Ouu Lessi I Think Ceo!dream Would Love To Pick Out Your Nails Color And Pay When You Get A Manicure For

ouu lessi i think ceo!dream would love to pick out your nails color and pay when you get a manicure for when you give him a hand job

YESSS HE WOULD LOVE THAT 😩

smells like team spirit part2

Pairing; Jock!Roommate!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem reader

Summary; The rest of the 141 make their appearances, Simon mulls over how his friendship with you has progressed and unfortunately makes an announcement.

Warnings; 18+, everything on my blog is 18+ though this chapter has no explicit sexual content, just some strong language and a few inappropriate comments/thoughts!!

(a/n) chapter 2!! hope y'all like it! i don't have a schedule for posting, but let me know if you guys want a taglist or something!

Word count; 3.6k

“Look-fine fine okay I have a damn girlfriend so can you all just fucking lay off already?!”

Price, Soap and Gaz all jerk in surprise before freezing, speechless.

Soap dribbles a bit of beer onto the table, and the temporary spell is broken.

“Well done lad it’s been long enough-”

“Do we know her? I bet it’s that girl from the Starbucks-”

“Well why haven’t we fucking met her? Bring her to a game or-”

Simon puts his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he’s just done.

That morning

The past five months or so have been…nice.

You and he aren’t close, not really, but it’s nice having another person in his apartment he was right about that.

You’ve settled into a kind of routine, and it works well for both of you. Sometimes you see each other in the morning as you grab food or drinks from the kitchen and then you’re usually on your way to class or the library, you come back after your lectures and he’s leaving for lacrosse training or a game, he gets back and you’re going to your room or doing work.

Simon sits at the breakfast bar in the kitchen as he watches you grab your lunch for that day from the fridge, phone poised in front of him to pretend he’s doing something else. Sometimes, like now, he kind of wishes your routines aligned a little more. It’s nice having someone else here, but occasionally (often, all of the time) he wishes that you were comfortable enough to sit with him and have a movie night or something, to text him and ask if he wants to get some takeout for that evening, anything like that.

He has friends don’t get him wrong, they’re just all guys from the lacrosse team. A few other acquaintances from his other classes that he’ll go for nights out with or whatever, but you and he are still just as politely friendly as you were when you moved in. Comfortable enough to say hi and ask about your afternoon, to ask what classes you have today, but not enough to ask if you want to watch the new episode of a show in the evening.

Simon looks down as you stuff your things into a bag, frowning at his lap.

It’s not a crush. It’s simply a…longing for friendship, that’s it. It doesn’t cause him too many problems, and no one else knows about it, but he just-he wants more. A little more.

He wants to be able to text you and ask if you want your favourite from the restaurant down the road, he wants to know what all your favourites are. He knows which drink you prefer from the on campus Starbucks because you had a brief conversation about it one time, but other than that? Not much.

He’s looked at all the books you have on the shelf in the living room and tried to decipher you, wondered what they all said about your personality. He’s seen all your food in the fridge and remembers that you always have pizza on a Friday night, he saw you come into the apartment one time on the phone as you laughed and smiled at a bouquet of flowers you were holding.

Against his will, his stomach had bottomed out at the thought of you having been on a date and been bought flowers by someone.

He keeps telling himself he’s just biding his time, he’s waiting for the right moment to get to know you better. There will be a perfect moment, he’s sure of it, one day it will be exactly the right time to ask if you want to get some food maybe, to ask if you want to go to a movie or a show or maybe one of his games-it would start a little rocky, both of you a little nervous but then he’d make you laugh somehow and the conversation would flow from there, the evening ending in both of you admitting you’d been wanting to get closer for a while now.

Simon blinks, trying to push down all of that. It turns out the flowers had been from your family, a congratulations for doing well or getting a good grade or something or other in your uni work, but he’d still felt empty and morose about the whole thing. Telling himself he’s biding is time is fine until it’s shoved in his face that he’s really just being a bit of a coward, hiding from his crush on you and pretending it doesn’t exist.

“You say you have a game today?”

His head jerks up, broken out of his melancholy trance at your voice.

“Yeah-yeah against Marjon, it’s a home game so it’ll probably be drinks afterwards with the guys as well,” Simon replies and smiles wryly at you, “Don’t worry I won’t be stumbling in drunk at four in the morning you have my word.”

He gets a chuckle from you in response and his body lights up, heart rate going up a notch even as he tries to ignore the reaction. You grab your bag and your drink from the counter, shoving your phone and your keys into a pocket as you turn toward the front door.

“Well, good luck-even though they don’t stand a chance-bye!”

Simon smiles at the door as it swings shut behind you, something warm fluttering in his chest.

A few seconds later he shakes his head, looking back down at his phone as it buzzes with a barrage of texts from Soap to the team group chat.

Soap: YOU FUCKERS READY???????

Soap: SI GET OFF YOUR ARSE AND GET TO TRAINING

Soap: GAZ GET OUT OF BED

Soap: CAP PUT ON A SMILE I’LL BEHAVE TODAY

Soap: ;))))

Soap: LETS GUT THESE FUCKERS

It’s not even that serious a game, there aren’t really any huge stakes-and Simon knows for a fact that Soap regularly talks to two of the players on the Marjon team no matter how much he calls them bastards.

He gets up nonetheless, sliding his phone into his pocket as it buzzes a few more times. No doubt Gaz insisting he’s been out of bed for hours-though they all know that’s a lie-and Price telling Soap to please, PLEASEnot call the opposing team bastards and cunts to their faces like he did at their last game. That black eye was not worth it.

Simon goes about his normal routine, showering and grabbing all his stuff before making his bed and wandering back out of his room. There’s a book lying open, page down on the table next to the sofa. He pauses and picks it up, looking for the bookmark he knows you must have left somewhere.

It’s hidden under another book, and he slots it in between the pages before closing it and placing it with the small pile you have going.

Soap is running laps hell for leather around the pitch when he arrives, Gaz is napping on a bench and Price is watching Soap tiredly with a coffee in hand.

He ambles over to his captain, dropping his bag on the floor and watching Soap start zig zagging instead.

“Little fucker hasn’t stopped for twenty minutes-we haven’t even lost to Marjon in three years and the team is better than ever with you lot.” Price sighs, downing the last of his coffee and chucking the cup in the bin next to him. It clangs and jerks Gaz awake, who rolls off of the bench and curls up on the floor instead.

“You know what he’s like though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him tired unless he’s drunk his way through four pubs and done a lap dance for some poor guy in a bar,” Simon chuckles in response. He glances at Price, taking in the guarded expression underneath the caffeinated tiredness. “Have you-did they figure out the table? We know who we’re playing this year?” The words come out with a very noticeable forced nonchalance, and he winces at the fact that Price will be able to see through him in seconds.

As expected, the captain sends a scornful look his way and then sighs.

“I’m getting it tomorrow, but I think know who we’re playin’ anyway, don’t you?” Price crosses his arms and looks down, kicking the tip of his shoe into the astroturf lightly. He curses under his breath. “I know it’s gonna be him, it has to be.”

Graves.

Simon doesn’t know much about him or his team, just vague rumours about a match Price played against him a couple of years ago, that Price wasn’t team captain the year after, and one of their players dropped out of uni shortly afterward. He scrutinises his captain for a moment, wondering if he’ll ever find out. Him and Price are close, have become the closest from the team by far and Simon knows they’ll be in contact long after they’re done with their lacrosse days, but there’s things like this that he doubts he’ll ever know.

Price shoots him a tired smile and claps him on the back before walking over to where Konig is practising.

Simon watches Soap for a few more minutes before heading into the locker rooms to get changed, methodically donning his gear and ambling back out to see Gaz finally up and about, lobbing a ball back and forth with Soap as Price shows Konig something. He makes his way over to the first two, picking up on snippets of their conversation of he gets closer.

“Nah she wasn’t-”

“She was I already fuckin’ told you she was-”

“Johnny she was NOT into you she was staring at me the entire time-”

“Yeah you wish she was-can’t admit she just wanted to get a load of this-” Soap is cut off as a ball hits him in the stomach, leaving him wheezing.

The conversation makes Simon grit his teeth, psyching himself up for what he knows without a doubt is about to come.

Gaz begins first, probably because Soap looks like he’s trying not to retch on the astro turf.

“You see anyone at the pub on the weekend Ghost? Cmon you must have had your eye on someone?” Gaz waggles his eyebrows at the end before shooting a look at Soap, who grins and straightens up. He only looks a little green.

“After all, need someone to teach you about the birds and the bees-”

Simon groans, pulling his gloves on and grabbing his stick, “Here we fuckin’ go…”

Soap hooks his arm around Gaz’s shoulders, holding his free hand up placatingly. “Look mate we’re just trynna help, none of us want you to die a virgin. You just gotta put yourself out there-some lucky lass is gonna think those broad shoulders and that rugged scar are handsome and you’ll be grand! Just gotta make a wee bit of effort mate!” He raises his arms victoriously even as Simon furrows his brow and looks down, avoiding his teammates eyes.

“I’m not a…” He mutters, before shaking his head and looking back up. “It’s not-look can we just fuckin’ practice? Don’t forget you ended up on your ass yesterday because you were too busy showing off to see me coming straight for you-” Simon brusquely responds, raising his voice so the other teammates hear him. It works, a few bursts of laughter reach him as they evidently remember how Soap went flying after Simon came for him the day before.

They train for a couple of hours, during which Simon takes great pleasure in hitting Soap in the back with a ball, Gaz on the stomach and Price on his thigh-which earns a seething look from his captain. The practice also helps take his mind off of his far too intimate thoughts this morning, and the mocking from his teammates. Before long he’s worked up a sweat, jogging around the pitch and checking on Soap and Gaz-they might have all three joined the team this year but Simon has been doing lacrosse for two years before this, and pretty quickly worked his way to vice captain under Price.

As they finish, said captain jogs over to him as they make their way to the locker room. They walk in silence for a few moments, and Simon waits for the inevitable comments that are to come. It only takes another few seconds.

“Yknow son,” Price has called him ‘son’ since they met, even though he’s only a year older, “it wouldn’t hurt to find someone you like. Not just so you get laid or whatever else the lads keep talking about, but I’d like to-well, it’d be nice to see you happy with someone.” He’s quiet for another couple of seconds, and Simon keeps his gaze forward, fiddling with his gloves for no reason. “No that you can’t be happy without a partner or someone to lean on but-I don’t know, I think it would be good for you. You just-” The captain sighs and stops walking.

Simon stop a pace or so in front of him and turns around with a bored expression on his face, wishing this conversation would just be over.

Price stares at him, his gaze soft and making Simon feel like he can see anything he wants.

“You just seem like you have a chip on your shoulder sometimes, lad. I’m not saying a girlfriend-or boyfriend or whatever-would ‘fix’ anything, but it-I think it would be good for you. I only ever see you train, talk to us and drink with us. Like you’re just going through the motions. You don’t even mention your family to us-not that you have to, but…someone to lean on might be a nice change.”

Simon blinks at him, opening his mouth before closing it again. Price has joined in on the jokes before, ragged on him until Simon has snapped and and bellowed at them all to shut up, but this is the most…emotional way he’s ever said it. Like he truly cares about this, like he really wants Simon to find someone, like he wants him to be happy and comfortable with someone who cares about him. It’s odd, and Simon doesn’t know how to respond.

Unsurprisingly, they win the game.

And unsurprisingly it leads to drinks afterwards at a pub near the university buildings, crammed full of the team and students who came to watch them. Simon has no doubt they enjoyed watching the game, but is under no impression they’re here to celebrate the win-it’s a chance to drink themselves unconscious and that’s enough for them.

There’s empty pint glasses littering the table a bunch of them are crammed onto already, and they’re all clutching sloshing glasses as guys yell and laugh around him.

He winces as Gaz begins bellowing in his ear, “Think we all deserve another pint for that last shot don’t we? Who’s buying?” Simon decides not to mention that the last two pints were bought in name of ‘that last shot’ as well, and debates if Gaz can even remember how this infamous shot went as he almost falls off of his chair.

Price raises a hand and dutifully stands from the table, stifling a belch as he makes his way to the bar on the other side of the room. Nights like these after a game are the only times Simon ever sees Price let loose a bit, sees him relax and let his guard down around them a bit more.

He can say all he wants about Simon and the chip on his shoulder, about having someone other than his teammates and all, but he never sees the captain with anyone either. He’s seen girls come up and flirt with him, captain of the lacrosse team, handsome, a wealth that he doesn’t brag about and a friendly demeanour-but he never goes home with anyone. Simon dismisses these thoughts quickly as the man in question dumps a tray of pints onto the table, which is promptly descended on by the rest of the team.

The next few hours pass entertainingly, complete with a darts game that ends with a dart in Rudy’s shoulder, courtesy of Soap, Gaz trying to stand on the bar before he falls off and rips his trousers on the way down-and Alejandro trying to make his way to the other side of the room to hit on a girl before falling and landing flat on his face.

By the end of it Simon is the only remotely sober one-who will most likely be sorting out taxis and making sure everyone arrives home alive and well.

Things start to wind down a bit, with the woman behind the bar kicking out some of the more rowdy students and leaving the other non-university patrons, Simon, Price, Soap, Gaz and Alejandro-though he’s asleep in a chair. A little while later the others begin to sober up slightly, slowing their drinking and talking quietly, giggling at the smallest things and falling over each other a little bit. Simon drains the last of his pint and sets it down, looking up to see Soap’s eyes big and round as he stares at him, evidently pleading for something.

“Say G-Ghost-you wouldn’t-ah fuck-wouldn’t wanna go and get the next-next round eh?” He hiccups through the sentence, swaying a little side to side even though he’s sat down.

Simon sighs, knowing Soap won’t relent. “Yeah yeah I’ll go-keep your knickers on-”

Soap sing-songs in response, “No promises!” And Gaz dissolves into a fit of giggles at it, fanning himself at the apparently hilarious joke.

The woman behind the bar looks wary as he approaches, no doubt assuming he’s pissed out his tree like the rest of the team. He only orders half pints this time, hoping everyone will still be conscious by the time they want to leave. A quick glance back to check everyone is upright as the woman pours his pints shows Soap, Price and Gaz all huddled together around the table and whispering furtively. Oh boy. That can’t be good.

As Simon loads up Apple Pay, Gaz glances over to him. Definitely not good at all.

He counts to ten slowly as he brings the drinks back to their table, trying to prepare himself for whatever is about to happen.

Price squints at him.

“Got your eye on anyone tonight?”

Simon groans and takes a swig of his pint. “Tell me you’re not all on about this fucking shit again-tell me you’re not.”

They all look either away or at the table, and he sighs, setting his drink down to lean back and cross his arms. “Unbelievable. Do you fuckers have nothing else to do? At this rate you’ll be so busy trying to pry into my relationships that you lot won’t have time for your own-”

Soap perks up at that. “Relationships? A relationship? You’ve got someone? Si are you telling me you’ve found someone?!”

The man in question stutters, fingers spasming where they’re trapped against his side as he tries to get a hold of the situation.

“No-no that’s not-I mean like-in theory or-I didn’t mean-”

His breathing picks up, suddenly unsure what he’s got himself into. It was bad enough when they ragged on him nonstop but this might actually turn out to be worse.

Gaz clutches his arm, eyes wide as he stares up and starts rambling, “But you said-you just-you were just saying to us-Ghost! Ghost you literally just said! You’re with someone?! Oh that’s fucking brilliant! Guys! More drinks we-we should like-let’s celebrate! Let’s do SHOTS-boys gonna get laid!”

Simon ignores the image of you that flashes through his mind and splutters into his pint, setting it down clumsily onto the table and trying to untangle Gaz from his arm. Price sits opposite with his arms crossed and mouth hanging open as he watches Simon, Soap has his chin propped on his hand with a dreamy expression and Gaz is practically vibrating in his seat.

“No no I didn’t-that’s not what I don’t-I’m not-Gaz no no no you can’t-” He mumbles in response, attempting to figure out how to get out of this. They’re all so far gone none of them will listen properly anymore.

Gaz turns to him and furrows his brow, making Simon watch him nervously for whatever he’s about to say.

“You-you don’t want us to know? Don’t you wanna to tell us about your life? Aren’t we-Ghost we’re a teaaaaam!” He sounds whiny at the end, dragging the word out until Simon pokes him in the arm to get him to stop.

Soap seems to have latched on as well, suddenly looking forlornly at him. Price’s head falls back as he nods off in his chair so at least Simon doesn’t have to worry about him-until Gaz leans over and slaps his bicep to wake him up. Somehow he also seems to get the gist and watches Simon with a disappointed look on his face, and he snaps.

“Look-fine fine okay I have a damn girlfriend so can you all just fucking lay off already?!”

Price, Soap and Gaz all jerk in surprise before freezing, speechless.

Soap dribbles a bit of beer onto the table, and the temporary spell is broken.

“Well done lad it’s been long enough-”

“Do we know her? I bet it’s that girl from the Starbucks-”

“Well why haven’t we fucking met her? Bring her to a game or-”

Simon puts his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he’s just done.

MASTERLIST

comments and reblogs so so so so much appreciated!! likes don't share posts or boost them or anything, but comments and reblogs do!! if you don't then i hope you enjoyed reading anyway!! <3

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lunaetiicsaystuff

8 months ago

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lunaetiicsaystuff

1 year ago

Neighbour Ghost x reader 8 (end)

1.6k | fluff The stray and his forever home (part 1)

“Bone apple tea.” You placed the cup of camomile in front of Simon.

“What?”

You pointed at your skull-printed shirt, the apple pie patch on his hoodie and the tea on the table. “Bone. Apple. Tea.”

He’d missed that brilliant smile too much. It was impossible to not want to kiss you. He chuckled as he pulled you to stand between his thighs.

That Sunday with your help, despite the pounding of his head, he packed the rest of his stuff and managed to move out. In the last few days he had before he left, he spent any possible moment with you, mainly eating his favourite Chinese takeout or cuddling on the couch.

Two months later when Simon came back, things crawled to how they were, with him visiting for dinner and leaving before midnight. Eventually, he stayed more and more nights a week, leaving more than a few of his shirts behind.

The divorce was finalised and his childhood home was sold. The city of Manchester didn’t mean gripping the straps of his backpack after school as he walked up the dreaded front steps anymore, nor sleeping restlessly lest someone barged in the door with another bizarre creature. The house was gone, along with the memories that breathed within the walls. He didn’t miss them.

His mum got a flat near Tommy’s and a job at a flower shop in the neighbourhood. ‘Not as nice as working with Ben’, she said. She had to buy her own bread, and none she’d found in the area tasted remotely close to how grand his were. She still cooked too much, but Tommy didn’t mind the extra whenever she dropped by. Little Joe always loved seeing his nana anyway.

Back from his next deployment, Simon held you at the door as he inhaled the warmth he’d missed terribly. After his shower, you showed him his shirts in their own drawer, not jammed between yours anymore. He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

In spring, he came with to visit your dad, insisting on wearing one of his dress shirts, even when you assured it was a regular lunch. He stood rigid on the porch, the neck of the wine bottle about to snap in his grip.

Your dad was taking too long. Was he arming himself before opening the door? Should he tackle and disarm him or take the shot like a man? He should have worn a tac vest.

“Si, relax.” You rubbed his back. “You’re already too tall. You’re going to scare my dad.”

Is that not a good thing?

Your dad (obviously unarmed) tried making small talk with him at lunch, but he sucked at it as much as Simon did, leaving you to do almost all the talking among the pauses. You only received short answers from the men who avoided each other’s gazes.

Also, who the bloody hell put the coriander in the chicken stir-fry?!

“Your dad hates me,” Simon declared as he drove home, the phantom taste of soap persisted on his palate despite the hours between.

“He doesn’t, I promise. He doesn’t even really like Chinese, but picked the place because I told him how much you love it. He really tried, but just doesn’t talk much with new people.” You stifled a laugh. “You should have cracked a few jokes.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “When we get home, I’m going to tickle you until you pass out.”

Home.

You’d made your flat Simon’s home too. You cleared another drawer for him, and another, and another, even when he didn’t have so many possessions. But you let him expand and take up the space he needed. He reordered a set of his ID discs for you to keep on your nightstand.

Things were… easy. Simple, like getting out of bed a little later on weekends. With his nose buried in your hair, arm around your waist pulling you flush to his chest, he held you in silence from dawn until you woke. Listening to your quiet breathing filled his chest heavy with warmth.

You’d asked multiple times if it bored him to be doing nothing, as if he didn’t lay prone behind rifle scopes for hours on end for a living. It didn’t, because being in your presence wasn’t nothing. You were real, and you were his.

You woke with a stir, a smile gracing your lips when you realised he was with you before your eyes opened.

“Good morning, my love.” He slipped the strap of your tank top off before peppering kisses on the nape of your neck down your exposed shoulder.

“Morning, Si.” You reached back to scratch his scalp.

He rolled you onto your back before crawling on top of you, kissing the column on your neck making you giggle with his weekend scruff. He pulled away to admire your eyes, always striking in the warm sun.

“Love looking at you.” You cupped his cheek, tracing the healed cut with your thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Si.”

He leaned in, and you stayed in bed a little longer.

In his shirt, you placed more toasts on the table.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

He handed you a buttered toast. “Don’t steal my jokes, luv.”

“It’s too lame to forget.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember you howling at Tesco when I told it.”

“It was your first ever.” You smiled. “My favourite.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was scary, luv?”

“I’m not sure they teach you to tell the scary bloke he’s scary in self-defence class.” You took a bite of the toast.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Are you out of jam?”

“Forgot to grab some yesterday, but I didn’t forget your limes.”

Simon became a bit of a pie connoisseur. He figured baking was better than sparring with the intention of beating someone up to a pulp. He tried different fruits (even declared himself a pro at peeling) and techniques, and eventually other varieties. That late Saturday morning, it was key lime pie.

“Why’s the cat so small?” you asked as you tied your kitty apron around his waist.

“Why?”

“Because it drank condensed milk.”

He liked that you were becoming more like him. “You too, it seems.”

You mock gasped. “Rude! You know I can take you, Si.”

“Not in a fight.”

You slapped his chest playfully earning a hearty laugh from him.

Volunteering at the soup kitchen became a regular occurrence too, along with his sergeants. Sam ended up dating one of the volunteers’ daughters, the one he was introduced to. Unfortunately, his two other sergeants hadn’t had as much luck on their side. ‘Does your birdie have sisters or friends, sir?’ Eric joked, but it barely masked his hopefulness. You assured you’d ask around if they promised to keep each other safe while deployed.

It got hard at times, when things went sideways and the missions lasted longer, or when he had no way to contact you or wipe the tears off your face.

Somewhere along the way, Simon listed you as his emergency contact. You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Not this soon, not from his captain calling you about how he was unconscious, dying from blood loss from getting his leg slashed.

The first thing he did when he astonishingly woke was to call you. He could ignore the sear on his thigh, or the fact that his eyelids weighed like lead, but not the guilt that sank into the pits of him when you were in a mess of tears.

“I’m so sorry, luv,” he croaked out of his throat that felt like sandpaper. “I mean it. I’ll leave this all behind if that’s what it takes to keep you. You just have to say the word.”

“Si, you don’t... always have to bend yourself backwards for others. I chose you for who you are, and I will keep choosing you, as long as you don’t give up on this. On us.” You sniffled. “Please come home soon. I need you with me.”

Simon was glad you stood by his decision to stay, because that afternoon a year after, as the major pinned on the new insignia onto his uniform, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the mass erupted in applause.

Captain Simon Riley.

Among the crowd, next to Tommy and Beth, her belly carrying his niece, you had your arm around his mum, Joe’s hand in yours. From across the room, your sincere eyes made him feel like a hero, the most desirable man. He knew he wasn’t, but you looked at him like he was sunshine, and maybe, he was to you a little bit.

Nothing changed. Simon was still fatherless, still missed out on the memories a child deserved to have, but was never granted. Still bound to a past that wouldn’t go, but he was more than that.

He thought his dad was the only thing standing in the way of happiness, whatever it meant. He knew now. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted, wasn’t what he imagined, but it was perfect. This was what it was supposed to be like all along.

“For you,” he mouthed.

Simon Riley never wanted to be an oil painting admired by many, but he was, and always had been, a love note sealed with a kiss.

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :) I greatly appreciate the support and kind words this little story has received. Take care!

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