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Simon, like others who’d spent their lives dodging bullets, bombs, and knives, had trouble sleeping. You realized this the first night you stayed with him. When you woke, he was lying in the exact same position as before, his eyes bloodshot and the bags beneath them even darker.
When you asked if he’d slept, he simply said he’d been thinking. It was never a satisfying answer, but you didn’t pry. He didn’t want you worrying about his nightmares. “It’s my problem to fix, not yours,” he’d say.
Simon would lie awake for hours, staring at the wall, the ceiling, or sometimes even at you. The feel of your body pressed against his was the only thing that helped him drift off for a few hours. The steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the softness of your skin, the brush of your hair—it all seemed to soothe him.
“Why do you stare at me when you think I’m asleep?” Your words startled him, and you could tell by the way he tensed beside you. “I’m not mad,” you added, your tone gentle. “I’m just curious why you find me so captivating that you’d sacrifice your sleep to look at me.”
There was no harshness in your question; you were genuinely intrigued. It felt surreal that someone would find you so peaceful to watch, enough to miss their own rest. Simon assumed you were teasing him, as if no one in their right mind could believe a man like him might feel such things. But when you rolled over and looked straight into his eyes, he saw that you meant every word.
"You really want to know?" he asked in that familiar, gruff drawl.
"Of course," you said, nodding.
He sighed, his gaze softening in a way you rarely saw. "The only reason I don’t sleep... is because of you. I’m scared if I close my eyes, I’ll open them and you won’t be here. That’s why I stay up—to make sure you’re really here with me. And in the morning, when I wake, I watch you sleep, just to be sure you’re still next to me."
His words hit you deep. Your heart, your very soul, shattered at the rawness of his confession. This wasn’t like the empty promises of past flings—the guy from the bar who had a girlfriend, or that childhood crush who turned out to be a disappointment.
No, this was Simon. Simon—Ghost, if he was in one of his moods. With him, honesty wasn’t a choice; it was all he knew, shaped by a lifetime of loyalty and hard truths.
“Oh, Simon.” You scooted closer, wrapping yourself around him, your face pressed against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know. I know.” His hand moved to your hair, fingers gently threading through it, softening even more as he traced the strands.
This was a familiar scene—him sharing something raw, you tearing up, and then him comforting you with “it’s okay” even though it never truly was. He deserved every good thing, yet all he could see was darkness. And not just ordinary darkness, but brutal, soul-crushing shadows. He ran his hand down your shoulder, then back up, the warmth of his touch healing something deep within you.
You closed your eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, grounding yourself in his presence. It was calm. Peaceful.
“You know,” you began softly, then hesitated.
“What?” he asked, his thumb brushing gently over your wet bottom lip.
“I like watching you, too,” you confessed, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.
Simon looked away, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. “You shouldn’t.”
“Yes, I should.” You cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze back to you. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not beautiful.”
“You are,” you whispered, “and I love you.”
He shuddered, as he always did when you laid your heart bare. He couldn’t fathom how someone like him could be loved by someone like you. But he kept those words to himself, and instead, his thumb brushed away a tear trailing down your cheek.
“You shouldn’t.”
You didn’t take his words to heart. You knew his demons, knew the weight he carried. He might not believe he deserved you, but you’d spend forever making him feel like the most important man in the world—because to you, he was.
“I should. And I do.” You kissed his cheek, then his lips. “I love you, Simon. All of you. The good and the bad, even the nightmares and the secrets you wish I didn’t know. I love it all. I love you.”
Simon's breathing was uneven. He wasn't used to this—affection, warmth. He wasn't used to hearing "I love you." The last person who'd ever said those words to him had been his mother, the only woman who'd ever shown him kindness. Until now.
But here you were, making him feel wanted, appreciated, loved. You pressed gentle kisses to every inch of his exposed skin, and he watched you, mesmerized. You kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his nose, his forehead, his neck. Your fingers were soft, tracing each muscle, each scar, each part of him that he himself couldn't bear to look at.
"Do you believe me?" you murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to his lips.
Simon couldn't find the words, so you continued, undeterred. You kissed down his neck, following the steady thrum of his pulse. Sometimes you'd press two fingers there, just to feel it, to remind yourself that he was here with you-whole, alive, not blown apart or bearing fresh wounds.
You kissed over his tattoo, the one that symbolized a brotherhood and a past he couldn't escape. Your hair spilled over his shoulders as your hands rested on his stomach, and he watched as you traced the scars, the ink, every mark he hated.
He watched as you loved him, piece by piece.
You felt the way his skin shivered under your touch, saw the way his pupils flared as he stared at you, lips parted, breath coming in shallow pants. You continued your trail of kisses, savouring every inch of him, letting the words he needed sink in.
"I love you," you murmured, over and over, knowing he needed to hear it, maybe more than he'd ever let on.
You slid up his worn T-shirt, pressing your lips to the hard plane of his stomach, following the faint line of hair that began at his navel and led lower.
You felt his muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath hitching, heat radiating off him in waves.
"I love you," you said, the words muffled against the strained fabric of his pants, and a deep, aching sound escaped him. His body reacted instantly, tightening under your hands as your fingers curled around the waistband of his sweatpants.
"You don't-" he began, almost protesting.
"But I do," you insisted, meeting his gaze, steady and unyielding. "Let me show you. Let me show you how much I love you."
He swallowed hard and gave a slight nod, letting you ease his bottoms down along with his boxers.
You took his cock in your hands and marveled at how pretty it was. Simon was a big man, and his cock was not only a reflection that—but truly a work of art. Long and thick, with a vein on the underside and an angry mushroomed head. His balls hung low and were covered with a thin layer of dark, coarse hair.
You leaned down and took him into your mouth, feeling his heat, tasting him, letting yourself drown in it. Simon cursed under his breath, hips arching despite himself, overcome by the wet, warm, softness of your mouth.
He whispered his amazement, his voice rough, his throat dry as he tried to speak.
Your tongue traced his length, taking him deeper, the thickness filling you, his pubic hair brushing your nose as you lost yourself in the sensation of him. His scent made you lose yourself completely. Your saliva slicked his cock, and the more you moved your head up and down, the wetter and sloppier it got.
"Fuck," he groaned, fingers threading tightly through your hair, his breaths coming faster now.
You could tell he was close, but you wanted him in a way that left words behind—a kind of love spoken only through touch. Letting his length slip from your mouth, you watched it fall against his stomach, drawing a low rumble from deep in his chest.
His gaze was heavy, half-lidded and heated, and as you began to undress, he licked his lips, his eyes trailing over every inch of bare skin revealed.
"I love you," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, right above the place where his heart beat strong and steady.
Taking his hands, you placed them on your body, letting his large, rough palms explore. The feel of his touch sent a shiver up your spine, and a soft moan slipped from your lips as he cupped your breasts, his thumbs and pointer finger circling and teasing your hardened nipples.
You arched into his touch, barely holding back, wanting him more deeply than you could stand.
"You're beautiful," he breathed, his voice rough with desire, and you shook your head.
"No, you're more," you whispered before leaning down, capturing his lips and silencing his protest with a kiss, swallowing the sound of his moan as he gave in to you.
You reached down, wrapping your fingers around him, stroking slowly, savoring the way his hips bucked, his breath hitching with each caress. He was hard, pulsing, the tip flushed and slick.
Finally, you moved over him, sinking down onto his length, and a deep, shared groan passed between you, filling the quiet room as you took him fully, every part of you bound together.
His arms wrapped around you, and your bodies were plastered together. "You're beautiful. Inside and out. You're everything good in this world, you murmured, pressing your lips gently to his temple.
"Don't," he whispered, shaking his head, his face buried in the curve of your neck, as though hiding from the truth in your words.
But you didn't stop. You couldn't. Not when it came to Simon."You're strong, handsome, brave... courageous."
You lifted yourself, feeling the way he pulsed within you, then sank down again, creating a rhythm that left both of you breathless. "You're everything. And I love you. Tell me I'm right."
He shook his head again, his body trembling beneath you, and you could feel his restraint, his need to resist, begin to unravel.
"Tell me," you pleaded, moving faster, harder, each motion drawing him deeper into you.
"I-I... You're right." His voice was strained, a rough whisper as his arms tightening around you, grounding himself.
Your face was buried into his pillow, drool sinking into the soft, cotton case that smelt entirely of his shampoo-but that didn't stop you either. "And you're beautiful."
He only let out something between a moan and a grunt. "Say it," you urged softly, your voice barely a whisper.
"I'm beautiful."
You pulled away to kiss his reddened cheeks, holding him close as his eyes clenched shut, his body tense, every muscle taut beneath you.
"Come for me," you whispered, and those words broke him. He shuddered as he reached his release, holding you tighter, pouring himself into you, and the feeling of him filling you brought you over the edge too.
The release was overwhelming, a shattering wave that left you both clutching each other, chests heaving, bodies entwined.
You ran your fingers through his hair, looking down at him as he gazed back, his eyes now clear, softer, filled with something unspoken but deeply felt. "I love you," you murmured, pressing gentle kisses to his cheeks, his nose.
"I love you too." His voice was tender, and the kiss you shared held all the words you didn't need to say.