#baking shenanigans

Note:

Hello!! I am so happy I am finally done with this. I really wanted to get this finished in time for Christmas, but I failed to do that. Between work and procrastination, it's hard to get any writing done.

I hope this fluff heals all your souls as it did mine, consider it a belated holiday present :D

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Was it an impulsive decision? Completely. Was it more of a Christmas gift to yourself than to Simon? Definitely—but how could you resist those eyes?!?

Let’s backtrack a bit. It’s a few days before Christmas. You’re among the general population who do their shopping last minute. Simon isn’t due home until tomorrow, and you want to cook him something nice for dinner. The holiday season never fails to awaken your craving for cinnamon and sugar. You plan on making mince pies and gingerbread cookies for dessert. The cookies also double as a gift for a party that’s happening on Christmas. 

It’s a small party with his coworkers and their families. You practically pestered poor Simon until he gave into your whims, which didn’t take much effort. He grumbled about wanting to stay home to cuddle with you in front of the fireplace, but you pointed out that he could do that at the party. 

Simon will complain and exhibit his apparent allergy to large social settings, but you think he secretly enjoys it. He isn’t keen on interacting with people he’s unfamiliar with. But to exist in a room full of people he likes, who are having a good time… you always notice how his eyes soften. 

That’s your take on it, anyway. Simon is difficult to read sometimes, especially when he’s spacing out. But you like staring into his eyes, deciphering the hidden meaning in their depths. You find the rich coffee colour gorgeous, and he always looks away when you remind him about it. It’s funny watching this giant man try to make himself appear small; he takes up too much space. 

Your lips spread into a fond smile, and you adjust your clothes, the oversized hoodie swallowing your figure. The faint scent of bourbon and cedar still clings to the fabric, and you inhale deeply. Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Then you’ll be reunited with the man you love. Oddly enough, this will be your first Christmas together despite dating for three years. Simon was away on a mission for the other two, and a bouquet was always delivered to your doorstep on Christmas morning. The first one consisted of blue salvias, lavender, and forget-me-nots. The second bouquet had red salvias and white carnations. You pressed a few to keep in a scrapbook and dried the rest. The preserved bouquets are in a box you keep in the closet to protect them from the sunlight.

You grab the last item on your shopping list and head to the checkout. Once everything is packed in your car, you decide to warm up with a cup of hot chocolate. There’s a cafe nearby within walking distance. There also happens to be an animal shelter on the way. Sometimes you just can’t resist looking at all the animals, and you often have to force yourself to leave empty-handed. 

But today feels different. Maybe it’s the holiday magic in the air, but when you reach the dog section, all the air is knocked from your lungs. In the first kennel is a small Doberman puppy. And her rich coffee eyes lock your limbs in place. 

A worker notices your interest and walks up to you. “That’s Phantom. All her brothers and sisters have already left for new homes. She’s the smallest of the litter, and that seems to be the main reason no one has adopted her yet.” The puppy wags her little tail at the mention of her name. Your heart melts under the gaze of her eyes, which appear too large for her head.

“Because she’s smaller than her siblings?” you ask. It sounds silly to not adopt a dog based on appearance. Health concerns you could understand, but colour and size? Heck, you would be ecstatic to just have a dog. Although size could be significant depending on your living situation. But still, to not adopt this sweet pup because she’s too little is ridiculous.

The worker’s lips twist into a sad smile. “There are many reasons why people will overlook an animal, and they don’t always make sense.”

Your attention remains fixed on Phantom. Her brown eyes never leave your figure, observing you silently. “How long has she been here?” you ask. She still looks relatively young. You don’t think she’s even half a year old yet.

The worker shuffles through a clipboard hanging next to Phantom’s kennel. “We rescued her mother while she was still pregnant. Her whole life, it seems. The entire litter wasn’t available for adoption until two months ago.” They pause and glance at Phantom with furrowed brows. “Puppies normally get adopted quickly, but she hasn’t been lucky” The sentence sends a hollow pang in your heart that settles heavily in your gut.

“Could I meet her?” you whisper, the words constricting in your throat. You wet your chapped lips and haul yourself out of the deep chocolate ocean.

“Sure.” The door to the kennel is unlatched, and the metal hinges swing with a creak. Phantom sits there and watches you. Afraid to make sudden movements, your remain still and quiet your breathing. She stands up and pads slowly towards you. You crouch down and leave one hand, palm facing up, in front of you. As Phantom draws near, her nose twitches. She eyes you and nudges your hand with her snout. You grin at the wet, ticklish sensation and bite back a laugh. Slowly, you scratch the underside of her chin before moving down to her chest and back.

There’s a gentle woosh of wind, and this time you can’t hold in your delight any longer. A chuckle rumbles through your chest, and the sound of wind grows louder. Phantom licks your fingers and barks. It’s more like a tiny yip, and you are screaming on the inside.

“I think you’re coming home with me,” you mumble and pause. “How am I going to explain this to Simon?” You can picture the disapproving look on his face.

You fill out the adoption papers and exit the shelter with a very excited puppy. Forgetting about hot chocolate, you go to the pet store and buy the basic necessities for Phantom. When you get home, you manage to carry everything into the house while holding onto the leash. Fortunately, Phantom isn’t a puller. She walks beside you nicely and even moves out of the way to avoid the bags of groceries and presents. With great difficulty, you unlock the door and push the handle down with your elbow. You set the bags down and slip off your shoes, shutting the door with your foot.

Phantom immediately begins sniffing around, circling and tangling you with the leash. You laugh at her enthusiasm and reach down to unclip the leash from her harness. With the sudden removal of weight, Phantom bounds across the floor, bumping into furniture and smelling anything she can reach. It’s funny because she’s sniffing so intently that it’s audibly heard—loud too. Her nose twitches, and she buries her snout into a heap of fabric on the ground. One of his shirts you keep on the sofa as a little Simon blanket for when you binge-watch. It must have fallen when you dozed off last night. You accidentally skipped two seasons because the autoplay didn’t stop.

“Let’s find a spot to put your bed.” You grab the circular, foam dog bed and head towards the bedroom. Phantom trails behind you with the shirt sleeve between her jaws. You chuckle and hold the rest so it doesn’t drag across the floor. She doesn’t let go, and it turns into a leash of sorts. The master bedroom has a King size bed. A big bed for your big man. Phantom could definitely fit on it, but you don’t want her to develop a habit of sleeping there until you check that Simon is ok with it. He doesn’t like to share, especially when he has to share you. You place the dog bed next to the bedside drawer. Close enough that Phantom won’t feel left out, but far away enough that she won’t get stepped on in the morning in case you or Simon forget. 

She tugs the shirt with her toward her new bed. You let go, and it falls in a heap and buries the puppy. “Simon blankets are comfortable, aren’t they?” you ask. She lets out a small ‘woof’ and wiggles her head out from underneath. Your smile stretches wide. “Let’s get the rest of your things sorted.” And so you spend the rest of the evening storing toys, placing bowls, everything you could think of when one adopts a puppy. Phantom keeps you company and entertains you with her silly antics. She’s already picked a favourite out of all the toys you bought her, and you silently squeal that night when she curls up in bed with it. You snap a picture, fingers itching to send it to Simon. But you’re not quite ready for his wrath yet. 

In the morning, you awake to scratching and whimpering. You bolt upwards, eyes darting around the room before landing on Phantom at the door. Stumbling out of bed, you rub your eyes and shuffle to the backyard door. Phantom trots outside and sniffs around before settling in a corner to pee. You lean against the doorway and watch as she continues to explore, wrapping your arms around yourself. The familiar cacophony of twitters and chirps starts up. Phantom pauses and tilts her head at the bird feeders set up in the old oak tree. She doesn’t bark but observes silently. 

“You’re a lot quieter than I was expecting,” you mumble. At your whistle, Phantom glances one more time at the birds before heading back inside. “Did you have fun?” Her tail thumps against your calves. You turn into the kitchen and measure out some puppy kibble for Phantom. 

Once she starts eating, you make breakfast for yourself. A simple toast with butter and a fried egg. As the egg is cooking, your phone buzzes against the counter. You jump a little, and even the crunching of kibble pauses for a few seconds before resuming. Glancing at the screen, you see the notification is a text message. The skull emoji sends you grappling for your phone. 

Simon💀: ETA 3 hours from now. Have you eaten yet, poppet?

You bite your lip and grin. Can’t he just say what he means? Your thumbs fly across the screen as you type your reply. 

Poppet🧸: I’m cooking breakfast now. Do you want me to pick you up from the airport?

You hit send and attach a picture of the stovetop. The egg is nearly done, so you turn off the heat, and the toaster clicks a beat later. Your phone tickles your hand, and you eagerly read Simon’s response. 

Simon💀: You got the appetite of a mouse. And negative. I can take a taxi. 

You chuckle and make a mental note to look for the car keys later. 

Poppet🧸: Ok, I’ll pick you up in 3 hours. 

Then you put your phone in silent mode and place it on the counter screen-down. You grab a plate from the cupboards and transfer the finished egg. Rummaging through the fridge, you locate the butter and decide to treat yourself to some marmalade today. 

After eating, you still have 2 and a half hours until Simon’s plane lands. Which leaves you roughly an hour until you need to drive to the airport. With the spare time, you prepare the gingerbread dough since it needs time to chill in the fridge. You combine all the ingredients together and cover the dough in plastic wrap. When you shut the fridge door, Phantom is there beside you, staring at you with her big brown eyes. 

You end up googling a recipe for dog-friendly gingerbread cookies. 

You now have an hour left to get to the airport. Phantom is gnawing on a cookie when you leave her in the bedroom. You bought a kennel last night and didn’t set it up until earlier. Shutting the bedroom door, you grab the car keys off the counter and head outside. 

The weather is dreary as usual. It hardly snows in the winter, but the overcast skies look ready to cry any minute now. You drum on the steering wheel along to the song on the radio. The car hasn’t quite warmed up, and you tug your jacket sleeves down. Your phone goes off again, and you pull over to read the message.

Simon💀: Landing in half an hour.

You switch to the navigation app, and there’s no way you’ll get there on time with the current traffic conditions. Shifting gears, you apply more pressure to the gas pedal than is legally acceptable. Each time you glance at the digital clock in the car, your anxiety spikes. You still clutch onto the belief that you’ll make it on time. The second the next hour passes, the pool of dread in your stomach overflows into the rest of your body. Suddenly it’s too cold and too hot at the same time. You fiddle with the thermostat and turn up the radio, hoping Mariah Carey will drown your irrational thoughts. 

The road sign for the airport comes into view, and you lean back into your seat. Your knuckles regain colour as you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. Changing lanes, you head in the direction of the parking lot. After parking, your shoes thwap against the wet pavement. Walking through automated doors, the buzz of the airport fills your ears. Squeaky wheels from dragged luggage. Thousands of footsteps are accompanied by the indistinct chatter of an entire building of people. But all that noise fades to the background when you spot him. You’re well-trained in the art of Simon spotting, a skill his enemies would be envious of.

It’s hard to describe. When you know someone well—and utterly adore them—you can recognize them with just a glance. That’s how it is with Simon. He always blends into whatever environment he’s in, but that unmistakable warmth that blooms in your chest and pools comfortably in your stomach. It’s like your body has been trained to recognize him.

So when your heart flutters at the brooding, hooded figure in the corner of the cafe, obscured by a potted plant, you know you’ve found him. Rich chocolate eyes meet yours, and they soften ever so slightly. You head to him, your feet stumbling over one another as they bicker over which pace to take. He opens an arm out, and you start running, flying across the ground until you crash into him. Simon steadies you with an arm around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he pulls you closer. Bourbon and cedar fill your senses, and you melt into his chest. 

“Been a while,” he murmurs into your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your shampoo.

You do your best to hug him back and squeeze with all your strength. “I missed you too.”

He pulls back and cradles your face in his hands, drinking in every line and curve. His thumb brushes against the slant of your smile, and his eyes crinkle at the edges. You lean in and peck where his mouth would be. His fingers tighten their hold, and he narrows his eyes at you. Someone drops their bags, and the loud thumps send his eyes snapping in the direction of the noise. He looks back at you, then around the airport, and releases your face. His hand drops and pinches your waist, and you know he’s smirking underneath the baklava. 

“Ordered a drink for you,” and he nods at the table beside him. “Got thirsty waiting and thought you could use one.” You pick up the cup and sniff the lid. The scent of chocolate and whipped cream fills your senses, and you catch the faintest whiff of cinnamon. Taking a sip, the hot chocolate coats your tastebuds with sugar and spices. A small groan escapes your lips, and your fingers curl around the warm paper cup.

“Traffic was terrible,” you say, thinking back to all the vehicles on the roads. It didn’t help that an accident occurred and slowed everybody down.

Simon glances at the watch on his wrist and taps its face. “Half an hour late. You would be terrible at evac,” he muses. There’s a lilt in his tone, so you roll your eyes and take another sip of hot chocolate. Another wave of sweetness rolls down your throat, and your stomach buzzes pleasantly with warmth. 

You shrug your shoulders. “Lucky I’m not in the military then.”

Simon stares at you and says, “What a blessing.”

Hot chocolate dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and you wipe it away with your sleeve. “Oh, shut up, Riley. I bet I would make a damn good soldier.” You straighten your spine and give him a mock salute.

His eyes never leave you, and the silence stretches for a minute or two. “I like the way things are. It’s dangerous out there; don’t need to be lookin’ out for you too.”

The curve of your smile flips. “What? You think I’d be dead weight?”

“Not what I meant,” and he reaches out a hand to you, but you shrug it off. 

“Whatever. Let’s go. I’m not paying for another hour of parking. The airport prices are ridiculous.” You take a sip of your hot chocolate. There’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

The drive back home is silent. Neither of you bring up what happened earlier at the airport. The radio is on low volume. Instrumentals of classic Christmas carols play. There’s that feeling of being watched, but your eyes remain on the road. You focus on the nice saxophone solo and not on Simon. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers begins to irk you a little. Still, no words are spoken.

His gaze continues to sear into your flesh, and just when you’re about to implode, Simon speaks first. “I’m sorry,” he says. You don’t respond, only turning off the radio. “What I meant was I don’t want to fear for your safety.” He pauses, and you hear him take a deep breath. “I like knowin’ you’re safe—at least safer here than if you were out on the field.” You pull over the car and shut off the engine. You face him, mouth glued shut. His eyes are glassy, and his brows are drawn close together. “Poppet, I can’t lose you,” and a tear falls. You scramble to unbuckle your seatbelt, clambering over to the passenger seat. Straddling his lap, you pull him into a fierce hug.

The most powerful man you know is clinging to you like he’ll fall apart with a single blow. Like a boat in a storm, desperately trying to survive the waves battering against its hull. You pry your lips apart and force the words to claw out of your throat. “I’m sorry that I lashed out. I haven’t seen you in 3 months and 10 days, but who’s counting?” A watery chuckle gurgles in your throat. “The point is, I’ve been pining like a fool, and when I heard those words, it made me feel like you didn’t miss me at all.”

Simon shakes his head and pulls you closer to his chest. “I’ve seen you flay men alive with a single glare, never mind what you could be capable of with some proper training. But to think about you dyin’ on a mission? ‘specially when I could have saved you? It would ruin me.” He strokes your hair, and you stare into his deep, brown eyes. “And didn’t miss you? That’s a load of bollocks. Poppet, you are constantly with me here,” he points to his head, “and here.” He places your hand over his beating heart. The pulse beneath your palm is erratic. “You’re mine, and I can’t lose you; I refuse to. You’re not dyin’ before me, you understand?”

You exhale and stretch to kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon. There will be no death for either of us for a long time if I can help it.” His shoulders slacken, and you wipe away a stray tear from his eyes before it has a chance to fall. “I know it deep down in my bones, but it’s just nice to hear you say it sometimes. That you love me or miss me.”

“I missed you, poppet,” he murmurs into your hair.

You mute your chuckle with his shoulder, and he shudders from the vibrations. “It sounds disingenuous when you say it after I tell you to,” you say,

Simon huffs, “Bloody hell. I was tryin’ to be romantic.” Your fingers trail the edge of his baklava, and when he remains still, you roll the fabric up to expose his lips. He watches you with dark eyes. You cup his face with both hands and kiss him. It’s short and bittersweet. As much as you want to continue, you don’t want to stay on the side of the road any longer. If you’re unlucky, a concerned passerby might knock and ask if you need assistance. You would then proceed to die of embarrassment.

So instead, you pull away and whisper, “Are we ok?”

His eyes scan your face before lingering on your lips. “We are if you give me another kiss,” he replies. You lean in to kiss him again, and his hand cradles the back of your skull, keeping you in place. Every time you draw in air, he finds a way to steal it from your lungs. Your head spins from the lack of oxygen, and you don’t even notice the little moans and whimpers you let out. His beard rubs against your skin, and his lips are addicting. Thick fingers dig into your waist. The hand on your head is removed, and you pull away, panting. He gazes at you through hooded lids, pupils swallowed by black.

“I can’t drive the car if you keep me in your lap,” and you wrap your fingers around his hands, prying their grip on you. He relents, and you climb over to the driver's seat. You turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon reaching a hand out to you. There’s gentle pressure on top of your head, and you realize that he’s smoothing out your hair. He doesn’t say anything but does one last pet that trails his hand down to cup your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb before pulling away. Your face already feels cold with the absence of his touch.

Clearing your throat, you turn on the signal light and continue the drive home. As you get closer to your destination, you grow more nervous for multiple reasons. 1) You have no idea if Phantom destroyed anything while you were gone. 2) You don’t know how Simon will react to Phantom. 3) You don’t know how upset Simon will be if reason 1 turns out to be true.

When you arrive, Simon holds the door open for you. You thank him and head inside. He follows after you, and the wheels of his suitcase clack when they catch on the bottom of the doorframe. The house still has traces of cloves and nutmeg in the air, a reminder of the gingerbread dough chilling in the fridge. Simon shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the couch. Unable to hide it any longer, you decide to show him Phantom right away.

You bounce on the balls of your feet. “I have a present for you.” Leaning close to Simon’s ear, you whisper, “you’re a father, now.” The poor man bluescreens on you. His eyes are wide and vacant. You run into the bedroom, your head peeking out the doorway with a grin before disappearing again. You present a wriggling Doberman puppy with a shiny red bow wrapped around its midsection. “Meet our baby!”

Simon is gone. Fuck.

You sigh and place your child down, watching her sniff the jacket her father left behind on the couch. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you grab your phone. This is not how you wanted tonight to go. You send a few messages, but Simon doesn’t respond to a single one. Although you can see that he’s read them, which pisses you off. He couldn’t have gone far, and you still have the car keys. The closest place nearby that isn’t a house is the small market square, which contains a grocery store and several self-owned businesses. Your boots pound against the pavement,  and you dash through the streets. You reach the square and scan your surroundings. You spot him exiting a store and run up to him.

“Simon!” Your lungs burn, and your heart is rattling in your ribcage. Simon stares at you with wide eyes. His arms reach out to steady you.

“I’m sorry for leaving, poppet. When I heard, I knew I had to,” Simon says. He looks at the ground, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

You pant, catching your breath as the winter air stings your throat. You lick your chapped lips and begin to speak. “Simon, I—”

He cuts you off. “But no matter what, I will always—”

You interrupt him because you need to clear up the misunderstanding now. “Simon, I—”

“It’s alright, poppet. I would never—”

Your frustration reaches a boiling point. “I ADOPTED A PUPPY!” Flames engulf your entire face, and you’re positive there’s steam rising off your head. A few passersby stop walking at your outburst, and you shrink beneath their stares. Simon shields your body with his large frame and smooths your wind-ruffled hair. “Simon, I adopted a puppy,” you repeat.

“A puppy?” he rumbles, low and soothing.

You nod and smile. “Yes, a puppy. The cutest one I’ve ever seen.”

He raises a brow. “Walks on four legs, barks, and has a little tail that wags?”

You chuckle. “Last time I checked, yes.”

Simon sighs and leans into you. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot. We left the poor pup all alone,” and he holds your hand and leads you home. 

You struggle to keep up with his long strides. Simon slows down when he notices you falling behind. “She. She’s all alone,” you say.

“Did she come with a name?” he asks.

You answer with, “Phantom.” Simon gives you a deadpan stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not messing with you. That’s her name,” you insist. 

“So I suppose it’s all a coincidence?” he snorts. 

You tilt your head. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Squeezing his hand, you chirp, “Then it was a miracle. A Christmas miracle.”

“Poppet, the only miracle I’ll accept is when you walked into my life. Anything else is the harsh reality we live in.” You falter in your steps, stumbling forward when Simon doesn’t notice. He looks back at you, and time freezes. Deep brown eyes gaze upon you fondly, and a chill washes over your body. Behind the indifference is a tenderness reserved only for you. He brushes his thumb across your hand and tugs you into his side. His arm rests around your waist for the rest of the walk home.

You pause in front of the house and tug on his shirt. “I know you said you don’t like pets because they’re a big commitment, but I promise you’re going to love her,” you say.

His chuckle is hollow. “I think you overestimate my ability with animals. Not a bloody chance will she like me,” and you can hear the grimace in his tone.

You unlock the door, and Phantom greets you inside. She circles you and Simon, sniffing your pants. You grin and crouch down, accepting the sloppy kisses she gives you. Phantom races off to the living room, and you find her burrowed in a heap of Simon’s jacket. She must have pulled it off the couch after you left. Simon says nothing but watches the puppy with amusement.

“Go play with the puppy while I bake the gingerbread cookies,” you say, disappearing around the corner. 

Simon trails after you. “Barrin’ me from the kitchen already? I’m a great helper.”

You scoff and block him from entering further. “No. What you mean is you’re great at eating all my cookies before I get a chance to decorate them.” You wave your hands and push him out of the kitchen. His hulking frame budges with remarkable ease. “Now, shoo. I need enough for the party tomorrow.”

Simon raises his hands in surrender and plants a kiss on your head before heading to the living room. You take out the dough from the refrigerator and flour the counter. You roll the dough out until it’s about an inch thick before using cookie cutters in various holiday shapes. Lining a baking sheet with parchment paper, you transfer the cut cookies. You collect the scraps of dough and reroll it.

Simon’s head pops into the doorway. “Poppet, what’s this?” he asks. The plushie of a cartoon ghost with a skull mask looks microscopic in his large hands.

You gasp, “That’s Phantom’s favourite toy! The store was having a clearance sale on all their Halloween stock, and it reminded me of you. I have a picture of her cuddling with it in bed.” You move to grab your phone from your pocket, but your hands are covered in flour and dough. “I’ll send it to you after I clean up.”

Simon says nothing, cradling the ghost plushie to his chest with a newfound tenderness as he returns to the living room. Phantom’s excited yip greets his footfalls, and your smile nearly splits your face into two. You continue cutting out more cookies, ending up with multiple trays worth.

As you place a few trays into the oven, Simon passes by. His footsteps are silent when he typically stomps around to alert you of his presence. He stops when you catch him leaving.

“And where are you off to?” you ask, setting the timer on the oven, careful not to accidentally turn the heat off instead.

Simon shrugs and says, “On a walk,” with an air of indifference.

“Will you carry Phantom in your arms the entire time?” you ask. Phantom’s tail thumps against Simon’s lower abdomen. He’s carrying her like a baby, and she looks at you with her tongue lolling out. “She has a leash, Simon. Use it.” You point to the hooks on the wall where the jackets go, Phantom’s leash being the newest addition.

He looks at the leash, Phantom, then back at you. “Her little paws might get tired,” and he waves one of her paws. 

You shake your head, holding back a grin. “She’s a lot tougher than she looks.” You haven’t told Simon, but anyone with eyes can see that Phantom is small for her breed. 

There’s a glint in Simon’s eyes. “Yeah? Must take after you, then,” he comments. Phantom barks in agreement. You stick your tongue out when he turns his back to you. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” You feign ignorance. 

Simon grabs the leash and clips it onto Phantom’s harness. He looks at you and shakes his head at the Cheshire grin on your face. “Saw you bein’ a cheeky little thing.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re on about,” you say with a shrug. “Could you pick up some icing sugar on your walk? I’m running low.”

Simon nods and walks out the door, Phantom trotting dutifully by his side. You bite your lip and lean against the counter. God, you love watching him walk away. 

While the cookies bake, you pass the time by window shopping online. Specifically dog products. You’re in the middle of reading the product description for dog thongs—who invented these anyway??—when the front door unlocks. Your finger zeroes in on the little ‘x’ to delete the page from your phone. You check on the cookies. One batch is currently on the cooling rack, while another is in the oven.

Phantom zooms into the kitchen, snout turned upwards and twitching madly. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg fill the air. You can almost taste the spices on your tongue. Crouching down, you give Phantom little scritches behind her ear, and she tilts her head to give you easier access. Her hind leg twitches, and you chuckle. Heavy thumps and the creak of wood travel through the kitchen, and a shadow is cast over you. Glancing up, you see Simon holding a bouquet.

You stand up and accept the bundle of delicate red and white flowers. Bringing your face closer, you breathe in their sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your nose, and you resist the urge to sneeze.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. “Did you think I would forget?”

You rub the petals between your fingertips; they feel like satin. “I wasn’t expecting any since you’re home this year,” you confess. You assumed the bouquets were an apology for missing Christmas. The edelweiss and peonies will make a lovely addition to your collection. 

Simon rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t like ‘em?” And the low baritone of his voice pitches. 

A soft smile spreads across your face. You embrace Simon and rest your head against his chest. His heart races, rattling loud like a machine gun. “You silly man. I love everything you give me,” you reassure him, and the gunfire ceases. 

Your head rises and falls with each breath he draws. “Just makin’ sure,” he rasps, combing his fingers through your hair. His hands trail down to your waist and leave your body. You notice him inching towards the cooling rack on the counter. 

You smack his hand away and scold him. “Uh uh. Keep your hands away from my cookies. And don’t use your sneaky ninja skills to steal one. I will know if one of them goes missing.” Simon is not above using his military experience to snatch baked goods. He got away with it once, and you’ve made it a personal mission to never let it happen again.

“But there’s so many of ‘em. Nobody will complain if you show up with one less,” he grumbles.

You sigh, “Fine, but only because you won’t leave me alone until I give you a cookie.” He adjusts his baklava. There’s zero hesitation when he reaches over and amputates the arm of a gingerbread man. “Hey! You’re getting crumbs in my hair.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles with a full mouth, brushing your hair gently.

You remain in his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of bourbon mixed with his musk. Crunching fills the void of silence in the room. You look around and notice it’s only the two of you. “How’s Phantom?” you ask.

Simon glances in the direction of the living room. He hums, and the vibrations tickle you. “Out like a light. Walk must've tired her out,” he answers.

You plant a kiss on his chin, and his eyes soften. His fingers squeeze your hips. “I’m almost done. I’ll join you two in the living room soon,” you say.

He nuzzles the side of your head. “Don’t be too long,” he says, pulling away and caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. The crinkles around his eyes mirror yours. Simon nabs another cookie and darts out of the kitchen before you can stop him. You sigh and shake your head, looking for a vase to keep the flowers in.

Another twenty minutes pass before you’re done. You slide the last tray of cookies out of the oven and set it on the stovetop to cool. Remembering Simon, you pull off your oven mitts and check up on him and Phantom. You pause in the doorway, smiling to yourself at what you see. Simon is watching the tv, his eyelids drooping shut and snapping open every few seconds. He’s lying on the couch with Phantom curled up on his chest.

“I knew you would love her,” you whisper. Wide brown eyes lock onto your figure, and Simon sinks into the couch after seeing it’s you.

“A little help here?” he grunts. You stifle a chuckle at his current predicament. 

“Can’t move a puppy, Lieutenant?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes at you. “Haven’t you heard of the saying: let sleeping dogs lie?”

You scoop up Phantom, who barely stirs from her sleep. Simon scoots further in and turns onto his side, patting the empty space beside him. You lie next to him with Phantom sandwiched between the two of you. His strong arms lock around your waist and prevent you from rolling off the edge. 

The next few minutes are spent in silence, exchanging looks and gentle touches. Simon’s words catch you off guard. “Life without you is like the night sky without stars; empty and fuckin’ miserable to look at.” You drown in endless pools of black, seeing your reflection stare back with wide eyes. The silence amplifies the pounding in your ears. He speaks with such sincerity and conviction that you feel it with every fibre of your being. 

Your lips twist into a smile, and you say, “I love you too.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Merry Christmas, poppet.” His fingers draw random shapes on your back, eliciting a shudder from you.

“Merry Christmas, Simon,” you whisper, lips grazing against the fabric of his mask. He makes a content hum and watches you with an affectionate gaze. The fireplace crackles and tiny snores come from Phantom. The scent of gingerbread wafts from the kitchen and infiltrates the living room. Cozy. You feel cozy.

Simon stretches and groans, “I’ll be back. Need to make a quick trip to the loo.” He crawls over you, careful not to wake Phantom. The puppy twitches but otherwise gives no other indicators of consciousness. You reach for the tv remote and browse for a show to watch, already missing the heat of his body.

Simon goes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He tugs the baklava off and rubs a hand over his face. From his pocket, he fishes out a small, velvet-lined box. He rushed to pick up his order when he heard the news.

His phone chimes, and he opens a message from you. There are two pictures. The first is Phantom curled up in her dog bed with the ghost plushie. His lips quirk, and he swipes to view the second photo. His heart stutters, fingers clutching the phone tight. It’s a miracle the screen protector doesn’t shatter. The second photo is a selfie of you and Phantom cuddling where he left you. There’s a goofy smile on your face despite your worried eyes drifting toward the sleeping dog. He can see the slight furrow in your brows—fuck do you make him soft. Now there’s a new addition to your family, and the pup proved him wrong when he thought he couldn’t grow softer. A tightness overcomes his chest, and his vision swims. 

And suddenly, he’s scared. Because somehow, in this fucked up world, he found you. A random variable in his life that he has no control over. He’s terrified you’ll be ripped away from him like everyone else. That’s why he needs to do this. Needs to tie you to him forever so that there’s always a piece of you with him. Definitive proof that you are his. The night sky was a cheesy line, but he meant every word. He doesn’t want to come home to an empty apartment anymore. To count down the days until the next deployment. To worry about what terrible thing comes next. To function in life on autopilot. 

Simon Riley is entirely aware of how much he loves you. And he’s terrified of how to prove it.

He exits the bathroom, one hand fidgeting with the box in his pocket. 

“Bloody fucking hell.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

This thing honestly grew a lot bigger than I was expecting. The party mentioned above is definitely a party with the 141 and vaqueros, and I headcanon it to be the first official introduction between the reader and everyone. In that universe anyway.

Also, I totally did not plan on ending it with a possible proposal, it just kinda happened lol. Have fun imagining because I don't think I'll write it.

I do have an idea for a single-dad Price fic because we all know that would make such cute fluff. It was originally going to be for the holidays too, but I'll probably modify the story to work without it.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

“Oh, Sigma~! Guess what time it is!”

“No,” Sigma replied immediately, electing to ignore the clown currently spinning around the kitchen like a violent tornado seeking to destroy everything in its immediate path. Sigma just pressed himself up against the counter and continued to focus on the task at hand.

“But Sigma—”

“No. Whatever it is can wait. Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

Sigma didn’t need to look at Nikolai to know that his whole face had twisted into the most overdramatic pout ever. He could hear the exaggerated sniffles, and he refused to give them any attention. He was busy, and Nikolai could wait.

“So you hate me now? Is that it?” Nikolai’s voice wavered, but Sigma didn’t buy the act for even a second.

“Gogol—”

“Ack, not the last name! You do hate me!”

“Stop it, I don’t hate you! I’m just doing something important!” Before some kind of catastrophe could occur, Sigma set aside his handful of baking supplies and turned to the teary-eyed menace currently trying to distract him. He raised an eyebrow at Nikolai’s wobbling lip and had to purse his own to keep from smiling at the unfortunately very cute sight.

“I’m not important?” Nikolai asked, his voice small and teeming with artificial despair.

“It worries me that you have to ask,” Sigma mumbled before he sighed and placed his hands on his hips. He mustered the strength to keep a straight face, but Nikolai’s noisy sniffling nearly ruined his efforts immediately. “Kolya, look around you. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in the middle of making cookies.”

Nikolai’s owlish gaze swept the room, his expression blank as he took in the rows of cookies that had just finished cooling. Then he peered around Sigma at the collection of ingredients and the stand mixer still sitting on the counter. “So that’s what you’re doing!”

“That should have been obvious!”

“Really? I was too busy feeling unloved.” Nikolai gave one more fake-ass sniffle before he finally dropped the act. Curiously, he reached over to poke at one of the cookies and frowned at his discovery. “Aren’t the cookies done, though? What do you have left to do?”

“I still need to make the icing and decorate them. It takes concentration to get the icing just right, so if you’ll just—”

“Oh? Why?” Nikolai pressed closer, his eyes gleaming with interest. He loomed his way into Sigma’s personal space, their noses nearly touching as he awaited Sigma’s answer with rapt attention.

“Well—! They’re black and white cookies. My favorite. And they’ll look stupid if I don’t get the colors exactly right,” Sigma explained, his face warming at Nikolai’s unnecessary proximity. This close, he could see the exact moment when Nikolai’s expression brightened. He’d latched onto some tiny piece of information, likely the most inconsequential detail, and Sigma scowled at the sight of Nikolai’s suddenly sharp grin.

“Black and white cookies are your favorite?! Wow, Sigma! That’s so predictable.”

“How the hell is that predictable?”

“Aw, that should be obvious! These cookies clearly remind you of me!” Nikolai explained with such confidence that Sigma might have actually believed him if the reason hadn’t sounded so absurd.

“Why would you even think that?” Sigma muttered as he pushed Nikolai out of his space. He still had icing to make, and if he let Nikolai keep talking, Sigma knew that he’d be kidnapped before he could get his cookies decorated! He would just have to entertain Nikolai and make the icing.

Easier said than done.

“I often wear black and white, so of course they’re you’re favorite! It’s so wonderfully predictable of you to choose your favorite cookie based on the man you adore!” Nikolai prattled on, thankfully ignoring Sigma’s choice to return to his baking. Maybe he’d at least be able to measure out the ingredients while Nikolai was distracted.

Then two long arms slipped around him, and broad hands squeezed his waist. Sigma couldn’t hold in an undignified squeak, and he dug his elbow back, nudging Nikolai’s ribs in a warning that the clown would likely choose to ignore. Frustrated with both Nikolai and himself, Sigma reached for the powdered sugar to begin measuring. “You certainly think highly of yourself! For your information, I liked black and white cookies before I met you.”

“Oh?” Nikolai nestled closer. His fingers twitched, as though he’d just restrained himself from tickling Sigma’s sides, and Sigma hesitated to fill the measuring cup with sugar. “Or maybe you started liking these delightfully-colored cookies even more after you met me?”

Sigma swallowed, his throat too dry and his cheeks too warm for comfort. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You didn’t deny it!” Nikolai sang into his ear as he hugged him tighter. He sounded far too pleased with himself, and Sigma doubted he would’ve been able to change Nikolai’s mind no matter how hard he tried.

But… if he couldn’t convince Nikolai that he and the cookies were unrelated, then why should he bother?

“Maybe you’re right.”

Nikolai’s snickering quieted down. His whole body stilled, and Sigma swore he could hear the hard bob of his throat as he swallowed. “… What?”

“You heard me.” Sigma turned his head, and the sheer surprise he found on Nikolai’s face emboldened him. He leaned up to give Nikolai a slow, teasing kiss, one so sweet that he couldn’t help indulging himself for a few seconds longer. When he pulled away, Nikolai’s eyes had gone comically wide, and Sigma knew it would only take one final blow to secure his hard-earned victory.

“I said, maybe you’re right. Maybe I do like black and white kisses even more now.”

“Oh.” Nikolai blinked at him a few times but said nothing else, apparently too shocked to keep up with his usual taunts.

Satisfied with this unexpected development, Sigma turned back around to measure out the powdered sugar while he waited for Nikolai’s brain to reboot. He probably had time to get the ingredients safely into the bowl before Nikolai retaliated in some way.

Of course, Sigma expected to be tickled. To feel those wriggling fingers dig into his sides at the perfect moment, and then he’d spend the rest of his afternoon cleaning up sugar while Nikolai’s howling laughter lingered in the kitchen like a catchy song stuck on repeat.

What he didn’t expect was for Nikolai’s grip on him to tighten, for the clown’s hat to tumble from his head as he buried his face into Sigma’s shoulder, his chest heaving with a frustrated huff against Sigma’s back.

“I’m helping you decorate your cookies.”

Sigma finished measuring out the sugar with a smile. He dumped it into the mixing bowl before he turned his head, letting Nikolai give him a few flighty kisses. Nikolai’s grin usually gave him cause for concern, but he didn’t hate it so much when he could feel the vicious curve of it so sweetly against his own mouth.

“Sure. You can help.”

“Good!” Nikolai nuzzled their noses together, his eyes sparkling with such familiar mischief that Sigma’s veins filled with dread. “I’ll be sure to make them look really ugly! ”

I made a cake!