Opening The Door Triggers The Boss Fight

talking to my husband about Chris Evans...

Me: They like to call Chris Evans the Dorito because of his shoulder to waist ratio. He's shaped like a triangle.

My husband: They should call him the Bermuda Triangle because the ladies wanna get lost in him.

Coney Island- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Based on a request:

Helloo, it's my first ask here but i saw something on tiktok about having a specific type of a guy that's; closed off, stoic and stuff but he has a soft spot for a specific person and reader thinking its them but no. I just need angst😭 honestly. That's all thank you!!

F!Reader, death of character(s), angst, platonic!relationship, no happy ending --

Months before your death, that is when he broke your heart. He was so cold and rude to most people on base but there was one person who could touch Simon and talk past Ghost. The men of the task force were on his best side, but she was on the special side of his life. You always thought it was you, the one who could be his entire life only to find out you weren't even on the list.

He never spoke much of his life to you, you only heard bits from the other men but as any fool does you believed it was for him and you to have some sort of good place in this Earth. For months he gave you flickers of hope and you sure believed they were real. Each time you thought you were passing those high walls of his, there seemed to be a new wall you never heard of. A labyrinth with no way out and the way in has been closed off by spikes. His cruel words of that day were such spikes.

"Lieutenant-" you paused as you had seen him and the girl sitting on the bench, how he was so open to her. All his emotions were out for her to see and hear. He painted the sky with his hurt and past but it was for her eyes only, never to be yours. All the questions you asked, only to be spoken to her, never to you. You'd jump in front of a bullet, grenade or anything to protect his past and mind and he'd discard it. His insecurities, fears and all those years of trauma, laid for her and her only.

It was clear then that it was a team of two, him and her. You began to question it all, the nights he asked about your life, telling you...no, pleading you to tell him, that it was the only way for him to open up to you. The nights you cried to him, all your weapons laid for him to point them and shoot you in the back. Losing your mind over minor mistakes and still he held her close, never you.

If I pushed you to the edge But you were too polite to leave me?

The day he lost you, what a nightmare was that day. The smoke in the streets, the passing bullets, one for your chest and the invisible one for his heart. Despite the hurt he brought upon you, you never left. The reason even to this day makes his head ponder. What is he now? Why is he alive and not you? The blood that leaked from your body, the way his hands were painted with crimson, how he lost you and gained a new shade to paint the skies for her.

Will you forgive my soul When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

Every time he could, there he was. Talking about his sorrows to you now underground. The flowers that he replaced every time he was there, always fresh for the garden he forgot to make while you were alive. The first question he would ask you in the afterlife or in the next life is, "Can you forgive me?" and would you? Can you be so delicate with his dying heart?

Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey?

Back at the place where he knew he lost you, you were alive then but that morning he lost his friend. "R/N, listen to me, it's not that I don't trust you-" you shake your head and chuckle. "No? Then what is it, lieutenant? Hate? shame? I told you about all of me and now here you are. I am me, I can't be someone else, all of me has been shown to you! And you can't trust me? This is rubbish, sir! I can't hide anything from you, here I am...what more can't you see!" That is all you wanted, just a little piece of him because he took all of you.

Coney Island, the place where he saw your first death.

And when I got into the accident The sight that flashed before me was your face But when I walked up to the podium I think that I forgot to say your name

Eighteen months after your death, that's when he got into the worst gunfight of his career. Everyone was injured that time, Soap with a bullet in his leg, Gaz with a severe concussion, Price laid on the floor as blood dripped down from his shoulder and there he was, alone and behind a wall, tears ran down his face. The first time he was scared in a long time was that night. Bullet on his arm, cut by his torso and the image he had of you by his chest dripped with his blood.

The speech he gave at your funeral, how in his many years of service he had never been so afraid to speak. The room filled with friends and family, all looked at him. He felt as if they all knew the pain he caused your heart, what if they did? GODDAMNIT WHY NOW!

"The funniest person I had by my side was her, stupid jokes I learned from her now said to others." The speech went on for 10 minutes because he had more to say than the five sentences to say. And in each sentence, none of them had your name. He was afraid to even say it for he had no right to ever say your name not after he was the one with the knife on Coney Island.

But I think that I forgot to say your name Over and over

As he felt his life near the end, the last thing he saw was your face, fingers caressing the photograph.

"R/N," was his last breath.

Moss Graffiti: A How To Guide

Reblog if you’re bisexual, support bisexuals, or want all racists dead

ONE OF THE BEST PETER PARKER EDITS IVE EVER SEEN

RB if you think trans women are women

Trans men are men

And every other gender is entitled to their own pronouns and rights like a human being

And if you can't reblog than just don't follow me

I'M DOING AN EXPERIMENT

To prove something to a friend, please

REBLOG IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

LIKE IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS DON’T BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

im ripping my hair out, i cant find this fanfic i was reading on here, it was abt gunslinger!ghost and like the reader was taken from her home and had to live w him in his cabin, and he ends up getting shot in this bar, and the reader meets laswell + 141 but i dont remember the name of it😭 or the person who wrote it

help i beg

-🍒

Dr. Feelgood

3. Physical Exams

Start at part 1 here!

Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley.  Warnings: Gunshot wounds, medical terminology and procedures, finger up the butt, touching, allusions to NSFW

-----

Ghost lay alone in the medical bay, thoughts racing through his foggy mind. For once, he’d gotten Feelgood to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. After his flirtation you’d squeaked, snarky reply dead on your lips, and made an excuse to leave before bustling out, the door slamming behind you. 

You were infuriating. The way you bossed his colleagues around as if you had some sort of authority over them, the ways you tried to control him by cornering him and forcing him into bed, allegedly “for his own good.” The softness of your skin against his as you held him while he collapsed during his panic attack. The way he wished he could shut your smart mouth up with your plush lips wrapped around his–

The door to the med bay swung open and pulled him from his thoughts. Gaz poked his head in and glanced around, raising an eyebrow at Ghost.

“Where’s Feelgood?” he asked, wandering into the room with Soap trailing behind him. 

“Left.” Ghost grunted, shrugging his shoulders and scowling under his balaclava. 

“Where to? Price was asking after her and I think she has some questions for him too,” he said, peering into the office through the window in the door. 

“Didn’t ask.” the masked man grumbled. 

“How you feelin’ L.T. - seems like the lass is doin’ a lovely job,” Soap remarked, plopping down in a chair at his lieutenant’s side. 

“She’s competent.” Ghost said. What he wanted to say was ‘She’s a feisty little thing. I quite like her.’

“She’s scarier than you, mate. If I ever get shot, promise you’ll protect my arsehole?” Soap asked, snickering. Ghost fixed him with a glare. 

“Bring that up ever again, sergeant, and you’re a dead man,” he growled lowly. 

“Bring what up again?” you called out as you strode back into the med bay, a tray piled high with food in your arms. 

“Got you something to eat from the mess, Lieutenant,” you said with a smile, setting the tray by his bedside. 

“Hey, Feelgood, Price was askin’ after you earlier. Said you should head down to the office when you get a minute.” Gaz said, coming out of your office and offering you a smile. You returned it. 

“Thanks! I need to ask him about hiring medical support staff for this place. I’m sure you guys would be happy with more than just me poking at you all the time.”

“Hey lass, what does Feelgood mean? Where’d you get the callsign?” Soap asked, leaning back in his seat. 

“Oh, it’s stupid. Do you like classic rock?” you asked with a laugh, sitting down and sweeping your hair back into a ponytail. 

“I know enough to know Dr. Feelgood is the title of a song - Motley Crue, right?” Gaz asked, sitting next to you. 

“Yeah! I got it when I was still doing fieldwork and running missions with soldiers on the ground as a medic in the marines. One day three of us are headed into some little village and we get hit by an IED and the Humvee we’re in flips. So I crawl out, and my guys are still alive but they’re fucked up pretty bad. 

“My buddy Marston’s lost an arm so I tourniquet it and pump him full of drugs and he starts feeling good again before he passes the fuck out. And I figured fuck, why stop there? We’re all fucked up and bloody and we might die here in the sand so why not go out feeling better than just comfortable? So I offered some to Duncan after I’ve finished bandaging him up and he was like, ‘Sure, why the fuck not?’

“Then I patch myself up and put the needle in my thigh. Next thing I know I’m waking up driving a little donkey cart down the road and there are evac vehicles coming towards us. Marston’s passed out in the back and Duncan’s singing something made up - I think pretending to be the radio. 

“Anyway, I got into a metric fuckton of trouble even though we all made it out alive. I fucked my shoulder badly in the wreck, too bad to keep doing fieldwork, so they shipped me off to work in the base hospital’s emergency department. I got my shit together and went to medical school after that. 

“But the name - when my buddies came around enough to joke about it with me, they started calling me Dr. Feelgood after the song. See, it’s about a drug dealer called Jimmy who manages to evade trouble for a long time, but at the end of the song, he finally goes down on charges. They kinda reckoned my story mirrored Jimmy’s, but instead of going to prison, I got reprimanded and put in a more boring environment.” You finished. 

“Steamin’ Jesus lass, that’s–”

“I wasn’t aware you did field missions.” Ghost’s voice cut through Soap’s, silencing him. You smiled thinly. 

“Used to. Now the closest I get is coming with evac to stabilize wounded soldiers before they reach a proper hospital,” you admitted. 

“Sorry, Feelgood, but that’s pretty funny,” Gaz said with a grin, patting your knee before standing. 

“I just feel bad for whoever’s cart that was,” you admitted with a laugh, making Gaz shake his head. 

—

You went to see Price not long after the conversation died down under the assurances that Gaz and Soap would watch over Ghost. The door to his office was shut so you knocked softly. 

“Come in!” he called. You stepped in, taking in framed pictures and documents lining the back wall. A little plant sat atop the sill of the little window on the left wall and a couch was leaned against the right wall. 

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, slipping inside, the door shutting behind you.

“Yes! I wanted to let you know that I’ll be going on a mission with Soap and Gaz in a few days. It won’t last more than a week, but I wanted to check in with you and ask your professional opinion about Ghost’s condition before we leave. How’s he healing?” he asked, closing the laptop on his desk and fixing his gaze on you as you sat down. 

“Ghost is healing remarkably quickly and I’m confident he’ll make a full recovery provided he follows my instructions. Whether or not he does that is a matter of question,” you admitted with a smile. 

“Ah, I understand. I also wanted to ask - do you have any other concerns about the medical bay? Are there any supplies you’d like me to request for you, are we running low on anything?” Price asked. 

“What I need the most right now is support staff. Nurses, care assistants, other doctors? I know that those positions might be difficult to fill, but I’m one woman. I’m also not an anesthesiologist, an orthopedic surgeon, or a psychiatrist - my scope is very limited. 

“I also looked back at old records and I’ve noticed that none of you have ever provided medical history or undergone a physical. Before you leave for your mission, I’d like to do that for each one of you to get a baseline to compare later records to,” you said, counting each thing off on your fingers. Price nodded. 

“I can get the boys to get looked at for sure, but extra staff will take time to find. If there’s ever an emergency that you can’t tackle, we go to the general base hospital, but that’s discouraged due to the secretive nature of the work the task force does,” he explained. 

“Sir, I’d like you to undergo a physical too. Not just the boys. Do you have any reservations about seeing me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t doubt your competency, Feelgood, and I mean no offense, but I…dislike the idea of being prodded at.” Price admitted. You nodded sympathetically. 

“What if I gave you a questionnaire and you wrote things down? I’d settle for that and a check of your vitals - that’s really what I want from you guys anyway.”

“I’ll think about it.”

—

“Oh, come on, you’re telling me you aren’t appreciating being pampered and doted on by a cute girl while you’re laid up in bed?” Gaz asked teasingly. Ghost grunted. 

“I’d rather not have been shot, Sargent,” he said dryly, poking at the buttons on the side of the hospital bed. The bed alarm was blaring, signaling that he had gotten up, but you were too far away in Price’s office to hear. 

“But you think she’s cute, right? Come on, how could you not? And she’s got fire, too, I like her.” Gaz teased, making Ghost roll his eyes - but he didn’t respond. He finally figured out how to silence the bed alarm and the room went quiet again.

“Oh my god, you do think she’s cute! Come on mate, at least ask if she’s seeing anyone!” Soap almost shouted, laughing in disbelief. 

“If anything, I’d like to see less of her. She’s fuckin’ everywhere, buzzing around me. Won’t shut the fuck up.” Ghost said. This was a lie - he just didn’t want his teammates to see how you got under his skin. Soap and Gaz groaned in unison. 

“You should see if she’ll come out with us before we leave. I wonder if she likes bars?” Gaz wondered aloud. Ghost stiffened where he stood. 

“You’re leaving? All of you?” he asked.

“Less than a week, it’s a quick one this time. It’ll just be you and the–” Soap’s eyes widened in realization.

“Steamin’ Jesus it’ll just be him and the doc!” he exclaimed, turning wide-eyed to Gaz. 

“If anything happens–”

“Watch your mouth before you end up with me here in the med bay.”

“--you’ll tell us, right?”

“It’s perfect, you’ve got a whole week to flirt with her without him bothering you,” Gaz said, jabbing his thumb back at Soap.

—

Gaz was your first physical patient. You’d offered to take him back into your office for privacy but he said he didn’t mind Ghost sitting in. Ghost was on his phone on the couch in the corner with a cup of tea and hardly paying attention to the world - it was a compromise you’d come to once you found out he’d broken the bed alarm and he’d threatened to go back to his room permanently. 

“I didn’t know your name was Kyle. I like it, it suits you,” you remarked as you took his blood pressure. 

“Thanks, Feelgood.”

“Makes you sound like an American frat boy.” Ghost quipped from the corner. 

“Hey, be nice. Is HIPAA a thing over here?” you asked. Gaz laughed and shrugged and you went forward with the exam.

Overall he seemed to be in exceptional health and you were satisfied with your findings. Gaz seemed oddly relieved when you told him so, almost as if he was worried he’d fail the health exam. You sent him outside and called Soap in. 

“Hey, lass, no finger up the arse today right?” he asked nervously, sitting down on the gurney you’d set up as you took his temperature. 

“Not unless you’re into it,” you said dryly, earning a surprised cough from Ghost and a laugh from Soap. 

Soap’s exam went as well as Gaz’s had and he walked out with an inflated ego when you informed him that he was in excellent physical shape. You decided to approach Ghost next. 

“Your turn big guy,” you said, gesturing for him to raise his arm so you could attach the blood pressure cuff.

“I’ve been in this fuckin’ bay for days, don’t you have enough?” he grumbled but reluctantly obeyed - only so he could feel your warm hands against his skin as you secured the cuff. 

“I’ve been managing your wound and making sure you don’t get infected, not doing full physicals every day,” you said with a laugh. “Give me your hand?” 

He held it out to you and you took it, gently attaching the clip. His hand dwarfed yours and your face warmed slightly as you lowered the hand back to his thigh. Ghost watched you attentively, doing his best to read your expressions. You cleared your throat. 

“So, got anything cool you like to do on leave?” you asked, doing your best to strike up a conversation. 

“No.” Ghost grunted, a little too harshly. He winced and immediately felt bad. You took the equipment off of him when it had finished reading his vitals and tucked it away in the corner again, a little hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute as you fiddled with your stethoscope. “I didn’t mean to say that so aggressively.”

“It’s alright. Can I listen to your heart or would you rather me not touch you?” you asked briskly, watching him. 

“S’alright,” he grumbled, sitting forward and tugging his shirt off. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to– that’s okay, I can check your bandages afterward,” you said, your face hot as you took the sight of him in. Scars and old wounds crisscrossed his chest and a large bruise extended from beneath the bandages near his side. 

You put a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, carefully listening to his heart through your stethoscope. His skin was warm and it made butterflies take flight in your stomach. 

“Can I hear from your back?” you asked softly after a moment. Ghost grunted his assent and bent forward. You leaned over his shoulder slowly, pressing your stethoscope to his back. 

Ghost couldn’t help himself as you leaned over him. Your soft skin practically burned him where you touched him and his heart rate picked up quickly. He took a deep breath and gently wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying his hand on your lower back. 

You looked at him in surprise but didn’t pull away. He met your gaze for a moment before pulling away and sitting forward again. 

“M’ sorry. Should go get something to eat.” he grumbled, picking his shirt up and moving to put it back on. 

“It’s - uh…it’s okay! Can I…change your bandages first?” you asked softly, your voice coming out as almost a squeak. Ghost nodded and waited patiently as you gathered the supplies you needed. The feeling of your touch against him made him shiver when you returned. 

How he wished he could reach out and sweep you up in his arms, press a kiss to your lips, whisk you back to his room, and never leave. As you changed his bandages, he watched and imagined you trailing those delicate fingers up his chest to ruck his mask up and pull him down into a kiss. 

“Thanks,” he uttered as you finished, and that’s all he did. He tugged his shirt on and was almost to the door when he turned around. 

“Soap and Gaz wanted me to ask you if you’d come out with the lot of us before they leave,” he said. You didn’t have to think about it. 

“Of course!”

-----

taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000

white flag ✹ epilogue

note: im kinda sad to say, but this will be the final part of this series! im so so grateful for all the love and support for it, this was honestly so fun to write! i hope everyone enjoys and have a wonderful day/night!!!!<3<3<3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

no use of y/n

reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: your night in date with simon :)

warnings: domesticity, so much fluff, soap and gaz are wingmen again, tiny bit of light angst

ao3

【prev】

of all the things in this world that could be considered intimidating, flowers were the last thing simon would put on that list; but the brightly coloured flora seemed to have a paralysing effect on him as he stands in the tiny flower shop.

with a quiet, defeated groan to himself, he dials johnny's number and presses his phone to his ear.

"what flowers am i supposed to buy?" he blurts no sooner than soap picks up, not even bothering to greet him in his haste.

"hello to you too?" johnny mumbles, his confusion evident. a moment passes before he registers what simon asked, "oh! wait," he laughs, his voice getting further away as he lowers his phone to call out, "gaz, get out here! lt.'s buyin' sting flowers!"

simon considers hanging up then and there, but he's severely out of his depth and unfortunately, soap and gaz are his only hope.

"oh i see, he needs an expert opinion, does he?" kyle's teasing gets louder as he approaches soap, and he can hear the smile in both the sergeants' voices.

really, simon should've known they wouldn't let him off easy.

"christ alive…" he keeps his voice as low as possible, pinching the bridge of his nose in the corner of the small shop. "just help me, you pillock." the cashier has been staring at him since he walked in, and honestly, he doesn't blame them; a giant man in a mask isn't exactly the regular clientele for a florist.

"uh, probably their favourite?" soap suggests, the sound of gaz's muffled chuckling just about audible in the background.

"they don't have 'em." simon replies, his eyes darting over the vibrant display one last time in the hopes that the answer would somehow appear.

"nah, you want roses, mate." gaz interjects, and he hears soap make an agreeing noise.

simon hums. "aren't they too… cliché?" he asks, stepping over to the large display of rose bouquets. it's the classic choice, he's aware of that much, but whether or not you'd prefer something more unique was weighing on his mind. this was something he never expected to have to worry about.

"no! they're romantic," gaz insists, his amusement still very evident in his voice, "trust me mate, sting'll love them."

simon contemplates his point for a moment, staring at the deep red petals and trying to imagine the look on your face if he gave them to you. you'd been happy with a handful of squashed flowers he'd stolen from the flowerbeds on base, so he doubted you'd turn your nose up at them. it doesn't take him long to make a decision.

"alright, cheers." he mutters, grabbing a lively looking bouquet of a dozen from the display and making his way over to the cashier – who was quickly trying to pretend they hadn't been staring.

"you'll need to give us a debrief–" soap begins, but he's cut off by simon hanging up and shoving his phone back in his pocket. he gets the feeling he won't be hearing the end of this for quite some time.

✹✹✹

it's only when he's standing outside the door to your room that the nerves finally start to set in. he can't help but feel like an idiot, fidgeting on the spot about to knock on your door like a lovestruck teenager, almost crushing the stems of the roses with his iron grip.

he knocks twice, before he has the chance to change his mind and back out. not even a second later, you're pulling the door open and regarding him with that warm look that has his palms sweating.

you're wearing casual clothes, and so is he, as per the agreement you made to keep this 'date' simple. it doesn't matter what you're wearing though; he's seen you covered head to toe in blood, sweat, mud, and whatever else, and you still manage to be utterly breathtaking in every way.

with a nervous cough, simon holds out the rose bouquet to you, hoping you don't notice the way his hands are shaking.

"wha…" you blink in surprise at the flowers, taking them from him and admiring them with a tiny smile. "you bought these, right? didn't just rip 'em out of someone's garden?" you raise a teasing eyebrow at him, your smile turning more playful.

"yes, i bought them." he grumbles lightheartedly, a smile of his own forming under his balaclava. the way you effortlessly diffuse the tension has his anxieties melting away.

"thank you." you breathe, softly caressing the vermillion petals. "they're lovely, i love them."

simon let's out a quiet sigh of relief at your affirmation. "good; cost me a tenner, they did."

the laugh you let out is like music to his ears. "well, i'm sorry to bankrupt you." you grin, turning back into your room and carefully putting the bouquet in the vase on the mantle. after making sure the arrangement looks nice, you come to stand in front of him again.

simon's not sure how to continue, the nerves from earlier resurfacing as the conversation fades. the way you're watching him expectantly, he feels the urge to take you by the hand – and as if you read his his mind, you hold it out for him. he places his hand in yours, squeezing gently and leading you the short distance to the kitchen.

he'd set the table earlier, having found an only slightly discoloured tablecloth buried in the back of the cupboards. it's a little sad, but it was the best he could come up with.

"wow," you tease, the same playful smile as before on your lips as you meet his eyes, "so fancy."

he snorts, ushering you over to your chair and pulling out for you. "only the best for your majesty." he preens at your happiness when you laugh again, glad for the mask covering what he's sure is an obvious blush.

he occupies himself by grabbing the two plates he'd finished preparing a minute ago, just before he'd met you at your door.

"i made spag bol." simon mutters as he sets them down on the table. he keeps an eye on your expression as he takes his seat opposite you, anticipation of whatever response you may have.

"fine by me," you say, an easy smile lifting your features. "it's almost the perfect candlelit dinner, all we're missing is the candle."

simon blinks. "you don't like candles." he replies, a hint of confusion in his gaze when he meets your eye.

"no," you smile fondly, looking down at your plate. "i don't."

a comfortable silence falls over the room as you both start to eat. the warmth and normality of it all makes simon’s heart swell with affection. he's happy, content, being here with you, even doing something as monotonous as eating dinner. you make it worth enjoying.

"how is it?" he asks once you've both finished, once again waiting apprehensively for your reaction.

"it's great," you give him a lopsided smile, resting your chin on your hand as you look at him. "thanks for cooking."

simon quirks an eyebrow at you. "you don't have to lie." he mutters, feeling the tips of his ears burn under your intense gaze.

"okay, well, don't quit your day job." you chuckle, standing up and making your way over to the sink with your plate in your hands.

he huffs a small laugh, and joins you at the sink with his own plate. "you're crushin' my dreams here."

"sorry, chef." you grin and gesture to the washing up in the sink. "you wash, i'll dry?"

"if your majesty insists."

you turn on the radio for some quiet background noise, and the two of you start cleaning up in tandem. it's nice, how you can work together so seamlessly with no need for words. he's struck again by the thought that if he were alone this would be a chore, but with you beside him, he finds such a tedious job surprisingly pleasant.

simon hands the last dish to you, and as you take it your fingers brush against his hand. the way he flinches away from your touch is unconscious, and when he looks over to you he expects you to pity him, or be offended by his action – but your face holds neither of those things.

you're just drying the dish he handed you, the same content expression on your face that had been there all night, as if you didn't even notice.

"sorry." he mumbles, his gaze falling from your face to your hands as you work.

simon loves you. he shouldn't be afraid of your touch. he wants to touch you, and for you to touch him. he doesn't know why he reacted like that.

"don't be." you utter, soft and compassionate, and his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his chest. for the third time that night, he's hit full force with how wonderful you are.

there's no judgement, no probing questions, nothing. you understood him, even though you had no idea why he acts this way.

you turn away, your back to him as you store the dishes in the cabinets. you hadn't been looking at him before, but now he was sure you couldn't see him, he feels his throat constrict with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

simon takes your free hand and you pause, still facing away as you wait for his next move.

he takes a small step closer, minimising the space between you, and rests his forehead against the back of your head. with his eyes screwed shut, he takes a deep breath and inhales the familiar scent of you. his grip on your hand tightens slightly.

you lean back into him, a quiet sigh escaping you as you squeeze his hand in return. neither of you say a word, but you don't have to. he feels how you love him in the way you never expect more from him than he can give.

it's the most peace he's felt in years.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness ,

@madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @batmanunicorns523 , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology