going crazy thinking about Simon coming across a girl when she's recently been kicked out or evicted and has nowhere to go (no family, friends are just not helping at all or can't because they don't have a couch for her to sleep on) somehow through happenstance and he takes her back to his place even though she's apprehensive and puts up a fuss about it :(( makes her sleep in his huge bed while he takes the couch and feeds her. he's not much of a conversationalist but when she offers to cook, he barks at her to go sit on the couch and watch a show.
ex-military Simon who's been retired for years now, maybe works as a track maintainer at a railway or something, finds this poor, sad girl wandering around the streets at night, looking terrified out of her wits and just drags her back home. he's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the tv while she shivers and shakes on the couch.
he's too much of a dipshit to reassure her that she's safe and sound, and he honestly barks and snaps a lot because he's used to ordering people around and also you know he's constantly dealing with chronic pain, so he's a bit testy. when he goes to work in the morning, he takes his only key and says "Don't think about leaving - any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass" so she has to spend the day puttering around the apartment, watching tv and cleaning. and then he bitches when he comes home because he didn't tell her to clean.
i just love the dynamic of rough, abrasive provider man and lachrymose, downtrodden girl who just wants to make it up to him for taking her in, even though he keeps rebuffing all her attempts because he has no idea how to communicate that she doesn't owe him shit lol.
farmer-soap loves coming home to a warm house and a full plate of food on the table. he's soaked in sweat, his white shirt sticking to his skin almost transparent. his scent musky as you breathe it in, his masculinity almost ruining and making your lace panties wet right then and there. he's a hardworking lad, meaning he needs a lot of food, but he's always craving something more — something more sweet...
he finds himself between and your supple thighs, flesh and fat spilling from his thick and rough fingers as he laps and sucks at your drooling pussy for hours. you're nearing your fifth orgasm, way too overstimulated and seeing stars each time he stimulates your sensitive, raw clit with his tongue. you can barely keep up with the way he drags his warm and wet tongue along your soaken and slick folds, his rough scottish accent causing you to bite your bottom lip as euphoria drips from your cunt.
“jus’ so pretty like’this... ain’t‘cha, lassie? perfect for dessert, aye?” he attempts to get an answer out of you, to hear your voice crack and tremble while he sucks your clit harshly, but all that comes out is broken sobs, your voice wavering and incoherent as you beg for your orgasm like a greedy whore.
but instead, this time he'll make sure you cum down his wet cock, to have you full and shaking. after all, he needs a release after all his hard work!
Simon comes home that first night while you’re asleep.
Kicks off his boots by the door and doesn’t even bother changing out of his uniform when he slips into bed beside you. You hadn’t seen him in six months, and you really wanted to pick him up from the airport, but he’d insisted gruffly over the phone that’d he find his own way home.
“Are you sure? You’re going to be tired-“
“Don’t,” he’d breathed on the other side. “Don’t push this. I’ll get a cab.”
You should’ve known right then and there what version of Simon was coming home to you. It was strange, almost like he didn’t want to see you.
You wake up when he gets in the bed, but his body feels cold and foreign next to you. He’s still clothed, and you imagined that he might wake you up to at least give you a kiss, but instead he says nothing. Just lays there, eyes closed, and you’re almost certain he’s pretending to be asleep so you don’t try talking to him.
Things only get worse from there.
Over the next few days, Simon lives up to his name. He’s uncomfortably quiet around you, except to complain about small, stupid things.
“I told you not to go through my stuff while I was gone,” he had grumbled one day. Noticing that you had moved one of his books from his bedside table.
“It was just that one book,” you’d said quietly. “I was trying to clean up before you-“
“‘Don’t go through my stuff’ means don’t touch anything. Is that understood?”
Your tongue poked your cheek. You didn’t want to push his buttons. “Understood. Sorry.”
You try your best to give him space.
But Simon’s presence is starting to get suffocating. He hasn’t kissed you once since coming home. You’d try asking him how his time was, if anything had happened that he wanted to talk about, but he’d just shake his head in irritation and say there’s nothing to talk about.
One evening, you come home from work after grabbing some takeout for dinner.
Simon’s in the bedroom when you arrive. Large frame hunched over his desk, headphones clamped over his masked ears, and the music is so loud you can hear it from the doorway.
“Babe, I brought dinner,” you tell him, tapping his shoulder.
He tenses from your touch but nods, shucking off the headphones and following you to the kitchen.
You don’t even get the chance to eat before he’s looking at you intently, asking, “Did you remember to grab the thing for my car?”
His car. You freeze by the kitchen counter. You’d completely forgotten; he’d asked you to get… something because his car hadn’t been working for him since he got back. You told him to just take it to the shop but he said could fix it himself.
“What thing again?” you practically squeak.
The air shifts. “The breaker bar.”
“No… no, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
You’re expecting it at this point, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. Simon snaps. You see it in his eyes, a darkness flashing through them that you don’t see often. His hands roll up at his sides.
“Do you… know how to listen?” he asks coldly, voice low. “I told you where to find it and everything. You said you would.”
“I’ll get it tomorrow-“
“That’s not the point. First, you…” he’s shaking his head to himself, “First, you touch my stuff after I told you not to. And yesterday, you didn’t listen to me about-“
“Simon,” you cut him off, frowning. “I am not perfect. I make mistakes.”
“Well, you wouldn’t make so many mistakes if you just did what you’re told.”
His voice is at a level that makes you shiver. You normally love the sound of his voice, miss it like crazy when he leaves, but right now, it’s hurting you. Making your eyes turn damp and the hairs on your arms stand up.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” you find the strength to snap at him. “You’re overreacting, Simon.”
“Overreacting?” He scoffs and you can see the veins on his forearms ticking. “This is more than… Do you know what happens when people make stupid mistakes? They fuckin’ die.”
In the back of your mind, you realize that Simon is unintentionally admitting to you what’s bothering him. Something happened. Something awful, something even he couldn’t just forget, and he brought it all the way home with him. Been taking it out on you all week long.
And on any other day, you might have had the patience to deal with it. But today, your durable patience is cracking at every seam, unable to handle the way he’s been treating you.
“Jesus, Simon, this isn’t a life or death situation,” you furrow your brows. “I’m not a soldier.”
“Thank god you’re not,” he barks. “You’d get everyone killed. Can’t follow simple fuckin’ instructions.”
“What are you trying to say? What, Simon? That I’m stupid?”
“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes out through flared nostrils. “Maybe you are.”
Your patience is nowhere to be found as his words hang in the air. Hurt, and beyond fed up with him, you tear your wet eyes away from his darkened ones and walk away to the bedroom, locking the door behind you because you don’t want to be anywhere near him.
Soaking the pillows with your tears, you feel defeated. Six months without him had been painful; your heart aching whenever you made yourself a cup of tea, wishing he was there. You’d been so worried about him coming home, but now that he’s here, you wish he wasn’t. It feels hard to breathe, even as your tears dry and you lay there depleted.
You hear the shower run.
You hear shuffling around outside, somewhere in the living room.
Then finally, sometime after midnight, there’s the gentlest of knocks at the door.
“Can I come in?” a low voice hesitates on the other side.
You sit up on the bed and tell him yes. Once Simon’s in the room, the sight of him brings tears to your eyes once again. You thought you were done crying. You keep wiping at your cheeks, but he kneels in front of you and grabs your hands, replacing them with his own as he brushes his thumbs to your tears. It’s uncharacteristic of him to get on his knees like this. Submitting to you in remorse.
“Sorry,” he whispers. He bows his head. “I’ve been awful. You deserve… s’much better.”
“I can handle you ignoring me,” you croak. “I can’t handle you being mean, Simon.”
“No,” he narrows his eyes. “Don’t. You shouldn’t have to handle either of those.”
You nod in agreement as his hands splay over your thighs and rub them gently.
“Something’s hurting you,” you whisper carefully. “Something happened. Maybe… maybe you need to talk to someone.”
Hours ago, you might’ve worried about what he’d say. But now, his anger has dissipated, washed away by the hot shower he took and the sound of your crying in the bedroom. It pained him. He hated himself for not knowing how to deal with these feelings without being a dick to you.
Finally, head falling to your lap, he says, “Maybe I do.”
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