Skin Of Thunder Where Silence Bloomsâł Simon Riley x Fem!Reader
Simon Riley lives like a storm on the edge of breaking. But then there is you. You pull at him like the soft drip of rain. And in the stillness between you, Ghost begins to realize that you are the calm he never knew he needed, an unexpected refuge in the tempest that has always defined him.
âYour kindness cuts through the storm in me, where the skin of thunder shivers, tearing through flesh, bringing light into the darkest parts of my heart.â
The early morning sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the military base, casting long shadows across the dull, utilitarian corridors. Simon âGhostâ Riley moved through the halls with his usual silent purpose, his presence almost unnoticed despite his size.
Dressed in civilian clothes, he still commanded attention. The skull-patterned balaclava covered his face, just as it always did, leaving only his eyes visible. Dark and sharp, always scanning, always wary. His broad shoulders and powerful frame carried the weight of decades spent in combat, and even in this quiet corner of the base, his mere presence felt like a storm waiting to break.
He stepped into the HR office, a space that instantly felt too small for someone like him.
He needed leave forms. Price had insisted on a few days off, pushing Ghost into a rest he neither wanted nor needed.
The mere thought of rest grated on him, gnawing at his sense of purpose. Relaxation wasnât really in his nature, it made him feel useless, stripped of the edge that kept him sharp. He was forged for motion, for the relentless grind of action, not the stillness of downtime.
The HR office was empty in the early hours, its sterile quiet amplifying Ghostâs irritation. But then he saw you. The annoyance that had coiled in his chest loosened, if only for a moment.
You were immersed in your work, unaware of the storm that had just stepped into the room. The morning light from the window filtered through your hair, casting a soft halo around it, as if it were aglow, almost like the ethereal shimmer of an angelâs glory.
Ghost had noticed you before, though only in passing.
Your presence was a little more than a shadow at the periphery of his awareness. For now. You were new, an HR assistant with an energy that felt out of place, almost foreign in a world like his. Too bright, too unburdened by the gravity of what lay beyond these walls.
He wasnât sure if he even knew your name, but something about you lingered, an unmistakable sense of someone who still believed in the good things. He didnât like dealing with civilians, but his mind cataloged your features anyway.
He wasnât likely to forget you.
As Ghost approached your desk, he felt the subtle shift, the way your posture straightened as you registered his presence. It was the reaction he was used to. The unease and the instinctive discomfort. But this time, something was different. Instead of the usual avoidance and fear, you blinked and met his gaze, offering a small, genuine smile.
It caught him off guard.
âHi, good morning,â you greeted, your voice soft but hesitant, as if unsure whether it was the right thing to say. âHow can I help you?â
Your accent carried a gentle rhythm that Ghost noted but couldnât quite place. He could sense the undercurrent of nerves in your voice, however, you didnât look away.
His gaze bore down on you, his presence looming, heavy enough to fill the entire office. Yet, your cautious smile held steady, unshaken by the oppressive weight he carried like a second skin.
âLeave forms,â he muttered, his voice low and gravelly.
He was in no mood for conversation, the forced time off already wearing on his nerves.
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his abrupt tone, but recovered quickly.
âAh, of course,â you said, your voice wavering just slightly as you stood and moved toward the filing cabinet. Your fingers fumbled briefly before finding the right document. âHere,â you offered, placing the paperwork in front of him with a shy yet sincere smile. âIf you need any help, just let me know.â
Ghostâs dark eyes tracked your movements as you placed the forms on the desk before him. He noticed the subtle way you seemed to shrink under the weight of his stare, yet you stayed composed, polite and helpful. He hated how the whole situation made him feel, utterly awkward and out of place. He didnât belong in places like this, dealing with paperwork and assistants.
But something about you made him pause, a quiet pull that unsettled him in ways he couldnât explain. It was like the calm before a storm. The kind of softness that slips beneath the skin, where thunder has long since settled, and stirs something fragile in the wreckage he thought was buried for good.
He sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. His posture was stiff, his annoyance palpable. He filled out the form quickly, his handwriting harsh and deliberate, as if each letter required forced focus.
The quiet stretched between them again. You busied yourself with something Ghost didnât care about, but he could feel your occasional glances, as though you were quietly studying him, trying to size him up too. Bloody hell, how he loathed small talk and despised these kinds of interactions, and people who couldnât sense when to leave well enough alone.
âYouâre Lieutenant Simon Riley, right?â
Your tone was friendly, almost too friendly for someone talking to him. His hand paused, pen hovering just above the paper.
âIâve heard a lot about you.â
The admission hung in the air, breaking the silence. He wasnât sure how to respond to the fact that you knew of him, knew what he did, or at least, what people said about him.
It wasnât approval he sought, nor recognition. No, in truth, it grated on him. And yet, the sound of his name on your lips made him pause, drawing his gaze to your face.
You flushed slightly under the weight of his stare, but he dismissed it, focusing instead on the strange feeling that stirred within him at the way his name sounded coming from you.
âItâs... really impressive, what you and your team do,â you said, your voice softening as a hint of awkwardness crept in. âI mean, it must be really⌠difficult. Dangerous, too.â Your words faltered, laced with a quiet shyness, but there was a hint of respect behind them.
âJust doinâ my job,â he muttered, his voice edged with indifference. Most people would take the hint and move on. But you didnât. Instead, your smile grew as you kept talking.
âItâs still admirable. Not easy work, Iâm sure.â
Admirable?
Ghost couldnât help the small scoff that nearly escaped. Admirable wasnât the word he would use. Brutal, necessary, violent, thatâs what it was. But no one ever called it what it really was, did they? No, to outsiders, it was always impressive, always dressed up as something noble. He grunted in response, the tension in his shoulders never easing, even as he filled out the forms.
And yet, something about your tone was different. It felt strange. He didnât know how to deal with it, so he didnât. He focused on the rest of the paperwork, quickly scribbling his name at the bottom with more force than needed.
After a long silence, one he hoped would stretch on forever, he found himself speaking before he could stop. âWhy HR?â
He immediately regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. It wasnât a question Ghost particularly cared about. He didnât care about your life, your choices. And it wasnât like him to make idle conversation, especially not with someone like you. But there was a pull, a curiosity he couldnât quite place.
You glanced up, clearly caught off guard by the question.
For a moment, hesitation flickered in your eyes, as though you werenât entirely sure if you should respond. But then, a small, almost bashful smile crept across your lips as your fingers absently fidgeted with the edge of a folder on your desk, a quiet nervousness betraying your calm demeanor.
âI like helping people,â you began quietly, your voice gaining strength as you settled into the explanation. âItâs just... something Iâve always wanted to do, you know. And I suppose, even as an assistant here, it feels like Iâm making a small difference, right?â
Ghost remained silent, letting your words linger in the stillness, his gaze fixed on the forms in front of him, unmoved yet listening.
Helping people.
Understanding them.
That was something he couldnât wrap his head around, not in the way you meant. His job was about helping, but not in the clean and polite way you seemed to believe. He had seen what people needed, craved even, in the worst moments of their life, and it wasnât something you could give with kindness.
Helping people, for Ghost, had always meant violence, brute force, removing threats before they removed him or the people he worked with. The concept of understanding felt foreign, almost naive to him.
He didnât respond, simply grunted, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation. But you didnât seem fazed by his silence. If anything, you looked more comfortable, as if his lack of words somehow reassured you. You must have thought he had agreed with you.
âSometimes itâs the small things, right? That can really make a difference.â
You continued to smile, a gesture so simple and unguarded that it almost irritated him.
Almost.
Yet there was something in the way you looked at him, not with fear or awe, but with an honest kindness that stirred something unfamiliar within him. But he had seen too much, lived too long in the darkness to believe in small things. They didnât matter. They never lasted. All the smiles in the world couldnât protect someone from the horrors he had seen. But yours lingered, slipping through the surface, like a thread of light that dared to touch the parts of him still clawing for air.
Ghost finished signing the last line of the form and shoved the documents toward you, eager to be done with the whole thing. His mind was already shifting back to his daily duties, to the missions waiting for him, to the violence that felt like home.
âThanks,â he muttered.
You glanced down at the forms before meeting his gaze again, your expression softening with an even warmer smile.
âYouâre welcome, Lieutenant Riley. If you ever need anything else, feel free to stop by.â
Your tone was gentle and inviting, carrying a sincerity that felt honest, almost natural in its warmth.
He gave a brief nod, his lips pressed into a tight line beneath the mask.
Anything else.
Yeah, right.
Ghost almost snorted at the absurdity of it. There wasnât anything else someone like you could offer to someone like him, not in the way you meant anyway. But he nodded, knowing he would probably never take you up on that offer.
As the door closed behind him and the cold, empty corridor swallowed him up once again, Ghostâs mind churned with thoughts he didnât want to have. Your words lingered, echoing in his mind as he tried to shake them off. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldnât quite rid himself of the unsettling feeling you had left him with.
He pulled the balaclava tighter against his face, his jaw set. He moved through the base with his usual silent intensity, the lingering thought of your smile following him, despite his best efforts to shake it off.
Even if the little things did matter, they definitely werenât meant for him.
"Silence wraps around the heart like quiet thorns, soft but aching, a stillness heavy with storms yet to come."
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