#codfanfiction

Faker

König sat on your bed behind you, watching you with patient eyes. You’d just come home from an outing, and though you had put on an act for others, he could see how it had worn on you. He knew that you couldn’t do it forever, but he didn’t blame you in the slightest. Nobody could do what you tried to do.

 You looked in the mirror, staring with blank eyes at your persecutor.

These hands, they made so many mistakes… These lips have uttered so many lies… These eyes have seen truth and beauty and joy, but now they see nothing but a hollow shell. Who is this empty vessel that stands before you? Did you ever really know who they were?

König stands up and steps forward, gently resting his hands on your shoulders, on the vessel’s shoulders.

“What do you see?” König asked softly, taking one hand to brush away tears you had not noticed.

“I see…” you paused, “Myself.”

König rested his head over you, watching you with his ice blue eyes. They looked at you, tried to hold your gaze, but the cold was too much for you to bear.

“Do you?” he whispered.

You blinked, taking a moment to sniff and recompose your dignity. Tears welled up further, but you held to them tightly, refusing to let them drop. But unfortunately, you are no God, you can defy no calling such as this. Emotions control your very being, and so you cry.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

König let you cry. It would be cruel to stop you at this point. You tried to fight back, doing your best to build your sandcastle against the ocean, but with every hiccup you suppressed and every sniff you held back, the waves would wash over you again. And eventually, you gave up. You followed the siren’s song and drowned in your sorrows.

“I hate myself,” you finally were able to say.

König pressed a kiss to your temple and dropped his chin to your shoulder, “Why?”

“I… I don’t have enough time to go into all the reasons,” your voice cracked and warbled like a strangled seabird.

“I have time,” König replied.

“I don’t,” you said, your tone cold as the ice that he held in his eyes.

König nodded and wrapped his hands over your shoulders.

“You do not have to explain if you do not want to,” he said, his words like down on your ears, “sometimes, words are not enough.”

“It feels like they’re never enough,” you closed your eyes, unable to endure his watchful eyes any longer.

“When are they ever?” König hummed, “english is not a good language to express yourself, anyways.”

“Is it easier in German?” you asked hopefully.

You could feel König shaking his head, “Nein.”

You sniffled and opened your eyes again. You hated what you saw. You hated the kindness in his cold blue eyes. You hated the hollowness in your warm body more. Ice and fire, freezing and burning. What would be the best way to die? In your own selfish inferno, or would you let the ice of your lover’s touch shock you to reality? Or would that make you numb, too? Was it better to be numb because you had killed your cells through burning yourself alive, or through ice turning your boiling blood into nothing but a muddy sludge through your veins?

“I don’t want to be like this,” you could see yourself frown more than feel it.

“You do not have to be,” König reminded you.

“I don’t know how to change,” you replied dryly.

“Do you have to change to learn to love who you are?” König asked, taking a moment to brush his cheek over yours, water lapping over a sandy beach, “or is there something here worthy of love?”

“I don’t think so,” you muttered and turned to hide your face into his putrid mask, right where you belonged.

“Do you not think you are worthy of love as you are?” he asked.

“Why would I be?” you scrunched your eyes tight, tight enough to hear the water washing through you.

König carefully pried your face away from his mask, kindly not commenting on the mucus you’d left behind. Instead, he gently turned your chin to look back into the mirror. You groaned as he did so and tried to turn back, but such gentle hands became firm as ice.

“Maybe you should try to look at what is worth loving?” he whispered, “just try.”

“What is there to love?” you cried.

“So much,” he told you, “so much.”

You opened your eyes to see yourself. What you saw was worse than before. Red-rimmed eyes, runny nose, flushing skin. You really were a mess, weren’t you? You looked like you’d been drowned and then revived, cursed to walk the earth once more.

König cut off your spiraling thoughts with a piercing, “When I look in this mirror, I see someone who has been hurt for too long.”

“Nobody hurt me,” you protest meekly.

“You did,” his words gored into you like ice picks, “maybe, someone a long time ago said something to you. Maybe you made a mistake and it never left you. I do not know. I do know that whatever led you to think that you are nothing worth loving is wrong. It is not what you are. You are more than the past.”

“How would you know that?” you scoffed meanly.

König shrugged.

“Maybe because I know what it feels like to look in a mirror and see something I do not like.”

You turned and looked at him briefly before he redirected your gaze to the mirror, the ice in his eyes thawing with fear and insecurities you saw within yourself.

“I ask myself, what is there to love? How could anyone care about me? Surely, nobody loves me,” he said, “but I am wrong. There are people who care, they just do not say it out loud. Maybe it is because they are scared.”

“Scared of what?” you asked.

“Scared of being… Ah, what is the word… Scared of being vulnerable, I think,” König shrugged half heartedly, “but I think that vulnerability is how we grow. You cannot be strong by hurting yourself. Strength does not come from nothingness.”

“But you’re so strong,” you sniffled.

“I am strong because I saw my weakness, and I saw something lovable inside. So I worked to make what was lovable more important than what was not,” König replied, “I was afraid, small, and vulnerable. But by being vulnerable, I learned I could grow.”

“So then what does that mean for me?” you asked.

“I think it means that it is okay to hurt, but you can’t let that hurt define how you see yourself,” König hummed.

“What do you mean?” you asked timidly.

“I think that it is easy to think only of weakness. However, there is more to that weakness. I think sometimes, we need to be weak to be strong. You might be weak now,” König lay his head against yours, “and I think you can become strong.”

“As strong as you?” you tried to say playfully, but it came out grating like a gull’s cry.

“You do not need to be as strong as me,” you could see his face soften behind his mask, “you need to be strong enough for yourself. You cannot let anyone else define strength for you.”

“Do I need to be strong to be loved?” you thought aloud.

“Nein,” König’s voice hardened, then softened when he continued, “love is strength itself. To love and to be loved is to be strong. To love yourself is the strongest thing you can do.”

You pursed your lips into a line. Finally, you asked, “So do you love yourself?”

König’s eyes crinkled at the corners, “Sometimes. Sometimes it is hard. Do you not think so?”

You frown, “I don’t know. I haven’t loved myself too much lately.”

“I think you must find something to love in yourself,” König replied, “but that might take searching. You cannot let someone else tell you what is worth loving. I know it is hard, but once you find something, hold onto it. And keep holding on.”

“How can you be so sure that there’s something I can love?” you asked.

“There is always something. Even the blackest hearts can love the soot that coats them,” König mused.

You looked at yourself. You frowned, and then locked your eyes on his.

“What if I can’t find something to love?” you asked nervously.

“Then you must do the hardest thing of all,” König furrowed his brows, “you must fake it. You must tell yourself you love something, even if you do not believe it.”

You scoffed, “But why? That’s so stupid.”

“It is in the beginning,” König admitted, “but it is not stupid always. It gets better, but you have to do it every day. That is the hardest part, you know? Doing it every day. But if you keep doing it, it gets better.”

You look at yourself. Your eyes are not so red, your breathing has steadied. You look a bit better, but you don’t quite know if the word ‘better’ is the word you’d choose.

“So, if I have to lie to myself, what should I lie about?” you ask.

“Well, if it helps, whenever I see myself in a mirror, I smile at myself,” König says, “but I do not always feel it inside. But I keep doing it. I want to get to a point where I can smile in a mirror, and I can feel myself smiling back.”

“How did you decide that?” you asked.

“Everyone likes a good smile, ja?” König chuckled, “so why not have a nice smile? I think your smile is very pretty, ja, but do you?”

You cast your eyes down, looking into the deep abyss of your feet, then replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then maybe that is a place to start. Tell yourself that you have a pretty smile.”

“It sounds so stupid though,” you snort.

“It does sound stupid! But that is why you must do it. And anyways, is it not nice to smile? A smile is a powerful thing,” König smiled under his mask, “it is a tool. You need to care for your tools. So love your smile. It is, if nothing else, a good place to start.”

“And if I trick myself into loving my smile?” you laugh.

“Then find something else to love,” König determined, “there is always more to love, especially with you.”

“You really think there’s always more to love in me?” you shook your head in disbelief.

“I do not think,” König said sternly, “I know. There is a very important difference between those words. You should remember that.”

“Well, I believe you’re being stupid,” you snort.

“Believe what you want, but I will still have my beliefs. And my belief is that you have so much to love,” König wrapped his arms around you in a reassuring hug, “I see so much to love, so much I want to show you about yourself. You are so wonderful. Yet you cannot see that? I do not understand, but I think you think that there is something worth loving in me. And if you can see something worth loving in others, why should there not be something worth loving in you?”

“I don’t know,”  you admitted.

“I think it is silly to say everyone deserves love and then remove yourself from your own statement,” König ducked his head down, “and if nothing else, let me find something in you to love. If nobody else will say it, then let me say that you have so much in you that is worthy of love. All of you is worthy of love. You may not think so, but I love you regardless of whatever you think you are.”

“Even when I do things you don’t like?” you cup his head in one hand.

“Especially when you do things I do not like,” König affirmed, “because to love all of you I must love your flaws. To love someone conditionally like that is to not love at all. So I love all parts of you, regardless of what you may think of those.”

“You’re being too nice,” you dismiss him gently.

“I think ‘too nice’ is not real,” König retorted, “I think that is a stupid thing people say to avoid feeling. I am not afraid of my feelings, and so I am proud to say I love you for you. I just hope that one day, you can love yourself like I love you.”

“You really think I can do that?” you ask.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mission had gone spectacularly wrong.

Soap, Ghost, Price, and Gaz sat chained to a grimy brick wall in an abandoned warehouse deep in enemy territory. Their gear had been stripped, leaving them vulnerable and frustrated. The flickering light above cast sharp shadows, reflecting the dismal situation.

And then there was you. Sweet, affectionate, sunshine-you. The one everyone on base adored for your kind words, easy smiles, and penchant for baking cookies when morale was low. You were also the one currently tied to a chair across the room, a cut on your cheek and a split lip standing out against your otherwise calm expression.

“Damn it,” Soap muttered under his breath. “They shouldn’t have gotten their hands on her.”

“Keep your voice down, Johnny,” Ghost hissed, eyes locked on you. You were unnervingly quiet, your head tilted as if listening for something none of them could hear.

Price’s gruff voice cut through their tense whispers. “Focus, lads. We’ll get out of this. She’s tougher than she looks.”

Gaz chuckled humorlessly. “That’s an understatement.”

One of the captors, a stocky man with a knife strapped to his thigh, approached you. He leaned close, clearly mocking your supposed helplessness. “What’s a girl like you doing with these military dogs, huh? Bet you’ve never seen a real fight.”

The team stiffened. They’d seen you train—fluid movements and unnerving accuracy with a knife—but you’d always been modest about your skills. Too modest. Now, they wondered if you’d been holding back.

“Don’t,” Price started, but Ghost’s sharp look silenced him.

Then you smiled. It wasn’t your usual sweet smile but something sharper, darker. “You’ve made a mistake,” you said softly, your voice carrying a chill that made the team shiver.

The man laughed, but it died in his throat when you surged forward, chair and all. The move was so fast it caught him off guard as you rammed the chair leg into his foot. With a curse, he stumbled closer, and that was all you needed.

The warehouse erupted into chaos.

You twisted your wrists, a flick of movement revealing you’d already been working on your restraints. With a sudden lunge, you snatched the knife from the man’s thigh, cutting yourself free in one fluid motion. Before anyone could react, you flipped the chair backward into another enemy rushing at you, sending him sprawling.

Soap’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell—”

“She’s showing off,” Ghost muttered, but there was a note of awe in his voice.

The knife in your hand blurred as you spun, ducking low and driving it into the gut of the first captor. You used his body as a shield to block a shot fired in panic before vaulting over him with an agility that seemed almost supernatural.

One by one, the captors fell, your movements precise, deadly, and terrifyingly efficient. You weren’t just fighting—you were dismantling them. The team watched, stunned, as you rolled across the floor to grab another knife, sending it spinning through the air to hit a target across the room with unerring accuracy.

When the last enemy crumpled to the ground, you stood in the middle of the chaos, blood dripping from your lip and a knife clenched in your hand. Your chest heaved as you turned to face the team, and for a moment, silence reigned.

Soap was the first to speak. “What the hell was that?”

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, your usual cheery demeanor returning like a switch had been flipped. “What? Didn’t think I could handle myself?”

Gaz sputtered. “Handle yourself? You just took out a dozen guys like it was nothing!”

Ghost leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Care to explain, Black Widow?”

You froze, the nickname catching you off guard. “Where’d you hear that?”

Price chuckled, shaking his head. “We have our ways. Didn’t think we’d find out about your old unit, did you?”

You gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s not something I advertise.”

“Clearly,” Gaz muttered, his voice tinged with admiration.

Soap’s grin spread across his face. “Sunshine by day, Black Widow by night. I think I’m in love.”

You rolled your eyes, moving to free them from their restraints. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get out of here before reinforcements arrive.”

As you worked, Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. “You’ve been hiding things.”

“Maybe.” You glanced at him with a playful smile. “But you can’t say I didn’t save your arse.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he simply stared at you, his mind reeling with everything he’d just witnessed. The team was definitely looking at you differently now, and you knew you’d have a lot of questions to answer back at base.

But for now, you allowed yourself a small, satisfied grin. They’d finally seen what you were capable of.

And you had a feeling they’d never underestimate you again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The med bay buzzed with the soft hum of machinery and muffled voices. Everyone was busy cleaning up cuts and bruises, but the energy was lighter than usual, a mix of relief and the lingering adrenaline from surviving the mission. You sat on the edge of a cot, dabbing a disinfectant-soaked cloth against your cheek, pretending not to notice the heavy stares from the rest of Task Force 141.

Soap broke the silence first, as expected. “Alright, lass,” he drawled, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You’re gonna have to spill. Black Widow? Seriously?”

You gave him a sheepish grin, shrugging. “It was just a nickname from my old unit. Not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Gaz scoffed, throwing up his hands. “You took out a dozen armed men while tied to a bloody chair. That’s not ‘not a big deal.’ That’s action movie-level insanity.”

Price chuckled as he adjusted the bandage on his arm. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it. You’ve been keeping secrets from us.”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you admitted, your voice soft. “I just… didn’t want to be that person here. I like being… well, me.”

“Sunshine with a bite,” Soap teased, nudging Gaz. “You lot remember the cookies she made last week? This is the same person.”

“Terrifyingly wholesome,” Gaz said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’re a walking contradiction.”

Across the room, Ghost stood leaning against a table, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable as always. “You’re wasted on cookies and small talk,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You should’ve told us.”

You met his gaze, your expression softening. “I like being part of the team this way. I didn’t want to be… her again unless I had to.”

Soap, ever the playful one, made a mock swooning motion. “And she’s humble, too. God help me, I’m falling for her.”

“Pipe down, Johnny,” Price said, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his tone. “Let her breathe.”

Ghost’s dark eyes flicked to Soap, and though his face was hidden, his body language screamed annoyance. “Show some respect.”

“Relax, Ghost. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Soap retorted, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Gaz joined in, laughing. “Speak for yourself. I’m not ‘falling,’ but I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Never thought someone could be so sweet and so dangerous. You’re like a cupcake with a grenade inside.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s… an interesting way to put it.”

Ghost, however, stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you. While Soap and Gaz bantered, he watched you tend to your wounds, the way your hands moved with practiced precision. He was used to efficiency and strength, but seeing that raw skill paired with your usual warmth stirred something he hadn’t felt in years.

Price interrupted his thoughts. “Enough chatter. She saved our arses out there. That’s what matters.”

“Damn right,” Soap said, throwing you a wink. “You ever decide to switch from sunshine back to Black Widow full-time, I’ll be your number one fan.”

You rolled your eyes, a small blush creeping up your neck. “I think I’ll stick to sunshine for now.”

“Good,” Ghost said abruptly, his voice cutting through the lightheartedness. Everyone turned to him, surprised. “You’re fine as you are.”

It wasn’t much, but coming from Ghost, it felt like the highest of compliments. Your heart gave an unexpected flutter as you met his steady gaze, warmth spreading through you.

Soap whistled. “Careful, Ghost. You’re gonna make her blush.”

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost growled, though he didn’t look away from you.

Gaz smirked. “Looks like someone’s smitten.”

“Enough,” Price ordered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “We’ve had a long day. Get cleaned up and get some rest.”

The team dispersed, but not before Soap gave you a dramatic bow. “Seriously, lass. You’re a bloody legend.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as they filed out, leaving you alone with Ghost. He stayed by the table, silent and still, until you looked at him.

“Ghost?” you prompted, tilting your head.

He pushed off the table and approached, stopping just a foot away. His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “You’re not just Black Widow or sunshine. You’re you. That’s what makes you dangerous. And special.”

Your breath caught at the unexpected words, and before you could respond, he turned and walked out, leaving you with a pounding heart and a small, secret smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who’s in awe? Gaz. He can’t stop replaying the fight in his mind, marveling at how you went from cheerful to deadly in an instant. He’s full of admiration and will probably start calling you Captain Marvel or Wonder Woman just to mess with you.

Who’s crushing hard? Soap. His playful teasing ramps up tenfold, and he’s suddenly finding every excuse to be around you. Whether he’s asking you to teach him your knife tricks or just cracking jokes to make you laugh, his crush is painfully obvious.

Who’s completely in love? Ghost. He doesn’t say much, but the way he watches you and the rare moments of vulnerability in his voice speak volumes. He’s drawn to your balance of strength and warmth, though he’d probably take his feelings to his grave before admitting them outright.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Dance of Danger and Desire

Life at base became… different after the mission.

Price treated you with a newfound respect, often calling on you for input during mission briefings or consulting you on strategy. He even let slip a rare compliment here and there, though his usual stoicism kept them brief. “You’ve earned your place,” he said one day, nodding approvingly after you dissected an enemy’s potential weak points in record time.

Gaz? He couldn’t stop talking about you. “I mean, did you see her?” he’d say, gesturing wildly during downtime. “Black Widow, flipping off chairs and throwing knives like it’s second nature. She’s insane—in the best way!” He wasn’t crushing, but he made sure everyone knew you were someone to respect (and not piss off).

Soap? Well, Soap had it bad. He hovered more, cracking jokes to make you laugh, conveniently showing up whenever you were in the gym. He even bought a new knife, claiming he wanted you to teach him your tricks. “Come on, lass,” he’d say, grinning ear to ear. “You can’t keep all the secrets to yourself. Show me how to be deadly and adorable, aye?”

But Ghost? Ghost was different.

He didn’t hover, joke, or brag like the others. Instead, he watched. His eyes followed you during drills, caught every subtle movement during sparring sessions. He lingered longer during conversations, his quiet presence always looming, always intense. He asked questions about you—not directly, but through Price or Gaz. “Where’d she learn to fight like that?” “What’s her deal with the knives?” “She always this sweet?”

The longer he watched, the more conflicted he became. He wanted you—desperately—but he didn’t know how to approach you. You were too… you. Sweet, deadly, and affectionate. Every smile you gave him, every kind word, every brush of your hand against his when you passed gear—it all drove him mad. He couldn’t get enough.

But he was terrified.

What if you saw him as just a cold, broken soldier? What if he made a move and you rejected him? Or worse—what if you laughed at him? He spent weeks trying to bury his feelings, only for them to bubble over with every soft glance and gentle word you gave him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Breaking Point

It happened during a late-night briefing. You and Ghost were alone in the dimly lit command room, reviewing intel on an upcoming mission. You leaned over the table, pointing out weak spots on a map, your voice soft and thoughtful as you explained your plan.

Ghost wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t. The light caught the curve of your face, the way your lips moved as you spoke. His chest tightened painfully, his pulse pounding in his ears. You turned to look at him, brows furrowing slightly. “Ghost? You okay?”

He snapped.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing your cheek. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t pull away. His voice, rough and low, trembled slightly. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you whispered, breathless.

“This.” He stepped closer, his hands moving to your shoulders. His gaze burned into yours, desperate and full of conflict. “You—you're driving me mad. Every time you smile, every time you speak, every damn time you look at me—I can’t take it.”

You blinked, stunned. “Ghost—”

“Simon,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “My name is Simon.”

Then, before he could lose his nerve, he pressed you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss so full of fire and longing it left you gasping. His hands framed your face, as if he was afraid you’d disappear, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d made a mistake. He started to pull away, mumbling, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

But your hands reached up, tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered against his lips, your voice soft but firm.

He froze, and then his resolve shattered completely. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire and emotion into you. You responded with equal fervor, your touch gentle and grounding, a perfect contrast to his intensity.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, your breath mingling in the quiet room. Ghost stared at you, vulnerability etched into his every feature. “I thought you’d push me away,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along the back of his neck. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m… me,” he said simply, his usual confidence stripped away.

You shook your head, your expression tender. “And I’m me. Apparently very bad at hiding my feelings for you.”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Feelings, huh?”

“Shut up, Simon.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he was enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From that day forward, everything changed. Ghost was still Ghost—silent, brooding, and intimidating—but there was a softness in his gaze whenever he looked at you. The team noticed, of course.

Soap was the first to call him out. “So, Ghost, any chance I’ll get lessons on how to woo the Black Widow?”

Ghost’s glare was enough to make Soap back off—temporarily. Gaz smirked knowingly, while Price simply shook his head with a small smile.

You, however, had no complaints. For all his stoicism and gruffness, Simon Riley loved with the same intensity he fought with. Fiercely, protectively, and with everything he had. And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vulnerability and Desire

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on the desk. Ghost—Simon—had just returned from a long day of training and debriefings, and he wanted nothing more than to be near you. You didn’t disappoint, slipping into his quarters with your usual grace, flashing him that soft, affectionate smile that made his chest ache in the best way.

Now, you found yourself pressed against the wall, your hands buried in the fabric of his shirt as his lips devoured yours. His kisses were rough, demanding, but there was a tenderness beneath them—a quiet desperation that only made your heart race faster. His hands rested on your waist, fingers tightening whenever you tugged him closer.

“Simon…” you murmured between kisses, your voice soft but insistent.

That single word sent a shiver down his spine. Hearing you call him by his name, the one so few people knew, made him weak. You didn’t call him Ghost, didn’t treat him like some untouchable figure. To you, he was just Simon—a man who wanted, needed, craved you.

He growled low in his throat, pressing you tighter against him. “You drive me insane, you know that?” he muttered, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.

“Good,” you teased breathlessly, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly.

He bit back a groan, his composure unraveling with every touch, every sound you made. When you moaned his name—Simon—right into his ear, so sweetly, so reverently, it was over.

A guttural sound escaped his lips as his body betrayed him completely, his hips jerking involuntarily. He stiffened, his breathing ragged as the heat of embarrassment flooded his face. He tried to pull back, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a shaky breath. “Shit… I—”

You blinked up at him, a mixture of confusion and realization dawning on your face. “Oh,” you said softly, your cheeks tinting pink.

Simon’s hands moved to your shoulders, as if bracing himself for rejection. “I didn’t mean for—”

“Simon,” you interrupted gently, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

He froze, his wide, vulnerable eyes meeting yours. “It’s not—I should’ve—”

“Hey.” Your voice was soft but firm, grounding him. “It’s fine. Really.”

When he didn’t respond, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your fingers brushing through his hair soothingly. His tense frame began to relax, though he still looked uncertain, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “It just means you… felt something, right?”

He huffed out a weak laugh, shaking his head. “Felt something? I felt everything, love. And now I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slow and deliberate. “It happens. And I don’t mind helping.”

His brows furrowed as you stepped back, heading toward his small dresser to grab him a clean pair of boxers. He watched in stunned silence as you moved with ease, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

You handed the clothes to him, your smile warm and teasing. “Go clean up. I’ll wait.”

Simon hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you. You weren’t disgusted or uncomfortable. If anything, you were… amused, maybe even endeared. He felt his chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of affection.

“(Y/N),” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude.

“Go,” you urged gently, shooing him toward the bathroom with a loving smile.

When he returned a few minutes later, freshly changed and still slightly pink-faced, you were sitting on his bed, waiting for him. You patted the spot beside you, and he hesitated before joining you.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, placing soft little kisses on his shoulder. “Better?”

He let out a deep sigh, leaning into your touch, your affection. “Better.”

For a while, you sat there in comfortable silence, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back. He closed his eyes, letting the tension melt away under your care.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So are you, Simon.”

He tightened his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. In that moment, he let himself feel it all—the love, the comfort, the safety he found in your arms.

And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe he deserved it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Love That Disarms

Simon Riley had always been a man of control. In combat, his precision was unmatched. On missions, his focus was unshakeable. Even in the chaos of battle, he maintained a tight grip on his emotions and actions.

But with you? Control was a thing of the past.

He didn’t understand it—couldn’t, really. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from you sent his carefully built walls crumbling to the ground. You were his undoing in the best way, and it terrified him just as much as it thrilled him.

Tonight was no different.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of his bunk, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows on your skin. Your hands moved over him with a mix of tenderness and confidence, as if you knew every scar, every inch of him, and loved it all the same. Your lips followed suit, trailing kisses along his jaw, his neck, his chest, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

“(Y/N)…” His voice was low and strained, his hands gripping your waist as if to ground himself.

You smiled against his skin, your touch never faltering. “I’m here, Simon. I’ve got you.”

And that was the problem. You always had him. In ways no one ever had before.

The warmth of your body against his, the soft sounds you made as he held you closer—it all overwhelmed him. He tried to pace himself, tried to focus on you the way you deserved, but every time he gave in to you, it was like a dam breaking. The sensation of your lips, your hands, the way you whispered his name—it was too much, too perfect.

He didn’t stand a chance.

When he finally let himself go, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his body trembled with release, he felt equal parts blissful and embarrassed. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding as he tightened his grip on you, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

You stroked his back gently, your fingers threading through his hair. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly, concern lacing your tone.

“Too fast,” he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s always too fast with you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His mask was off, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way few ever saw. Your heart ached at the sight.

“Simon,” you said gently, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he argued, his brows furrowing. “You deserve better than this—better than me falling apart like a bloody idiot every time.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “You’re not an idiot. You’re human. And if I make you feel this way, it just means you trust me enough to let go.”

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity. But all he found was love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“You’re not disappointed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Disappointed?” you repeated, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Simon, you make me feel loved and wanted every single time we’re together. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His throat tightened, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, your arms wrapping around him. “I could say the same about you.”

For a while, you just held each other, the room filled with the quiet hum of your breathing. Simon’s hands traced lazy patterns on your back, his earlier frustration melting away under your soothing touch.

Eventually, you pulled back, your lips quirking into a playful smile. “Now, come on. Let me clean you up.”

Simon groaned, his face heating up again. “You don’t have to—”

“Hush,” you interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He sighed, reluctantly letting you slip out of bed to grab a warm cloth. When you returned, you knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cleaned him up. He watched you in silence, his heart swelling with affection at the care in your every movement.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said softly, his voice laced with awe.

You glanced up at him, a teasing smile on your lips. “Good unbelievable or bad unbelievable?”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “The best kind.”

When you were done, you climbed back into bed, curling up against his side. He held you close, his fingers tangled in your hair as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

You smiled, your eyes drifting shut as you nuzzled into his chest. “Yes, you do. Every bit of me, Simon.”

And for the first time in years, Simon Riley believed it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Lover’s Devotion

Simon Riley lay beside you, his mask discarded, his dark eyes soft in the low light of the room. It had been a long day, filled with briefings, sparring matches, and stolen moments together. Now, with the rest of the base quiet, it was just the two of you—no missions, no danger, just the space to breathe and be together.

You turned your head on the pillow to look at him, your smile sweet and genuine. “What’re you thinking about?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes. You had a way of undoing him without even trying—a smile, a laugh, the way you touched him with such care, as if he wasn’t made of sharp edges and shadows. And when you were together, intimately? It was more than he could handle sometimes. You made him feel everything, breaking through his carefully guarded walls like no one else ever had.

But tonight, Simon had a plan—a way to show you exactly how much you meant to him.

“I’m thinking…” He shifted closer, his voice low and deliberate, “that maybe I’ve been a bit selfish.”

You raised a brow, confused. “Selfish? How?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You always put me first,” he murmured. “Always comforting me, taking care of me. I don’t give you half as much as you deserve.”

“Simon,” you began, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was slow, tender, and deliberate, leaving you breathless by the time he pulled away. His hand slid down your body, tracing over your waist and hip as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Your eyes widened slightly, your heart skipping a beat as his meaning became clear. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his lips trailing down your jaw. “Let me.”

The intensity in his eyes left no room for argument, and you nodded, your breath hitching as he shifted lower on the bed.

Simon took his time, his hands moving with a mix of reverence and purpose as he pulled your clothes away, exposing your skin to his gaze. He pressed kisses to your thighs, his stubble scraping lightly against your sensitive skin, drawing a shiver from you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “You know that, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you let out a soft laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirked, the rare expression making your heart flutter, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered himself further, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your laughter dissolved into a quiet gasp as he kissed his way closer, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady.

When his mouth finally found you, it was as if the world stopped. Simon was slow and deliberate, his tongue and lips working with a skill that left you breathless. He paid attention to every sound you made, every shiver and twitch, adjusting his movements to bring you closer to the edge.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as he pulled you apart piece by piece. “Simon,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He groaned against you at the sound, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he pushed you higher and higher until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your back arching as a strangled cry escaped your lips. Simon didn’t stop, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure before finally pulling back.

When he looked up at you, his lips glistening, his dark eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection, you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “You’re… something else, Simon Riley.”

He smirked, crawling back up to lay beside you, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. “Just making sure my girl knows how much she means to me.”

You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you kissed him softly. “I already know. But I wouldn’t mind you reminding me like that every now and then.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your lips. “Anything for you, love. Anything.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest as his arms tightened around you. In his embrace, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly loved—a feeling you knew Simon would always give you, in his own quiet, devoted way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Aftermath

It had been a long day.

The 141 Task Force had been in the gym for hours, pushing through rounds of training, building up their stamina for the missions ahead. The usual banter was going on in the background, but Simon couldn’t focus on any of it. His mind kept drifting back to last night—the taste of you, the way you had come undone beneath his touch.

He was trying to keep it together, but the image of you trembling, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your moans echoing in his ears were all-consuming. God, you had felt so good. Every inch of you had sent him spiraling deeper, and he couldn’t shake the memory of it. Your scent, your taste—it had haunted him all morning, and now, in the middle of a training session, it was driving him crazy.

His muscles were tight from the sparring, but the real tension was elsewhere. His pants were uncomfortably tight, his body betraying him as he tried to force himself to focus on the drills.

Focus, Riley. Focus…

But it was no use. His mind kept wandering back to you, to the way you had felt in his arms, to the way you had called his name. The sound of your breath, the feel of your body against his—it was all he could think about.

"Oi, Ghost, you good?" Soap's voice cut through his thoughts.

Simon gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening as he turned toward Soap. "Fine. Just tired," he lied, his voice thick with tension.

Soap eyed him suspiciously but didn't press it, continuing with his exercises. But Simon's mind was elsewhere. He needed relief.

His breathing became shallow as his thoughts spiraled again. Focus on the mission. Focus on the team. But nothing was working.

His gaze flickered over to where you were sparring with Gaz, your movements graceful and precise. You looked so damn good, and it only made his situation worse. The thought of you, of last night, had him hot and bothered in a way that was beyond his control.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed a break. A cold one.

Without a word, Simon stalked off toward the locker room, his pace quickening as he got closer to the showers. He couldn’t think straight anymore. His body was betraying him, and he knew there was only one thing that could cool him off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the cold water hitting his skin was a relief as Simon stepped under the stream, closing his eyes for a moment to let the chill settle into his muscles. But even the cold water couldn’t help him shake the image of you.

You.

His hand gripped the shower wall, his teeth gritting as the memories flooded back—your taste, the way your body had shuddered against his. How had he never felt anything so intense before?

He growled, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles. This is ridiculous.

The water ran over him, but he could still feel the heat from his thoughts, and it was making him insane. He had never felt this way about anyone, never so consumed by desire. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

And yet… when he thought about you, when he thought about being with you, about the way you made him feel… he couldn’t help but want more.

The sound of your laugh echoed in his mind, the way your hands had held him close, the way you had whispered his name with such sweetness and trust.

Focus, Riley. Get your shit together.

But the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get it together anymore.

He leaned his head back, letting the cold water hit his face. All he could think about was you. And right now, that was all he needed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Promise in the Shadows

You noticed Simon’s absence the moment the sparring session ended. While the others laughed and exchanged quips, his brooding presence was nowhere to be found. Soap had mentioned Simon “seemed off,” but no one else seemed concerned.

Except you.

The thought of him slipping away in that quiet, stoic way of his tugged at you. You knew him better than anyone here—better than he probably wanted you to. He wasn’t just blowing off steam; something was bothering him.

“Hey, guys, I’ll catch up later,” you said with a casual wave, earning a curious look from Price but no protests.

The locker room was quiet when you stepped in, the sound of a running shower guiding you toward him. You paused outside, listening, your heart aching slightly at the low groan that slipped through the noise.

You didn’t need to see him to know what was going on. Simon had been different all morning—distracted, tense. And you could hazard a guess as to why.

Slipping inside, you moved quietly toward the shower stalls. Steam clouded the room, and the closer you got, the more your chest tightened. You peeked around the corner, and there he was—Simon, his broad shoulders hunched under the icy spray, one hand braced against the tile wall. His head was bowed, his body taut with tension.

“Simon,” you called softly, stepping closer.

He froze, his head whipping around. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the heat lingering there, barely contained.

“What are you doing here?” he rasped, his voice strained.

You took another step forward, your hands clasped in front of you, your gaze soft. “I noticed you were gone,” you said simply. “Wanted to check on you.”

His jaw clenched, his gaze flickering away. “I’m fine.”

You tilted your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you, though?”

The faint pink coloring his ears told you everything you needed to know. He was embarrassed, vulnerable in a way he hated, and it broke your heart just a little.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” you said gently, stepping closer.

“(Y/N),” he warned, his voice low and gravelly.

But you didn’t stop. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm, and he flinched slightly before relaxing under your touch.

“You’re my man,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m here for you. Always.”

His eyes met yours, conflicted and raw. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the water.

“I do,” you countered, your other hand moving to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch despite himself, his eyes closing for a moment.

You pressed a kiss to his chest, your lips brushing against the scarred skin. “Let me take care of you, Simon.”

His breath hitched, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with something between desperation and adoration. He didn’t say a word as you gently nudged him back against the wall, the water cascading over both of you.

Lowering yourself to your knees, you held his gaze, your hands trailing down his sides. He was already hard, straining against the fabric of his wet boxers that he hadn't taken off on purpose... fighting his desires, and you could see the way his breath quickened as you touched him.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, your voice firm yet full of affection.

Sliding his boxers down, you freed him, your hands moving with care and reverence. He was already trembling slightly, and the vulnerability in his eyes only made you more determined to show him how much you loved him.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his tip, and he let out a ragged gasp, his hand moving to tangle in your hair. His restraint was admirable, but you didn’t want him to hold back.

As you took him into your mouth, his low groan echoed through the shower, his fingers tightening in your hair. You moved slowly, savoring the way he responded to you, the way his body trembled under your touch.

“God, (Y/N),” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes soft. “You don’t have to hold back with me, Simon. I’m yours. Always.”

His chest heaved, his hand moving to cup your cheek as his other stayed buried in your hair. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a growl.

You smiled, your lips brushing against him before you continued, your pace steady and deliberate. He was unraveling, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to hold himself together.

When he finally came undone, his release was accompanied by a deep, guttural moan, his body trembling as he braced himself against the wall. You stayed with him through it, your hands steadying him, your touch full of love and care.

As he sank to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of gratitude.

“I wanted to,” you replied, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “You’re everything to me, Simon. I’ll always take care of you.”

He kissed you then, his lips slow and tender against yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

“You deserve everything,” you said firmly, your hands cradling his face.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as the water poured over both of you. In that moment, there were no shadows, no walls—just the two of you, completely and utterly in love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Completely Yours

Simon held you tightly, his head buried in the crook of your neck as the steam from the shower enveloped you both. His breathing was still uneven, his body trembling slightly as he came down from the high you had just given him. You ran your fingers gently through his damp hair, placing soft kisses along his temple, whispering reassurances that only made his chest tighten further with emotion.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky to have you, and yet, every time he thought about it, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming need to show you how much you meant to him.

Especially now.

Because even as the warmth of your love settled in his chest, his mind was betraying him—images of last night flooding back with vivid clarity. The way you had writhed beneath him, the taste of you on his tongue, the way your body had arched as you fell apart under his relentless attention. God, he could still feel the way your thighs had quivered around his head, the sweet sounds you’d made as you begged him for more.

And now, you were here. Warm, soft, and all his.

His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your neck as his voice came out rough and low. “(Y/N)…”

You hummed softly, tilting your head to press a kiss to his cheek. “Yes, Simon?”

His lips found your skin again, pressing lingering kisses along your jawline, each one filled with an intensity that made your heart race. “Need you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your fingers stilled in his hair as you pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes searching his. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze filled with both vulnerability and a raw, unrelenting desire.

“Simon…” you started, your voice soft and full of affection.

But he didn’t let you finish. His lips captured yours in a deep, searing kiss that left you breathless, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The water cascading over you both only added to the heat building between you, and when his lips left yours to trail down your neck, you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with possession.

“Always,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he shifted you against the tiled wall, his large frame towering over you.

His lips found your collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his mouth moved lower. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he knelt before you, his dark eyes looking up at you with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

“Simon, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, echoing your words from earlier. “You’re mine, and I need to taste you again. Now.”

Your breath hitched as his hands gently guided your legs over his shoulders, his lips pressing kisses along the inside of your thighs that had you trembling. His eyes never left yours, even as his mouth descended on you, drawing a gasp from your lips that quickly turned into a moan.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against you, his voice muffled but no less reverent.

The moment his tongue flicked against you, all coherent thoughts left your mind. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as he worked you over with a skill and fervor that left you breathless. He was relentless, his lips and tongue worshiping you, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as you writhed beneath his touch.

“Simon—” you gasped, your voice trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Your cries echoed off the tiled walls, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra as he took you apart piece by piece. And when you finally came undone, your body shaking with the force of it, he held you through it, his tongue and lips coaxing every last wave of pleasure from you.

When you finally opened your eyes, your breathing ragged, you found him staring up at you, his lips glistening and a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with adoration.

Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. The taste of yourself on his lips only fueled the fire between you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your fingers brushing through his damp hair.

His arms tightened around you, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re mine, (Y/N). Always.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your lips curling into a soft smile. “Whenever you want me, Simon, I’m yours. Always.”

The look in his eyes was pure devotion, and as he kissed you again, you knew there was no place you’d rather be than in the arms of the man who loved you so fiercely.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Addictive Perfection

Simon Riley, the Ghost, had faced countless enemies, weathered impossible missions, and endured more than most men could fathom. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for the way you utterly unraveled him.

It wasn’t just the way you looked at him with those eyes that saw right through his walls, or the soft smiles you reserved just for him. It wasn’t even the way your body felt against his, or how you melted under his touch. No, it was everything.

You were his perfect storm.

And the addiction? That was a whole other beast.

It had started as a way to focus on you, to make you feel as worshiped as he believed you deserved. But somewhere along the line, Simon had realized he was the one who couldn’t get enough. The taste of you lingered on his tongue like a haunting melody, the way you trembled under his hands etched into his memory like scripture. He’d think about the breathless way you said his name, the way your thighs squeezed him, the soft pleas falling from your lips, and he’d lose himself.

Even now, as you sat curled up on his lap in the common area, innocently running your fingers over his chest and chatting with Soap, Simon was struggling.

Your scent was still faintly on him—evidence of the indulgence that had happened not even two hours ago. He’d dragged you into the locker room after training under the pretense of “needing a word,” only to fall to his knees before you, murmuring praises against your skin as he drove you wild.

And here you were, like nothing had happened, laughing softly at Soap’s antics, while Simon could only think about taking you back to his room and doing it all over again.

Soap’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Ghost, you’ve been quiet. Everything alright, mate?”

Simon cleared his throat, his arm tightening subtly around your waist as he gave Soap a curt nod. “Fine. Just listening.”

Soap grinned, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Must be you. You’ve tamed the big bad Ghost, lass. Never seen him this relaxed.”

You giggled, the sound like music to Simon’s ears, and leaned back into him. “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

Simon ducked his head to hide the smirk tugging at his lips, his fingers trailing along your side possessively. Lucky didn’t even begin to cover it.

Later that evening, when the base was quiet and the team had retired for the night, Simon finally had you to himself.

You were in his room, wearing one of his shirts, the hem brushing your thighs as you moved around. His eyes followed your every step, the way the fabric clung to your curves, the teasing glimpse of skin that sent his thoughts spiraling.

“Simon?”

Your voice broke through his haze, and he realized you were standing in front of him, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“You alright?” you asked softly, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

He didn’t answer right away, instead leaning into your touch, his eyes closing as he took a steadying breath.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, though the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him.

“Are you sure?”

His eyes opened, meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. Slowly, he stood, towering over you as his hands settled on your hips.

“I need you,” he said, his voice low and raw. “Now.”

Your lips parted, a soft blush creeping across your cheeks, but you didn’t hesitate. Your hands slid up his chest, curling around his neck as you pressed yourself against him.

“I’m yours, Simon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with affection. “Always.”

By the time he had you on the bed, spread out beneath him, Simon was entirely undone. His lips trailed down your body, his hands worshiping every inch of you as he worked his way lower.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

You giggled softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “Good.”

His breath hitched at your teasing tone, and he looked up at you with a smirk that sent shivers down your spine. “Careful, love. You might regret that.”

But the only thing you regretted was the loss of your breath as his lips and tongue made contact, his hands gripping your thighs as he devoured you with a hunger that left you trembling.

Simon wasn’t just passionate—he was thorough, determined, and utterly dedicated to making you feel as perfect as he believed you were. Every sound you made, every arch of your body, only spurred him on, and by the time he finally pulled away, you were a trembling, breathless mess.

As he kissed his way back up your body, his eyes met yours, filled with a raw intensity that made your heart race.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his face, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. “You don’t have to. I’m yours, Simon. Always.”

His lips curved into a rare smile, and as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close, he knew without a doubt that you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love Through the Night

The moment Simon joined with you, it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. There were no missions, no burdens of the past, no shadows creeping at the edges of his mind—only you. You, who met him with such tenderness and love, grounding him in a way he never thought possible.

His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring every second. The way your body molded to his, the way your soft gasps and whispered praises filled the room, sent him spiraling faster than he wanted to admit.

“God, love…” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with emotion. “You… you’re too much.”

“Then don’t hold back, Simon,” you whispered, cupping his face as you kissed him deeply. “I love you. All of you.”

Those words undid him completely.

Simon didn’t last long—he rarely did when it came to you. The intensity of his feelings, combined with the sheer perfection of being with you, overwhelmed him every time. But even as he came undone, his mind was already racing, determined to make up for it.

And he did.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was moving, his lips trailing kisses across your skin, his hands exploring your body with reverence.

“Again,” he rasped, his voice laced with desperation as he looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with adoration. “Need you again.”

You giggled softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you nodded. “I’m yours, Simon. Always.”

What followed was a night neither of you would forget.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered declaration of love was etched into your souls. Simon couldn’t get enough of you—your taste, your scent, the way you responded to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

And you… you were more than happy to meet his fervor.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, lost in each other. Simon made love to you like a man starved, each round more intense and passionate than the last. His stamina surprised even him, driven by the overwhelming need to worship every inch of you, to show you just how much you meant to him.

By the time the early hours of the morning crept in, both of you were exhausted, tangled together in the sheets. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his skin as his arm held you close, his hand stroking your hair.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Simon muttered, his voice thick with affection as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled softly, his rare smile lighting up his face. “Never. You’re everything to me.”

“And you’re everything to me,” you replied, leaning up to kiss him gently.

As the two of you drifted off to sleep, still wrapped up in each other, Simon couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was. You were his anchor, his light in the darkness, and he would spend every day of his life proving just how much he loved you.