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[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - part fifteen.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 5178| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: unprotected sex! Praise, and riding.

A/N: Hi! I am so sorry for dissapearing for a little while, the first surgery wasn't succesful and then they had to do another surgery, which I am still recovering from, and on top of that, I am graduating this year! And the deadline for all my papers, exams, the whole shebang is tomorrow, so I have been working my ass off, but everything is submitted, so I hopefully have some time again to start writing more.

Simon had never been the one to worry about deployments, or missions. After all, all he had to care for, was his own life. And Simon was more than happy to sacrifice his own life, if  that meant dying for a good cause.

But now he had you.

He couldn’t really explain it, not even to himself. Of course he had worried about you, when the two of you were just friends, when he had just this secret longing for you. But this was different, so incredibly different. Now you were his, now he had to provide, to make sure that you were safe, that nothing could happen to you.

The fact that he couldn’t be in control of that, drove him insane.

Simon found himself clinging on to whatever little information he could get during your mission. He knew the rules, he knew protocol, but even then, he found himself wanted more, needing more information, the lack of it brought a knot to his stomach.

The homemade Halloween masks mocked him every time he looked at them, repeating your words in his mind, repeating how he had overreacted to such a small thing, and just the idea of that being one of your lasts arguments be over something this silly, it would break his heart into more pieces than one.

He knows about the missions, about deployments, he has been on missions where there was little to no communication, so the rational part of him told him to stop his worries, to just carry on, surely the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to rip you away from him, right?

Right?

The nightmares had been starting to come back, the same nightmares he had tried to tuck away in the back of his mind so carefully. It seemed that his body decided to go all out by the slightest trace of stress and worry, keeping him up.

The night he had to spend without you, was a night without any sleep, and when they told him that all communication was lost, he felt like throwing up.

He couldn’t stand to look at the home made masks, he couldn’t stand to look at his costume, at your costume, because they made the thought of having to celebrate Halloween without you all too real, and that was something that he wasn’t ready for.

The word got out that your squad got caught in a crossfire no one had predicted, and Simon didn’t know how to cope, he didn’t know how to act, react.

So he isolates himself.

His hands are steady when he holds one of the masks you had made with him. His hands are steady, but his bottom lip isn’t. The white paint that is supposed to act as a base, gets mixed with his tears, but not a single sound escapes him. His mind is in war with his heart, and Simon is just a man.

His mind is telling him to behave, to stop feeling so damn much, it is telling him that he is a stupid fool for opening up again to love, it is telling him that this is what he could have expected.

But his heart is begging him to keep himself open, to let people in again, that potentially losing you might feel like the end of the world, but to be hurt, is to be human.

To be hurt, is to be human.

Fuck being human.

This is exactly why he had joined the army, why feelings, friendships aren’t in the field manual.

He wipes away his tears aggressively, focussing on the task ahead. He was a soldier, he could put his feelings to the side to complete his task, even though his task was something as simple as painting some paper mâché masks.  

The tip of his tongue finds its way between his lips while he paints with precision, he knows that he is allowed to mess up, that he is allowed to not be perfect, but he can’t help, he just has to strive to perfection and nothing less.

While the white paint on the first mask dries, Simon moves over to the second one, putting that base layer on there too. It works, no longer is he anxiously thinking about you, and the possibility of you not returning to him.

The moment the white layer on the second mask is done, he checks the first mask again, the paint is dry enough for his liking, but the moment he paint the black lines on the white paint, it bleeds a little and he curses under his breath. The skull of the punisher doesn’t have lines like his, but he decides to roll with it anyway, and if it doesn’t work, he always has the other two.

Once he is done with the first mask, he places it down carefully, wiping the paint on his fingers on his sweatpants. A loud knock startled him and before he can react the loud voice of his commander can be heard.

“They’re back!”

You’re back.  

The anxious feeling in his stomach returns and he doesn’t even bother changing in to his uniform again, he is going to see you again. You’re going to be close to him again, he is going to smell you again, hold you again, kiss you again.

He elbows his way through the ground of soldiers that had started to swarm around the helicopter, and he recognized your squad mates, some of them looked okay, others were badly bruised and battered during this mission.

His chest tightens when he can’t seem to find you in the crowd. His eyes darting around, desperately trying to see even a glimpse of you.

His heart stops when he spots you.

You look tired, exhausted even, a few scrapes on your face. But you’re alive.

Thank God, you’re alive.

He moves to the front of the crowd, holding out his hand to you, pulling you closer to him, and Simon doesn’t give two shits about who might see the two of you.

You’re here, you’re safe.

“How’re you feeling, lovie?” He murmured softly, and all you can do is flash him a tired smile. During your mission you were certain that it would be your final one, but it seemed as if the heavens above granted you one more chance.

“Tired.” You eventually manage to bring out, and Simon can see it in your eyes. A quick kiss gets pressed on your forehead, before his hand guides you through the crowd.

You’re too tired to even protest, to even say anything, so you just let him drag you along, pulling you through the crowd.

Right before the door of his quarters, Simon comes to a stop. “You should get that checked out.” He murmurs, as he slowly, but gently brushes his thumb against one of the scratches on your face.

“Field medic already looked at it, it’s fine.” You counter, and truth be told, it is just a little scratch, nothing to go to the infirmary for, nothing to get medical attention for.

But to Simon it’s different, even though you’re back, the worry isn’t out of his system just yet. But he knows better than to argue with you, he knows better than to force you to do something you really don’t want to do.

“Fine.” He sighs in defeat. “But I’m dragged you there by the first sign of infection.”

Part of you just want to go to your own quarters, to take a shower and just sleep, sleep until your bones stop aching and your eyes no longer burn.

But God, you’re happy to see him again, so you let him have this little moment.

He opens his door, gently pushing you inside, before he disappears into the bathroom, coming back with a hairbrush and conditioner. Your hair had become knotted and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw his intentions.

Simon sat down on his bed, tossing his pillow on the floor, so you could sit on it. You groaned loudly when sitting down between his legs.

No words were needing during moments like these, and that was something that warmed your heard more than you would like to admit.

His hands were surprisingly gentle, squirting some conditioner on his hands, raking it through your hair, before he gently began to brush out the knots, working his way from the bottom to the top. It’s a soothing motion, really, and he continued to brush, even when all the knots were out of your hair, the soft bristles of the brush gently scratching your scalp. It was soothing enough to make you all drowsy.

“Hm?” The soft noise escaped your lips when he helped you get up. Your hair was free of knots, but it had gotten greasy, and without saying anything, Simon guided you to the bathroom. His hands were surprisingly nimble as he slowly took of your uniform, and while it was intimate, it wasn’t erotic.

You leaned on him, and he let you, trying his best to support your full weight. His hands cup your face, and he presses another kiss on your forehead.

“Can you stand by yourself?”

“Mhm.”

He kneels down, taking off your boots for you, while you hold his shoulder to keep your balance, while on his knees, he slowly takes off your pants, the belt buckle makes a loud noise when it falls down on the floor, his fingers trace over the border of your panties, and by the Gods would he love to pull them down and eat like a starved man, but you’re tired and he isn’t a pervert.

His thumbs pull your panties down, and when you’re fully bare, he gets up again, taking a good look, to see if he has missed any injuries, anything you might’ve kept hidden. The only things he finds are bruises, nothing too crazy, and he lets out a soft hum.

Simon turns on the shower, while his hand rests on your shoulder, and when the water is a nice temperature, he urges you to step into the steady stream of water.

“Close your eyes.” He whispers, and you almost can’t hear him over the water, but you do as he asks you to, closing your eyes, putting all your trust in him.

He takes the showerhead, rinsing out the conditioner as well as he can, before he lathers his shampoo between his hands. You try to ignore the fact that he uses six-in-one shampoo, and it’s his bodywash, but the gesture is sweet. Simon hums softly when he massages the shampoo on to your scalp, and he tries to put just the perfect amount of pressure on your scalp. You sigh softly, your eyes still closed, as you lean towards him, and Simon takes this as a good sign, a sign that he is making you feel better.

He rinses out the shampoo, as best as he can, usually, with himself, he is a lot rougher, normally he would rag his fingertips over his scalp, and he would call it a day, but with you, with you he tries to be gentle.

When he is certain that every bubble of shampoo is rinsed out of your hair, he lathers his bodywash, which is the same as his shampoo, and lathers it against a washcloth, and he begins to cleanse your body.

It’s nice, you don’t have to do anything, and his touch is soothing. His hands linger a little longer on your breasts and ass, but that just brings out a smile on your face, and Simon keeps it to that touch, he doesn’t feel the need to grope or squeeze anything else.

With hot water, he rinses the soap from your body, and he turns off the shower, wrapping you in the largest and fluffiest towel he owns. He scrunched the water out of you hair, and when you open your eyes again, you see a look of utter concentration on his face.

“Feeling better?” He asks, as his thumb runs over your cheek. You just nod, and you sigh when you see his wet shirt. “Careful you don’t catch a cold.” You mutter softly, and as an answer, Simon takes off his shirt in a swift motion, tossing it on the floor.

Without saying anything else, he takes the towel off your body, making sure that every nook and cranny is dried, before he guides you to his room again.

He rummages through his drawers, fishing out one of his boxershorts for you to wear, and to your surprise, they fit you, they’re not cute and oversized, his fucking boxers fit you, but hey, that’s a problem for another day.

Simon kicks off his own boots, and his own pants, before he pulls you onto his bed with him, he’s excited to be next to you again, to sleep next to you again, to feel your soft warm skin again.

So once you’re comfortable, he buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling you.

“Missed you.” He murmured softly.

“I missed you too.”

His fingers run through your hair, and he can tell that you struggle to keep your eyes open, he lifts his head, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Go to sleep.” He whispers. “I’ll be here all night.”

You want to protest, to talk to him, but he is right, you’re tired, too tired to keep your eyes open, so you snuggle up against him, letting out one more content sigh, before you fall asleep.

Simon just watches you for a while, until you finally turn to your other side, creating a little bit of distance, and he takes it as a sign to go to sleep too.

And this night, the nightmares are nowhere to be found.

~~

Simon is the first to wake up, it seems that you need to sleep a little more. You’re a sight to behold, in his eyes that is. Sure, you’re drooling a little, and your hair is a mess. But you look so peaceful, with the gentle sunrays shining on your face.

He has to be at his training, but he decides to let you sleep, turning off his alarm, before he exits his bed in the most quiets and gentle way he can muster.

He holds his breath when you turn in your sleep, and he can finally release it when he hears your snore.

Even when he takes his shower, and puts on his uniform, he tries to be as quiet as possible, and once he has to leave, he is a little torn, but eventually he presses a kiss on your temple, before he leaves the room.

He notices that he is a lot more relaxed now that you’re home, and his training goes well. In fact his whole day goes so well, he realizes he has to rush to get changed into his Halloween costume. It’s a fun sight, the base is crowded with vampires, witches, sexy nurses.

He swings his door open, and he smiles when he sees you all dressed up as Katniss Everdeen, the scratches and bruises only add to your look.

He pressed a kiss on your lips, holding you a little too tight. “Missed ya today.”

“Missed you too.”

He gets out of his uniform, changing in to some black jeans, his Punisher shirt, a black, leather coat, and of course the paper mâché mask. The paintjob isn’t perfect, but that bothers him less than he would like to admit.

Simon takes off the mask. “It scratches my face.” He grumbles, a little annoyed that his idea isn’t working out the way he wants it to work out. In return you rummage through his drawers, eventually holding up a black balaclava. “Wear this underneath.”

His eyes light up, and he does as he’s told.

The look suits him, and if you don’t know him well, you won’t recognize him, just what he was aiming for.

Simon holds out his hand to you, ready to go trick or treating.

~~

Well, it turns out that trick or treating sucks when you’re an adult, the streets are busy, and a lot of houses weren’t very approving of two adults visiting, so eventually, you and Simon decided to go back.

The party back at the base isn’t a success either, it’s hot, people are drunk, annoyingly drunk, and neither of you are in the mood for this type of thing.

"Ugh, that was awful," Simon groans, dropping down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Not focusing too much on his actions, Simon spreads his arms over the back of the couch. Then he shifts his hips, pressing them forward slightly.

You roll your eyes at him, as you take in his position. God, it would be stupid to make a move now, someone could walk in at any moment, but he just looks so good.

You walked over to him, hips swaying with every step you took. You positioned yourself on his lap, gently taking off the mask you had made with him, the black balaclava following directly.  "You're so dramatic."

Simon watches you with a slight smirk under his mask, taking it in as you get closer and move your way into his lap. He's enjoying this. It almost seems like you're putting on a show for him.

"I'm not the one who's all gussied up for the party," he says, his voice low and gruff. "What's this I see before me, a temptress or Katniss Everdeen?"

"Whatever you want me to be." You whispered in his ear, right before your lips found the soft skin on his neck. Your hands wandered up his chest, feeling the warm skin underneath the fabric. You knew your teammates could walk into the common room, but that would all be part of the thrill.

"Well, I think I'll have you be a temptress," Simon replies, leaning his head back to give you more access. As your lips find his neck, he shivers slightly, a slight moan escaping his lips. If a teammate does come into the room, it's just going to make this moment all the more steamy.

Your hips roll against his, and you can feel his bulge starting to grow. "Hm. You're being a bad soldier right now." You whispered in his ear, before you let your lips caress the soft skin on his throat. "You looked so good tonight." You murmured against his throat, and he truly did, that mask, in combination with that black leather coat, and the shirt that was a little too tight? God, he looked delicious.

"Oh, I know I look good," Simon replies, his heartbeat quickly quickening as your lips kiss his neck and your body grinds against him. "But right now, I'm being a bad, bad soldier. Can you handle that?" he adds, moaning softly in your ear.

You chuckled softly in response, his moans sounded like music in your ears. Maybe this would be the time to explore a thing or two.  "Do you know what I do with bad soldiers?" You whispered in his ear.

"I punish them." You added in a soft whisper. "Make them crave me so bad it hurts."

Simon groans softly, his body trembling slightly as you whisper your words into his ear. You don't have any idea just how much he craves you already. "And just how do you punish them?" he asks, his fingers gently caressing your hips.

Your tongue caressed a soft spot on his neck before you bit down on it. Not enough to hurt, but enough to drive him crazy.

"Maybe I'll grind myself on your thigh, make myself cum, and you're not allowed to touch me, or yourself. Just watching." You purred in his ear. "Or maybe, I'll use you as a personal toy, only caring about my pleasure."

"God, your words are sending me over the edge," Simon mumbles, his breath becoming heavy. "Just let me touch you," he begs, his body shuddering and his throat tightening as he feels your body moving against his.

It’s clear how much this is turning him on, and that alone is enough to get you turned on as well.

"You're being so bad." You purred in his ear. "Begging me, being my little toy, all while our teammates could walk in any second." You pull his hands off your body. "You're only allowed to touch me when I tell you to. And right now, you keep your hands to yourself."

Simon shivers at those words, his body starting to tense up. He hates the feeling of not being able to touch you. He wants to grab you and pull you against him, wanting to feel your body pressed tightly against his.

He hates this. But he loves it even more.

"Fine, I'll be your good boy," he says, leaning back against the couch as he crosses his arms together and leans back, letting out a heavy sigh. He's enjoying this.

"That's a good boy." You chuckled, as you grinded your hips against him, again. "Who knows." You continued. "I might even deny you everything until you beg me."

"Or." You leans forward, your lips close to his ear. "I'll edge you until you can't take it anymore."

"You're a tease," Simon whispers, his body now wracking in anticipation as his hips involuntarily move against yours. The pressure building deep within him as your body presses against his. "How could you be so cruel? I'm just a helpless soldier in your hands," he adds, biting his lip to stifle any moans that might slip out.

 "A helpless soldier." You repeat. "Maybe I just love to torture helpless, bad soldiers." Your hand goes to his belt buckle, your fingertips caressing the metal.

"How bad do you need me?" You whispered, before you press your lips against his skin again.

"God, you're driving me crazy," Simon breathes out, his fingers twitching and clenching into fists as your lips press against his neck. "I need you so bad," he moans quietly, resisting the urge to grip your hair and pull you closer. "Just the way you want me to, too." he adds, shifting his hips and grinding against you.

"So needy." You purred. "So impatient."

You are slow when you finally unbuckled his belt, your fingertips teasing the edge of his boxers.

"It isn't fair," Simon whispers, his fingers gripping the sofa behind him tightly as he fights to stay still. "You're taking your sweet time with me. I'm going to lose my mind, lovie."

"Please," he moans quietly, closing his eyes and trying to focus. He wants you so bad, but his willpower is starting to falter.

"Oh poor baby." You coo'd, as you finally pulled his boxers down. It didn't take long for your to pull your panties to the side and straddle him, your soft thighs on each side of his hips.

"You've been behaving so well." You whispered. "Maybe I'll give you a reward."

"I can't take this anymore," Simon whispers, as you straddling his hips has him nearly out of control.

You're going to drive him completely crazy.

"Give me that reward," he says, his voice husky and low as he stares back at you, his breaths growing heavier.

"Tut, tut." You teased him. "I only give rewards to boys who ask nicely."

You kissed his lips, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth before you pulled back.

"So beg me."

"Please," he begs, his voice low and husky as you taunt him. Never in a million years, would he have expected to be in this situation, and to be enjoying it too.

"Please, give me that reward. I need it so bad."

He squirms underneath you, his body tense as he feels like he's about to lose control again. He can feel his muscles twitching as he struggles not to make a single sound. His dick is so close to you, yet so far.

"Stay quiet." You whispered against his lips, before you rolled your hips again, your hips lifting slightly, and Simon took his chance, bucking his hips upwards, guiding his cock into your tight, wet cunt.  Your head tilted back, and you had to bite your lip to hold back a moan.

"Be a good boy and stay quiet, or our team will hear us."

"You're amazing," Simon whispers, his breathing growing heavier as he tries to focus on staying quiet. But it’s not easy, not when you feel so fucking good around him.

You're moving just the right way to make it impossible for him to maintain his composure. It's nearly impossible for him to keep his breath from escaping his lips.

"You're driving me crazy," he says, leaning his head back against the sofa. This was the first time he'd ever been this submissive -- and he loves it.

You quicken your pace while you kisses his throat. He gives you the perfect opportunity with his head leaning back like that.

"I love you." You whispered softly before kissing his neck again

Simon groans under his breath as you kiss his neck, his body shuddering as he feels the pleasure rise through him.

"Keep going," he whispers, his eyes shutting and his back arching. "I'm going to lose any control I have left."

His voice is soft and low as he bites his lip again, desperately trying to keep the sounds in.

Your hand went to his throat, softly squeezing it as you were riding him. “I told you I love you."

"Fuck, you look so handsome like this." You can tell he is struggling to keep his sounds in, and it's so incredibly hot.

Your hand on his throat is sending him completely over the edge. You have no idea just how much this is pleasing him beyond words. “I love you too.” He whimpered in response.

He looks at you with such intensity that his eyes have become wide with desire, as he looks so deeply into your eyes. You're making him helpless. Making him a mess. There’s nothing he can do to stop you from taking full advantage of him.

"You fill me up so well." You whispered softly before you looked at him again. Your hand went to his chest, as you was riding him. "So good."

You can tell just how much you're dominating him as he squirms underneath you.

He's at your mercy; no words to say other than what you allow him. "Keep going," he whispers, moving in rhythm with you. "Please ... Just keep going."

You grin at him, your fingers trailing over his throat. "And what if I don't?" You whispered. "What if I deny you? Edge you?"

Simon can barely breathe as he feels you tease him. You're so damn good at this, so damn good at taking charge. "Please," he whispers, his breath becoming heavy as his heart pounds in this chest and every muscle in his body tenses. "I couldn't handle an edge right now."

You cup his face with your hands, pressing your lips against his as you let yourself sink down on him, so you can capture his moans between your lips.

"Just because you've been such a good boy." You whispered in between kisses. "I'll give you your orgasm."

"Thank God!" he whispers. The idea of edging him is so hot to him, but he's never actually experienced it before.

His lips meet yours as you both moan and breathe heavily into each other, your bodies now tightly locked together. The heat of the moment drives Simon's desires out of control as his hands grasp your thighs tightly, and he begins to move in rhythm with you.

Oh, this is the most amazing thing he's ever felt.

But you can't help it. The idea of edging his is so arousing. So you bring your hips to a halt, giving him a grin.

"Such a pretty boy." You murmured before you kissed him again. You could feel him squirm underneath you. "Tell me how bad you want me to continue again."

Your words are so damn tempting as you pulls away from him. It takes everything in him not to grab your hips and force you to start riding him again. In this moment, he is willing to do absolutely anything you says if it means you'll start going again.

"Please," he whispers, his voice now quivering with desire. "Keep going. Please. I can't take this anymore. I want you, I need you."

Turned out that you loved it when he begged, and for a second you thought about refusing him. But how could you when he was begging so pretty?

Your hips began to move again, awfully slow.

"Like this?" You asked, tilting your head. "Or do I need to go faster?"

Oh, that's it. That's all he needed. Your words alone are enough to make him crazy, but then your body begins to move like that ... You were driving him completely crazy.

"Faster," he whispers, his breath becoming heavy once more. "I can't take much more," he adds in between moans, squeezing his eyes shut as the pleasure builds within him, even the slow pace is enough to tilt him over the edge.

"You've been so good." You whispered in his ear. "So you deserve to let go." You whispered in his ear. "Just be quiet. We don't want the team to find out that you're such a good boy for me." Your hips begin to move faster, your hands resting on his knees for support.

Oh, the way you're whispering into his ears. The way your hands are gently gripping his knees. The way your hips are now moving against his body.

He was just about at the breaking point. He could worship every single thing about you.

"You're going to make me-" his voice cuts off as he lets out a muffled moan, his body tightening as he shudders underneath you.

Your eyes roll back as you feel it too, your hips moving faster against him. His hands grip your thighs tightly and he cums, it’s to intense that he needs a second to catch his breath.

You look absolutely beautiful right now. The pink on your cheeks, the way you're panting and trying to catch your breath.

The way you look at him is enough to make his heart race 100 miles per hour. "Oh, God," he says, his breath catching in his throat and his body shivering with pleasure. "I've got nothing left. I'm a mess."

You pressed a kiss on his lips before you smiled at him. "Now that’s a good end after a shitty Halloween party."

"The absolute best," he laughs softly as his muscles loosen up and his body stops trembling.

He is a bit self-conscious of the fact that he let you have so much control over him, but for now he's just basking in this afterglow. He looks completely relaxed.

"Happy Halloween, lovie," he adds with a mischievous grin.

[codfanficedits]

hope ur doing well and have a speedy recovery :)

Thank you! It went to shit so they had to redo it, but I lived through it!

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part fourteen

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2160 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: Simon discovers a sexual side of himself, but it is just mentioned briefly

A/N: Survived my surgery, still in a lot of pain, but I lived, bitches.

Feel.

How is one supposed to just feel, to just experience these feelings? Simon didn’t know how, but he decided to just roll with it. His face gets buried into your abdomen, his tears staining your shirt.

“I.. I..” His voice dies down for a second. “God it feels so silly.” Simon said, trying to ease the tension he was feeling, yet he didn’t let go off you for a single second.

A safe haven, an anchor, the light that guided him in the darkness. God he loved you more than anything.

A few deep breaths and he wipes away his tears. “So, how long does this stuff needs to dry for?” He asks, trying to change the subject.

“Around a day.” You answer and Simon has to think for a little.

“But tomorrow we’re both on duty.”  He said. “And once we’re both done, it’s only one more night until Halloween.”

“Seems like you can still count, Riley.” You chuckle, wiping the last of his tears away with your thumb. “I’m scheduled for training the upcoming days, and it’s supposed to be a tough one, so you might have to start painting without me.”

“But what if I fuck up?” In his stomach an uneasy feeling begins to grow, what if he messed up your hard work?

“What if you don’t fuck up?” You counter. “We made three masks, the world won’t decay if one doesn’t turn out the way we wanted. Hell, the world will even keep spinning if all three don’t end up the way we want them to. They’re masks, for Halloween, they don’t have to be perfect.”

His brows knit together, and it feels like silly words, because everything he does needs to be perfect, and it goes against his nature to not deliver perfect work.

Being as close to perfect as he could had provided him with praise of his teacher, and later on his superiors, what would he be without that kind of praise?

It was almost funny to see, a big, burly soldier, who could be arrogant at times, was secretly so insecure of who he was. Pretending to not care, only to thrive of the praise of others.

Your hand grips his chin and you force him to look up at you again.

“It doesn’t matter if it is perfect, it matters if you’re happy with it.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Simon protests softly. “But it isn’t easy.”

“I know, I know.” Your hand goes through his hair again. “But I’m there with you, every step of the way.”

Simon has to swallow a lump in his throat, the uneasy feeling in his stomach takes over his lungs, his heart, his brain. “Why do you do this?” He asks

“Why do I do what?” You ask, unsure what is going through his mind.

“You know I am broken, yet you still stay with me, trying to fix me.” He said, not understanding why you would put up with someone like him.

“That is where you’re wrong.” You chuckle, and Simon can feel his stomach drop fully. “I’m not with you, to fix you.” You add. “I fell in love with you while you were broken, and I didn’t fall in love with you to fix you.”

His head feels like it is spinning while he tries to listen to you. You loved him, even while he was broken? Of course he had heard you say it before, of course he believed you, but hearing you say it like this? Well, that made his heart beat even faster.

“I can be alongside you, I can be there while you try to figure it out yourself, but I love you, just the way you are.” You add.

“Even when I am like this?” He asks.

“Even when you’re like this.” You confirm.

God, how he loved you. How he would only ever love you.

It was okay to be him. No matter how hard life would be, no matter how difficult it could be.

Simon tightens his grip around you and his face gets buried against you again, he needs to feel your touch, worried that you aren’t real, and he can’t stand the idea of ever losing you.

Your fingers weave through his hair again, and Simon groans content. “You know.” He said with a chuckle. “I could easily get used to this, and never let you go.”

You laugh at his words. “That is not very soldierlike of you.”

“The army can suck my ass.” He mutters.

And it’s funny, the army had been his escape from life, his ticket out. But right now? Right now the thought of putting you in danger, of putting himself in danger felt like the worst thing that could happen and Simon didn’t want to risk it, because losing you would feel like he would have nothing left. Nothing more to give.

“Bollocks.” You chuckle. “You’re a good soldier, Simon, you can get really far if you want to.”

“Yeah? And what if I don’t want to?” Simon counters while he looks up at him, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.

“Then I would suggest to stop giving it your all and to be just as mediocre as the rest of us.” You said as your answer.

“Hmpf.” Simon is a little torn, he wanted nothing more than to succeed, to become the very best, but on the other hand.. He knew he was being too forward, that he was thinking about the future too much, but domestic life was starting to call out to him too. Just with you though, he couldn’t see himself do this with anyone else.

“What about you?” He asks, eyes locking with yours.

You have to think about it for a little bit, your fingertips tapping on his scalp while you try to think of what you really want. Usually you would just go with the flow, not trying to think too much ahead, but even you had some dreams you wanted to fulfil in the army.

“I think I would eventually like to become a lieutenant.” You answer. “I feel as if that would be the perfect balance between having ownership and responsibility and still having to report to people.”

Now that was something Simon had not expected, you seemed to have put some thought into this. A smirk tugs around his lips and finally releases you from his hold, giving you a quick peck on your lips. “My, my.” He chuckled. “Who knows, I might even have to start to obey you.”

“Who knows,” you counter. “I might even have to start to punish naughty soldiers.”

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

That was trouble.

Simon never knew about this side of him. The sudden jolt of heat that started to course through his veins. He clears his throat, unable to look you in your eyes. “Who knows.” He mumbles.

Of course you pick up his cues, they’re not even that subtle. You use your pointer and middle finger to lift his chin up. “What’s the matter? Use your words, pretty boy.”

Simon has to swallow hard, his throat feeling dry. Pretty boy. He was a soldier for crying out loud.

Well, it turned out he was a soldier with a preference to be called a pretty boy.

He hated how he could feel his cheeks starting to get hot, and he knew he was starting to blush like crazy. This would’ve been the perfect time to shut down again. He was a soldier, he was a man, he was rough, though. He was supposed to be dominant, he was supposed to be in charge. But here he was, mere seconds away from begging you on his knees. It made him feel vulnerable, and he hated that, but at the same time, it did make him feel safe that it was with you. You were the only person who wouldn’t judge him for this, at least, that is what he hoped.

“Maybe.” He whispered. “Maybe I would like to be your naughty soldier.”

A grin formed on your face, as you run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Is that so?”

And Simon nods before you’re done speaking. God, yes.

“Maybe.” You whisper, as you push your thumb between his lips. “Maybe we can arrange that.”

Simon knows what to do, and his tongue moves almost on instinct, swirling around your thumb.

“But not now.” You add. “I want to talk about it first. I want to get us a safe word, I want to do it when we’re both feeling good. Not right before our duty.”

He nods, your thumbs still in his mouth, this tongue still twirling around your digit. He is just really relieved you’re open to this, than you don’t find this weird, and by the way you’re looking at him, you’re into this too.

A soft whimper leaves his lips when you pull your thumb back, and he clears his throat immediately. “Yeah, no.” He said, trying to sound gruff. “We definitely need to talk about this first.”

Simon gets up from his seat, and he presses a kiss on your forehead. “I’m really lucky to have you.” He whispers, right before his lips gets pressed against your forehead again.

“I’m really lucky to have you too.” You murmur, closing your eyes for a brief second, savouring the sweet kiss.

A part of you was a little worried about your upcoming duty, you knew it would take a lot of your energy, and part of you wanted some alone time to prepare for duty, but at the same time, you wanted to stay with him. Spend as much time as you could together, before you would go back to being ‘just friends’ for the outside world.

“C’me on.” His voice reaches your ear. “Tell me what is going on in that pretty, little head of yours.”

“Well.” You said, with a sigh. “I have two things on my mind.”

Simon places a hand on the small of your back, holding you close to him. “Tell me, lovie. I can’t guess what’s going on.”

“When do you want us to become a public couple?” The words leave your lips before you can stop it.

Simon sighs, before you were his, he wanted to see you in his hoodie, he wanted other men to know that you were his. But now that he had you, he realized that there was some.. weakness to that. He didn’t want you to be considered leverage, he didn’t want any of you to get into trouble.

“I don’t know.” He muttered truthfully. “I.. Maybe I would like to wait a little longer.”

You nod, agreeing with his words, your love was still young, still fragile, it would be better to wait a little longer before going public. “Let’s just wait until people start to notice.” You propose, and Simon smiles at those words.

“Yeah, let’s wait until then.” He agrees, kissing your forehead again. “Don’t think I don’t want people to know about us.” He clarifies. “I just want to wait a little longer. That is all.”

It’s funny how it didn’t even cross your mind that he didn’t want to be seen with you, and for a brief second you could feel a new fear unlocking. “Yeah, no, sure.””  You agree, but your voice is a little unsteady.

Simon, however, does not pick up on your little hint, and you don’t have it in you to tell him straight away.

“What’s the other thing on your mind?” He asks.

Well, all you wanted now was to be left alone, to let your own thoughts linger in your head a little, maybe you were just overthinking this, maybe you just needed a nap and some food in order to sort yourself out.

“Well.”  You say, forcing a smile on your face. “We’re both on duty tomorrow, and I usually spend some time alone, so I can get some rest, so I can prepare, you know.”

Simon pushes away any sort of insecurity, he remembers the fight the two of you had because of this, and he doesn’t want to do that again. “I did nothing wrong?” He blurts out, and it does sound more desperate than he wants it to sound.

You shake your head. “Of course not. It is just my own little ritual, you did nothing wrong. I just want to prevent getting overwhelmed during duty.”

He could live with that, and he releases the tension in his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll find me if something happens, okay? If you have a nightmare or what not. I’m here.”

“I promise.”

Simon’s lips find yours after your little promise, and a very small part of him hopes he can keep you for a little longer, but he knows you need the time for yourself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, after the kiss.

“See you tomorrow.”

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part thirteen

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2050| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: mentioning of childhood abuse, an attempt at a decent conversation

A/N: As a true fanfic writer, I have been scheduled to a surgery and I'll be most likely to go MIA for a few weeks while I recover, I'm sorry!

Simon knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. He knew it wasn’t your fault, he knew you didn’t raise him to be like this. But in that split second, he couldn’t stop it, his mind was so overwhelmed that he had lashed out.

‘I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite.’ The quote he had once heard fills his mind, Simon didn’t want to be a violent dog, never wanted to be one, he saw what had happened to violent dogs. But if you mistreat a dog long enough, if you beat a dog long enough. It will only know violence.

His mind is running wild and once more Simon doesn’t know what to do, he could feel you freeze up in his lap, and he doesn’t know if he should wrap his arms around you, beg you for forgiveness, tell you he didn’t mean to, but that he panicked? Or should he keep true to his word, really kick you out and deal with the consequences, he could always make it up to you later.

And oh God. Dear fucking God.

What if you get tired of this? What if he is more broken than you though he would be and what if you grow sick of it? What if you see him for who he really is? A broken boy, with no clue who he really is, just trying to mend his personality to the people he deemed special, so they won’t leave him? A broken boy, who has been hurt so many times before, that he felt as if he wasn’t worthy of attention ever again, especially yours.

A broken boy, who is so angry at the world, because everybody saw what was happening, and nobody tried to stop it.

And those boys live together, making Simon who he is in this moment. All of them together are trying to fight to keep him as safe as they can. And you. You’re dangerously close, you can make him feel vulnerable and that is something Simon struggles with. It goes against who he thought he was.

But maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to tear those walls down a little bit, to let you in a little bit. Maybe he could allow you to be the guiding moon in the darkness of his mind.

For Simon, this feels like an eternity, while in reality, his little snapping wasn’t more than a few seconds ago.

You blink, once, twice. What the fuck just happened? How did he go from being so.. so.. happy to whatever the fuck this was?

You’re stunned, the way he switched up so fast wasn’t something you were used to.

And his eyes betrayed him. They betrayed how he really felt, they betrayed the turmoil of emotions within. They couldn’t hide the storm that he felt, and you noticed, you could see right through those eyes.

But you weren’t put on this earth to change him, to fix him, to pick up the pieces others had caused and glued them back on. That wasn’t what you were made for, no matter what you had been told.

Of course you felt sympathy for what had happened, of course no one should’ve been raised the way he had been raised, but it was a reason for his behaviour, not an excuse.

“What the fuck, Simon.”

And Simon winces from your harsh words, a sinking feeling in his gut when he realizes he might not get away with this type of behaviour. He wants to open his mouth, to come up with a thousand different excuses as to why he had acted the way he did. But he gets shushed by you.

“No, you listen.” You say, warning him. “We just agreed we have to communicate more, we just agreed to let each other in, and here you are, shutting me out again. You can’t demand that I share my feelings with you, that I share my thoughts with you when things get me overwhelmed, only for you to shut me out.��� You get off his lap, feeling that your words don’t have as much power when you’re sitting down. And maybe going for the attack wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but you were only human too.

“You don’t know how it is.” Simon muttered.

“Then tell me how it is!” You didn’t want to raise your voice, but it happened anyway, the frustration getting the best of you.

Simon shuts down again, how could he possible explain what is going on inside of him, when he himself doesn’t fully understand what is happening? And on top of that, how is he supposed to share his feelings. He is a man, and men are not supposed to be soft, to be caring, to be sweet, that is not what he has been taught. And how could one man go against the generational trauma that has bestowed upon him?

“Simon.” You sigh his name and it sounds so sweet to him. “I will never be able to fully understand what you went through, I will never be able to say that I get how you feel, because my upbringing has been so different than yours. But, if you shut me out completely, I will never understand even the slightest part of you, and we can’t have that, not if we want to make us work. So please, for the love of God, don’t shut me out.”

His mind is running, and he is unable to fully comprehend what is happening, his mind is screaming one thing, to brush this off, to snap at you again, to tell you to shut up, but the other part, the part that wants to heal, is begging him to let you in.

The difficult thing about healing, is that it takes place outside of someone’s comfort zone.

And being abused means that Simon has been out of his comfort zone for most of his life, and it’s a battle, a struggle, to give up that comfort zone again, now that he has finally found it. His throat feels dry, no matter how often he swallows, he has to make a choice and he hates that he can’t have a little preview about the outcome of his choice would be, and that alone makes him doubt it all even more.

“I..” His voice drowns out, how should he phrase this? Hell, he doesn’t even know what he wants to say himself. “Scared.”

It seems like you would have to lead this conversation.

You lean against his dresser, trying to let your rational side speak and not your heart. “What are you scared of?”

What was he scared of? Losing you, losing himself, being himself, not being himself. Existing while others had made sure he was broken.

“I.. It’s a conflict.” He eventually managed to say, and he is silently pleading for you to be content with this information.

“A conflict between what?” You try not to let your patience wear thin, you know he can’t help it, you know it isn’t his fault, although you still feel as if his reaction is his responsibility.

Simon fidgets with his hands, cursing himself that a simple morning of crafting, of making the mask he wanted to wear for Halloween had ended up with this. If only he had behaved himself better, if only he had just shut up when he got overwhelmed.

“I have been taught to be violent.” He admitted quietly. “And doing this.” He pauses to gesture to the paper mâché. “This is not violent.”

That was something you could work with, that was something a conversation could be build on.

“What is it about violence, that brings you peace?”

His blood runs cold, his stomach churns and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn’t told you he found peace in the violence, yet you hit the hammer on the head while you looked right through him.

“It’s all I’ve known.” He muttered. “It’s what I’ve been raised with. It’s what comes naturally.”

It’s saddening to see, really. He hides it so well during the day, when he is out with others, yet right now his childhood takes over, the trauma fronting, taking over his personality, and he could be so much more than just his trauma.

“Is it what makes you happy?” You ask, maintaining eye contact, no matter how invasive it might feel.

Simon shakes his head, while it brought him a sense of peace, a sense of comfort, a sense of familiarity, it didn’t make him happy, he had tasted life without violence, and he craved the sweetness of it.

See, your first reaction was to ask him why he did it anyway, but you knew he didn’t know, it was a habit, reacting out of anger, reacting in a violent matter, it is what his father had taught him was right, and it was what the army had praised him for.

“What did you feel when we were done mask making?” A new question to snap him out of it.

Should he tell you? What if you find him to be weird? What if you think he shouldn’t feel like this? But the gentle look in your eyes makes him believe that you won’t judge him, that you would at least try to understand him.

“At first I was proud.” He admitted with a sheepish smile. “I never really did this type of stuff growing up. And then I felt fear. Fear that I was becoming too soft, and all of the sudden I feel this random wave of sadness coming over me. And that was too much.”

Oh, his words tug on your heart string, he sounds so sweet, so vulnerable, so human.

“What’s wrong with feeling sad, with feeling fear or pride?” It is a genuine question, as you really try to understand what he is going through.

“I am not supposed to feel these things!”

“Why not? You’re only human.”

Only human.

Only human.

He was allowed to be only human.

You could see it in his face, his eyes getting a little bloodshot, a little bit of moisture starting to collect at the bottom lid of his eyes, the soft trembling of his bottom lip, the sharp intake of air when he tries to fight it. A little sniffle, and finally a tear.

Simon Riley was allowed to be human.

Your first instinct would be to hug him, coddle him. Tell him everything will be alright. But you also know that not everyone feels the same way, and the last thing you want to do, is to push his boundaries, especially at times like these.

“What do you need from me?” You ask, your voice soft. “Do you want a hug? Do you want to be left alone? Do I need to get you some water?”

Simon just looks up at you, the tears in his eyelashes makes it hard to see, and while he opens his mouth to talk, no sound comes out, instead he holds out his arms, an universal sign that he needed you.

The moment you’re within his reach, his arms wrap around your waist and he buries himself into you, years of build up rage, build up frustration, build up fear, and sadness, they all leave him through his sobs. His shoulders shake after each cry, and all you can do is stroke his hair, murmur sweet nothings, so he knows it is okay to let go like this.

Although for Simon, it does feel pathetic, it feels wrong to let go like this. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t cry like he is, he should hold it in.

But fuck does it feel amazing to let go, to let the floodgates open and just let everything out.

Your nails gently scratch the skin on his scalp. “You’re only human, Si.” You whisper, barely being heard over his sobs. “And I’m really proud of you for not shutting me out.”

He looks up at you, red, puffy eyes, wet cheeks, but the sobs had stopped. “Fuck.” Was all he could muster. “I have no idea how to feel, what to feel, how to describe it.”

“Then just feel.”

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part twelve

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 1529| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: NSFW, cowgirl sex, protected sex because I would rather get tortured than write about an unexpected pregnancy.

A/N: I am so sorry for the late update, the flu and my exams are beating my ass atm. anyway enjoy!

And that you were. Insomnia plagued you as you kept tossing and turning, the snoring on the other side of the wall didn’t exactly help. Your mind wanders over to the things that had happened during the day, the fun you had while running errands, the silly fight that made your world stop for a brief moment, the conversation with your grandma.

The making up.

Although it didn’t really feel as if you had properly made up to him. Made you needed to put a little more effort into it all. With a soft groan you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

It seemed strange to you that you were the person that needed some peace and quiet, and yet it was you that was craving him and his touch right now.

Would it make you a hypocrite if you were to go over to his room?

Maybe.

Were you willing to risk it?

Yes.

You didn’t need more convincing, your head sticking out from the door, checking if the hallway was empty, before you softly knocked on his door.

Simon isn't surprised when your quiet knock wakes him up in the middle of the night. He is happy to know that he is the safe space you need in tumultuous times. He wanted nothing more than to be a part of your life, and he was more than happy that you reached out to him.

"Come in, come in." He murmurs sleepily, stepping aside to let you in and brushing the sleep from his eyes.

You scurried over to his bed, not wanting to lose its warmth. A content smile forms on your face as you step under his covers, the familiar heat between the covers engulfing you. Yet you didn't close your eyes until he was next to you. Arms wrapped around your body. Finally safe.

Simon pulls you as close as he can and hugs you tightly. Your head rests on his chest and his heartbeat becomes their shared symphony.

Simon slowly rubs his thumb across your back, drawing out the silence and their moment.

You want to be even closer, to close every possible gap between the two of you..

Your thigh resting between his legs, and your body is pressed flush against his.

"Missed ya." You murmured, your lips so close against the skin of his neck that you brush against it a few times.

Simon felt the heat flood through his body with your words. God, he missed you too.

He felt his lips curl into a smile when he realised how much of your body you was plastered against him, how your curves were fitting like a jigsaw puzzle piece into his frame.

"God, you're a tease."

Sleep gets replaced with something else the moment those words leave his lips. The heat shifts to the lower part of your body, and you can feel yourself get wet.

Your thigh between his legs gets pushed against his growing erection, and your lips kiss his neck.

"Am as innocent as can be." You giggled softly.

Simon lets out a quiet moan. His body responds in kind, his pulse spiking with desire.

His hands slide into your hair, fingers weaving through the silken strands while pulling your closer into another kiss.

This time it's wetter, deeper. He wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you flush. All thoughts other than the moment are lost as he focuses on your bodies pressing against each other, the sensations they create.

You adore those deep, wet kisses. They're messy, they're sloppy, they're driven with passion. His hand entangled in your hair, and you let him, giving him the illusion that he is in control.

Your nipples hardening from your kiss and you let out a soft moan between your make out sessions.

"Came here." You began before you kissed him again. "Without a bra on." You never slept with a bra on, not that he needed to know of course.

Simon bites his lip at your admission. His hands moved down your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your hips, grazing across your waist.

"My girl..."

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words. Your hands stop on his chest.

"Say that again." You whispered in his ear. "Say that again and I'll ride you until you only know my name.” You bring his hand up until his fingertips reach the curve of your breast.

This was a different side of you. You’ve always been sweet, gentle, reserved, never the overtly sexual one, but at that moment, he loved that about you.

"I want to hold you so tightly that you will be nothing but mine, my girl."

He kisses your neck, his fingers teasing and stroking your breast.

Your hands work quickly to take off his shirt, your fingertips tracing over the warm skin. Your lips caress a few of the scars that you can see, a soft kiss on the one near his ribs and he shudders.

But you don’t want to be soft, you don’t want to be gentle, you want to take what it yours, remind him that you’re his.

Your thumbs push down his boxers, and his hands take over, pulling the fabric down with a desperate need.

His big hands find the soft fabric of your panties, his fingers teasing the little wet spot. “So needy for me.” He teases softly, as his fingers circle softly around your clit. He watches your reaction closely, wanting to know if he had learned a little bit from your last session.

Your soft gasping, the way your hand grabs the back of his neck tells him enough. “So wet for me already.” He whispers, his voice low and husky. He stops as quick as he started, pulling your panties down. Simon groans softly when his fingers slide across your wet folds and you can’t take it anymore.

And fuck, he knows. His hand reach to his nightstand, taking out a condom, he is quiet when he rolls it onto himself. “Never thought I would land myself such a pretty girl.”

His hands guide you to straddle him, and he groans again when your soft thighs touch his hips.

“Your girl.” You murmur softly, as you finally take off your shirt, his eyes filling with a hunger as he looks at your body.

"Mine." He says without hesitation.

Simon stares at you. Words are unnecessary while your bodies do the talking.

He admires your beauty, the curves of your body, the softness of your skin. His words come out more an exhale.

"Gods..."

You gives him a shy smile before you lean in and kisses him again, your hand cupping his cheek, while your lips meet.

You rolled your hips, allowing him slide into you. A soft moan escaping you against his lips. You want to tell him so much, so many sweet words and confessions are waiting to leave your lips, but for now you settled for a "So big." As a hasty mutter

As your body adjusts to his, Simon's breathing picks up, growing more laboured as the moment stretches. God, you’re just so fucking tight and wet for him, and he loves it. Simon lets you pick the pace, you’re in control and he is more than happy to follow.

His hands grip your hips tightly, but not tightly enough to hurt you. Instead, he guides your rhythm to one that he knows you want. Gasping between kisses, his words come out more an exhale. "Just right..."

Your head tilts back when his cock is finally crammed into your tight cunt, just that sensation alone, could be enough to get you off by yourself. You enjoy the rhythm he guides you to, his hands demanding on your hips as he guides you up and down.

"Jesus..." The only words he can get out, his breath hitched between kissing your neck, your jaw, your face.

His hands guide your movement, creating a rhythm as you move in unison. Every sensation of the moment is perfect in its own little bubble, the world shrinking down to nothing more than this one moment.

In his mind, nothing else exists, no missions, no work, just you.

You rests your hand on his knees, supporting yourself as you picked up the pace a bit, his hands guiding you as you bounce up and down on his cock. Fuck, every time you come down fully it feels as if you’re about to be split in half.

Your lips parted slightly, as soft, sweet moans leave your lips.

His moans, grunts, all his noises, they're the best thing you has even heard in your life.

For a short moment, Simon can't help but feel something more. This was more than just fucking, than sex between two lovers, he had no idea how to describe it. But he could feel it in his soul.

He has his girl in his arms, you were his. This was your moment and it is beautiful.

Simon feels his body tighten with each of your sounds, every word a little moan that he can't help but feel in his very bones.

In that moment, he felt as close as you could get. You were his in every sense.

You tightened around him, your nails digging into his skin as you tilt your head back again. That coil in your stomach forming again.

"I'm close. I'm close!" He is the first man who can get your to this needy, whimpery mess. His thumb goes to your clit again, soft circles against the little swollen bud.

Your lips part once more when you cry out his name, your orgasm coming in quick.

Simon's breath hitches as he hears that voice. That voice which has driven him insane the past few days.

He hears your cry out his name, calling him with an urgent need. It drives him to his orgasm too.

"Gods..." He grins as he reaches his orgasm too, his breath escaping with a loud "Oh god!" His hips bucking up, meeting yours in a desperate hunger.

You lean forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder, softly panting.

"God." You murmured. "God, Simon, you're amazing." You are tired, but content.

"And you're mine." Simon murmurs into your ear.  He pulls you close, as close as he can get you. He knows he should get up, clean up himself and you a little bit, but he wants to bask in this afterglow for a little longer.

A thought comes to the front of his mind which he cannot keep in. "We should do this more often."

He kisses your forehead before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Not the fighting, of course, but having you on top.” He chuckled.

"I love you, Simon." You murmured.  “More than anything in this world."

His heart leaps into his throat at your words, your voice piercing through him like an arrow.

Simon is speechless. Words fail him for the first time in your relationship, but his feelings do not. “I love you too.”

~~

Even with a disruption like that, you’re content when you’re finally able to sleep into his arms again, no matter how much you’ve tried to fight it. You do sleep better when it is in his arms. The soft sunrays hit your face and there is nothing better than being able to sleep in while being in the arms of the man you love most.

Your stirring wakes Simon up too, but he is not just ready to face the world just yet. His grip around you tightened and he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Just a few more minutes.” His sleepy voice sounded through the small room.

"I take that back. One more hour."

“Come on.” You sighed. “We should get up.”

Simon snickered, nuzzling into your neck while maintaining his grip. He was in no rush to let go, not with this soft and cozy start to the day. "No we don't," he murmured, his voice laced with the gravel of exhaustion. "One more minute," he added, kissing your skin, "Please?"

You knew there was no use getting out of his grip. He would overpower you anytime, even when he was this tired.

"You're an awful influence, Mr. Riley." You sighed, trying to scold him, although you were melting into his touch, softly kissing his forehead. "You're lucky I love you."

Simon's breathing grew heavier as he rested his head on your shoulder, his fingers running through the strands of your hair while his eyes remained shut tight.

"That makes two of us." He murmured, his voice filled with affection.

He yawned, his body slowly relaxing, "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I swear to God I'm not taking a single thing for granted." He mumbled.

Those sweet words, God those sweet words sounded amazing. You ran your hand through his hair, softly scratching his scalp with your fingernails. You pressed a soft kiss on his hair. "I'm lucky to have you, big boy."

Simon grunted softly as your touch soothed every ache that plagued him. It was a wonderful sensation, feeling how much care you put into something as simple as a caress.

"Call me big boy again and I'm never letting you get up." He said in a low voice, squeezing you tightly into his embrace.

Your fingertips went to his neck, caressing the nape of it. “Sure you would.” You chuckled. “But we need to make a mask for you, and if we don’t do it now, we might not be in time for Halloween.”

Simon just grunts as an answer, not wanting to let go of that sweet embrace just yet, but he knows you’re right, he knows that the arts and crafts need to be done today. But he’ll be damned if he would let you go.

Your fingertips danced around the soft skin of his cheeks, a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, and to be honest, life does seem peaceful in his arms. It made you forget about your job, about the raging wars in the world, about your family miles away. For that small moment the only thing that mattered was being in his arms.

Simon had just needed a few minutes to fully wake up. Normally when he was on duty, he had no problems getting up right away, but there was something about being in this cozy bed with the person he loved most that made him want to abandon it all, to take you away some place safe, away from the horrors of the field, away from the darkness you’ve both experienced. You deserved the world, and he was making sure you would get it.

“Come.” His gruff voice sounds as he kicks away the blanket. “I think it is finally time we get out of this bed.”

“Finally!” You respond, right before you give him one final kiss on his forehead. You get out of his bed, stretching your body before you plant your feet on the floor.

“You’re staring.” You tell him, when you can feel his eyes burning in your back.

“Just admiring my girl.” He muses.

He watches you as you get dressed, wearing his sweatpants and his hoodie. Simon knows he has to get up soon, that he has to help you, but he just needs to look at you a little longer.

His eyes are glued to you while you stall out the newspapers, the glue, the balloons, the bowl of water.

“Hurry up!” You urge him, when you’re done making the preparations. “If you’re making it do it all by myself, I’ll make sure you’re getting a pink mask for Halloween.”

“Just so you know.” Simon answers. “Pink happens to be my colour.” But his legs swing over the edge of his bed and he finally gets up, putting on a pair of sweatpants too, leaving his torso bare.

“Tell me what I need to do, lovie.”

“It’s easy.” You say. “We start by making strips of the newspaper. Like this.” And your hands make a neat strip of the newspaper.

Simon tries to follow, but he is rough, too rough. His rough tearing causes him to rip out a chunk, not a strip.

He tries again, and again, and again. But for some reason, he is unable to do it.

“Fuckin’ bollocks!” The frustrated words leave his lips as he fails once more.

 There was just something endearing about seeing your boyfriend struggle with something so delicate.

Maybe it was because his hands were too big, maybe it was because men never had to be soft and delicate. Maybe it was because they were never told that their handwriting was too rough, to bold, maybe he never was forced to learn how to sew, or to be as dainty as possible.

Maybe it was because he was told to be as rough and bulky as he could be, because he was taught that his hands were made for violence and not for loving or being kind.

You smiled at him. "Try to be patience." You advised him

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Easy for you to say." He growled. "I'm not exactly the most delicate of people."

He reached for another paper and once again tried to neatly tear a strip. After a few seconds of struggling, his temper flared. "Damn it!"

You didn't like it when Simon was this annoyed, when he lost his temper this easy.

So you slowly got up from your chair and made your way over to him. You pressed a kiss on his hair, before you sat down on his lap. "Show me how you do it."

He let out a small huff of surprise and his eyebrows rose as you sat down on his Lap. The warmth from your body was soothing to his frustration.

He watched you take his hands, following your movements as you tried to guide him. But he just couldn't seem to get the hang of it. "See? I can't do it, you need these tiny little hands of yours to do it." He mumbled half mockingly.

In return you pressed a kiss on his cheek, hoping that it would soothe his annoyance.

"You want to go too fast." You tried to explain. "You're acting as if you need to finish it within a minute. Take your time."

He didn't know why, but your kisses were slowly soothing him. Like you were draining his frustration away by kissing him.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before opening them again. "Fine," he grumbled, "I'll play along. But if I fail again, I'm gonna snap this paper in two."

"Stop being so grumpy." You chuckled as you ran your fingers up his arm.

"Take your time. Just like you take your time when you kiss me." You instructed him. "Easy and slow does it."

His brow furrowed as he stared down at the paper, taking a deep breath. He focused on your instructions, tearing the paper a little slower.

He didn't know why it was working but it was actually working.

"There ya go!" You smiled, peppering his face in little kisses. "I knew you could do it."

He let out a satisfied chuckle, "I did it," he announced proudly, and then looked up at her, his eyes sparkling with satisfaction and amusement. "I can't believe that actually worked."

He planted a kiss on your cheek. “I can't believe you had to teach me how to tear some paper.” He added with a sheepish smile, the feeling of embarrassment taking over. His girlfriend had to teach him how to tear some fucking newspaper. But Simon was never taught how to be delicate, he was taught how to be defensive and aggressive, two traits that got him far into the military, but less far in life.

“What is our next step?” He asks, trying to get the hang of it.

“It is really simple, blow up a few balloons, we have to drag our newspaper strip through the glue mixture, place it on the balloon, and then we wait.”

Simon groaned, he disliked waiting more than anything. “Why are we making more than one?”

“So we have a few spare ones if the first one doesn’t turn out right.”

It surprised him, from time to time, how far ahead you thought, how much you thought about things in general, and it only made him appreciate you more. He watched you take the lead in your little crafts project, suddenly feeling a little insecure about his abilities to do such things.

All his life he had deemed arts, crafts, anything that required a person to be creative, as a waste of his time, but seeing how much it made you light up, it suddenly felt like the most important thing he could do.

Simon mimicked your movements, looking to his lashes, searching for that little nod of approval. It felt pathetic to him, really, he was a grown man, and yet he was craving his girlfriend’s approval for everything. But Simon never got this kind of praise growing up, and now that he had tasted it a little bit, he found himself craving it more and more.

While his creation looked far from perfect, it was something that came from his hands. Something that wasn’t violence, blood, or gore, came from his hands.

Fuck.

A sudden rush of emotions fell over him, and Simon had no idea how to process it, he had no idea how to deal with the sudden feeling of sadness, of pride, of fear?

So Simon did what he knew best.

“Get out.”

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part eleven.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 1529| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: None.

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish? A little something to start the week.

No, no, no, those cursed words bring a horrible feeling to your stomach.

We need to talk.

Nothing good has ever come from those words.

“Yeah.” You mutter awkwardly. “I guess we do need to talk.”

There is a tension between the two of you, both uncertain what to say, both of you not thinking this far ahead.

“My quarters?” Simon finally asks, feeling that being in his own space will give him the higher ground, and you just nod, your feet feeling heavy when you cover the small piece of hallway separating the two of you.

You want him to reach out, to embrace you when you walk past him to get into his room. But he doesn’t, and you don’t know how to vocalize your need for his touch.

Simon on the other hand, is too scared that you’ll leave him, that your version of this talk is to break up with him, why else would you look at him with such a pained expression on your face?

He is hesitant, but his hand reaches out to your face, holding you by your chin so you’ll look at him.

"I'm tired, Simon." You eventually managed to say, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, so you shifted your eyes to the floor. "When I tell you I'm overwhelmed and I need some time alone after a full day of being together, you act like I'm rejecting you. I don't want to fight about that all the time." You pulled your face away from his grip, shaking your head.

The muscles on Simon’s jaw tensed and his nostrils widened as if he was trying to suppress his anger. He was quiet for a long moment, just staring at your pleading eyes.

Then his expression softened and he wrapped his arms around you. He rested his chin on top of your hair and mumbled into the back of your neck. “I’m sorry, love. I’m just scared, that’s all.”

"Scared of what?" You ask him, as you melted into his hug, your hands resting on his waist.

"When I say I need some time alone, it doesn't mean I want to leave you. It just means that I want to spend some time by myself." You eventually said.

“I know it doesn’t mean you want to leave me. But that’s what I’m scared of. Losing you.” Simon said. “When you need alone time, it makes me think that you’re unhappy. And that maybe you’ll get tired of me being around all the time and we’ll grow apart. Then you’ll find someone else-“

It did make sense, especially after what your grandma had told you, after she had shown you a little bit of her vulnerable side. And it was a little endearing, to see how he had gotten attached to you, how much he valued your relationship. But the way things were handled, from either of you, wasn’t the way to go.

"You won't lose me." You answered him. "Just because I need some time alone. Doesn't mean I'll leave you, Simon."

He knows, he knows you won’t suddenly leave him, but it’s hard to believe, especially when your desire to be alone, just came out of the blue for him.

“I don’t get it.” He murmured softly. “We were having such a good time, and suddenly you’re telling me you need some time alone. Help me understand.”

You pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I know.”

“Sometimes, I get overwhelmed. It is usually when I’ve been out, when I’ve been socializing too long. Everything just feels too much and I kind of shut down.” You try to explain.

“How do you do this with missions?” He asks. “I’ve never seen this with you before.”

“I’ve learned how to suppress it, and you know. I mostly keep to myself. Avoid eye contact, small talk, that sort of thing. And once we’re back, I need the whole night to decompress again.”

His fingers brush a strand of hair out of your face. “Why haven’t you told me before?”

You shrug, you had gotten so used to doing things on your own, it hadn’t even occurred to you that you could just tell him, or ask for help. “I don’t know.” You mutter. “I’ve been dealing with it for so long, by myself, that I had gotten used to it by now.”

Of course.

He should’ve known this was your reasoning. He should’ve known you would be too proud, too stubborn to even think about asking for help.

“I’ll try to be better. Just promise you’ll keep communicating with me, I don’t want our relationship to suffer anymore.” He tightened his grip around you a little. “I will try and react different when you need some time alone, but for the love of God, talk to me about it.”

"I'll communicate it better." You promised. "I get that it was all of the sudden, and I do get that you reacted a little defensive about it."

"Look at us talking about this like grown-ups." You said with a chuckle.

He gave you a small smile as his breathing slowed. His grip around you loosened as everything finally settled.

“Yeah. Look at us.” He chuckled with you. “The next time you need some space I’ll try not to take it so personally.” He nuzzled your neck as he held you close, taking in your scent and feeling the familiar rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest.

“You got me all worried.” He whispered softly. “I could hear you crying through the wall and it broke my heart thinking it was because of me.”

“It was because of this fight.” You admitted quietly. “I spoke to my dad, and my grandma, and she gave me some good advice. Really called me out on my bullshit too.”

Simon chuckled softly, planting a kiss on your hair. “Your grandmother does seem like the type of person to not hold back.”

“Sorry I made you feel this way.” Simon continues. “I should not have taken my insecurities out on you.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You answer. “It wasn’t fair of me to shut you out and then demand that you give me some time alone. I also should not have called you dramatic.”

He laughs at your words, looking back, it did feel silly to lash out like that to you, he was being a little dramatic. “It’s okay.” He tells you. “We’ve talked about it, and the only way from here is forward.”

Simon wants you to stay the night, more than anything. He wants to feel you close, to hold you to him, to make up to you in more than one way, but right now, right now he is scared of being rejected, of saying the wrong thing and to create that distance again.

But he had promised to communicate more, and that should start now. “What do you want to do for tonight?” His voice is soft, a little too soft, almost as if he is afraid to ask you this question. “I know you said you wanted to spend the night apart, but I really need some physical contact.”

You think about it, you had said you wanted to sleep the night alone, and you still wanted it, you still needed a little space to breathe.

“I do want to sleep on my own tonight.” You answer him. “But we can stay like this a little longer.”

It isn’t the answer he had hoped he would’ve get, but he understands, so his grip around you tightens and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “That does sound like a plan to me.”

There is something about holding you that brings him peace of mind, that makes it easier for him to be, to just exist. But all good things come to an end, and he realizes that it might be for the best to spend the night apart, to both be reminded that you’re still your own person.

Simon is reluctant when he loosens his grip. “I do need your help tomorrow, making that paper mâché mask.” He knows he could probably do it on his own, but he just wants an excuse to spend some more time with you.

And in return you nod with a slight smile. “Of course. I didn’t spend my whole day getting supplies only to have you do the fun stuff by yourself.”

His lips find yours, and he savours the taste. Simon knows he should stop himself, that he will be unable to let you go if he keeps kissing you. So you ass gets a little squeeze and he steps back. His hand reaching out to your cheek, before he leans in for a final kiss.

“Okay, okay. Goodnight love.” He eventually mutters. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Simon.” You respond. “I’ll be at your door before you know it.”

Simon watches you leave, and it feels as if a part of him is missing. But he tells himself not to overthink it. You would be at his door before he knew it.

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part ten.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2479 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: Angst.

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish?

Skipped my classes to write this <3, anyway this is what I think having a functional, loving family is like.

A feeling of dread washed over you as you watch Simon walk away. His movements are stiff, muscles tensed, as if he was seconds away from exploding.

And all you can do is feel guilt.

You’ve done this before, shutting people out whenever you felt overwhelmed, and he would be the first person you lost because of this. Your whole life you had tried to be strong, to be independent, and it had lead you to a path of being unable to ask for help, to accept help and to let people in.

You didn’t mean to push him away, you just couldn't really cope with the constant stream of information being thrown at you, but instead of communicating, you had shut him out.

Your throat starts to get dry and you really want to reach out, but Simon was gone before you could fully react. Your feet feel heavy as you open the door to your quarters.

It had started to be such a lovely day, and now it had all gone to shit, you could feel the tags on your clothes, the music was too loud, the lights too bright, and on top of that, you couldn’t really shake the awful feeling this whole interaction had given you.

Though you had this every now and then, you would be overwhelmed, to the point that you really couldn’t stand have anyone, or anything around you. In response you close your curtains, making your room a whole lot darker, next to go were your clothes, the feeling of the fabric on your skin just felt too much, and you needed to get rid of it. Sliding under the covers was the best solution right now.

Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to take a nap right now, but you knew that if you tried to talk to Simon at this moment, it would just be a whirlwind of emotions. Neither of you would benefit from it.

Not that you could sleep much, you could hear his door slam shut, and all you could do was toss around, switching from your left side, to your right side, trying to sleep on your back. Nothing seemed to work, every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face again. The initial disappointment, the anger, the insecurities, and it made you feel like shit.

After what felt like hours, you couldn’t take it anymore, and your kicked your blankets off yourself, putting your clothes on once again. Even though you hadn’t been able to sleep, just trying to rest, with little to no stimulation, had calmed you down immensely, your clothes didn’t feel suffocating, and when you opened the curtains again, you could actually stand it to look at the world again.

Now would be the right time to talk to Simon, so you went to his door, politely knocking once, twice, three times, four times.

Fuck.

That awful feeling you had, came right back to you, your heart pounding in your chest. Was he ignoring you, or was he really out and about? How could he be out and about while you felt so awful, did he really care so little?

Without making a fuss you return to your own room, slamming the door shut as you drop yourself to your bed again. There is only one person who could help you right now, and it’s your dad.

You know it is expensive to call overseas, but you really need to hear his voice today.

Holding in your breath you wait for the phone to connect, and just when you think he won’t pick up, you hear the familiar voice of your father.

“Sweetheart! Everything alright?” Of course he is worried, getting a random call from a soldier never meant good news.

“No.” You couldn’t remember the last time your voice sounded this soft, this insecure. “I need your advice dad.”

“Hmm,” He wondered what would make you this distraught. You were usually much more cheerful in nature. “About?” He enquired after a moment, wanting nothing more than to reach out to brush his thumb against the side of your cheek, if he would’ve been here, he could’ve comforted you through his touch, but your father couldn’t, and it was killing him.

You sat down on your bed. "I've been dating Simon for a little while now. You've seen him once, and you like him too." You began, hoping he would get the hint.  "But he wants to spend so much time together, and when I asked for some time apart, he got quite upset."

“I see,” He furrowed his brow, an all-too-familiar frown marring his features. You were growing up, becoming an adult. No doubt you’d find yourself in situations where you’d need guidance. He was ready.

“What did you say to him, if I might ask?” he enquired, his tone measured as he waited for you to answer.

"Okay, so." You began. "We had spent nearly the whole day together, and then he asked if I would sleep over at his quarters, or if he would sleep over at mine." You explained.

"So I told him I hoped we could sleep at our own quarters and that I needed some peace and quiet."

“And how did he react? Did he get angry?” Your father inquired, his brow furrowed even further. In his mind, there was very little cause for you to be upset. Your boyfriend had acted as he should; it was typical in relationships for couples to want to see one another, and your father knew about your tendencies to shut yourself off completely.

"Well, not angry. Just disappointed." You responded. "As if I was rejecting him."

You let some silence linger for a brief moment.  "And then I may or may not have called him dramatic." You admitted. "He just, turned around and said we needed some space, and now I’m worried I’ve shut him off completely."

“I see...” he replied, letting out a breath of disappointment as he pinched the bridge of his nose. So it was just a miscommunication. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Your father wanted to say more to you, to offer you some of his advice, some of his experience, but he was interrupted by the voice of a woman.

 “Let me talk to her!” The voice of your grandma was evident on the background. “She needs some advice from a woman!”

You didn’t have to be there to know what type of scene was unfolding. Your father holding up the phone a little too high for your grandma to reach, and her not giving up until she got what she wanted. It brought a smile to your face.

The amount of distortion on the background indicated that your grandma had won the battle. “That man doesn’t know what he is talking about.” She huffed, the moment she got her hands on the phone.

“Tell me what is wrong sweetheart.”

You straighten your back and you tell the story again. You needed some space, Simon reacted to that, and you called him dramatic.

“Hmm.” Your grandma stays quiet for a second. “I need some wine for this.”

You hear a faint protest on the background. “You can’t have alcohol with your blood pressure medicine!”

But by the Gods, your grandmother is a stubborn woman. “I’ll take a red, please and thank you.” And you know your father will fold for this.

“You know, sweetheart.” She speaks to you. “Your grandpa used to be the same. He would spent hours in his shed when he was overwhelmed. I hated it in the beginning.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did, I was madly in love, I finally had my soldier back with me, and then he went to spend his whole evening in his shed after we had done something together.” She explained, sipping on her wine. “It caused all of our arguments in the beginning.”

“How, how did that happen?” You bring out.

“Well, I didn’t manage to tell him what disappointed me, and your grandpa was horrible at managing his energy, mostly his social battery, so I would drag him along to something social, a party, a dinner, we could go out to dance, and he wasn’t able to tell me when he needed to unwind, so he shut me out and isolated himself. Drove me mad.”

It feels like a breathe of fresh air, of course you weren’t alone in the world, of course you weren’t the only one who experienced this, but it was nice to hear that someone from your direct family suffered from this and that very same person was loved all the way to after his dead.

“How did you two manage to deal with this?” You ask her.

“Well, first, I need to tell you, that just because it worked for us, might not mean that it works for you and your soldierboy.” Your grandma began. “But, I had to work a little on myself first.” She continued.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reacted very strongly whenever he told me he needed his space, no matter if he said it very bluntly, or if he said it more, sophisticated, I would always feel this surge of anger, disappointment run through me.” Your grandma said.

“Why?”

“Well, that took me a little while to figure out. But, all my life I had been told I was too strong willed, too loud, too unlovable, and every time your grandpa told me he needed some peace and quiet, I took that personally. I took that as a personal rejection. I realized I was so afraid I was really unlovable, that the idea of him not wanting to spent his time with me, gave me the worst feelings of panic, and those feelings of insecurity, made me lash out horribly.” She explained.

And you stay quiet, not once had you thought your grandparents went through the same thing, they even managed to beat it!

“But.” She continued. “That didn’t mean that your grandpa was without blame. He could spend the whole day being with me, and all of the sudden he would drop a ‘I’m tired and I need some space’ bomb on me.”

“Oh.” You have to swallow the lump in your throat, that had been exactly what you had done. You had ignored every little thing that would indicate you were getting overwhelmed and you only put up your boundaries when it was already too late.

“You’re just like him, you know? You do the same things, being a stubborn little shit, who doesn’t want to accept any help, because you’ve been told that you need to be strong. So you ignore your own boundaries until you can’t take it anymore, and then you shut out the people who love you.” Grandma wasn’t holding back, instead she gave you the reality check you needed a while ago.

You swallow to get rid of your dry throat. You wanted some words of comfort, not your grandma ripping open the oozing wound, and forcing you to look at the issue, instead of ignoring it. “But.”  You protest. “It is not like I can prevent it.”

“You can.” Your grandma retorts. “And even if you couldn’t, it is an explanation for your behaviour, not a free pass. Try to let him in, ask him for help, and for gods sake, learn to regulate. Tell him when you’re starting to feel overstimulated, tell him when you feel like it will all be too much. Because if he truly loves you, the only thing he wants to do, is to help you.”

She was right, and you hated it, you had been shutting him out, regarding that subject that is, and why? Because you felt like you had to carry the whole world on your own shoulders? Where had that gotten you? Not that far it seemed.

“Right now I don’t appreciate your words.” You tell your grandma. “But I’m sure I’ll find some truth in to them when I’m calmed down.”

The little cackle on the end on the line almost sounds endearing. “I know you don’t like them. Your grandpa hated it when I held a mirror out in front of him in order to make him look at his actions, but just promise me you’ll let those words sink in, okay?”

You knew she was right, and you also knew those words would make sense once you had thought about it for a little while. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, I’ll have to go, I have to wrestle your father for the remote, Judge Judy is on and he won’t let me watch it.”

Before you can even say a thing, your grandmother ends the call, and you stare at your phone for a second. The moment you realize the call is ended, the tears begin to flow.

It was all too much. Your argument with Simon, the self-reflection you had to do. The realisation that your family was at the other side of the globe. It hurts.

Your pillow gets used as a plushie and as a tool to muffle the sobs that leave your lips. Worry clouding your mind, your grandparents had managed to survive their hardships, but could you and Simon?

That cry felt good though, everything that had bothered you, was set free, and after a couple of minutes, the tears started to stop, your breathing started to regulate, and you even stopped the soft sniffles.

As you got up from your bed, you pass a mirror. You’re a goddamn mess, eyes red and puffy from crying, the skin on your cheeks wet. But despite all that, you give yourself the peace sign before you clean yourself up a little bit. A few deep breaths before you splash some cold water against your face.

You needed to talk to Simon, you needed this to work out, even if that meant biting the bullet. You had heard his shower, which meant he was back into his room, all you needed to do, was go over to his door, knock, and apologize. Easy peasy. Just follow the script.

Go to his door. Knock. And apologize.

Door. Knock. Apologize.

As you swing open your door, he does the same, the both of you stepping out of your quarters at the same time.

Door. Knock. Apologize?

An awkward silence followed as the two of you made eye contact. What could you even say in a situation like this? Should you apologize already? Tell him about the conversation you had with your grandma? Just.. What could you do? Maybe it would be best to start casual. The whole script you had made up, was blown to smithereens and you had some trouble adjusting to it.

“Hi.” The word leaves your lips, as he begins to speak too.

“We need to talk.”

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part nine.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 1750| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: Angst.

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish?

I am going through it at the moment, so excuse my upload shedule.

Simon wasn’t proud of himself, not at all, his first instinct had to be like his father, and that was something he hated about himself, he didn’t want to be like his dad, he wanted to be Simon, he wanted to be loving, to be soft, to be gentle, to be kind, especially to you. But it seemed like he couldn’t shake the behaviour that haunted him like no other.

There was still some anger simmering in him, something he needed to get rid of before he could even speak to you again. He didn’t want to take out that anger on you, you out of all people did not deserve to see that side of him. You deserved more, more than him, more than he could ever give you, maybe that was why this angered him so much.

But he didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to feel, he didn’t want any of that. He wanted to get rid of that tight feeling inside of his chest, he wanted to get rid of the guilt that started to creep into the back of his mind. He doesn’t want that feeling, he didn’t want any of this. His clothes get swapped for a tank top and a pair of sweatpants.

In a swift motion he takes his bag off the floor of his room, and he heads to the on base gym, needing to blow off the steam, and he doesn’t want to take it out on you, nor does he want to take it out on himself, he so desperately wants to break that cycle; but how could he ever do that if he never was taught how to do such things?

It is too busy at the gym for his liking, his brain deceiving him that everyone is watching at him. The tight feeling in his chest starts to get worse. The tightness feeling like it prevents him from breathing properly, only short bursts of air allowed to escape his lungs.

He is familiar with the feeling, the sense of impending doom, the feeling as if the ground could fall from under his feet at any given moment. His hands are trembling when he fills up his water bottle.

His eyes dart around the gym, not able to focus on one thing. But he knows he needs to force himself. Five things he can see.

His commander officer on the treadmill.

A teammate doing squats.

The shiny fountain he had tapped his water from.

The bright lights on the ceiling.

The exit door.

Four things he can touch. Simon squats down.

His fingertips touching the floor.

His fingertips touching his bag.

He grabs the water bottle tight.

The keys in his pocket.

Three things he can hear.

The news on the radio.

A teammate groaning while doing squats.

….

….

….

He’s overthinking this again, one more thing, he needs one more thing he can hear.

A dumbbell being dropped on the floor.

Two things he can smell. This should be an easy one, right? Right?

Simon inhales deeply, the scent of sweat mixed with fourteen different deodorants fills his nose.

That’s one.

He pulls the collar of his shirt to his nose, inhaling the scent, and it smells like you.

That’s two.

One thing he can taste.

His hand rummage through his bag, and he finds an old protein bar. It isn’t much, but it is something. He opens the bar, and takes a big bite.

It’s disgusting. But it’s something.

He takes a deep breath while he chews the bite of the protein bar, tossing the rest of it in the bin, Simon takes a sip of his water, realising that the tight feeling in his chest has died down, there is still a bit of anger resting in his chest, something he needs to address, something that needs to be brought up to the light before it escalates, but it no longer feels as if he can’t breathe. Simons drops his bag next to the treadmill, wanting to get rid of the build-up energy before he explodes and takes it out on the wrong person.

He stares at the wall when his body starts to take over, setting a comfortable pace for himself, fast enough to make him unable to think too much, not fast enough to completely drain him from his energy. He trains himself with intervals, trying to tire himself out a little bit before he goes over the punching bags.

Sweat is dripping down his back when he decides that his cardio is done for the day, the gym is starting to die down, most of the soldiers calling it a day, going back to their quarters, to their barracks, leaving him in a quiet gym, just how he likes it. He takes a big gulp of water, before he walks over to the punching bags, dragging his bag with him, Simon takes off his shoes, his socks, before he throws the first punch. A front hook with his left hand. Then the second punch get thrown. A front hook with his right hand. The sounds of his hits satisfy him.

Why did he get so upset when you needed some space? Hit. What had made him so angry? Hit. Was it even anger?

No.

No he knew it wasn’t anger, it was something else dressed up as anger, something disguised as the vile emotion he knew so well. Hit.

Then what could it be? Hit. He was worried about something, but what? Hit. Maybe he was scared. Hit. Hit. Hit.

Simon takes a step back, allowing himself to breathe a second. He rolls his shoulders, before he cracks his knuckles, going back to the punching bag.

His fists hits the punching bag again when he throws a jab. And then a cross, then a jab again.

Okay, so he was scared, that was something he could work with. But what was it he was so scared of? Hit. Was he scared of loving? Hit. No, that couldn’t be it, he had loved before, he knew he could love. Hit. Maybe he was scared of being loved, was that it? Hit. Hit. Hit.

Simon takes another step back, taking a sip of his water. The dreading feeling in his stomach told him it was fear instead of anger that had caused such a reaction. He was worried, afraid even, that you would leave, that you would see him how he saw himself, broken, hurt, unable to be loved. He was scared you wouldn’t be able to cope with that, to accept it, and he was worried you’d leave him. 

Would it be the worst thing if you left him?

Yes.

Yes it would.

Because you, you made him feel as if he was worthy of love, you made him feel as if there was more to life than the pain and problems he had experienced before. You made him feel alive. And if you left him after seeing who he really was, how he saw himself, that would only confirm that he wasn’t worthy.

Simon gets close to the punching bag again, holding it in place while he hits repeatedly with a knee strike. He knows he should have been nicer, he knows he shouldn’t have snapped at you the way he did.

But the damage had already been done, and just thinking about that made the tight feeling in his chest appear again. Maybe, just maybe, he could fix what he had broken.

Simon finally stops his hold on the punching bag, taking a few seconds to catch his breath. That is what he should do, he should go up to you and apologize. He grabs his bag off the floor, and he makes his way to your room, his footsteps echo through the hallway and the tight feeling in his chest makes place for some excitement, yes he had fucked up, but he had the opportunity to make things right again.

He wants to let his fist rain down on your door when a soft sound startles him. Were you crying?

He leans closer to the door, and he can make out the soft sobs on the other side. Simon can feel his heart sink into his stomach again.

You were crying.

You were crying because of him.

The person he had wanted to protect most, was crying and it was his fault.

And now he didn’t feel as if he could mend what he had broken. Now it felt as if he had crushed what he had held so dear. Simon felt as if he was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak, the only thing he could do was listen to the faint sobs on the other side of the door.

He had been so sure about his course of action. He would knock, he would apologize and everything would be fine. But now? Now it felt as if that was crumbling to pieces.

He takes a step back, and instead of going into your room, he goes to his own room, he goes to the shower, the sound of the water muffled out the sound of crying, but it kept haunting it in his mind. Simon was taking deep breaths, deep, deep breaths, trying to stop the panic from seeping in again.

He didn’t dare to reach out to you at all. Because if he didn’t reach out, he could still have the illusion that he didn’t ruin anything at all, that everything could be worked out after all.

But if he did reach out, you could tell him that is was over, and that was something Simon couldn’t handle right now.

He didn’t bother putting on a shirt, or some sweatpants when he dried himself off, just his boxers. He was listening for your cries, but they seemed to have died down, and he didn’t know if he was happy about it or not. Simon is facing the wall as he lies in bed, trying to catch some sleep, but he keeps seeing your hurt face in front of him, and he can’t seem to shake it, not in the slightest. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see it, see how tired you looked, how hurt you looked, and instead of taking care of you, he made things harder, he had been selfish.

His hand reached out to the wall, feeling the cold structure beneath his fingertips.

Did he really ruin it all?

[codfanficedits]

Random question of the day!

Would you rather be followed everywhere by someone playing the flute or be surprised every day by someone playing a tuba?

Tuba! I can't stand high noises :(

[codfanficedits]

Helloooo!!

Do you have a masterlist? 🥺🥺

I didn't, but I made one, thank you!

You can find it here.

[codfanficedits]

Masterlist

AO3

Simon 'Ghost' Riley: Cheating Ghost. (NSFW) Sunshine. (WIP) One more mission. In another Universe. Believe. Bittersweet memories. Don't fall in love. (NSFW) Being with you. The silence treatment. Holy water. One fucking mistake - Ending one One fucking mistake - Ending two Drunken piggyback rides. Rituals. Final Tribute. Tapping out. Before the mask. (Ongoing)

Captain John Price: Talk to me. Love language. Stay with me, please.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish: Bar Ideas (NSFW) Bar Ideas Ending One. (NSFW) Bar Ideas Ending Two. (NSFW) Time.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick: Bar Ideas Ending Two. (NSFW) Winter days.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parra: Being with you.

Alejandro Vargas:

TaskForce 141: Final Goodbye.

[codfanficedits]

Behind the mask - Part eight.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 3454 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: Fluff and Angst.

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish? Sorry for uploading so late, I had a massive writersblock and my life is a mess right now lol

There, he said it, and Simon could feel his heart thumping out of his chest. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if you just mumbled those words the other night? What if he just ruined whatever it was that the two of you had going on. What if. What if. What if.

“I love you too.”

Your words are like music to his ears and he can’t supress the smile that formed on his face. His arms wrap around your waist again, and your face gets peppered with little kisses. “I can’t get enough of you.” He whispers into your ear, and he finally feels happy, he finally feels as if the universe isn’t out to fuck him over, no, Simon feels as if the universe is smiling at him.

He finally lets go off you, to turn on the shower and he watches in awe when he sees you put up your arm. “Not a hairwash day.” He chuckled, remembering your earlier words from the day before. Just watching you do the most basic things feels like a treat to him. Simon still doesn’t fully know how the two of you shifted from being friends to being.. this so easily, but he is not the one complaining.

He pulls you closer to him in the shower, being careful enough to not wet your hair, and he can’t help but smile. Your naked body looks absolutely gorgeous and he would devour you whole if he could. But something stings him. Even though you’ve been inseparable the moment you woke up in his arms, there was never been an official title for the two of you, and he can’t help the slight worry that someone will come and take you away from him, and he can’t have that. You’re his girl, and he wants the rest of the world to know that too.

He watches while you wash yourself, what if another man would ever lay hands on you? The same way he had done? No, he can’t have that. He doesn’t want to share you, he doesn’t want to risk losing you because he never had the balls to put an official name on it.

“Was wondering what we are.” He mutters, his voice barely audible over the constant stream from the showerhead. You turn around to face him, and you can see the whirlwind of emotions on his face, the worry, the jealousy, the tenderness. “What was that?”

Simon straightens his back, trying to silence his insecurities. “Just wondering what we are.” He repeats, a bit louder than before. Your head gets tilted to the side, while there might never have been a verbal agreement that the two of you were exclusive, it certainly felt that way for you. “Let me ask you a question.” You respond. “How would you like to be introduced as the next time I skype my parents again?”

“As your boyfriend.” He is quick to answer, worried you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t answer you quick enough. “That is if you would have me.” Simon added with a sheepish smile.

In response you can only laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck to press a kiss on his lips. “Of course I would have you as my boyfriend. And I think my grandmother would love it when I introduce you as my boyfriend too.” Your hands move down to give his ass a playful slap, before you step out of the shower. “Go get your ass washed.” You command him. “I want to get the stuff we need for the paper mâché.”

Simon salutes you with a grin before he starts his shower routine.

~~

Who would’ve thought going craft shopping with two soldiers would be so chaotic? You knew what you needed, balloons, glue, water, paint and a bunch of old newspapers. Simon however, had never really had the opportunity to explore that side of him, so the man needed to touch every single texture he could get his hands on, from the googly eyes, to a magic twisty worm.

“Are you sure I don’t need this?” He asks, holding up a pack of glitter glue. “I like the dark blue.” He muttered to himself. And it pains you, no matter how much you try to see the good side of this, the fact that he can finally discover all the things you deemed normal during your childhood. It hurts knowing that he never got the chance to when he was growing up.

“Well.” You start your answer. “You can always buy it and maybe we can use it for something else?” You can’t think of a single thing it might be useful for, but at the same time, it’s impossible to say no to him. If a little bit of glitter glue will help his inner child, who are you to ruin it.

“Do we have everything?” He asks, placing the glue into the shopping cart. You shake your head. “Before I forget it, we need a mixing bowl, and some paintbrushes too. Or do you want to paint with your fingers?”

In return he shoots you a grin. “I can do a lot of things with my fingers.”

You just roll your eyes at his comment, before you go and study the different paintbrushes, eventually settling for a large pack with different kind of sizes. You drag him and the cart along through the store in order to get a mixing bowl, and Simon holds it up triumphantly when you walk past it and he spots it.

“After this, we just need to go to the library.” You say, as you guide him and the cart towards the checkout. “For what?” He asks, carefully following your movement.

“The newspapers. Apparently they have a huge amount of newspapers that become worthless after a few days.”

Simon nods, it did make sense what you were saying, it was just something he would’ve never thought about. Another little thing about you that he adored so much. “Anything else we need to do while we’re out and about?” He asks, placing the equipment on the conveyor belt so the cashier can scan them.

“Oh yeah, I ordered my Katniss costume a while back, it should be delivered at my PO box, so maybe we can check that out?”

Again Simon just nods, he is more than happy to just spend time with you, even if it meant running some errands. It was funny to him, he never thought he would be the person to emotionally open up to another human being ever again, but there was just something in you that made him want to live again. Not that he was suicidal, not in the slightest, but before you, his days were gray, coated in a layer of thick dust, the same over and over again. And then you came in, blowing that dust away, painting his days with your colours, and it was as if he could see the beauty of the world for the first time.

He doesn’t even pay attention to the price when he goes to swipe his card. Although he is always a little nervous that his card would be declined, a breathe of relief passes his lips when its not the case, and he stuff the receipt into the plastic bag. He offers you his arm as the two of you walk out of the store. “Where do you want to go first?”

You think for a little while. “I think it would be best to first go to the library, then go to my PO box, and maybe we can grab a bite to eat afterwards?”

Good, that meant more time with you, and Simon is ready to rip the world apart if that meant being with you. “Sounds like a plan, lovie.” He murmurs, feeling content, before he presses a kiss against your temple again.

He puts the bag into the trunk of the car before he takes place in the drivers seat. He frowns when you don’t put on your seatbelt, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest, refusing to even start the car. Right now, you’re the most important thing in his life, and he would be damned if he put you in to danger. His eyes shift from the seatbelt to you and you finally catch his hint.

“Sorry, sorry.” You mutter as you put on you seat belt, his shoulders lose their tension and he starts the car, the moment he’s comfortable enough, his hand rests on your knee, creeping a little towards your inner thigh, before he settles on a comfortable spot, his thumb mindlessly running circles over your skin.

The drive to the library feels way too short, and Simon waits in the car while you run inside to get those newspapers. A sigh escapes his lips as he leans back into his car seat. For so long he has thought that being happy, being content wasn’t written in his stars, but now that you were his, he allowed himself to feel that happiness again, to look towards the future as something that he wants to experience.

And when he spots you again, a big bundle of newspapers in your arms, he can’t help but feel relieved, everything would be okay, everything would work out in his favour. Your parents liked him, your grandma liked him, you liked him, that was all he needed.

He wants to help you take care of those newspapers, but he knows you, he knows your pride, the constant urge to do everything yourself, to not give any of your work out of your hands, it’s something he doesn’t like, but he understands, so Simon patiently waits until you’re done, in the meantime he is just silently admiring you.

“Do you know where the post office is?” You ask, before you can even take a seat inside the car. You make sure to make eye contact with him when you put on your seat belt, and Simon let out a dry chuckle. “I do, I do, don’t worry your pretty head over it.” His hand moves to your thigh again, the moment the car starts rolling, he enjoys feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

The traffic is quiet and again, the drive doesn’t take long enough for him, as he parks the car close to the post office. A quick kiss gets pressed on his cheek before you disappear out of the car again. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and his mind wanders over to you again, how grateful he is that you felt the same way that he did, that he had not misread the situation. Yet he couldn’t seem the shake this eerie feeling, the feeling that nice things like this don’t last for a man like him. But he pushes away those thoughts when he sees you approaching the car again, a box in your hands, a huge smile on your face. You seemed so excited for your costume. The box gets tossed on to the backseat, and he has to hold himself back from pulling you into the car, onto his lap and pepper you with kisses.

But he doesn’t, not yet anyway. “Still want to grab that bite to eat?” He asks and you nod, it is nice to have a day away from the base, to not be a soldier all the time. “There is this little sandwich shop, that is like a five minute drive.” You propose and if it was up to Simon he would take you to the end of the world to get you whatever it was that you wanted.

Simon starts the car once more, following your instructions to the brim, and he parks the car in front of the sandwich shop, it’s small, it seems cozy, it seems perfect to spend time with you. As you unbuckle your seatbelt, you press your lips against his, your tongue teasing his bottom lip, and in response Simon let out a soft groan, before his hand cupped your cheek.

There is a grin on your face as you pull back. “Ready to go?” Simons shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he shakes his head. “I can’t, not yet.” For a second you’re worried he is hurt, but your eyes shift to his lap and he tries to straighten the fabric of his jeans. The bulge in his pants reveals the reason why and you can’t help but grin at it. “You poor, poor boy.” You tease him, as your fingers run up his thigh.

“Can you stop it?” He groans. “You’re not making this any easier for me.”

“Tut, tut.” You counter, “do you not want to be a good boy?”

Good boy.

Good fucking boy.

Shit, that is making him feel things he has never experienced before. Before he knows it, he can feel himself get all flustered at your words. “Stop it.” He grumbled, trying to hide how he really felt. He was a soldier for crying out loud, he wasn’t supposed to swoon this hard when someone, even if it was you, called him a good boy.

With a final shake of his head, Simon gets out of the car, his arm around your shoulder while he pressed a kiss against your temple. “You’re an awful tease.” He murmured, his lips still pressed against your temple.

His around falls off you when you enter the sandwich shop, though Simon has the need to keep on touching you, to at least have a hand on you, no matter when you two are, he keeps his hand to himself. After all, you two are still in public.

“Any idea what you would like to get?” He asks, as he stares at the menu board. “Don’t know yet.” You answer. “Either the sandwich with roasted chicken and arugula. Or the goat cheese with honey and walnuts.”

“Oh.” All of the sudden Simon feels like a fool, He had been focussing on a simple egg salad sandwich, or a grilled cheese. But goat cheese with honey and walnuts? It wouldn’t have even crossed his mind to try it. It makes him feel a little bit like a simpleton.

“How about we order both and share? Half of each.” He proposed, trying to hide his feelings regarding the whole subject, but you seem to miss the clue, just nodding slowly as you take in the offer. Simon gives your temple another quick kiss. “Go take a seat, lovie. I’ll order.”

You do as you’re told, taking a seat in a little booth while you watch the large soldier order for the both of you. You rest your head in your hand, intrigued by him. Sure you had a little crush on him when you first met him, those dark blonde locks, that cheeky smile. But once you got to know him, to see past the façade that was being a rough soldier, that was when that stupid little crush turned into something more and you couldn’t be more grateful that he felt the same way about you too.

You look up as he sits down next to you, arm wrapped around your shoulder as he pulls you close. He never had imagined that the hardest part about being in a relationship would be the amount of touch he felt he needed in order to survive. “What were you smiling about?” He murmured, his lips pressed against your hair.

“You.” You answer, and Simon looks up with a smile. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“And what is it about me?”

“Everything.” You say with a sigh and you wonder how much love he has ever received in his life, you know some men don’t like it, but you want him to experience what you had gotten before. “You’re amazing Si, you’re sweet, you make me feel wanted, you make me feel at home.” You add.

After your words you lean towards him. “And on top that, you’re handsome, I keep getting lost in your eyes, there is no place where I would rather wake up in than your arms.”

Simon feels flushed after your words. How should he respond to such kindness? Is it even possible to respond to something like this? Part of him wants to tell you, you’re talking out of your ass, that you’re talking bullshit, that he isn’t all that special.

But the other part, holy shit, that other part is over the moon. He is so, so happy that you feel that way about him, that you love him the way he hasn’t been loved before. The way he isn’t able to love himself.

He wants to say so much, he wants to thank you, to hold you, to kiss you and to keep you close to him until the end of times, because being with you, feel like he could concur the end of the world. “Thank you.” He mumbled softly, Simon wants to say more, but he is interrupted by the sandwiches being brought over to the table.

~~

It had never occurred to Simon that goat cheese would be delicious, or that arugula belonged on a sandwich, but you made it him favourite flavours. The day seems to end way too quickly when you and him arrive back to base, days like these make the army more tolerable.

But no matter how nice it has been to be with him, no matter how much you enjoyed having him around you, you crave some time for yourself, some silence, no more stimulation for your brain.

“My room or yours?” Simon’s voice snaps you out of it.

“Well.” You begin. “I was kind of hoping we could both stay in our own rooms tonight.” It wasn’t something you could say easily, you were worried he would understand it wrong, you were worried he would be upset.

And damn right Simon was upset, he could feel a tug on his heartstrings the moment the say those words. Did you not want to be with him? Did he do something wrong? “What? Why?” He’s confused, not understanding why you need the space, while you felt as if you had to walk on your toes.

“I just need some peace and quiet around me, Simon.” You answer. “It is nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal?” He shoots back. “You just told me, I don’t provide you with some peace and quiet.”

Well, yes, you did say that, but you didn’t mean it like that, you didn’t meant to tell him he didn’t provide you with some peace and quiet, you just needed some time alone, some time so your brain doesn’t get overstimulated and fried to mush. Why was that so hard for him to understand?

“It’s not like that.” You mumble, unable to process what is really happening, but Simon sees it as indifference, he just told you how much this hurts him and you’re acting like this? Hours ago you told him the sweetest things known to man, and now you’re telling him you need the peace and quiet that he can’t provide you?

“Then how is it?” His tone is sharp, a defence mechanism to stop himself from getting too hurt, too attached. And you’re getting tired, you don’t want to explain yourself, you don’t want to talk, you don’t want to think, all you want to do, is to be alone for the night, to unwind.

“I just need some time alone, okay?” You snap back. “It’s not the end of the fucking world, Simon.”

But it felt like the end of the world for Simon. It felt as if he was attached to someone who didn’t want to be attached to him. And Simon only knew violence, Simon only knew how to solve things with harsh words, shouting and screaming. “Not the end of the fucking world, huh?” He hisses. “You pretend to love me, only to rip my heart out hours later?”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic.” You huff.

I’ll show you dramatic.

This would be the perfect time to break the cycle, but it is hard, it is difficult to change what he had learned to do all his life. His jaw clenches and his fist clench too, but he takes a deep breath. He is not his father and he never will be, he will do better.

“Maybe we need some time apart.”

His voice is calm, too calm even for the situation, you want to say something, anything at all, but the moment you open your mouth to speak, he turns around on his heels to walk away.

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part seven.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 3287 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: NSFW, Mutual masturbation, conversation about sex, reader thinks about toxic masculinity.

A/N: Simon would be around 22/23 in this fic, so it would be set around 2015 ish? Anyway, tried to capture a healthy conversation about sex and boundaries. And remember, if a sexual partner makes you feel like trash when you express a boundary, they are not worth it and they deserve it to dance the limbo with the devils balls <3

There is nothing more that he would wanted in the world than to have you again, to feel your lips on his, your body pressed against his, and his hands move up to your waist, the outline of your ribs. But when he looks at you, he can tell you’re not feeling it. His erection is so hard it almost hurts, but he is just a man filled with hormones, not some sort of monster.

He pulls back to study your face, and he notices the relief in your eyes when he does so.  “We don’t have to do this.” He whispers, as he presses a kiss on your forehead. And you can’t help but feel guilty. All your life you had been taught that men should get what they wanted, and you could just force yourself to get into the mood, right?

“No, no, no, it’s okay.” You protest. “It’s okay, you can do your thing.”

And just like that his erection dies. “Do my thing?” He repeats. “My thing is worthless if you’re not enjoying yourself.” Simon pulls you close after his words, his lips finding your forehead again, while he does not feel the need to have sex with you, he does want to feel you close, finding his comfort in your touch.

“Do you.. Do you..” His voice dies out after he tries to put his feelings into words, he’s afraid he has overstepped your boundaries, that he let his hormones run free too much and that he has driven you away.

“Do you want to stay the night again?” He asks, with the softest of whispers, and before you can say anything, do anything, he can read the answer on your face. You nod, slowly, but surely and he feels like he can breathe a sigh of relief. Another kiss on your forehead and he let’s you go.

He feels like a breath of fresh air to you. He doesn’t demand anything, he is so respectful of your boundaries, it is amazing, really. And at the same time, it is so, so sad. It’s so sad that the bar is so low, you’re almost applauding Simon for doing the bare minimum for a human.

But maybe, just maybe, he could raise that bar for you. Simon chooses not to touch you, to undress you. He doesn’t want his desire, his need to touch you might be misinterpreted into something else, but boy, his fingertips crave the softness of your skin, the goosebumps he can feel on your arms whenever he touches you. But he can wait.

His clothes are quick to fall, and there is a comfortable silence between the both of you while you both undress. You’re still gorgeous and he is having a hard time ripping his eyes away from your body, especially when you take off your bra.

You look at the shirt in his hands, the one he has been wearing all day, and he knows, he knows what you want without you saying it, and it makes his heart swell. Maybe it was the friendship you two had before, maybe it was the fact that for Simon, you would be the one and only, but he loved you. He wouldn’t say it, not yet, but he loved you. His hands tremble slightly when he helps you put on his shirt, you look even more stunning.

There was just something about wearing his old shirts that was so comforting to you, his scent, the warm fabric, it all felt so nice. His hand is on the small of your back when he guides you to his bed, it barely fit two adults, but it felt so nice to be so close to him.

Your back is pressed against his chest, and his arms are firmly wrapped around you, holding you as close as he physically can. “Are you alright?” His warm breath hits your ear when he finally speaks.

“Mhm.” Is the soft hum he receives as an answer and he presses a kiss on your hair. “Not just know. Are you okay about, you know, what we talked about outside?”

You shrug, not really in the mood to talk about it, but at the same time.. the words your heart spoke still linger in the air, not ready to be processed just yet. “I don’t know.” You answer, truthfully. “Sometimes it still feels as if I’m just as much of a bad guy as the people that we fight.” Simon’s fingers trail the fabric of the shirt, he moves his fingertips over your shoulders, your arm, not once has he seen things from this perspective. To him, he is doing what is right, protecting those who can’t protect themselves, and doing what is right. “What makes you feel like we’re the bad guys too?”

That would a difficult question to answer, because you know that certain people you fight, are indeed monsters, men who roamed the earth just to ruin it some more. But the others, the faces of the soldiers you’ve been toe to toe with, those were faces of men and women just as scared as you were. How could you ever look yourself into the eyes and call yourself the good buys? It almost felt impossible.

“You know.” You mutter. “It is more that the faces of those that have lost their lives, are etched into my brain, and I can’t unsee it. Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering how many families I’ve hurt, how many hearts I have broken by our line of work.”

Your words stir something in Simon, and he can’t explain what it is, not once had he realized that all those who lost their life in the wars, during their missions, had lives of their own, and the realisation that all those lives would be lost, that did do something to him.

“If you put it like that.” He murmured softly. But you’re not done talking. “And I know that those are losses that need to be happen in order to reach a greater goal, but I can’t shake the feeling sometimes. You know?”

You can feel him nod, the pillow shifting under the movement. “I never thought about it like that.” He muttered, unable to forget the words that had left your lips.

You find it easier to let those words go, you had struggled with this line of thought for so long, it almost felt like a second nature to you. “Thank you for hearing me out.” You tell the large man that is holding you. “Means a lot to me, Simon.”

“Always my pleasure.” He responds, as he feels your skin under his fingertips, wondering how someone so sweet and pure, could ever have joined the army. Not that he wants to complain, because he wouldn’t have met you otherwise, but it still amazes him.

The feeling of contentment that you feel gets mixed with exhaustion, and you decide to close your eyes. “Good night Si.” You sigh as you nestle yourself against his chest.

“Night, lovie.” He whispers in return. “Love you.” The words slip of your tongue without you knowing it, you’re too tired to register what you’ve said, and frankly, you’re too tired to even care about it. But Simon’s heart skips a beat, his grip around you tightens, but he finds himself unable to say the words back, just yet. But he feels it, he feels it in his roaring heart.

He watches your gaze soften when you finally fall asleep and he feels as if he could watch you for hours and hours on end, he wants to reach out, to feel the soft skin of your cheeks underneath his fingertips, he wants to feel the soft skin of your lips, the curve of your cupid bow, he wants to feel it all, but he contains himself, there is a time and place to touch you like that, and now is not the time.

For now, for now Simon is content with just watching you sleep, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath that you take, and he too, soon feels his eyelids grow heavy and he is unable to fight it. If only time could stay still like this, forever.

~~~

Sleeping becomes easier whenever you’re near Simon, and you find yourself being able to sleep through the night easier whenever he is around. When you wake up, you can feel his hard morning wood being pressed against your ass. You pry yourself out of his grip, gentle as can be, so you don’t wake him up. It is an amazing sight to see, toned body, the outline of his erection visible through the fabric of his boxers, and you can feel your own body responding to the sight before you, the soft throbbing of your cunt, the feeling of getting wet, and the grin forming on your face. You head to his bathroom, and when you sit on the toilet, a brief thought of helping yourself crosses your mind, but you decide against it, Simon could do it a lot better than you could, and you don’t want to take that away from him. Your underwear stays off, leaving them on the floor, as you flush the toilet, softly cursing when you realise how loud it must sound.

You use a washcloth to clean yourself up a bit, making sure that you’re as clean as can be. You breathe against your hand, trying to smell your morning breath, and just to make sure, you use some of his mouthwash in order to smell better.

When you exit the bathroom you can see him sitting up in his bed. “Was wondering where you was.” He mutters, as he extends his arm to pull you close, lying next to you again. His face gets buried into the crook of your neck, his lips finding the skin, and he leaves soft kisses, using his tongue to wet the spot before he softly sinks his teeth into your skin. Not enough to break the skin, not even enough to create a lasting mark.

“Simon.” You can’t decide if it was a moan or something else. “Hm?” he looks up with an innocent grin, his fingers run over the fabric of your shirt again, his hand cupping your breast. “Use your words, lovie.” He whispers as he lets his hands trail down further.

“I need you.” The words leave your lips before you can think about it, your hips buck upward, in a desperate attempt to feel his fingers there. “Please.”

That innocent grin on his face changes, the look in his eyes turns into one of pure lust. “Good girl.” He whispers, as his fingers trail down to the hem of the shirt. Simon expects to be met with the fabric of your underwear and his breath hitches in his throat when he is met with your soft, bare skin, and it only turns him on more. You want this just as much as he wants it, and that thought alone could be enough to get him off.

His fingertips explore the soft flesh of your cunt, and he lets out a content hum when he can feel how wet you are for him. In return, your head does tilt back against his chest, soft, needy whimpers leaving your lips when he decided to tease you, instead of giving you what you want.

“Simon, please.” You’re not above begging, you’ve begged him once, and you’ll proudly do it again.

“Hm? Do you want me to stop?” He enjoys the power he holds over you, he enjoys that his touch is making you feel this desperate.

“No, no, no.” God, it would kill you if he stopped right at this moment. “I want to feel you.” You plead. “Please, Si, I want to feel you.”

His fingers slide between your wet folds, your own arousal being smeared over your clit. His movements are fast, and a little too rough. Maybe it is his own excitement, maybe it is the lack of experience, but what he is doing right now, is not something you’re particularly enjoying.

So you can do two things. Pretend he is the best you’ve ever had, moan loudly a few times, only to finish the job yourself in the bathroom.

Or, you can be honest with him, tell him what he is doing isn’t working for you, but what if he would be mad? What if he tells you it’s your fault?

Simon makes that decision for you, and his hand stops moving. “You don’t like it.”

Panic sets over you, fuck, what if you insulted him? “What? No, no, I do like it.”

His other hand cups your chin, and he presses a soft kiss on your lips. “You don’t need to lie to me, lovie.”

Of course he wouldn’t be mad. He didn’t want to continue something you didn’t enjoy, and what would be better than to learn your partners weak spots.

You let out a soft sigh. “Okay.” You mutter. “You were a little too rough for my liking. I’m sensitive there, and the way you treated it, did hurt a little.”

He presses another soft kiss on your lips. “I never meant to hurt you.” Simon whispers. “I’m sorry.”

His reaction stuns you, you’re so used to men thinking they’re some sort of sex God when in reality it is mediocre at best, that it takes some time to get used to his kind demeanour on this subject.

“I’ll show you how I like it.” You propose, as you prod yourself up against the headboard.

Simon is stunned for a brief moment, he loved the initiative you were taking, and in all honesty, he was worried he had ruined the moment all together. He takes place at the end of the bed, having a view of you, how beautiful you looked with that slight blush on your cheeks. Your legs spread, just for him. “Show me, please.” It was his turn to beg.

One of your hands lift up the shirt you’re wearing a little bit, your other hand goes straight to your cunt, two fingers dipping into your wet heat, those two fingers begin to make soft circles around your clit, and you shift your hips a little bit, just to reach the right spots.

Simon can’t do anything else but to watch in awe, and he rolls back the waistband of his boxers, setting his erection free. His eyes are glued to the beautiful scene before him, his hand wrapping around his cock, and his own stroking matches your pace.

You bite your bottom lip the moment you begin to hit those good spots, small joints of electricity being sent from the lower half of your body up to your core. Your lips being to part as you pick up your pace, his hand moving faster almost automatically too.

He tries to take note of what you’re doing, soft circles around the clit, slowly upping the pace. His gaze shifts down to his cock, pre cum leaking from his tip and he decides to copy your way, his thumb slowly rubbing circles on his sensitive tip and he involuntary lets out a moan. Fuck, that felt good. He can see your toes beginning to curl, your breathing becoming shallow and your movements become quicker and quicker.

His hand grips his cock again, and the pumping motion he makes matches your rhythm. He watches as you tilt your head back, your thighs pressing together and a mix between a whimper and a moan leaving your lips.

Fuck, he didn’t know it would be possible to fall even more in love with you.

He doesn’t stop jerking off while you catch your breath, and he loves that grin on your face when you look at him. “That’s one method.” You breath, as you spread your thighs again, you let your fingertips trail down your cunt again, the moment you’re close to your clit, you start to squirm. He loves it.

Simon watches as you let two of your own fingers enter your, the sound of your palm hitting your cunt, as your curled up digits hit just the right spots is so enchanting to him, and he has to remind himself not to drool. His breathing begins to quicken but he doesn’t want to come yet, he wants to see what you do to yourself, how you show him what your body needs from him.

His eyes fall on the wetness that drips out of you, every time your fingers work on yourself, and he wants to taste it, he wants his face between your legs, to drown into your essence, but for now, just watching would have to do.

He watches as your head tilts back, you’re getting close, and so is he. His movements are slow when he moves over to you, positioning himself between your legs, one hand pumping around his cock, the other on your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

He loves you like this, flustered, all hot and bothered, your lips slightly parted as quick breaths and moans are drawn from you. He kisses you, it’s sloppy, messy, tongues are dancing around each other, a little strand of saliva between the two of you when he pulls back, only to go right back in again.

He can’t hold it in any longer, he needs this release, he wants to ask for permission, to paint you with his cum, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. And you pick up on his cues, again no words are needed to communicate. Your free hand lifts up the shirt you’re wearing, and the moment he sees your stomach and tits, he is done for.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The words leave during his panting and he wants to tilt his head back, yet at the same time he has the desire to look at him. Your thighs rest on his, and he can feel them starting to tremble, you’re close too, and he loves it.

He leans in to kiss you again, his lips capturing the moans that leave yours, he wants to taste to, to feel you, he wants you, in all your glory. When you mutter his name against his lips, during your orgasm, his eyes press shut and he lets out a loud moan, only for it to be muffled by your lips.

He shoots his cum all over your stomach, it is the best thing he has ever done. “Shit.” He pants, while he rests his forehead against yours. “Fuck, you were amazing lovie.”

You can just nod, this had to be one of the best orgasms in your life, seeing him taking care of himself while you did the same, must’ve been the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your fingers slip out of you, and without thinking about it, you push them between his lips.

Simon’s eyes widen, but he likes this, he likes the taste of you, he likes the bold movement, he wants all of it and more. His tongue swirls around your fingers, cleaning up as much of his essence as he can. His lips stay parted when you pull your fingers back.

“Fuck. I need a shower.” You say, a grin on your face. Simon can only nod as he gets up from his bed, pulling you close to him. He doesn’t care that you’re still covered in his cum, he wants you close and he wants it now.

He guides you along to the shower, before he kisses you again, a lot sweeter and gentler than before.

“I love you.”

[codfanficedits]

Christmas Troubles.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley & Reader

Summary: Reader doesn't like christmas too.

Wordcount: 3844 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: talk about flashbacks regarding childabuse and child neglect.

A/N:

I have thought about not posting this, as this fic describes childabuse, however, I write to cope, so I decided to post anyway

If you are struggling at home too, know that there is a way out, and things will get better, the cycle can be broken, no matter how hard it is.

Give yourself the kindness your parents couldn't give you.

Merry Christmas to all the children, no matter how old, whose life will always be marked by their parents.

Very merry Christmas.

You’ve always loved Christmas, the subtle decoration on base, never a whole Christmas tree, but a few Christmas ornaments taped to someone’s door, a few tinsels draped around in the mess hall, a Santa hat being pulled over someone’s helmet.

But most of all, it’s the changing atmosphere. The weight of the war no longer weighing soldiers down fully. Excited faces when they all realize they get to go home for the holidays. Longing for their wives, their husband, their kids, family. For a brief moment all they are is human. Humans longing for the connection they have with those around them.

When the days come closer, the base gets more and more empty. More and more excited voices when they can finally go back to the people they loved.

You spot a piece of crumbled up wrapping paper, and suddenly you’re no longer the soldier you are today. You’re five years old and your ear is ringing from the slap you’ve received from your father, the skin feeling hot and you already know it’s turning red. It’s boxing day, and your reaction wasn’t happy enough. But you’re five, socks aren’t really your thing yet and you don’t understand why Santa would give you such a thing while you asked for a new stuffed animal.

You’re five and your father drags you up the stairs by your collar, screaming at you that ungrateful children will get nothing. And you’re ungrateful. You try not to be, you try to be a good kid, but it just happened without your control. You spent the rest of the day alone in your room, the few toys you own keeping you company, your own imagination being the escape you need.

Your eyes shift to your lieutenant. For the past two years you’ve spent Christmas on the base you share. No interaction, no words, nothing. But you know something haunts him around Christmas too. But it is not up to you to mingle around in old wounds. If he wants to tell you, he should do it himself. All you know is that the feeling of loneliness and grief hangs around him. Your own grief and loneliness dancing around his whenever your eyes meet, but the dance is brief, as if both of you are too scared to admit it.

When you moved out of your childhood home and joined the army, you made yourself the promise you’d do it different. You would never become like your parents. So the first time you could buy yourself the gifts you really wanted, you cried. Cried as you never had before, because being raised by cold eyes taught you not to cry. You held the stuffed animal you had gotten yourself close to your chest. You couldn’t celebrate Christmas that year, every little thing reminding you of the Christmases you had deserved in your childhood. Leaving you sobbing in your bed while your partner stroked your hair, understanding the pain that came with your childhood.

Next to the crumbled up wrapping paper is a Christmas ornament, and you pick it up. You stare at the Christmas ornament in your hand, and all of the sudden you’re no longer the soldier you are today. You’re seven years old, hiding on the top of the stairs while you can hear your parents argue. Your mother had decorated the Christmas tree wrong, and your father is fuming. You’re too young to understand what the problem is, why couldn’t they just decorate the tree again? You hold the stuffed animal you sleep with close to your heart, as if the toy is supposed to protect you against your fathers rage. The sounds of breaking glass no longer scares you, instead it is a sign for you to leave the top of the stairs and hide into bed. You know the drill, you know the routine. Like clockwork your mother barges into your room, demanding you get up and pack a bag, she is leaving your father and you’re coming with her. You’re seven, your biggest prized possession is your stuffed animal and a few books, so you pack it in a little suitcase, dragging it along down the stairs, while your father refuses to look at you, grumbling about the now bare Christmas tree.

You’re seven and our mother drags you along to the nearby park, it’s cold, you’re wearing your pyjama’s and a jacket, but it’s not enough to protect you against the cold, harsh December wind. Your mother smokes her cigarette, ranting towards you how horrible your father is. You know better than to agree with her, everything you say can and will be used against you, so you do what you do best, you stare at the grass beneath you.

Your hands begin to tremble when you’re no longer seven, but the hardened soldier you are today, the Christmas ornament snapping in your hands. You can hear the whispers, whispers about your hate for Christmas, your hate for the holidays, and those are the reasons your teammates believe to be the reasons why you prefer to stay on base.

But in reality you have no one to come home to. It used to be different. Your partner loved Christmas just as much as you did. Urging you to buy those little gifts for yourself, decorating the house with you, decorating the Christmas tree together.

Hell, the two of you even made your own little traditions. Sweet little dinners together by the soft candlelight, personal gifts the two of you had bought weeks before, just for the two of you, it was something that would keep you alive during the whole year, those two days were enough to fuel you, to heal the broken and wounded child you kept in your heart.

But your childhood taught you that all the good things must come to an end. And how could you blame them? You came with a suitcase full of childhood trauma, and your partner had no longer the strength to carry that suitcase with you. Leaving you alone on your base during Christmas once again.

As you sit inside the mess hall, next to your teammates, you can hear Gaz talking about his mother, how much he loves her, and much she is going to love her gift. Proudly he tells his team, and that includes you, that he got her a getaway to see the northern lights. Something she’d wanted for years, and now he could finally give it to her, a payback for how much she had loved him when he was growing up.

And you can’t help but feel that familiar pit in your stomach again, but you’re a hardened soldier, so your eyes don’t show the war within you. Because you love your mother, she is your mother after all, and that is what you are supposed to do. But you hate her at the same time. You hate her when you walk in on her emptying your piggybank, because she needs to smoke and your father doesn’t give her the money anymore. You hate her, when you overhear her complain about her children, and how they’re the reason why her marriage is failing. But the child inside of you wants to love her so desperate. It wants to cling on to the illusion of having a mother.

Brown eyes meet yours, and that same short dance happens between you and Ghost. Your soul leads while his tries to keep you at a distance. No longer than three seconds before he looks away, his attention on Gaz again. A comment about how lovely this gift to his mother is. A joke about Ghost hating Christmas. Loud laughter.

When you’re alone in your barracks, you stare at the wall. The burden of Christmas is weighing you down, it is drowning you, but you’re a hardened soldier, so you can’t let anyone in. You’re so afraid of losing something or someone you love, that you refuse to love anything again, including yourself. And you can’t treat something you don’t love in a kind way, so you shut everything and everyone out, while your heart is sick and tired of the loneliness you bring it.

A loud knock on your door. Gaz.

“Hey. I’m leaving for Christmas.”

“I know. Have fun.” A fake smile plastered on your face, you’ve mastered the skill of putting up that damn wall.

“Thanks. Take care of Ghost, yeah? Christmas isn’t really the time of year that makes him happy.” But how can you take care of Ghost when you can’t even take care of yourself? And who will take care of you while you drown?

“Will do.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh and Gaz?”

“Hm?”

“It really is a lovely gift for your mother.” The smile on your face warms up to be a real one, you mean it, even when the little child inside of you is screaming at you, because what did it do wrong to deserve such treatment?

The excitement on his face is endearing, a bright smile and sparkling eyes when you mention his mother. God is that how you’re supposed to look when someone mentions her? All you can see while you look in the mirror and think of her, are your fathers eyes staring right back at you. It isn’t your fault that you have your fathers eyes, yet you hate yourself for it, because how can you be something you’re not when you look like him.

“I’ll let you know how she likes it!” And with those words Gaz leaves you alone, a spring in his step when he realizes that this family is within arm’s reach, the burden of being a soldier being left behind on your base.

You stare at the open door, not having the strength yet to get up and close it.

Brown eyes meeting yours as Ghost walks past your door. Your soul wanting to reach out to dance with his again. “Can take care of myself during Christmas.” He grumbles, as he had overheard your conversation with Gaz. Your soul backs off, taking a blow, making you feel unwanted. A short nod and he is on his way again, that lonely feeling taking over again.

And suddenly you’re twelve, and you’re dreading to go to school, because you don’t fit in. Your father had implemented a new rule. Showers were only allowed to be taken twice a week, a horrible combination considering you’re a teenager, your body needs to be cleansed every day, but he is unrelenting. Your body is burning with the shame of not belonging. Your classmates are quick to realise what is going on, the bullying is relentless, a never ending torture that continues the moment you arrive home. No safe haven on earth. You’re old enough to realize this isn’t normal, this isn’t the way normal people live.

And now you’re a hardened soldier, and you’re angry. Of course you’re angry. Because there had been so many opportunities where someone should have helped you, but never did.

Soap visits you the next day, because he too has a family to come home to. Something you’ve been craving ever since God has put you on this earth, you’re tired of longing for something that has not been written in your stars, but you’ve had a taste of it, and now you keep chasing a taste you can no longer remember, all you know is that you need it, the feeling of loving, of belonging, of being wanted. Soap is one of the last to leave, some soldiers leave together, because they too have no family to come home to, but they have each other. Because friends count as family too when Christmas is around the corner. Not for you, never for you.

“Oi.” The Scottish accent snaps you out of it. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Won’t be home until new year’s.”

“Aight. Have fun, and please don’t blow up your neighbourhood with firework.”

A small smirk tugs around his lips after your remark. “Can’t promise a thing. But if Price asks, you tell him I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Two arms around you when he pulls you in for a short hug. The smallest amount of affection brings a lump to your throat, and you need a few tries before you can swallow it down.

“Keep an eye out for Ghost, will ya?” His request is paired with his arms leaving you again, the loneliness seeping back into your pores, infecting your veins, reaching your brain.

“I will, if he lets me.”

“Aye, don’t take it personal.”

Every form of rejection is personal, no matter who it comes from.

“Sure, sure, sure.” It’s a mere mutter, you can’t even keep an eye out for yourself, how could you keep an eye out for Ghost? But you worry that if you admit you’re not up for the task, you won’t be needed anymore. Because what is your worth if you can’t be of service?

A rough hand ruffles your hair. “Take care, kid.”

“You too, Soap.”

Another one leaves.

Base is becoming more and more deserted, and the less distracting you have, the easier it is for the memories to seep to the cracks of the walls you’ve build to protect yourself, because trauma sends you letters, without warning for the rest of your life, usually disguised as something else.

You overhear a conversation about a Christmas dinner. And suddenly you’re eight again, your legs aren’t reaching the ground as you sit on the dining room chair, your gaze is fixed on your plate. Your parents are arguing about dinner, your mother under seasoned it, your father tried to fix it and now it’s a blend of flavours that do not mix together, and somehow it is your fault, because you dared to breath near them. Fear takes over your being when the cabinets in the kitchen get slammed shut, the loud footsteps coming closer. You flinch when he walks past you.

Mistake.

Because flinching means that you acknowledge that your father abuses you, and he doesn’t. He keeps telling you that and what your father says goes. He can’t be abusing you, because there are children in the world who have it worse, and you have a roof to live under, you are fed, what more can a child want? You are not abused, because the bruises are placed on spots on your body that no one sees, because the screaming, the name calling, the humiliating marks your brain, but never your body, because everyone can ignore your shoes, who are two sizes too small, your clothes being either too large or too small, there is no in between. You cannot be abused, because you still love your parents. And if you aren’t fed love from a silver spoon, you learn to lick it from knives.

A large hand grabs your hair, yanking it back. The chair you’re sitting on protests against the sudden movement.

You ruined Christmas dinner, and the both of them make sure that you know it. When you’re dragged to the stairs again, and you endure his punishment, your mind goes blank. You went to visit a friend from school, and her mother didn’t yell, didn’t scream, didn’t call her names, and you cried in their bathroom, because this woman radiated a warmth you didn’t know you were craving. As you lay in bed, you can feel his feet stomping on your body again. The marks he left are a reminder that you were the one who ruined Christmas, again.

The feeling of being watched snaps you out of it, and as the trained soldier that you are, is the first thing you do controlling your breathing, your chest heaving just a little less when you finally look up.

His brown eyes meeting yours once more, and your soul doesn’t dare to reach out to his again. You can see the walls that he has put up, because they have the same structure as yours. If only he would allow you to seep through the small cracks between the stones. But he doesn’t, because Ghost too remembers his childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere.

 You shift your eyes away again. Not ready to face him, not ready to see a glimpse of his childhood in his eyes. No, you wish to forget, to drown your demons with something that will kill them, to make sure that they will never come back. But you can’t, every attempt only resulted in them coming back harder, stronger. But you can try, right? So you find yourself on the floor of your room, a bottle of vodka next to you. You had been drinking too much, too quick, and now your body feels paralysed while snippets of your youth creep in again, and there is nothing you can do against it. You want to push the memories away, bury them in the dirt, a skill you had managed to master, yet you seem to have lost completely.

The familiar feeling of a burn starts in your throat and you make an attempt to crawl to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet. A wave of sour vomit leaves your lips, it splatters against the porcelain of the toilet bowl, staining the floor, and it brings a panic to your chest.

You’re nine, and you have a stomach flu, being woken up with the horrible urge to vomit. You try to run to the bathroom, your little legs carrying you as fast as they can.

But you don’t make it, instead you drop to your hands and knees and you can’t stop the waves coming out of you. You feel like you can’t breathe, and you’re afraid you’ll die, suffocated by your own vomit. Your father wakes up from the noise, and instead of a compassionate rubbing of your back, you’re met with a scowl on his face. His hands gripping the back of your neck. You try to mutter that you’re sorry, but before you can speak he presses your face on the floor, dragging you across your own vomit, the same way they used to drag dogs through their own urine in an attempt to housetrain them.

The alcohol in your blood makes you unable to supress your memories, and you find yourself sobbing on the floor, muttering that you’re sorry again and again. You flinch when an unknown man enters your bathroom, his large frame looming over you. You hold up your hands against your face, apologizing over and over again.

“Fuck, you’re a mess.” You recognize the voice, but you can’t remember if it is your father’s or someone else’s. You begin to cry harder when a hand grips your wrist, trying to pull you up.

“ ‘s okay. ‘s okay.” You hear the same voice mutter, before a damp washcloth is dabbed against your face, an attempt to clean you up. You’re pulled against a broad chest, your mind still way too fuzzy to comprehend who it is.

“I promise it won’t happen again dad, I’m so sorry.” You’re slurring your words, and you don’t notice the breath of the person holding you hitching in his throat.

“Let’s get you to bed, ‘kay?” He mutters as he gently yet firmly guides you to your bed, making sure that you’re tucked in under your covers before he goes to place a bucket next to your bed. Not that you notice. You’re drifting off to an empty sleep.

When you wake up the next morning your head is pounding and you let out an annoyed groan when you wake up. You automatically rub your temples in an attempt to make the pain pass a little. “There’s water and painkillers on your nightstand.” A gruff voice tells you and your eyes snap open, only to see Ghost sitting down on the chair in the corner of your room, his jacket put over him as a blanket.

“Dear God.” You groan as you spot him, so much for taking care of him. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know your father is an asshole.” His words make your blood run cold, you always had tried to keep your past, the abuse, a secret. You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you know?”

“You didn’t say what happened, but from the way you apologized and flinched.” Ghost shrugged after his words. “I know what it means.”

Is that his soul reaching out to yours? Is this his invite into your life?

“Does it get better?” You ask, scared for the answer.

“Not without hard work.” He answers you. “Have you tried therapy?”

“Have you?” You shoot back, not wanting to admit you haven’t.

“I have.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t easy, but once I was done after nearly two years. Shit that felt amazing.”

You scoff, not fully convinced. “And what did you get out of it?”

He looks at you, his brown eyes piercing your soul. “I can look at myself in the mirror, and I no longer see my father. You deserve that too.”

You want to stop the tears, you really do, but his words hit the right spots. You turn around in your bed, your back facing him as you curl yourself into a little ball.

Your bed protests when he comes to sit on the edge, his fingers running through your hair. “Listen.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m not here to scold you, but the team has been telling you that you need to look out for me, and while I think that it is bullshit, it is a nice gesture. But do you know why they asked you?”

You don’t respond, instead you stare to the wall, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Ghost decided to continue anyway. “They asked you, because I told them about my past, not much, no details, just enough to let them in, to let them understand certain behaviour. And I’m not telling you, you should do the same, but think about it. Maybe it’ll help.”

His words did make sense, you knew you had to do something, knowing that you couldn’t keep on going with the amount of flashbacks you were having lately. “Just tell something to Price, okay?” Ghost continues. “And if you want, I can pull some strings, get you on some easier missions for the time being. And I can hook you up with my therapist. You remind me of myself, so it has been easier to avoid you. However, you deserve some happiness too and I’m sorry for avoiding you so much.”

You look up at him, through your teary eyes. “Thank you.” You manage to mutter.

“Don’t mention it.” He answers, while his fingers run through your hair again. “Christmas will become fun again, don’t let them take that from you.”

He stays silent for a second or two. “You know what, do you want to make some hot chocolate? Make our own little tradition?”

[codfanficedits]

Christmas - Full version.

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader, John Price x Reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader!

Summary: The boys during Christmas :)

Wordcount: 11,304 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: A little bit hinting to NSFW, I think? A lot of fluff :)

A/N: Merry Christmas (:

Kyle:

Kyle and you had been childhood friends, and eventually you moved to lovers, only to be downgraded to friends again, when he moved away to join the army. And those last years have been.. hectic, you joined the army yourself and Kyle had made it very clear he didn’t want to serve with you, so things had been awkward, on paper you were just friends. Kyle would always come back to you, during easter, during spring break, summer vacations, he would always know where to find you, only to never admit his actual feelings towards you. And you had gotten used to it, so much actually that you didn’t bat an eye when he was at your door for Christmas and you had used it to sweet talk him into making a snowman with you.

A frustrated growl leaves his lips as he adjusts his scarf against the cold. Kyle always tried to play that hardened soldier, just like he had been taught. But he may be grumpy, but his heart is in the right place—he'll help you build your snowman.

With is a slight spring in your step as you finally convinced him to build that snowman with you. Your hair sways with every step as you drag him along with you to the open field.

The cold air numbs your face, but you don't care in the slightest. You turn around to face Kyle, your eyes sparkling as you see him. Your hand reaches out to tug on his scarf, making sure it keeps him warm enough. "Can't have you catching a cold." You whispered, before you kissed his nose, with a quick spin you face the open field, ready to build your snowman.

Kyle's jaw stiffens at your playful touch, your kiss sending a shiver down his spine despite the cold. He mutters an irritable retort, but the heat rushing to his cheeks proves otherwise. You make him so soft—so vulnerable and so damn happy.

He shakes his head slightly in annoyance, then turns his gaze ahead. Just focus on the snowman, he thinks to himself. Don't let them see how much you're enjoying this.

Your hands are cold when you has finally rolled enough snow for the lower abdomen, but it’s okay. Simple, soft things like this make you forget about the world, about being a soldier, about pain, and you wouldn't trade it for the world. You can see him watch you, an annoyed look on his face, half of it being tucked away in the scarf. But you know he would've left already if he truly hated it. You tried to lift the ball of snow for the middle section, so you can put it on the lower section. But you aren’t strong enough. So you shoots Kyle a pleading look. "Can you help me, please?"

His heart squeezes at the look in your eyes — how could he say no? And, if he's being totally honest with himself, he likes you being dependent on him for a change.

So he leans down and effortlessly lifts the section of the snowman, putting it on top of the lower abdomen. "There." He says in a firm, quiet tone — which isn't quite as firm as it's supposed to be, given his heart racing and cheeks blooming to pink. He straightens up, avoiding your eyes.

You watch in awe as he effortlessly lifts up the section you couldn't carry. The same spring in your step as you scoop up the snow for the head, packing it until it is big enough. With a lot of effort you manage to put it on top of the other sections yourself. And you take a step back, hands on your hips as you admired your work.

You take a carrot out of your pocket, sticking it in the middle of the snowman’s face to give it a nose. You take two rocks out of your other pocket, to give it two eyes. And finally you take off your scarf, the cold wind hitting your bare neck as you put the scarf around the snowman.

"Done." You exclaimed happily

His gaze remains on the ground as you complete the snowman, his heart thrumming in his ears. But he can feel your eyes on him, and he knows you want to see his reaction.

Finally, he glances up.

The snowman is goofy and imperfect — just like every other snowman. Yet the sight of it melts his heart and makes his mind turn into a fuzzy puddle of admiration for you.

He's too overwhelmed to speak, so he settles for a soft grunt. "He's...he's perfect."

The spring in your step stays as you walks over to him. "A work of art." You chuckled.

"Couldn't have done it without you, Kyle. I owe you one." You said as you looked up at him.

Your hands are freezing and a mischievous twinkle forms in your eyes. "I'm so sorry for what I am about to do." You giggled as you hugged him, your cold hands sliding under his shirt on to his warm back.

“Jezus!”

He stiffens at the touch of your freezing hands, his shirt rippling with goosebumps. Yet, he finds his body moulding to yours, reluctant to let go of this moment — reluctant to let go of this warmth.

There is a fire in his belly as his heart thunders. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the nape of your neck; breathing in your scent, feeling your heartbeat against his chest. He hates this. He loves this. He is torn in two.

"I said sorry on forehand!" You defend yourself with a laugh as he buries his face in your neck. It was a cheap trick but you were happy that you did it. Your hands move higher up his back, needing the touch of his warm skin once more.

A groan escapes his lips when your hands move up his back, and his embrace tightens.

"I swear to god. You're gonna kill me." This is torture. But the way you tease him, the way you look at him — it drives him wild.

He hates it.

He loves it.

But he doesn't want to admit it.

A quick kiss on his cheek as you pull your hand away from his body, slipping out from under his shirt. There is a big smile on your face, dimples forming on your cheeks.

"Thank you." You murmured. "Let’s go inside before I have to warm my hands again."

His face is hot, his body buzzing with the aftershock of the rush. He hates feeling so weak, so vulnerable, in your presence. But he follows silently. Reluctantly. He is always reluctant to leave the warmth of your touch.

“Why do I put up with you?" He groans. But his voice is teasing — an admittance of defeat and attraction.

You have his sleeve in your hand, leading the two of you back to the house. "Because I make a good snowman and a killer hot chocolate." You answer his question before you stick out your tongue.

Once you’re inside you take off your jacket before you turn to Kyle, there is a soft smile when you take his scarf off, that same soft smile stays when you slowly pulls down the zipper on his jacket.

He watches you with amusement — his expression softening at your teasing. Yet, his body still tenses when you touch his skin.

His heartbeat quickens when you peel away his jacket, your fingers grazing over his muscular body. He grits his teeth. How is it possible he still feels like a blushing teen?

This is torture, he thinks. I love it.

Your touch is sweet and soft when you help him out of his jacket. You knows he isn't gentle to himself, so you make sure to be it for him. Your hand cups his cheek, your thumb running across the skin as you smile again.

You have to stand on your toes to kiss him, and your kiss is sweet and soft.

A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you pull back and disappeared into the kitchen to make that hot chocolate

A low groan escapes his lips when your soft lips brush against his. His hand reaches out to cradle the back of your head — to pull your body closer, pressing you against the wall.

Yet, as he looks down at you, his muscles go tense and he releases his grip. You deserve better. Someone kinder, sweeter. Not a monster who can't keep his own life in check. Your adorable chuckle fills the room as you scurry away, and the warmth in Kyle's heart is overwhelming.

He wants to kiss you.

And he hates that he wants to kiss you.

You know. You know his internal struggle, the fight he has with himself. How he wants you, but doesn't feel like he deserves you. So you’ve been dancing around each other for years now. He pulls you in, shuts you out. And the same thing repeats itself.

But you can't fight this battle for him. It’s his to do. The only thing You can do is be there for him, and remind him that you are waiting for him.

A soft hum escaped you when you stir the milk on the furnace, patiently waiting until you can add the chocolate

A part of him desperately wants you to win this stupid game. To tear him apart, destroy his walls. But how dare you make him crave it so much?

So, for now, he allows you this game of cat and mouse.

He leans against the wall, his eyes on your back as he takes in the familiar curve of your body. There is nothing he wants more than to pin you up against the wall and bury his lips in your soft, inviting neck.

...maybe just one taste would suffice.

You can feel his burning gaze on you, you knows that look all too well, the love, the longing. Not that he ever acts on it though, no God forbid the great Kyle Garrick would succumb to human urges.

You keeps on stirring the milk, waiting for it to boil, it takes long, you can't put it on a high heat, but you are patient, just like you are patient with him. But who said you can’t have a little fun? Your head tilts to the side, the soft skin exposed, just for him to see.

His jaw stiffens as he takes in the beautiful sight. And damn it all, you know it gets to him. You know how much it drives him wild.

But he wants you to keep going — keep teasing him with soft touches, cute giggles, and that damn seductive skin. He closes his eyes, breathing in your scent like a starving man. What would you taste like? He wonders.

His eyes flicker open and he looks back down at the floor. You're playing dangerous games,

Another soft hum leaves your lips as the milk starts to boil, and you add the chocolate, while you keep stirring. You knows how hard he is struggling behind you, how hard he is fighting to accept the love you both crave so much.

Your gaze shifts to the snowman you had built, and a soft smile tugs around your lips.

He watches with a soft smile as your eyes move to the snowman. He still wants to kiss your neck. I mean, who wouldn't want to kiss someone's neck? Especially someone with such silky-smooth skin.

Oh, you. If only he was strong enough to make his desires come into reality. Then he could finally taste your neck, your lips, your hair...your everything.

What would you taste like?

...he catches himself thinking about the flavour of your lips. Is it bad that he'd really like to find out? But he knows how you taste, he has tasted you before. Yet he seems to have forgotten the taste, desperately craving it again.

It feels as if you are on display with the way he looks at your every move. But he is the only one who you allowed to look at your like that. Any other man would've received a scolding of their lifetime.

You transfer the hot chocolate to two mugs and top it off with some whipped cream.

You turn around to face him, your eyes shifting from the hot chocolate towards him, a silent invite for him to come closer and pick that mug up.

His breath catches in his throat at your silent invitation. He takes one step closer, but no more than that. His body is burning with longing, but he has to show restraint. Otherwise he would lose himself in your eyes, your skin, your lips — and he'd never recover.

He grabs his mug of hot chocolate with trembling fingers as he stares at the steaming liquid. He is not allowed to look up at you. Not allowed to speak. Not allowed to touch you.

He's not allowed anything but to exist.

You watch him, like he had watched you.

Your eyes are on him as you take the first sip of your hot chocolate, and it tastes pretty damn good. A smile as you sees him take a sip, closing his eyes as he savours the taste, a soft chuckle from you as he gets some whipped cream on his nose.

You take the mug from his hands, placing it on the counter, before you use your thumb to wipe away the whipped cream.

It’s your turn to be surprised when he takes your wrist and gently licks the whipped cream of your thumb

A low growl escapes his lips as he licks your thumb — his tongue moving around like it's searching, desperate, needful.

And oh, it reminds him of the taste of your neck, the softness of your mouth. He is utterly addicted to your taste. God.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to lean in to bite your neck.

"Sorry about that."

The air between you is thick with desire, and the tension is almost tangible.

You had never felt something like that before, and you wanted more. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you watched him.

"Kyle." You croaked as you gripped the counter to keep your touch on reality. "I'll go fucking insane if you don't kiss me."

His heart is racing from the sheer rush of your words. There is a fire in his gaze as he studies your features.

He wants to kiss you. God, does he want to kiss you.

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with it.

"You... do you really want me to kiss you?"

The words are harsh, his tone sharp, but he needs to know that you truly want him. Otherwise he could never justify what he's about to do. He can’t dance around you any longer.

You don’t mind the sharp tone. You were used to it by now, your years long dance around each other.

God all you wanted was a kiss, all you wanted was his love. All you wanted was him. With all his flaws, with all quirks, all of him. "Love me." You whispered

His body tenses at your words — a sharp pain piercing his heart.

All he wants is to be loved. But he wasn't taught to let someone in. To be happy. He was never allowed to be weak. But that's all he is now. Weak. For your love, for your kindness, your touch... And he hates being weak.

Your whisper breaks his heart, but he can't deny what he feels. He wants it. He wants you.

"I love you. More than anything."

Your hands reach out for his, pulling him closer to your, so he towers over you.

"I love you too, Kyle." You answered. "I've loved you since the beginning."

"And whatever your mind tells you, you're not weak for loving me."

Those words are like water in the desert for Kyle's parched heart. He takes a deep breath as he gazes into your eyes. He loves you. Even when you're a cheeky little devil, even when you're driving him crazy, even when he thinks he is doomed to a lonely existence.

You're it for him. You. You're it for him.

His body shakes with need. He is going to finally put this years-long dance to an end.

He leans in and kisses your lips with an almost violent passion.

Your hands find their way to his neck, as if you want to keep him there forever.

He had finally given in and you couldn't be happier. But you had to pull back, you had to breathe, but you smile when you see his face.

"I fucking love you, Kyle."

He smiles down at you, his body buzzing as his hands gently cup your face. There is still a hint of restraint — as if he doesn't want to scare your away by being too much, too quick.

But there is no restraining the heat he feels when he looks into your eyes. "I love you."

He kisses you again, the hunger of years finally being sated. This is better than anything he could have imagined.

He holds you tighter, needing you like he needs air to breathe. His very soul is aching. Simon had been wrong. Simon had taught him that love and friendship shouldn’t be in the field manual. But love never felt better.

Simon:

He used to hate the holidays, but by the Gods did that change when he met you. You felt like a gift from the heavens above, slowly introducing him to the warmth that could be, and for the first time since years, did Simon start to love the holidays.

Unfortunately, does the army wait for no one. And right before he was supposed to be home, he got sent on a mission again, leaving him without a way to communicate with you.

Luckely for him, it was a short, easy mission, leaving him with some spare time to buy you something before he got back. He always adored giving you things. A little way of marking you as his, making it known to others that you were off the market.

He was a little too eager when he swung open the door of your house, kicking off his boots almost immediately.

"Hi, lovie," he mumbled exhausted. One of his hands slipped into his pocket, pulling out a small, black box. "Early present for you."

You had not expected him to be home again, you was more worried that he was killed in action, and there he was, exhausted as could be, but alive.

"Oh lovie." You sighed as you hugged him tight, burying your face in the crook of his neck, a content sigh leaving your lips.

You pulled back to look at him, a smile on your face, your hair tickling his arm. You took the little box from him, opening it eagerly.

"Simon!" You had been eyeing this ankle bracelet for a while, and he must've known it. "This must've costed you a fortune!" You exclaimed, seeing it had this initial on it, a little S dangling off it.

He hugged back with a groan, wrapping his arms around your tightly. The love he felt for his person was unmatched by anyone or anything. No matter how hard things got, these rare moments of comfort made his entire being come back to life and feel like things were going to be okay. You made his heart race in ways you'd never know.

"I'm here." He whispered in your ear, a low sigh escaping his lips before he kissed your forehead. He was relieved you wasn't annoyed with his sudden, early return. “It didn’t cost a fortune.” He groaned. “It will look nice when your ankles rest on my shoulders.” He chuckled.

"I'm so glad you are." You murmured softly when he kissed your forehead. "I was so worried something had happened."

You pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Do you want to stay in for Christmas? Or do you want to go to a dinner party or something?" You knew how much he valued his time, so you would gladly give him the choice.

Another low sigh escaped his lips as you kissed his cheek, his tired body leaning into the light affection you gave him. He let his eyes close for a moment but opened them when you asked a question.

He considered the options. "I'm pretty tired, honestly," he mumbled, leaning his head against yours. He wanted nothing more than to simply feel your presence by him.

"Then we're staying at home." You smiled. "I haven't seen you in a few months. And I would rather be with you than anywhere else."

"I can run you a bath, when it is Christmas I'll make some dinner." You mused. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

That was his ideal Christmas holiday. Spend it comfortably with his partner. No parties, no socializing with people you didn't know.

"That's perfect," he mumbled. A bath would feel great right now; his bones felt like they were going to break as soon as he let his guard down. "You can spoil me for the day," he said, his face lighting up now that he knew you’d be staying home.

"You would like that, wouldn't you." You teased him. You gave him a playful slap on his ass. "Let’s get your stinky ass in a bath." You grinned, as you kissed his cheek again.

You walked in front of him, placing the ankle bracelet on your nightstand before you went to the bathroom with him, it was a gorgeous gift, and you loved how he paid attention to what you wanted.

Simon laughed softly when you gave his ass that playful slap, his muscles clenching from the unexpected touch. It might not seem like much to others, but those little acts of affection were everything to him.

He followed behind, his steps slower than usual. Exhaustion weighed down his body, making him feel almost drunk. His muscles ached in the worst way possible. However, the bath was everything he needed to fix that.

"I hate to ask...can you help me wash?" He couldn't help but ask, the weariness showing itself in his voice.

You loved it, and he wouldn't know how happy it was making you, Simon always wanted to care for you, for others.

"Of course, lovie." You said with a smile, as you helped him undress.

You could see how tired he was, exhaustion from being a soldier oozing out of him. He leaned on you, and you knew this was all he needed.

It was almost ironic how he, a man of his physique and stature, was relying on his partner to help him with a simple, everyday task. It was almost funny how he was acting so pitiful; the man who usually carried the team's equipment was now having his clothes stripped from him.

Still, the simple act of you helping him made him feel closer to you and made him feel taken care of. It almost put tears in his eyes, but he was too tired to display such emotion. All he could do was lean against you and simply let you do your thing.

You didn't mind, not at all, you had leaned on him plenty of times, and you loved that you could return the favour.

You rinsed him first under the shower, getting rid of most of the dirt and grime, before you guided him to the bathtub. You let it fill up with warm water, before you leaned in to kiss him, helping him step into the water.

"There ya go."

Simon sighed contently as he felt the warm water against his skin, his muscles no longer hurting quite as badly as they were. The stress and tension just melted away. He let his eyes close again, leaning against you. You were doing him such an act of kindness. He hadn't been this relaxed in so long, the last few months being nothing but an endurance test.

"I could kiss you so many times right now," he mumbled with fatigue, his voice raspy and low from disuse.

"You're too tired to kiss me." You teased him. You took some shampoo, your shampoo, the nice, expensive one, and you lathered it in your hands. You took place behind him, softly massaging his scalp with the shampoo.

"I'm too tired to function right now," he groaned. Still, that didn't stop his body from reacting to your touch. Your hands felt like they were melting away all of the tension in his muscles, the scent of the shampoo being a bonus.

It wasn't long before his eyes closed and his breathing slowed, the last few drops of adrenaline leaving his body as he relaxed completely. It always baffled him how you made things so easy and simple, taking care of him and making his life better than it had ever been.

You used the shower head to rinse out the shampoo from his hair.

After that, you used your bodywash to lather your hands again, softly massaging his shoulders with the soap. Any other day you would’ve joined him, teased him in the bath until he dragged you to the bedroom. But you could see he was too tired, too exhausted and he needed a break.

"I love you." You whispered softly.

Simon let out a relaxing moan when you massaged his shoulders, the tension leaving his body more with each slow touch. He almost couldn't believe he was still on earth. Things were going too perfectly.

"I love you too," he murmured, and that was the truth. It was no longer butterflies in his stomach when he was by your side. Now it was warmth, security, and a sense of overwhelming belongingness.

It had been the same for you. You didn't get butterflies when you saw him, unless he was all dressed up, or bone naked, but he made you feel at home, he made you feel like you belonged in the world.

You work your thumbs into the tired muscles of your lover.

"Nearly done, my love." You murmured softly. "I'll dry you off once we're done."

Your touch felt like a comforting, calming blanket being draped over him. Every ounce of stress and tension was releasing. It was like being back in your arms after a long day, his body getting the much needed attention it deserved. He was already ready to nap once this was over.

"Thank you..." He mumbled, feeling like he should be doing more in this relationship, rather than simply accepting your care and love. Oh but he was doing so much more than he gave himself credit for. He loved you unconditionally and that was the best thing he could do.

You emptied the bath, helping him getting out of the tub, after that you took the fluffiest towel you could find, slowly drying him off.

"Let’s get you to bed, Si."

Simon smiled and closed his eyes again, appreciating how the towel felt against him. It was so soft and warm. Like a hug.

"I'm not being too demanding, am I?" He mumbled softly. The last thing he wanted to do was be a handful to take care of. But with how exhausted he was, it was hard not to melt into the towel and simply relax.

"Demanding?" You repeated. "You're anything but demanding."

A soft kiss is pressed on his chest. "I would do anything for you. This is nothing." You reassured him.

You took his hand, guiding him and his naked body to your bedroom.

You took off your jeans and socks before you got into bed yourself, and before you could say or do anything he was between your legs, his arms around your waist, his head resting on your lap.

Simon's mind went fuzzy at your reassurance and affection. Was he really this loved? Could he have done anything worthy of such unwavering devotion?

He was the one who should have been doing more for you, not the other way around. Yet you still took care of him, took care of everything. Even when he was acting so pitiful and incapable of doing the simplest tasks.

His body reacted appropriately to your warmth; his arms wrapped around your, his muscles tightening as he clung to you.

You took your book from the nightstand, running your free hand through his hair as you let out a content sigh. He was home, and that was all you could ask for.

“What are you reading?” Simon muttered softly, while he tried to keep his eyes open. “Haunting Adeline, it is quite good.”

Simon perks up. “Are you out of your mi-“ He chuckles when he sees a different cover and he let’s himself sink into your lap again. “I nearly went off on you, you idiot.” He scolded you, lovingly of course.

“How do you even know it?” You muse, your hand running through his hair again.

Simon closes his eyes once more. “Soap bought it to impress a woman he had been dating. The idiot read it out loud to us, before we would go to sleep. He tossed it out really quick when we realised it was glorifying sexual assault and Zade was nothing more than a rapist.”

“Soap did good with that one.” You chuckle. “Tried to read it, had to put it down because I was so disturbed.”

“Hmm.” Simon mumbles as he feels the sleep wash over him. “Tonight I want you to read for me.”

"Merry early Christmas, lovie." You whispered, not sure if he would hear you. "Couldn't wish for a better gift."

The heat of your body was so blissful. The comfort that came from just lying with you was unlike any other experience Simon had ever had. When you were close like this, in a bed, he had no urge to protect his surroundings. He was at ease, his heart beating slower from the sheer joy he felt.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered back, drifting into the most restful sleep he's had in months.

John:

You don’t really know how it had happened, but it just happened. Instead of two eggs, you used four, you know, so then the carton would be empty, John would be bringing home new eggs anyway. And all you had to do was add double flour, extra butter, and a whole lot of chocolate chips, and somehow you ended up with sixty-six cookies. Well, sixty-five, since you had to taste one. You triple check the recipe you used, and sure, after you’ve read the author’s life story, it says clearly that is a recipe for just fifteen cookies, and you’re still not sure how you ended up with sixty-five after doubling your ingredients.

You look at your countertops, it’s filled with baking sheets full of cookies. Which wouldn’t be such a hassle, if the cookies would be the only thing you had baked. On your right are countertops filled with chocolate cupcakes, topped off with a buttercream of vanilla and some chopped up walnuts, and to your left there were blueberry muffins with a cream cheese drizzle. Your eyes shift to the clock, knowing that John will be home soon, and you let out a sigh. Who would let a stressed out person who likes to bake loose in a kitchen anyway?

Your hand reaches for your phone and you look up the number for the homeless shelter not too far away. You and John had donated to them a few times before, and what would be a better use for all these sweets that you had baked?

The lady who answers the phone is a little weary at first, and you can’t blame her, how many people treat the homeless shelter as their personal dumpster, dropping off spoiled food, dropping off food laced with who knows what. She asks you to identify yourself when you drop the goods, and you have to sign a weaver. It all sounds fair to you. Just as you end the call, you can hear the front door slam close.

John

With a loud groan he enters the kitchen, his eyes lighting up when he sees all those bakes goods. Was that the reason your shopping list was so long?

"Sweet baby Jezus." He complains, setting the heavy bags down on the counter. “Is this just for me?” He teases as he reaches out to the cookies. “Hey!” He protests when you swat his hand away. His joyful attitude wiped away the peace and quiet you had yourself surrounded in.

Your eyes flickered between the cookies, and the cupcakes you had been baking. "Maybe I did go a little overboard." You giggled. "A little?" he chuckles as he catches sight of the mountain of baked goods. All of that looks like it had to have taken you ages to make! He has to wonder who could eat that many sweets. Maybe he could help you get rid of them.

His arms snake around your waist and he presses a kiss on your forehead. “What’s on your mind, love?” Your shoulders slump at his question. “Just a little stress.” You mumble at his question. John doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been baking enough to feed a whole army, something is bothering you.”

“Just a little nervous to see my mom again.” You mutter eventually, there would be no use in hiding this from him anyway. John chuckled softly at your words. “Is she nagging about grandkids again?”

“Mhm, while calling me fat in the same conversation.”

He kisses your forehead again, his lips lingering against your skin. “We’re not going.” You want to look up at him, but he keeps your face in place with his kiss. “What?” “I refuse to let you ruin your own Christmas because your mother can’t shut up. We’ve told her countless times that our decision on children is not up to her to intervene with.”

“Yeah but what if…” Your voice trails off, you know your mother wouldn’t take lightly to this news.

“I can talk to her.” John muses, as he looks at you. “You are the love of my life, I’ll be damned if I let your mother make you miserable, just because she refuses to go to therapy.”

You gave him a quick peck on his lips. "Thank you lovie." The idea of not seeing your mother for Christmas gave you some room to breathe, maybe a year without judgement would do you good.

His hands go to your waist again, squeezing you softly as he pulls you in closer. "You're welcome, love," he whispers softly. "You look really beautiful. More so than usual."

Your arms go around his neck, and you kiss him softly, a smile on his face when he looks at the baked goods again.

"I want to drop a few off at the homeless shelter." You whisper against his lips. "Want to help me?" You ask him.  "I'll let you eat a cupcake first."

"If I do help, am I allowed to sample one of your cupcakes beforehand?" he asks, a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes. While he jokes, he knows those cupcakes of you are to die for. Even having one before helping you deliver the rest would be enough to make this a grand day.

"Please? Just one?"

"How can I say no to you?" You chuckled softly. "I have chocolate ones, with a buttercream of vanilla and walnuts. Or blueberry with a cream cheese drizzle." You mentioned.

"Which one would you like, love?" You asked him, turning around to the cupcakes. He is completely torn over which one to choose, and the more he debates it, the harder it is for him to pick. "Do I pick the chocolate? Or the blueberry? Hmmmmmm..."

He glances back at you, unable to hide the adoration in his eyes. "You know what? I like surprises. Surprise me." And to really make you work for it, he kisses you again, stealing one last taste before it's time to choose.

Your eyes light up and you grin. "Close your eyes!" You order him. He closes his eyes as you say, eager to see if he can guess which is which without seeing.

You take a chocolate cupcake, the blueberry cupcake and your cinnamon sugar cookie.

You smile as he closes his eyes, and you can't help but kiss him. You place a small piece of the blueberry cupcake in his mouth. "Guess which one this is."

Once it's in his mouth, it's clear that it is most definitely the blueberry cupcake. There's no mistaking that flavour of blueberry and cream cheese.

"Blueberry," he answers confidently. And he opens his eyes to see you grinning triumphantly.

"Correct." You chuckled, before you placed a piece of her cinnamon sugar cookie between his lips. "Guess again!" You giggled before you pressed a kiss on his jawline. "If you guess all three right." You whispered in his ear. "I'll go on top tonight."

"Cinnamon sugar? It has to be that delicious cookie. But if I'm wrong, then I'll never hear the end of it." And he takes a bite, revelling at the sweetness of the dough. "This is absolutely incredible," he smiles.

At what you mention next, his eyes snap wide open. Not even a millisecond of hesitation passes by before an excited "YES!" crosses his lips. "Okay, the next one has to be chocolate. There's no way that's anything but chocolate."

You laugh at his enthusiasm. "There is only one flavour left and that is chocolate.” You chuckle, as you feed him the piece of chocolate cupcake. “So it seems I’ll put in the work tonight.”

"Let’s drop off these cookies and cupcakes at the homeless shelter. And when we get home, I'll show you why I should be on the nice list." You added with a soft chuckle.

"I can't wait," he whispers, leaning in for another kiss. "But first, I'll be a good boy for you."

"And I really can't emphasize how much I love you for making all of these for that shelter," he chuckles. "They deserve the best Christmas possible. And these, I can assure you, are the best." He gives you an affectionate squeeze, before grabbing your hand to head towards the door together.

"Being with you has made me realize how lucky I truly am." You smiled. "And I hope these cupcakes bring a little bit of hope to other too." You added, as you brought the cupcakes and cookies to the car. You took place in the passenger seat. "Drive carefully please." You pleaded.

"Yeah, lucky is definitely the word to describe it," he teases with a smirk. "I think it'll do more than that," he replies. He knows how big of an impact your delicious baking has had on him, and he has no doubt it will be equally as meaningful to them.

At your concern, he nods. "You know I'm not some speed racer, love," he chuckles, turning the car on and beginning your trip.

You pressed a kiss on his cheek before you puts your seatbelt on. "You're a delight." You chuckled softly. "I am so happy you were granted leave for the holidays, John."

"It has been a while since we celebrated Christmas together, and I'm looking forward to it." You add quietly.

The kiss warms his cheek, the sensation of your lips on him bringing an easy smile to his face. "You know I've missed you desperately, love," he whispers back, his attention turned to the road in front of him. "I've been counting the seconds until I had you back in my arms again. You'll never know how much I look forward to being with you on Christmas."

The smile on his face grows as the two of you ride along together. There's something heartwarming and magical about spending the season with the one you truly love.

Of course you had missed him too, more than he would ever know.

You get excited when you arrive at the shelter, and you get out of car, making sure to get to the person who you talked to on the phone. You bring them the cupcakes and cookies before, showing them your ID and signing the weaver. It doesn’t need to be bombastic, you don’t need the praise, you just want to do a little something for others.

"Let’s get back to home, love." You said, as you got in to the car again, before you pressed a kiss on his lips.

Seeing you get excited is always endearing. The way your eyes light up with joy never fails to captivate him. And your eagerness to help those in need is one of the many qualities he loves about you. He wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a comforting squeeze.

"Yes, yes. Let's go home. I can't wait to snuggle up with you again," he says with a smile. And he begins to drive home—where you both belong, where this Christmas season is meant to be spent.

You had missed him, you knew what you got yourself in to when you married a soldier, but it was hard at times. Having him home for Christmas really was a delight.

"I have a good Christmas present for you this year." You hummed content. "I'm really sure you'll like it." You watch the Christmas decorations when you pass the houses in the neighbourhood, and you adore it.

His curiosity is piqued. "I'll like it, you say?" he asks with a wry smile. "Why do I get the feeling you enjoy watching me squirm in anticipation?"

He doesn't mind the torture. In fact, he loves it. It makes the big reveal that much more special. "I have something for you, too, love," he says in turn. "I put quite a bit of thought into it." He winks as he turns the corner, heading towards the driveway.

Oh you love this, the anticipation, the giddy feeling it gives you. It had taken you a while, but you had managed to order his favourite cigars from Cuba. You had to keep it for yourself for so long now, and it made you feel like you could explode any moment.

"Come on!" You urged him as he parked the car. "I know it’s not Boxing Day yet, but i really want to give you your present."

He chuckles at the thought of your excitement.

"Alright, alright, you've won. We don't need to wait another day." With that, he helps you get out of the car. And now you both stand before the front door.

"Okay, love, you would need to wait a little more, I will have the stage first.” He smiles.

He is gentle as he drags you towards the tree. He had a whole day planned for this, but he can't wait any longer. So John goes down on one knee, holding your hand, a black velvet box in his other hand. "Would you do me the honour to renew our vows?"

The question catches you off guard, almost like a swift punch to the gut. Your mind, in the heat of the moment, flashes back through all the time you’ve spent together—all the beautiful memories you've made.

"John," you says softly, wrapping your arms around you in an embrace. "Of course I will."

With the words spoken, there's nothing he wants more than to feel your warm, loving embrace. You could be married a thousand more times, and it would never get old.

“I love you so much, and the time we have to spend apart only makes me realize it more." John whispered in to your ear. "And every day that's spent away from you is nothing but torture. I'm just glad I get to have you back this Christmas. I look forward to tonight and to the coming year."

Johnny:

He had planned it ahead, mustering up a little plan, a little prank. You had always said that you loved his playful nature. So he gathered up Price, Ghost and Gaz, dragging them along in his plan, so when you would reach out to them, they would all confirm his story.

Just the idea made him all giddy from the inside. Johnny could hardly contain himself when he finally called you, his fingers hovering over to text on the screen, your name, next to a little red heart. He almost caught himself giggling when he started to ring you, once, twice, a sudden nervous feeling, worried that you wouldn’t pick up.

But you always did, you always sprinted to your phone the moment you heard it vibrate, you would never miss the opportunity to have a conversation with him.

“Johnny!” The excitement in your voice made him smile, you picked up exactly how he had expected you to. He could already imagine you, hurrying to the couch, making yourself comfortable in the corner, grabbing the little fleece blanket to bury yourself under.

“Hiya love.” He answered, trying to keep his voice steady. But you weren’t born yesterday, you had trained yourself to pick up the littlest of verbal cues.

“Johnny? Is everything alright?” You were indeed sitting on the couch, tucked away in the corner, alone in your little bubble with him, separated, yet together. You had heard the stories, soldiers calling their partner to say a final goodbye, knowing they wouldn’t come home. Your breathing starts to quicken and you find yourself closing your eyes, trying to focus on the sounds around him, but you find it to be eerily quiet.

Johnny had to mute his phone for a second, holding back a little chuckle, it was all going according to plan. “Am fine, love, ‘m fine.” He tried to reassure you. “But I do have bad news.”

Those words were enough to make your blood run cold, to make it seem like the world had stopped spinning. You had wondered at night if being in a relationship with a soldier was something you were cut out for. Being alone most of the time, sometimes hearing nothing from him at all, for weeks at the time, being worried all the time whether or not he would make it out alive, it was slowly eating you from the inside. So you had been ecstatic when he told you he had Christmas off, the two of you had been invited to dinner parties, regular parties, to your family, to your friends, they all wanted to see him again, they wanted to see you shine again, but the feeling in your gut was telling you that would all be ripped away from you, again. Four more days until it would be Christmas eve, and he was supposed to come home tomorrow. You find the courage to swallow the lump in your throat. “What’s the bad news, Johnny?”

On the other side of the world was Johnny fucking MacTavish, a shit eating grin on his face as he looked at the ticket in his hand. “Afraid I can’t make it for Christmas, love.” And he had to pinch his thigh to make his voice sound strained. “I know you’ve been looking forward to it, but they need me here.”

You want to scream, to cry, to yell at him that you need him too, that you need him more than the army does. But you don’t, you stay silent, letting his words linger in the air of the room. You would be alone for Christmas, again.

“Love, are you alright?” Johnny had expected something from you, anything, anger, disappointment, sadness, just not silence.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Your voice is a soft murmur, barely being heard. You’re the one who disconnects the call first, your lips pressed against the screen of your phone. Your screen immediately lights up again. His name and picture showing up, as if the universe is mocking you for your decision. But you’re tired and you can’t take it anymore.

The moment the screen dies down again, it doesn’t take another second for it to light up immediately again, and again, and again.

And on the other side of the world, is Johnny, frantically pacing around, this was not supposed to happen. It was supposed to go like the movies. You had to be a little pouty for the next day, and he would be on your doorstep. You would hug him, and all would be well.

But looking at his phone going to voicemail time after time, made him sick to his stomach. He had never thought losing you would even be an option in all this. After six times of trying to call you, he finally puts down his phone. Unsure of what he had to do now, of what he could do now.

He runs a hand through his mohawk. Fuck, oh fuck. The realisation of having fucked up this bad, hitting him once again. So he goes to the one person he would trust most with this, with you. His knuckles colliding with the door of his office, Johnny didn’t even wait for approval to come in.

“Captain. I fucked up.” The words left his lips before he could even close the door behind him. Price raised an eyebrow in return. “What happened?”

“I did my thing, called, said that I wouldn’t be able to come home, and I got broken up with.” The words leave Johnny’s lips, but he is having trouble believing them himself. “Well.” Price let out a quiet chuckle. “We did warn you this would happen, didn’t we?” Johnny’s face turns into a sour expression, he had been warned, by all his teammates, but that didn’t stop him from thinking it was an amazing idea anyway. “Well, yes.” Johnny grumbled. “Can you help me solve this mess?”

How could Price not? He had always been fond of you, you brought out the best in Johnny, and that was a quality not a lot of people possessed. “Listen closely.” Price warned him, placing his cigar in his ashtray. “You’re still going home and I need you to buy a large bouquet of roses.”

“Which colour?”

Price frowned, first of all, he did not liked to be interrupted, and secondly, was this man an idiot? “Red of course, the colour of love.” Price sighed. “And if you’re lucky enough to be let in, you’re going in for a hug, and don’t let go until you’re forgiven. Unless you’re puyoud away and asked to leave, gotta respect those boundaries.”

Okay, okay, Johnny could do that. He grumbled a low thanks, before he turned around on his heels and left the office again.

You let out an annoyed groan when a loud knock startled you, it was cold, it had been snowing, and you had been in the worst mood possible. After breaking up with Johnny you had cancelled all your plans, all the invites, you just wanted to be left alone. Another groan left your lips when the person standing at the door knocked again.

His eyes remain fixed on the front door, recalling the broken promise and sorrowful words he spoke to you over the phone a few days ago. He knocks twice on the door, wishing nothing more than to be welcomed home with the warmth of your embrace. With an annoyed look on your face you swung open your door. Your eyes widening when you saw your lover, he had made it home for Christmas.

"Johnny!" All the annoyance melted away from you when you wrapped your arms around him. Seeing him again, it made all your anger fade away, the disappointment, the sadness, everything seemed to glide off you when you saw him again, the feeling of dread being replaced with butterflies.

Johnny pulls you into a tight embrace, nuzzling his head into your shoulder while squeezing with all his might. A deep sigh escapes his lips as his eyelids flutter shut, savouring the moment of your soft embrace.

"Surprise," he mumbles, squeezing tighter and pulling his love closer. He nuzzles further into your neck, his nose buried in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel the rumble of his heart racing, his body shaking in the cold. His breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine.

You don’t want to let go, worried that it isn't real, that he isn't real. But you feel the rough fabric beneath your fingertips, you can feel his skin, his stubble.

His face gets peppered with soft little kisses. "You're really back," you murmured softly. You pulled him inside the hallway, closing the door behind him.

He feels your lips on his skin, pressing soft kisses over his face, his neck, his shoulders. Johnny's hand gently massages your back as you walk back inside the hallway.

Your love is deep, intense, and overwhelming, but you never fails to make him feel at ease. Like the cold snow falling outside has thawed him out. Like her heart is a beacon in a stormy night. Johnny holds you by your waist, nuzzling his face near your ear, whispering, "Just for the holidays, sweetheart. Then I have to go back."

"I know." You sighed softly. "But I don't want to think about that just yet." You watch as he takes off his coat and you takes over the flowers. "They're beautiful." You tell him with a smile.

"I'll put them in a vase." You said as you walked towards the kitchen.

Johnny follows right behind you, his thoughts occupied by your presence, your warmth, your sweet words. When the two of you enter the kitchen he watches you fill up the vase with water and cut the stems of the flowers. A content smile crosses your face as you you’re your time with the task.

Johnny leans on the counter next to you, his thoughts drifting to your radiant smile and your captivating eyes. A warm feeling fills his chest and he pulls you closer, embracing you tightly, burying his face in your hair.

Just having him there is enough. You adores how he waits patiently until you’re done tending to the flowers. You smile as he pulls you closer. "I've missed ya." You murmured softly.

"I got really pissed when you said you couldn't come." You say. “And I’m sorry for breaking up with you on the spot, but it really, really felt like the final straw.”

"Love, I'm sorry," Johnny whispers into your ear, his hand rubbing you back. "I shouldn't have said those things, I wanted to pull a little joke and I didn’t think about any of the consequences. I miss you... all the time."

He kisses your cheek gently. "You're the light of my life. You're the heart that keeps me going. I cannot imagine this world without you." Johnny's eyes are filled with love as he looks into your eyes. He takes your hand and places it near his heart.

You smile again when he placed your hand near his heart. It is not like you can stay mad at him anyway. You gave him a quick peck on his lips. "Out of spite I cancelled all my plans." You admitted with a sheepish smile. "So it’s just going to be the two of us for the holidays."

"Perfect," Johnny replies with a cheeky grin, his hand running through your hair and brushing the loose strands from your face. John's eyes sparkle when he looks at you, the smile playing on his lips. "Is this spite, or just a sweet way for you to have me all to yourself?" he jokes. "I love being with you. I love waking up next to you, coming back to you, holding you."

John takes both your hands and pulls you closer to him, planting soft kisses all over your face.

"Maybe both, maybe neither." You chuckled softly as you let him kiss you. "Thank you for coming back." You whispered against his lips. "Maybe we can stay in tonight, watch a movie, or two?"

Johnny's heart soars at your reply, you melt him with your every word. He presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment and savouring the feeling of your lips lingering on his. "Of course, sweetheart. We can do anything you wish. I'm all yours."

With his thumbs Johnny caresses your cheeks, tilting your face towards his. He stares deeply into your eyes, his lips gently brushing against yours, a tender kiss that makes his heart beat faster.

Oh his sweet words, his sweet gestures, they're enough to make you putty in his hands. "Can we watch The Grinch?" You asks him, your hands finding their way to his waist.

"Pretty please?"

"I'll even put up with the Grinch for you, sweetheart." Johnny replies, his tone playful and his eyes gleaming with love. "We can watch The Grinch, Home Alone, A Christmas Story... anything you want. As long as I get to spend time with you."

Johnny slides his hands down along your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently against your skin.

He leans in to whisper in your ear. "As long as I get to hear you whisper 'pretty please', I'm happy."

You could see it in his eyes. The moment you asked him 'pretty please.' He was a goner, and you loved having your man swoon over you.

"I didn't expect you to be home." You said. "So I didn't bother with fancy dinners or anything." You admitted with a sheepish smile.

"I have some frozen pizza and some leftover Chinese and that is about it."

"Pizza? Chinese food? Are you kidding? Love, you just described the best holiday meal." Johnny replies with a laugh.

"In fact, I was about to suggest we get a pizza or something. It's been a long day and I'm starving."

Johnny takes your hand and gently pulls you closer. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's eat before we watch our favourite movie. You can lean on me while we watch, get all cozy and warm. I have a feeling you'll fall asleep in my arm."

You sticks out your tongue to him. "I will not fall asleep in your arms." You protested, knowing full well it would probably happen.

"I'll put the pizza in the oven." You said, placing your hand on his neck. "Can you get the blankets from the bedroom?"

You smiled at him. "I want to get all cozy."

A mischievous smile crosses Johnny's face when he looks at you, your hand resting on his neck. "You... you know I can't say no to you," he murmurs. He plants a kiss on your forehead and heads into the bedroom, grabbing the softest blanket in the house.

"It's the perfect night for cuddles." he says to himself as he rushes back into the kitchen, a content sigh escaping his lips. Johnny wraps the soft blanket over your shoulders, rubbing your shoulders gently as you place the pizza in the oven.

You knew Johnny had always been one for physical contact and you adored him for it. You let him massage your shoulders as you set the timer for the pizza. "We have around fifteen minutes." You said, turning around to face him. "How has deployment been, love?"

Johnny slides his hands down your arms, stopping at your elbows where he rubs gentle circles into your skin.

When you turn around he studies your face, a content smile on his lips. He breathes in deeply, savouring your scent.

"Honestly, deployment has been rough. Tough days, tough missions. Not an easy job, being so far away from you... it breaks my heart." Johnny's voice is filled with an overwhelming sense of love and appreciation for you. Your soft smile is contagious and fills his heart with joy, despite all the struggles.

You press a soft kiss on his cheek, picking up on the subtle hints that he doesn't wish to talk about it.

"Since you've been gone, the next door neighbours have gotten a new dog." You said, switching the subject to something lighter. "It’s a cute little thing."

Johnny wraps his arms around you, placing your head on his shoulder. The stress of his recent assignments starts to melt away as he feels your soft hair on his neck and the faint scent of your body wash lingering in the air.

"A cute little thing? So it's just like you? " Johnny jokes. "Was it a good boy or a good girl?"

Johnny's smile is genuine and his tone is playful as he looks at you, his fingers gently moving across your hair in an absent-minded gesture.

You know what he is doing, using the subtle weight of your head to keep him in the present, to prevent the flashbacks, and you were more than happy to help.

"It’s a puppy, of course it’s a cute little thing." You chuckled. "It’s a good girl, her name is Macy and she is a German Shepherd." You said, describing your neighbour’s dog.

"I have already offered to watch her if they ever go away for a holiday or something."

"Macy. What a cute name for a shepherd." Johnny replies with a soft smile.

He's genuinely interested in the conversation, but his eyes wander to your soft complexion. Your skin seems to glow in the light, every pore on your face radiates beauty and innocence.

"I'm just afraid Macy might just adopt me and steal my heart away from you." He teases you.

"Come on, we got a pizza and a movie to enjoy. Then it's time to show a soldier like me what it means to become a Christmas couch potato."

You laughs softly at his impatience, the timer for the pizza had still a minute left. Johnny gets another peck on his cheek from you.

"Be a doll for me and light some candles in the living room for me." You mused as you handed him the blanket that he had draped over your shoulders.

"I'll be with you once the pizza is done."

Johnny nods and heads into the living room, putting the blanket onto the sofa and placing a few candles on the coffee table. He lights the candles with a match.

Johnny sits on the sofa, patting the plushy cushions and waiting for you. He pulls you close after a few moments, laying against your shoulder.

"Come on, sweetheart. No more waiting. Food!" he says with an overexcited tone. "I'm starving."

"Oh you're so impatient for a soldier!" You scold him playfully. You put on the movie, running one hand through his hair, a slice of pizza in your other hand. "Merry Christmas, love." You whispered softly.

Your scolding doesn't stop Johnny from taking a slice of pizza from your hand and taking a big bite out of it. He savours the flavours as he watches you put the movie on the TV.

"Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart," he replies, his voice full of appreciation and warmth. Johnny wraps his arm around you and takes a few more bites of his pizza, while enjoying his time with his partner.

He can never quite get rid of the sensation of danger and stress, but as long as he's with you... he feels safe.

"My pizza!" You tried to protest when he takes your slice, but how can you scold him when he looks so innocent? "You're lucky I love you." You tried to grumble, but you ends up laughing instead. You take a bite of your pizza. "I've missed this."

"Mine!" he replies playfully, quickly taking another bite out of your slice and chewing as loudly as he can. Johnny's voice takes on a more serious tone as he turns to you. "You're my life. I've missed you more than you can ever imagine. Seeing you again, smelling you, hearing your voice again... that is heaven." Johnny takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on your beautiful face.

"You're the best Christmas gift I could've ever asked for, sweetheart."

"I haven't seen you in months and you just have to tease me." You complained, but it was hard to stay serious when you kept smiling.

You pressed a kiss on his hair. "Having you home is the best Christmas present I could have, my love."

"You, some pizza, the Grinch. I couldn't ask for more." You add with a smile.  Johnny smiles back at you, a warm glow radiating from his face.

"Don't forget the blankets. They're an essential part of the experience. Plus, those cuddles I mentioned." Johnny jokes.

"All these months away from you have been so, so painful, my love. But now I'm home and nothing can take me away from you again."

He brushes your hair out of your face and places his hand on your chin. "We're going to do a marathon of all our favourite movies. And eat all the pizza we want."

"Oh I'm sorry for forgetting those essential parts." You teased him playfully, right before you kiss the thumb close to your lips.  "That sounds like an amazing plan."

"You better not be forgetting them again." Johnny teases back, but his eyes soften.

His lips find yours and he kisses you softly, his hands gently caressing your hips and drawing you closer. A soft groan escapes his lips and he pulls back for a moment.

"Sorry, sweetheart. You just look too attractive to ignore," he whispers in a husky tone.

Johnny smiles, rubbing your cheek and caressing your back. "I want more cuddles. Let's watch that movie."

You lets out a soft laugh, the movie had been playing for a while now, but his attention has been on you. You places your head on his shoulder, snuggling against him. "You'll get all the cuddles you want."

Johnny smiles, wrapping the blankets around the two of them and hugging you closer against his chest. He leans back and puts his hands around your waist, enjoying the feeling of your warmth against his body.

He looks at the movie on the screen for a few moments and kisses you’re on the top of your head. "I'm sorry, my love. Are you paying attention to anything other than me?” He teases you and nuzzles your head, but looks back at the screen. He's seen the movie a million times but loves watching it again and again with you.

"Are you being jealous?" You teased him, as your eyes shifted from the movie to his face. A soft kiss is placed on his lips. "You're absolutely divine, Johnny." You sighed. "I'm glad you're home."

Johnny glances at you with a teasing smile and a sparkle in his eyes. "Jealous of your attention? Me? I may or may not be."

He shifts himself a little, so he's laying down completely. "Come here, sweetheart. I want to shower you with kisses."

Johnny's eyes flicker with a hint of mischief as he draws you in closer. "I'm glad I'm home too. Being away from you breaks me, sweetheart."

You had to lay on his chest, it would be cruel not to. You kisses his jawline, your kisses trailing up to his ear, your hands going to his chest. "I love you."

Johnny's face is flush and his breath is a little unsteady as you kissed him on his throat and jaw, nuzzled against his chest now.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he says. "You're my everything."

He presses his lips against your forehead and plants soft kisses all over your hair

"I just want to love you, forever."

[codfanficedits]

Christmas - Part 3/4

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Summary: John during Christmas :)

Wordcount: 2307 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: A little bit hinting to NSFW, I think? A lot of fluff :)

A/N: I need me a man like this :(

You don’t really know how it had happened, but it just happened. Instead of two eggs, you used four, you know, so then the carton would be empty, John would be bringing home new eggs anyway. And all you had to do was add double flour, extra butter, and a whole lot of chocolate chips, and somehow you ended up with sixty-six cookies. Well, sixty-five, since you had to taste one. You triple check the recipe you used, and sure, after you’ve read the author’s life story, it says clearly that is a recipe for just fifteen cookies, and you’re still not sure how you ended up with sixty-five after doubling your ingredients.

You look at your countertops, it’s filled with baking sheets full of cookies. Which wouldn’t be such a hassle, if the cookies would be the only thing you had baked. On your right are countertops filled with chocolate cupcakes, topped off with a buttercream of vanilla and some chopped up walnuts, and to your left there were blueberry muffins with a cream cheese drizzle. Your eyes shift to the clock, knowing that John will be home soon, and you let out a sigh. Who would let a stressed out person who likes to bake loose in a kitchen anyway?

Your hand reaches for your phone and you look up the number for the homeless shelter not too far away. You and John had donated to them a few times before, and what would be a better use for all these sweets that you had baked?

The lady who answers the phone is a little weary at first, and you can’t blame her, how many people treat the homeless shelter as their personal dumpster, dropping off spoiled food, dropping off food laced with who knows what. She asks you to identify yourself when you drop the goods, and you have to sign a weaver. It all sounds fair to you. Just as you end the call, you can hear the front door slam close.

John

With a loud groan he enters the kitchen, his eyes lighting up when he sees all those bakes goods. Was that the reason your shopping list was so long?

"Sweet baby Jezus." He complains, setting the heavy bags down on the counter. “Is this just for me?” He teases as he reaches out to the cookies. “Hey!” He protests when you swat his hand away. His joyful attitude wiped away the peace and quiet you had yourself surrounded in.

Your eyes flickered between the cookies, and the cupcakes you had been baking. "Maybe I did go a little overboard." You giggled. "A little?" he chuckles as he catches sight of the mountain of baked goods. All of that looks like it had to have taken you ages to make! He has to wonder who could eat that many sweets. Maybe he could help you get rid of them.

His arms snake around your waist and he presses a kiss on your forehead. “What’s on your mind, love?” Your shoulders slump at his question. “Just a little stress.” You mumble at his question. John doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been baking enough to feed a whole army, something is bothering you.”

“Just a little nervous to see my mom again.” You mutter eventually, there would be no use in hiding this from him anyway. John chuckled softly at your words. “Is she nagging about grandkids again?”

“Mhm, while calling me fat in the same conversation.”

He kisses your forehead again, his lips lingering against your skin. “We’re not going.” You want to look up at him, but he keeps your face in place with his kiss. “What?” “I refuse to let you ruin your own Christmas because your mother can’t shut up. We’ve told her countless times that our decision on children is not up to her to intervene with.”

“Yeah but what if…” Your voice trails off, you know your mother wouldn’t take lightly to this news.

“I can talk to her.” John muses, as he looks at you. “You are the love of my life, I’ll be damned if I let your mother make you miserable, just because she refuses to go to therapy.”

You gave him a quick peck on his lips. "Thank you lovie." The idea of not seeing your mother for Christmas gave you some room to breathe, maybe a year without judgement would do you good.

His hands go to your waist again, squeezing you softly as he pulls you in closer. "You're welcome, love," he whispers softly. "You look really beautiful. More so than usual."

Your arms go around his neck, and you kiss him softly, a smile on his face when he looks at the baked goods again.

"I want to drop a few off at the homeless shelter." You whisper against his lips. "Want to help me?" You ask him.  "I'll let you eat a cupcake first."

"If I do help, am I allowed to sample one of your cupcakes beforehand?" he asks, a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes. While he jokes, he knows those cupcakes of you are to die for. Even having one before helping you deliver the rest would be enough to make this a grand day.

"Please? Just one?"

"How can I say no to you?" You chuckled softly. "I have chocolate ones, with a buttercream of vanilla and walnuts. Or blueberry with a cream cheese drizzle." You mentioned.

"Which one would you like, love?" You asked him, turning around to the cupcakes. He is completely torn over which one to choose, and the more he debates it, the harder it is for him to pick. "Do I pick the chocolate? Or the blueberry? Hmmmmmm..."

He glances back at you, unable to hide the adoration in his eyes. "You know what? I like surprises. Surprise me." And to really make you work for it, he kisses you again, stealing one last taste before it's time to choose.

Your eyes light up and you grin. "Close your eyes!" You order him. He closes his eyes as you say, eager to see if he can guess which is which without seeing.

You take a chocolate cupcake, the blueberry cupcake and your cinnamon sugar cookie.

You smile as he closes his eyes, and you can't help but kiss him. You place a small piece of the blueberry cupcake in his mouth. "Guess which one this is."

Once it's in his mouth, it's clear that it is most definitely the blueberry cupcake. There's no mistaking that flavour of blueberry and cream cheese.

"Blueberry," he answers confidently. And he opens his eyes to see you grinning triumphantly.

"Correct." You chuckled, before you placed a piece of her cinnamon sugar cookie between his lips. "Guess again!" You giggled before you pressed a kiss on his jawline. "If you guess all three right." You whispered in his ear. "I'll go on top tonight."

"Cinnamon sugar? It has to be that delicious cookie. But if I'm wrong, then I'll never hear the end of it." And he takes a bite, revelling at the sweetness of the dough. "This is absolutely incredible," he smiles.

At what you mention next, his eyes snap wide open. Not even a millisecond of hesitation passes by before an excited "YES!" crosses his lips. "Okay, the next one has to be chocolate. There's no way that's anything but chocolate."

You laugh at his enthusiasm. "There is only one flavour left and that is chocolate.” You chuckle, as you feed him the piece of chocolate cupcake. “So it seems I’ll put in the work tonight.”

"Let’s drop off these cookies and cupcakes at the homeless shelter. And when we get home, I'll show you why I should be on the nice list." You added with a soft chuckle.

"I can't wait," he whispers, leaning in for another kiss. "But first, I'll be a good boy for you."

"And I really can't emphasize how much I love you for making all of these for that shelter," he chuckles. "They deserve the best Christmas possible. And these, I can assure you, are the best." He gives you an affectionate squeeze, before grabbing your hand to head towards the door together.

"Being with you has made me realize how lucky I truly am." You smiled. "And I hope these cupcakes bring a little bit of hope to other too." You added, as you brought the cupcakes and cookies to the car. You took place in the passenger seat. "Drive carefully please." You pleaded.

"Yeah, lucky is definitely the word to describe it," he teases with a smirk. "I think it'll do more than that," he replies. He knows how big of an impact your delicious baking has had on him, and he has no doubt it will be equally as meaningful to them.

At your concern, he nods. "You know I'm not some speed racer, love," he chuckles, turning the car on and beginning your trip.

You pressed a kiss on his cheek before you puts your seatbelt on. "You're a delight." You chuckled softly. "I am so happy you were granted leave for the holidays, John."

"It has been a while since we celebrated Christmas together, and I'm looking forward to it." You add quietly.

The kiss warms his cheek, the sensation of your lips on him bringing an easy smile to his face. "You know I've missed you desperately, love," he whispers back, his attention turned to the road in front of him. "I've been counting the seconds until I had you back in my arms again. You'll never know how much I look forward to being with you on Christmas."

The smile on his face grows as the two of you ride along together. There's something heartwarming and magical about spending the season with the one you truly love.

Of course you had missed him too, more than he would ever know.

You get excited when you arrive at the shelter, and you get out of car, making sure to get to the person who you talked to on the phone. You bring them the cupcakes and cookies before, showing them your ID and signing the weaver. It doesn’t need to be bombastic, you don’t need the praise, you just want to do a little something for others.

"Let’s get back to home, love." You said, as you got in to the car again, before you pressed a kiss on his lips.

Seeing you get excited is always endearing. The way your eyes light up with joy never fails to captivate him. And your eagerness to help those in need is one of the many qualities he loves about you. He wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a comforting squeeze.

"Yes, yes. Let's go home. I can't wait to snuggle up with you again," he says with a smile. And he begins to drive home—where you both belong, where this Christmas season is meant to be spent.

You had missed him, you knew what you got yourself in to when you married a soldier, but it was hard at times. Having him home for Christmas really was a delight.

"I have a good Christmas present for you this year." You hummed content. "I'm really sure you'll like it." You watch the Christmas decorations when you pass the houses in the neighbourhood, and you adore it.

His curiosity is piqued. "I'll like it, you say?" he asks with a wry smile. "Why do I get the feeling you enjoy watching me squirm in anticipation?"

He doesn't mind the torture. In fact, he loves it. It makes the big reveal that much more special. "I have something for you, too, love," he says in turn. "I put quite a bit of thought into it." He winks as he turns the corner, heading towards the driveway.

Oh you love this, the anticipation, the giddy feeling it gives you. It had taken you a while, but you had managed to order his favourite cigars from Cuba. You had to keep it for yourself for so long now, and it made you feel like you could explode any moment.

"Come on!" You urged him as he parked the car. "I know it’s not Boxing Day yet, but i really want to give you your present."

He chuckles at the thought of your excitement.

"Alright, alright, you've won. We don't need to wait another day." With that, he helps you get out of the car. And now you both stand before the front door.

"Okay, love, you would need to wait a little more, I will have the stage first.” He smiles.

He is gentle as he drags you towards the tree. He had a whole day planned for this, but he can't wait any longer. So John goes down on one knee, holding your hand, a black velvet box in his other hand. "Would you do me the honour to renew our vows?"

The question catches you off guard, almost like a swift punch to the gut. Your mind, in the heat of the moment, flashes back through all the time you’ve spent together—all the beautiful memories you've made.

"John," you says softly, wrapping your arms around you in an embrace. "Of course I will."

With the words spoken, there's nothing he wants more than to feel your warm, loving embrace. You could be married a thousand more times, and it would never get old.

“I love you so much, and the time we have to spend apart only makes me realize it more." John whispered in to your ear. "And every day that's spent away from you is nothing but torture. I'm just glad I get to have you back this Christmas. I look forward to tonight and to the coming year."

[codfanficedits]

Christmas - Part 2/4

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon during Christmas :)

Wordcount: 2127 | Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: A little bit hinting to NSFW, I think? A lot of fluff :)

A/N: I said what I said.

He used to hate the holidays, but by the Gods did that change when he met you. You felt like a gift from the heavens above, slowly introducing him to the warmth that could be, and for the first time since years, did Simon start to love the holidays.

Unfortunately, does the army wait for no one. And right before he was supposed to be home, he got sent on a mission again, leaving him without a way to communicate with you.

Luckely for him, it was a short, easy mission, leaving him with some spare time to buy you something before he got back. He always adored giving you things. A little way of marking you as his, making it known to others that you were off the market.

He was a little too eager when he swung open the door of your house, kicking off his boots almost immediately.

"Hi, lovie," he mumbled exhausted. One of his hands slipped into his pocket, pulling out a small, black box. "Early present for you."

You had not expected him to be home again, you was more worried that he was killed in action, and there he was, exhausted as could be, but alive.

"Oh lovie." You sighed as you hugged him tight, burying your face in the crook of his neck, a content sigh leaving your lips.

You pulled back to look at him, a smile on your face, your hair tickling his arm. You took the little box from him, opening it eagerly.

"Simon!" You had been eyeing this ankle bracelet for a while, and he must've known it. "This must've costed you a fortune!" You exclaimed, seeing it had this initial on it, a little S dangling off it.

He hugged back with a groan, wrapping his arms around your tightly. The love he felt for his person was unmatched by anyone or anything. No matter how hard things got, these rare moments of comfort made his entire being come back to life and feel like things were going to be okay. You made his heart race in ways you'd never know.

"I'm here." He whispered in your ear, a low sigh escaping his lips before he kissed your forehead. He was relieved you wasn't annoyed with his sudden, early return. “It didn’t cost a fortune.” He groaned. “It will look nice when your ankles rest on my shoulders.” He chuckled.

"I'm so glad you are." You murmured softly when he kissed your forehead. "I was so worried something had happened."

You pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Do you want to stay in for Christmas? Or do you want to go to a dinner party or something?" You knew how much he valued his time, so you would gladly give him the choice.

Another low sigh escaped his lips as you kissed his cheek, his tired body leaning into the light affection you gave him. He let his eyes close for a moment but opened them when you asked a question.

He considered the options. "I'm pretty tired, honestly," he mumbled, leaning his head against yours. He wanted nothing more than to simply feel your presence by him.

"Then we're staying at home." You smiled. "I haven't seen you in a few months. And I would rather be with you than anywhere else."

"I can run you a bath, when it is Christmas I'll make some dinner." You mused. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

That was his ideal Christmas holiday. Spend it comfortably with his partner. No parties, no socializing with people you didn't know.

"That's perfect," he mumbled. A bath would feel great right now; his bones felt like they were going to break as soon as he let his guard down. "You can spoil me for the day," he said, his face lighting up now that he knew you’d be staying home.

"You would like that, wouldn't you." You teased him. You gave him a playful slap on his ass. "Let’s get your stinky ass in a bath." You grinned, as you kissed his cheek again.

You walked in front of him, placing the ankle bracelet on your nightstand before you went to the bathroom with him, it was a gorgeous gift, and you loved how he paid attention to what you wanted.

Simon laughed softly when you gave his ass that playful slap, his muscles clenching from the unexpected touch. It might not seem like much to others, but those little acts of affection were everything to him.

He followed behind, his steps slower than usual. Exhaustion weighed down his body, making him feel almost drunk. His muscles ached in the worst way possible. However, the bath was everything he needed to fix that.

"I hate to ask...can you help me wash?" He couldn't help but ask, the weariness showing itself in his voice.

You loved it, and he wouldn't know how happy it was making you, Simon always wanted to care for you, for others.

"Of course, lovie." You said with a smile, as you helped him undress.

You could see how tired he was, exhaustion from being a soldier oozing out of him. He leaned on you, and you knew this was all he needed.

It was almost ironic how he, a man of his physique and stature, was relying on his partner to help him with a simple, everyday task. It was almost funny how he was acting so pitiful; the man who usually carried the team's equipment was now having his clothes stripped from him.

Still, the simple act of you helping him made him feel closer to you and made him feel taken care of. It almost put tears in his eyes, but he was too tired to display such emotion. All he could do was lean against you and simply let you do your thing.

You didn't mind, not at all, you had leaned on him plenty of times, and you loved that you could return the favour.

You rinsed him first under the shower, getting rid of most of the dirt and grime, before you guided him to the bathtub. You let it fill up with warm water, before you leaned in to kiss him, helping him step into the water.

"There ya go."

Simon sighed contently as he felt the warm water against his skin, his muscles no longer hurting quite as badly as they were. The stress and tension just melted away. He let his eyes close again, leaning against you. You were doing him such an act of kindness. He hadn't been this relaxed in so long, the last few months being nothing but an endurance test.

"I could kiss you so many times right now," he mumbled with fatigue, his voice raspy and low from disuse.

"You're too tired to kiss me." You teased him. You took some shampoo, your shampoo, the nice, expensive one, and you lathered it in your hands. You took place behind him, softly massaging his scalp with the shampoo.

"I'm too tired to function right now," he groaned. Still, that didn't stop his body from reacting to your touch. Your hands felt like they were melting away all of the tension in his muscles, the scent of the shampoo being a bonus.

It wasn't long before his eyes closed and his breathing slowed, the last few drops of adrenaline leaving his body as he relaxed completely. It always baffled him how you made things so easy and simple, taking care of him and making his life better than it had ever been.

You used the shower head to rinse out the shampoo from his hair.

After that, you used your bodywash to lather your hands again, softly massaging his shoulders with the soap. Any other day you would’ve joined him, teased him in the bath until he dragged you to the bedroom. But you could see he was too tired, too exhausted and he needed a break.

"I love you." You whispered softly.

Simon let out a relaxing moan when you massaged his shoulders, the tension leaving his body more with each slow touch. He almost couldn't believe he was still on earth. Things were going too perfectly.

"I love you too," he murmured, and that was the truth. It was no longer butterflies in his stomach when he was by your side. Now it was warmth, security, and a sense of overwhelming belongingness.

It had been the same for you. You didn't get butterflies when you saw him, unless he was all dressed up, or bone naked, but he made you feel at home, he made you feel like you belonged in the world.

You work your thumbs into the tired muscles of your lover.

"Nearly done, my love." You murmured softly. "I'll dry you off once we're done."

Your touch felt like a comforting, calming blanket being draped over him. Every ounce of stress and tension was releasing. It was like being back in your arms after a long day, his body getting the much needed attention it deserved. He was already ready to nap once this was over.

"Thank you..." He mumbled, feeling like he should be doing more in this relationship, rather than simply accepting your care and love. Oh but he was doing so much more than he gave himself credit for. He loved you unconditionally and that was the best thing he could do.

You emptied the bath, helping him getting out of the tub, after that you took the fluffiest towel you could find, slowly drying him off.

"Let’s get you to bed, Si."

Simon smiled and closed his eyes again, appreciating how the towel felt against him. It was so soft and warm. Like a hug.

"I'm not being too demanding, am I?" He mumbled softly. The last thing he wanted to do was be a handful to take care of. But with how exhausted he was, it was hard not to melt into the towel and simply relax.

"Demanding?" You repeated. "You're anything but demanding."

A soft kiss is pressed on his chest. "I would do anything for you. This is nothing." You reassured him.

You took his hand, guiding him and his naked body to your bedroom.

You took off your jeans and socks before you got into bed yourself, and before you could say or do anything he was between your legs, his arms around your waist, his head resting on your lap.

Simon's mind went fuzzy at your reassurance and affection. Was he really this loved? Could he have done anything worthy of such unwavering devotion?

He was the one who should have been doing more for you, not the other way around. Yet you still took care of him, took care of everything. Even when he was acting so pitiful and incapable of doing the simplest tasks.

His body reacted appropriately to your warmth; his arms wrapped around your, his muscles tightening as he clung to you.

You took your book from the nightstand, running your free hand through his hair as you let out a content sigh. He was home, and that was all you could ask for.

“What are you reading?” Simon muttered softly, while he tried to keep his eyes open. “Haunting Adeline, it is quite good.”

Simon perks up. “Are you out of your mi-“ He chuckles when he sees a different cover and he let’s himself sink into your lap again. “I nearly went off on you, you idiot.” He scolded you, lovingly of course.

“How do you even know it?” You muse, your hand running through his hair again.

Simon closes his eyes once more. “Soap bought it to impress a woman he had been dating. The idiot read it out loud to us, before we would go to sleep. He tossed it out really quick when we realised it was glorifying sexual assault and Zade was nothing more than a rapist.”

“Soap did good with that one.” You chuckle. “Tried to read it, had to put it down because I was so disturbed.”

“Hmm.” Simon mumbles as he feels the sleep wash over him. “Tonight I want you to read for me.”

"Merry early Christmas, lovie." You whispered, not sure if he would hear you. "Couldn't wish for a better gift."

The heat of your body was so blissful. The comfort that came from just lying with you was unlike any other experience Simon had ever had. When you were close like this, in a bed, he had no urge to protect his surroundings. He was at ease, his heart beating slower from the sheer joy he felt.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered back, drifting into the most restful sleep he's had in months.