Happy Valentine's Day, Jo For The #mmvalentinesevent Can I Request "carding Your Fingers Through Your

happy valentine's day, jo ❤️ for the #mmvalentinesevent can i request "carding your fingers through your lover’s hair after a bad nightmare" with ghost and helen please? love you, babes!!

sometimes, i dream

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader [helen!reader]

Some nights, he falls asleep dreaming of nothing.

In others, the black space behind his eyes comes alive with all the failings—the blood, the loss, the sights. Sometimes they’re accurate depictions, a flashback, a reminder; sometimes they’re heightened, a lie created by the fears he carries.

He never knows when they’ll come, when they’ll crash into him, and when they do…

Nightmares pull Ghost under. The mask he applies so perfectly is yanked from his face, leaving him exposed—leaving him with Simon.

Simon has scars that are different to the ones Ghost has. Ones that aren’t on skin level, but far beneath the surface.

They choke him. They force strangled noises passed his lips as the darkness wraps around his throat. It unfurls inside of him. Needing to wake, needing to escape—

“Simon…”

It drips into his ear, calls to him: her voice.

An outline of her stepping like the brightest light into the peripheral of his dream. It’s something, but not quite enough. Needing more, internally pleading with her.

Save me. Help me.

“Shh, Simon. I’m here.”

She’s more corporeal. Pushing through the shadows of his guilt, trying to reach him, desperately fighting against memories and failures and—

“Baby, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Her nails brush through his hair as he dances between dreams and being awake. He knows them so well. A feeling he treasures and craves.

Her fingers, those healing hands, push past his slightly-too-long hair. Likely feeling the damper parts from his nightmare. Her nails occasionally scrape against his scalp, cementing him here and not wherever his mind keeps trying to take him.

Ghost flicks his eyes open. His sight meeting darkness, but not the same type his mind had conjured. This darkness has familiar shapes and calming shadows. It has outlines that make him relax.

It’s why all he does is stare.

Finding her eyes, even in the dark of the night. Needing them, having them guide him back to normal breathing.

He should admit it—tell her—that the mere whisper of his name had yanked him free of his nightmares hands. That when she repeated it again, it unlodged the grip around his lungs; untangled the knot in his stomach, and allowed his heart to thump again.

But when she called him baby... when her beautiful lips let those four letters slip out into the air—it had pulled him back to her.

Pulled him from sandy deserts, where there were screams of people he could have saved and his palms soaked with blood that wasn't his.

It’s why he stares at her like she is the sun. Because she is his sun. She lights him, both his world and his skin. She spreads warmth, even amongst the places he never thought he’d feel it again. Her smile, similar to the sunniest of days—makes everything okay, even when it couldn’t be further from it.

She has cloudy days, thunderstorms and rain, too. He knows she does. Has pulled her from them and brought her close to him.

He guesses she's returning the favour. Pull him close to her, feeling his panicked breath on her chest until he soothes and coats her skin in quick thank yous.

He will, thank her. For now, he slides his hand over her forearm, squeezing—letting her know he’s back, he’s here. A silent gratitude, one she must hear loud and clear because she drops the softest, sweetest kiss to his brow.

“Would you still love me if I was a rock, Simon?”

And he feels it before he acknowledges it: a smile.

The way it spreads like wildfire across his face. The way his mind wants to articulate some sarcastic comment, letting go of the last tendrils of his nightmare with ease.

She’s good. He thinks quickly—almost tempted to slide his palm up and feel her smirk. Using distraction.

“I’d carry you in my pocket. Maybe throw you at Johnny when he’s pissin' me off.”

She laughs the most beautiful sound, one which lulls him without trying. “You wouldn’t need to aim, either. I’ll always find the spot to hurt him. Just for you.”

He grips her arm a little tighter, thumb brushing in swipes. “S’why you’re too good for me,” he whispers, the words barely kissing the air.

“One day you’ll believe we deserve one another.”

He snorts, imagining the smile she's wearing at his grunt.

He just feels the most comfortable silence fall over them. Enough to make him close his eyes as her head meets his shoulder. Warmth spreads over him as her skin touches his.

He’s almost not afraid to try and sleep again.

Not with her by his side, his lips brushing her forehead, his hand remaining on her forearm—rooting himself with her.

an: i know this was supposed to be sweet and romantic, @halfmoth-halfman so i hope this is okay that i took it a little… angstier. loves ♥️

⇝ MÉNAGE .

Simon makes the mistake of spending the night before one of the longest missions of his career in the arms of a woman he met at a pub, unaware of the consequences it would have on his life moving forward.

CW: Unplanned pregnancy, angst, smut, fluff, dad!Simon.

Also on Ao3!

— CHAPTERS:

‍‍‍‍‍‍‍

I ; Midnight ; [ 10.1k words ]

II ; Shadow ; [ 10k words ]

Heyyy! A request for simon Ghost riley x fem! Reader where reader is dead and simon is having a REALLY hard time getting over it and is not eating, sleeping, or drinking but only drinking alcohol WAY to much, and the 141 is worried about him. So one night, he comes out of his room and is like to weak to stand on his feet from the lack of sleep and food and collapses in front of the others, and he ends up in the hospital. I'm a SUCKER for angst.

(You're so sick for this bestie)

Reaching back (for what is not there).

Warnings: death mentions, suicidal thoughts, suicidal conduct, alcoholism, depression, dark themes, dark "open" ending, angst, hallucinations, grief, implied afterlife (but up to you), kinda gross tbh. Unedited bc holy fuck. Good luck.

He wonders sometimes, if human kind will ever develope enough to create something that could pull memories out of brains and play them on a screen, plug something on your skull and connect it to a device that digs around your head. He wonders too, what it would do to society if it ever were to happen. People live in their heads enough as it is -doesn’t he know it-, but having your object of longing play out in front of your eyes, unreachable? He would go mad. Madder.

He can't say he would die, though. He's been wishing that for months, and it hasn't happened yet. Even when your laugh rings by his ears all day, and then turns into your agonizing screams by night. Despite that around 2 AM, the picture of you he has by the nightstand gets stained by blood and the trees outside look like they'll grant him his wish and murder him, he's, unfortunately, still alive.

He stopped wishing he could go back months ago.

--

"Do you ever get tired of the balaclava?"

Simon raises his head from where it's buried in a book just to look at you. He feels himself get warm just by being in the same room, seeing you standing at his door while he's sitting on his bed. He almost feels small.

"I'm used to it now," he answers sincerely. It was tiring at first, when he wore that and shades on top. They would get foggy real quick, and he'd run out of patience real fast too. Then he almost got burned alive and now, everything pales in comparison. The change to a skull helped, too.

He doesn’t say any of that to you, but he somehow knows you read it on his face. A sad look comes over your features, tying up a knot around his throat. He feels guilty, and he doesn’t know why.

"Why not a face mask and some shades?"

He chuckles. "You'd be surprised by how much more suffocating that is."

When you start walking to him, he almost recoils back. You look like you're on a mission, and something tells him the mission is him. You lean close to him, making his breath hitch.

"What?" He asks, once you're inches from his face and you're breathing the same air. He feels his face heat up.

"I just think a face mask would be easier to pull down," you answer, nonchalant. He frowns, confused.

"Why would I want it to be easier to pull down? Defeats the whole purpose."

You roll your eyes, annoyed. "It would be easier to kiss you that way."

You say it just like that, no big deal, and leave his room the same way.

He just sits there, stunned.

---

He was not a particular fan of alcohol, before. He knows better than to let your past fears control your life, wears a mask to remind himself of it, but the stink it gives off always makes him sick. It isn’t the taste, the amber look it usually has, the loss of control it causes, it’s the smell. It pushes him back to beatings, to a crying mother and an addict.

He finds it oddly ironic, how his entire house is drenched in it now. No matter where he goes, where he sets foot in, it smells worse than a fucking pub. His room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room. It all smells like bourbon, beer, vodka, tequila, mixed all together to create something that makes his head swim.

Which is exactly what he’s aiming for, has been for months. He's starting to think his sweat smells like alcohol too.

Dizzy on whiskey and not a single ounce of food in his system, his body makes an effort to desintoxicate him and makes him retch with nothing coming up. He just lays besides the toilet, and lets it happen until he passes out.

--

"You have a nice smell."

His head snaps up, frowning under his mask. Do you even think before you speak?

"Excuse me?'

You shrug, focused on cleaning your gun. "You smell nice. I don't know what it is, or how you manage to, for that matter, but you do. It's pleasant."

He stops cleaning his own weapon, setting his tools down on the table so he can get a good look at you.

Nothing in you shows a joking stance, you're completely serious and relaxed. You're not even shy or hesitant, like you’re talking about the weather.

He clears his throat, hot under the collar. "Thank you, I guess."

You smile briefly, shaking your head. "Just keep it up."

--

He has Johnny's arms around his waist, keeping him upright while trying to get him out of the small room.

The first few times it happened, he fought. Drunk and delirious from lack of sleep and eating, he had tried his best to free himself from Soap's grip, giving him a bloody nose the first time and a split lip the second. After the fifth though, he just let him. He doesn’t see a point anymore, like in most other things.

"Price's gon' be furious, man," Johnny mutters, clutching him closer until he's practically carrying him. His vision is blurry, but he thinks he's being carried to the Sargeant's own quarters.

A few moments after, he's proven right when Johnny shoves him inside and then drags him to his bathroom.

Cold water pours over him, making him gasp and jump. Soap laughs briefly, but it's bitter and angry.

"Take your clothes off, you reek."

Despite himself, Simon obbeys. Johnny steps out.

--

He absolutely hates military balls. He doesn’t get them, can’t tolerate more than 5 people around him and even less if they're asking for attention. There's easily 200 bastards in the building, and he breathes ego no matter where he goes.

He changes his mind as soon as he sees you though.

The red dress hugs your body perfectly, he thinks he's dizzy just by looking at you. His gala uniform is making him itch, the face mask is suffocating him and he hasn’t been this uncomfortable in years. But the moment he sees you arrive, shining and beautiful, he thinks it's worth it.

"Hello, Lieutenant," you greet him, nodding. He can see your eyes taking him in, and he stands more straight without meaning to. "You clean up well."

He feels himself get flushed, but he's not really in the mood to play games.

"You look beautiful," he tells you, sure of himself even though he can feel his hands shake. He squeezes them together behind his back, just to hide it from you.

You beam at him, giggling and shaking your head. You’re surprised, he notices. Probably because he's always stunned or shying away when you give him any sign of interest.

"Thank you," you tell him softly, stepping closer. He can feel all the other soldier's eyes on the two of you, more you than him. Possessiveness burns up his spine, but he ignores it for the time being.

He extends his hand, almost regretting it when he sees the way his fingers shake. But you don’t seem to mind, and wrap your own around it. He feels steadier now.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

You nod, squeezing him slightly when he walks the two of you to the center of the room.

He could kill just to keep your smile intact.

--

"If you don't stop, I'll have to request a leave for you."

In the best of cases goes unsaid.

Price looks at him with so much pain in his eyes it almost makes him feel guilty. Almost. He's angry too, he can see it in the way he's frowning and the pen between his fingers is not far from being torn apart.

He knows he won't request a thing though. They won't admit it and won't say it to him either, but he's been falling to pieces for months and the entire team has been the only thing there to keep him from going too far. At least John must know that letting him out of his sight would be the worst option.

"Have you eaten?" Price asks him. He doesn’t answer, and the Captain sighs. His eyes rake over his body. He's thinner, paler. He's like a corpse.

"Go eat," he orders him. "I'll be there shortly."

He's not eating. Nothing has a taste anymore, the only sensation he gets comes from the sharp sting of whiskey down his throat. He looks at actual food and wants to gag.

Price shoots daggers at him with his eyes.

Simon sighs.

--

"Your Manchester accent gets worse when you're tired."

He smiles at you, delirious from lack of sleep and rest, mixed with some glasses of bourbon. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, doing your best keep him upright to get to your quarters. If John sees him like this, he'll hang you both.

"That ain't true, an' y'know it."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You're right, it’s always this horrible."

He scoffs at you, offended. His hand raises to pinch your arm, and you swat him away like he’s a little child. It's the most carefree you've ever seen him, high on a succesful mission and drinks. He even laughed back at the pub, leaving you pumped full of giggly happiness.

"Y'like it though," he mutters, low and hesitant. "Y'do, don’t ya?"

You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again.

"I do, Simon," you reassure him. He smiles brightly again, pulling you closer and making you stumble.

"I like you too," he slurs, "I like you qui-quite a lot."

--

He startles out of his slumber with his heart pounding.

He hears your voice.

He stands up in complete panic, shaking and with a knot lodged inside his throat. He manages to pull himself outside his room, weak. His legs almost give out when he hears you calling his name again.

He runs. He's not sure where it comes from, but his entire body forces him to stumble his way through the corridors, searching for you with his heart bleeding out.

"L.t.!"

He ignores Soap, trying to go faster when he notices your voice is getting more quiet. Desperation claws inside his chest, burning all the way up to his nostrils.

"Ghost!"

He falls down to his knees. Still, he keeps crawling, refusing to stop when you're so close, so close. He needs you, you sound so sad and scared, he needs to get to you. You can’t leave him again, you can't. You can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t please please-

"Price!"

You shriek, somewhere in the distance. He drags himself through the floor, barely making out your figure through blurry eyes. He can't breathe, something is choking all the air and keeping it from entering his lungs.

Fury invades him for a second. He's been asking for this, has been for months. He has you so close, why now? Why not when he was covered in your blood and had your body in his arms? Why not when he saw you get buried and heard the gunshots ring? The first time he had to go back to base without you? When he had to take care of your things? Why now?

A piercing scream makes his ears pop. Only when he passes out does he realize it was his.

--

"Doing this won’t bring me back, you know?"

His eyes sting.

"I didn't exactly took that bullet for you only to see you kill yourself slowly. It's worse than Hell."

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He feels an IV in his right hand, hears a monitor somewhere on his left, smells antiseptic no matter how much he wills it away, and he's terrified to open his eyes.

"You don’t have to open them Si, it’s okay."

He tries to swallow the knot inside his throat. Something close to him moves, or it sounds like it. Then, he feels something cold near his hand. It twitches, stopping himself from reaching out.

"I miss you a lot, big guy." Your voice is dripping with sadness, even though he can hear you trying your best to conceal it. "But I'd rather miss you than have you with me so soon."

He takes a shaky breath, trying his best to stop the tears gathering inside his eyes. It gets harder by the second.

"Can you try for me, love?"

A sob manages to escape. He can't. He can't try, and the crushing weight of disappointing you robs him of oxygen. He can't hold back anymore, hyperventilating and sobbing his heart out. He falls into pieces, beyond any possible fix and with no desire for it anyways. Everything crumbles, ends with nothing more than dust.

He's crying long after he stops hearing your voice and the med team rush inside to sedate him.

--

"He's getting worse."

He barely makes out the words from inside his hospital room.

"But how? You've been pumping him full of shit. It's not doing anything?"

Silence.

"So what? What then?"

"We're doing all we can, Captain, but-"

"But what? Tell me how it bloody is, goddamit."

Silence again. Then:

"You should call loved ones, in case-"

"There are no loved ones, doc."

He passes out again when Johnny comes inside his room.

--

"You ever thought of retiring, L.t.?"

In truth, he never did before. Life outside of the SAS seemed pointless and empty, not something made for a man like him. Not even before his family was killed did he consider retiring. He always figured he would be K.I.A.

Just as Johnny asks, you pass by them. You have earphones in, so he doubts you hear, but he chuckles at the coincidence anyway.

But then...

"I have," he says, when you smile at him from where you're picking up your food. It looks like absolute shit, and still you beam at him like you just got handed a ticket for a free buffet. He smiles back, even if you can’t see it.

"You have?" Johnny asks, surprised. He just nods, not looking away from you.

It would be nice, to retire and have a home with you, a place to arrive after a day of normal, civil work. To see you smile down at a homemade meal, watch trash tv while making out on the couch. And maybe, just maybe, see you take care of a little fella with his hair and your eyes.

The black velvet box inside his room may be a good start.

"I hope you get what you wish for, L.t.".

He hopes so too. If only to make you happy.

--

Simon has a desk.

He has an office, actually. Boxes of paperwork are lined by the walls, making it feel smaller than it is. The desk is in the middle, and a tall drawer shoved at the back wall just behind the chair. Nobody knows what he has inside it.

On top of his desk, he has a picture. It's dark, clearly taken at nighttime. Aside from an airplane toy on top of the drawers, it’s the only personal thing he has.

The picture is of the two of you. He had taken you camping, almost a year after he stuttered his way through a confession and recieved a kiss in exchange. You have your arms wrapped around his waist, and his wrapped around your shoulders. He's not smiling, of course, but you're looking up at him like he just tied a rope around the moon and pulled it down just for you.

Johnny is the one tasked to clear the office by the next day. He does so efficiently, like he clears rooms when on a mission. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare pry inside the drawers and just dumps the contents inside black trash bags. Nobody bothers him through the day, not even Price. He thinks Kyle stands outside the door for a while sometime in the afternoon, but he doesn't dare knock, much less come inside.

He picks up the picture at night, burning inside when he sees the two of you. In what he knows is a moment of weakness, he gets it out of the frame and shoves it inside his jacket.

He ties the bags up, gathering them in front of the desk for the people in charge of cleaning to find and dump.

When he steps out, he makes sure to turn the lights off.

they forgot ~ corpse husband

word count: 2022

request?: yes!

“Corpse husband asks his S/O why they are upset two days before their birthday and they reply, “I just got a text from my parents saying to have a happy birthday today.” ”

description: in which an early birthday text sends her mood on a downward spiral just days before her actual birthday

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing, shitty parents, some self hatred/insecurities due to shitty parents

masterlist (one, two, three)

Continuar lendo

ՏͲᎡᎬᎪᎷᎬᎡ ᎽΝ

°•Streamer yn on QMSP

Author's Note:ᴡᴇʟʟ, ғɪʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴍ sᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ғᴏʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ɪɴᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs, ɪᴛs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, sᴏ ɪ ᴇɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ. ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴇssᴜʀɪɴʜ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ ᴀʟsᴏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏs, ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋs💓

~

°The announcement.

Y/n ᴡᴀs sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛᴇ ᴏɴ ϙᴜᴀᴄᴋɪᴛʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄᴛᴀғᴛ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ sᴇᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴀsᴋs ʜᴇʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ sʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

sʜᴇ sɪɢʜs,"ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴅ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ, ɪᴍ ᴊᴜsᴛ sᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍɪɴᴇᴄʀᴀғᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғs ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ, ᴏʀ ɪғ ɪᴛs ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ" sʜᴇ sᴀʏs ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴄ,"ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴs".

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°ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ.

ʀɪɢᴛʜ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴏɴ sᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʏɴ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴇʏ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ғᴏʀ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴇɢɢ sɪɴᴄᴇ sʜᴇ ɪs ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ.

ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ y/n ᴛᴀʟᴋs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇɢɢ ᴀʟsᴏ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀs ʜᴇʟᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴄᴛʜ ɪᴛᴇᴍs.

"ɢᴜʏs, ɪᴍ ᴏғғɪᴄᴀʟʏ ɴᴏᴡ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʀᴀɪsᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜɪᴅʀᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴅᴜᴄᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇsᴛ, ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀ sᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙʀɪɢᴛʜ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ."

Cheerytree69: why you sound so dramatic lol.

riveryn:watch her kill her egg on the first day.

"ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟ,sᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs, ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs sᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ, ᴛʜᴀᴛs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ sᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇɢɢ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀs ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴇ, ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴀʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴛʜɪs ɪs?"

Slaylishous: They dont have a name yet?.

"ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴡᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴏғ ᴀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴄᴀɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ, sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴏɴᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴡɪᴄʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ."

Finegirl:what are the plans you were talking about in the announcement stream?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴘʀᴏᴍɪssᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ?, ᴡᴇʟʟ ɪᴍ ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀғᴜʟ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ϙᴍsᴘ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʙᴇ sᴜʙᴍɪssɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛғᴜʟ ᴡᴀʏ."

Flowerboy:How was interacting with the other member of the server?

"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴇʀʟʏ,ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇᴇᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴄᴏᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʀᴇᴅʏ ᴍʏ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs, sᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɴɪᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ɴᴏᴡ.

°•°•

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋs ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀʟsᴏ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀsᴋs, ᴏʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴘɴɪᴏɴs ᴏɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ sᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ʏɴ ᴏɴ ϙᴍsᴘ.

how you met : college bf!simon .

tooth-rotting fluff

he was in a few of your classes, you’d recognize a man that looks like that anywhere. he was kinda mysterious, always lurking in the back row with his jet black hoodies and dark eyes.

he made eye contact with you every time you walked into the lecture hall. it was intimidating at first, you’d always look away after a second but you could still feel his eyes on you as you took your seat.

in true girl fashion, you went into fbi mode trying to find his socials— only a private instagram with no profile picture and basically nothing in the bio. but you did have his name, simon riley.

the first time he showed up to class a little late, he rushed to the nearest spot open which happened to be in the row right behind yours. he had a hard time fitting his legs into the seat and accidentally kneed the back of your seat, he just cursed and apologized.

you turned your head a little to say it was ok but it was really to get a closer look at him. you were a little startled by how much bigger he was now that he was up close. you caught a glimpse of his dirty blonde hair and you wanted to turn all the way around and see everything.

the second time he was late, he rushed in right as the professor was starting up and huffed as he dropped in his seat. you heard him ruffling around in his backpack and then a quiet curse before he sighed and the chair creaked as he leaned forward

he tapped your shoulder “hey, sorry, do you have an extra pen i can borrow?”

“uh, yeah,” you gave him the one in your hand, finally turning fully to look right at him.

your fingers definitely brushed against each other and the whole world started moving in slow motion. you blinked up at him and there was a hint of curiosity in his brown eyes as he looked down at you. you took in his features, the pink lips that were parted just a little and the slight crook in his nose that made your knees feel weak. but the romantic moment was cut off by the professor starting the lecture

when he returned the pen, he asked you if you wanted to go to the coffee shop and study for the upcoming exam. of course you said yes! finally he made the first move, you’d only been sending him subliminal messages for 2 months !! real

you started to spend more than just class time together, soon you were eating most meals together and walking to class together and studying together. you found yourself wanting to be around him all the time and it seemed like he wanted the same thing.

the first time he kissed you was in his dorm after finishing up a little study session. you were chatting about something while he cleared up some books and you sat on his bed. you made some stupid joke about how big he was when you saw his hand cover the entire front cover of one of the books.

he turned around with a crooked smile that made you gulp. then walked over with his eyes glued to yours until he was standing over you.

“gimme your hand,” he didn’t break eye contact but gestured with his head.

you held you hand up and he pressed his warm palm against yours. you were mesmerized, sure there’d been some light flirting between you two especially since you were spending so much time together, but this was new air.

“maybe you’re just small,” he kept his eyes on yours as he cocked his head. his fingers intertwined with yours and he dipped down to capture your lips.

you let out a little gasp but immediately melted into the kiss. you felt his free hand come around to the small of your back as he leaned over you.

after making out in his bed for a while and letting his hands roam wherever they wanted, he asked you on a proper date.

***

whatcha think ?

pls comment and reblog! and send requests/asks about this au or another so i know what you want more of<3