Untitled

cw: dark/morbid joke (that I found on the internet…oof. sorry) delivered by best friend!Simon, use of y/n once, rando character who is not apart of tf141 included briefly.

—————

”How did you not find that funny?” You asked in astonishment. Your eyes were locked onto your best friend’s as your laughter at Kyle and your coworker—Mira’s—shenanigans died down.

“‘M not immature,” Simon answered gruffly. The slight upward turn of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

You pursed your lips in response and shot him a playful glare, grumbling under your breath. “More like you lack a sense of humor…”

Simon leaned forward, forearms on the table as he stared into your soul. “What was tha’ ‘bout my sense of humor?” He challenged, the conversations of your other friends fading into the background as you zeroed in on him.

”I said,” you started, leaning in to match his energy. “It’s lacking, love.”

He didn’t bother trying to hide his smirk that time. “You like my jokes.” He said it like a statement, fully confident in his ability to make you laugh.

”I don’t.” Liar.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Tha’ right?”

You perked up at the hint of a challenge and leaned even closer. The distinction between his warm brown irises and slightly blown pupils even more clear at this proximity.

“Go on then. Make me laugh.”

At this point, the rest of the table was watching with interest. They were used to the antics of you two. Simon and you had quickly grown close after your introduction to the group a few months back. It was hard to find one of you without the other in a group. Simon going as far as leaving a hangout when he heard you were sick. You both knew you’d do the same for him.

He was locked in on you now, eyes never wavering. ”Alrigh’.” A thoughtful pause. “How do you stop a baby from chokin’?”

“What?” This felt less like the start of a joke and more like the end of a CPR certification exam. But this was Simon you were talking to…There had to be something—

”Let go of its neck.” There was another pause before you heard the deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Heh heh heh.”

The group looked at him in horror. You pretended to also be appalled before the urge to laugh overcame your efforts. It was his delivery and that wheeze of his. Got you every time. You couldn’t help it as you burst out laughing—even harder than before, causing the group to now look at you crazy.

“Y/N!” Kyle protested at your outburst. You tried to cover your mouth to quell your laughter when Simon’s hand shot out to stop you. His grip was firm on your wrist. “Don’t shy away now, love. Let me hear ye.”

You glanced at his large hand on your arm—vision blurred by tears. Your other hand found its way on top of his hand as you unsuccessfully tried to ground yourself and stop laughing. As per usual, Simon’s knuckles were rough under your fingers.

“Dry ass hands,” you managed to wheeze out between laughs. “Nice and warm, but dry as hell.”

Simon just rolled his eyes, still smirking and pleased from making you laugh harder than Gaz and Mira had.

“Don’t you ‘ave tha’ greasy shite wi’ ye?” He huffed out, looking at you expectantly like a properly trained young man used to your lectures on proper skincare.

“It’s not greasy. It’s moisturizing.” You corrected with a smile, using your free hand to dig the lotion out of your bag and apply some to his knuckles. As much as he liked to complain, you had a feeling he secretly enjoyed it. If his half lidded eyes and small grunts of approval had anything to say about it.

“Anyone else want any?” You offered while rubbing it in on his hand—your fingers slipping over his skin and between his fingers until the cream was all worked in.

As if on autopilot, Simon proffered his other hand to you like a good boy. Didn’t even have to ask him to. He definitely enjoyed it.

You pretended not to see it and went to put the lotion away.

“Oi.” Simon looked offended.

You shot him an innocent look. “What?”

“Wot ‘bout my other hand?”

You played dumb. “Oh. My bad, Si. Here. Hold out your other hand, I’ll give you some more and you can rub it in yourself.”

He slid the hand you just moisturized under the table out of sight. “Can’t you do it?”

“Why? Can’t you?”

Simon shot you a look that said ‘quit playing.’ A warning. You almost broke but remained strong and waited for a verbal response.

He sighed. “C’mon love. Don’t wanna do it m’self.”

“Why not?” You responded, pulling another frustrated look from him.

“Like it better when you do it. You know tha’” He stared you down until you took his other hand in yours and did it for him. He had the audacity to grin as you massaged his hand. Content and borderline smug.

”Aye. I’ll take some if it also comes with the massage.” Johnny piped up, holding out his hands. Simon swatted them away.

“Jus’ f’me.”

A teasing smile settled on your lips. Your turn to be content and borderline smug. “Think you’re special or something?”

His eyes held yours intensely as you felt your skin grow warm.

”Tell me ‘m not. I dare you.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, caught all the way off guard as the rest of the table snickered at your facial expression.

He chuckled to himself—a knowing smirk on his face—before flicking your nose, suspiciously affectionate. “S’cute. Like a fish ou’ of water.”

You recovered from being stunned to flip him off before sitting back with an indignant huff.

Simon chuckled again. “Real mature, swee’eart.” The sarcasm was thick.

”Yea well, if you want mature, talk to Kyle.” You quipped back.

Kyle put his hands up in surrender, wanting no part in whatever this was. Simon’s stare didn’t falter from your face. “Never said I wanted it.”

You flicked your eyes back to his, a soft smile on your lips. His eyes briefly darted to clock the action before meeting your eyes again. You spoke up, “Yea?”

I didn’t see this!!! :’0 ty ty ty !!

best friend!simon riley x reader who doesn’t quite get it…

———

Being best friends with Simon meant you never had to worry about finding a seat when you arrived at group functions. Without fail, there was always a space next to Simon. It got to the point where your other friends knew better than to even ask if the seat next him was free. But he was just being a good friend, right? Good friends make you feel included. That must be it.

This time was no different.

The bell above the door to the cafe jingled as you entered the establishment. The warmth hit you first, the smell of coffee second, and the anticipation from seeing Simon, your best friend, completed this trio of senses. Breathe. You’re friends. Don’t ruin this by making it weird.

“Bon!” The sound of Johnny’s voice broke through your mantra. Your eyes found his as he waved you over to the table. Smile. Be normal. DO NOT look at the back of Simon’s head. DO NOT imagine yourself running your fingers through his blond strands again. It’s not healthy.

You quickly averted your eyes at the first sign of Simon turning around, your heart practically leaping into your throat. You could feel his heavy gaze as you approached. Keep your eyes firmly locked on Johnny’s.

The Scot—ever affectionate—pulled you into a bear hug before squeezing back into the booth next to Kyle and his girlfriend. Both offered you a warm smile despite being squished by Soap.

“You lot look cozy,” you teased, doing anything to delay acknowledging the other side of the booth—nerves not yet ready.

”Blame ‘im.” Johnny grumbled gesturing towards Simon who hadn’t taken his eyes off you, ever patient for his turn for your attention. There was no more delaying it. You peeked in his direction meeting his eyes as Johnny continued complaining in the background.

“Richt bastard. Wouldnae let me sit doon. Said ‘e was savin’ it for ya.”

Simon said nothing, just watched your reaction. He was allowing himself to be relaxed in the booth, aiming to appear casual as he leaned back, knees spread and arm slung across the back of the booth. That was friendly, right? Of course it was. Relax.

You willed yourself to slide into the booth like your mind wasn’t running a mile a minute with thoughts that were detrimental to friendship. Sit. Scooch. But not too close. Well…maybe close enough to smell him. In a casual way of course.

And smell him you did. The heady, intoxicating combination of woods and smoke with undertones of metal did very little to ease your anxiety. Quite the opposite.

Even at a respectful distance, you could still feel his body heat. Could still sense a solidness to the presence next to you. Something sturdy and strong. Something to lean into or wrap around on a winter night.

As always, Simon was a furnace. Simply sitting next to him increased the temperature a few degrees—not that you were complaining as the weather got colder. Times like these, restraint from crossing the line felt more difficult.

Chatter from the group continued all around you. This was a typical outing with your friends which usually brought you peace. But not tonight. All thanks to the one friend in particular who started feeling less and less like a friend in your mind. And no doubt, in your mind only.

The other side of the booth was wrapped up in an intense debate about something you lost track of a while back. You dared to spare a glance at Simon. As if feeling your attention immediately, his eyes slid to yours, slightly questioning.

“Thanks for saving me a seat, Si.” This was his favorite part unbeknownst to you who couldn’t see anything past your own insecurities. He saved you a seat, you smiled at him sweetly in appreciation, and he got to be close to you for a few hours. All under the guise of being a good ‘friend.’

Simon shifted slightly under the pretense of hearing you better. His thigh lightly bumped into yours and like a perfectly inelastic collision, remained in contact after he settled.

If you were warm before, you were on fire now. Your knees were touching. Hell, your thighs were touching. You didn’t want to read too deeply into this, but this seemed to be happening a lot more recently. Most probable reason for tonight’s occurrence: he was cold. It was winter after all.

“S’no trouble, love.” Love??? No wait. Calm down. If Soap can call you ‘Bon’ and still be your friend, Simon could call you ‘love’ and feel the same. It’s just British people being British, right?

Simon seemed to be watching your internal monologue play out, the corner of his mouth slightly quirked up.

You zeroed in on it immediately. “What’s so funny?”

Simon shrugged lazily in response. “I can’t jus’ be chuffed ta see ya?” His deep voice was laced with teasing, but his eyes held a startling sincerity.

Your eyes darted across his features over analyzing at hyperspeed. Pupils blown: most likely from the low lighting of the cafe. Ears tinged pink: probably from the cold weather. Nevermind he’d now been indoors for a solid hour. If his legs were cold and seeking warmth from yours, no doubt his ears could still be cold too.

Simon waited for you to draw your conclusions wondering if you would actually be correct this time. You decided to get a confirmation—gather more data. A choice that was normal for you, cute to him. Not that you’d let yourself entertain such an idea.

“You are?” Your voice was hesitant, eyes searching his.

”Said so, didn’ I?” His deep brown eyes searched yours right back. His voice was steady. Cue intense stomach flipflopping. He was happy to see you…No big deal. Friends are happy to see each other all the time. Of course he’s happy to see you.

“I’m happy to see you too.” Said as a friend, meant as something else.

“Didn’t seem like it earlier,” he huffed. “Could barely look at me.” He was being a bit unkind in his teasing and he relished in the fact. He knew why you couldn’t look at him. Same reason why he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was just biding his time.

The back of your neck felt painfully hot as he called you out. It took everything in you to maintain eye contact and play it off.

“You paying that much attention to me?” You joked.

”Yes.” No hesitation. Simon tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Not exactly wot mates do, is it?”

Your eyes widened on instinct—mouth opened to verbalize anything your brain could conjure up in that moment of confusion. Blank.

Someone asked Simon a question. He kept his eyes on you for a few long moments before lazily sliding them in the direction of the other booth.

I didn’t see this!!! :’0 ty ty ty !!

best friend!simon riley x reader who doesn’t quite get it…

———

Being best friends with Simon meant you never had to worry about finding a seat when you arrived at group functions. Without fail, there was always a space next to Simon. It got to the point where your other friends knew better than to even ask if the seat next him was free. But he was just being a good friend, right? Good friends make you feel included. That must be it.

This time was no different.

The bell above the door to the cafe jingled as you entered the establishment. The warmth hit you first, the smell of coffee second, and the anticipation from seeing Simon, your best friend, completed this trio of senses. Breathe. You’re friends. Don’t ruin this by making it weird.

“Bon!” The sound of Johnny’s voice broke through your mantra. Your eyes found his as he waved you over to the table. Smile. Be normal. DO NOT look at the back of Simon’s head. DO NOT imagine yourself running your fingers through his blond strands again. It’s not healthy.

You quickly averted your eyes at the first sign of Simon turning around, your heart practically leaping into your throat. You could feel his heavy gaze as you approached. Keep your eyes firmly locked on Johnny’s.

The Scot—ever affectionate—pulled you into a bear hug before squeezing back into the booth next to Kyle and his girlfriend. Both offered you a warm smile despite being squished by Soap.

“You lot look cozy,” you teased, doing anything to delay acknowledging the other side of the booth—nerves not yet ready.

”Blame ‘im.” Johnny grumbled gesturing towards Simon who hadn’t taken his eyes off you, ever patient for his turn for your attention. There was no more delaying it. You peeked in his direction meeting his eyes as Johnny continued complaining in the background.

“Richt bastard. Wouldnae let me sit doon. Said ‘e was savin’ it for ya.”

Simon said nothing, just watched your reaction. He was allowing himself to be relaxed in the booth, aiming to appear casual as he leaned back, knees spread and arm slung across the back of the booth. That was friendly, right? Of course it was. Relax.

You willed yourself to slide into the booth like your mind wasn’t running a mile a minute with thoughts that were detrimental to friendship. Sit. Scooch. But not too close. Well…maybe close enough to smell him. In a casual way of course.

And smell him you did. The heady, intoxicating combination of woods and smoke with undertones of metal did very little to ease your anxiety. Quite the opposite.

Even at a respectful distance, you could still feel his body heat. Could still sense a solidness to the presence next to you. Something sturdy and strong. Something to lean into or wrap around on a winter night.

As always, Simon was a furnace. Simply sitting next to him increased the temperature a few degrees—not that you were complaining as the weather got colder. Times like these, restraint from crossing the line felt more difficult.

Chatter from the group continued all around you. This was a typical outing with your friends which usually brought you peace. But not tonight. All thanks to the one friend in particular who started feeling less and less like a friend in your mind. And no doubt, in your mind only.

The other side of the booth was wrapped up in an intense debate about something you lost track of a while back. You dared to spare a glance at Simon. As if feeling your attention immediately, his eyes slid to yours, slightly questioning.

“Thanks for saving me a seat, Si.” This was his favorite part unbeknownst to you who couldn’t see anything past your own insecurities. He saved you a seat, you smiled at him sweetly in appreciation, and he got to be close to you for a few hours. All under the guise of being a good ‘friend.’

Simon shifted slightly under the pretense of hearing you better. His thigh lightly bumped into yours and like a perfectly inelastic collision, remained in contact after he settled.

If you were warm before, you were on fire now. Your knees were touching. Hell, your thighs were touching. You didn’t want to read too deeply into this, but this seemed to be happening a lot more recently. Most probable reason for tonight’s occurrence: he was cold. It was winter after all.

“S’no trouble, love.” Love??? No wait. Calm down. If Soap can call you ‘Bon’ and still be your friend, Simon could call you ‘love’ and feel the same. It’s just British people being British, right?

Simon seemed to be watching your internal monologue play out, the corner of his mouth slightly quirked up.

You zeroed in on it immediately. “What’s so funny?”

Simon shrugged lazily in response. “I can’t jus’ be chuffed ta see ya?” His deep voice was laced with teasing, but his eyes held a startling sincerity.

Your eyes darted across his features over analyzing at hyperspeed. Pupils blown: most likely from the low lighting of the cafe. Ears tinged pink: probably from the cold weather. Nevermind he’d now been indoors for a solid hour. If his legs were cold and seeking warmth from yours, no doubt his ears could still be cold too.

Simon waited for you to draw your conclusions wondering if you would actually be correct this time. You decided to get a confirmation—gather more data. A choice that was normal for you, cute to him. Not that you’d let yourself entertain such an idea.

“You are?” Your voice was hesitant, eyes searching his.

”Said so, didn’ I?” His deep brown eyes searched yours right back. His voice was steady. Cue intense stomach flipflopping. He was happy to see you…No big deal. Friends are happy to see each other all the time. Of course he’s happy to see you.

“I’m happy to see you too.” Said as a friend, meant as something else.

“Didn’t seem like it earlier,” he huffed. “Could barely look at me.” He was being a bit unkind in his teasing and he relished in the fact. He knew why you couldn’t look at him. Same reason why he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was just biding his time.

The back of your neck felt painfully hot as he called you out. It took everything in you to maintain eye contact and play it off.

“You paying that much attention to me?” You joked.

”Yes.” No hesitation. Simon tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Not exactly wot mates do, is it?”

Your eyes widened on instinct—mouth opened to verbalize anything your brain could conjure up in that moment of confusion. Blank.

Someone asked Simon a question. He kept his eyes on you for a few long moments before lazily sliding them in the direction of the other booth.

The first time you asked Simon "Would you still love me if I was a rock?" You got a staring. "Like if an evil magician turned me into a rock?" You swore he almost scoffed. But then nodded anyways.

"What's this about?" Asked after his nod. "Couple questions! I call it that." As Simon turned his whole attention to you - not that you didn't had it before, but now he is even more interested - "Like?" "Like!.. would you still love me if I was a worm? It's the most famous one."

Which, Simon turned around for a second, like he is thinking. That jerk! "Maybe." Yeah he is definitely messing with you. The audacity!! When you punch his shoulder he just shrugged and asked back "How would I know it's you? I'd just accidentally step on you without even seeing." Which earned a gasp from you.

Simon was definitely smirking under that mask. "I'd speak!" "Worms can't speak." "But i-"

Sigh. No. Don't let him get to your head. "Just.. ask me one yourself."

Simon gaze away again. Thinking. After around less than half a minute, he turned back to you. Serious this time. "Would you still love me if I was dead?"

..he didn't understand what this is about did he?

"I'd follow you to the afterlif-" "No." "Why not!?" "No."

​Actually, he could sleep pretty much anywhere, and waking him up was another story. It usually took a few gentle nudges and a couple of soft kisses pressed against his jaw before those pretty, sleepy eyes finally blinked open. And he snored, too. Not loudly, just a low, rhythmic rumble against your ear. It secretly became your own little lullaby, a sound that meant you were safe, he was home, and the rest of the world could not reach you here.

​When he slept, he was basically a human weighted blanket. He was so big you often felt like you disappeared between the sheets and his massive frame, but you did not mind. You loved the way his hands always knew exactly where to find you. An arm draped heavy across your waist, his face in your tits or tucked into the crook of your neck, his chest a solid wall of warmth against your back or legs tangled up with yours.

​He had this subconscious reflex: even in his deepest sleep, if you shifted or shivered, his arm would instinctively tighten, pulling you flush against him as if his body was wired to protect you from the very air around you. Seeing the man who could stare down a threat without flinching melt into a puddle of softness just because you were near? That was a sight that never failed to make your belly swim.

​You used to be a notoriously light sleeper, tossing and turning for hours. Nothing helped. You tried everything. Different pillows, white noise, herbal teas, sleep schedules. It always ended the same way: staring at the ceiling at some ungodly hour while everyone else seemed to be asleep.

​That was until you started sleeping next to Simon.

​The moment you curled up against his warmth, your eyes would begin to drift shut on their own. It felt like your body had finally found something it trusted enough to let its guard down around. There was a profound, quiet magic in his steady breathing, and the way his raspy voice would whisper "g'night, luvie" or "c'mere, sweetheart, it is time to sleep" right before he drifted off.

​And the mornings? Those were the best. He would wake up slow, his eyes heavy and hazy, and before he even fully registered the daylight, he would seek out your hand, lacing his thick fingers through yours. He would pull you back down for lazy, lingering morning kisses that tasted so sweet you could melt right there on the spot.

​Somehow, between his snoring, his death grip on your waist, and the way he would steal almost all your blanket which you hated the most, Simon had become the only thing in the world that could keep you grounded. He was your home, your warmth, and the best part of every single day.

The Moon 🌙

The first thing Simon notices when he wakes up isn’t the cold.

It’s the light.

A pale, silver glow bleeding through the thin curtains of the safehouse bedroom. Not sunlight - too soft, too white. It paints the walls in quiet shadows and lays across the bed like spilled milk.

He blinks once.

Then he turns his head.

The moon sits low in the sky, huge and full, hanging just above the rooftops outside the window.

Simon exhales slowly.

“…Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

Full moon.

That means trouble.

Not tactical trouble.

You trouble.

He turns slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

You're still asleep, tangled in the blankets, hair messy, breathing slow and warm against the pillow. Completely peaceful.

For now.

Simon rubs a hand over his face, already knowing how the morning is going to go.

Because you’re addicted to the bloody moon.

And when it’s like this - full, bright, dramatic in the sky - you become completely incapable of behaving like a normal person.

He glances back at the window.

The moon is still there.

Big.

Bright.

Obnoxiously beautiful.

“…Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

Right on cue, you stir. Your eyes blink open slowly. For half a second you look normal. Then your gaze drifts toward the window.

Simon actually watches the exact moment it happens.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Simon groans quietly and drops his head back on the pillow.

“There it is,” he mutters.

You sit up immediately, blanket falling around your waist.

“Simon - SIMON.”

“Yeah.”

“LOOK AT THE MOON.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“It’s HUGE.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s still out and it’s morning and it’s so bright - how is it that bright?!”

You’re halfway out of bed already.

Simon catches your wrist before you can bolt toward the window like a possessed raccoon.

“Easy, moon gremlin.”

“I need to see it.”

“You can see it from the bed.”

“That’s not the same!”

You practically drag him toward the window anyway.

Simon lets himself be pulled, mostly because fighting you when you’re in moon mode is completely pointless.

You push the curtain aside.

The moon fills the sky outside, pale against the early morning blue.

And you just stand there staring at it like it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

Your whole face soft. Eyes bright. Completely captivated.

Simon watches you instead.

“…You’d think you’d never seen the moon before,” he says quietly.

“But look at it.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not.”

He huffs slightly. Because he isn’t looking at the moon at all.

You press your hand against the glass.

“It’s perfect.”

Simon tilts his head. “Yeah,” he says.

You suddenly spin around.

“I should take pictures.”

“Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“You’re driving to work in twenty minutes.”

“I can stop somewhere.”

“Don’t stop somewhere.”

“What if I see a good spot?”

Simon narrows his eyes at you. “Drive. Carefully.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I will!”

“You’ll pull over in the middle of a field to stare at the sky like a lunatic.”

“I would never.”

He stares at you.

You stare back. “…Okay maybe once.”

Simon drags a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

You grab your phone and rush to the window again, taking pictures like a wildlife photographer discovering a rare species.

Simon watches you, a slow smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Moon’s not going anywhere,” he says.

You gasp. “That’s not true.”

“It literally orbits the Earth.”

“But this moment will!”

“You’re impossible.”

You turn back toward him with that bright, excited grin that always destroys his ability to stay serious. “You love me.”

Simon sighs. Deep. Resigned. Utterly defeated. “Yeah,” he mutters.

Then he walks over, wraps an arm around your waist, and pulls you back against his chest. His chin settles on your head.

You both look out the window. At the huge glowing moon hanging in the sky.

After a quiet moment, Simon murmurs softly against your hair. “…Still not prettier than you losing your mind over it.”

You laugh. And immediately try to take another photo.

Simon just shakes his head.

Moon.

Chaos.

And you.

Ghost, MW4

quiet control — simon riley

simon’s reaction to seeing you flustered

divider credits @enchanthings

taglist

simon notices before you do.

that’s the thing about simon riley, he reads shifts in the room the way other people read faces. posture. breath. tone. the way your fingers fidget just a fraction too much. the way your voice trips over itself when you’re suddenly aware of being watched.

of being seen.

you getting flustered doesn’t happen often. you’re usually steady. grounded. but when it does?

it flips something in him.

Thunderstorms

The heat had been unbearable all day.

Not the nice kind of summer warmth people romanticized in photos with sunsets and cold drinks and laughter drifting through open windows.

No.

This was heavy heat. Sticky heat. The kind that sat on your skin and refused to leave no matter how many windows you opened.

Even at night the air inside the house felt thick.

You were sprawled across the bed in one of Simon’s shirts, sheets kicked down near your ankles while a fan in the corner pushed around warm air completely uselessly.

“I’m dying,” you announced dramatically into the darkness.

Beside you, Simon barely moved from where he lay on top of the blankets in nothing but low sweatpants, one arm behind his head.

“You’ve said that six times.”

“Because I continue to die.”

“Hm.”

You turned your head toward the open window.

Outside, the night was beautiful at least. The sky stretched endlessly black above the garden, stars scattered across it so brightly they almost looked silver. Somewhere farther away, crickets chirped lazily in the heat while the curtains moved softly with the little bit of air drifting inside.

Beautiful. But absolutely useless when the temperature still felt like hell itself.

You groaned quietly and rolled onto your stomach. “I hate summer.”

“I know.”

“I mean really hate it.”

“I know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Stop agreeing with me like that.”

That finally earned you a low amused sound from his chest.

Then, far away, thunder rolled softly across the horizon.

You froze immediately.

Simon noticed the change at once.

Your head lifted. Eyes suddenly brighter. Entire body alert in a completely different way now.

Another low rumble echoed through the night.

And then your voice, suddenly full of life again - “Oh.”

Simon already knew that tone. A dangerous tone.

Slowly, he turned his head toward the window as distant lightning flickered somewhere far beyond the trees.

“You’re happy about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re insane.”

“Yes.”

The next flash lit the room faintly blue for half a second.

Your grin widened instantly. “Oh my god, Simon…”

“You hate every weather condition except the ones that could kill you.”

“Storms are comforting.”

“They’re loud.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“They knock out power.”

You sat up immediately. “That makes them even better.”

Simon watched you climb out of bed and walk toward the window barefoot, oversized shirt hanging from your frame while warm wind moved softly through your hair.

Another growl of thunder rolled across the sky. Closer now. The stars had already started disappearing behind massive dark clouds slowly swallowing the night whole.

And you looked completely enchanted by it.

“You know what this needs?” you asked softly without looking back.

Simon already sounded tired. “No.”

“Coffee.”

“It’s midnight.”

“Storm coffee.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

He listened to your footsteps disappear toward the kitchen before dragging one hand down his face slowly.

Five minutes later, he found you standing barefoot on the patio outside. Of course you were outside.

The first cool wind of the coming storm moved through the suffocating summer heat like mercy itself, making the trees rustle softly while lightning flashed somewhere deeper within the clouds.

You held your mug against your chest, eyes fixed on the sky with the kind of wonder most people lost years ago.

Simon leaned against the doorway watching you silently for a moment.

The air smelled different already. Rain. Electricity. Summer dust waiting to break.

“You’ll get soaked,” he said finally.

You smiled without looking at him. “I know.”

Thunder cracked louder this time. Closer.

The sound rolled through your chest beautifully deep and powerful, and you actually sighed happily at it.

Simon shook his head once. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the garden in silver-blue light for a heartbeat.

Then the first raindrop landed against your arm. Cold.

You smiled immediately.

Another hit the wooden railing. Then another. And suddenly the sky opened.

Heavy summer rain crashed down all at once, hammering against the roof, the trees, the garden furniture.

You laughed softly under it. Not running. Not caring. Just lifting your face toward the storm like you belonged to it.

Simon stared at you for a long second before stepping fully outside too.

Rain soaked through his shirt almost instantly.

You looked at him with surprise. “Thought you hated storms.”

“Hate heat more.”

Another loud crack of thunder echoed overhead.

You moved closer instinctively, smiling as cooler air finally wrapped around both of you.

Rain dripped from Simon’s hair onto his jaw while he looked down at you standing there soaked and happy in the middle of the night.

Your fingers curled lightly into the front of his shirt.

“This is better,” you whispered.

“Yeah.”

pairing: husband!simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader

summary: your husband is obsessed with getting tattoos inspired by you

masterlist!

your husband felt so fucking lucky to have a wife like you, a precious bonnie who took care of him in every aspect of his life. you always made sure he had a fresh, home-cooked meal to come home to, stirring up his favorites during his most draining days at work, greeting him with kisses at the front door, adorable, “hi, si!” leaving your mouth. tiny hands neatly folding up his laundry on sundays, the declared, “laundry day” in your household, placing them on his side of the bed so he could put the fabric away. taking the time to organize his size 13 shoes, scrubbing both pairs of his muddy work boots he rotated wearing. he absolutely adored you, would do anything for you.

the first tattoo was something small, your initials, inked in tiny cursive on his ring finger, small enough for his wedding band to conceal it. “always wan’ ya with m’, sweetheart,” his accent’s thick as he shows you the green inscribe. clutching his knuckles into your hand, you kissed the new tattoo, doe eyes peering into his gaze, “i love you so much, simon.” your husband’s heart melted at the sight, intoxicated on the feeling of you kissing his wounded flesh, kissing your marking on him.

simon knew he had to get more tattoos inspired by you, desperately searching for opportunity anywhere. then it clicked. the little notes you always wrote for him! the ones you threw into his lunchbox when you packed his midday meal for work. have a great day, si xo, or i’m so proud of my precious husband, i love you, and always taking care of me! have a surprise for you at home ;), some of the things you’d scribble. he always kept them, fingering one from his collection, bringing it to the tattoo shop. you recognized his new tattoo immediately, the man nearly ripping his shirt off to show you. he was eager to see your reaction! your fingertips traced the outline, all your attention on his sensitive skin. your husband got your lips tattooed across his v line, using one of your hundreds of lipstick kisses you left on his notes. guess all the lipsticks you went through was worth it! “needed more of m’ sweet wife,” he smirks, satisfied with your speechless face.

“gotta’ notha’ tattoo appointment, hon’, s’ later today,” your husbands starts, coming up behind you, “need ya to come with m’,” he places his hand on the small of your back. you face him, confused expression littered across your features, “why do you need me to go, si?” your head tilts. he kisses your forehead, palm sliding to grab your ass, “wan’ it to be a surprise for m’ pretty baby.”

your tiny hand was wrapped around your husband’s bicep as he led you both to the tattoo parlor, “i can’t wait to see your surprise,” you say, simon opening the door for you. “m’ hope ya like it, fawn.”

MY FINE SHITTTT