I Have Read That He Wears The Mask Bc He Has Been T0rtured, Call Of Duty Makes The Masked Men Suffer

I have read that he wears the mask bc he has been t0rtured, call of duty makes the masked men suffer the most :((

Hey babe, wake up

A new masked guy with a mental illness just dropped...

Why there isn’t any fics or one-shots of him, I need to know.

MACE - METAL PHANTOM

Can’t explain how much I loved every single chapter of this series 🥹🥹🥹

Home

Part of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. PTSD. Emotional hurt/comfort. Relationship issues. Feelings of sadness, anxiety, fear. Mention of attempted suicide. Alcohol use. Tenderness. Simon is soft for you. Simon is a good dad. The 141 is a found family trope. Angst with a happy ending. The gang's all here. Lots of crying. Home.

>You need to come down to the pub.  >What? >Simon’s in bad shape.  >It’s hardly noon?  >Just get down here, Sassy.

The text from Price has you walking briskly down the street within a minute, jittery with nerves and heart racing in your chest. The pub is not a long walk, the shortest route is east two blocks, south two blocks, and a quick left turn into the pedestrian alley that runs between two large brick buildings, to where the red painted door is nestled in off the street.

It’s not a long enough walk at all, because it hardly gives you enough time to collect your thoughts. Your feet fly over pock marked asphalt, anxiety shifting around in your mind, finding the softest pieces of your brain to sink its teeth into and derail you. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s okay, he’s just drunk. He’s not hurt. He’s fine. 

You’re practically vibrating with nerves. Your body feels uncontained, unbound by laws and physics, like you could fall apart completely at any moment. Rip apart at the seams and disappear into nothing, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was a struggle, in the next moment, to not follow that previous thought up with ‘maybe it’d be better.’ 

You weren’t allowed to say those things out loud anymore. Or, so says your therapist. You weren’t supposed to think your family would be better off without you, this shell of a human that is neither a mother or a wife now, just a skeleton, just a nervous system, just a heart and a brain.

You grit your teeth.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. You are loved. You are worthy of being loved. 

You fight the eyeroll and repeat it on top of your other mantra for good measure.

Theo is okay. Simon is okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear.

When you get to the pub’s front door, you stop for a second and stare at it.

Your hands shake on the handle.

There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. You are still you. You are worthy of being loved. 

“What’re you doing ‘ere?” Simon slurs, and you chew on the inside of your cheek while Price stands opposite you, adjacent to the drunk man’s shoulder.

“Sassy’s going to take ya home.” Price explains gently, and Simon shakes his head furiously, eyes slamming shut like he’s suddenly been blinded by the sun.

“No.” He vows. You fight to keep your voice even when you try to reassure him.

“Si. Hey, it’s okay, you’re just-“

“No, Sass.” His fingers curl around the small glass that’s filled to the brim with bourbon, before he throws it back and wipes his lips on his sleeve. “Price’ll take me home. Go on.” The directive cuts, but you swallow the hurt down. You put him here. You did this. 

“I can’t, mate. Got to meet the wife down the street for an appointment.”

"I can't go with 'er." He snaps, and you try not to choke the saliva that's building in the back of your throat with your nausea. Price looks at you over Simon’s slumped posture, mouthing something that looks like: ‘it’s okay, call the cab’, and you manage it in record time, the tracker on the screen showing a black vehicle pulling down the street a minute later. Your hands are still fucking shaking, and you can’t stop them, can’t do anything with them except hold them together in hopes they’ll keep you from falling apart.

“Okay Si, come on.” You’ve managed to get him out of the car, and into the house, but he’s fading fast. The irritation from earlier settling into drunk sleepiness, draining some of that tension that he’s always carrying from his body. You shift him so that he’s leaning on you, his massive weight nearly bowling the two of you over as you encourage him to take the step up. “Help me out.”

“Wy’re you here?” He slurs and you grimace, pressing your thigh into the back of his knee so it bends forward and then up to the next step.

“This is ou- my house.” Our house. It wouldn’t have been a lie, wouldn’t have been anything but the truth, if you had said it. Instead, you bit your tongue just in time. “Can’t take you to yours because you’ve drank the city dry of Kentucky bourbon, and I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Always ‘lone now.” He mumbles and you feel the burn of tears in your nose, under your lashes. Don’t fucking cry. “Ya shouldn’t be here.” He protests as you walk next to him, step by step, your arm wrapped as much as it can be around his waist.

“It’s okay, come on.” You heave him up the last stair to the landing, where you keep your hands on his hips and steer him towards the bedroom.

For a split second, you consider trying to push him towards the guest room but disregard the notion as soon as it comes. He won’t be comfortable in there. The bed’s too small. Don't want him to wake up confused either. He grunts when you herd him towards the master. Master bathroom is better. That way he won’t wake Theo if he gets up in the middle of the night to puke. 

You manage to nudge him into the bed, heaving his legs onto the mattress and stripping his giant boots off, throwing them haphazardly in the corner while you glance at the bedside clock. Almost time for pick up. 

“Our room.” He blinks, arm stretching across towards the middle, towards the side you always sleep on, the side you still sleep on.

“Yeah. Thought you’d be more relaxed in here.” You explain, tugging and pulling at the sheets. He’s so heavy, like dead weight against the fabric, but you don’t want him to be uncomfortable, and the sheets are knotted together under his back. His head lolls, body full of slack, blissfully unaware, floating high on a river of Kentucky bourbon and he looks like he’s about a minute from falling asleep. A tidal wave of longing sweeps through you, everything yearning to curl up into his side, bury your face in his neck and listen to the sound of his breathing.

You can’t. You ruined it. You ruined everything. Again. 

“My sweet girl.” His thumb sweeps across your cheekbone and you can’t help but lean into it, close your eyes and take a lungful of air. “Don’ cry.” He croaks and you manage a smile, a small one, mostly for his benefit.

“I’m okay.” You try to reassure him, his brow crinkling in the center like it does when he knows you’re lying and he’s about to call you out on it. You wipe your face with the back of your hand and glance at the clock again. Shit. “Si, I have to go get Theo, I want you to try to get some rest.” He stays quiet for a while, eyes drooping before he agrees half-heartedly.

“Right, I’ll be ‘ere then.” He shifts, rolling partially on his side, and yanks your pillow into his arms, folding it down into his body until his chin is resting on it. You don’t move from his side until his eyes start to slip closed, the dizzying rhythm of drunken sleep pulling him under, and when you finally stand so you can go get Theo, you can’t help but lean over his shoulder and press a feather light kiss to his temple. I love you; you think. I’m sorry I fucked it all up. 

Theo is, as always, pleased to see you on the sidewalk after the bell rings, his voice vibrating with excitement as he goes through his day, telling you about the things his friends did and the stuff his teacher said.

When you get about two blocks away from the house, you stop and he looks up at you in confusion, face creased in the center of his brows, the spitting image of his dad. You sigh, and squat down so you’re just about eye level. “Theo, I need your help with something when we get home.”

“Kay mum?”

“We need to be really quiet when we get home, okay? Dad is-“

“Daddy’s home?” He squeaks with glee, eyes wide and excited. Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

“Daddy’s home but he’s sick… so he’s asleep. To help him get better we need to be quiet so he can sleep, right?” He nods, and you know he understands. “Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie in the living room with our snack instead of playing in your room, yeah?” He agrees wholeheartedly, and you melt a little. He’s so kind, so patient. Such a sweet boy, and you don’t think it has anything to do with you at this point. You consider yourself lucky he’s so resilient, because you’ve already gone and screwed up half of formative years.

When he gets to the front door, he puts his finger in front of his lips and makes a ‘shhh’ sound, the little gesture showing you that he remembers what the two of you discussed and you melt even more.

He’s definitely getting ice cream tonight.

The morning comes too soon. You spent most of the night awake after managing to get Theo in a bath without causing a huge ruckus and putting him to bed, agonizing on having to face Simon, who may or may not even try to slip away undetected. Not to mention, the three of you have dinner at the Price’s tonight, since Johnny is in town, and it will be the first time you’ve seen Kyle in months. You’re already anxious about that, on top of everything. Your nerves feel rubbed raw.

Your brain didn’t let you sleep, not fully, instead choosing to free fall through memories like you were watching a movie, bits and pieces of your entire life playing out in your mind like you were sitting in a dark theatre with a bucket of popcorn.

The first time you met Simon, the confusion over the skull that seemed so familiar, your brain automatically linking it to Mace’s and dousing you in nervous fear. 

The first time he refused to show you his face. The first time you refused to give him your name. 

The moment you saw him in the bathroom, felt the magnetic pull like magic. The time you caught him watching you, standing outside of the safe house, face tilted up towards the rain. 

When he showed up at your house with a battered ultrasound photo and your name on his lips.

When you held his baby, your son, in your arms for the first time while he cried and kissed you over, and over. 

The day you said yes to marrying him, when he got down on one knee in the nursery, hands shaking with nerves. 

Sleep is brief. You’re half-awake on the couch, listening for any sound from either of them, staring at the floor while the rising sun casts shadow across the hard wood.

You hear the creak of heavy feet on the stairs, the hesitancy of someone standing at the top, unsure if they should come down.

What are you going to say when he does? What could you possibly say that would make any of this better?

Hey, I’m sorry I had a panic attack and abandoned you after we touched each other for the first time in almost a year. 

Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out and left which caused you to spiral into a bottle. 

Hey, I’m sorry I’m still a fucking nightmare that doesn’t actually deserve you. 

“Morning.” He calls, and you turn to see him at the bottom of the steps, walking towards the chair next to the couch, the giant one that’s got an imprint of his body in it.

“Hey, morning.”

“You get any sleep?”

“A little.” The living room goes deathly silent, and you sit up, crossing your legs in front of you to face him. Say something. Say anything. 

“Look, I-“ you start.

“Sass-“ and so does he. The two of you stop as soon as you realize you’re talking over one another.

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You follow up lamely, lip tucked between your teeth. He sighs, long and low.

“I’m sorry, you had to… deal with that. With me. Like that.”

“It’s okay. Not the first time I’ve seen you in rough shape.” You try to tease him, try to lighten the giant storm cloud that is bearing down on the two of you, but it doesn’t work. He grimaces instead. Smooth. You curse yourself. “I uh. Didn’t mind. It felt kind of… nice. To do something for you.” He raises an eyebrow, and you shrug. “You’re always taking care of me, you know?”

“You’re my priority-“ a bedroom door creaks upstairs, followed by the sound of little thundering footsteps, and you feel a pang of regret. Of all times to wake up early, baby. You can't fault him too much, he's so excited to see his dad. “you, and this guy.” He smiles across the room to where your baby stands with his blanket tucked in his hands, still in his pjs with a sleepy smile. “C’mere, bug.” Simon pats his thigh and Theo runs, scrambling up onto the chair and nestling into his dad, eyes still wearing their crust of sleep, hair all a mess.

“Breakfast?” you ask and Theo nods into Simon’s chest.

“Pa’cakes?” he asks hopefully, and you laugh.

“Sure, bug.” Simon looks at you over his head. “Will you stay?” you ask, trying not to let any emotion slip into your voice. It’s his choice. Don’t pressure him. He needs to be comfortable. 

“Of course.”

He stays all day. You don’t intend for it to happen, but it does, and you don’t complain. The two of you dance around the other night gracefully, but it doesn’t feel awkward or awful. It feels… okay. Normal. Without the elephant in the room, you could almost close your eyes and imagine this as before, and your willingness to relax and enjoy their company, together, without getting lost in your own head, is something you’ve been working diligently on thanks to Dr. C.

It feels good. It feels good, when you settle Theo in his room to watch a movie while you figure out his dinner before dinner, just in case he decides to be picky later. It still even feels good when Simon asks you if you want a glass of wine before you start getting ready for said dinner, because he can tell you’re nervous, and you actually say yes without feeling guilty. It all feels great, until it doesn’t, and your little bubble pops.

“Do ya want to talk about the other night?” Fuck. 

“Sure…” you taper off and he sits back in the chair, watching you with a scrutinous gaze, the one you’ve seen dozens of times, but not usually in your home.

“It’s important… that we’re honest with each other,” he says, and a knot twists in your stomach. He rubs the back of his neck anxiously, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I need you to… acknowledge. What happened. I need to talk about it with you.”

“Okay.” You rush out. “I’m sorry… the other night, I- I made a mistake.” It’s the wrong thing to say. The words themselves are an error, and his face shutters, the beginning process of him shutting down taking over his body, his mind. No no no. 

“A mistake.” He repeats and you shake your head vigorously.

“No, no. Not like that I didn’t mean… please. I don’t… I don’t know how to feel or say things the right way anymore and my head has been so messed up, but I swear I… I want to try. I want… this marriage. I want us.” You’re crying earnestly now, tears dripping down your face, nails clenched into your palms so hard it burns. “And I… I wanted to take it slow.” He nods thoughtfully but stays silent. “I lost my head, the other night and rushed into things without really thinking.” Why isn’t he saying anything? “You were not a mistake Simon, I swear. You’ve never been a mistake to me.” You gasp the last sentence, throat raw with your tears and your eyes clench shut, hands going slack. Your chest is tight, it’s so tight and the air feels thin, and… you’ve completely ruined this, again, it’s all you ever do now, is ruin things. You ruined your family, ruined your son’s life, ruined Simon’s life, ruined everything. 

“Hey, hey.” You hadn't noticed, but his hand now curls around yours, pressure steady against where your pulse hammers under your skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “But we need to talk, Sass. Actually talk. Talk about where you are, how you’re feeling. Talk about a way to move forward.”

“Okay.”

“And I need to be honest with you about something. What happened the other night… it can’t happen again. I-“ He looks down to his feet. “I had a panic attack, after you left. I thought I was dying, I can’t… I can’t do that again. I have to be able to be present.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, but his grip slackens a little, and you feel your heart ripping into two pieces. Oh, Si. What have you done? “If I can’t be present, then I can’t take care of you, or Theo, or make sure nothing happens to the two of ya and I have to be able to-“ He abruptly stops, choking on the last sentence, and you watch as he straightens himself, twisting his back and rolling his neck. You stand, reaching for him, a tentative, seeking hand tracing along his forearm.

Asking for permission.

Asking for forgiveness.

Asking for everything.

He gives it to you. You fall into his arms easily, curling yourself into his lap, and he buries his face in your hair, shuddering breaths the only sound in the room, the only way you’d be able to tell he’s trying to compose himself. He dwarfs you, his embrace swallowing you up easily and you close your eyes, holding him as tightly as possible. You did this. You’ve let him down. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and he shakes his head. “I am, I… I am, Si. I'm so sorry.”

“I know.” He answers, a hand smoothing over your hair and then down your back. “I know you are, sweet girl.”

You check the door lock four times, while Theo jumps from crack to crack in the sidewalk and Simon watches him carefully. The sun is starting to set, casting a orange pink glow over the street, lamps just starting to flicker on across the way, the sound of people out and about in the nice weather bouncing off the brick.

“Ready?” he asks, reaching for the bag on your arm. You nod, but reach out to grab his wrist when he turns to head down the block.

“I uh. I’m-“ you think you might be sick, and faint at the same time. You feel too warm in clothes, cold in your skin. You feel unsettled. Volatile. Why is this so hard? 

“What is it?” He’s gentle, voice soft and coaxing, and you try to smile and reassure him, but it comes out wrong, lopsided and nervous. You can do this. Just ask him. Today was mostly great. He’s not going to reject you. 

“I… was going to ask if you… if you wanted to come home with us tonight? After dinner.” His eyebrows raise, and something dark flashes across his face, something guarded.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Not for… that. Not for sex.” Jesus Christ. “I um… I thought maybe we co-could sleep together.” Oh my god. You’re blowing it. You feel like you might vomit all over his shoes. “Just sleep. In our bed. Together.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yes. I want to if you want to.” He’s silent for a long time, practically eternity, before he steps forward, and presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head.

“Okay, Sass. I want to.”

“Bloody hell. Feels like I haven’t seen ya in years.” Kyle pulls you into a hug and you laugh, head tipped back, pure joy on your face. You really did miss him.

“You look fit, Gaz.” You quip, and he preens just a bit. Simon scowls and raises an eyebrow from behind him. Price shakes his head like he’s already exasperated with the lot of you.

“Alright, alright. Stop hoggin’ the lass.” Soap shouts, elbowing him out of the way, and when he pulls you in for a hug, you’re not surprised there are tears smarting behind your eyes. Get it together. 

“Hey, Johnny.” You hold him back, arms wrapped around his waist, and he gives you a squeeze before pulling away.

“Hey Sassafras. You well?” He glances at Simon, and then back to you. It has not escaped anyone that the three of you arrived here together. You nod, and he smiles. “Where’s my nephew?” He half yells, because Theo is half hiding behind Simon’s legs, a little overwhelmed by the noise.

“He’s here.” You rub his head affectionately, and he peeks out, eyes landing on Johnny right away and glee lighting up his face.

“’cle Johnny!” he shrieks, and then flings himself at the poor man, barreling into him with the strength of a kid half his age.

“Oof.” Johnny gives you a bewildered look and you shrug.

“Why are you surprised? You know his dad.” Gaz barks a laugh, and Price’s wife rolls her eyes, before giving you a hug herself and dragging you into the kitchen. Gaz has got Theo up on his shoulders now, and you see Price handing Simon a beer out of the corner of your eye before you slip away, leaving them to their conversations.

“You look like you’ve been crying.” She motions to your under-eyes, and you tsk. You really did try to cover it up, but the puffiness is hard to hide.

“It’s been… a day.”

“A bad day?” She asks, and you consider it. Bad? No. Good? Also, not entirely. How would you describe it? 

“Not a bad day just… hard.” She reaches across the counter, squeezing your hand in a gesture of affection.

“If you need to chat…”

“Lunch this week?” you supply hopefully, and she readily agrees. It’s nice, having a friend. Having someone who gets it. Even though she’s a civilian, sweet as honey and soft as cotton, she’s still got an edge. She’s never shown fear, or disgust at the group of you. She married John, after all. And he loves her more than life itself. “So. What did you spend all day slaving away at in here?” you change the subject, and she giggles while popping a cork from a wine bottle.

“Fuck no.” She protests as she pours out two glasses. “I ordered catering. I’m not cooking for all you. You’re too picky.” She hands you a glass, and you chime your rim against hers.

“That’s fair.”

“How’s work, Sassy?” Kyle asks, bowl of salad extended towards Simon who turns his nose up at it.

“It’s good. Kind of dull.”

“What is it ye’re even doin’ now?” Johnny asks. He’s sitting next to Theo, who’s sitting next to Gaz, nestled between his two uncles like it’s a holiday, face beaming with happiness. They’re taking turns picking things off his plate too, since he’s already thrown a fit about eating vegetables tonight.

“I’m on a project. I’m just analyzing and compiling data for the DoD.” You try to keep it short, but Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of data?” You sigh.

“I’m tracking and analyzing the historical usage of Semtex.” You deadpan and his face lights up.

“Original compound?”

“Yes, Johnny.” You answer drily. Simon chuckles.

“You tryin’ to figure out how much is left floatin’ around out there eh?” You sigh again, louder for dramatic affect, and Price’s wife takes the cue.

“Okay, let’s talk about something other than bombs, hmm?” Gaz grumbles a protest, but she looks at Theo. “How’s school going Theo?”

“Oh yeah, sure use the kid!” Johnny playfully rolls his eyes, and you swing your toe into his shin. “OW!” He yells. You snicker. Price clears his throat. Whoops. 

“’Cools fun!” Theo supplies and Simon smiles softly at him from across the table. You watch him, the crease in the corner of his eyes, the gentle slope of his lips, the warmth and love that he exudes when he looks at his son. It makes you soft, so fucking soft and weepy and… in love. You feel the burn of a tear and rub your face subconsciously before looking down to your lap. Fuck. 

A heavy hand reaches for where yours sits, white knuckling the arm of your chair. A heavy hand wearing a gold wedding band, and you lean into it, hard, pulling his grip onto your lap, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles until you get your emotions under control.

“We’re gon’ miss you next week, Ghost.” Kyle says, cutting a piece of meat into a smaller portion and offering it to Theo who looks at it suspiciously. Simon coughs like he’s swallowed a fly.

“What?” you turn, and he grimaces. Price rubs his hand over his face, and Gaz looks between you and Simon like he’s confused.

“I’m taking some time off.”

“Well earned.” Kyle adds. “I’m sure Ale n’ Rudy ‘ll miss ya though.”

“You’re going to Las Almas?” Your head swings back and forth between the two of them.

“Wots lallamas?” Theo asks with a mouthful of food.

“Chew your food, baby.” You admonish. When no one else speaks, you raise your eyebrows and shake your head. “You’re going to Las Almas?” you repeat it, and Johnny shifts uncomfortably before answering.

“It’s just to help Los Vaqueros out.”

“With what?” you press, and now Simon is shifting nervously. “Soap.” You hiss and he holds his hands up.

“Valeria broke out-“ he starts.

“Someone broke Valeria out-“ Price tries to explain at the same time.

“Valeria’s on the lam and-“ Gaz uses air quotes around the word lam, and they all come to a stop when you laugh out loud.

“Oh my god.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’ll be out of your depth. She’s too smart for you all, and you know it.” The table goes dead silent.

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for something to do lass…” Johnny trails off suggestively.

“That’ll do.” Simon barks, and Theo’s eyes go wide. Gaz looks down at his plate. Price frowns. Simon takes a deep breath, before cutting a glance to you, and you give him a reassuring squeeze. It’s okay. You try to communicate with the gesture. It’s alright. 

Price’s wife stands from the table, a hand on her hip, the other on John’s shoulder.

“Alright. Who wants dessert?”

Bugs chirp in the grass when you step up next to Price outside on the deck. Simon, Soap and Gaz are all in the living room with his wife, Theo asleep in his dad’s arms, cheeks squished together, sweet baby lashes laying softly on his face. Price taps his cigar once, twice, before clearing his throat.

“If you wanted too, Sassy, I could pull some strings. You could come to Las Almas.”

“Thanks, Price but uh. I wouldn’t pass the psych eval for field action? And I’m probably not able to be medically cleared either.” You point to your shoulder, the one that has the nerve damage in it, and he nods. “But, I appreciate the offer.” You sigh, turning around and pinning your hands against the railing, kicking your shoes together before blowing out a deep breath. “I never thanked you.” You say softly. “For taking care of him… during the- when I was- when we were separated. I know… I know he was in a bad place and you both really supported him.” Price nods, cigar pulling free from his lips. “And… I know we never really… talked it out but… I do forgive you.” His head tilts, eyes heavy with full of a world of things you can only imagine.

“What I did, what Simon and I did… it was a mistake. I made a judgement call based on the situation I was put in and… it was the wrong one.” He says lowly and you nod.

“It was, but I consider us square.” You close your eyes. “I remember you, that day. When you guys came for me. I remember… hearing you talk to Simon when the heli landed. When he thought I was already dead. When he-“ Your voice breaks, because it’s too much to try to remember, too much to pull to the forefront of your mind. The memory of Simon’s hoarse screams, his pleas, his hands stained with blood. Your own vision blurred red, Soap holding pressure against two of your wounds, Gaz wrestling a pistol from Simon’s iron grip, Simon trying to die alongside of you, refusing to exist in a world where you don't and Price’s shout, his command for Simon to stand down ringing out above it all. “You kept him alive, kept reminding him he had Theo at home, waiting for him, and I owe you for that.”

“You don’ owe me anything, Sassy.”

“Well, I like to think we’re even at least.” You smile and he nods, blue eyes twinkling under the porch lamp, cigar burning a red hole in the darkness.

“We’re even then.” He agrees, and you turn to look through the living room window, where Simon’s hand is resting gently on Theo’s back, rubbing a soft circle to soothe him as he sleeps fitfully.

“I gotta get them home.” You jerk your head in their direction, and he smiles.

“Goodnight Sassy.”

“Night, Captain.”

You are nervous as hell when you climb into bed that night. Theo’s asleep, locks triple and quadruple checked, water bottle filled and stationed next to your side of the bed. You’re half laying, half sitting up in a mound of pillows, wearing one of Simon’s too big t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, tucked under the blankets and staring at the ceiling when the bed dips beneath his weight, his body sliding under the sheet next to you. He’s warm, so warm, like he usually is, and you’re yearning to sidle over and tuck yourself into him, the feeling so strong it nearly saws a hole through your heart.

Breathe. Just breathe. Everything’s okay. You’re home. There is no danger. There is nothing to fear. 

“Sass?” His voice is even, gentle, calming, and you turn to face him a little more than eagerly.

“Hi.” You breathe. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t do anything stupid, or rash, or say the wrong thing, be cool, you can do it, you’re fine, you’re okay now, you’re-

“Talk to me.”

“I want to touch you.” you blurt, partially mortified, even though you can hear your therapist in the back of your mind telling you ‘It’s okay to ask Simon for what you want, if he’s okay with that’. “Sorry. I want- I want… you to hold me? If… you want to. Only if you want to. If you don’t that’s okay.” You frown, fingers twisted together. His gaze grows soft, softer than it was ten minutes ago or an hour ago, and he nods, opening his arm to lift the blankets so you can scoot closer.

When you do, he brings you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck and folding his arm along your back, heavy palm sliding up and down your spine.

Home. It feels like home. It feels like happiness, and being whole, and feeling like yourself. It feels like your bed, your husband, your son, sleeping peacefully within these walls. It feels like everything’s okay, feels like you’re safe, feels like you’re going to be alright. It feels like home, for the first time in almost a year and it shocks you, the emotional swell of your feelings pulling tears to your eyes because you realize, you finally see, that it was Simon all along. Simon is your home, Simon is your anchor, Simon is your sanity. The father of your child, the man you married, the love of your life. It’s always been him. How could you have been so blind?

You’re crying earnestly now, tears soaking his skin, the neck of his t shirt and he’s holding you tight, trying to soothe you, his hand now brushing away the rapid tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“You’re okay, Sass. It’s alright.” He tries to calm you, but it only makes you cry harder into him.

“I know!” you sob. “I know it’s okay.” You sound nonsensical, breaths coming in shorter bursts, and you can feel his muscles tightening, his own panic starting to build over the state you’re working yourself into. “I’m s-sorry.” You sputter. “I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I ru-ruined us.”

“You didn’t, I promise.” He’s lying. He’s lying. He has to be, because how could that be true? After everything. After the hell you put him through. After the way you reacted the other night. After it all, how could he still be here, still want you? It didn’t make sense. You didn’t deserve him. You didn’t deserve anything.

“I don’t deserve you.” you cry, and he goes completely still, hand freezing on your skin, body frozen in the bed. You feel it, the stiffness, like he’s gone to stone, and it makes your heart race, makes you so nervous that your head spins until he speaks.

“I didn’t deserve you, for a long time.” He croaks. “I didn’t deserve to be in your life, didn’t deserve to be a father to Theo. Didn’t feel like I deserved to marry ya either. Could hardly believe it was happening, standin’ up there. Felt like I was in a bloody dream.” He leans back, tilting your chin upwards so he can look in your eyes, his own holding tears that match yours. “You gave me another chance. You forgave me. You showed me grace. Don’t you think you deserve a little bit o’ that yourself?” You take a shaky breath and consider his words. Do you? Do you think you deserve some grace? You close your eyes and count to ten in your mind.

You are still you. You are strong. You are a mother. You are a wife. 

You are loved. 

You are worthy of being loved. 

You are worthy of being loved. 

When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you intently, his eyes full of hope, full of love and understanding, carrying the weight of decades of pain, the strength of survival, the burden of everything. The burden that you too, carry alongside him. The burden that the two of you have always shared, even before this year, last year, before Theo was even born. A burden born out of trauma and broken homes and bloodshed; a weight that doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s by your side.

Two knuckles stroke along the apple of your cheek, and you turn your lips towards his palm, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against his skin.

“I love you.” you whisper it, eyes wide open, looking up at him through blurry and tearful vision.

“I love you.” He says back, pulling your hand into his, kissing your pulse point tenderly, and then folds you back into his arms, your own limbs tangling with his until all you can feel, all you can see, or smell is him. Simon, your person. Simon, Theo’s dad. Simon, your husband.

Simon, your home.

I had a dream where Gaz was my bf and we shared a shower, it was the most romantic moment of my life and it was a DREAM

ghost and his lil army humor

(original post by twitter user polyknighte here)

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