#simon cod x reader

“Here,” A thick and soft blanket was handed to Simon, who muttered a quiet ‘thank you’. His voice sounded hoarse, probably from his earlier screams, you guessed. “Make yourself at home, yeah?” You smiled a little and offered him a glass of water; His fingers were warm when they brushed over yours to take the glass. Simon sat on your couch which took up most of the open space you called a living room while you turned off the kitchen lights you’d left on. You lowered the volume on the record player, thankfully it was just jazz so it was probably more comforting to him than annoying. At least that’s what you hoped. 

“Should I turn the music off?” you asked him quietly, not wanting to disturb him with sudden noises. 

Simon got comfortable on your couch, his arm underneath a throw pillow and the lower half of himself covered in the blanket you’d offered him. “Nah, s’fine.. Are you going to sleep here or..?” 

“No, actually,” you sat on the carpet with your back to the foot of the couch; Your computer was set up on the coffee table in front of the couch, hundreds of work-related windows open on it. “I’ve got some work still left to do here.” He looked down at you from his spot on the couch, gazing at the way your slightly-chapped lips sipped from the glass of water you currently held. He had been in close proximity to you many times before but this time felt more.. Intimate. 

You’d brought him into your home and given him a place to rest his head like it was normal. He wasn’t sure if he was terrified of it or welcoming it- he was somewhere in between, for sure. “You’re working at this hour?” 

“Yeah, just a few notes I’ve got to catch up on, nothing too stressful thankfully.” Your fingers worked their magic on the keyboard; There were bags under your eyes but you still seemed awake enough to continue your work. Simon laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling, the jazz and soft clicking noises from your computer painting the flat with a calm atmosphere; A stark difference to the cold and empty space he rented on the other side of the wall. 

A few minutes passed by and Simon was still tossing and turning. You didn’t say a word about it though; Too focused on work to spare him a glance. He wondered if it was intentional. There wasn’t any silence in this room, but your quietude suffocated him enough to keep him awake. Maybe he was just overthinking it, but the way you gazed at him with such warmth and worry in your eyes when he opened his door to you was something he couldn’t get out of his head. He hated that you had this much of an impact on him even after the two of you had spent a significant time apart. 

Were you betraying yourself for him? 

‘Couldn’t be’. He thought to himself as he watched you get up from your seated position. Your steps were near-silent and you stretched on your way to the refrigerator to get yourself something to drink. He laid on his side, observing you silently, as if you were a mythical creature who would flee if he made any sudden sounds or movements. Your lethargy was evident from the way your form hunched over on the kitchen island. You rubbed your face and took a deep breath before pouring yourself a cup of juice and placing the half-empty container of cranberry juice back into the fridge afterwards. 

“What are you writing?” His voice was quiet yet still gruff as ever. 

Your brows lifted as your sights were set on him for a moment, “You’re still awake?” A chuckle escaped your lips as you sat back down, your back leaning against the foot of the couch. “I didn’t notice, I thought you’d been asleep since you were so quiet.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle, “If I could sleep that easy, I don’t think I’d be here on your couch, love.” 

“True,” you shrugged and sipped on your glass of juice. An attempt to distract yourself from the notion that he’d probably been watching you work this entire time. “But to answer your question, I’m writing notes about a client’s session from yesterday.” 

He took a moment to answer, but you didn’t mind — you never did. You were always patient with him, he wondered if it would stay that way if you ever had an argument with him. Was it a screwed up thought? Probably, but it’s not like he was policing his thoughts anyway. It came and went without much of a fuss from Simon’s consciousness. “..How is it? Working at a prison, I mean.” 

A smile graced your lips, “It’s not too bad, save for the incident with the shank.” You raised your arm, the scar on full display as you did so. Your insecurity around it seemed to have dissipated by now. “And you? How is it being a Lieutenant?” It was as if you were moving in slow motion with the way you were gazing up at him from your place on the floor.  In this moment, the entirety of the outside world disappeared leaving only the two of you as proof of its existence. Simon couldn’t describe the feeling simmering in his chest and pulling taut at his heart just by having your full attention. 

“..Simon?” 

And then the cars outside were suddenly audible once more and the dim light surrounded the two of you again; Reality set in and he was sure that the physical injuries inflicted on him in his past were nothing compared to the silent agony of being by your side and yet, still not beside you. He blinked and settled back into the couch, “It’s loads of yellin’, that’s for sure.” His auburn eyes left your form; A silent withdrawal from the drug that you were to him. 

Despite living as a footnote on an extravagant poem, being seen was addicting; Both he and you knew this all too well. At this point, it was only a matter of time until one of you broke under the weight of these soul-crushing admirations. 

“I’m sure it is. The paperwork for that must suck.” The skin of your cheek was caught between your teeth as you withdrew your own gaze from him. Subconsciously, your hand rummaged inside your right pocket in your sweatpants, finding the box of familiar plastic black sticks within. A toothpick was inserted in between your teeth; It was a substitute for your cheek, a self-soothing habit you wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon. You tried not to think about your buried affection for him as you bit on the stick like it offended you. 

Simon hummed in acknowledgement, looking up at the ceiling. “You get used to it after a couple years.” 

“You can say that again,” you chuckled dryly. 

“Do you usually stay up this late?” 

“On weekends.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yep.” You purse your lips and focus your eyes on the screen in front of you, wondering if he can tell that you’re upset. 

He does, but refrains from mentioning it. Simon knows why and refuses to acknowledge it. He knows you feel for him, he knows you’re conflicted about it as much as he is — Unfortunately, the two of you are much too cautious to say a word about it. 

So the conversation dies there. 

There was no consolation of flowery language or heartfelt stories about a childhood that seemed eons away, just bone-crushing stillness. The record kept spinning but the jazz didn’t feel calming anymore. The atmosphere, tainted by unspoken words and drenched in the stifling fear of commitment, wrapped around the pair of you and kept you two prisoners. 

And as a prisoner of your own fear, there were three things you knew well.

One: that this steel cell was man-made, built by your desperation to survive without any attachments that could threaten your emotional and mental state. Two: you threw yourself into this prison willingly. The door of your cell has been wide open for years, there was nothing keeping you here except.. yourself. And finally, three: to love someone, you would need to exit the cell you’ve confined yourself to all these years.. Of your own accord. 

As you laid in your comfortable bed for the night — you’d left Simon to his own devices in the living room — you realized that you could either let your feelings lie dormant, like you’d done so many times before.. 

Or take a risk you’ve been scared to act on for far too long. 

.

.

.

Biting cold from the open balcony door nipped at your skin, lathering your leg which had jutted out from under the covers in bitter frost. Snowy winds bit at your exposed nose and cheeks enough to wake you from your dreamless slumber. The sun hadn’t bared its face yet but you could tell it was morning, just early. 

Even in stress, your early morning habits never left you. A heavy sigh sprang from your lips before choosing to swing your legs over the mattress and start your day. The thick robe you slipped on before emerging from your room offered more warmth in the cold of the early morning hours. Did Simon sleep well? The cold couldn’t get to him, at least you hoped. 

Wait- was he still even here?

Your quiet footsteps made themselves down the short hall to the open area, where Simon was still evidently on the couch sleeping away. You crossed your arms as you leaned against the marbled kitchen island, a contemplative look washing over you. 

Simon was a rugged man. 

He kept his walls impenetrable and high enough that no one could cross over them no matter how much they wished to. He was determined to make himself seem as unapproachable as possible despite the fact that his eyes told stories of tragedy and gave his otherwise hidden passions away like an open book. You knew he could read you — you hated it — but you were sure that he knew you could see through him as well. And it didn’t take a genius for you to know for a fact that someone as closed off as him would severely abhor that fact. 

Not because it was you, but because being left defenseless against you was a huge frear. One you shared with him, unbeknownst to him.There was always an unspoken tension between the two of you, since that day at the coffee shop. And when you made yourself scarce to protect your heart of glass, you could feel his resignation. He accepted that you withdrew yourself from him — you inferred that it was probably because he’s been in your position before. 

Simon was like your own personal mirror. 

And you never liked mirrors. 

His blonde lashes fluttered every so often; Built body relaxed and draped over your red leather couch like it was the most comfortable surface he’s had the pleasure of sleeping on. The familiar crease in between his brows was smoothed out and his breathing was regular. 

Simon was a rugged man, but here on your couch, he was anything but rugged. 

You could think of hundreds of excuses to not be with him, but you couldn’t think of a single lie that would cover up the fact that you loved the man in front of you. Simon made your nights more bearable, even if it was just an hour of walking and unloading about the week's events. Simon comforted you about the scar on your arm, you remember. 

In fact, he was always adamant on proving that you were enough despite your insecurities. 

You wondered then, if he’d still think you were enough if he saw even the darkest parts of yourself; The parts that you kept under lock and key. The parts of you that you long ago deemed ‘too much’ for any man. The parts of you that were so fragile that they couldn’t be trusted with just anyone. 

Your heart could break a million times and you’d still be able to glue it together — but your soul was something else entirely. 

You weren’t sure you could repair it as easily if it were to break.

taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething . . @thatghostlykid . . @alex1011sdzfgh . .

Despite this, the wind felt fresh on your face as soon as you stepped out onto the balcony and bathed in the rays of the rising sun. You stretched your arms over your head and let out a content sigh. London was full of tall buildings and while it wasn’t all lit up since it was still very early in the morning, the blue tinted scenery was still nice to look at. It was a Saturday today which meant you wouldn’t have work today, thankfully. Now that you remembered, your boss had asked you to take about two weeks off after what happened. 

You should probably re-bandage your arm now that you’re thinking about it. 

Anyway, you retreated inside your home and began your day. The water droplets that fell from the showerhead were more than soothing, despite that, it still stung when the water washed over the wound on your arm. 

It was a stupid mistake to be blindsided by a client in that way, you should’ve known better; should’ve seen the signs. 

With a heavy sigh, you made your way out of the shower and into the kitchen after getting dressed. You were going to make yourself a cup of coffee but decided instead to go to the local cafe down the street. After all, you had way more time on your hands than you knew to do with. With your keys in your pocket and your small box of toothpicks in your coat pocket, you ventured out of the door. As you locked it, your vision drifted to the door next to yours. 

Your neighbor's door. 

It suddenly hit you that you had made quite the impression the day before. “Should i..” you muttered to yourself, wondering if you should treat the man to a cup of coffee as a sort of apology for last night. As soon as the lock on your door clicked, you slowly walked up to his door. It felt rather intimidating but you’d already made your mind up — He’d probably end up declining anyway, you reasoned. Just as you were about to deliver a firm knock on his door, it swung open, making your hand freeze in mid-air. 

   You could see your neighbor’s creased eyebrows and the confused look in his eyes, the surgical mask he wore hid the rest of his face though. He was taller than he seemed last night, you guessed that maybe it was because you’d only seen him from afar that time. You stepped back from the front of the door, realizing that you’d somehow managed to make it awkward yet again. All these years and yet you still had problems with simple social interaction. 

It almost made you feel pathetic. Almost.

“Good morning,” You began after clearing your throat, “-Uhm, I’m _____, I live next door. I know I probably caused you some trouble last night so.. I was wondering if you’d like to have a cup of coffee or tea — whatever you prefer — as an apology for last night?” A sheepish smile graced your lips as a silence settled between the two of you. You offered your hand for a handshake, which he returned after a few seconds. His hand was large ang calloused, definitely not the work of an office job. 

The crease in between his eyebrows was gone, more relaxed from what you could tell — but he had yet to say a word. Finally, after what felt like a grueling pair of seconds, your neighbor spoke. “Simon. As for last night, you don’t need to do tha’.” His accent was thick, his response clipped. 

“Are you sure?” You smiled, satisfied that you were right about him declining your offer. It was probably selfish of you but you weren’t prepared for the anxiety of going out today anyway. On top of that, what if you ended up being awkward as hell — as you usually were — in front of him? He’d probably think you were weird and then you’d never be able to show your face again. 

He seemed to be considering your offer for a moment — which frankly made you a tad nervous because what if he accepted your offer? A sigh came from his lips before he replied, “I’m busy today. Wha’ about this Friday?” 

Your heart stopped. 

If you said ‘no’ it’d make it complicated and you’d probably look like an ass for it, but if you said ‘yes’ you’d have the displeasure of not knowing what to say to him or even how to start a conversation with him. . .  The anxiety was eating you alive in those three mere seconds. “Sure. What time?” The words were rushed, you were surprised you didn’t trip over your own tongue. You tended to do that when your mind ran faster than your mouth could keep up with. 

“Does 2pm work for you?” 

“Yeah.” you answered with a slow nod. “That would be great.” 

With that, Simon gave you a curt nod. You bid him farewell and continued on your way to the local cafe, the memory of the interaction replaying in your mind at least a hundred times until you entered the warm ambience of the cafe. The glossy floorboards and aroma of coffee beans in the air brought you a sense of comfort — which you needed after that awkward interaction. You already had a toothpick in your mouth by the time it was your turn to order. 

“The usual caramel latte, Miss ______?” 

“What?” You looked at the young man confusedly, as if he’d grown two heads. 

The young man at the register, his name-tag read ‘Eliah’, only chuckled and offered a smile to you. “Sorry, it’s just- you always order the same thing. Sorry if that was weird..” he sheepishly apologized. Did you make him feel like that? Oh lord. 

You shook your head, “Oh, it’s not weird at all, don’t worry. I was just lost in thought so it caught me off guard.” 

“So.. A Caramel Latte?” Eliah smirked. Your social nervousness seemed to amuse him, not that you cared all that much. It was just something embarrassing you couldn’t fix about yourself. No amount of trying in your thirty-five years of life would fix that. 

“Yeah, please.” you dug into your pocket and slipped your debit card from your wallet, fidgeting with it before swiping it through the card reader and punching in your pin number. It was only the start of the day and yet you already felt drained. Human interaction shouldn’t be this stressful — or troublesome, as you like to call it. It was almost ironic since your expertise involved reading people and analyzing them through their behavior. 

But you digress. 

As you went to sit at your usual table near the window, you pulled up the calendar app on your phone and made a reminder for this coming Friday. As you sat there waiting for your coffee, the interaction played in your head like a movie. Simon was a tall and built man; he was also dressed in active wear when he had opened the door. You concluded that he liked to stay fit — as most men do. The mask made you come up with the notion that he was either sick or he was hiding his face — the lower part anyway. 

You relentlessly searched for anything that would give you something to talk about when you met him this Friday. If you just sat with him in silence, you swore you were going to feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out. The anxiety alone would eat you alive. You had the ability to make it seem like you were calm when you were freaking out underneath the surface — it didn’t make your social anxiety go away but it sure as hell lessened the added stress of making a situation awkward when you acted like you had no anxiety at all. 

Your thoughts drifted from your neighbor to the new bandages around your arm. It would probably take about two to three weeks for it to heal properly, it still had stitches which helped but didn’t keep it from hurting. The injury would probably leave a scar. The only good thing was that it would also serve as a reminder to never underestimate the creativity of a criminal — especially one with an antisocial personality disorder.

“Caramel Latte for .. _____?” 

Your train of thought derailed as soon as your name was called. You retrieved your coffee from the counter and thanked the barista before leaving. 

Work was off the table these next two weeks but you had an inkling that it would still be an eventful couple of days. 

taglist *ೃ༄ . . . @dwkfan . . @savannahsomething . . @thatghostlykid . .