Simon's fav lil tea cup

You've put your car through some wear and tear lately, and being the sweetie pie boyfriend he is, Simon offered to look things over, see the state of things and start fixing anything that might need it. He roped you in as well, pulling you over to his side and talking through the things he started messing with.

He also insisted you get your hands in there, to be the one to uncap, unplug, and pull things out and put it back together again. Which is how the both of you end up with oily, car-gunk covered hands.

Simon's going on a spiel about spark plugs, asking how old the battery is, mentioning that you're a little low on wiper fluid but that's alright he's got some rolling around somewhere he'll use to top you off when you take your hand, covered in that gunk, and land it solidly right on his ass, an impeccable, tar-black hand print left behind on the blue of his jeans.

Everything about Simon stops. His voice cuts off mid sentence and his muscles freeze like someone just hit his pause button. Eventually, his head turns towards you at a glacial pace to see you biting back a shiteating grin, your laughter locked down behind your teeth. His body twists a little bit to be able to look at the hand print that now adorns his backside like a brand in the perfect shape of you.

His dark eyes slowly roll back up to yours, a familiar glint flickering in their depths which makes you start to back up. You hold up a finger at him as if to ward him off as that impish look spreads to his scarred lips.

He follows you, no, he stalks towards you as you try to make your escape around the car. The saunter in his hips and the way he holds his shoulders up, looking down at your nervous giggling makes your heart pound a little faster for a multitude of reasons.

As he passes it, he swipes his hand over the side of your admittedly filthy-as-fuck car, getting a good handful of the dirt and road muck.

"Don't you dare," you try to scold him, but it doesn't have the effect you want it to spoken between your nervous laughter. All he does is put his hands together and wipe his palms against one another, getting both of them nice and coated.

You bolt.

And you barely get two steps away until arms wrap around you from behind and you're lifted off the ground. Simon manhandles you as you let out a squeal you would later deny you're even capable of making.

His big, nasty hands grab all over you as you try and fail to wriggle away from them. You can barely get a breath in from the release of your laughter and your pleas for him to, "Unhand me, you brute!"

Eventually, when he's deemed you good and marked up, he hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and brings you back over to your car. He lowers the hood back down and sits you down on it. He stands between your knees, hands grabbing your hips as you try to get a hold of yourself.

The both of you are gross, neither of you spared during the ruckus. He wipes the side of your face with the cleaner back of his hand.

"You're lucky you're cute," he says before leaning down to give a gentle kiss to your smiling lips.

Down. Up. Breathe.

Down—

“Daddy!”

The word rang out like a bell, bright and impossible to ignore. He paused at the bottom of a rep, turning his head just enough to see her racing toward him, all energy and joy wrapped up in a tiny frame. “I wanna ride on your back!” she declared, already bouncing in place, hands clapping, her grin so wide it crinkled her whole face.

Simon huffed out a quiet laugh, the kind that never made it past his lips around anyone else. He shifted back onto his knees, one hand reaching behind him to steady himself. “Alright, alright,” he said, voice softened into something warm and easy. “Climb aboard.”

She didn’t hesitate. Little hands grabbed at his shoulders, her weight tipping him slightly as she scrambled up with determined enthusiasm. A second later, she was perched proudly on his back, arms looped around his neck, legs snug against his sides like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“Comfy?” he asked, glancing back. “Yes!” she sang, stretching her legs out behind her like wings, already giggling at the idea of what came next.

“Hold on tight, then.”

He lowered himself back into position, careful, deliberate, making sure she was secure before he started again. Then he pushed up.

One.

To him, she barely registered, light as air. But he drew it out anyway, letting out a dramatic groan as if the effort had doubled. Right on cue, she burst into laughter, bright and unstoppable.

Two.

Another exaggerated grunt, a slight wobble for effect. Her laughter grew louder, spilling over into delighted squeals, her grip tightening just a little as if she were riding something far more thrilling than her dad doing pushups.

Three.

By now, he wasn’t counting reps anymore. He was counting giggles. Each one felt like a reward, better than any finished workout, better than any quiet moment he’d planned for himself.

He’s used to being away from you. It’s his job. So, he tells you not to worry when you kiss him goodbye on your tippy toes, four days is nothing compared to the months he’s been away.

He grossly underestimated how different it’d be when you were the one gone.

The first day he’s fine, does mundane tasks around the house to distract himself. Mows the lawn, fixes that part of the fence you’ve been asking him too for weeks.

The second, he goes to the pub with Johnny, drinks one too many beers to fill a sudden void, and stumbles home to a terribly empty and cold bed.

The third day feels heavy, like there’s a mass weighing on his chest and making it hard to focus on anything other than you. The phone call he makes isn’t any better.

“Miss you.”

He says it first, quiet and uncertain. The giggle that follows makes his heart tighten.

“Miss you too, Si.”

You whisper it, so soft, and so fucking sweet he wonders how he ever left you to begin with. Hearing your voice should settle him, but it only makes his chest heavier. You should be there with him, sat in his lap, and pressing those words into his skin.

Day four he’s staring at pictures of you in his wallet and brushing his thumb over your face like he’s on deployment. Like it’s been months since he’s seen you and not four bloody days.

He doesn’t sleep that night when all he tastes is guilt. When this is how you must feel when he’s gone. A bed too big for one person, one pair of shoes at the door when there should be two, indents in the couch that aren’t filled.

The call came at 2:13 a.m.

Simon stared at the screen for three full rings before answering.

“What.”

A stranger’s nervous voice spilled through the speaker. “Uh—hi. Are you listed as emergency contact for—”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well sir, seems like your partner is... pretty wasted.”

The line went dead.

Simon lowered the phone slowly.

For a full second, the flat was silent.

Then he muttered something deeply unflattering under his breath, grabbed his keys, his jacket, and headed for the door.

You were going to be insufferable tomorrow.

————————————————————————————

By the time he got to the club, he knew two things immediately.

One: the music was offensively loud.

Two: you were somehow louder.

Even from the entrance, he could hear your voice cutting through bass and shouting.

“No, listen to me—my boyfriend would WIN.”

Simon closed his eyes briefly.

The bouncer took one look at him and moved aside without a word.

Inside, lights flashed across packed bodies, drinks sloshed over crowded tables, and there you were—standing on a velvet booth like some drunken monarch, one shoe half off, drink in hand, passionately lecturing three strangers and a deeply concerned bartender.

“He’s tactical,” you were saying with great seriousness. “Like... emotionally unavailable Batman—but he’s very much available to ME!! Yeah only ME.”

Simon crossed his arms.

“Ahh finally,” one of the strangers said with visible relief the moment they spotted him.

You turned dramatically, nearly lost your balance, then pointed at Simon like you’d discovered a criminal mastermind.

“YOU.”

“Yes, me.”

“Stay back,” you warned, wobbling dangerously. “My boyfriend is scary.”

“I’m aware.”

“He’s huge. Mean. Deadly. British.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Get down.”

“No.”

“We’re leaving.”

“No.”

“You can walk or I carry you.”

You gasped like he’d insulted your ancestors. “Don’t touch me, mysterious club villain.”

The bartender slid Simon your abandoned card and whispered, “Good luck.”

Ten seconds later, he had you slung over one shoulder while you protested to everyone in a five-meter radius.

“UNHAND ME!”

“Stop yelling.”

“I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!”

“So I’ve heard.”

“He’ll beat you up!”

“Hope so.”

You smacked his back repeatedly—soft, useless little thumps that felt more like aggressive pillow taps than actual violence.

“Wow beastly much i see,” Simon said dryly.

“You’re jealous of him!”

“I’m dragging you to the car.”

“You’ll never be him!”

“Tragic.”

People moved out of his path as he carried you through the club. Some laughed. One person saluted. Another shouted, “Free the party animal !”

You pointed at that person immediately.

“YES! TELL HIM!”

“No one’s helping you,” Simon said.

“This is kidnapping!”

“This is consequences.”

————————————————————————————

Cold night air hit the second he shoved through the club doors.

You went abruptly limp over his shoulder.

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Why is outside so... outside?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You tried to square up with a coat rack.”

“It was staring at me funny.”

He set you on your feet beside the car long enough to open the passenger door.

You immediately attempted to wander into traffic.

Simon caught the back of your shirt and reeled you in like a badly behaved cat.

“Stay.”

“You’re bossy.”

“You’re a liability.”

He deposited you into the seat. You immediately tried to escape using the completely wrong handle.

“Sit still.”

“You can’t kidnap me!”

“I’m taking you home.”

“My boyfriend knows where I live!”

“I should hope so.”

You froze, squinting at him through blurred vision.

“…Ghost?”

“There it is.”

Your entire expression changed.

“Simon!”

“Yes.”

“You came.”

“Regrettably.”

Your face softened into pure delighted affection.

“You really love me.”

Simon stared at you.

“Seatbelt.”

“You crossed the city for me.”

“Seatbelt.”

“You were worried.”

“Seatbelt.”

“You’re so handsome.”

He leaned in, buckled it himself, and gave you a flat look from inches away.

“You’re seconds from being carried inside like luggage.”

You beamed.

“Knew you cared.”

————————————————————————————

The drive home was worse.

For three minutes you sang half a song with complete confidence and none of the right words.

Then you demanded fries.

Then you accused the GPS voice of flirting with him.

Then you got emotional over a streetlamp.

“She’s trying her best,” you whispered.

“It’s a pole.”

“She shines every night and nobody thanks her.”

Simon gripped the wheel tighter.

At the next red light, he glanced over.

You had your cheek squished to the window, staring out solemnly.

Then, without warning—

“THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!”you were announcing proudly as if it’s your Nobel price

You slapped a hand dramatically against the glass.

Two pedestrians turned.

One cheered.

Simon stared straight ahead.

“Unreal.”

————————————————————————————

When he finally got you home, you became dead weight the moment he opened the passenger door.

“No bones,” you announced.

“I can tell.”

He hauled you out, one arm around your middle while you clung to him like ivy.

“You smell nice,” you murmured into his shoulder.

“Vodka’s killed your judgment.”

“You’re my favorite person.”

That made him pause for half a step.

Just long enough to be annoyed with himself for noticing.

Inside, he sat you on the edge of the bed, handed you water, and crouched to tug your shoes off before you could faceplant sideways.

“Drink.”

You took one sip.

“Thank you for rescuing me from that villain.”

“I was the villain.”

“Oh.”

You considered that seriously.

“Then thank you for character development.”

Simon huffed a laugh despite himself.

You pointed sleepily at him.

“My boyfriend could still beat you up.”

“Get some sleep.”

“He’s very dangerous.”

“I know.”

“He’s grumpy. Broad shoulders. Pretty eyes.”

Simon went still.

You blinked slowly, already half asleep.

“...looks like you, actually.”

He pulled the blanket over you and switched off the lamp.

“Bed. Now.”

As he turned to leave, your sleepy voice followed him through the dark.

“Love you.”

Simon stood there a moment, jaw tight.

Then he answered gruffly, almost too quiet to hear.

“Yeah. You too, menace.”

He loved you too much to even get annoyed to be honest which was more frustrating than you in your drunk state threatening him about him only…

No cw just Simon fluff. I’m not even sick. Just thinkin about it. Say it with me now, Isle no beta read!

Tissues filled the bin next to the bed, crumbled and falling out. The bottle of medicine was perpetually opened, cap rarely washed these past few days.

You were completely and utterly sick. And not the runny nose, occasional cough, and sneeze. No, you were sick. You shivered and sweat at the same time, groaned and whined at every movement, and could barely coax yourself into getting up to use the toilet.

It was just you, hardly taking care of yourself. Simon had been gone for weeks, and you had no indication of when he’d get back.

You lived off toast and cucumbers, occasionally trying a thin soup. Whatever you had came back up just a few minutes later besides the two. Water could never moisten your dry throat, no matter how much you drank. Every time you swallowed made your ears rumble unpleasantly.

The only escape you had was sleep, and sleep you did.

The rain pounded on his broad shoulders as Simon unlocked the door, duffel slung across his back getting soaked no doubt. His hair had grown out slightly since his last cut, leading beads of water to drip down his nose to his hands.

He fumbled with the key for a moment before it clicked, allowing your boyfriend into the house. It was dry, and hot. Too hot, higher than he’d ever let you put the thermostat.

It was late, and Simon wasn’t surprised to come home to a dark home. You went to bed early most nights, curling up against your pillow wishing it was him.

Simon dropped his duffel onto the doormat while pressing the toe of his boot to the opposite heel, and repeating. He bent down to side the shoes to the wall, right next to yours. Peeling off his soaked jacket was worrisome, as he didn’t want to get anything wet.

After he’d gotten himself put away, he made his way up the stairs to your bedroom, noticing the door cracked and the soft glow of your bedside lamp against the hallway wall.

He couldn’t imagine you were still awake, it was nearly four in the morning.

When he rounded the corner of the frame and pushed open the cracked door, he was met with your pathetic, sickly frame and what must’ve been five boxes of used tissues. Your face was sunken like you hadn’t eaten, and you’d certainly lost weight. Pale lips and greasy hair greeted him, much to his dismay.

Simon frowned, moving to your side nearly immediately, his hand on your burning cheek.

“Lovie? Ye awake?” He asked softly, receiving a soft hum from you.

“Si..?” You mumbled, eyes still closed as you leaned into his cool hand. You weren’t sure if you were dreaming, especially since every sick dream you’d had was about your love. But your stuffed nostrils were filled with a scent that was undeniably his.

“Yea dovie… m’here.. yer a sick thing, aren’t ye?” He cooed softly, watching you barely open your eyes.

“Si… you’re all wet.. hehe.. did you shower?”

You giggled softly, weakly moving a hand to ruffle his damp hair. Not too long ago you had two capfuls of medicine, and you were feeling them now.

“Somethin’ li’ that love, somethin’ close,” he murmured softly, brushing your damp hair off of your sweat slicked forehead.

“M’gonna clean up yer little stash of tissues here and then maybe we get ye to a shower, hmm?”

You nodded, barely even aware of what he said, he trusting him more than words could relay. And true to his word, Simon cleaned up your mess, and got you ready for a shower.

He set up the a shower chair in the bathroom, the same one he’d used when his knee got messed up a few deployments back.

You sat on it as he scrubbed your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as you nearly slept. He didn’t care that he was standing outside of the warm stream of water shivering, you’d clearly been suffering enough without him help to take care of you recently.

He toweled you off, and had you sit on the counter with a protective hand on your side. Simon did what he could of your skincare, knowing you had probably neglected it during your sickness despite your fierce dedication.

“What are you doing Si..?”

“M’rubbin’ that white crap on your face that ye like..” he muttered through focused eye contact, fingers gently rubbing it into the spots that always got dry quicker.

“You should’ve—cough—taken me to dinner first,” you grinned, eyes barely open as your head lolled and rolled.

Simon rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“Glad to hear yer still the bratty bird I know when yer sick..”

That earned a giggle from you, and a soft chuckle from him. God, he was so in love with you he was putting moisturizer on your face as you made cum jokes while sick as a dog. Never in a million years could he love someone else like he loved you.

And when he got you all set, hair mostly dry and a fresh glass of water, he sat you on the floor for just a moment, stripping the bed and putting on new sheets.

Simon collected you ever so gently, and pressed a kiss to your now cooler forehead as you nuzzled into his chest. Laying you both down in the fresh bedding and holding you nice and tight, Simon stroked your hair gently, whispering sweet little words in your ears.

“Sweet bird.. still my pretty girl when yer all sick… I reckon I look li’ a right mess when I’m ill..”

You hummed, yawning and shivering slightly still.

“Yea… but I still love you Si…”

He chuckled, stroking your hair still. He wrapped his arms around you a bit tighter, trying to warm you up nicely.

“I love ye too, dove.”

Hell, he would lick his fingers clean and swipe the plate with his thumb.

“Si” you laugh scandalised by his table manners.

“What?” he grunts, already reaching for you instead of the sink. “Said it were good, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean you lick the plate!”

“Saves water,” he shrugs before hauling you up like you weigh nothing.

You smack his chest, giggling. “Put me down –kitchen”

“Bedroom,” he corrects.

“Food was good. Wanna thank the chef proper.”

...and he does. Always does. Kissing you stupid until you forget what you were even laughing about in the first place.

But.

There’s one thing.

One absolute, non-negotiable line.

Onions. Onions.

Pairing : Simon Riley × Desi! Reader

Enjoyyy guyss. For non-desi readers : Sometimes married women in here hide names of their husbands or lovers in their henna. And the harder it is to find - the stronger love will be....a cute asf thing to do!!!

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. 🦢

Masterlist 🌷

Simon Riley who goes dead quiet the moment you come back with fresh mehendi, still darkening on your palms, smelling like earth and something sweeter. His eyes drop straight to your palms.

“…that for me, that?” he walks closer, already reaching for you.

You barely get a laugh out before he’s hauling you into his lap with his thumbs hovering over the patterns like they might smudge. (They will idiot)

“Si baby, I need to sleep.”

“Yeah? Sleep here then.” he mutters, dragging you closer and hooking his chin over your shoulder. God this will be a long night huh.

“Ain’t movin’ till I find it.”

You swat at him grinning. “You’re insane.”

you mixed the veggies in the pan and browned them just how he liked. they were brown but still crunchy and seasoned to perfection.

you took a step back after taking the pan off the heat before feeling hands wrap around your waist.

you squealed softly as you got picked up and set on the counter. simons hands went to your thighs immediately, pushing your legs open and slotting himself right in the middle.

you were in nothing but some pajama shorts and one of his shirts. the shorts were too short but simon loved them so you were them.

you were also sporting an after pregnancy body. you had your son a couple years ago, but your tummy was still loose and your thighs were a lot bigger than they used to be.

you felt insecure some days but then you saw how simon looked at you and realized you looked more beautiful than you thought.

simons hands traced over your thighs, his head pressing itself into the crook of your neck. he took a deep breath, taking your scent in. he let out a soft sound as his hands tightened on your thighs.

one of his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer to him. he held you tightly against him as he ran his hands over your skin.

you could feel tension in his shoulders as you rested your head against him. he seemed to be a little overwhelmed.

suddenly your son ran into the kitchen holding his toy dinosaur.

So when you call him down for dinner from his office, he’s a little confused at the large salad on the table, and grilled veggies beside it. They smelled amazing, smoky, a little charred, and seasoned expertly. The salad looked delicious, full of veggies and feta cheese sprinkled atop dotted with black pepper. But ever the man he was, Simon cocked his head slightly.

“Eh, love, where’s the meat?” He asked, looking at the spread you’d put so much love into like you’d served him a bowl of cereal.

“There is none. I thought this would be a nice change of pace, probably do our bodies some good,” you replied, as if this was the normal thing in the world. Well, it was. But not to 6’2, 300lbs Simon Riley.

He didn’t look thrilled, to say the least. But he had a fierce respect for you, and would try anything once.

That didn’t stop him from showing the disappointment on his face when he realized this was in fact not a joke, and his usual steak would not be magically appearing. Instead, you served him four large caps of mushroom, portobello you called them.

“They taste real good Si, and I marinated them in teriyaki. Would you at least give it a try?” You asked, batting your pretty lashes at him.

He sighed softly, nodding as he cut the brown mass on his plate up with a fork and steak knife. It felt almost insulting, using such a sacred utensil for a mushroom. But his gorgeous lady asked him so sweetly, how could he not?

“Thanks for cookin’, love,” he said quietly, lifting a bite up to his mouth.

When it hit his tongue, his eyes widened slightly and he cleared his throat. It was fucking great.

“Bloody hell..” he mumbled as he started shoveling the portobello into his mouth, practically tearing the plate apart.

He glanced at you after he finished, eyeing the half eaten cap on your plate, and you grinned slightly, pushing your plate towards him. You were more than happy to eat the grilled asparagus and eggplant.

“Have it, Si.”

Never in his life did he think he’d be considering asking you to make another vegetarian dinner, but here he was.

Simon Riley was no rabbit, or so he thought.

He would get mad because she didn't mentioned it days ago when he got a single phone call to home.

Noticed something was odd just from her voice but thought she was holding tears as usual. Not to worry him.

Well, now he was fuckin' worried.

—I'm okay Si, it's just a silly fever.

—…could be a fricking scratch and my heart would still die with you— he mumbled in a grunt while putting some of his big-ass socks into her cold feet.— Thought we promised not to hide a shit to each other

—Yeah but this was nothing…— she weakly reached his chin to make him look up.. — this is nothing sweetboy…

Simon sighs before pecking her now covered toes. Giving a long loving kiss at her knee while sweetly lookin' up at her.

—I know u think I'm a big tough bastard… but i hate to see you in pain too…

____ draws a small smile.

—You are too sweet when I'm vulnerable. It seems… maybe I should get sick more often..

—Not fun— he hisses before settling next to her on bed. Tenderly caressing away the wet hairs off her forehead.—…called Price to stay a week.

She hums in both contentment and ache as he caressed her warm reddish face.

He coos sweet little nothings.

About how she didn't have to worry anymore…that he was there and wouldn't leave until she was healthy and happy.

That he loves her and will take care of the most valuable soul in HIS world…

And after so many sleepless nights, ____ finally found the security and care she had been craving.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

I wrote this while desiring to be yn while shivering like a chihuahua T_T. Being sick makes me so emotional guys.

It was a simple twitch of your lip, a small smile with an unfiltered laugh. You didn't intend anything by it, but Simon didn't care. He didn't like how that bloke at the bar was leering at you, eyes practically undressing you. The way he leaned in just a fraction to catch a whiff of your perfume, a pretty scent Simon bought for you.

He could be so mean when he got like this. Hips snapping against yours, heavy palm pressing your head to the soaked sheets beneath you. A hand that had a tight grip on your hip slipped, pressing down on your spine to make your hips raise just a little more. Sinking in deeper, the fat head of his cock bruising that soft spongy spot inside your fluttering walls as you mewled in pleasure.

"Fuckin' bloke was eye fuckin' you, didn't you see?" Simon all but snarled, snapping his hips practically hard, balls slapping against your clit. Your nails sunk into the sheets, clawing, grasping. You didn't want to get away though. You loved it, how rough he could be, how his jealousy sparked a mean streak you rarely saw in bed. He was often so gentle, so sweet and soft with you.

But you didn't get nice, sweet Simon- oh no, you were getting Ghost. A mean bastard in Simon. The ugly part of your dear lover.

"Eye fuckin' wants mine, chattin' you up like he didn't notice those fuckin' marks on yer neck- outta just add some more, fuckin' bastards." He mouthed your neck, gentle at first as if waiting for you to snap at him and swat him away, but when only moans and sweet pleas rang in the air he sunk his teeth in. He growled, cruel and mean, laving his tongue over the bite before nipping at your ear.

Johnny would make fun of him over all the different dessert recipes Simon would have spread all over his desk. Different sheets full of ingredients and steps to follow so that once he is back home, he can cook one for ____.

Although he has always been aware of his lover’s sweet tooth, he was definitely not aware of how that craving for sugar would intensify to an extreme once she got pregnant.

So he had to learn how to be good at baking. Had to waste a bunch of food only to get good enough to satisfy the hungry little bean monster inside that lovely womb.

His first attempts had to be shared with the rest of his team. They would all fuck around, joking about how the scariest bastard among them had become a mama hen just for that little babe.

Simon didn’t give a shit. After all, it was all for ____ and the baby growing inside her womb. His family.

So fuck them all, grown-ass soldiers. He would do everything to take care of his growing family, and there was not a single bit of shame about that.

.𖥔 ┈┈┈ .・. ┈┈┈ 𖥔.

genre: fluff with a sprinkling of angst & suggestiveness

warnings: none

synopsis: pretending to be sleeping when simon comes home because you’re mad at him but he can see right through you

divider by @suupersonic

simon walks into the house with a heavy sigh, he shuts the door softly— given the late time of day and discards of his mask and shoes.

“love?” he calls.

he takes note of the darkness of the house and raises an eyebrow. you both had plans for tonight, but the house is quiet and everything was shut off.

simon activates the alarm system and walks through the house, footsteps leading to your shared bedroom.

and then he pauses. “love…”

there you lay, head tucked into the pillow, cookie monster plush you sleep with whenever your boyfriend isn’t home in hand, your breaths coming out in soft puffs.

he sighs again and sits right next to you on the bed, threading through your hair with his fingers. and after a moment of just.. admiring you, he stands again and walks into the bathroom.

after simon’s shower, he opens a drawer and slips on his underwear, and a pair of sweatpants. then he sits on the bed next to you again, admiring again.

“I know you’re awake.”

silence.

“love.”

your eyes open just to narrow at him.

you wrap the sheet tighter around your body. “leave me alone.”

simon smiles— just slightly, and he ruffles your hair softly before laying next to you, pulling your body close to his. his head nuzzles into your shoulder, a huge arm is thrown across your waist and you resist the urge to sink your teeth into it.

“didn’t we have plans tonight?” he asks softly.

“we had plans two hours ago.”

simon freezes

regains his composure

and looks at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

22:00

“shit. i’m so sorry, baby-“

“save it.”

the resistance dissolves and you finally do bite his arm, but he doesn’t even blink. you’re not surprised, but it does annoy you even more.

“let go, you big dummy.”

simon chooses to respond to that by pulling you closer and you grumble to yourself.

“i’m so sorry, love- i lost track of time. let me make it up to you.”

“no.”

“please, dove.”

this huge man looking at you— begging you for another chance, begging you to not be mad at him, and it does something to you. you almost hate it.

“nope.”

“dove-“

a loud groan tears from your throat and you turn to face him. “we had a date night, simon. date night. you’ve been so busy with work recently that i was hoping you would at least take some time to focus on me. at least for a few hours. but you wouldn’t! and you didn’t even let me know you were gonna be late, you just strolled in here like I would just fall for some half-assed apology-“

“love.”

you sigh and lay flat on your back, rolling your eyes. “you’re an asshole..”

“the biggest.”

you roll your eyes again. “you have to make it up to me.”

simon’s eyes soften even more if they even can and he leans down toward you to press light kisses to the soft skin of your face.

“and i will. as much as you need me to. i’ll never stop making it up to you until you have me again because you’re right. i should’ve paid more attention to you and i will from now on. starting now. anything you want from me.”

your lips jut out in thought and you sit up again, forcing him to sit up as well. “right now… right now i just want to spend time with you. tomorrow, however, begins my reign of terror.”

that makes simon smile. he pulls you into a tight hug while whispering into your ear, “i expect nothing less, dove.”

then he kisses you- and all the love and apology is evident in the way his lips move against yours, in how he’s gently pushing you flat against the bed and how he’s caging you in with those giant, tattooed arms of his.

his fingers slip under his your top and pulls it clean off of you, lips trailing kisses to your jawline and then sucking little hickeys onto your neck.

“i promise i’ll do anything for you, dove.”