#cod (call of ducks) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-librarby · 16 days ago

Text

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.

#simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #cod fanfic

841 notes · View notes