"si."

reader who is flexible / does yoga x simon who gets really flustered watching it? 👀

During those first few months of living together as flatmates, having gone from strangers who happened to have a friend in common to sharing a bedroom wall within 24 hours, you both learned a lot about each other

On your end, you learned that his presence in the flat was a rarity, gone for days if not weeks at a time before coming home. Even then, he usually was only back for short periods of time, most of it spent sleeping

You do discover that he’s an early riser however, much to your chagrin when the sound of his routine post workout shower wakes you up before the sun has ever risen

You learn that he’s a decent enough cook, but will always insist on helping in some way if he finds you in the kitchen working on something, no matter how simple or complicated the dish is

Over time you even find out how he prefers his tea in the morning and when you get the chance, try and surprise him with a warm drink waiting for him after his shower

When you know that he prefers to keep the flat a little cooler than you usually have it, you’ll turn the thermometer down a degree just before he comes home, just as he’s gotten into the habit of turning it back up for you on his way out, the gesture going unspoken between the two of you

Simon also learns a lot about you in the time since you’ve moved in

He learns all about your taste in music, a melody never not playing in the background of whichever room you’re occupying, often telling him the name of a song or artist you can tell he likes from the way his foot will tap or fingers will drum against his thigh

He discovers you’re a bit of a night owl, often hearing you in the kitchen baking some dessert or another at midnight, or talking on the phone with a friend. He never minds though. In one case he wakes up to sweet treats in the morning, and the other he gets to overhear your even sweeter voice chirping and giggling. And if one time a smile of his own graces his lips when he hears you telling your friend how you’re loving the new flat, and your flatmate “isn’t so bad on the eyes either”, then who’s complaining?

He finds out what your favourite take out food is, often surprising you with something on his return home, definitely not blushing under the mask if it earns him a hug or peck on the cheek as thanks

But one thing Simon learns about you early on, something that he thinks about not just at home but on base, in briefings, on missions, on helis and jets and trucks, is how part of your daily routine, is doing fucking yoga in the living room.

He’s been in countless situations most civilians could never even dream up, let alone withstand, and Simon under the mask that is Ghost always stays as cool and collected as any seasoned vet would

But seeing you in sweatpants, or leggings, or even worse when you’re wearing those shorts of yours, strolling into the living room with your yoga mat tucked under your arm, his pants instantly tighten every single time, knowing what’s to come (or rather who’s to c-)

Following along to your instructional video playing on the telly, paying him no mind as he sits in the adjoining kitchen as you bend into position after position, simply doing your nightly routine as you have for years now, unknowingly putting your flatmate through a torture he’s never endured before

Every time he’s lucky enough to witness you stretching your limbs, contorting your body into poses he couldn’t fathom doing himself, he finds his dreams that night filled with the very same images of you, though wearing far less clothing, and in his bed instead of a yoga mat, though he would take you anywhere let’s be honest

He always waits for you to finish your routine, be it a quick 15 minute stretch or a nearly hour long session, he remains and watches you until you leave, before he dares to stand with his arousal on full display through his pants, rushing to his room or bathroom to take care of business

He learns that he’s never felt more intense pleasure at his own hand than when he thinks of you, when he has has your face and body freshly imprinted on his mind as he finishes, imagining the heaven that it must be to have the real thing rather than his calloused fist

It’s interesting you see

You really like Simon, and you like when he’s home, like getting to know him and spend more time with him

And if you happen to learn that when you do your yoga routine out where he can see you, that he suddenly spends a lot more time in the flat than on base, coming home more and more often, no matter how short his stay is… well, who’s complaining?

it’s late when he gets in, the flat dimly lit, the smell of something warm still lingering in the air. ghost kicks off his boots, rolling his shoulders, aching from the weight of the day. but when he sees you waiting for him—curled up in one of his jumpers, blinking at him all soft and sleepy from the couch—his chest does that thing again, that tight little squeeze that reminds him he’s home.

“you waited up,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher from exhaustion as he steps toward you.

you shrug, stretching a little, letting his jumper slide off your shoulder just enough to make his hands twitch. “had to make sure you ate.”

his gaze flickers to the coffee table where a plate sits, covered, waiting for him. he huffs, shaking his head, but there’s no real bite to it. “yer too good to me, love.”

“well you deserve it.”

that gets him. it always does. because deep down, there’s still a part of him that don’t quite believe that. but you do, and fuck, if he won’t let himself have that—have you.

you tug him down onto the couch, settling onto his lap with practiced ease, pressing the plate into his hands. “c’mon, si. eat please.”

he grumbles, halfhearted, but doesn’t argue. not when you’re so warm against him, not when your fingers brush over his jaw as you lift a bite to his lips. he pulls his mask up just enough, lets you feed him, eyes fluttering shut as he hums at the taste.

you watch him with that sweet little smile that turns him to mush.

“perfect,” he mutters, voice thick, arms tightening around you. “just like you.”

the match on telly plays in the background, but he doesn’t really watch it, too busy savoring the way you feel against him, the way you fuss over him, the way your free hand smooths over his chest absentmindedly.

and by the time he’s done, you’re barely keeping your eyes open, soft and warm against him. he shifts himself slightly, pressing his face into your neck, inhaling slow.

“y’fallin’ asleep on me, sweetheart?”

you hum softly in response, burrowing closer, and his lips twitch at the feeling.

“go on then,” he mutters, pulling the blanket over both of you. “i gotcha.”

and he does. he always does.

gentle cleansers, green tea, at home workouts, fruit bowls, face masks, spf 50, pink nails, jewelry always, hair masks, body milks, late night runs, sparkly claw clips, hair massages, lip serums, balanced salads, night routine, vitamins and supplements, sunglasses sun hat combo, princess treatment, floral bouquets, vogue videos.

husband!simon who refuses to bring his wedding ring on missions, fearing that it will put you in danger if he’s captured. he wears it around base on a chain around his neck, only putting in back on when he’s sure it won’t get dirty. he’s got a dirty job, after all.

refers to you as ‘the missus’ to his team

always checking in to tell you if his plans change or he’s going to be late coming home. johnny teases about him being whipped but secretly enjoys seeing his friend so dedicated

fidgets with his ring during briefings. spins it back and forth on his finger as he listens to price and laswell discussing intel

makes a wood burned plaque that says ‘the rileys’ and hangs it on your porch. sometimes you catch him staring at it, a faraway look in his eyes

always grins when you introduce him as ‘my husband, simon’. rubs his hand up and down your back after you say it as if to say that’s right, love.

got very drunk with johnny and kyle one night while you were away. you received a video of simon slumped on the couch, mumbling nonsense before you could decipher “fuckin’ miss my wife” over the snickering of johnny behind the phone

gets a tattoo of your lipstick mark somewhere on him (be creative here. i dare you)

holds your hips whenever you're speaking to someone he doesn’t know. presses a kiss to the top of your head while he stares at them for good measure

has a photo of the two of you on his desk, one from a 141 gathering that you’d attended at the bar. he stood behind you, his arm slung over your chest in a show of possession. he keeps a much more candid photo of you on him

gets hit on by some of the new recruits (understandably) that don’t know he’s taken yet and just stares at them. if they persist, he hits them with a “not sure you’d like to meet mrs. ghost.”

appreciates when you make him dinner, but really loves when he has the time to make you a nice dinner. likes grilling a lot, but likes having you sit outside and watch him even more

forever entranced by the sight of his ring on your finger. you’ll be talking away to him when he grabs your hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a light kiss above where the ring sits before looking back up at you. “continue your story, lovie.”

lets you stitch his balaclava up if the threads come loose. you sneak in a little heart with some red string that sits under the skull, hidden from view. only he feels it sitting on his cheek in place of a kiss

Did somebody ask for more??? Too bad cause you’re getting it.

Roommate!Simon Riley who loves to find you sprawled out on the couch like an octopus when he gets home from work. You’re always laid out in some odd way, a way that certainly cannot be comfortable. The blanket you’d been snuggled up with was now tangled haphazardly around your legs, and your arms were dangling off the side, head dangerously close to tipping off with them.

He likes to think you were waiting on him. That it’s the reason why you left the warm lamp on by your head, why there’s a familiar movie playing in the background. Your dinner is untouched on the end table beside you, his is neatly placed on the kitchen counter. His favorite drink is left unopened, a cup of melted ice right next to it, your bottle is nothing but a few drops of water.

Gently setting down his things, he pads as quietly as he can to where you’re laying. The tips of his fingers ghost along your spine before he gives your back a gentle squeeze, moving to the kitchen to grab his plate of food. He puts your food in a plastic container as he waits on supper to warm up, making sure to trade out your empty bottle of water for a fresh one. You’d wake up thirsty, you always did.

The microwave beeps a fraction too loudly once it’s finished. and he finds himself cursing at it, wincing when it squeaks as he opens the door. You twitch in response, adjusting your head just to squish flushed cheeks even further into the cushion.

When he comes back to the couch, he’s careful moving your feet, placing them one by one onto his thighs. He’ll give ‘em a quick little rub, patting the sides of your toes before scarfing down his dinner. He leaves the movie playing while he eats, just because he didn’t wanna wake you up, not because he likes it. Because he doesn’t.

Subconsciously, he finds his fingers tucking the blanket back around your body, and instead of tugging them away, he rests his hand on one of your calves, setting his empty plate on the coffee table.

With one hand on your leg, and the other wrapped around his stomach, he scoots down, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. He’d close his eyes. Just for a minute.

A minute turned into the end credits blasting through the TV speakers, jerking the both of you awake. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter, sleep leaving you dazed and confused. You don’t question him being there, instead just reach for his hand, fingers tangling around his thumb.

“‘m thirsty.”

Of course you were. He shakes his finger, jostling you to open your eyes again. “On the table.”

There, waiting for you, was a fresh bottle of water. You don’t question that either. “thanks,” He just grunts in response, settling back down beside you.

You keep your grip tight on his hand, flicking off the lamp after chugging your drink. He turns on another movie, for you, of course. Definitely not for him.

As sleep tugs him under once more, his side droops down toward your body until he’s resting an arm against your back, and his head against his arm. Large legs stretch out as far as they’ll go, his other hand moving to lay over your feet.

Now you’re tangled together. Two octopuses sprawled out on a small piece of furniture.

And what’s that they say about octopuses? They’ve got three hearts?

Well he was sure that was him right now. Three hearts all beating solely for you. They always would.

Guys, this is the end of my drafts. WHAT DO I DO?? Is this stupid? Too silly? Was it only cute and domestic in my own brain??

TELL ME YOU LIKE ME

FUCK ME TO DEATH

LOVE. ME. UNTIL. I. LOVE. MYSELF.

they need to invent somewhere where I belong

PEDRO PASCAL SAG Awards | 2024

sometimes i feel pretty but it’s never that same kind of pretty as when i look in the bathroom mirror at ten pm, the lighting warm with only blush on and the softest hair i’ve ever had