#uhh cod fic

[prettybird-ie]

"si', baby?" you rake your fingers through his hair, light brown roots showing. you knew he was aware of them, having come back from a deployment of three grueling months. body torn to the brim, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. which is how you convinced him to sit comfortably in your bathroom. candle lit to calm his twitchy nerves.

simon riley bleached his hair. started as soon as he scraped together the funds from his shitty job as an apprentice butcher somewhere in manchesters narrow backways.

he loathed his brunette. a light brown that was a horrided resemblance of his fathers. roots that grew in to reveal natures crulest joke. simon despised it, desperate to rewrite his DNA closer to his late mums instead. always fighting to keep the small pieces of her that was barely left.

"i think im gonna get you a hair mask next time were out," he bleached it the same shade she adorned. her beautifully soft blonde curls would catch the golden of a mornings sun. rare cooling warm undertone slipping inside the apartment whenever simons dad was much too drunk to return from the late hours before dawn. "any scents you favor?"

"..peach pomegranate." he left it there. enough that you knew the weight of his choice. it was the scent you often choose during this time of year.

although bleaching it nearly half his life, simon had little care for self consideration. subconscious refusal to perserve the fractions of him beneath his mask. from lack of attention or care, some areas were splotchy. others coarse resulted from over processing.

"a lil' to the right, pretty?" he tilted his thick head. watching in the thrifted mirror, you biting your cheek in delicate thinking. raking your hands throughout his gradually softening hair. kudos to you — you nagged him about so many hair products.

"i hope our baby gets your curls," you whisper absentmindedly. twirling a curl around you finger. his pale skin prickling from the cooling bleach or your words, you knew. "wouldnt that be cute? just like you sweet boy,"

"..hope they get yer pretty eyes." he grumbles so low it doesnt even verberate. you two make eye contact in the mirror, ones pair crinkled in a pretty smile. the others, open and yet not dull, love brewing somewhere behind the pupils. silent in their ode to adore. "..ah jus' hope theyre like you," he whispered quieter. careful to speak lower than your humming. thick shoulders in a steady rythm of his breaths, craning his neck to look at you upside down.

you lean down, pecking his forehead in a kiss as soft as the love he held for you.

[prettybird-ie]

ghost, whose bone over his balaclava rumored to have been torn from his enemy through their last breaths.

and könig, whose pretty pale blues were the last things people saw as swinging metal met skull.

halls were cleared as they stalked through. veterans and newbies alike scattering flush to the walls, heads tipping in what could be blatant fear, tinged with a crooked tilt of respect. or whatever it was those two garnered from the filth around them.

walking representations of power. of something fordged by stories that had no words. nothing to describe the raw hate they endured.

and here the two pillars were, cascading around you. the civie secretary who used glitter gel pens that had squishy colorful tops. your outfits were compared to rainbows circling around base. the only thing that outshined you was the gleam of freshly polished guns that lined storage walls. and even that seemed dull at times.

it was odd, bears of men handling something as delicate as you. palms capable of crushing in a mans trachea with a satisfying crumble were now writing notes with said glitter pens. documenting your wandering thoughts as you adjusted prices personal schedule.

"hey boys?" you perked up, wide eyes watching for their inevitable interest. it was odd for them. being called boys. being compared to something seen as small. innocent.

it felt nice, it did. seeing someone openly acknowledge their person. past the warfare in their eyes.

they drowned in your tender touch. hands that too quickly took theirs, blinded by the idea that their grime was nothing but the scars of rumors. you didnt hope, you knew. they were still human underneath all that armor. that the pounds of gear could be shed, revealing their warm skin beneath. all they needed was bits of soft love.

a fool. you were.

plain dumb to think that man who had seen nothing but monsters could emerge completely different from them. shown no warmth except the singeing agony of pain.

that their hearts could still beat for anything other than survival. believing when they took you in, it was out of devotion. out of a primal need to keep your safe, woven into their being.

i mean, in a way, maybe. maybe it was like that. dragging you into their den, wiping your face from the earth. where to go when you dont know who to be? that the bruises on your baby soft skin were a more physical symbol of their love and touch. not a mark of disgusting ownership. theyd never hurt you beyond repair, had a repulsive sense of humor in knowing you wouldnt blame them if they didnt. you werent hurting necessarily, were you?

no, clearly you had overstepped. somewhere along the way whilst they helped you move in with them, helped you quit that nagging job you thought you adored, keeping back those overbearing family and friend groups, you had messed up. hadnt you.

they were hurt, stripped down by the horrific encounters they had endured. they just needed more patience. needed to pull more empathy from you. surely it was nothing when ghost had screamed at you, shaking the timber of your bones. harmless that könig gripped you by your hair as he dragged you away from the windows.

you reflected, deciding you just needed to be softer. something they could completely bask in, even if that meant giving up a handful of your opinions. of the little bit of the real you that you clung to.

ghost and könig were nothing if not a reminder that the terror of the rumors where just truths passed on.

[prettybird-ie]

oh simon riley my sweet boy,

boyfriend!simon, who watches with dopey eyes as you move through your shared space. leaving wet footprints in your wake, having just emerged from your very in depth, meticulous, routinely timed everything-shower. hes silent, brown eyes tracking you delicately. like too harsh of a stare may be the thing that runs you off, after all else.

boyfriend!simon, who decided to practice his breathing exercises as your frilly scents soak the room. basking everything in your divine signature scent. he happily drowns in the aroma, wishing on stars it clings to him and his gear. lingering just enough to finish out whatever deployment tears him away from you next.

boyfriend!simon, who adores watching you slip into a matching pj set. loves to hear the shuffle of your slippers against the fluffy carpet he installed just for you.

boyfriend!simon, who attributes his own self care to yours. watching as you apply your peel off face mask, serums soaking into your skin he loves to pepper in kisses, lotion gliding over your cheeks. the combination makes him feel refreshed, knowing youre relaxed and comfortable if enough care for him.

boyfriend!simon, who once whilst on deployment, took up his free time learning about various aspects of hair, and its seemingly endless care cycles. using this knowledge to safely deem himself acceptable of aiding in your personal ceremony. fingers carefully gliding product through your soggy hair, sectioning parts with military precision — then his favorite part, finger coiling. watching as your hair bounces into healthy coils makes him smile. knowing youre quietly thriving is his universal regiment.

boyfriend!simon, whose favorite thing in his world is the grin on your face as you crawl into newly washed sheets. settling beside him with a lovey look, snuggling against him. his beefy arms wrapping around you the final step to your sunday night reset.