Sort of a part 2 to this I suppose? I just had some more thoughts... @cherelapine
Imagine that you and John can eventually return home after almost a year of being wholly committed to your part as "the married couple next door". The information you gathered about this terrorist (most of it came from his wife who had very loose lips) was enough to get him and the group he worked with arrested.
When the two of you finally arrived back on base, though, the shift was instant.
Obviously everyone knew that you and John would most likely be somewhat closer than you were before you left. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost had been briefed to just act like they usually would around you until your dynamic shifted back to normal.
But they weren't expecting that when you got off the heli that you would be holding hands... and still wearing the wedding rings you were given.
You settled back into routine quickly, just now you do everything together.
Training, eating, sleeping, briefings, paperwork, hell you even shower together.
They really tried to ignore it. Figured that you would eventually go back to normal. But no.
"You want a cuppa, baby?" You asked, not even turning around from the recroom kitchenette.
"Please, love."
You made your way back to the couches where everyone was sitting with two steaming hot mugs of tea in your hands, handed one to John who took it with a nod of his head, his ring clinking against the ceramic, and then promptly lowered yourself onto his lap. He didn't bat an eye at the sudden display of affection. No, he just wrapped his arm around you, fingers digging into your waist, and planted a kiss on your shoulder.
The others had to try act like the petnames and displays of affection were normal. You had basically been married for a year, they understood that. But it was like you had been together for years. They figured they would have to address it at some point.
The only thing preventing them from saying anything? Every night they could hear from Johns room the sound of the wood of his bed slamming into the wall, echoing around the entire barracks. They could hear your moans. Pathetic little mewls and pleads, sometimes even cries. The walls were so thin sometimes they swore they could hear the wet sound of Johns cock pistoning in and out of you, even over the sound of your moans and his grunts.
They all jerked off to the sounds every night.
They couldn't address it because they were afraid you would stop...
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I'm obsessed with the idea of reader who's part of tf14 and John Price going undercover as a new married couple in the neighborhood to investigate some terrorist or national threat or something.
It's odd considering your age gap. He's 38 and you are 25. But it was you and him who had done the most undercover work. Ghost had next to no experience in it apart from mandatory training, Gaz was a horrible actor, and Soap was a bit too good of an actor. Way too exaggerated in his speech and movements. He's a dead giveaway.
So, it was you and Price.
You definitely got some odd looks from your new neighbours when the two of you moved in. A few different couples and families came to greet you to which you would flaunt your ring and hang out of Prices arm. Absolutely enamored by your new husband.
"We're just back from our honeymoon! We can't wait to start fresh here, it's such a lovely neighbourhood. Where's the closest grocery store?"
If it were up to you, you wouldn't be so bubbly and ditzy, but Laswell insisted on that sort of personality. Apparently the wife of the guy you're after has a similiar personality and loves flaunting her relationship.
Therefore, you and Price obviously have to be as affectionate as possible at all times.
Random kisses while walking past their house, his arm around your shoulder, you insisting he carry you around when your feet get sore from your heels.
It was when you were out "gardening" (you had no clue how to garden) that she finally approached, insisting that you and John were just the cutest couple she had ever seen and that you absolutely had to go to their annual summer barbeque.
Of course when you were at that barbeque you and John had to run off to the bathroom. No of course you werent going in there at the same time! Its just a coincidence that you both had to go...
What a coincidence also that you couldn't get the zipper of your dress back up. John just had to go in and help you with it.
Yeah, you two made out in the bathroom like a bunch of horny teenagers but who could blame you? You were newly weds! And you obviously had to keep up the act.
And yes it was necessary for you both to sleep in the same bed every night, pressed close together with very minimal clothing. You never know who's watching.
It's necessary to act as in love as possible. Even when you're alone. All for the sake of the mission, of course.
—————
A/N: I kinda liked this lol should I expand on it? Turn it into an actual fic? Now I have the thought in my head I lowkey want to🫣
Reader getting hurt and Simon being her knight in shining military gear
A/N: @pixiu-palindrome this is the second ask you requested! And yes this is absolutely inspired by the fact that my dying fire alarm kept beeping last night and kept me awake...ALSO I barely edited this lol so plss let me know if you spot something like grammar or spelling or whatever!!
@nbdblogger @tigerchud
Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
Part 5
Simon was awake at 2 o clock in the morning because he was getting ready to go on deployment. Base was an hour away and he was supposed to be there at 7am but he couldn't sleep in his apartment knowing that he had was just hours away from flying out to some wasteland, possibly for months. He was planning on getting there stupidly early and busying himself by running around base, helping Price with plans, paperwork, something like that.
You were awake at 2 o clock in the morning because the stupid fire alarm on your bedroom ceiling had a dying bettery and let out a loud shriek every two minutes. Right when you started to drift off, it would beep again and wake you up. The person living in the apartment right above you had hit his floor (your ceiling) with the handle of a sweeping brush at least four times already, each harder and more aggressive than the last.
You couldn't just not do anything about it. Not only could you not sleep but the beeping was keeping other people awake, too.
So, you got out of bed.
You could have gotten a sturdier chair from the kitchen. But it was late. You didn't care. You just wanted that contant beeping to shut the hell up. You're desk chair would do. The one that swivels, rolls, and can lean back completely flat.
Simon was passing the door to your apartment, on his way to the stairwell to leave the apartment building for the next few months. He hadn't told you. He didn't know if you would care. Maybe he would send you a text or something just before he got on the plane or helicopter or whatever mode of transportation Price and Laswell had chosen.
Thats when he heard a loud crash. Not a small crash like you dropped something or fell out of bed, but one of those sounds that makes your stomach drop because you just know someone got hurt.
Inside the apartment you were laying on the floor, ankle already starting to go purple and swell. You made the mistake of standing on your tip-toes for added height because you just couldn't reach. You lost your balance and put your hand on the back of the chair to try stabilize yourself. Of course that triggered the little mechanism to make the back lay down flat, completely knocking you off balance again. You tipped backwards, the wheels on the bottom of the chair did the rest. The chair rolled out from underneath you and tipped over with the force of the fall. The automatic reaction to try fall on your feet was your unltimate demise. You landed wrong on your left foot, twisted it or broke it or something like that, you weren't sure. You just knew that it hurt like hell.
Simon knocked on the door. No, he didn't. Actually, he banged on the door so hard you were surprised the thing didn't come off its hinges.
"Love?! You alrigh'?!"
You sat on your bedroom floor, biting you knuckles to stop yourself from crying or screaming, eyes shut tight. Your ankle felt hot and stiff, like your brain wouldn't let you move it even if you tried.
Simon called for you again, his voice heavy with worry. "Answer me! Are you okay?!" His banging on the door was so loud now that you're sure the whole building could hear it.
You obviously needed help. You were insanely lucky that Simon was passing by right as you fell but you still needed to unlock the door and let him in lest he break your door down.
So, gritting your teeth, you braced your hands on your bed and pulled yourself up, standing only on your right foot, your left slightly elevated off the ground. You couldn't bring yourself to call out for him. It was like your brain could only focus on the pain. You were sure no sound would come out if you tried to talk.
That's when you heard the much louder bangs on the door. Not knocks. Kicks. The door was weak enough as is. All it took was two kicks to have it fly open, hitting the wall, damaging the hinges and sending a huge split down the wood by the handle.
He was by your side in just a few seconds, calming down once he realized that your injuries were in fact not very serious or life threatening. Maybe he even felt a bit guilty about kicking down your door when it wasn't necessary at all. In his defense, you weren't responding to him. It was his military training that kicked in. No response equals get there quick.
A quick glance around the room told him enough. Chair on the floor, bed unmade, you in your pajamas, and a very timely beep from the fire alarm that he noticed you rolled your eyes at in annoyance despite your current predicament. He looked back at you, a scowl of pain on your face, foot completely elevated off the floor, skin rosy pink with embarrassment. With a gentle but firm grip on your arm he guided you to sit on the edge of your bed.
"I'm gonna take a look, alrigh'?" He got down on his knees and gently took your calf in his hand to extend your leg forwards. Your ankle was swollen and red in a way that you could just tell it would be purple in an hour.
Simon, with his free hand, squeezed your ankle with his thumb and forefinger with the utmost tenderness like he was holding a newborn. Then, a sigh, like he knew something you didn't, because he did.
"It's definitely sprained. Probably not broken but I can't really tell. We need to get you to a hospital, this won't heal on it's own." He stood up and looked down at you. You still hadn't said a word. He understood that it was from shock, most likely. "How bad does it hurt?"
Then, finally, your mouth opened and your voice sounded strained and forced but he knew that was normal. He had seen people recovering from shock not be able to speak for hours.
"I can't afford to go to the hospital."
"well that's no' what' I asked, is it?" A beat of silence. "How's your pain?"
You looked at him then. Military attire, combat boots, camo jacket with a name tag with 'SGT. Riley' plastered on it. He was leaving?
"Its okay. Hurts, but it could be worse. It feels hot." You chose not to mention his attire or the fact that if he hadn't come in here to check on you he would have just left without saying anything.
"yeah, that's jus' your blood rushing to your ankle. You got ice? Gotta bring down the swelling."
"There might be a bag of frozen peas or something in the freezer." Those frozen peas had probably been bought during a health kick where you swore you were going to lose weight but then promptly gave up after about a day.
He left then. You heard the sound of the freezer door opening and the drawers being pulled out, frozen pizzas pushed away in favour of vegetables for the first time ever no doubt.
He returned with that bag of peas wrapped up in a little cloth so the cold wouldn't feel so extreme on your skin and knelt down in front of you once more.
He took your ankle, just as gentle as before if not more so, and pressed the frozen peas to your skin. You winced a little at the sudden pressure and temperature chance. He noticed and mumbled out a little "sorry" just barely loud enough to be heard.
"We need to go to the hospital, love." He sounded guilty almost. Maybe he was just upset about the door or maybe it was the silent internal spiral of what might have happened to you had he left his apartment five minutes earlier instead of when he did. You would be here but alone and in pain with no way of getting to the hospital. Anyway, there was no use dwelling on that. He was here. That was all that mattered.
Once he was satisfied with the work the peas had done on your ankle he placed them on the floor and stood up just to sit down on your bed next to you.
"You can't walk, as much as you might want to. You alrigh' with me carrying you?"
A nod from you was really all he needed to stand up and put his arm under your knees and his other behind your back for support. Simon lifted you like you weighed the same as a pile of blankets or a stuffed animal. You would have been a blushing mess only the pain pulsating from your ankle was drawing your attention more than Simons strength.
You noticed your door as he carried you out of your apartment. It was destroyed enough that it wouldn't close. Not properly anyway. Still, you grabbed the broken doorknob as you passed it and tried to close it as best you could so it would maybe look closed enough that burglars wouldn't notice and rob you blind.
"Sorry 'bout that. I'll pay for it, love."
He carried you down the stairwell and out the front door of the building. It was cold outside. Much colder than your apartment. You were only wearing old shorts and a t-shirt as pajamas so the early morning breeze reached your bones almost immediately.
Simons truck blended in to the dark so well that you couldn't tell where it was until you were right beside it. He set you down on your feet gently, being careful to not let go until you had your balance on your non injured foot. He pulled off his jacket, his military jacket that you were almost certain he wasn't supposed to be giving to other people, and wrapped it around your shoulders before you could protest. When he turned he kept a protective hand on your arm and used his other to open the passenger side door of his truck.
You hobbled in, using both Simon and his truck for balance as you sat in the passenger seat then swung your legs inside. The door shut gently once you were inside and Simon went around the truck to hop in the driver seat.
The drive to the hospital was quiet. The type of quiet where you both knew there was something you had to address but neither of you were quite ready to talk about it yet. Until the silence became deafening and the tension was so thick it could be cut by a knife.
And you chose to break the silence.
"Were you really going to leave without saying anything?"
He didn't respond straight away. He didn't do anything actually. No sign that he had even heard you other than the way his grip subtly tightened on the wheel, knuckles going white, eyes glued to the road illuminated by his headlights.
Then, "Yeah. Thought it was just easier tha' way."
"Easier?" You almost scoffed, turning your body towards him. "Easier for who? Because it sure wouldn't have been easier for me, Simon. I would have woken up in the morning and texted you to no reply, then knocked on your door with no reply. I wouldn't have seen you in the hallways or stairwell, or the laundry room. You were perfectly fine with just leaving me confused and wondering what I had done to make you not want to say goodbye?"
He sighed and glanced towards you, silent for a while like he was thinking about what to say. His face showed no emotion. No guilt. But his eyes betrayed the sea of thoughts in his head.
"I- I don't know. I didn't think about it like that. I guess I thought you wouldn't care if I left. Most people don't."
Your heart softened at that. You had been upset with him for not thinking about you but he just figured that you wouldn't care if he was there or not...
"Maybe you should have asked me first instead of just assuming? I care, Simon." You reached over, softly putting your hand over his that was resting on the gear stick.
He looked over at you now, daring to tear his eyes away from the road just so he could see you.
"I'm sorry."
Simple words. Quiet and easy but they weighed heavily. You could both feel it.
"Well, I'm sorry for falling off a chair in the middle of the night and putting us in this situation in the first place." You laughed and he smiled. The tension was gone, replaced by something much sweeter that happily crowded the air between you for the rest of the drive to the hospital.
You were utterly grateful for Simons jacket when he helped you out of the car once he parked. It was even colder there, somehow. You also didn't want to be seen in your old t-shirt by anyone at the hospital.
The hospital was quiet as expected. Simon walked in, you in his arms. You were seen by a doctor almost immediately, unusually quick even with how quiet the waiting room was. You were even given a wheelchair so you didn't need to be carried everywhere. Maybe that had something to do with his military uniform, you assumed. It was odd how you felt sort of sad about not relying on him so much, even if he was pushing you in the wheelchair because it didn't have those big wheels with the handles on them.
After a brief examination from an older nurse who looked as though she had seen this exact injury many, many times before, she concluded that you had a partially torn ligament. She gave you an ankle brace, crutches, and a weeks worth of strong pain killers. It would take about six weeks to heal, and you would be on crutches for four of those weeks. At least you hadn't broken any bones.
You were in and out of the hospital in about 45 minutes. whether that was good luck, good timing, military privilege, or all three you couldn't tell. Either way you were grateful for it. You wanted to get back to bed.
You slept the entire car ride home. Your sleep was already interrupted earlier by the loud shrieking from your fire alarm, now this? you were exhausted.
When you woke up, it took you a minute to recognize where you were. Simons apartment. You must have been in his bedroom. Well, obviously, considering the bed you were in that you had no idea how you get there.
Simon was beside you, sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking you awake.
"Sorry, love, it's just... I have to go. I've stayed here as long as I can. I'm gonna be late."
You suddenly shot up in the bed, eyes wide and much more awake than you had been all night. Your heart sank in your chest. You had completely forgotten about that. He was leaving.
"I think you should stay here. In my apartment. It's obviously not safe in yours without a door."
You didn't have time to think about the fact that he had just offered you to basically live in his home for the next however many weeks or months. Because he was leaving.
"You're leaving? Now? Right now?" Your voice was tired but panicked in a way he had never heard before.
"Yeah, pretty, I'm leaving now. I have to." His hand, rough but gentle and safe in a way that felt almost cruel because he was about take that feeling with him, landed on top of hours with a reassuring grip.
"When will you be back?" Your other hand landed on top of his, gripping much tighter, much more desperate, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. Not from the pain from your ankle but the fear of not knowing what would happen to him.
"I don't know. A few months at least. Probably four or five." He shrugged and looked down like he couldn't bare to say the words himself.
One tear slipped from your eye and down your cheek. You didn't even notice it was there until you tasted the salt on your lips when it reached them.
Your mind was overrun with thoughts. You wouldn't see him for months. that was if he didn't get himself killed over there wherever he was going. You might never see him again.
You didn't really think about it. It was like moving on instinct when you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, desperate and salty from tears and entirely unexpected from both of you.
His hand that wasn't currently trapped between yours reached up to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss, his thumb stroking the skin of your cheekbone, wiping away tears.
Neither of you said anything when you pulled away from each other. There were no words to describe these feelings anyway. No, speaking would ruin the moment. So you both stayed quiet. Even when he stood up and walked away. Even when the front door shut quietly. Even when you heard his truck engine start up. Even when he stayed there for a few minutes, sitting in his truck, not yet driving away like he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.
And for the first time in his entire life, when Simon left, he was leaving something important behind.
For the first time in his life, he had someone who was desperate for him to return home.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to return home.
Just think if Simons walking up the stairs, and he sees his pretty little neighbor getting harassed by a weird dude. Obviously he has to step in.
Btw, I absolutely love your work!
I love this idea omg he'd be so pissed off! Thank you anon😚
A/N: If you saw this when I accidentally posted the draft... no you didn't. This was also going to be way longer but ofc I deleted it all😍 didn't proof read this at all so please let me know about any errors!
CW: mentions of period blood, emetephobia, groping
@nbdblogger @tigerchud
Neighbour!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!reader
Part 1 part 2 part 3 Part 5
Part 4
The day was wrong from the very start. You were so very relaxed. Having had your first official date with Simon two days ago, and having the most fun you've had in a long time, your cortisol levels were at an all time low. You blamed that as being the reason why you completely slept past your alarm in the morning. Your alarm shut off on its own after 15 minutes of blaring music into your ears, and so you drooled into your pillow for almost an extra 2 hours before you woke up.
When you finally did wake up, it was from the painful glare of sun beaming from the window through the crack in your curtains, shining right into your eyes. You winced as your eyes slowly fluttered open, turning around in bed to face away from the window to find some respite from the sun.
The sun.
Your heart sank to your stomach. Your alarm was supposed to go off at 6 am, long before sunrise, so you could make it into work for 7:30 am in time to open the restaurant and prepare for breakfast. You had slept in. It was supposed to still be dark when you were waking up. There was absolutely no doubt in your mind. You didn't even have to check your phone to know that you did. Still, you scrambled to grab your phone off your nightstand, pushing sleep-tangled hair our of your face.
7:56 am
Thats what the time on your phone read. It was that painful number on your screen mixed with the two missed calls from your boss and four missed calls from a coworker that made you want to slam your phone back down on the nightstand, turn around, and go back to sleep. As tempting as it was to listen to the devil on your shoulder and face the consequences later, you needed money. You couldn't get that by going back asleep.
So, you very unflatteringly got out of bed and haphazardly started getting ready. When you sat down on the toilet? Blood. So much of it. On your pyjamas and no doubt on your bed. You didn't even have time for a shower.
You brushed your teeth, just about tied up your hair enough so that it wouldn't undo itself during your shift, skipped breakfast, changed into your work uniform, and dashed out of the apartment after fifteen minutes of getting ready. You chose to deal with the murder scene that was your bed and pyjamas after in favour of not getting fired.
Maybe it was the universes way of fucking you over, but the roads and paths were packed with people, already odd considering it was only 8am, but it also seemed like it was absolutely everybodys first day on earth. Big groups of people taking up the entire pathway, walking at snails pace. Some people just randomly turning around and crashing into you for no reason. Cars racing through pedestrian crossings even though the light was red.
A ten minute walk turned almost twenty.
When you walked through the doors of the restaurant? Carnage. It had literally never been that busy before in the almost two years you had been working there. Again, it was literally like 8:30 in the morning. Breakfast started thirty minutes ago. It looked like whoever had closing shoft yesterday simply didn't even try to clean except for bussing tables. There were dishes in the kitchen sink that hadn't been washed last night with dried food on them that you just knew could never be scrubbed off. Either the floor was not cleaned last night or the abundance of customers in the restaurant had already destroyed it in food and drink spills. There was probably 150 people in there, average for a Saturday lunch rush, not a Teusday morning. It was absolutely packed. You had no idea why today of all days everyone was acting like maniacs, but they were. Why did 150 people feel the need to all go to the same restaurant for breakfast? Why? It had never happened before.
So, already feeling the stress of the eight hour shift that hadn't even started yet, you entered the kitchen where the waitress aprons were kept.
Boom.
You collided straight into another waitress with boiling hot coffee in her hands, clearly trying to prepare herself for the excrutiating day ahead. It would be excrutiating. Everyone could tell. No day that starts out this busy would ever end up being good. Never.
The coffee spilled all over your chest and stomach, making you yelp out in pain with several hisses through clenched teeth. The girl literally screamed like she was being murdered, obviously gaining the attention of the kitchen staff.
The scene they saw was that of a seventeen year old waitress desperately pressing tissues against your tits to absorb the coffee. You could feel your skin getting red and angry from the scolding heat. How was she even drinking that without burning her mouth?
Luckily, a nineteen year old chef (you didn't even knows chefs could be hired so young) was quick to grab the extendable hose at the kitchen sink not too far from where you were. He turned it on and drenched you in freezing cold water.
So, you went about you day smelling like coffee, with wet hair, and damp clothes, because the restaurant didn't have any spares. That itself was enough to almost bring tears to your eyes.
Throughout the day, though? Hell. Like, the worst day you had worked in the almost two years you had been there.
You were screamed at by women for the most ridiculous of stuff. One woman screamed because the kitchen gave her butterscotch sauce with her dessert instead of caramel.
When you were delivering food to a table where a family of five was sat, the baby sat in the high chair beside the mother turned its head towards you and literally projectile vomited pure white milk and bile all over you and your apron. You were very lucky that there was a spare apron that day because a waiter had called out sick, otherwise you would have to keep on wearing it. There was still some on your clothes, though. That combined with the smell of stale coffee and damp had people turning giving you gross looks all day.
The dad of that same family who's baby puked on you groped you three times. Once was literally right on your ass. Another was your inner thigh, and the other was when they were all leaving and he gave you a side hug to apologise for the baby, his hand landed straight on your tit.
You got basically no tips all day. To be fair, you could probably blame that on the smell. No one would want to be served by a waitress sho smelled like baby vomit.
To top it all off? You had been getting excrutiating cramps all day and you leaked all over yourself! Luckily the blood couldn't really be seen because of your black pants, but you could feel the warm sticky feeling in your underwear. That combined with the smells and dampness clinging to your skin made you so overstimulated you literally wanted to claw your clothes off in front of everyone and run home to shower.
But, no bad day can last forever, so, with tears brimming at the corner of your eyes and physically feeling like mold, you left the restaurant, trying to leave the days baggage there where it should stay at the restaurant.
It was like it was impossible for your clothes to fully dry, even when you had been soaked at nine in the morning and it was now five pm. The early evening air was unusually cold, clinging to your damp uniform for the entire ten minute walk home.
Your feet hurt, your legs were shaking, your stomach hurt, you were mentally and physically exhausted. All you wanted was a shower and a takeaway pizza or something and a fat pint of icecream.
How could it get worse. Literally, how? You figured the world had tested you enough today. You suppose not.
Just one flight up on the little platform where the stairs bent, stood a junkie. Clearly high. He was half slumped against the wall, eyes glossed over and bloodshot, half open. He was wearing old clothes that looked ripped and raggedy, not too different to your own current attire, honestly. His air was black and long, wirey and all over the place. He had a scraggly beard thats almost hid his partially open mouth. You could just about see his rotting teeth.
You kept your head down low and just kept walking. He would most likely be too high to even register that you were there, but you remained on as high alert as you could be when so exhausted. It wasn't uncommon to see junkies around your apartment. They had catcalled you a few times before but nothing else. You figured you'd be fine.
You were very wrong.
As soon as you passed him he moved like a bullet, completely unexpectedely considering he looked like he was about to pass out. Now his bloodshot eyes were wide open, his greasy hands digging into your upper arms, forcing you to face directly towards him. You screamed when he moved, but he pulled you into him to hold you against his body with one arm while he slapped the other over your mouth.
"Hush, little missy.." he shushed you. His breath smelled like beer and rot, wafting against your face.
"Rough day? Me too. Lets make it better, huh?" He dipped his head to kiss your neck. You tried to squirm out of his grip. You had no idea how he was so strong while clearly so intoxicated. He held you tightly against him with one arm, the other still slapped over you mouth to prevent you from scraming. His hand smelled like he had been rummaging through rubbish all afternoon.
You tried to kick but you couldn't get enough momentum to properly swing your leg, and you were so close that you couldn't move your leg up, only back. You were tired and weak from the days work tjat you just had no energy left to fight back. He kissed from your neck down to your exposed collarbones. You whimpered in fear against his hand, silent tears soaking the soft skin of your cheeks and the rough skin of his calloused paws.
Then, a hand ripped his hand off your mouth and pulled you out of the mans grasp.
Simon.
Wearing work out gear and looking slightly sweaty like he had just returned from a run or the gym or something.
It really didn't take much for Simon to fight him off. A right-hook to his face and the man was on the ground, groaning in pain, unable to stand and looking like he might throw up.
Simon turned to you, angry expression turned soft and concerned in seconds as he looked you up and down, assessing you for injuries. You just... stared. Tears still flowing, eyes wide, mouth shut tight.
"Love? You okay? Talk t'me.."
A rough hand placed gently on your cheek was all it took. You opened your mouth and sucked in one shaky breath, then... the tears really flowed. Cries. Not just silent weeps, but real cries of fear, panic, and the days stress. You basically collapsed into him, the first steady, caring thing you had found solace in all day.
"Simon..." soft and muffled in his shoulder but painfully desperate all the same.
"I know love... I know. You've had a rough day swee'heart?" His arms wrapped around you, like you were something worth protecting.
A small nod against his shoulder was enough for him.
You don't know how you made it into you apartment, but before you knew it Simon was just... doing stuff for you. He opened drawers in your bedroom until he found your pyjama drawer and handed you a pair of fluffy pyjamas and a towel, pointing at the bathroom door in silent command. It felt sort of nice to not have to think for once and to just let someone else tell you what to do and when to do it instead of juggling whether you should shower first or eat or clean. Simon decided for you, and you let him.
That shower was heaven. Literally heaven. Like nothing you had ever felt before. Warm and comforting. An official end to the days madness, and a gentle respite to the cramps kicking your uterus around.
When you left the bathroom, your bed sheets had been changed. You felt you face flush with embarrassement, knowing that Simon had undoubtedly seen the blood stains. Still, though, you supposed he had seen you drunk and asleep in his lap so it wasn't that bad in comparison.
On the couch there was Simon. Some movie you mentioned liking the other day ready to play on the TV while he opened takeaway boxes on the coffee table.
You felt like crying again but this time because you felt peace. It felt nice to be cared for like this. No asking or begging, just silently taking care of things before you even had the chance to worry about them.
He gestured you over with his head as he pressed play on the movie. Together, the two of you ate silently, you head on his chest with his arm around your shoulder. Just... being. Together.
i had a horrible, horrible week and neighbour simon made me get out of bed easier today. Somehow i felt lighter after reading all the chapters. Thought you should know 😊
Oh anon I'm so sorry you've had such an awful week but omg I'm so glad that I could make it better! It was amazing to read this and my heart just feels so happy knowing that I made someones day a little brighter🩷 I'm here if you need to talk and I hope your week gets better
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Please tell me there's more from the neighbor! Simon and Reader!!😫😫🫶🫶 I need more!!
Im so glad you like it omg!!😭🩷 I dont know when I'll be posting the next part (because I just write and post whenever I feel like it, I dont follow a schedule) but there absolutely will be another few parts of this series!
Okay so, firstly, I LOVE this neighbor Simon x reader series like u write so deliciously 🤌🤌🤌
And I was thinking, how about reader inviting ghostie on lunch at her apartment (cuz we poor, sadge face) and that turns to a grocery shopping date, cuz ghost offered to tag along under the excuse carrying bags that are too heavy for us/her/whtv you're comfy with, but he's just making his moves now?
OR
Ghost hearing a loud noise from our apartment's direction and coming to check up on us only to find we sprained our ankle falling down while hanging a frame or sum like that?
I prefer the first one but idk you choose (or u could do both I ain't complainin 😝)
Neighbour!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!reader
Your mind istg😍 This is the first one but keep an eye out for the second one, I'll deffo be doing it at some point! Also I literally didn't proof read this at all so there will probably be some errors.
Part 1 part 2 part 4
Part 3
You had been trying to think of ways to thank Simon for his help a few days ago. Money? No, you barely had enough for yourself. Coffee? That's a bit cliché. A card? Way too cheesy. How do you thank your hot neighbour for zipping up your dress in a way that doesn't seem like a date? Or maybe it should be a date.. was this your chance?
It was late, like 8pm, but you figured that if you didn't ask him now you would never ask him so you left your apartment in shorts and a tshirt and walked two doors down the hallway to Simons apartment. Your heart was racing in your chest as you knocked because you were sure he would say no. This was weird. Why would he want to hang out with you? He probably thought it was so strange–
The door opened abrupty, Simon standing there, shirtless, a cigarette dangling from his lips and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Scarred abs and pecs right in your face. You felt the heat creeping up your neck as you opened your mouth to speak yet no words came, just your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to form some sort of comprehensible sentence as you struggled to stop staring at his body. It was so hard though, he was right at your eye level!
He plucked the cigarette from his lips. "Y'alright, love?" His head tilted slightly with a grin at your flustered expression.
"Uhm. Yeah, sorry. I was uh.. I was just wondering maybe if you weren't busy tomorrow, uhm, you might like to have lunch at my place?" You lowered your head, picking at your fingernails, expecting a refusal. "You know, to say thanks for the other night.."
He stayed silent for a few seconds, just sort of staring at you, taking in the scene of your anxious stature before he slowly started nodding.
"Yeah. Yeah, alrigh'."
You thought you had heard it wrong but no. He agreed. Okay. Great. Now you just had to make him lunch and spend an entire afternoon with him.
"Okay. Cool." You smiled breathlessly because you couldn't really believe it. "Uh, what do you want to eat? So I know what to buy at the shop."
He stared off in thought for a second before looking back at you with this proud look on his face, shrugging his shoulders. "Dunno. S'pose I'll just have to go with ya, decide at the shop. We'll take my car. Ten alright for you?"
You looked at him, bewildered. You hadn't been expecting that. "Yeah. Yeah, tens fine." You nodded, lips parted, shoulders tense.
He brought his cigarette back to his lips, sucking in the smoke before puffing it back out, head lowered to avoid blowing it straight in your face. "Its a date then." He smiled.
You didn't trust you ears for a moment until you were sure you had heard what you thought you did. You repeated his words quietly to yourself, "It's a date..."
You went back to your apartement feeling floaty, terrified, and slightly horny, mentally storing the image of a shirtless Simon for a more appropriate time.
The next morning came and you woke up much too early. You showered, changed, ate a small breakfast and pulled out your phone to check your bank account and see how much money you could spare on ingredients. 45 pounds absolute maximum if you wanted to be able to afford rent. Thats alright. Surely you wouldn't be spending that much. You already have some stuff at home. Maybe it would be fine. Much less expensive than some fancy cafe somewhere at least.
It was 9:58am when Simon knocked on your door. You walked out, purse in hand, and locked the door behind you. The two of you walked down the stairwell because, as it always had been, the elevator was out of order.
"Has that thing ever worked?" You asked him when you passed it a few flights down, pointing at the out of order sign. He looked at the elevator and nodded slowly.
"Yeah. It did. I broke it when I was moving in."
You stopped dead in your tracks as Simon continued on down the steps.
"What?!" You squealed, laughing as you hurried to catch up with him.
"You broke it? How?" You questioned, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away from you, slowing him down to your speed.
"I'm no' tellin' you." He laughed.
You made it to the front door of the apartment building. He opened the door for you, letting you through first before he followed and started leading you to his car which you learned was not a car but was actually a truck. A black Ford Ranger.
"You have to tell me!" You argued. He couldn't just say something like that and not finish the story.
He walked up the the passanger side of his truck and opened the door, holding out his hand to help you in.
"No, I don't." He retorted when you took his hand and stepped up into the truck. His hand was rough, hardened with callouses from years of holding guns and knives, but his grip was shockingly gentle. Like he was afraid he'd hurt you if he tightened his grip with any sort of force at all.
You settled into the seat and he closed the door behind you, rounding the truck to the drivers side. After turning on the engine and reversing out of the parking spot, you started driving towards the shop.
The shop, when you got there, was quiet. It was sort of expected, though. Who's really doing their shopping at 10 o clock in the morning? You grabbed a basket, just one of the handheld ones with wishful thinking that you wouldn't need an actual trolley. Simon was quick to grab it from you, though, as he gestured with his head for you to follow him down the aisle. Clearly he didn't want you carrying the basket. Whether that was for you or so that he didn't look like a jerk making you carry it you didn't know but the gesture was nice.
Either way, you carried on down the aisle by Simons side. Something about this felt strangely... domestic. Like you were just two people going about their day like it was normal. Routine, even. You had never felt that before. The domesticity of routine with someone not in your family, even though it wasn't exactly routine. It felt nice.
"So, what were you thinking? What are you hungry for?" You asked, arms swinging by your side, eyes skimming the products on the shelves, keeping note of how out-of-budget everything looked.
Simon just shrugged. "This a date, innit? Need ta go all out. Steak? Couple of sides?"
You were starting to wish that you had gone with the coffee in a cafe somewhere. Why would you offer lunch at your own place? Thats so stupid! Its way too expensive... Still, you grit your teeth and nodded.
"Steak it is."
When you got to the fridge section you swear you could have puked looking at the prices. The cheapest steak you saw was 10 quid. Simon, seemingly have a taste for the expensive, picked up four wagyu steaks each costing 15 pounds. Just them alone was already over your budget. Did he not know you were poor? Could he not tell from the time you walked home in the pouring rain just so you wouldn't have to spend a fiver for the bus? Still, you said nothing. How could you? You invited him to lunch, your treat. You couldn't say "hey I can't afford anything you picked up in the last five seconds." You told him it was to thank him for his help!
He must have noticed your pained face. How could he not? You were practically green..
"What's wrong? You alrigh'?" He asked, concern etched all over his face as he placed his hand on your upper arm, checking over you like he was inspecting a soldier for wounds.
"Yeah, yeah, of course." You swallowed deeply. "Just, um, I mean, will we really eat four?" You asked, trying to play off your panic as not wanting to waste food.
"Yeah." He said like it was obvious. Like the idea of buying any less than four would leave you both starving. "Don't underestimate how much I can eat, love." He smiled with a tilt of his head. "Anyway, I'm buying so it's up to me."
That made your head snap to look at him. "What?" You furrowed your brows. "No, no, I said I would pay. This is to thank you for the other night." You said waving your arms around with way too much flair to try discourage him from this seemingly out of the blue decision. As relieved as you were, you couldn't let him do that.
"For what? Taking two minutes out of my uneventful evenin' to zip up your dress? That was more of favour for me, darlin', not for you. I should be thankin' you. And I am."
You just stared at him, completely bewildered, like he had spoken a foreign language and you had understood it magically. Meanwhile, Simon just.. kept on walking down the aisle, picking up various food. Broccoli, sauces, potatoes, etc, like he was just doing his regular shop.
"I can't let you do that." You said in defiance when you caught up to him.
"Dont worry about it, love." He snickered, like the concept of him having picked up maybe 100 pounds worth of food by now and just expecting to pay for it entirely by himself was completely normal. "What kind of man would I be if I let my girl pay for the first date?"
His girl.
You just kind of froze for a second, silently screaming on the inside while battling with emotions you've never felt before. How do you respond to that? Did he mean to say it? Did it just slip out?
"Can I at least pay half?" You said, almost desperately, after a few moments of silence. He laughed at your insistence, shaking his head.
"You can pay me back another time. This is just the first of many."
The first of many.
Yeah. Thats okay. You like the sound of that.
"The first of many... okay." You said quietly to yourself beside him, holding back a smile by biting your lip.
When you got to the checkout your heart literally dropped to your stomach. 200 pounds on some steak, a few sides, 2 bottles of wine, and ingredients for cookies for dessert. Simon just laughed at your reaction as he tapped his card like it meant nothing and picked up the two heavy bags. Yeah, it was nice that he was willing to spend that much on you but the guilt was literally eating you alive. You asked him out and then he payed? And it cost the same as a fancy dinned would? And it wouldn't be nearly as fancy and would probably take hours to cook. You were genuinely debating whether to take out a loan to pay him back.
Simon, of course, carried the bags up the stairs when you got back to the apartment. You unlocked your door, thankful you had the sense to clean before you left this morning because your place is normally a mess. He put the bag on the counter as you closed the door and then started pulling out pots, pans, knives, chopping boards, everything you needed for cooking, both of you ready to start cooking straight away.
It was almost like a dance, the way the two of you manouvered around the kitchen together. His hands on your waist when he needed to move you out of the way, you ducking under his arms when he would be reaching into the upper cabinets. You chopped potatoes while he seasoned the steaks. He cooked the broccoli while you grilled the steaks. It was the most fun you had cooking a meal probably ever. Splashing water on each other when washing hands, eating food before it was cooked, making a mess around the kitchen that you didn't care about because it was the most pure you had felt in a long time.
It was 11:30 when you started cooking "lunch". You didn't finish until almost 4. By then you were both starving and didn't even care how the food tasted, or that it was long past any socially acceptable lunch time. You just wanted to eat.
Both of you were feeling very carefree considering the absolute stupidity that occured while preparing your current meal, so naturally you opened one of the bottles of wine and poured two huge glasses. Then, went straight past the dining room table and to the couch, placing both your dinners on the coffee table.
The food was actually good, to the surprise of both of you. You would have assumed that something would have been wrong but.. no. It was amazing. You had to give Simon credit for the steak. He did all the seasoning. You seasoned the potatoes, though, and the broccoli. It was a group effort.
You thought making dinner was hazardous enough. It was nothing compared two the two of you trying (and failing) to make some sort of edible cookies while having had a bottle and a half of wine between the two of you.
There was flour literally everywhere. You had bought three packets of chocolate chips and had eaten two before the eggs even went in. Speaking of eggs, Simon managed to crack three onto the counter before he successfully got one in. You accidentally poured half the bottle of vanilla extract into the dough when the recipe called for just a drop.
You literally could not stop laughing. Your apartment had never been in such a mess before in the months you had lived there. If it was any other day you woukd have been stressed and fuming but you really just didn't care. It was the happiest you had been in a while.
Eventually, after a lot of hardship, you ended up with something sort of resembling a kind-of batch of cookies. They were weirdly shaped, had barely any chocolate chips, one half was burnt while the other was partially raw. They tasted... well. You tried. You were honestly lucky you didn't set them on fire in the over or crack your head open on the counter slipping on a raw egg on the floor.
By 7pm the cookies were gone (except the completely unedible ones) and you layed on the couch, your head in Simons lap. The wine you bought was gone, and you had even opened a bottle of gin you had in the back of a cupboard somewhere. You talked about everything and nothing. Why you moved, your family, his family, his life in the military which he wouldn't reveal a lot about despite the copious amounts of alcohol in his system.
You must have fallen asleep at some point because you woke up when the light entered your windows the next morning with a sticky note on your forehead. The note read "Morning. You fell asleep so I let myself out. I have more pain killers if you need them." As if on queue your head started pounding in the early stages of a hangover. You turned your head to find a glass of water and two pain killers beside it on your coffee table.
You coffee table which just a few hours ago was destroyed in food and alcohol, was now spotless. You sat up and looked to the kitchen. Spotless aswell. He cleaned. Simon had cleaned your apartment while drunk so that you didn't have to do it while hungover.
Imagine a family ski trip to the snowy mountains and John Price who tags along...
A/N: Reader is 23, like a few months outta college and John is late thirties, early fourties. Also I have literally never been skiing before in my life so this is probably insanely innacurate.
Cw: Age gap, mentions of alcohol, gets a bit smutty at the end. Please tell me if more need to be added!
—————
It was more or less an annual thing. From as young as you could remember your parents would drag you off once a year to this ski lodge, the same one every time. Your dads friend, John Price, owned a huge log cabin just down the road from the lodge and he let your family use it as they pleased, so every year when the weather turned from rain to snow you would all travel there.
When you were a child you loved it. Then your younger brother, Dylan, was born. Suddenly those days of screaming while barely moving down tiny slopes with your parents holding your hand on either side of you were over. They were too busy fussing over your brother to worry about having fun anymore. You would only ever get to actually ski when John would occassionally tag along on the holiday and he would offer to take you so your parents didn't have to. But if he wasn't there, you would be stuck inside for a week in the freezing cold with absolutely nothing to do. It was worse than just staying at home.
When you were a young teenager you absolutely hated it. All your friends were going to hot countries or on cruises for their yearly family holiday while you were stuck going to freezing cold snow where you couldn't take cute bikini pictures all because your parents wanted to save money. You would watch as your parents mimicked your earliest memories but with your brother in your place.
As you got older, into your late teens, it got easier. Fun, even. Dylan was a little older, 13, and hated the ski trip now just as you had. He would barely even leave his room most days unless your mother forced him or there was a family dinner up at the lodge or something. He hated the attention of your parents then and maybe if you were younger you would have been thrilled that you could steal their attention away, but at 18 you didn't care about their attention either. No, you wanted John's attention.
No one could blame you. You were stuck in a big fancy cabin, that he owned, with a big burly man. He was like nothing you had ever seen before. Those boys at your school could never compare. It would take them years of maturing to even try to compete with him. The holidays when he wouldn't tag along were dreaded, while you counted down the days to the ones where he would. Countless moments alone in the kitchen when you both couldn't sleep at night due to whatever reason. You still remember when you fell asleep at the kitchen table and he carried you back up to your bedroom without even causing you to stir. Maybe you were overthinking those moments. Who knows.
Now you were 23 and hadn't been been on an annual family ski trip in three years. Your last one was at 20, but after that you had to stop to focus on college. Now, you had graduated college and you were living alone in an apartment about an hour away from your parents house.
Your parents were begging you to come on another trip. They hadn't seen you in "ages" and claimed that you should all do another family holiday "just in case it's the last." They must have thought you were planning on running away or something and they would never see you again. Anyway, you decided to go. It had been a while and you missed the comforting warmth of Johns log cabin. And John would be tagging along. Just another reason to go.
It was John who opened the door when you arrived, greeting you with a "hi, darlin'," in that deep voice of his. John with his tall stature and big arms who embraced you with a smile, pulling you into his chest in a way that made your brain fuzzy. He picked up your bag effortlessly, despite the weight of all your winter clothes in it, and brought it inside for you.
"Look who's here." He called over to the kitchen. Your mum was the first to turn around, wine glass in hand, dressed in a cashmere jumper and knitted scarf despite the warmth of the cabin. She looked like she could have started crying right there and she slammed the wine glass down on the table, embracing you in her arms like she hadn't seen you in years. She saw you two months ago.
"I didn't think you would come..." She sniffled. You had to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes. "I said I would, didn't I?" You could already tell that any time spent with your mum on this trip would be filled with guilt tripping.
"Let her breath, woman." Your dad said from behind your mum, having seemingly abandonded his whisky temporarily to greet you. The same could not be said for your freshly 18 year old brother who was chugging beers like his life depended on it, clearly enjoying being able to legally drink now.
Between you and your dad, you managed to pry yourself out of your mums grip to then be pulled into your dads. His hug thankfully lasted maybe 3 seconds at most, followed by a kiss on the cheek and a ruffle of your hair.
It was just three hours later that the five of you found yourselfs at the ski lodge, recieving your skis and ski sticks. Your gear thankfully fit even though it was from a few years ago. It was still snug but it would have to do.
As you sat on one of the benches beside the ski lifts, strapping on your skis, you could feel your heart start to race and your palms getting sweaty in your gloves despite the snow starting to flutter around you. You hadn't done this in a long time. You were never the best and were never the most confident at it. What if you fell getting off the lift? What if you went head first into a tree? What if you started speeding down the mountain and weren't able to stop?
John must have noticed the panicked look in you eye because before you could think of another terrible scenario in which you embarrass yourself you were interupted by the feeling of hands on your skis that werent your own. He was knelt down in front of you, his own skis disgarded somewhere, and was tightening the buckles on your skis. He moved to sit down beside you on the bench, his hand settling on your thigh as he leaned down so his face was right beside yours.
"What's goin' on in that head of yours, hm?" He asked. "They're already headed up the mountain, look." He pointed over to the ski lift. You followed the direction he was pointing at just in time to see your parents and brother sit down on the lift and be taken up.
You looked back over to John to find him already looking at you. It was impossible to stare into his eyes for more than a few seconds without feeling flushed. You looked down at your feet, tapping the tips of your skis together anxiously, picking at the velcro on your gloves.
"I'm just nervous. I haven't done this in a while. Don't wanna get hurt or fall straight on my ass or something." You shrugged with a laugh like you were trying to brush off your fears as being irrational.
John didn't stop looking at you, even when you refused to return his gaze his eyes were locked on you, his hand squeezing your thigh.
"You don't 'ave to do the big ones today. We're here for the whole week, love. How 'bout you and me start with the smaller slopes today and we'll work our way up to the bigger ones?"
You didn't respond. The heavy weight of his hand on your thigh made it hard to form words. You also didn't want to agree and seem like a coward. Its not like the slope your parents were going on was anything huge. You saw children on it all the time. It was pretty tame and yet you still struggled to convince yourself it was safe. You knew that realistically you would be fine. Muscle memory would kick in and it would be okay.
Another squeeze to your thigh snapped you out of whatever train of thought you were in. John tilted his head. "Hm? Whatcha say?"
You were quick to shake your head. "No. I'll be fine on this one."
Except it wasn't all that fine.
You and John got on the ski lift, knees brushing the whole time. Your heart was pounding so hard you were trying to rationalize how likely it would be for a person in their early twenties to have a heart attack.
When you actually started skiing, you were fairly accurate in that muscle memory did kick in. You remembered enough to be able to calmly ski down the mountain long enough that your confidance finally grew a bit. You were no longer having fears of suddenly flying out of control. John at your side certainly helped ease your worries.
That was until about half way down the slope. The wind and snow had picked up, making it almost impossible to see and keep your balance making you actually suddenly fly out of control and dramatically fall and roll in front of everyone on the slope. You hit your head on a rock buried under the snow and it caused a raging headache even though you were wearing your helmet.
John insisted on escorting you down painfully slow, right past the lodge and into his truck to drive back to his cabin. You didn't meet your parents or your brother on the way down the slope but you assumed that they were in the lodge or had gone back to Johns cabin.
The warmth of the cabin was more than welcome. You stripped your heavy snowsuit and gear at the front door, leaving you in leggings and a sweatshirt. The cabin smelt of cedar and honeyed resin in a comforting scent, contrasting the loud swish of razor sharp wind and snow just outside. Inside was its own gentle paradise of warmth.
You immediately collapsed on the couch, rubbing your pulsating forehead with one hand, trying to ease the pain and forget the embarrassment of falling. John made his way over to you with a glass of water in one hand and two pain killers in the other which you took happily, swallowing them with the water.
John sat down next to you, shoulder pressed against yours. "The others aren't here, must be stuck at the lodge. They don't let people leave during this type of weather, we're lucky we snuck past them. They might even need to stay the night." He looked over at you, his adams apple bobbing in his throat.
"You sure you're alrigh'?" His hand pressed against the back of your neck. "You dizzy? Nauseous?" You laughed at his concern. It wasnt like you went headfirst into a tree, you just bashed your head on a little rock, through your helmet. There wasnt even a mark on you.
"I'm fine, John, really." You smiled at the way he was so worried. "Although, a mug of hot chocolate would really help this headache I think." A tilt of your head and a little pouty lip had him rolling his eyes but standing up and heading to the kitchen nonetheless.
"Go get changed out of those clothes. I'll bring this up to you." He called from the kitchen.
Your room was not nearly as warm as the living room. Even a fresh pair of pyjamas and a hot shower couldn't warm you up enough. Slipping under the many blankets on your bed left you feeling slightly warmer as you grabbed your phone off the nightstand.
The first notification was a snowstorm warning with a red exclamation mark beside it. The rest were messages from your mum, at least 15 of them, frantically wondering where you were and if you were okay. She had to be joking. You were a fully grown adult and she was worrying about you like you were a child?
John entered your room abruptly, no knock. In one hand was a mug of hot chocolate and a glass of bourbon in the other. You sent your mum a quick text. I'm fine. At the house. You shut off your phone, practically slamming in down on the bed before you sat up properly and took your mug from him, feeling very childish with your choice of drink considering the hard liqour he sported in his hand. He sat down on the edge of your bed at your feet, laughing a "uh oh" at your annoyed expression. "I promise I made it with milk, not water. No need to look so upset."
You laughed at his joke. He made you feel better even if your mum was pissing you off. His coco made you feel way better though. He always made it better than anyone else you knew and absolutely refused to share the secret on how to make it no matter how many times you begged.
"No. Its not that. My mum's looking for me. It's like she forgets sometimes that im not fifteen anymore which is stupid because she didn't even care this much when I was fifteen." You huffed, sipping out of your mug. The warmth flooded you body, putting a smile on your face at the very least.
He just nodded in understanding, sipping out of his own glass. You shifted over in the bed to make room for him, patting the spot beside you which he settled into perfectly after he took off his shoes.
You looked over at him. Hair a little tustled, biceps bulging out of a sweater that was clearly supposed to be baggy, sipping on bourbon like it was a refreshing glass of milk in the middle of the night and not a drink that would have most people clawing at their throat. He looked over at you, then. His eyes drifted to your lips for a second before looking back up at your eyes.
You swallowed harshly, turning your head to avoid his piercing gaze. "I, um. I got a weather warning on my phone. Thunderstorms all night. Mum said they're stuck at the lodge until further notice." Your thumb circled the rim of the cup, your eyes stuck on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
You didn't see him put his glass down but you heard the clink of it against the nightstand and soon enough he was plucking your mug from your hands too and placing it on the nightstand. His fingers pinched your chin, forcing you to turn your head and look at him. He was so close you could smell the burn of alcohol off him, noses brushing. His other hand traveled under the blanket to your thigh.
"Tell me you dont want this. Tell me to leave and we'll pretend this never happened." He muttered quietly, deep voice quiet compared to the howling storm outside. His eyes were half lidded, lips wet, breath heavy with desire and suddenly your headache was gone, replaced by the fuzzy feeling of lust.
"I want it. I want it, John. I've wanted it for–" he cut you off with his lips on yours, his facial hair tickling your face. The taste of chocolate and whisky combined to make all your thoughts dissapear and be replaced with only him.
In a moment he had you on your back, head resting on plush pillows as climbed on top of you. His lips traveled from yours to your jawline and down your neck, leaving soft little marks that you'd have to blame on your humiliating ski fall. His hands traveled up your top, smoothing over the soft skin of your waist as fabric bunched up over your bra before he just slipped it off over your head.
Your hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his neck and to his shoulders while he trailed lower. Little kisses and marks over your shoulders and collarbones. A tap on your waist signaled for you to arch your back off the bed so he could reach behind you and unclasp your bra, nipples perking at the cold air. He was quick to attack them, one pinched between his fingers and the other sucked into his mouth.
"John..." you said breathlessly, desperate for anything more. He laughed at your impatient behaviour.
"I know, love. I know." His voice was muffled in the soft flesh of your chest, eyes closed, and you could feel him smile against your skin. He eventually sat up to remove his own shirt, tossing it to the other side of the room somewhere before his focus turned completely to you.
He dipped his head beneath the blanket and hooked his fingers around the waistband of your bottoms, underwear too. He pulled down agonizingly slow until he could throw them out from beneath the blanket.
He grabbed the back of your knees, pulling you legs over his shoulder as he kissed down your stomach until he was hovering just over where you needed him. "Such a pretty pussy..." you heard him mutter before his mouth connected with your clit.
He held your thighs tighter when he felt you squirm, relentless in his movements. His tongue dipped down into your hole before clamping down on your clit again to spread your wetness.
It wasn't long before you felt his right hand slowly move from your thigh, to your hip, to your ass, and then finally you felt a finger prod at your entrance before pushing all the way in. The combination of his ruthless tongue on your clit and his finger curling up against that spongey spot inside of you had you grabbing fistfulls of his hair, eyes fluttering closed while soft little moans slipped past your lips, muttering his name like a prayer.
When he added a second finger, he had to move his free hand from your thigh to being draped across your stomach, pinning you to the bed to stop you from bucking your hips up into him. He was able to pin you against the bed with one hand while he ravaged you with the other.
It wasn't long before you came undone on his tongue, thighs closing in around his head as sweet moans grew louder from your mouth. You could feel the vibrations of his own moans against you as he relished in the taste of you on his tongue, practically squirming like he was the one who just came. Your eyes fluttered open, tired sighs falling off your breath as he kissed his way back up your body, gently removing his fingers.
A kiss to your thigh, hips, stomach, chest, collarbone, neck, until he was at your face. A rough hand placed softly on your cheek and his lips on your own. You could taste yourself on his tongue. The intimacy of it sent shivers down your spine.
A string of either spit or your own wetness connected your lips for a second when you parted. "You alrigh'?" He asked, grazing a knuckle over the skin of your cheekbone, a look of genuine concern on his face like you could be anything other than alright after that.
A soft nod and satisfied sigh was all it took to make that look disappear. He layed down beside you and pulled you into his chest, one arm around you shoulders, the other around your waist. He kissed your forehead and whispered to you like anything louder would break you.
"Have a rest now, love."
And so you did, pulled into his chest with a mug full of what was basically lukewarm chocolate milk going cold on the nightstand.
A/N: Yikes that was not supposed to turn out how it did. Like I barely had a plan but that was NOT in it at all. I dont hate it tho. Idk Ive never written smut before so I just left it at that lol
what about if simons pretty little neighbor was going some where and she couldn't zip up her dress, so she goes and asks her hot neighbor?
ive been thinking about this for weeks😩
ANON I LOVE YOUR MINDDDDD
More Neighbour! Simon x reader
A/N: @pixiu-palindrome heres the part two!! I purposefully left the description of the dress very vague in this so anyone can imagine it how you want depending on your style. Also idk if I mentioned in the first part but reader is a waitress. Enjoy!
Part 1 Part 3 part 4
It's been a few weeks since that interaction with Simon in the stairwell of your crappy apartment building. You've tried to get it out of your mind. Tried to get him out of your mind. But when you close your eyes at night you see his face and the way his muscles bulged in his wet t-shirt. When it's quiet you swear you can hear his gruff voice in your ear, saying your name over and over.
As far as you could tell, he left a day or two after that and he was gone for a few weeks. Probably something to do with work, you assumed, though you didn't know what job he had. You tried to get on with every day life. You went to work, came home, did some chores around your apartment, watched some random movie until you fell asleep on the couch, and then... well, you did it all again, and again, and again.
Maybe Simons constant presense in your mind was more so a result of your insatiable boredom rather actual obsession. Right?
It was one evening when you were on a phone call with your mum that she came up with the idea. You had been ranting to her about your day to day life, or lack thereof. Complaining about being unable to go out and do anything. When your friends were free, you were working, and when you were free your friends were working. Schedules never lined up which resulted in a lot of saturdays spent inside watching tv or reading or something. You were craving to do something. Anything. You just wanted an excuse to get pretty and dress up and go out for a few hours.
So, your mum, who of course wasn't about to bring you clubbing because those strobe lights might actually kill her, offered for her and your dad to bring you out to a fancy restaurant with low dimmed lights and live jazz music and stuff. You almost screamed at the thought. It had been months since you even put on a dress, probably years since you went somewhere fancy and expensive. And the best part was that you didn't have to pay for any of it! Well, you wanted a new dress, but that's a worthwhile expense.
After organising a time, date, and booking the reservation for two weeks from then, you hung up the call with your mum and immediately texted your boss. You requested as much work as possible over the next two weeks to get more money to afford a nice new dress. Not something from an old thrift store like you usually would get, but a real dress from a proper dress store, and all the jewelery to go with it. Maybe even a clutch or a new fancy jacket if you were feeling very fancy (and had enough money).
Those next two weeks were very tiring. Your boss had taken your request to heart and had you working 12 hour shifts six days a week. You were miserable, and exhausted, and ready to collapse by the time those two weeks were up. The plus was that you would definitely have enough money for a new dress, jewelery, clutch, and heels!
It was late, maybe around 10pm, when you trudged yourself down to the basement with a huge basket of laundry and some coins to operate the washing machine and dryer. Preferably, you would have been in bed and asleep by now after your long shift, which is what you had been doing for the past two weeks instead of doing your laundry after work. So now you had a huge pile of dirty work uniforms to wash even though you were only working tomorrow and then the day after was your day off when you were going out with your parents.
You were tired, practically hauling the basket of washing on top of the washing machine then rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You were wearing these pyjamas that you never really wear. Long fuzzy bottoms and a matching top that had Snoopy on them. Your mum had gotten them for you when you first moved out. They were a very last resort type of thing that you only wear when everything else is dirty, and no one is ever supposed to see you in them.
Of course you hear footsteps coming down the concrete steps behind you. Another person coming to wash their clothes who would see you in your old, embarrassing Snoopy pyjamas.
Except it wasn't just another person from your apartment.
It was Simon.
He was back? Well, clearly. What perfect timing. He hadn't been here in weeks and now when you're half asleep, have messy hair, wearing your embarrassing pyjamas, and washing your disgusting old work clothes that have basically been marinating in the corner of you bedroom for the past two weeks, he comes back.
At least he had filthy clothes of his own that he was washing. Not a lot, but some jeans, shirts, and some very worn looking military gear. Kakhi coloured shirt and pants. He must be in the military. As if he couldn't get any hotter...
He walked over to you and put his own basket down on the second washing machine. Of course your building only had two because the place was practically falling apart, why would they splurge on washing machines?
He cleared his throat and you looked at him out of instinct. His eyes met yours and he gave you a little nod, saying your name in greeting to which your brain completely just short circuited, rendering you dead silent for the next thirty seconds just staring at him with an open mouth. Then you realised thats actually really weird and snapped out of it.
"Hi, Simon." Your voice was quiet and squeaky because you just could not function. Imagine daydreaming about a man constantly for weeks and then he just suddenly shows up out of the blue looking better than he ever has? You swear he looked bigger than he did the last time you saw him, the material of his tshirt straining around his shoulders. He looked more tired, though. Hooded eyes with dark circles beneath them. At least that makes two of you.
You opened the washing machine door and started grabbing handfulls of clothes out of your basket, shoving them into the machine and trying to ignore the way you swear you saw him glance over into your basket and catch a glimpse of your underwear. No, he was surely just looking at something else.
"So, uh, long time no see?" You said awkwardly, immediately kicking the shit out of yourself mentally because why did you have to say it like that, thats so weird.
He opened the door of his own washing machine and grabbed his clothes, shoving them in. His tattoo'd forearm flexed every time he grabbed something, the scarred skin stretching around muscle. He was leaning down when putting his clothes in the machine but looked over at you and smiled. "Yeah. Haven't been 'ere in a while. I Was deployed." He stood up, maintaining eye contact with you.
"You're in the military? That's cool." You said, returning that same smile and keeping eye contact as you went to shove more of your clothes into the machine only to find that there was absolutely no space left. You still had some clothes to wash. Not your work clothes but jeans, leggings, some underwear, bra's, socks, things like that. He didn't waste a second to start grabbing at your clothes. Your worn, dirty underwear and sweaty bra's, shoving them into his own washing machine.
"Oh, you don't have to, really it's fi-" but he shut you up very quickly by shutting the door and putting a coin into the slot, turning it on. "Don't worry 'bout it." He shrugged.
It's not like you could really do much now so you tried to erase the image of him pawing at your underwear from your mind as you closed your machines door and slid a coin into the slot and turned it on aswell.
"Thank you." You said as you fully straightened beside him, no longer half-crouched. Was he always this tall? He seemed taller now.
"Told ya, don't worry 'bout it. Jus' don't forget to grab your things outa there." He was about to leave, grabbing his now empty basket and angling himself towards the door. You didn't want him to leave.
"H-how long have you been in the military for?" You asked, looking at him with big, hopeful eyes that he wouldn't leave so you could actually talk to him properly for once.
He just huffed with a smirk. "Longer than you've been alive, lovie." That was a lie, surely. He didn't look that old and you weren't that young. Right?
Before he left you with a slack jaw and your heart thumping against you ribs, he looked you up and down, taking in your pyjamas and tired appearance. One step towards you creates a small enough gap for him to reach out and pinch the material of your top between his thumb and forefinger, right at your shoulder. He just nodded and huffed a little "cute" before turning around and going back up the stairs.
You didn't leave the basement. You didn't try to. You probably wouldn't make it upstairs with the way your legs felt like limp noodles. It took an hour and a half for your clothes to wash, you machine finishing just a minute or so after Simons.
You opened both, retrieving your clothes from where they were tangled up with Simons and putting all of your clothes in the dryer which was thankfully a lot bigger and could hold more. You turned it on and, seeing as he did something nice for you, you decided to dry his too before you finally went back upstairs to your apartment, deciding that you would collect your clothes in the morning rather than waiting so that you could get some much needed sleep.
The next morning, at 7am, you collected your clothes from the dryer. Simons clothes were gone already. He must have collected them last night or even earlier that morning if he was an early riser.
Work was bad. Not just normal bad. Its always bad. But today was particularly bad. Something had gone wrong with the delivery that ended up leaving the kitchen with half of what they needed and twice what they had no use for. In just a few hours probably half of the menu could not be purchased and people were very angry. So they took it out on you.
You got zero tips that night. None of the waiters or waitresses did. Kitchen chefs screamed so loud at you for asking anything all day. You could understand they were stessed but you weren't the one who fucked up the supply order, they didn't have to take it out on you.
Working in a restaurant you get used to being shouted at and threatened by customers, especially the old men. But today was brutal. You left later than you were supposed to just to make sure there was no one around waiting for you to leave and walked, almost ran, home with tears in your eyes and empty pockets where there would usually be some sort of tip money.
It was worth it, though. Because tomorrow morning you would see that money of two weeks of 12 hour shifts pour into your bank account. You would splurge on a dress, heels, maybe even some new makeup, whatever you wanted. You would go out with your parents to a restaurant much fancier than the one you worked at and would have the best time catching up with them.
And that's exactly what you did.
The next day you called up a few friends. Most were working which was expected, but one was free. She met you on the bus and the two of you went into town. The deeper, fancier part of town that you usually stay very far away from. It was like a different world in there. Instead of seeing crackheads down alleyways you would see artwork and sometimes even little hidden fancy restaurants. There was no clutching your purse in fear of it being stolen. The two of you walked around in peace, entering every boutique you saw, trying on dresses, even the ones you had no interest in buying, trying on shoes, getting advice from the boutique workers, the perfect girls day out.
It was in one of the stores you went into after getting lunch that you found it. The perfect dress. Elegant and chic, it hugged you perfectly, accentuated every curve and dip. Your friend had to help zip it up in the changing room, the long zip at the back was awkward to reach. The two of you spent the next hour looking at shoes and accessories. Yes, it was just dinner with your parents, but it was the best excuse to dress up that you've had in a while and you were gonna take it.
You went home practically buzzing, hugging your many bags close to you on the bus to keep them safe, and almost sprinted up the stairs back to your apartment. It was 4pm. Your parents would be there in 2 hours to pick you up. That time would be spent absolutely destroying your apartment in order to get ready. Just your everything shower alone destroyed your bathroom.
As predicted, your apartment was ruined come 5:45 but damn if you didn't look good. Makeup done perfectly, skin moisturised, hair up in a style that took much too long to do and made your arms tired, but it was all so worth it.
The dress, the final step (before heels). When you took it out of the bag you swear it looked better than it did in the store. The colour seemed to compliment your skin better and the shape hugged you in a way it didn't at the store. Or, it would have.
If you were able to zip it up.
In the excitement of getting ready you had just totally forgotten how hard the dress was to zip in the store. You never figured it out in the end and just got your friend to do it but she lived twenty minutes away. She could never get to your apartment on time to zip you up. There was just no way it would work and you didn't want to waltz out to your parents car in the dark and windy weather with your dress half hanging off you to ask you mum to zip it up. So you did the only thing you could think of in the moment.
Simon was not expecting a knock on his door. Not once has he ever had someone visit him at his apartment. He told no one about this place. To the rest of his team, Simons living situation was a complete mystery. Which is why it was so odd to have someone knock.
So naturally, he grabbed a knife. He always had one near by. He even had one in his bathroom. He stalked towards the front door with practiced silence. There was a reason they called him Ghost.
He felt silly when he looked through the peep hole and saw you, his harmless, cute little neighbour. You were all dolled up and pretty from what he could tell. He put the knife on the little table beside the door and unlocked the many, many locks on his door, swinging it open to come face to face with you.
There you were, standing in the hallway in your bare feet, hair done, makeup making you look adorably pretty. Wide eyes highlighted by dark mascara and little dots of glitter on the inner corners, looking big and panicked, like something was horribly wrong.
He looked down at you. You didn't seem hurt. You looked perfect actually. Aside from the fact that you were holding up your dress to stop yourself from flashing him (and anyone else in the hallway) a tit, because your dress was falling down. Was that it? The dress was broken or something? He couldn't do much about that but he could definitely help take it off if that's what you were here for.
"Y'alright, lovie?" He asked, looking you up and down again. "Come in, c'mon." He stepped to the side, gesturing with his head for you to enter.
His apartment was very empty. His living room consisted of a couch and a tv on the floor. That was it. Not even a coffee table. But hey, you weren't one to judge.
You looked to be about on the verge of tears with the clear amount of embarrassment flooding through you as you struggled to meet his eye. Meanwhile, he was just trying not to stare at your cleavage.
"You alrigh'?" He asked again, making you look up at him with a defeated look. It was only when you raised your head that you saw what he was wearing. Black shorts and a thin wifebeater. It honestly did nothing at concealing any part of him. He may aswell have not been wearing a shirt.
Trying to ignore the way your mouth suddenly got dry at the sight of him and how you almost dropped your dress, you bit the bullet.
"I need your help really quickly. You're the only person in this building that I've ever talked to." You sighed, squeezing you eyes shut for a second before opening them again.
He stared down at you with a raised brow, clearly very confused. You said nothing as you turned around before eventually muttering out a shy little "zip me up?"
He almost melted. Looking down he could see the curve of your ass. Your underwear poked out from the top of the very low down zipper. Your whole back was on display for him. He could see the way the muscles in your shoulder blades tensed, those little back dimbles right at the bottom, the curve of your spine, the way your ribs expand with every shallow breath.
Yeah, maybe he could feel his dick start to chub up in his shorts at the sight of your back all bare and on display for him. He didn't say anything for a minute, he just absentmindedly found himself running his fingers along your exposed back, right over those cute little dimples, watching the way little goosebumps raised on your skin at his touch. Until you snapped him out of it.
"Simon? Could you zip me up?" You repeated, sounding breathless and even a bit nervous.
He said nothing as he braced one hand on the skin at the top of your back, right between your shoulder blades, his other hand finding the zipper and slowly dragging it up, like, antagonizingly slow. His knuckles brushed over your skin in a constant teasing manner. When he got to the top he moved the hand between your shoulder blades to your shoulder as he finally zipped it up all the way, gently tugging on your shoulder to turn you around.
"You goin' on a date?" He asked. The twinge of jealousy in his voice surprised even him, almost more than it did you. He didn't know why he was jealous. You could date whoever you wanted. But he wanted you. He didn't want some other chum to have you.
"No, no." You laughed, looking down at your feet. "Just going for dinner with my parents." You looked back up at him again with those pretty little eyes.
The relief he felt was instant, like a bag of bricks being lifted off his chest. "Oh, alright." He shrugged, trying to play it off cool like he wasn't gonna go jerk off in the shower as soon as you leave.
"Thank you, Simon." You said, your cheeks clearly pink even with the makeup covering your face, making your way to the door. He followed close behind and nodded, muttering a "anytime, lovie" before he watched you go back to your apartment, probably to put on some shoes.
He didn't tell you about that lacey underwear you left in his washing. What else would he jerk off with?
You didn't tell him you left it there on purpose.
A/N: This is sorta giving me brain bugs of Chef!Simon or Bartender!Simon × Waitress/bartender/hostess!Reader or something. Let me know what you'd want if anyones into that!! Or any other requests pls let me know😛 I don't just write for Ghost please request things I LOVE IT!!!
Imagine Simon 'Ghost' Riley who has this pretty little neighbour...
Part 2 Part 3 part 4
It hurts him honestly. His appartment building is a shitty place thats basically crumbling apart. Theres mold all over the place, cracks in the walls, its always dusty, theres water damage, bad smells, you name it, its got it.
Of course Simon doesnt care. He just needs somewhere cheap to stay for the time hes not deployed or on base. Yeah, its falling apart and he hates it there but hes already used to living in improvised conditions much worse than his appartment.
You, though? You were a sweet thing. You were pretty and had this soft pudgy skin that made you look so out of place in this shitty apartment building filled with ex criminals and drug addicts.
Ever since you moved in you had tried to improve the general vibe of the place by planting flowers in the pots scattered around the main enterances that were dirty and empty. You even tried cleaning the hallways and stairwells from time to time. Unfortunately nothing could really make your creepy apartment building look like it wasnt falling apart but you tried.
He was rarely at his apartment. You had already been living there for months before he first saw you. You lived on the same floor just two doors apart. Everytime you passed each other he would give you a nod of acknowlegement and you would give him a sweet smile back considering he was your only neighbour to even pretend to give a crap. And he was hot. Like really hot. Huge biceps, tall, his left forearm covered in tattoos, that deep, gruff voice. God, he had you drooling. Though, you never really spoke to him other than a casual greeting. You didn't even know his name.
Your first true conversation happened in the stairwell. Of course the elevator wasn't working. You honestly don't think it ever worked. They probably just installed it into the wall and left it at that.
It was raining heavily. You had walked to the shop to buy your groceries for the week because it was a gorgeous day when you left. As soon as you left the shop? Pouring rain. And of course, because it was such a nice day just 40 minutes ago, you hadn't brought any sort of weather protection. You were in a t-shirt and jeans. No umbrella, jacket, or hoodie.
The 20 minute walk back to your apartment was painful. And cold. Your paper bag handles had basically disintegrated, forcing you to hold the bag against your body to carry it home, and as you walked the bag just got weaker and weaker until it was falling apart.
You made it, though. Cold and wet, hair dripping, clothes soaked through, paper bag being held together by hopes and dreams, but you were home. Now you just had to climb up five flights of stairs to actually get into your apartment.
One flight up, you heard steps on the stairwell behind you but paid them no mind. The steps slowed when they caught up to you and you thought it was another pervert trying to stare at your ass as you went up the stairs, but when you turned around to scold the man, it was your hot neighbour. Yay!
He looked a little bit wet, maybe having just walked from the car park, but nothing close to as soaked and disheveled as you. Of course the one time you talk it would be when you're looking your absolute worst.
He paused when he saw you, looking you up and down with a slightly concerned look. "You alrigh'?" He asked. "You couldn't 'ave taken' the bus?" He said with a raised eyebrow and a sort of teasing tone to which you rolled your eyes and rethought every life choice that took you to this moment.
"I live here, you really think I can afford the bus?" You snarked in reply which made him laugh out a "fair enough" before he took your wet paper bag from your hands, saying nothing as he continued up the stairs.
He carried your groceries up the remaining four flights of stairs with no complaints, muscles flexing in a way that just had to be on purpose. You stared at his arms the whole way up.
He left you at your apartment with his name, his number, a request to call him if it was ever raining again and you needed a lift, and soaked underwear that was not due to the rain.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Imagine Johnny coming up to you in this tiny little corner shop, voice raised and accusingly ponting at you, demanding that you had stolen from him. You glare at him and raise your voice back because you had never seen this handsome stranger with a mohawk before in your life and most certainly never stole from him. The casheer, a teenage girl, stares at you both with a terrified gaze like she's certain shes about to witness a murder.
Imagine Johnnys face dropping because this had clearly not gone the way he had stupidly expected it to. He's profusely apologising, deciding to not go ahead with his very over the top pick-up line, frantically explaining how it was his heart that you had stolen and "Ahm so sorry. You're just such a wee bonnie thing ah wanted to introduce myself. It was stupid."
Imagine you rolling your eyes because this man had made a bad impression and you wouldn't entertain stupidity. Paying and walking out of the shop without a second glance, you dont see his defeated, heartbroken, almost puppy-like expression. You also dont catch how the teenage girl behind the counter had to hide her laugh behind her phone.
Imagine how that was the closest corner shop to the shitty little apartement you rented. You visited there every second or third day to pick up necesseties because god knows you couldn't afford to actually do a weekly stock-up with the meagre wage you got paid from your waitressing job.
Imagine how Johnny visits the shop as often as he can for as long as he can at the hope of getting a glimpse at the pretty face he can't get out of his head. He visits so much that he's on a first name basis with the girl behind the counter. Madeline was her name. He talks about you to her, desperately asking when you typically come in, to which Madeline rolls her eyes and calls him a simp but he doesn't know what that means. He has to ask Kyle for the definition and turns red at Kyles teasing but he cant pretend like the name didnt suit him well.
Imagine you who came into the shop one evening nearly at closing time to pick up toothpaste because of course you had been scraping your own cut up tube for days, begging for one more brush out of the basically empty tube. You had scraped everything out until the tube was literally bone dry and you had no other option but to splurge on a new tube. Yes, of course toothpaste was spurging to you.
Imagine you who hadn't even bothered to change out of your pyjamas before walking the corner shop.
Imagine Johnny seeing you in your pyjamas and he genuinely nearly falls to his knees. His brain flooded with images of you limpimg around his house in those pyjamas after he ruined you, of you turning his house into a home, of you lounging around like the only place you belonged was with him.
Imagine how he literally falls to his knees when he asks you to go on a date with him. "Wha's the worst tha' can happen, bonnie." You only agree because he promised to pay for dinner and you haven't had a warm meal since you last visited your mum.
Imagine how two years later you sat on the bathroom floor of his home wearing those same pyjamas you were wearing that faithful day, a pregnancy test clutched in your hand. Two bright lines. Your hand rests on your stomach. Johnny was crying. Happy tears.
Imagine laying in bed two months later wearing those same pyjamas, a hand pressed flat against your little round belly. Tears fells down your face as you re-read the letter. "One more week, bonnie, then I'm coming home to you both." One last mission before he retired to start your family together.
Imagine the mission he never returned from, leaving you to navigate the world alone, pregnant and greiving. Your only small comfort being that he left after giving you a piece of him to always remember you by.
Imagine how the stress of Johnny's death caused you to miscarry, leaving you truly alone. Alone in the big house you almost turned into a home.
