Kyle Garrick would force financial dependence on his partner. (gn!reader)
He’s so sweet about it that you don’t even realize it’s happening. He starts off buying you nice things, stuff you save on Pinterest but know you could never afford. He’ll buy it for you without thinking, and when you fuss about the cost he’ll merely shrug and say it’s nothing compared to his salary.
He likes to bring up his salary. As a member of an elite task force, Kyle is compensated more than fairly. He makes sure you know the exact amount, how it dwarfs your measly income.
“Almost no reason for you to work at all,” Kyle muses one day when he sees your paycheck.
And… it sticks.
You come home day after day, more tired than the one before, being weighed down by the lack of respect you get at your workplace. It starts feeling like too much, like it’s not even worth it. At work one day, you draft a two week notice before immediately deleting the email.
Kyle’s home that day. And so is a gold bracelet, the price tag of one and a half thousand pounds still attached to it. For you. You know this without him even saying it, because it’s the same bracelet that you’ve been saving up for since last January.
You start sobbing on the spot, barely able to choke out your frustrations. How you work so hard with so little to show for it. How you’re so tired.
Kyle holds you, rubbing your back as your shoulders shake. He kisses you softly, eyes shining when you finally smile and thank him for the gift.
“You should quit, baby,” Kyle coos. His voice is like butter. Hook. “Stay at home, keep it clean, take time to read your books, relax…” Line. “I make enough for the both of us.” And sinker.
You send in your resignation that day.
Home life suits you. It’s like you’re made for it. You’re practically glowing after the first week. Kyle makes sure to shower you in gifts whenever he’s home and arranges weekly flower deliveries for when he’s away at work. You have time for your interests, your hobbies, and you even join a yoga class.
You’re happy, but Kyle is happier. Especially when the gap in your resume grows large enough that any respectable employer wouldn’t give your application the time of day.
You’re stuck with him, whether you know it or not.
thinking thoughts about john price on the run in that trailer... (gn!reader)
"I thought you were smarter than this, John," you drawl.
"We both know you don't believe that," he retorts. To John's credit, he waits for you to step aside before pushing his way into your home. At a time, it was his, too, practically built by the man now nearly a stranger. "You alone?"
You quickly lock the door behind him, moving to do the same with the windows. You draw the blinds shut as well, "If by alone, you mean single, then I'm sure you'll be happy to know that men aren't lining up to go out with an SAS captain's ex."
"Not single– alone," John peeks through the curtains, grunting to himself at whatever he spots. "People are looking for me, love."
You laugh, not because you don't believe him, but because: "It's all over the news, John."
He shrugs, dropping his bag at the foot of the door, just like he used to do when you were married. And just like when you were married, hot anger washes through you, though you quickly swallow it. When you catch John's gaze however, light and full of mirth, you scowl.
"I need to lay low for a bit. I figure some time here might do the trick," he says like its final. You suppose for him it is.
"People are going to come looking for you."
John ignores you, stepping into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and after rummaging for a few seconds, pulls out a beer you hadn't realized you owned. Dully, you wonder if he was the one who bought it, back when you still shared his name.
"I converted the guest bedroom into a studio," you say as he uses the counter to pop off the cap.
"That's fine," John takes a sip. He licks the small amount of foam that collected on his mustache, now a part of a full beard rather than an accompaniment to those terrible mutton chops.
"You're fine sleeping on the couch?"
John barks out a laugh, sharp and mean. You flinch.
"The couch!" He muses as if it were a joke. "Love, I'm sleeping with you, like a good husband should."
thinking about john price who's a little bit clueless when it comes to high end products...
You're stepping out of the shower, skin soft and exfoliated, ready to soak up your favorite moisturizer. Except, when you step into the bedroom, your plans are very quickly foiled.
John is there, with the almost fifty quid jar of Sol de Janeiro body lotion in one hand and a giant scoop of lotion in the other. Before you can stop him, John slaps it onto his chest, haphazardly rubbing the lotion on his skin like it's a drugstore brand and not a luxury item.
"John?" You call through clenched teeth.
He looks up, greeting you with a soft, "Hello, love."
"What are you doing?"
John lifts the jar up higher, smiling innocently, "Moisturizing. I finally decided to listen to your advice."
By advice, he means your complaints that his elbows are dry as fuck and scratch you whenever they brush up against you. Gross.
Then, just to rub dirt in the wound, John adds, "This smells quite nice. You should wear it more." His words are innocent. The type of innocence that can only come from not knowing that he's currently slathering about ten dollars worth of shea butter onto his skin.
"That's great, John. I'm glad you like it."
Luckily for him, it was his card you used to buy the lotion, so you can't be too mad. You'll just have to add a second to the cart next time you restock.
ghoap x f!reader, past john price x f!reader
wc: 5.1k
warnings: past emotional neglect/abuse, implied past SA (NOT OF READER!), john is an asshole, the soap outgrown mohawk agenda, age gap (between reader and john) implied
(based on this request)
*****
Now
It’s hot in here, way too hot for Simon to have his arm slung over your shoulders, but you don’t complain. A little bit of sweat is worth it to be close to him.
“And then, the big fucker drops the bomb— literally!” Johnny slaps the table, laughing at his own story. You have to admit, it is a good one. “I’ve never seen John so mad before. You had to hear him, lass, screaming his head off, red as a tomato, he was!”
Simon squeezes your shoulder. From the corner of your eye, you see him watching you. You smile at Johnny, squeezing Simon’s leg below the table. Johnny looks between you and Simon. His brows furrow, but he doesn’t comment on the change in demeanor.
Instead, Johnny makes a show of picking up his empty pint. “Well, I’m out,” he scratches the scar hidden by his shaggy hair.
Simon has shown you pictures of him in the service, with the close-cropped mohawk that was just barely allowed. You don’t have to ask about it. It’s one of the few things John actually told you about from the service, the mission that made his team fall apart.
“Another round?” Johnny suggests, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in that signature smile of his.
“I think I’m up for it,” Simon squeezes your shoulder. “What about you, love?”
You shrug, “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
Johnny winks, “Attagirl.” You pointedly ignore the warmth that creeps up your neck at the low timbre of the voice.
“Gin lemonade?” Simon asks.
You grin, clearing your throat, “You know it.”
It takes Johnny a moment to get to his feet. He groans as his knee straightens. Wordlessly, Simon grabs his cane, handing it to Johnny with a practiced ease.
It’s nice, you decide, how they understand each other. A way that comes naturally, from a deep sense of knowing one another. From their shared history.
You’ve always lacked that. There’s a depth to Simon that he could always verbalize– what being in the service did, what it took from him. You could listen forever and ever, but it wouldn’t matter. It's all stories to you. You simply lack the lived experience that would allow you to truly see him in that way. You’ve known this for as long as you’ve known him.
Johnny can understand this part of Simon. It’s why you never say no when Simon asks if you’d be willing to see the former sergeant. That and the fact that you always seem to have a good time with Johnny around. He’s a good guy. Good man.
You watch him with Simon at the bar. Johnny tells your boyfriend a joke, you can tell by the subtle shaking of Simon’s shoulders. He smacks his hand on Johnny’s back, where it lingers. Johnny looks up at him, the scot's smile growing soft. Then, Simon’s hand dips, sitting on Johnny’s lower back.
You lean forward in the booth, squinting to get a closer look. You recognize the way Simon’s thumb swipes back and forth, stroking the skin of Johnny’s lower back. It’s a tender touch, a lover’s touch. Yet, the pang of hurt you’d expect to find at the act simply is not there.
When the pair returns to the booth, Simon carrying two pints and Johnny with your drink, you don’t ask about the moment of intimacy. Instead, you let Simon sling his arm around you and let Johnny keep telling his outrageous stories.
But you watch them. Closely.
*****
Then – Thirteen Months With Simon
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
You freeze, midway through stuffing your suitcase. It’s Simon behind you, and you can already picture the look on his face. Betrayal. Anger. A lot of anger.
He wasn’t supposed to be home. As far as you were concerned he was in London with John to visit Kyle. But he’s not. He’s here and standing in the doorway with a scowl. You slide around the suitcase, putting yourself between it and Simon, like it would change the fact that you’re already busted.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” you caution.
“See what? My girlfriend up and leaving me— leaving us.” Simon wipes a hand down his face, “You’re really doing this to me— to John.”
You flinch. John was the last person you want to think about right now. After all, he’s the reason why your bags are packed.
“It was supposed to be a clean break. I—“
“What?” Simon barks. “You what? Couldn’t even talk to us? Had to pack up and leave us in the night?”
You feel your chest ache, a humiliating lump forming in your throat. Tears blur your vision, and you turn away.
“Jesus,” Simon scoffs. You hear him shift before saying, “I’m calling John.”
“No, don’t!” You panic, jumping to your feet to grab Simon’s arm. He’s stronger than you, though, and is able to wretch himself from your grasp. The force of it has you stumbling backwards, tripping over your suitcase. You land on your ass, and it’s the final straw.
Ugly sobs take over your body. You convulse, trying to regain some sense of dignity as you struggle to breathe. “I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I’m sorry! I-I just can’t-can’t do it anymore! John- I…”
Simon is quiet. You don’t have the courage to even look at him, not even when his footsteps approach and you feel his hand land on your back. He doesn’t coddle you, doesn’t try to soothe you. Instead, he merely stays there.
It’s only when you stop hyperventilating that Simon says, “Sweetheart.” His voice is low and controlled, but does nothing to soothe the tightness in your chest. “What’s happening with you and John?”
*****
Now
“I like Johnny,” you say, slathering your face with moisturizer.
Simon grunts in agreement. You spy on him through the mirror as he lounges on the bed, glasses perched low on his nose, thumbing through his book. “Good lad.”
“You two get along.”
Simon shrugs, “Happens when you serve together.”
“Yeah,” you agree, joining Simon on the bed. You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh, “I’d like to see him more often.”
Simon tenses. He sticks a bookmark in his book and shuts it. Simon asks, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” you wring your hands together. “What do you feel about…” You struggle to find the word for it. There was never a label when it came to this… dynamic. You settle on, “It being the three of us?”
“Like with John?” Simon grunts. His face remains unchanged.
“Yes, like with him.” You grit your teeth, “But not like with him, obviously.” You try to laugh, to bring some levity to the conversation, but it feels disingenuous.
Simon certainly doesn’t take the bait. “Absolutely not.”
Your nostrils flare. You expected this, but you’d have to keep a cool head when discussing the topic. “Simon…”
“No,” he bites. “I’m not puttin’ you through that, love. Not again. Plus,” he shrugs, “It’s not like that with Johnny.”
“Simon,” you purse your lips. “I saw you at the bar.” That makes him pause. He looks at you not with guilt, but an unreadable intensity. You press, “I think it could be good. You two have been through so much together.”
God, you cringe at the words coming out of your mouth. They sound so familiar.
Simon and I have been through thick and thin.
He’d round us out.
I still love you. So will he.
The truth is that he and Johnny do share something that you could never have. Just like he and John. You don’t know what they’ve seen, what they’ve done, but you’ve seen how it’s weighing on them. Their service took what was once a man and chewed it up and spat it out.
John was never able to let the soldier— the captain —go. Simon balanced him out, satiated that intrinsic hunger he had. Simon was rough where John needed it. Obedient when he wanted it. Dark when things seemed too light in the normal world.
When John would wake up screaming from nightmares, you never knew how to handle him nor when he would spend days with his mind and body in a battle with reality. Your soft words and touches were of no use. The same with Simon. While you grew to love each other, there was and still is a part of him that will always be foreign to you.
The only time there seemed to be true balance was when there was three. Even if it was temporary, there could be value in rethinking it, in giving it a second shot.
“Just think about it,” you urge. “Please.”
Simon doesn’t answer you, but he doesn’t say no. You’ll take that as a win.
*****
Then – Ten Months With Simon
“Forty, huh?” You bump John’s hip as you dump the mirepoix into the simmering pan. “I know you don’t like celebrating your birthday and all that, but I was thinking maybe we could all go out at least for a nice dinner.”
John hums. He leans over your shoulder and wafts the smell of cooking onions his way. He pulls away and mutters a casual, “I want to go camping.”
You frown. Camping is typically a John and Simon activity. And by typically, you mean always. You furrow your brows. “Oh, that’s alright. Uh, we could go before your trip? Or after?”
“Maybe.”
It may just be his accent, but maybe sounds a lot like no to you.
“John, do you… not want to celebrate your birthday with me?”
Silence. You freeze, counting the seconds that it takes John to respond. The thing is, you know that John has already made up his mind. Maybe that’s the worst part. Maybe that’s why your eyes already burn.
Things have been difficult lately.
It seems that John has had trouble with everything you say, your mere presence it feels like, so you make yourself small around him. It’s fucking ridiculous. You feel ridiculous for it– making yourself smaller, quieter, more agreeable, all because it feels like everything you do agitates him. Despite your best efforts, the only conclusion you have come to is that John is simply getting tired of you.
Maybe you should have seen this coming.
You press your lips together, turning back to the pot. The simmering vegetables burn your eyes, making it impossible to hold back tears. They cut hot lines down your face. “Oh, um, okay then.”
John clicks his tongue, “Don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?”
John scoffs, “All weepy and sad.” Where John’s words were before removed, uninterested, now exists an edge of cruelty, “You do it all the time, and I’m fuckin’ sick of it.”
You sniffle. “I don’t do this all the time.”
You don’t. You swear. You try not to cry, especially during difficult conversations when emotions would just make the situation more volatile. Recently, the only times you’ve cried has been when John doesn’t feel like mincing his words and his honesty feels a lot more than blunt. But is that all the time now? It is starting to feel like it, you suppose.
“Yes, you do. It’s like y’re tryin’ to manipulate me.”
You scoff in disbelief, “Manipulate? John, I'm sorry if I'm sad, but you just told me you don’t want to spend your birthday with me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to. I’m not an idiot.”
John rolls his eyes, “I didn’t say that.”
“Then why–?"
“No!” He barks. You flinch, but he doesn’t seem to care, drilling right on, “I don’t have time for all this nagging! So fucking insignificant… I mean, do you understand that I've got a lot bigger things to worry about than my birthday?”
“Y-Yes,” you say, despite the fact that you have no idea what he's saying. You're out of it, hands shaking as you try to get through the rest of this conversation. You can calm yourself down once John leaves. You tighten your grip on the spoon just to ground yourself. “John, I’m sorry.”
“Really? If you did understand it, and if you are sorry, then you wouldn’t be complainin’ about me not inviting you to my fuckin’ birthday like you’re in–”
A door opens. John’s mouth snaps shut, but his gaze remains just as cold. He steps back, exhales through his nose, and leaves.
Numbly, you register the sound of him greeting Simon, of him kissing Simon on the cheek. You wonder when was the last time he spoke to you with such warmth, the last time he initiated any form of intimacy that didn’t involve getting himself off.
You have the wherewithal to stop your tears, so when somebody else enters the room, you don’t look like an utter mess. You hope it’s Simon. You don’t know if you could take more of John right now.
“Love?” Thank goodness.
You sniffle softly, angling your head so he can see just the side of it. Hopefully that doesn’t give away the tears. “Hey,” you greet, “How was the gym?”
You poke at the mirepoix lazily. It probably doesn’t need more mixing, probably should develop a fond, but you need a reason not to look at Simon. Simon, who is suspiciously quiet at the moment.
“Simon?” You ask quietly. “How was it?”
“Fine,” Simon grunts. He doesn’t move, watching you from the corner of your eye. You quickly turn your head back to the stove, and Simon asks, “Are you alright?”
The question threatens your facade. You bite your cheek to stop yourself from crying again. The truth is that this issue is between you and John. Simon already worried too much about being the third. Over the last ten months you’ve sheltered him from your disagreements with John, especially if there’s the slightest chance that Simon would think he’s at fault.
This would remain but another matter for Simon to stay out of. Not for you, goodness no, you want nothing more than to go crawling into Simon’s arms right now to cry your heart out, but he doesn’t need that. Doesn’t deserve it.
So, you pull out your most convincing smile.
“I’m great, Simon.”
If he doesn’t believe you, he doesn’t say as much.
*****
Now
Three days.
It’s been three days since you proposed welcoming Johnny into your relationship, and Simon has yet to say a word on it.
You’ve cornered him in the bathroom, as he hops out of the shower. It takes a great deal of willpower not to just stand there and drink in the sight of him, all hard muscles softened by the thick layer of fat he’s put on since his retirement. Delicious, but not why you’re here.
“We need to talk.”
“‘Bout what?”
Simon unwraps the towel around his waist and uses it to dry his hair. Your eyes dip to the impressive sight that is his soft cock, but only for a moment. You harden your gaze as you stare at his face.
“About Johnny.”
“No.”
“You can’t just say no.”
Simon shrugs, “Yes I can.” He walks past you and presses a kiss to your cheek. You follow him into the bedroom, far colder than the steamy bathroom.
You slide between him and the dresser. “At least tell me why.”
Simon scoffs, “You know why.”
“I don’t.”
“Fine,” Simon crosses his arms. “How about… I won’t put you through what John did.”
You sigh.
John was older. He wanted an easy life, something traditional. You two always joked about his Leave it to Beaver nuclear family fantasy. Besides all the joking, you were willing to give it to him, but at some point, you think John realized that wasn’t something he could have. John retired two years into your relationship, a year before Simon joined. You and he quickly realized that civilian life was not fit for him. The solution, a band-aid really, was Simon. Maybe, though, it was always you that didn't fit.
Simon is softer, still marred by his service and past, but never cruel in his struggle. Simon talks. To you. His therapist. Johnny. When he doesn’t want to talk, he still does, because according to him it still helps. Simon isn't like John. Even if he was molded by the man's hand, Simon will never be like John.
You don’t say that, though, because you also know how stubborn your boyfriend can be. You take the low road instead, biting, “Maybe you already are.”
Simon flinches. You instantly regret the words as they come out of your mouth. You have no time to take them back, however, as Simon bites, “Excuse me?”
“Shit, I… you’re not. You’re really not, baby. But…” You shrug, pursing your lips. “You’re not talking to me. Lashing out when I try to have a serious conversation. Shit, Simon, at least John fucked me while he was ignoring me!”
It’s not all the way true. Well, everything you’ve said is true, but while Simon’s behavior mirrors those of John, it’s only a fraction of what John put you through. None of the biting comments, the emotional neglect, the thinly-veiled hatred. But you need him to understand.
It works, because Simon’s face falls. “If we do this… I won’t be like him.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean… If I am, leave me. Don’t wait so long like you did with him.”
You want to reassure him, tell him that he would never be to you what John was, but you know better. John was not the first man to fail a woman Simon loves, and you know it weighs him down to know how long you and John were on the rocks. You also know it kills him to know that you stayed for so long because you weren’t willing to let go of Simon just yet.
John was all too similar to Simon’s father, he just couldn’t see it. John never hit you, never forced you to have sex with him, but he always hid your struggles much better than Simon’s dad. You were good at hiding it, too. Looking back, you shouldn’t have tried to make it work for so long, especially since it broke Simon’s heart to find out how long you had been struggling. So, you tell Simon what he needs to hear.
“I’ll leave you,” you say. “I promise.”
Simon nods, “Good.”
*****
Then – Eight Months With Simon
“John,” you do a twirl, smiling as you show off your outfit. “How do I look?”
John nods. “Fine…” His brows are furrowed as he observes you. It looks almost like he’s displeased. “You’re going out?”
You stop your flaunting, all bravado suddenly gone. Your voice comes out suprisingly small as you say, “Yeah, uh, Simon asked me if I wanted to come out with you tonight.”
“He did?”
“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously. “He always does, but I- you know -usually opt for a night in. I felt like joining you, if that’s alright?”
John grunts, “Very well.”
John leaves you at that, slipping into the bathroom. A minute later, you hear the shower turn on. For some reason, you haven’t moved from where you stood. Your chest is tight.
Why does it feel like you’re in trouble?
*****
Now
“How do I look?”
You’re putting the finishing touches on your hair, zhuzhing it so it’s just right. It’d be a lie to say you weren’t nervous for tonight. Johnny’s coming over for dinner so you and Simon can propose your… arrangement.
Simon had been slow to come around, but after your conversation, the one where you promised to leave Simon, it’s safe to say he’s warmed up to the idea. He’s enthusiastic. You’re glad.
Now, Simon’s putting the finishing touches on himself, too. He stands behind you in the mirror, glasses low on his nose as he lint rolls his already-spotless sweater.
“Wonderful,” he says, eyes glued to himself.
“You didn’t even look,” you grumble.
“You always look wonderful. Plus,” Simon presses a kiss to your cheek. He’s staring at you in the mirror now. “You act like I haven’t been watching you get ready for the last hour.”
Turning, you take the lint roller from his hand, placing it on the dresser. “Good,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Because you also look wonderful.”
“Careful, love. You’re gonna make me blush.” Simon pats your ass, leaning in to kiss you back. “How do you feel?” He asks.
“Good. You?”
“I feel great.” He sways back and forth, dragging you with him. It’s an awkward dance, but you melt into it nonetheless. “I’m excited. Scared, but excited.”
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t reject us.”
Simon stops swaying you. He groans playfully, “Please don’t say that, love.”
You laugh, pulling Simon in so his chest brushes yours. “I’m joking, Simon. Plus—“ You poke his glasses, pushing them up on the bridge of his nose, “You look so hot right now. He’d be an idiot to say no.”
Simon smirks, “Really?” He gives your ass another squeeze, “You don’t look too bad either.”
“That’s it?” You tease, “I thought earlier you said I looked wonderful?”
Simon rolls his eyes, “I hope Johnny says yes so I don’t have to deal with you alone anymore.”
You scoff, “Mean.”
“Quiet,” Simon presses his lips to yours. As it deepens, your tongue swiping along his lips, he utters, “You love it.”
*****
Then – Five Months With Simon
“I was thinking we should stop celebrating our anniversary.”
John peppers kisses to the side of your face like he didn’t just drop a bomb. He sidled up behind you, catching your eye in the mirror as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You melted into his hold, completely oblivious of your boyfriend’s ulterior motive.
“Why?”
John makes a face, you only catch it because of the mirror. It looks almost like he’s rolling his eyes.
“It doesn’t feel right celebrating us when now we have Simon, too.”
You nod. That does make sense, but you do wonder why John hasn’t brought this up before. It’s been a few months with Simon now, and that’s not including the month and a half you and John spent discussing the logistics of how your relationship would change. Yet, in all those discussions and the moments you and John have spent together since, not once had John brought up your anniversary.
And now? The morning he’s finally bringing it up? Your anniversary is only two weeks away.
“Oh,” you frown. “I guess that makes sense.”
John smiles, “Great.”
“But we’ll celebrate our anniversary– like, his with us –when that rolls around?”
“Of course.”
“Everything the same?”
“Of course.” John’s hands drift lower, settling on your hips. “You deserve the celebration. We all do.”
“Promise?” You turn in his arms, leaning in so his nose brushes yours.
“I promise.”
Strangely, his words do little to quell the uneasy feeling in your stomach.
*****
Now
“Like a threesome?”
You cringe. Simon sighs.
“I’m just messing with you,” Johnny laughs. “I… ah… I know about ye and John.” Johnny clears his throat, smiling tensely at you.
Johnny knows about your relationship with John. It was how you first met him, as John’s girlfriend. Then you became John and Simon’s girlfriend. Now just Simon’s. There hadn’t been an explanation. At least, not from you, though you suspect Simon filled Johnny in to some degree. Not the full story. Not yet.
“It won’t be like that,” Simon says. His hand squeezes yours under the table. You squeeze back.
"Aye, of course," Johnny nods. He leans back in his chair. As he thinks, the lines in his face seem to deepen. For the first time, you find yourself believing that this happy go-lucky man could be a weathered soldier. "You know, that's a lot."
"It is," you agree.
"You don't have to answer us now. Not ever, if you don't want," Simon adds. His fingers tighten around you subconsciously. He had been so worried about the emotional impact on you, that it seems Simon barely even considered whether Johnny would accept your proposal. "We completely understand that you may not want to join us, and we completely–"
"Careful there, LR," Johnny chuckles. With the smile finally back on his face, the scot looks a decade younger. "I never said no."
*****
Then – Two Months With Simon
Simon’s watching you, has been for the last few minutes. You scroll through the article on your phone, giving Simon the space to approach when ready.
Simon’s wary, not the best with words. Over the last two months, since you and John first let him into your life, Simon has been walking on eggshells. You understand, of course, while you’ve met plenty before, he knows John better than you. It’ll take some warming up for him to get to that level with you. Hell, it was only two weeks ago that he stopped wearing his balaclava around the house.
The floorboard creeks, and you look up. Simon freezes, but when you shut your phone and set it aside, he smiles.
“Hey,” you greet, patting the empty spot on the couch next to you. Simon sits, and you grab his hand.
John’s out today, picking up stuff to make some fixes around the house. Simon chose to stay back, a choice that surprised you initially. You suppose it’s starting to make sense.
“Can we talk?” Simon asks, voice hardly more than a whisper. “Nothing bad.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Of course.”
Simon smiles tightly. He won’t meet your eyes. You find he rarely does when it comes to discussing matters of importance.
“Are you happy with me here?”
You frown, but only for a moment. You quickly fix your face. If Simon was truly nervous about this, the last thing you want to do is freak him out more.
This is the first time he’s really confronted you about the nature of your relationship. Of course you, Simon, and John had a discussion when you all got together. Topics ranged from intimacy boundaries and relationship expectations to how you would arrange yourselves in the car. After that, for the first month of this new relationship, John checked on you frequently, but even now that’s gone largely by the wayside. And it was never Simon.
“Of course,” you smile reassuringly. You bring Simon’s hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. “Why do you ask?”
Simon chews the inside of his cheek. It’s a bad habit that you’ve noticed since he decided to forgo with the mask. “No reason.”
You realize you wouldn’t get more out of him without pushing. “I’m very happy with you here Simon. You’re a wonderful partner, sweet and caring, too. If there’s something on your mind,” you use your free hand to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “I’d love to hear it.”
Simon huffs a laugh through his nose. “‘S not important.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”
Simon shifts. Your words have clearly made him uncomfortable. John usually gives him an out at this point, some excuse to avoid talking about his feelings. But you’re not John, and Simon knows that. If he wanted to talk to him about this, he would.
Reluctantly, Simon says, “John and I have been spending time together.”
“That’s what this is about?” You laugh. “Of course you are.”
John and Simon have been spending lots of time together. Going on solo dates to the pub, gun range, or to the woods for a hike. They had to discover how to be John and Simon— lovers instead of comrades.
You’ve been spending lots of time with Simon, too, though your dates have been more tame. Theaters, museums, movie nights at home. Simon doesn’t talk much, so you give him the space to spend time without all the pressure to perform. And that’s not including the time you spend with Simon and John.
These first two months have seen you and John focusing on Simon rather than the two of you. It’s a delicate balance. You and John discussed it beforehand, agreeing that at the start you two might be spending less time alone together. You’re secure in your relationship, your love, and it would be more important to make sure Simon felt like he had a space. That he was loved too.
“Simon,” you say softly. “John and I have it figured out already. I’ve spent so much time with him already.”
“So have I,” Simon says.
“As a soldier and his captain, yes. As partners? No.” You squeeze Simon’s hand. He doesn’t seem nearly as convinced as you would hope, so you add, “Trust me, I’m exactly where I want to be.”
You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to Simon’s lips. He smiles against you, his scar tissue rubbing against your skin. It’s Simon who pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.
“I love you,” he whispers.
You kiss Simon’s cheek, “I love you too.”
*****
Now
Your lips are raw, face tingling from the burn of Johnny’s stubble. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a beard brushing against your face. Simon likes to keep things clean, always has.
“So, hen,” Johnny licks his lips. He’s sitting in Simon’s lap, neck tilted as Simon nips at his neck. For the better part of the last hour, Simon has merely watched as you and Johnny pawed at each other. “I’ll meet you and Simon in the bedroom. Need to see a man about a horse, heh.”
You roll your eyes, scoffing lightly, “You’re disgusting.”
“Aye,” Johnny snaps his teeth at you, “But you love it.” His eyes slide over your shoulder, “So does the brute.” He slides off of Simon, standing up while he looks for his cane.
Simon finds Johnny’s cane on the floor. Grabbing it, he taps Johnny with it on the ass. “We’ll meet you there eventually.”
There’s a quiet question in Simon’s words. We need a moment. Johnny doesn’t bat an eye, grabbing the can from Simon and winking at you both. “Don't take too long. I can't promise I’ll behave.”
It’s funny, Johnny never feels like he takes up too much space, but whenever he leaves it always feels like the room is too empty. You sigh, not because you’re upset or even because you need it, but because it’s just something to fill the air.
“We’re doing this, huh?” You muse.
“Yeah, we are.” Simon laughs. It makes you think of Johnny, strangely. “How do you feel?”
“I feel ready,” you nod. It’s the truth. You haven’t felt so sure about yourself, about your relationship, in a very long time. “Are you?”
do people who "not use ai" to write their fics meanwhile their fics have one sentence per line know that we know. im sorry but we know!! and it's bad!!! and if you wrote something and put it up (even if you think it's bad writing) we will love it more!!!
random comment from a (pro grooming, john lennon fan account) user hating me for writing cod fics
if you read my cod fics or my jack abbot fics and think that the military is cool and sexy please do yourself a favor and log off of tumblr and do some critical thinking about the military and its presence in media
fuck trump. fuck ice. fuck the military. fuck all of it and if you disagree then i implore you to unfollow!
i'm julie! 20s. i use she/her pronouns and i write! <3
MDNI THIS BLOG HAS NSFW CONTENT!!! I WILL BLOCK YOU!!! THIS INCLUDES AGELESS BLOGS!!!
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