind because it is what's right."

Simon leans forward in his seat, his nose mere centimeters from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips, uneven yet quiet. You close the distance, resting your forehead against his own. One of his hands comes up to cup your face, surprisingly gentle for a man who has used those same hands to crack skulls and break knees. You lean into his touch instinctually, allowing his warmth to comfort you.

"I am also kind to you," he begins, swallowing hard. You see his Adam's apple bob with the force of it. "Because I think you're... gorgeous. Ravishing, really."

Your jaw drops straight to the floor. He, Ghost the big, bad sniper, finds you, the roommate, attractive? That can't be right. Your first instinct is that this is a prank, but Simon wouldn't prank you. Maybe Johnny, but certainly not Simon.

"You're not so bad yourself," you whisper finally.

"May I kiss you, darlin'?" he asks, his voice so quiet that you think he's nervous. Nervous to even say the words aloud.

"Yes, Simon," you breathe.

Simon wastes no time pressing his lips against yours. His lips aren't chapped, like you thought they might be. They're surprisingly soft against your own. You slide your hands into his short blonde hair, tugging just enough to elicit a quiet groan from him.

His kiss isn't hungry or fervent. He takes his time kissing you, ensuring you can feel everything he's feeling. You are hesitant to call it love, but he certainly kisses you like he's in love. When his tongue runs across the seam of your lips, you obediently open your mouth and allow him to explore.

He is deft with his tongue, tangling it with yours and finding spots that make your heart race. His hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you ever closer to him. The world narrows to just you and him. Nothing else matters to you, save for this brilliant, steamy kiss.

You think that's the moment you realized... you're in big trouble.

Part I

Part II

[mostholy]

Ghost never talks about his home life. He never tells anyone anything. Not even Soap knows what goes on in Ghost's house. He knows that Ghost comes to bars. That he comes to work. But between the work and boys' night, nobody knows anything about him.

That is until Ghost has a little too much to drink one night and can't drive himself home. Soap had been the DD that night, so he asks Ghost for his address. Ghost reluctantly gives it to him after a few minutes of badgering and begging. The drive to Ghost's little townhouse near the base is peaceful.

The first thing Soap notices is that the lights are on. The second thing he notices is the flower bed by the pathway to the door. As Soap helps Ghost out of the passenger seat, he finds himself staring at the flowers. "When did you become a gardener, mate?" Soap asks.

"Huh- wot?" Ghost slurs.

"The flowers, Simon," he clarifies.

"Oh, the old lady planted them," replies Ghost, stumbling over a decorative brick. The brick shatters and crushes the flowers nearby. Soap tucks himself under Ghost's arm, supporting his weight as much as possible.

"The old lady, eh? Like a... neighbor or somethin'?" Soap prods.

He shakes his head. "No, no, my girl."

"What." Soap's jaw drops. He's standing at Ghost's door, hand on the knocker, but he finds himself unable to move. "You have a bird?"

"She ain't a bird," Ghost grumbles, swaying where he stands.

Soap finally manages to get himself to knock on the door, still holding Ghost up like a crutch. Sure enough, a pretty little thing answers the door in a nightgown.

You see Simon with his mask half-on and a stranger with a mohawk supporting him. You assume the mohawk man is one of the mates he goes to the bar with on Fridays. Simon must've had a bit too much tonight because usually he drives himself home when he's sobered up.

"Um, hello," you say tentatively.

"Hi, angel," Simon slurs at you.

"Hush, you're too drunk to call me an angel," you scold. "How much did he have to drink?"

"My name's Johnny, by the way," the man says, surprisingly Scottish. "I'm not sure. Four or five pints? A couple shots? The footie game was tonight and we got a wee bit excited."

"Oh, he's gonna be so hungover and cranky tomorrow," you mutter. "Come inside, Johnny. Help me get him to the couch."

"Not the bed?" Simon whines.

"You're in trouble, mister," you reply curtly.

Johnny spins around in the living room of your house like he's visiting a museum. He clearly didn't expect a house so cottage-y from a man like Simon. Paintings of flowers hang on the walls. A throw blanket and two pillows are on each couch. A TV is mounted to the wall over a short bookcase.

"This is right beautiful, mate," Johnny chuckles.

"She decorated it!" Simon replies proudly. "It's somethin' special, innit?"

"Shut it. Still in trouble for crushing my flowers and coming home pissfaced," you snap. "Johnny, welcome to our home. Simon will still be here in the morning if you want to check on him."

"I didn't know Ghost had a girlfriend," he whispers.

"Girlfriend?! I'm his fiancée! He didn't tell you about me?" you scoff. "Simon, you are in so much trouble!"

"Fiancée," Johnny breathes. "I didn't think it possible."

Part II

[mostholy]

"No, no, no, you have to believe me!!" Soap argues with Gaz. "He has a little fiancée who lives in a cottage with him! She planted flowers in his walkway! And she scolded him for crushing them when he was piss drunk!"

"Ghost doesn't even like flowers," Gaz sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this is the hundredth time he's heard this. Maybe it is, knowing Soap. "Not unless they're dead, I reckon."

"I swear it on me mum and me sisters!" Soap exclaims, raising his right hand as if swearing on the Bible. "She had a little bookcase under her telly, and embroidered throw pillows on the couches! With blankets softer than anythin' I have ever seen!"

"Enough!" Price grumbles, sitting up from his chair like a father who has heard enough bloody arguing. "Soap, stop making up stories. Gaz, stop instigating shit."

"No, no! Cap, you gotta believe me!" Soap begs. "She answered the door in a pink slip gown! She had paintings of flowers on her walls! With butterflies!"

"Oh, aye, and d'ya suppose she had curlers in her hair?" Price snorts. "I've been to Ghost's house, Soap. It has movie posters, pinup girls, and ashtrays. Nothing like what you're saying."

"How long ago was that?!" Soap exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

"I'd say about two years ago," hums Price, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

Just then, Ghost walks into Price's office, where the boys had been idly chatting. Price offers him a cigarette, which Ghost refuses. "My lady asked me to stop smokin'," he grunts. "Started chewin' gum instead."

"Oh, right." Gaz tosses a crumpled sticky note at Ghost. "You and Soap are trying to play a prank on us, innit?"

"It's real!" Soap shouts, exasperated.

"What's real?" Ghost crosses his arms.

"The woman at your house! In the pink nightie with the pretty eyes and the flowers!" Soap points at him with an accusing finger. "Your fiancée."

Ghost just shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. Price and Gaz are still looking at Soap like he needs to be locked up in an asylum.

"Johnny, I'm going to ask this gently," Gaz begins. "Are you bloody mental?! Makin' up a story like this?"

"It's not!" Soap whines. "She's real! She told me I could check on him the next morning after he got shite-faced at the bar!"

"She give you a kiss on the cheek too?" Gaz mock-pouts at Soap.

"She better not have," Ghost growls.

All three heads turn to look at him in unison, the argument falling silent. "What?" Price and Gaz ask while Soap leaps out of his chair.

"I fucking-! I fucking told you so!" he stammers. "Tell 'em, Ghost!"

Ghost shakes his head. "Keepin' her safe, Johnny. Not that you'd understand that."

Part I

Tags: @xylov, @just-lilita

[mostholy]

I

BEG

For more run, rabbit, run

Rabbit Falling for the Lure

A/N: Was asked by this annon and @pinkmugcup to make more about my silly little Run, Rabbit, Run fic. I was a little stumped on what else to write for it as it was only going to be one part, but then this idea came to mind. Enjoy a little prequel fic. Short but hope it suffices!

Pairing: Yandere!141 x Reader

Warnings: Stalking, Yandere, Breaking and Entering, Unhealthy behaviors, oblivious reader, stealing, MDNI

Your neighbors were a bit odd. Ever since they helped you set up your new mattress, it was like they had decided they would be a permanent fixture in your life. Every time you went out, one of them would just so happen to be doing the same exact thing as you. No matter what you had planned to do, it was like they had read your mind and now you had an uninvited guest to do it with. 

It was no coincidence, of course. Though it wasn’t Simon’s intention to steal your key and make you worry that you lost it, but they needed the peace of mind that you were doing alright and taking good care of yourself! Can you really blame them for duplicating your key so they can look around your flat? It was in your best interest! They only snooped when you weren’t home, even if that meant sending one of them to go out with you. 

It was Johnny’s fault for putting the idea in Simon’s head, while John and Kyle were asking you questions. You needed to be more careful about leaving your keys out in the open with strangers in your house anyway. Far too easy for someone to slip them in their pocket, all the while you remained completely oblivious.  

The key was only gone for a day, no need to worry. The boys were more than happy to keep an eye on your flat during the time you were away at work and unable to leave your door locked. Gave them a good opportunity to get to know you and your space better. Simon, unfortunately, didn't get to look around as much as the others because he had such a short amount of time to replicate your key before you came back home. They had planned to say they went looking for it and found it fell in between your couch cushions, and it worked perfectly, you were none the wiser. 

Maybe they snuck into your apartment when you were gone and put in cameras, they just needed to know what you were up to when you weren’t working yourself to the bone. They might have also used the key to slip in and steal some of your things, but you wouldn't miss them. All they were doing, and will ever do, is in your best interest. They swear! 

[mostholy]

more neighbor!simon… previous post

tw: somnophilia & slut shaming (not by simon)

-

you sit in the center of your bed, your head propped on your knee, with nail polish in hand as you carefully paint your toenails.

you flinch, spilling the polish on your sheets, as you hear the familiar pounding of your front door and grunts from a low voice.

the door slowly creaks open, and you can hear calculated steps approaching.

“simon?” you ask hopefully, sitting up rigidly as your nail polish smudges.

bile threatens to escape your throat as footsteps enter your room, and instead of your kind neighbor, simon, it’s your insane ex-boyfriend.

“simon’s not here anymore, sweet girl,” he said with a toothy grin, a cigarette in his mouth as he carried a crowbar. “it’s just me and you. for now.”

you let out a shriek as he lifts the crowbar overhead. “always knew you were a slut,” he croaks, venom dripping from his tongue as he swings the crowbar down to strike you.

you stir awake, gasping for air as perspiration gathers on your forehead. you surge to sit up, eyes wide, as your hands press against your bare thigh to ensure it was just a nightmare.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize you’re alive and it wasn't real, but you also know there is no way you would be able to sleep alone.

that’s when you hear soft snores coming from your living room, and with desperation, you slip out of bed, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand.

you inhale another breath, still shaky as you pad along the vinyl floor to the living room. simon is lying on his stomach on the couch in sweatpants and no shirt.

his cheek is pressed into the leather as he snores lightly. his arm hangs off the side and grazes the cold vinyl.

he looks like the epitome of tranquility.

you feel bad that you would be interrupting his peaceful sleep, but you need to sleep too. maybe he’d sleep even better on an actual mattress instead of slumming it on your couch, even though his bed is right next door.

the whole thought tickles you every time you think about it.

he’d rather crash on your couch, than walk twenty steps to his bed.

what a guy.

“simon,” you whisper lightly.

he stirs a little, but he doesn’t answer.

“simon,” you say a little louder, tapping his bare shoulder slightly.

he flicks his eyes open. “you alright?”

you shake your head. “i had a nightmare.”

he hums, his finger tapping against the flooring. “want to sleep right here? i can sit on the other couch while you sleep?”

his offer makes you smile. “i was thinking you could…sleep in my room…with me?”

he nods sleepily. “okay with anything as long as you sleep.”

“i’ll sleep better if you’re next to me,” you murmur.

you swear you see him smile, too, but it drops as he moves off the couch before you can ask. he stands, stretching, as he follows behind you to your room.

“which side are you?” he asks, trudging behind you to your room.

“always right,” you say, slipping onto your side of the bed as he goes around to his.

“good. i liked left better anyway,” he rumbles, slipping into the bed without bothering to get under the covers.

“you want some covers?” you ask, already feeling more at ease with him beside you.

“no. sleep hot,” he explains, laying his head on the pillow, and shutting his eyes gently. “wake me up if you have another nightmare, yeah?”

“i will,” you mumble as you rest your head against your pillow, the soft lull of sleep licking your brain quicker than you thought.

you close your eyes, drifting off to sleep as you feel the cool sheets and warm presence beside you in just a few minutes.

in the depths of the night, you find yourself sprawled out on your bed, wide awake, completely naked. simon is on his knees in front of you, his hand tugging your ankles closer to the edge of the bed.

“fuckin’ soaked just like i thought you’d be,” he mutters with pleasure, making you squirm deeper into the mattress. “you gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?”

you chew on your lip. “please.”

“yeah? you want me to?” he goads, lips hovering over your dripping cunt.

“yes. fuck. please,” you push yourself against his face, urging him.

“greedy fuckin’ girl,” he mumbles, a smirk on his face as he licks a stripe across your cunt that sends a deep ache to your lower stomach.

“ah—simon,” you mewl as his tongue slides across your clit.

“what, baby? feel good?” he asks, tongue flicks your sensitive bud.

“fuck. yes,” you find yourself grinding into his face trying to coax your orgasm.

“oh, baby. fuckin’ insatiable, aren’t you?” he mumbles into your cunt as his tongue moves faster inside you.

“shit, simon,” you moan, grinding agasint his face faster. “so—close,” you choke out, hand coming to thread in his light hair to push him deeper.

his tongue moving and tweaking your bud, with precision. “come on my face, sweetheart. cover me,” he encourages, giving your hip a squeeze.

your body convulses as you come on his face, gripping the sheets under you for support as you ride your orgasm out.

you lean your head back with a satisfied moan, your eyes flicking to look at him. you pull his hair, so he looks at you.

when he lifts his head, his lips gleam with your fresh arousal, and his face and body morph into a dog right before your eyes.

before he barks, you jerk awake, horrified to find yourself flat against the side of simon’s body. your leg rests over his thigh, and when you look down, you see a large wet spot on his light sweatpants.

you drop your leg, pulling up your large shirt to see that a large amount of arousal has made your panties see-through.

you had a wet dream.

of simon.

and used him as your own personal vibrator and leaked your arousal onto him as he slept next to you.

the realization makes you want to die and let the earth swallow you whole. but since that’s impossible now, you flip over, moving to the edge of your side of the bed.

still in your soaked panties, you tightly shut your eyes, hoping that eventually you’ll fall back asleep, just grateful he didn’t wake up and catch you.

poor girl.

you didn’t even realize that as you were grinding against simon’s hip as you were sleeping, he had stroked himself two times over fast and hard until he came all over his hand with a deep groan.

each time he grabbed a small tissue from the side table to clean himself up and tossed them under the bed; he’d throw them away in the morning.

eh, guess some mutts just can’t be house broken.

[mostholy]

he’s frantic.

the moment he shuts the door to your shared flat closed, he’s shucking off his gear like it’s on fire. and you’re sitting on the couch, watching with curious eyes that widen when he doesn’t stop at his boots and vest. with his eyes on yours, pleading, desperate, he nods towards the hallway that leads to the bedroom, and it clicks.

the look in his eyes - it’s not suggestive. it’s not pleading to have you barren and spread beneath him. when he first gets home from deployment, it hardly ever is.

you rise from your spot on the couch and calmly make your way to the bedroom, and you can hear him shuffling and grunting behind you, removing layers of clothing as he follows and tosses the fabrics anywhere.

you remove your clothing and lay down in the bed you’d left unmade. he walks in shortly after and kicks away his boxer briefs before all but collapsing on top of you, sighing contentedly at the feeling of you warm skin against his.

you situate the covers over the both of you before draping your arms over his shoulders, one hand scratching lazy circles into his hair and the other tracing lines on his back.

“how was work?” you ask with a smile, and he grunts in response, the sound muffled by the tired, wet, kisses he presses against your neck.

“so-so,” he finally replies. not wanting to discuss it. not wanting to speak. his hands wander over you bare skin, feeling the familiarity, the softness, the contrast to the chaos that was the last few weeks of his life.

[mostholy]

wrote this half asleep so i apologize for any errors

simon riley x reader || pure fluff

simon saw the lights to your apartment on before he climbed the stairs, and he immediately felt bad for telling you he was coming home. 

he never told you when he was coming home, mostly because he never knew, and if he did, he wasn’t sure how long it’d be after landing, putting away all his gear, debriefing, and finally driving home. it was an hours long process, and he hated the idea of you staying up late waiting on him with an anxious leg bouncing. 

tonight, he’d returned so late it could be considered early. the sun, although not risen, had began promising its arrival with the first streaks of greenish yellow at the very bottom horizon. 

he opened the door to the apartment and immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw you asleep on the couch, blanket tangled in your legs, arm folded up neatly with your hand by your face and your wedding band sparkling in the lamplight. he shut the door and watched you, taking in your peaceful form, the soft rise and fall of your back with every breath, your hair splayed out on the pillow, frizzy like you’d just showered. 

quietly, he set his bags down, kicked off his boots, and toed over to you. he knelt down, studying your face. 

god, you’re beautiful. 

he always used to tell you he didn’t deserve you, from your beauty to your soul, but you shut those thoughts down quickly, ranting about how you didn’t care what he thought. if he loved you, and you loved him, you deserved each other. it was never meant to be a transaction.

his fingers softly brushed your shoulder, lips pressed against the skin there. “hey,” he whispered as you began to stir. you hummed, barely awake. then your eyes opened, and you smiled. 

“hi,” you said, voice hoarse. he kissed you. 

“were you waitin’ f’me?”

“maybe a little,” you admitted, “you took longer to get home this time.”

he sighed, massaging his temple with two fingers. “debrief was a few hours longer than normal. m’tired.”

without another word, he straightened up, scooped his arms beneath your shoulders and the crooks of your knees, and picked you up. still sleepy, you leaned into him, holding onto his neck as he carried you to bed and lay you down. 

he followed after kicking off his pants and shirt, curling into you and holding your back to his chest, his nose buried in your shoulder, which he kissed. 

“missed you, love.”

“missed you too, simon.”

[mostholy]

You know that video where a wife asks her husband for 30 pads with wings, and he comes back home with a pack of pads and 30 chicken wings?

That’s something that Simon does, especially in his first serious relationship. The first time his partner asks him to pick up pads or tampons, he takes it incredibly serious. He’s treating this task like it’s a classified mission with no possibility of failure

He’s bringing home 30 pads with wings because reader wanted them dammit. He gets reader a variety of chicken wings because it’s their time of the month and they deserve to get spoiled

And when he shows reader what he got, and reader tries to explain it to him, Simon stares reader down. Not because he doesn’t understand, he gets it, but because reader is on their period and who the hell wouldn’t want wings while bleeding?

This is also the same man who gets reader expensive bath oils and bubble bath when they tell him they’re running out. He’ll gladly be reader’s little errand mule as long as reader is in his bed at the end of the night

[mostholy]

DRUNK IN DA CLUB II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

What do you do when your brother’s best friend calls you his missus?

🦋 all actions will have consequences in the next chapter.

Happy reading!

Part I Part III

A week flew by in a blur, between catching up and visiting local spots, Friday was here before you knew it. You woke up and checked your phone to see a flurry of birthday messages from your friends, you take your time to read them as a big grin cracks onto your face.

Eventually you make your way downstairs, it’s still early so you’re not expecting anyone to be awake judging by how quiet the house is. When you round the corner to pad into the kitchen, you see John’s eyes widen as he looks up from his phone. He mumbles a small curse before running down the hall into the guest room.

You frown at his odd reaction, “John? Are you okay?”

Quick as he left, John runs back in this time with a small party popper which he excitedly pops open. Streams of confetti explode in a lacklustre performance, “Happy Birthday!”

You laugh, “Where the fuck did you even get one of those?”

“Stole one from the $2 shop when you weren’t looking.” He preens.

You’re not exactly happy that he stole for you, but who are you to dismiss his effort. An awkward silence follows as John stands in the doorway with his hands behind his back, watching you walk into the kitchen.

You raise an eyebrow, “Why are you being weird?”

“Huh?” He fidgets on the spot, “I’m not bein’ weird, don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Before you can respond the sound of your front door opening and closing quietly makes you pause. You’re about to duck your head around the corner when John puts his hands up to stop you.

“Don’t move, stay right there,” he demands, keeping his hands outstretched as he walks backwards towards the door.

Briefly you can hear Simon mutter something unintelligible before the guest room door closes behind the both of them. Frown etched on your face, you figure something may have happened. Work related incident? You shrug your shoulders and go about making a coffee until they’re ready to emerge.

You’ve just finished stirring the sugar in when you hear the door open. Slow footsteps approach and round the corner, revealing Simon and John standing there with your favourite type of cake and two lit candles showing your age.

John takes a deep breath but you cut him off, “Don’t you dare sing Happy Birthday,”

“Aw you’re no fun.” he grumbles.

Simon gently places the cake down on the bench in front of you while John rounds the corner to stand on the other side.

“Did you go out this morning to buy this?” You ask, looking up at Simon.

“It was apparently my turn to go out into town,” he replies.

“I couldn’t be arsed getting dressed—anyway, blow out the candles before they melt,”

The candles are blown with two short breaths. You clap your hands together and rub them, “Let’s cut the cake!”

You turn your back to rummage through the drawer, looking for a suitable knife and plates. Simon and John are waiting patiently for you to return, the smoking candles now removed and put to the side. You waste no time and cut into the cake, John leans over the bench and inspects your cutting skills closely.

When you reach the bottom he shouts and points a finger, “You touched the bottom!”

You frown, “What on earth are you talking about?”

Instead of replying John just looks at you with a knowing look. Once you catch on you groan, and involuntarily blush, “That is a stupid tradition that Ma just heard off someone else, it’s not even real!”

“It is so!” He justifies, “I will not let you break the rules,”

You throw your hands up, careful of the cake filled knife, “You’re not even the nearest boy! Simon is!”

Simon, utterly confused, perks up at his name. But John continues, “Well, keep it G rated then,”

“You’re fucking foul, Johnny, that’s your friend you’re talking about,”

“Yeah and he’s a dirty bastard, I know,”

“What the fuck are we talking about?” Simon finally cuts in.

Absolutely flustered, you turn to Simon, “Our Ma adapted this stupid birthday tradition off our neighbours as kids. If you touch the bottom of the plate while cutting your birthday cake, you’re meant to kiss the nearest person of the opposite sex,”

Simon blinks, taking in what you’ve said before turning to John, “You really want me to kiss your sister?”

John crosses his arms, “It’s what Ma would have wanted.”

You massage the bridge of your nose and exhale out of exasperation. Simon shifts slightly in what you assume is discomfort, you’re about to apologise for the whole situation but when you turn you can see he’s actually bent down slightly to reach you. His jaw is tilted, in silent offering, but he’s not looking your way. You exhale quietly and lean forward, grabbing his jaw softly to hold him still as you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

John’s clapping fills yours and Simon’s flustered silence. He looks downright pleased with himself, and grabs the knife out of your hands to finishing cutting up the slices.

He obnoxiously sucks the excess frosting off his thumb once finished, “This is good fucking cake, nice pick Si,”

Simon grunts in acknowledgment, while you dig into your own slice. You hum in enjoyment, “I love birthday cake,”

John frowns, “No such thing as birthday cake, it’s just a cake,”

You roll your eyes, “Okay you fucking downer, I think cake tastes better when it’s my birthday.”

Simon just observes in amusement as you and John bicker back and forth. His cheek still tingles and he can feel the ghost grip of your fingers around his jaw as he takes another bite. He has no idea what he’s signed up for being here for the holidays, but he can only hope he comes out of it without crossing a line.

“Okay,” you take the last mouthful of your cake, “I’m going to spend the next hour figuring out what the fuck I’m wearing and getting everything ready. We’re leaving here at 7pm, make sense?”

John sends you a mock salute, “Yes ma’am,”

You point your finger at him, “Get your shit together, because you take longer than me to get ready,”

“It takes time to look this good, you wouldn’t know,” he sighs.

You laugh mockingly and flip him off as you back track into your bedroom, “Thanks for the cake Simon! Appreciate it!” You call out before heading out of sight.

“Appreciate it!” John mocks in your tone, “She’s such a liar,”

“Any other birthday traditions I should be preparing myself for?” Simon asks.

“Huh?” John laughs, “Oh, that was priceless, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,”

“What the fuck else was I meant to do?” He argues.

John shrugs, “Could have said no.”

Simon snaps his mouth shut, cutting off his weak rebuttal. Yeah, he could have said no. He’s never had a problem with that before, why is he struggling now to be in disagreement? John props his elbow on the bench, resting his chin atop of his hand as he watches Simon’s internal struggle.

“Oh no,” he sighs, “You’re just as bad,”

“Bad as what?” He asks.

John shakes his head and stands up, “I’m not gettin’ involved,”

Simon watches as John walks down the hallway, “Involved in what?” He emphasises.

He’s met with the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut and the water turning on. Not wanting to be left alone with whatever implication John is implying, Simon does the next best thing.

He washes the dishes.

6:30 pm.

You’re doing the final touches on your makeup, with your friend on FaceTime, running through the final plans of the night. Your friend assures you that everything is fine, but you just need to say it out loud for it to solidify.

John’s laugh rings out from the lounge room as you brush out your hair, “Oh! Two more people are coming along by the way,”

Your friend pauses curiously, “People we know?”

“People I know, my brother and his friend are home for the holidays, I’m letting them tag along,”

“Aw, aren’t you so nice, letting your brother come to your birthday,”

“Nice, yes, that’s the word we’ll settle on,”

The knock on your doorframe makes you look up at your mirror, as if hearing his name, John is standing at the door, “You almost done or what? You’ve got twenty minutes,”

You scoff, “It’s my birthday, I decide when it’s time to leave,”

“You’re the one that gave us a deadline, it’s only fair you stick by it,”

“I’ll be done in a minute,” you roll your eyes.

Your friends laugh filters out over the speaker, “Is that your brother?”

John’s ears perk up, “You on the phone?”

“FaceTime,” you reply, applying lip gloss.

John sneaks in to take a peek over your shoulder, “Hello, gorgeous, what’s your name?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, swinging around to shove him away, “Johnny, fuck off, seriously we’re not even out the door,”

Your friend laughs and introduces herself against your will. You look at her betrayed but she just shrugs, John leaves the room but only after a promise to buy her a drink once they see each other.

“If you fuck my brother, I don’t want to hear about it,”

“Deal.”

You groan, hanging up shortly after. You slip your heels on— might be a horrible shoe choice, but that’s a later problem—and step out of your room. John and Simon are sitting on the couch waiting when you emerge.

“Finally,” John stands.

“Uber is five minutes away, let’s go,” you state, walking towards the front door, making sure to flip all the lights off on your way out.

Both boys follow after you, before you can step out John grabs your arm, “Don’t you need a jacket?”

You raise an eyebrow, “And ruin my outfit?” You step outside, it’s still warm but definitely on the cooler side of summer, “I’ll be fine,”

He decides not to argue and lets you walk out. All three of you wait in the driveway for the car to pull in. About thirty minutes later you pull up to the venue, it’s a small, intimate bar that all your friends are familiar with. Being the first ones there, you make a beeline for the bar, it’s busy already so you wait patiently to flag down a bartender.

Simon edges himself beside you, “What drink do you want?”

“Huh? Uh…” you think about it for a moment before responding.

When the bartender approaches Simon doesn’t hesitate to drop your order in with his own. You pat his arm, “You didn’t have to buy my drink,”

He looks down at you, “You’re the birthday girl, no? Have to get you something,”

You smile politely, “Thanks.”

When the drinks arrive, you gladly take your own before turning around. John is waving you both down for the table he’s saved, shortly after you sit down your phone starts to buzz on the table. Friends are starting to arrive, so you look around for familiar faces.

You give one last pointed glare to John, “Behave yourself,”

“No promises.” he grins.

You greet your friends, introducing them to the boys before letting them sit down. John makes himself comfortable by leading conversations while you’re pulled into catch ups with friends you haven’t seen in a while. Simon somewhat awkwardly, sits beside you taking it all in.

“What the hell is up with the security posted up beside you,” your friend whispers, looking pointedly at Simon.

“Security?” You laugh, looking at how rigid Simon is sitting beside you. Innocently you pat your hand against his thigh, “This is Simon, my brother’s friend. Not security, but trained military,”

You look towards Simon for confirmation, he just nods. Your friend’s eyes widen, “Military? That’s intense.”

You keep talking, roped back into conversation and not taking notice that your hand is still resting on Simon’s thigh. It’s not moving, Simon knows because he can’t focus on anything else. It takes all willpower in him to not stare down at it, and try to act like he’s focusing on some conversation John is apart of.

You lean over to talk into his ear, “I’m gonna get another drink, want one?”

He grasps the opportunity to take a break, “I’ll get it, same one?”

You frown, “What—no, Simon, you can’t buy all my drinks,”

He quirks an eyebrow, “You gonna stop me, sweetheart?”

Too far. Too fast. He’s definitely fucked up, it was a complete slip of the tongue.

You blink, trying to not think too deeply in that definitely flirtatious response, “Stop you? Yeah right, I would stand a chance,” you sigh dramatically, “Guess I’ll have to say yes,”

Simon slips off his chair and makes his way over to the bar. Once out of earshot, your friend slaps you repeatedly on the arm, “Oh my god,” she says, “That man is fine,”

Heat rises to your cheeks, you choose to stay silent. Finishing off the last sip of your drink, “How did you say you know him again?”

You nod in John’s direction, “Brother’s friend,”

She grins mischievously, “Brother’s friend huh, yeah I know how that is,”

“It is not like that,” you defend.

“And why not?” She asks incredulously, “You’re passing up a military man? You know he’ll throw you around if you ask nicely,”

The mental image alone makes you fluster, “Let’s not do this,”

“You want him so bad.” she laughs.

Could you be blamed? Simon had only gotten more attractive as he opened up, every time he shared a knowing glance with you when John did something stupid made your heart stutter. The familiarity and comfort that he knew you made you feel a certain way. And now he’s buying your drinks like a gentleman, really, it’s entirely his fault.

A tap on your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts, you turn around ready to accept the drink Simon is about to put in your hands but it’s not him you see when you turn around. It’s an old friend, well friend isn’t the word you would use, mutual benefits were involved until it went south. Very south, borderline stalker territory type of south.

“What a surprise! It’s so nice to see you,” he grins, leaning down into your space.

“Oh,” you laugh, awkwardly turning your face so his kiss lands on your cheek instead, “It’s good to see you too, how are you?”

There’s a sour look on his face from your dodge but he recovers quickly, “I’m good! You look like you’re having fun, special occasion?”

Yeah right, like he didn’t have your birthday memorised, “Yeah, it’s my birthday. Just out celebrating with a couple drinks,”

You glance over his shoulder to see Simon still standing at the bar. Silently you plea that he’ll hurry up and scare this asshole away but the bar looks busy. Luckily, what you can’t see is your friends slowly starting to recognise who this guy is and rushing to fill John in.

“Oh! Happy birthday, can I buy you a drink? We should catch up,” he urges.

“Don’t think her boyfriend would appreciate that mate,” John suddenly cuts in, appearing by your side out of nowhere.

The guy immediately retreats, but you can see the sting in his eyes from the rejection, “Boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend,”

“And how the fuck would you know?” He shoots back, stepping into his space.

“John, calm down—”

“I’m her boyfriend! We’re meant to be together!” He shouts, gripping his glass harder and pointing an accusing finger at you.

Your eyes widen at the change in his tone, you stand up to placate, “Hey, it’s okay, let’s not blow this out of proportion,”

“I think you should leave,” John states, crossing his arms over his chest and standing in front of you protectively.

Simon finally makes his way over, entering your periphery as he sets the drink down on the table, “There you go, darlin’,” he murmurs.

The guy in front of you— ex? Not quite ex?— freezes as he takes in Simon’s stature. He leans his back against the table, his arm resting between your shoulder blades as he stares back, sizing the guy up. You can see in real time as the guy’s face turns red, oh god, absolutely furious at Simon’s causal display of closeness.

“You’re a fucking whore,” he seethes, but doesn’t step any closer. He looks pointedly at Simon, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds mate, I know that cunt is tired.”

Shame floods your system. The words don’t sting, you know it’s just petty jealously and retaliation, but the crowd observation makes you want to crawl into the ground. John already has his fist raised ready to pummel the guy, but he pauses when Simon stands to his full height. He clasps John’s shoulder in a signal to ease off, which he wordlessly follows by lowering his fist.

It’s absolutely satisfying to see the way this guy has to look up to meet Simon’s eye. His body language is neutral, but his tone is firm, “Apologise to my missus, and fuck off.”

The whole table grows silent, completely tuned in now. John is standing beside you ready to step in but you silently hope it won’t get that far.

“I’m not doing shit, if you lay hands on me I’ll call the cops,” he threatens.

John snickers, elbowing your shoulder, “What a fucking wanker,” he whispers to you.

“Cops won’t get involved with me around,” he assures, “Apologise, or I’ll take you outside myself,”

The guy falters but in a last ditch effort, tries to call his bluff, “Yeah fucking righ—”

Before he can even finish, Simon grabs his upper arm in a bruising force and begins to drag him out towards the front of the venue.

“Oh shit,” John springs up, “I’ll be back, Simon is gonna beat the shit out of that guy without me there.” he hurriedly explains, kissing the side of your cheek before jogging out the entrance Simon disappeared through.

Your friends flock you to see if you’re okay, giving you reassuring touches and hugs. You can barely hear them over the blood rushing to your ears.

Apologise to my missus.

Missus. Why did that roll off his tongue so smoothly? The provocation behind the term was enough to send your mind into a spiral. It’s an act of course, a caring one at that, which you will thank both of them for. They didn’t need to step in, and Simon certainly didn’t need to get involved having only known you for a week.

All you know is right now, you don’t have the capacity to think about this.

“Alright, Si, I think the guy’s had enough,”

Simon huffs, releasing his grip on the shirt he was holding. The guy falls like a bag of bricks against the pavement of the alleyway. Immediately he curls into fetal position, holding his bloodied nose.

“Fucking scumbag,” he grunts, wiping the back of his hand on his pants.

John hums in agreement, “Agreed, but he’s barely conscious. I’m sure Price wouldn’t appreciate the phone call on his holidays.”

He reaches into his back pocket to fish out his cigarettes, lighting one up as he observes the guy on the ground. He’s slowly moving now, trying to crawl backwards and put as much distance as he can. John waves him off, and makes his way back inside the venue, knowing Simon has it handled.

“You’re..” he coughs, gripping his midsection, “Fucking insane,”

Simon walks over, crouching down beside his head and pointing at him with his cigarette in hand, “You better fucking remember that next time you go after her.”

The guy can’t even muster up a response without his ribs hurting so he remains quiet, slumping against the concrete underneath him. Simon rises back to his feet and flicks the end of his cigarette into the alley before stepping back out. He checks himself over to ensure no blood is visible, luckily the entry to the bar is not busy and he makes a swift return to your table.

“Simon,” you look over him to see if anything is hurt, but he doesn’t look any different from when he left, “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He shoots back.

You wave your hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, just.. fling gone wrong,”

A charged silence washes over the two of you, even though the table is still chatting loudly you can’t seem to hear any of it.

“Drink?” You suggest.

He nods in agreement and follows you to the bar. When he reaches to pay you place your hand over his, “Seriously, the least I can do is buy you a drink after all you’ve done,”

Simon frowns, “I didn’t do that much, did Johnny exaggerate?”

You raise an eyebrow, “You sweep in to save every damsel in distress by acting like their partner?”

It had momentarily slipped his mind that he had done that. Being a man that acts before he speaks, words often escape him and this was no exception.

“I know what that type of guy is like,” he pivots, “Wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

You hum in agreement and drop the subject, ready to move on from how mortifying the situation was. The drinks start to flow more easier now, the anxiety melts away and you start to let go. Bouncing between conversations and the dance floor, you’re laughing, and drinks are mysteriously never ending. Simon is sitting beside your brother and keeps a trained eye on you while John is chatting to one of the girls next to him.

One of your friends suggests another bar down the road, you’re easily convinced and offer to round up the boys at the table. Simon watches as you trail over with a slight wobble in your step, leaning over the table with your hands.

“We’re moving to a different bar, are you ready?”

John tunes in, “Where?”

You frown in thought, “I dunno, one of the girl suggested something, we’ll find out when we get there,”

John looks over at you smugly, “Sure you’ll make it? You sound a bit loose,”

You scoff, “I am fine, perfectly sober state of mind, I could go on forever,”

John leans over to Simon in stage whisper, “She’s fucking gone,”

You wave them both off, “Fine, loser, stay here, I will be leaving though.”

Simon immediately stands after your statement, John begrudgingly trailing behind into the cool air. Everyone starts to walk ahead of you, leaving Simon by your side to keep a monitor. He doesn’t trust your ability to stand upright in those heels you’re wearing.

“Do you feel like running?” You ask suddenly.

“Sorry? Running?” Simon repeats, “What do you mean?”

You look up at him, “You don’t feel like running when you’re drunk?”

Simon looks down at you with an incredulous expression, “No,”

“I think I could beat you in a run,” you declare, looking ahead at group in front of you.

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you think,” he smirks.

You whip your head around and point an accusing finger, “Don’t be condescending, I’ll prove it right now,”

Simon pauses when you grab his arm for an anchor before raising your leg, he’s confused at first until he sees you trying to unclasp the fasting on your heels.

“Don’t—” he grabs your hand that’s trying to unbuckle your heel, “Take off your shoes, what are you doing?”

“Hey!” You try to slap his hand away, “That’s not fair, I won’t beat you with heels on,”

He huffs, grabbing your hand more firmly now, “You’re not going to beat me regardless, did you forget about my military training?”

You’re barely even listening, trying to flex your hand out of Simon’s grip, but it’s barely even budging, he doesn’t even look like he’s straining as he looks down at you with exasperation.

“A good boyfriend would let his girlfriend win,” you state, quite ballsy in your drunken state of mind as you stare him down.

“Really? That’s the card you’re playing?”

You shrug, one hand still holding his arm while the other is trapped in his grip, “You’re my boyfriend tonight, no? You called me your missus,”

By now the group has almost disappeared around the corner of the street, not even noticing your absence. Simon shakes his head, “A good boyfriend, would not let their partner run drunk in their heels,”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “You’re no fun,”

He finally lets go, having taken your response as defeat. You fall back in step for a while, but every now and then you glance over at him through your periphery. Simon’s not entirely convinced that you aren’t scheming something in your silence. His suspicions are confirmed when without warning, you take off down the street. It’s harder with heels on but you make a pretty convincing sprint around the corner. You can barely see your friends come back into view when you’re suddenly swept off the ground.

“Alright,” he huffs, hands firmly circling your midsection as he tugs you into his side, “You’ve had your fun,”

You laugh, trying to squirm out of his grip, “C’mon that wasn’t anything. You didn’t even give me a head start,”

“Head starts are for losers,”

You scoff, “God, you’re competitive aren’t you?”

Simon lets the silence answer for him as he leads you to the bar. You’ve stopped trying to wriggle around, as last time you did he barely lifted your feet off the ground in an easy act of restraint to keep you from moving. You know somewhere in your muddled brain that you should stop testing your luck while he’s still holding his strength back. But you can’t help but want to see how deep the waters go. Once in front of the bar’s entrance, Simon plants your feet firmly on the ground but keeps his arm around your waist just in case you have any funny ideas about a rematch.

John immediately spots the two of you as you enter, you’re obviously talking about something as your hands move in gesture. Simon’s half bent over to listen to whatever it is you’re saying as he guides you to the bar. It’s a cozy picture, he’ll admit, something he didn’t see coming and especially not so soon. It’s a hard effort, but he bites his tongue and saves a mental bank of comments for later when he can savour your embarrassment.

Eventually your friends tug you away, leaving Simon to walk over to the table alone. John sections over a corner for him and immediately opens his mouth as he sits down, “What just happened?”

Simon raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink, “When?”

“Just then,” he emphasise, “Why were you two late?”

He rolls his eyes, “Because she thought it would be funny to go for a run,”

“A run? What on earth are you on about Si?”

“Apparently she feels the need to run when she’s drunk, tried to slip by me,” he grunts.

John laughs at the mental image of his sister trying pull a fast one on Simon, “Did she manage?”

He rolls his eyes, “Of course not, caught her before she could snap her ankle.”

John looks at him with a smirk, “What?” He asks, hating the nervous edge it causes him.

“You care about her,” he states.

He frowns, “She’s your sister,” he replies, as if that’s the answer.

“No,” he shakes his head, “You know what I mean.”

He looks away, pointedly ignoring John’s looks in favour of finding you in the crowd. You’re dancing away with drink in hand, oblivious to the inner turmoil Simon is facing. Your friends surround you as well as other strangers, he physically can’t stop the way his jaw sets when he sees other men get too close.

Eventually you need a break from the dance floor, as you walk towards the table your legs feel further unsteady. You notice one of your friends — the one you were on FaceTime with — in deep conversation with Johnny, before it can make you cringe you look away. The only other person is Simon, who is already staring back at you.

You collapse on the stool next to him, your side knocking into his as you do. Instead of straightening up you decide it’s far more comfortable to rest your back against him instead of leaning upright.

He shifts to accomodate your weight without knocking you over, “You good, love?”

You hum listening to your surroundings with you eyes closed, a big grin forms on your face at the pet name, “I don’t think I can walk straight anymore,”

“You haven’t been able to walk straight since the walk over here,” he replies, amused.

You blindly reach around to slap his thigh, “I don’t need your sarcasm,”

“What do you need then?” He inquires, speaking directly into your ear.

When you tilt your head you can see the bottom half of his jaw as he leans down awaiting your response. His thigh is warm under your palm, and absentmindedly you can’t help but run your nails up and down the length of it. Your mind has a comfortable haze over it where everything is slowed down, including the path between your thoughts and responses.

“Nothing, just you,” you mumble, sinking into his side, “Comfy.”

Simon sighs, lifting his arm gently so you can lean into his chest. The heavy weight of his arm settles like a warm blanket across your chest, you don’t hesitate to wrap your own around his and slip your heavy eyelids closed. Simon is as frozen as a statue, barely making a movement in fear of dislodging you or waking you up. He knows you shouldn’t fall asleep but you look so at peace in his arms.

“God, you two are sickening,” John fake gags as he bends his head around to see you in full.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, glancing at him through his periphery.

“The boys are never gonna believe me when I tell them the epic story of the one that crumbled Simon Riley,” he teases.

The sudden gasp John makes has him tense. Nothing good can come of an idea that John has. Curiously he follows as much as he can in his line of sight without disturbing you, as John fishes for something in his pocket. He jumps off his stool and walks around until he’s standing in front of your dozing off body. With a mischievous grin on his face he aims his phone’s camera in front of the two of you.

“Johnny, don’t,” he threatens.

“Or what mate?” He laughs, “You’re not gonna do shit, tell you what, I’ll even send you the photo,”

The unexpected flash of the camera lens has you squinting and curling away out of reflex. Simon’s arm tightens around you so you don’t fall off the stool.

When you blink away the blurriness of your vision you can see John standing in front of you, looking down at his phone with a shit eating grin, “What the fuck?” You inquire confusedly.

John looks over at you, flashes his phone screen at you, you can tell it’s a photo but you can’t make out what it is by the way he’s waving it around.

“Is that a photo of me?” You look up at Simon, “What’s he done, Simon?”

Simon sighs, shaking his head, “You’ll find out later,”

John laughs, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He reaches out and squishes the sides of your face like he used to when you were a kid, you slap his hands away as his fingers dig uncomfortably into your cheeks.

“I’m taking your friend home,” he announces.

“Gross,” you gag, “I don’t need to know that,”

He rolls his eyes, “To make sure she gets home safe, nothing more,”

“Whatever.”

The boys are talking about something over the top of you. You mindlessly drum your fingers against Simon’s forearm as you look out onto the dance floor, you’ve lost sight of your friends and you’ve lost all energy to get back on the floor. It’s time to head home. One of the girls, the one going home with Johnny, pops up in to say goodbye. You lean out of Simon’s grip, who for a moment doesn’t ease up until you pry his hand away.

She gives you a tight hug, thanking you for a night out before pulling away with a knowing grin, “Not a bad birthday this year, huh?” Looking over towards Simon with an unsubtle glance.

You slap her arm lightly, “Shut up, he’s just a friend,”

She’s raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any friends that call me their missus and beat up other guys who are being creeps,”

“No, but you do have guys who walk you home to keep you safe,” you shoot back.

She looks away with a blush, Johnny swoops in not long after, confirming your suspicions as he wraps an arm around her waist and asking if she’s ready to go. With one final wave, you and Simon watch them as they exit.

“I think I’m ready to head out too,” you sigh, stretching your arms above your head.

“You sure?”

You look over at him with an eyebrow raised, “Do you want to stay out longer?”

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head, “But it’s your birthday, love,”

I’d do it for you.

Your heart flutters, with a smile you pat his shoulder, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Miraculously, your legs remain upright as you shift off the stool you’re sitting on. You pardon yourself to say goodbye to your friends, who are thankfully easy to find in the crowd. They shower you with a flurry of birthday wishes and hugs before beginning to pack up themselves. Simon’s already waiting for you by the door as you make your way over. It’s nice to let him lead the way as he calls for a ride home, ushering you in once it’s here.

Before you know it you’re already stumbling down the driveway of your house, patting down your outfit for your house keys.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp, suddenly realising your bag is missing, “I don’t have my keys, I must have left my bag at the bar— Simon can you—”

“It’s here, darlin’” he announces, holding out the strap of your missing bag.

You hold your chest in relief, “Thank god, what would I do without you,” you sigh, looking through the contents of your bag as Simon holds onto it.

Successfully you find your keys and unlock the door. Simon closes it behind the two of you as you walk ahead to flip on some lights, when he walks down the hallway he finds you collapsed on the couch, arms spread and legs hanging off the edge.

“I can’t handle these heels anymore,” you moan.

“Sure you don’t feel like going for a run?” He teases, putting your bag on the bench.

“No,” you shake your head, looking over at Simon who’s now standing in front of you, gently reaching for your ankle, “I can’t think of anything worse,”

Simon tilts the side of your foot to find the buckle of your heels, “I thought you were going to outrun me,” he mutters, successfully letting your first shoe fall to the floor.

The sigh of relief you let out is soft and deeply grateful. Simon pointedly tries to ignore it, but he knows that sound will run on a loop in his mind later. You balance your other foot on his leg as he unbuckles the other shoe.

“I could do it,” you mumble unconvincingly, “All your muscles must slow you down,”

“My muscles?”

“Yeah, too many of ‘em,” you reply, “Must make you slow,”

Simon shakes his head at your logic, focusing on slipping off your other shoe. When he looks down at you he can see you’re already starting to doze off.

“Don’t fall asleep on the couch,” he says, gently tapping your leg to wake you up.

You groan, shoving your foot against his upper thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. He grunts, grabbing it out of reflex and pulling it upwards so it rests against his hip instead.

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble sleepily.

In one last act of generosity, Simon walks around then side of the couch and leans down. He shoves one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath the hook of your knees before lifting you off the cushions. It’s jarring to feel yourself being lifted in the air, blearily you’re aware that you’re being carried and that in itself is still mortifying to your drunken mind.

“M’not a child to be carried to bed Si,” you complain, latching onto his shoulders for leverage.

“I don’t want to hear about the shit sleep you’ve had because you decided to sleep on the couch instead of your bed,” he asserts.

Gently he pushes your bedroom door open with his foot and walks into your room. You’d hate to admit he’s right, but the soft mattress of your bed is much better than the instant relief the couch provided. Light from your bedside lamp illuminates the room, from sleepy vision you can see Simon walking around trying to find something.

“What do you sleep in?” He asks suddenly.

“Bit soon to ask me that isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles, “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he explains.

You point to one of the drawers in your dresser, “T-shirts are in the bottom drawer,”

You close your eyes as you hear him rummage through your stuff, when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder you open them again to see Simon standing beside your bed with shirt in hand.

“Can you sit up?” He asks.

Against your will you listen and slowly rise into a sitting position, “Do you treat all girls like this?” You ask curiously.

“Like what?” He asks, breath lodging itself in his throat as he watches you slowly hike off your dress. Clearly not thinking this through, Simon’s brain comes to a complete halt as you sit in front of him in nothing but your bra and panties.

“You’ve been looking after me all night, I just wanted to know if that’s what you’re always like underneath all that military training,” you muse.

The teasing tone has him more bothered than he’d like to admit. He rolls the t-shirt up in his hands before guiding your head through it, your arms follow next until you’re completely covered.

“Good night,” he says.

“Good night, Simon.” You reply, curling up under your blankets and quickly passing out into a deep sleep.

[mostholy]

DRUNK IN DA CLUB

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

Your brother is coming home for the summer holidays and plans to crash at yours. What he didn’t warn you about, however, was the unexpected friend he decided could tag along.

Brother’s best friend au, what more is there to say. (Reader is John Mactavish’s sister)

Part II Part III

3:05 am

The slight night breeze cooled your car down as you sat in the car park of the airport. It was hot, and the airport was a continuous stream of traffic that you could not wait to get out of. You drummed your fingers against the open gap of the window as you looked out for any sign of your brother. His plane landed an hour ago but there was still no sign of him.

Usually you wouldn’t pick him up, but since he was going to be home for a longer break you thought it was the least you could do— being a good sister and all.

Your phone buzzes beside you in the dark of your car’s interior. You reach for the dial of your radio and turn down the music before answering it.

“Hey Johnny, you here yet?” You look out the window in search of him.

“M’here just got out, it’s fucking crazy in there. Where are you?” He asked.

You reach for your keys to start the car, “I’ll come to you, tell me what you’re nearest to.”

Casually you can see John standing there with his duffle bag high on his shoulder and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. Beside him is a man you don’t recognise, he’s got a cigarette lit and a mask pulled under his chin as he smokes. You don’t think much of it as you wind down your window, and let out a low teasing wolf whistle.

“Need to get somewhere, darlin’? I got room in my car just for you,” you cackle as John’s disbelieving shake of his head.

“Shut it, it’s way too early for your shit,” there’s no heat behind it, by the smile on his face you can tell he’s pleased to see you.

You keep your hands on the wheel as he opens the boot of your car to toss his bags in. Curiously you watch the unfamiliar man follow John’s footsteps, through your rear view mirror you can see them exchange a few words as he drops the butt of his cigarette and hikes his mask back up.

Eventually John drops himself in the passenger seat while his friend carefully enters the backseat. When you look in the rear view mirror this time you can see his mask actually has a skull imprint on it, and you assume his hair is blonde by the low lights from passing headlights under his beanie.

“Gonna introduce the mysterious stranger in my backseat sometime soon?” You inquire as you pull out onto the road again.

John sinks deeply into seat, relaxation finally sinking into his bones, “‘uh? That’s Simon, I spoke about him once or twice didn’t I?”

You frown, the name rings a familiar bell, but it’s not what you care about right now. “Okay, so why is Simon in my car right now and not home on holiday?”

The unfamiliar voice makes you flinch in shock, “You didn’t tell her Johnny?” His voice rumbles.

John scratches his head trying to remember, “Did I ask if Simon could crash at yours or did I imagine that?”

“Johnny!” You exasperate, “You fucking idiot, you didn’t think to tell me that you were planning to bring a friend home over the holidays?”

“I thought I did!” He shoots back, not the least bit apologetic.

You sigh exaggeratedly, Simon is already looking at you when you glance back in the mirror, you smile to ease his stress, “Don’t worry Simon, you’re more than welcome. Even if someone, didn’t think to fucking warn me so I could set up the spare room,”

Johnny scoffs, “You never set up the spare room for me,”

“Because you never appreciate my effort, you’d sleep on the carpet and still think it was the best nights sleep you’ve ever had,”

“I cannot fucking wait to sleep.” he moans.

It’s almost 5 am when you pull into the driveway of your house. You’re exhausted as you close the door behind you, the boys grab their own bags and let you lead the way to unlock the front door. You flick the entrance lights on and kick your shoes off, John follows with ease but Simon makes an effort to be a bit more reserved as he neatly slips his shoes off.

You lead them through and open the door to the spare room on the way to the kitchen. You peak over your shoulder to look at John’s friend, “Simon, this room is all yours, okay? I’ll get some blankets soon, feel free to drop your things though,”

He nods and quietly ducks in while you and John walk into the kitchen. He drops his bags unceremoniously on your couch before stretching his arms high above his head.

“Not much of a talker is he?” You muse.

John hums, “He’ll warm up. He’s a tough nut that guy.”

You nod, turning on the kettle for a much needed drink. You turn your back, faintly hearing John collapse on the couch as you move about grabbing some cups. When you turn back around Simon is standing beside you, almost hovering.

“Jesus!” You gasp, clenching the handles of the cups harder in your fright, “You move quietly for a massive fucking man,”

John cackles from his spot on the couch, absolutely pissing himself with laughter. The slightest crinkle forms at the corners of Simon’s eyes at your reaction.

“Need a hand?” He brushes off.

You exhale deeply, “Sure, tea or coffee?”

“Tea s’fine,” he replies.

You nod, “Bags are in the top cupboard.”

You move about in comfortable silence, Simon keeps his space as he moves about trying to find where you keep everything. Upon first impression, you find him very respectful and try not to judge his reasoning behind wearing a mask and beanie indoors.

John is almost snoozing with his hoodie on and arms crossed over his chest when you call for him, “Do you want tea or not?”

He swats his hand absentmindedly, “M’sleepin’ later,”

You roll your eyes and put his mug back in the cupboard. Simon helps himself and makes his to his liking, by now his eyes are hooded with exhaustion. You make a beeline for the linen closet and take out spare blankets, without looking around you drop them on the edge of the spare bed before making your way back into the kitchen.

“Alright, spare room is all done. You can make it however you want,” you announce.

He nods, watching as you stand on the other side of the bench to make your drink. Without wanting to make it awkward you smile politely and gesture towards his drink, “Do you want to take it to your room? I’m gonna pass out in like ten minutes anyway, no point in staying out here.”

He takes your opening and thanks you before retreating back to his room. You exhale quietly once he’s out of earshot, although a polite house guest so far, his silent personality sets you on nervous edge. You remembered him earlier as John’s lieutenant who he’s always cracking jokes as you heard over your phone calls. But honestly you find it hard to imagine.

Must be one tough shell he’s got.

You shrug your shoulders and make your way across the hall to your own room. With the blinds shut, you can almost imagine it’s not sunrise as you go to sleep.

Hours later you can hear rummaging in your kitchen once again, the smell of bacon wafts in after making your stomach grumble. With a dreary moan you rise, throwing on a jumper over your shorts as you shuffle into the kitchen. John is at the stove, humming and energetic as he moves about. Although a morning person, you have no idea how he’s so alive after only a few hours sleep.

“Good morning sleepyhead!” He cheers, “Thought I’d make you breakfast for being such a caring baby sister,”

“Shove it,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes roughly with the sleeves of your jumper, “Why are you so loud?”

“He’s loud enough for the both of us,” a deep voice answers.

“Sleepyhead number two! The whole family is here,” John coos condescendingly.

Simon is standing there in casual clothes similar to last night, only this time the beanie and mask are missing. You can’t help but gawk as you take in his full face, he’s definitely blonde if the mop on top of his head is anything to go by. And he’s much more handsome than you anticipated.

When he looks over at you, you try to save yourself by smiling and waving him off, “Honestly, I don’t know how you deal with him,”

“Likewise,” he mutters, bringing the empty cup from last night to the sink.

“Hey,” John flicks the oil coated spatula at the both of you, “Don’t bond over your fond annoyance for me, I didn’t agree to that,”

You raise your eyebrow, “Not really offering anything else though are you?”

“I am slaving away at this stove for you, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re clearing out my groceries because you’re starving don’t try to make yourself look good.” you shoot back.

John opens his mouth but then thinks better of it, you got him there. He whistles a merry tune as he turns back to the stove, you gaze over at the sink to see Simon rinsing out his cup with a faint smile on his face.

“Enjoying your stay so far?” You muse.

He looks over at you as he switches the tap off, “It’s been entertaining,”

John scoffs, “Don’t be humble, you love hearing me get told off,”

Simon hums, “It is satisfying.”

The kitchen falls into a peaceful silence, you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools at your island as you watch John move around and rummage in drawers to finish cooking breakfast. Simon stands awkwardly for a moment, as an uncomfortable house guest does. You tap the bench beside you in silent offering to sit down, he gratefully takes your invitation and pulls up a stool beside you. Even when sitting down you can tell he’s quite tall with the way his shoulders are resting inches above your own. You honestly find his stature a bit intimidating but try your best to not let it show on your face.

“How are you?” You ask, to be polite.

Simon looks down at you quizzically, like he’s trying to understand your question. You almost feel bad, when’s the last time someone asked him that?

“I’m,” he thinks, “Okay. Relieved to have a break,”

You raise your eyebrow, “You sure you signed up for a break?” You hitch your thumb in Johnny’s direction, “You know he’s gonna run you ragged right?”

He chuckles, “I know, maybe you can reign him in for me,”

You grin and lean in to whisper, he stoops down to hear you, “We’ll take turns. Joint custody?”

He looks at you and nods, small amusement shown on his face, “Deal,”

When Johnny turns around with two plates in hand, all he can see is the both of you leant in close whispering about something. He immediately cuts in with disapproving shout as he puts the plates down in front of the both of you.

“No way, I am not having this,” he states.

Simon reaches for his cup as he listens to whatever is about to unfold, you frown, “Having what?”

He gestures between the two of you “This, whatever this is. It’s too comfortable for me, where’s the space for Jesus?”

The choke you hear next to you makes you look over, Simon is bent over his cup, incredulous look on his face and taken aback.

You however, are used to this, “Don’t fucking start Johnny, we were just talking about what your plans were.”

John looks between the two of you, hands on his hips in assessment. You sigh and roll your eyes, Simon remains silent but at ease. The both of you are far too used to Johnny’s antics to fall for his intimidation tactic. You pluck one of the hashbrowns off your plate and hold it out in peace offering, he instantly breaks character and takes it.

He bites a corner off as he speaks, “We’re gonna go to the beach,”

“No we’re fuckin’ not,” Simon instantly cuts in.

You laugh at the deep contempt in his voice. John huffs, “Don’t be a baby, Si, we need to keep up the tan,”

Simon leans towards your side to whisper, “You’re it, you can take this one,”

You shake your head and smile, looking over at John who conveniently has his back turned to fix his plate.

“Not a fan of the beach?” You inquire quietly.

Simon forks at one of the eggs on his plate, “I’d rather kill myself,”

You snort, his bluntness taking you off guard. John joins you both with his plate now full, once placed on the island you speak up, “I actually just found this hidden swimming hole near my place that we could go to,”

John raises his eyebrow, “How hidden is it exactly?”

You mull it over for a moment, “It’s not deserted, people definitely know about it, but it’s still pretty quiet. It used to be a quarry, and it’s in the middle of the bush so not a lot of people make the drive.”

Both boys sit in silence for a minute, debating probably entirely different things. Simon glances at you for the corner of his eye, silent plea to seal the deal.

“I mean it’s better than the beach during peak hour? You’ll never find a spot now at this hour,” you bargain.

John sighs, “I know when I’ve been outvoted. Just didn’t think my own blood would betray me like that.”

You roll your eyes, choosing not to respond and finish your breakfast. The boys talk about people you’re not sure of, coworkers you assume. You don’t think much of it, allowing their chatter to fill the quiet of your house. It’s nice to have company, you missed having your brother home and it’s always a relief to see him in one piece.

Simon is slowly growing more on you, still hesitant and quiet but John cracks his shell a little more with each sentence he pulls out of him. You have no idea how he does it, he’s got a gift when it comes to pulling out peoples personalities.

Eventually you push yourself back from your stool and hop off, bringing any empty dishes to the sink. “Best get your things ready if you want to make your way over,” you call out from over your shoulder, “It’s still early so it should be empty over there if we want it to ourselves,”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, I call shower first,” John responds, walking over to his bag.

“Where are your manners? We have a guest,” you frown.

“Simon can suck it, I’m not sacrificing my slot for him,” he calls out as he pulls clothes out, flinging them over his shoulder to hold.

Simon raises his hands, pacifying, “I can wait,”

You point a soapy finger in Simon’s direction as you wait for the water to run warm in the sink, “Don’t let him walk all over you Simon, he’s an asshole and will take advantage,”

Simon stands, collecting the forgotten dishes on the island, “I’m well aware.”

The bathroom door closes shortly after, effectively cutting off the conversation. You turn your back and continue washing the dishes, this time you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand before two arms appear beside you to place the dishes down.

You breathe out, “Seriously, you have got to teach me how to move around so quietly,”

Simon raises an eyebrow, “Why would you need to be trained in stealth?”

You shrug, scrubbing at a plate, “Seems handy, imagine how undefeated I would be at hide and seek,”

When you look over at Simon you can see him already staring at you incredulously, “You would use trained stealth skills for hide and seek?”

“Duh?” You answer dumbly, “Have you ever snuck up on Johnny? He has the best reactions,”

“Can’t say I have.” he responds bluntly.

By the time you make it to the swimming hole the sun is high in the sky and it is fucking hot. The walk down was all downhill so you’re already dreading the walk back but you try to not think about it. You grin when you see the water and turn around to face the boys, arms outstretched.

“See? Isn’t this so much better than an overcrowded beach? We’re all alone!” You marvel.

John immediately removes his shirt, admiring the water, “Yeah okay, I’ll hand it to ya’ this is much better,”

You look over at Simon and send him a conspiratorial wink. John jogs past already beelining for the water to cool down. You place the bags down, bending over to bring the towels out.

“Need help?” Simon asks, almost looming over you.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Do you want to place the towels down? I need to find this sunscreen,” you reply.

Simon does as he’s told while you keep looking, damn sunscreen always disappears when you need it most. Eventually you find it at the bottom, when you straighten back up you see all three towels neatly laid out in a row. You smile in thanks and sit down on the nearest one.

You generously squeeze some sunscreen onto your hand before handing it over to Simon who’s now beside you, “Sunscreen?”

He shakes his head, “Don’t need,”

“What?” You frown, “Everyone needs it,”

He shrugs, “Not me,”

“Simon, put the fucking sunscreen on,” he’s being ridiculous now.

He shakes his head, pushing the bottle back into your hands. You take your chance and slap your other hand against his outstretched arm, a big white spot of sunscreen is now splattered all over his tattooed arm.

“Oh no,” you gasp, “God I’m just so clumsy, let me get that for you,” amused by your own ridiculous acting, you try not to laugh as you rub the sunscreen into his arm.

Simon looks down at you imploringly, watching you rub your hands up and down his arm. He refuses to admit that it feels nice, and looks away from you. Focusing on John who’s swimming towards the other end of the hole.

You hold your hands up, still covered in sunscreen, “Might as well do your other arm, wouldn’t want you to tan unevenly.”

Like he gives a fuck. He rolls his eyes and tilts his body, giving you access to his other arm, with a grin you spread the excess sunscreen over it. John swims towards you both, stepping out of the water now drenched head to toe. He cackles when he sees you finishing applying the sunscreen.

“Roped you into it did she?” He sympathises.

He scoffs, “I feel like a child,”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, pulling away to grab more sunscreen, “Your turn Johnny, get down here so I can get your back,”

John immediately sits down in front of you, not willing to fight you on this one. He looks over at Simon, “Should go in Si, water’s warm and empty.”

Simon grunts, watching the water for a moment. You’re busy rubbing sunscreen into your brother’s shoulders, when Simon stands, you don’t take notice until you see his shirt drop on the towel he was previously occupying. You watch over John’s shoulder as he walks towards the watering hole, broad back on display for you to stare at. Your jaw drops as you take him in, all his scars and the tattoos that crawl up his biceps and onto his chest.

“Close your mouth,” John mutters, not even looking at you.

“It’s not— fuck off,” you blush, pointedly looking away.

“You’re about as obvious a brick wall,” he looks over his shoulder at you, mischievous smile on his face.

You glare, “I’m not obvious about anything,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah? You rub sunscreen into everyone’s arms?”

“That was taken out of context,” you defend.

John turns back, “Sure it was.”

He eventually moves to sit on the other towel beside you, watching Simon swim back towards the bank. You remove your t-shirt revealing your one-piece bathing suit. As you apply sunscreen, John leans over.

“Your birthday is coming up right?” He asks.

You hum, rubbing up and down your arm, “Yeah, in a week. You keen on coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I could go for drinks, you got any cute friends?”

Your eyes roll, “Don’t be a sleaze, I’m not cleaning up your mess.”

Just then Simon re-emerges, the chest you didn’t see before now all you can see. You absently rub sunscreen into your neck as you watch him trek back, John is talking but it’s white noise. You only zone back in when you seen Simon looking at you questioningly.

“Sorry?” You pardon.

“Simon was wondering what day your birthday was,” John supplies helpfully, smug as he does so.

“Oh!” You recover, “It’s next Friday, I’m going for drinks with a few friends. Which you’re more than welcome to tag along to,”

Simon nods walking over to his towel. John leans in to whisper, “Nice save, idiot,”

You slap his arm, cringing in embarrassment, “Fuck off, you’re not getting any of my friends now,” you hiss.

Simon pretends to not hear, draping his towel over his neck to dry any water. The swimming hole is peaceful, and hearing you and Johnny bicker oddly puts him at ease.

He’s curious about how your birthday will unfold.

[mostholy]

A Desperate Man- Part 1

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

All parts here

Simon’s never noticed women. Even with the way they flaunt and throw themselves at him, he’s never given them the time of day. In his mind, it’s just the job— and getting it finished. When he needs to loosen up? His hand works perfectly fine.

Until you show up. The perky new trauma surgeon he first noticed in the base medbay.

It started a month ago. Thirty whole days. God, only thirty days—and he feels like a teenager.

He hears your voice as he’s sitting with Soap, waiting for him to get patched up after a mission. Something about the soft, reassuring sound makes his head turn. It almost reminds him of his mother..

Maybe that’s why he noticed.

Maybe that’s why he looked.

But he froze when he saw your face, dark eyes were staring— trailing your every move, for reasons he didn’t yet understand.

But god help him, the one thing he knew in that moment was that he wanted you to speak to him like that.

Soap's voice snapped him out of it, the Scot chuckling and shaking his head.

“See somethin' ya like, Lt?”

The Scot's tease is only met with narrowed eyes as he stares back down at the knife in his hands.

Over the next few months, Ghost goes out of his way to be noticed by you. To really meet you.

Even managing to "accidentally" get a knife to the shoulder on the most recent mission.

It’s not his first stab wound, and it won’t be the last. In his head, the pain was worth it— worth being close to you. Worth having a reason to stare. To hear your voice as you reassured him.

So there he sits, arms crossed against his chest. Silent. Brooding. Waiting for his name to be called—to be noticed. There are men who have worse injuries, so he'll wait hours if it means he'll feel your soft hands on him, with your softer voice to top it off. Even if the smell of blood and antiseptic mixing assaults his sinuses.

That’s when he hears it. Your voice—sharp but solicitous—calling out his name. His real name.

“Riley? Simon Riley?” you say, checking over the clipboard, then looking up from it.

He shot to his feet—too fast. Like a rookie—making him look like an eager puppy. But fuck it, he’s waited long enough.

“It’s Ghost.“ he corrects. Plain and simple.

“Noted.” You smile softly, nodding as you jot it down on the chart.

That smile. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His shoulders tense. He's gone, and he knows it.

He’s nervous...

Actually nervous.

He’s sitting on the bed, watching you prep the tools and bandages before he manages to say something.

“You’re new.” He grumbles—it’s more of a statement than a question. He mentally grimaces at how much of a jerk he probably sounds like.

“Mhm, I am. Been here about a month now... you?” You retort sweetly, slipping on latex gloves and setting up the suture kit.

If he weren’t sitting, he’s sure his knees would give out. God, that voice. He could get drunk on it.

“Years now. You lose track when you’re facing death every other day,” He manages to joke—and you laugh. You actually laugh, and his heart skips a beat.

He made you laugh.

“I bet,” you say with a chuckle, gently examining his shoulder, fingers lightly pressing around the wound.

His heart races as you touch him. Your hands are warm. Careful. Gentle.

God, he’s falling, and he doesn’t care if anything catches him.

“It’s superficial.. I take it this isn’t your first rodeo with a stab wound?” You ask, applying antiseptic around the area.

He lets out a low chuckle—that raspy sound that makes you glance up at him.

“No. Not my first rodeo. Don’t be afraid to hurt me, love.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue so smoothly, and you blush—just a little. He sees it. He takes it as a win.

“I vowed to do no harm, Ghost.” You chuckle softly, irrigating the wound with saline..

“But I will give you the choice.. numbing or no numbing?” You ask, your eyes meet his, steady and professional.

“Don’t need numbing for a few stitches.” He says without hesitation, which makes your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Got it. I’ve got a tough guy on my table.” You tease, wiping saline away and rinsing your hands of it.

He shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a subtle shift beneath the balaclava—just enough to know he's smiling.

You know he’s smiling behind the mask—and he knows that you know.

[mostholy]

I had to get this off of my chest, it's pure fluff and annoying!reader (according to Simon)

------------

Thonk

Simon turned to the side, looking at the new recruit on his shoulder. Your head had fallen onto his shoulder, using him like a pillow.

Simon wasn't happy about this new predicament in the slightest, especially not after Soap had taken a picture of it like it was a spectacle to behold.

It was incredibly disrespectful to use your commanding officer like a pillow, let alone Ghost. But you didn't care. Not in the slightest.

Well, it didn't seem like you cared much as you slept, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn closer as if you were having a bad dream.

He tried to move you off of him, shaking his shoulder, your shoulder. Nothing worked. You slept heavy, something condemnable in the military. Sleeping heavy meant you weren't alert, aware. Bad for business in all the wrong ways.

He called for your name, your rank, but nothing worked. You were out cold and using him for warmth.

He decided he'd deal with it when he landed. In 6 hours.

------------

2 hours passed and you were still out cold. Then 3 and 4.

Soap was up now, laughing his ass off again, waking up Gaz and Price who also seemed more than amused. The mission was clearly exhausting for you. It was your first, it didn't surprise the older and more experienced men around you, but it was still a sight to see.

Simon was pissed.

Had he stayed completely still during that entire time? Yes. Did he enjoy any second of it? Absolutely not.

Somehow, you had wiggled one of your arms under his, holding onto his bicep.

Then, you had the audacity to smile. Your eyebrows no longer drawn or lips parted. They were now pulled softly to each side of your rosy cheeks as you muttered. He almost asked you to repeat it before it before it registered.

"That's nice." You had said, nuzzling closer to him as if he was something soft enough to nuzzle.

Your smile had become dizzying to him as the words pingponged inside his head.

That's nice.

Nice? Him? Nice?

It was laughable at best, damning at worst.

He tried waking you up multiple times throughout the flight. A series of taps on your shoulder to shaking you. You just mumbled some jumble before squeezing his arm softly, smiling, and heading right back to dreamland.

You clung to him the rest of the flight, smiling that stupid smile as you relished in his warmth, melting into his side.

The plane landed and everyone moved off except for the two of you. Him against his will, and you against his side.

You stayed there for another hour before finally waking up.

You were teased about it relentlessly when you both returned to base and chewed out for almost an hour by Ghost himself.

------------

Weeks passed before the next incident that got you your callsign: Thorn.

On a mission in the cold and infamous Russia, you had fallen into a river the team had been crossing. Rushing to the safe house, your clothes were quickly pulled from your body as you shook violently. Ghost, ever the bigger man of the group, was tasked with warming you by the fire. He held you, yelled at you to keep your eyes open, and wrapped you up in his warmth.

You finally got over your mild case of hypothermia before falling into a deep sleep again. This time on top of him. You curled into his side, pushing your small feet between his legs to warm them before nuzzling into his chest.

It was more than embarrassing the next morning as your clothes were handed to you.

"Twice in two months." Soap teased, watching your face turn red at the raggedy dinner table the equally raggedy safe house had to offer. "Should I be expecting another next month?" He asked with wiggly eyebrows.

You shoved his face away, going to apologize to Ghost who was on watch.

The conversation was short and curt, him sending you off with calling you a proper thorn in his side.

Gaz joined in on the teasing, calling you Thorn, and the dreadful, fluster inducing name stuck.

------------

Unfortunately for the reputation of the Big Bad Ghost, it didn't take long before he had come to crave the heat you offered on his side.

Sitting next to drowsy you, or being forced to when all the seats were taken, had become a past time of his and Soap and Gaz were eating it up.

They had a hefty collection of photos of each encounter (that they caught) by the time Christmas came along. Ghost should have known it was trouble when Gaz and Soap had given you two a present together in the lounge room where the celebration was taking place. You, ever the naive, had just been happy and honored to get a present from two of your favorite people.

The groan that echoed throughout the room was loud enough that you could hear a pin drop in the aftermath.

Everyone had stopped to look at a pink faced you and a more than unamused Ghost as a roll of film was pulled from a decorated box. The bastards had taped every Polaroid picture together and it rolled out like loose toilet paper.

Everyone, except you and Ghost, laughed as the pictures were examined. It, more often than not, included a sleeping you and an angry Simon giving a death glare to the photographer. On a rare occasion in the collection of photos, there would be a photo of you and Ghost, huddled up together, asleep.