couldn't stop thinking about england x argentina yesterday on the semifinals || warnings: none! pure fluff
and simon riley, the usually very composed man, a man who really doesn't care that much about soccer, throwing a big tantrum when argentina starts scoring against england
you widen your eyes as he nearly flips the coffee table with the way he cheers at england’s goal, screaming in a way you never seen before
only for him to yell at the players when argentina scored their first goal by the end of the second half
“bloody muppets.” he shouted, his heavy english accent sipping through his irritated voice.
“honey…” you tried cooing at him, but he was tense, and gently pushed you aside so he wouldn't hurt you if he jumped or got even madder.
“not now, lovie.” he said in a surprisingly sweet tone, still holding your knee to anchor himself as he watched the added time.
he sank even deeper in the couch after the second goal, holding the bridge of his nose as his nostrils flared with annoyance.
“honey…” you said again, reaching for his hand. he wrapped a hand over yours and took a deep breath, then stood up.
“not. now. lovie.” he said, forcing himself to sound gentle as he went towards your shared bedroom.
you laughed to yourself at the stupidity of your man, a giant and intimidating wall of muscles, who never cared that much about this, getting upset at the loss (and rightfully so).
