#simon rileyn

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary : Your mysterious neighbour helps you out when a date goes wrong, what happens when you try to befriend him?

Warnings : Creepy guy, Simon Riley, Delusion

°•♡○° Masterlist °•♡•°

The air was biting cold as I climbed the steps to my apartment building, my heart pounding as I tried to maintain a polite smile. The date had been a disappointment from the start, but I’d wanted to see it through, thinking maybe I was just nervous.

Yet, every attempt to cut the night short had fallen on deaf ears, and now he was right behind me, insisting on escorting me all the way for my own 'safety'.

I fumbled with my bag, pretending to search for my keys. “Thanks for the evening,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint and turn around.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet.” He laughed, sidling a little too close, his shoulder brushing mine. “The night doesn’t have to end here, you know. Let’s go to yours for a nightcap.”

I forced a laugh, swallowing down the anxiety building up. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His face shifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his expression. “Come on,” he murmured, edging closer, his hand reaching to touch my arm. “We had a nice time. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it too.”

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my voice firm. “I’m just… not interested in taking things further tonight, maybe another day.”

His smile faltered, frustration creeping into his tone. “What’s the problem? You were all smiles back there. Now you're not interested?"

I tried to step back, but he mirrored my movements, closing the space between us as I reached my door and closing in on me. "You know it's not fair to lead a guy on, right?"

My fingers finally found the keys and I gripped it tightly between my fingers, trying to resist the urge to ram it into his eyeball.

He trespassed the line even further as he leaned in, his gross breath burning against my cheek. "Just one kiss,” he muttered, his hand pressing against the doorframe to cage me in.

Panic flared as I shook my head. “Please, I’d rather you didn’t. I just… don’t feel that way.”

His expression darkened, eyes narrowing as he leaned even closer. “Teasing me all night just to leave me hanging, huh? That’s how you get your fun?”

I felt the words stick in my throat, my pulse racing. His voice grew harsher, thick with frustration as he got angrier. “You think you’re too good for me? That it?”

I barely had a second to process his words when a shadow appeared in the hallway, and I felt a wave of relief and fear as I recognized my neighbor—Simon Riley.

The big guy who had moved here a few months ago, aside of the few times we passed each other in the hallways, I rarely saw him. He was always quiet, I've never heard him talk and not a peep of noise was heared through the walls.

Something about his size and the dark clothing he always wore ( and the usual grumpy expression on his face ) had, for some reason, caught my eye. Maybe it had something to do with all the books I read with the typical older grumpy man and the sweet sunshine girl trope.

That trope was unfortunately a guilty pleasure of mine, having always wanted to feel safe, protected and taken care of by someone. Someone in whose presence I could just turn my brain off without a worry and know I'll be fine

Maybe those desires were born from my feelings of loneliness and my hard time in making friends. Maybe, it was because I wanted someone to love and accept me as I am and see me as me and still fully and wholly love me.

Sometimes, when I would just think and daydream of having such man, I couldn't help the flashes of my neighbours face in my mind. I wanted to actually love and be loved so badly instead of just imagining it, so I had decided to go out for the first time in a very long time, unfortunately I just ended up putting myself in this situation.

But, as I saw Simon standing in the doorway of his flat, right next to mine. His presence as imposing as ever, I was immediately swarmed by images of being wrapped up and safe in those tree trunk arms- ( valid )

His gaze was calm, but the tension radiating off him was anything but. He took a step forward, his voice low and laced with quiet authority that made my brain tingly in all the right ways.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” he said, voice gruff and cold. “Leave.”

My date turned, his confidence faltering for the first time, though he tried to laugh it off. “And who are you, her guard dog?”

Simon’s jaw clenched, and he took another slow step toward him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away. Now.”

The guy scoffed, glancing at me as if I would defend him, but I could only stare, feeling my pulse in my throat as Simon’s presence loomed, unyielding and almost terrifying in its intensity.

“Fine,” the man muttered, backing away with a huff. “Good luck with that one. She’s just a tease anyway.” He threw a final look over his shoulder, muttering curses under his breath as he disappeared down the stairwell.

I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my body finally loosening. My eyes met Simon’s, and for a moment, I was acutely aware of how close he still stood, the quiet strength and warmth radiating off him.

“Thank you,” I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s gaze flicked over me, taking in my tense posture, the unsteady breaths. “Get inside,” he said softly, his tone softer but still firm. He didn’t move, just kept watching, waiting until I stepped back into my flat.

I wanted to say more—to thank him properly, to explain—but my voice failed me. I just nodded, stepping back into my apartment as he remained outside, a silent sentinel. As I closed the door behind me, I felt the echo of his presence linger, leaving me wondering who Simon Riley really was behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

°•♡•°

I leaned against my door, heart still racing from the confrontation with my date. What just happened?

I pressed my palms to my cheeks, feeling the heat rising in them, embarrassment crashing over me in waves. I wanted to scream at myself for letting things get so out of hand.

Why hadn’t I been firmer?

My date’s cruel words echoed in my mind. “Teasing me all night…” Had I really been that confusing?

I knew I had always had a hard time speaking to people, but I did not think I had been teasing or anything alike at all. In fact, I was pretty sure I was keeping my distance the whole night.

I sank down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, wishing I could disappear. It wasn’t the first time I had been made to feel this way, but it hurt more than usual. I hated that I had let him walk me to my door, thinking it would be harmless, but now, all I felt was a sense of violation mixed with anger.

But as I replayed the events of the night, my thoughts drifted to Simon. The way he had stepped in, fierce and unwavering, how his presence had made me feel safer. His intense gaze, the way he commanded attention without even trying, sent a flutter through my chest. Why did he even care?

In the days that followed, I found myself stealing glances at Simon whenever I heard him in the hallway or caught sight of him through the window. He always seemed so focused, moving with purpose and intensity that made my heart race. He was intimidating but also…protective. I couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself, confident and strong, making it hard to believe he even lived next door to me.

I found myself thinking about him more than I wanted to admit. What was it about him? There was something in the way he furrowed his brow when he was deep in thought, or how his lips curled slightly when he was amused, that made my heart skip a beat.

I’d catch myself daydreaming about what it would be like to get to know him, to see the softer side that lay beneath his tough exterior.

But would he even be interested in someone like me?

One evening, as I sat at my kitchen table, the smell of cookies wafting through the air, I decided I needed to make a move. Maybe a little gesture would help break the ice. I figured I’d bring him a treat and see how he responded. I hesitated, biting my lip as I gathered my courage, reminding myself that it was just cookies, not a marriage proposal.

After baking, I carefully placed the cookies in a small tin and knocked on his door, my heart pounding. I waited, second-guessing myself. What if he thought I was a silly little girl for doing this?

When the door opened, Simon stood there, dressed in his usual casual attire, the warmth of the lights behind him casting shadows across his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his deep voice grounding me despite the chaos in my head.

“Um, I made some cookies,” I stammered, holding out the tin. “I thought you might like some.”

He glanced at the tin, then back to me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, though he accepted it without hesitation. The briefest smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, I felt a flutter of hope.

“I just wanted to thank you for helping me the other night,” I added quickly, my cheeks warming under his gaze. “You really saved me.”

He nodded, but the moment felt fleeting, like catching smoke in my hands. “No problem,” he said, his voice steady. “Just doing what I had to.”

And just like that, he closed the door, leaving me standing in the hallway, heart racing, filled with a mixture of elation and disappointment.

Was that all?

I turned to leave, feeling a knot of longing tightening in my chest. I wanted more than just a quick exchange; I wanted to be seen by him.

In the following days, I couldn’t help but keep an eye out for him. Each time I spotted Simon in the hallway, my heart raced, a blend of hope and anxiety filling me. I’d muster the courage to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us.

“Hey, Simon,” I’d manage, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to catch his eye. He’d glance my way, a quick nod, but his focus would shift immediately, and I’d feel that familiar pang of rejection in my chest.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself trying harder to initiate conversations. I would catch him on his way to the gym or returning from work. Each time, I’d greet him, my heart pounding, and every time, he’d respond with a grunt or a nod. I wanted to learn more about him, to break through the walls he had built around himself, but he always seemed to have somewhere to be.

One afternoon, I spotted him in the hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. My pulse quickened, and I took a deep breath. “Hey, Simon! How was your day?” I asked, attempting to sound casual.

He looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he replied, “Fine.” He didn’t elaborate, and I felt a heaviness settle in my stomach.

“Just…fine?” I pressed, hoping to elicit more. “Did you have a busy week?”

He sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You could say that.”

I bit my lip, trying to think of something else to say, but the silence stretched awkwardly between us. “Well, if you ever want to talk or hang out, you can—”

“I’m not looking for friends,” he cut in, his tone sharper than I expected. “I did what I had to out of duty. Don’t think about it too much.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I could only stare at him, my heart sinking as his gaze shifted, avoiding mine. “It’s nothing personal,” he added, but it felt cold, devoid of the warmth I’d hoped for.

“I understand,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands trembled slightly, and I fought back tears as I watched him step past me, leaving me standing there, shattered.

I felt the weight of his dismissal settle heavily on my shoulders, a reminder of how invisible I really was to him. My heart ached, not just from his words but from the reality that I would never be more than an afterthought to Simon Riley.

As I stepped into my flat, the door closing behind me, I sank down against it, tears slipping down my cheeks. I had wanted to be seen, to have someone recognize my worth, but instead, I was left with the painful truth: Simon didn’t want me around, and that stung more than I could express.

Each encounter with him became a reminder of my own insecurities, and the ache in my chest grew heavier with each passing day. I felt lost in the maze of my feelings for him, unable to reconcile the admiration I felt with the reality of his indifference.

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary : You try and try your best, still it's not good enough for your liutenant. What happens when he pushes you too far?

Warnings : ANGST, simon being mean, bullying, yelling, feelings of lonliness, sad y/n.

AN : I was half asleep and dreaming while writing this, I was adding tags with my eyes closed, because wth are these tags, ghost car? Simon rileyn? 😭

The training grounds were a stark landscape of mud and sweat, a battleground that I had only just begun to navigate. The air was thick with tension, filled with the sounds of grunts, shouts, and the rhythmic thuds of feet pounding against the ground

Each day felt like a test, a relentless march toward proving their worth. I wanted this—wanted to be part of something bigger, to prove I had what it took. But every day felt like a war against Ghost.

“Push harder!” Simon’s voice cut through the air like a whip crack, sending a jolt of anxiety through me. The Ghost stood with arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart race. “You call that running? I’ve seen snails with more ambition!”

With every training session, it became painfully clear that Simon’s expectations were sky-high. He was relentless, punishing mistakes with unforgiving criticisms that left no room for error. His gaze, cold and piercing, seemed to search for weaknesses, and I felt myself being scrutinized under his harsh glare. The others seemed to flow around him, taking his orders without hesitation, while I couldn't help but feel like I was constantly struggling to keep up, drowning under the pressure.

“Y/N, stop daydreaming and move!” Simon barked, his tone sharp enough to cut through the humidity of the summer air. I flinched at the command, the sting of embarrassment burning deep as I forced my legs to work faster. The rest of the recruits moved like well-oiled machines, their movements synchronized, while I just felt like an outsider in my own skin, flailing and failing.

“Not good enough!” Simon snapped, stepping closer, his voice low and icy. “You think this is a game? If you can’t handle this, you don’t belong here.” His words hung heavy in the air, making me feel small and insignificant.

My heart sank. I looked around at the other recruits, hoping for a glimmer of support, but instead only found pity and judgment in their eyes. Whispers floated through the group as they watched Ghost tear me down, their words sharp as knives.

“How does Y/N expect to survive out there?” one recruit muttered. “If she can’t even handle a few laps, she's dead weight.”

The laughter that followed felt like a physical blow, and I fought against the tide of humiliation that threatened to pull me under. Every taunt cut deeper than Simon’s criticisms, reinforcing the idea that I were a burden, that my presence was not wanted. My frustration boiled over, and it was in these moments that I began to question my worth.

“Y/N, focus!” Simon shouted, his voice rising with irritation. “You think this is a time to be weak?” The anger in his tone sent a chill through me, and I felt my resolve waver. “If you can’t push through this, you’re never going to make it.”

“I’m trying,” I replied, my voice trembling as I wiped sweat from my brow. “I’m really trying.” But the words felt empty, echoing against the wall of Simon’s expectations.

“Trying isn’t enough. You either do or you don’t,” he shot back, his gaze unwavering, as if he was looking right through me. “Get back to it!” I swallowed hard, pushing through the pain, but it felt like running a race against the wind—every effort met with an unseen force pushing back.

With each failure, I felt a part of myself eroding under the weight of Simon’s criticism. It was exhausting to try and prove myself, especially when every moment seemed to invite more ridicule. The other recruits began to treat me with disdain, echoing Simon’s harsh sentiments.

During breaks, they would huddle together, sharing laughter and camaraderie, while I sat apart, feeling the sting of my isolation. Whispers and sideways glances followed me like shadows, a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacies.

“I heard she couldn’t even keep up with the warm-ups,” one recruit scoffed, and the others chuckled in agreement. The laughter rang in my ears like a cruel melody.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the training ground, with it came a sense of longing—a desire to be seen, to be validated. I wanted Simon to acknowledge my efforts, to see past the mistakes and recognize my potential.

But every time I looked at Simon for support, I was met with indifference. In those moments, I craved even a hint of recognition, a word of encouragement that might lift the veil of despair shrouding my spirit. Instead, he remained aloof, his focus always on the next exercise, the next task. I felt invisible, an afterthought in a world that seemed to favor the strong and confident.

The cycle of training continued, each session more grueling than the last. As Simon’s criticisms rained down, I could feel my spirit begin to fracture. I pushed through the pain, forcing my body to move even when every muscle screamed for relief. The fear of failure loomed large in my mind, overshadowing any glimmer of hope.

One afternoon, during an especially intense session, I found myself in a state of sheer exhaustion. The sweat was dripping from my brow, mingling with the dirt caked on my skin. I had just finished a series of demanding drills, and my legs felt like lead. Simon stood before me, arms crossed, his expression a mask of disapproval.

“Y/N, what was that?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “You call that effort? You’re wasting my time!”

The humiliation washed over me like a tidal wave. “I—I’m trying!” I protested, my voice barely above a whisper. But the words felt feeble, lost against the weight of Simon’s disappointment.

“Trying isn’t enough!” he barked. “You think this is a game? You’re here to learn, to become a soldier. If you can’t handle a little discomfort, maybe you don’t belong here.”

The words struck me like a physical blow, reverberating through my chest. I struggled to hold back tears, the pain of inadequacy consuming me. “I’m not weak,” I said, but even to my own ears, the declaration sounded hollow.

Simon stepped closer, invading my personal space, and I felt the urge to shrink back. “Weakness isn’t tolerated here. You either toughen up, or you’re out. Simple as that.”

His words were harsh, but it was the indifference that cut the deepest. It was clear to me that Simon wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t show a shred of compassion. The weight of his expectations hung heavy, a noose tightening around my neck. As I looked into Simon’s eyes, searching for any hint of understanding, I found only a cold resolve. In that moment, I realized I was fighting not only against Simon’s expectations but also against a growing sense of hopelessness that threatened to consume me.

The sessions dragged on, and each day felt like an uphill battle. I was trapped in a cycle of despair and determination, fighting against the tide of my own limitations while yearning for a glimmer of hope. I could feel the eyes of the other recruits on me, judging and laughing as Simon’s harsh words echoed in my mind. “You’re not good enough.”

As the days turned into weeks, the atmosphere among the recruits shifted. My struggles became the source of gossip, the training ground's unofficial entertainment. Whispers followed me like shadows, a constant reminder of my failures. “Did you see Y/N today?” one recruit would say, and the laughter that followed was sharp and cutting. I felt the weight of their gaze, the disdain that seemed to pour from them, and it was suffocating.

The laughter was infectious, and soon it spread like wildfire, fueled by Simon’s unwavering stance against me. The others began to mirror his sentiments, adopting his sharp tone and biting remarks. “You’re slowing us down, Y/N!” one would shout, echoing Simon’s criticisms, and I could feel the sting of betrayal in those words. What had once felt like camaraderie had twisted into cruelty, and I felt my heart sink further.

In those dark moments, I sought solace in the only thing I could control: my training. I pushed myself harder, hoping that if I worked enough, Ghost would finally notice my efforts. If I bled, if I hurt, if I endured—perhaps he would see me for who I am, not just a disappointment. But every time I thought I was making any progress Ghost's criticism would bring me crashing back down.

“More effort, Y/N! You’re not even trying!” he would shout, the disdain in his voice as sharp as the crack of a whip. Each time, it felt like a dagger to my heart, leaving a deep wound that never seemed to heal. I gritted my teeth and pushed through, running lap after lap, each footfall resonating with my determination. But as the days dragged on, the thrill of ambition began to fade, replaced by a gnawing sense of despair.

Despite my efforts, the other recruits continued to treat me with a mix of scorn and derision. They would mutter comments when I struggled during drills, their laughter ringing hollow. “Maybe Y/N should just give up,” one would quip, and the others would snicker in agreement. It became a routine, a cruel game that I found myself trapped in, and with each passing day, my confidence eroded further.

One afternoon, during a particularly grueling training session, I felt the familiar tightening in my chest, a prelude to the storm of emotions that always threatened to drown me. I braced myself for the inevitable onslaught.

“Y/N! You’re not even close to meeting the standard! I could throw a rock and it would outperform you!” His words were met with a chorus of laughter from the other recruits, and my face flushed with humiliation. The heat of my embarrassment was nearly unbearable, and for a moment, I felt completely exposed, as if the entire world was watching me fail.

“I’m trying!” I, for once, shouted back. The words bursting forth in a moment of desperation. “I’m doing my best!”

“Your best isn’t good enough! It’s time to toughen up!” Simon shot back, his gaze unyielding. “This isn’t a charity; this is a military training ground. If you can’t handle the pressure, you should be looking for a way out.”

The laughter that followed felt like salt in an open wound, and again my heart sank further. I turned away, fighting back tears of frustration. Every word Simon spoke echoed in my mind, reinforcing the idea that I was a failure, a disappointment. The cruel laughter of my fellow recruits followed me like a shadow, a constant reminder that I was alone in a sea of expectation.

After the session ended, I lingered behind, desperate to escape the judgmental stares and the mocking whispers that clung to me. I longed for validation, for a moment of recognition from Ghost—anything that might help me feel like I belonged.

But instead of finding solace, I found only silence. Simon brushed past me, his attention already shifting to the next task. The lack of acknowledgment felt like a dagger, and I fought against the tears that threatened to spill over. The loneliness was crushing, and with every passing day, I felt myself slipping further away from the person I had hoped to become.

Weeks turned into months, my spirit grew more fragile, battered by the weight of Simon’s expectations and the harsh judgments of the other recruits. I began to wonder if I was truly cut out for this life, questioning my ambition and my resolve. Simon’s relentless push only deepened my doubts, and the idea of being a soldier began to feel like a distant dream, one that was slipping further from my grasp.

In a moment of quiet desperation, I decided to confront Simon after a training session. I needed to hear his thoughts, to understand if there was any hope of redemption. As the other recruits began to disperse, I took a deep breath and approached him, my heart pounding in my chest.

“luitenant,” I began, my voice shaking slightly. “Can we talk?”

He turned to face them, his expression unreadable. “Make it quick, Y/N. I don’t have all day.”

I swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I know I’ve been struggling, and I’m trying my best to improve. But it feels like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. I just want to know if you think I can make it through this.”

Ghost's gaze hardened, and for a moment, I feared I had made a mistake. But instead of dismissing me outright, he seemed to actually consider my words. “You want to know if you can make it? The only person who can answer that is you. If you think you can, then you have to prove it. No one’s going to hand you anything in this life, especially not here.”

I felt a flicker of hope but quickly realized it was overshadowed by the reality of his words. I had grown accustomed to his harsh criticisms, but this felt like a challenge, an opportunity to reclaim my dignity. “I will prove it,” I replied, determination igniting within me. “I will show you that I can be strong.”

Simon nodded, a flicker of something—perhaps respect—crossing his face. “Then do it. Stop waiting for validation. Get out there and earn it.” With that, he turned away, leaving me standing there, feeling a strange mix of inspiration and despair.

As the days continued to unfold, I poured every ounce of energy into my training. I pushed myself to the brink, ignoring the pain that flared in my muscles. Each drill became a battle, and I fought with a ferocity I hadn’t known I possessed. Yet despite my efforts, the whispers and laughter of the other recruits echoed in my mind.

Even as I fought to prove myself, the negativity of my peers remained a heavy weight on my shoulders. Simon’s expectations loomed large, but it was the biting words of my fellow recruits that cut the deepest. Their taunts became a toxic backdrop to each training session.

“Why are you even trying, Y/N? You’ll never make it,” one would say, followed by a chorus of laughter that felt like daggers in my heart. Each jeer was a reminder of my isolation, a cruel reminder that I was fighting not only against Simon’s expectations but also against a tide of scorn that threatened to drown me.

I pressed on, fueled by a mixture of determination and desperation. I would not let the words of others define me, nor would I allow Simon’s disapproval to break my spirit. But the road ahead felt endless, littered with obstacles that seemed insurmountable.

In the depths of my struggles, I clung to the idea that perseverance would eventually yield results. If I could just push through the pain, the humiliation, the exhaustion—perhaps one day, I would emerge stronger. Perhaps one day, Simon would see me for who I truly am.

And so, I ran. I ran through the tears, through the laughter, through the doubts. Every step was a silent promise to myself—to rise above the negativity and become the soldier I had always dreamed of being.

As I pushed through the obstacles, I felt a flicker of determination ignite within me. I would not give up. Not now, not ever..