William: Why Do Guys Lick Their Lips Before They Talk?

All About Lily Chou-Chou (2001)

Soft fluffy tooth rotting Ghoap thought that became a mini fic

Johnny gets put on concussion protocol after a mission. A bad knock to the head, the kind that leaves his vision fuzzy and his mood worse. Medical sends him on leave, off-base and under strict orders to rest. Lights stay off in the flat for days. Curtains drawn. No TV. No music. No cellphone. No work. Just the painkillers, cold water, and the occasional muttered curse when the neighbor’s car alarm goes off.

And Simon—God bless him—is a ghost around the place. Quiet as a shadow, moving through rooms like he’s on recon, not just bringing tea or folding laundry. He cooks in silence, cleans without fanfare, and makes sure Johnny takes his meds on time. Johnny doesn’t have to ask for a thing.

The rain tapping against the window still makes Johnny hiss some days, the light of the fridge makes him squint, but Simon never pushes. Just offers a warm hand and a whispered “You alright, Johnny?” when the migraines hit worst.

And Johnny—dramatic, daft bastard that he is—soaks it all up. He rests, yes, but he also notices. The careful way Simon tucks the blankets around his feet. The way he keeps to soft shirts, no zippers, no buttons, so the quiet isn't broken when he moves. The way he presses one soft kiss to Johnny’s hair each night and thinks Johnny’s already asleep.

So, naturally, Johnny does what any self-respecting man in love would do under these circumstances.

He fakes his own death.

Well, not really. But he does lie dramatically limp and still on top of the duvet, arms flopped out like he’s in a Shakespeare play.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon. Simon’s just come home with groceries and chicken soup ingredients. And Johnny thinks it’s time he got a little extra affection. He has been through a traumatic brain injury, after all.

Simon pads into the room a few minutes later, that low, soothing voice he’s been using all week curling around the words: “You wanna eat, Johnny?”

Johnny doesn't twitch. He keeps his breathing slow and even, though his lips are fighting to stay straight.

Simon doesn’t push, just assumes he's sleeping again. He sets the food down and walks in closer, brushing a hand gently along Johnny’s knee. “Food’ll get cold,” he tries, coaxing but quiet.

Still nothing.

Simon stands there for a beat too long. Then his chest shifts with a breath that’s a little sharper than the rest, barely audible. He leans down, carefully, fingers soft against Johnny’s jaw, brushing over cheek and temple. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just a few bites, yeah?”

Still, no movement.

And then Simon’s jaw ticks. Something in him flickers. Worry, sharp and sudden. The kind that grips the spine and squeezes. He leans in closer, too close to dodge, taps Johnny’s face again, firmer now, a touch of urgency. “Johnny.”

And that's when Johnny strikes.

Arms snap up, legs curl around Simon’s waist like a fucking koala, and he yanks the poor man down with him—Simon lets out a startled grunt—only to get a mouthful of laughing, smug Scotsman pressing a kiss right to his lips.

Simon blinks, wide-eyed and floored. Johnny just grins, stupid and pleased, still holding him tight. “Caught you.”

“Mm."

“Yooohhh were worried,” Johnny sing-songs, clearly delighted. “Felt the panic settin' in. You were picturing my obituary, weren't you?”

Simon doesn’t even deny it, just sighs, long and put-upon, forehead pressed against Johnny’s. “You’re lucky you’re still concussed or I’d drop you.”

“I knew you cared,” Johnny whispers dramatically, then kisses him again, softer this time.

And Simon, despite himself, melts right into it...

They stay there for a beat—Simon braced awkwardly over him, caught between exasperation and affection, and Johnny clinging like a barnacle, head tilted back against the pillow with the smuggest smile in Scotland.

“You’re a child,” Simon murmurs, but there’s no heat behind it.

“A very injured child,” Johnny corrects, fluttering his lashes for good measure. “One in dire need of affection.”

Simon rolls his eyes, but his hand’s already smoothing over Johnny’s side, tucking under the hem of his shirt to check for warmth. “You need to eat.”

Johnny hums. “I need you to cuddle with me. My head still hurts. Emotionally. Spiritually. And a little physically.”

“You faked being unconscious, Johnny.”

“I said I was injured!”

Simon huffs out a breath, like he's two seconds from laughing. “We’re eating first.”

“Fine,” Johnny relents, but not without a dramatic sigh. “But I wanna eat in bed.”

Simon raises a brow. “That so?”

“Mmhm,” Johnny says, already smug again. “My body’s weak. You said that. Fragile. Like a Victorian maiden. Don’t you want to be my sturdy war husband and bring me soup in bed?”

Simon does laugh at that. Just once, quiet and dry, before leaning down and kissing Johnny’s forehead. “Alright, love."

A few minutes later, they’re tucked under the blankets again—tray balanced on Johnny’s lap, bowl of soup in Simon’s hand, one spoon shared between them even though they definitely own more. Johnny rests his head on Simon’s shoulder between bites.

And when the food’s finally gone and the dishes are abandoned on the nightstand for Future Simon to worry about, Johnny snuggles in closer with a groan.

“You said cuddling,” he mumbles into Simon’s shirt.

“I meant it,” Simon replies, already shifting to pull Johnny into his arms.

Quiet falls and the rain starts up again outside, but Johnny doesn't flinch quite so hard.

I will hunt you down, watch your back Cap.

(I don't mind it's public for a reason)

Really luv? Fine I turned my anon off. When can I smack that ass then?

Find yourself an opportunity, enjoy.

(also ignore me stalking your blog)

To be an eldest child is to swallow all the words you have ever wished to speak and all the emotions you ever wanted to express.

something about a quiet night with simon in your kitchen; of him hefting you up by your hips to place you on the counter, slotting himself between your legs before dropping low to kiss you; of him bumping noses with you, making you giggle as he huffs, his cheeks thrumming with warmth.

“m’bad,” he says, his breath fanning over your lips. “jus’ really wanted t’kiss you, s’all.”

“s’okay,” you coo, throwing your arms over his shoulder. “i wanna kiss you so bad too.”

“oh yeah?” he hums, teasing, and you feel more than see the way his lips tug up in a crooked smile.

you roll your eyes at his weak tease before pulling him down, finally claiming that kiss because you can’t wait anymore. it’s just a peck, it’s not heated or weighted, and your noses are still slotted awkwardly but you breathe him in, hearing the hum of your refrigerator and the quiet ticking of your oven, and simon’s back in your arms, and truly, you think that this might just be the best kiss you’ve ever had.

Yes. I have seen that too, but no you don't have to apologise ever. This is NOT your fault, I completely understand how uncomfortable she's making you and it is pathetic truly. She has been using 🌷 and faking the way I speak for a while. I am not saying calling Simon "pretty boy" is something to put a label on, but I have seen that happening with other blogs, imitating exactly how I speak when I follow only you and @/ ask-phillip-graves with the same emoji, they were the one who chose it for me! I'm just, very confused and lost about this whole thing. I just wish they leave you alone because this is turning into cyber harrasment.

Okay okay what the hell? Impersonating my anon?? I have been waiting to close my anon 🌷 for days like I once promised you. I'm the pink tulip anon. And Ethan oh god! I just saw what happened. I promise you I don't even know who the hell that is. This is insane and made me sick to my stomach. I never wanted to close my anon like this I thought eventually things will happen when I gain enough courage. Not sending anonymous asks triggers my anxiety but WHAT THE HELL??? This is just ridiculous!

nonnie believe me!!! i've known u were different this whole time!!!!!!!!!! but she was using the tulip anon on other accounts (i personally deleted the ones she sent me 'cause i had you!!!!) & i wanted to make sure ppl were aware of that. hope u understand & i'm rlly sorry about this whole thing. it's such a giant mess. feel free to keep using the emoji here, it's for YOU!!! you had it first anyway

Gaslighting myself into believing I'm fine.

[New York time skip]

William: Sherly, what does IDK, ILY, & TTYL mean?

Sherlock: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

William: Okay, I love you too, I’ll just ask Billy.

Sherlock: ...darling that's not-

He's a cat. Simon is a CAT.

Simon not feeling the need to keep his hair to strict regs once he gets with Johnny, steps away from the buzzcut and allows himself to feel more human, more Simon instead of Ghost. Besides, it's hidden beneath the mask anyway.

He doesn't let it get too long otherwise it would just get too hot and in the way, but it's still more than anyone was expecting.

Johnny coming back from a mission and sliding his hand up the back of his mask to rest against the back of Simon's head, surprised when his fingers sinks into soft curls instead of the soft spikes he's grown to expect. Johnny applying a little pressure, just enough to tip his head back and smiling down when he sees Simon's big soft eyes looking up at him, Johnny whispering "hello" and Simon just slowly blinks at him.

THEN // if (then) FINAL PART