a chronically tired reader x husband simon riley who’ll do absolutely anything for her??
like rub her feet, help her shower, help her clean her teeth, her hair etc?? <33
it’s not like you were doing it on purpose
pairing: husband!simon "ghost" riley x chronically tired wife!reader
summary: your husband takes good care of you and things around the house
a/n: what a cute request, anon <33 had so much fun writing!!! requests are open!!
your husband was supposed to be returning home sometime soon.
simon was sent on a mission for only two weeks this time, one of the shortest in his career, but it has felt like an eternity for you. your chronic tiredness has not been treating you well these last couple weeks.
it’s not like you were doing it on purpose. a few dishes in the sink turned into piles, garbage started overflowing in the trash bins around your home, some finding refuge on the floor, your dirty laundry basket spilling over with your clothes— all the chores you’ve neglected since your husband’s been gone.
you haven’t been able to get out of bed, and when you did, it was to lay on your couch. no matter how much you slept, it never got better. you could sleep for over twelve hours and still feel drowsy when you woke, like you could use another fourteen hours of sleep.
you couldn’t even muster up the energy to shower most days, nor brush your poor teeth and hair. you were just so tired all the time, your body always feeling sore in random areas.
knowing your husband was returning later, you planned on cleaning up your disgusting mess before he arrived. he’s spent the last two weeks living in tight, dingy bunkers getting shot at, so you wanted him to be greeted with a spotless house.
things didn’t go quite as planned.
your chronic tiredness having other ideas, you fell asleep on the couch before you could start.
“sweet’eart?” simon calls out, removing his size 13 boots as he closed the front door to your shared home.
the beefy brit shrugged off his jacket, a groan leaving him as his sore muscles ached. hanging the jacket in its designated spot on the coat rack, “m’ home!” he called again, voice louder.
he heard no response back, thinking to himself, wonda where she ‘s?
rounding the corner, he saw the overfilled trash bin first, using his hand to compress the garbage. “hon’?,” your husband tries again, tying the bag off.
he placed the trash bag beside the front door, turning on his heel to search for you. he can take out the trash later, he needed to find his wife now.
passing the kitchen, the brute’s eyes landed on the sink— plates, cups, silverware, skillets, spatulas— any dish you would find inside kitchen cabinets sat cluttered underneath the faucet.
continuing to the living room, he spotted you laid across the couch. the slow rise and fall of your chest made your husband’s eyes soften, content with how your were looking so peaceful.
he quickly moved to throw a blanket over your goosebump covered skin, saddened at how his precious wife fell asleep before she could even cover herself. how long had you been cold for?
placing a kiss on your forehead after, the man got to work, wanting to help relieve some of the stress on your shoulders.
your husband knows you’ve been struggling with your chronic tiredness for a few months, and with him being absent these last two weeks, he could only imagine what it’s been like here for you. he wanted to assist in anyway he could.
simon walked to your shared bedroom, having a feeling he probably needed to start a load of laundry. his instincts being correct— he carried the laundry basket into the laundry room, throwing your clothes into the washing machine.
the brute started the dishes in his succeeding actions, placing all the dirty cups, plates, bowls, and silverware inside the dishwasher. he started the cycle, a beep being heard from the machine.
the man had to hand wash the cooking utensils— because they didn’t fit it was better for them to be cleaned like that anyways— all the skillets, pots, pans, and spatulas put into their respective areas after he hand dried them.
then he went around the house, collecting all the trash he could. empty soda cans and half filled water bottles sporadically sat on counters and tables, crumpled papers (your husband assumed was from your journaling), junk food wrappers, all shoved into the trash bag, simon tying it off after he made sure the house was spotless.
he grabbed the first trash bag from beside the front door and proceeded to carry both bags outside to the wheeled bin. trash comes tomorrow. m’ should go ‘head and roll it to tha edge, he thought, using his gruff hands to pull the bin down the driveway.
when he returned back inside, he placed new trash bags into the trash bins around the house and washed his hands.
buzz the washing machine signaled the first load was done, your husband walking over to transfer your wet clothes into the dryer. simon went ahead and put a second load of your clothes into the washing machine too, seeing your basket was still full. you probably had one load left after this.
tha house ‘s clean for ‘er now. hope she likes it, your husband rubbed a hand across his face, eyes fixating on your sleeping form.
simon lifted your legs, plopping himself onto the couch, resting them above his meaty thighs. he started lightly rubbing your feet— a slow and sensual massage for his sweet fawn.
he missed you so fucking much while he was away, his mind only consumed with getting back home to you the last fourteen days.
he softly dug his thumbs into the soles of your feet, small shhh’s cooing out of him at your silent quivering.
the man couldn’t help himself, bringing your feet towards his mouth, littering soft kisses across your toes. this awoken you, the pleasure lulling you from your slumber, “hi, sweet’eart,” you heard your husband’s deep voice, “m’ back,” accent thick. you felt him place another kiss, this time on the dorsum of your foot, “m’ missed ya so,” one more kiss, “so much, hon.”
“si?” you groggily question, fingertips rubbing your eyes. “m’ ‘ere, baby,” you heard him respond, now recognizing he was also caressing your feet.
“oh my gosh— si!” you hastily jumped off the couch, stumbling a little to catch your balance, “y-you’re not supposed t-to be here yet,” stumbling a little over your words.
you watched your husband stand from the couch, a small grunt escaping him, “yer not happy to see m’?” he holds his arms out, waiting for you to hug him.
your eyes widened at his assumption, “no! i am happy to see you,” swiftly moving into his hold, “i missed you so much too, simon.” the familiar feeling of the beefy brit’s biceps wrapping tightly around you provided some comfort, but you couldn’t stop the sudden water works.
simon pulled away from you, raising his hand to lift under your chin, forcing eye contact. he frowned at the sight of his sweet wife, big tears rolling down her blushed cheeks, hints of purple under her enchanting eyes— the brute just wanted to help you. “wha’s wrong, hon?”
a sob left you, your husband using his other hand to rub circles on your back. “i-i needed to clean the house before y-you got here,” you cried out, “i wanted to get ready too, b-but of course i fucking fell asleep.”
simon pulled you back into a hug, knowing you probably needed comfort and for him to just listen to you. “i’m sorry, simon. i wanted everything to be nice f-for you when you got back home,” he listened to you hiccup out.
he slid his massive hands up and down your spine, eventually choosing to reach behind your thighs, lifting you. muscle memory responded, your arms encircling his neck, your legs tightening around his waist— your husband’s koala bear.
“haven’t been keeping up with myself o-or chores since you left,” you told him, simon walking you both up the stairs to your bedroom. he kissed your cheek, a hand moving under your ass for better support, “it’s alrigh’. yer okay.”
“i-i feel so pathetic, simon,” you whimpered, your husband walking past your bed, to your bathroom, “i’m just tired.” he placed you on top of the bathroom sink, kissing your forehead while you released him.
“m’ sweet wife,” he kissed your lips, “yer so fuckin’ perfect, y/n.” he kissed you again, tasting salt from the tears on your face. “handled everythin’ for ya, sweet’eart. did tha dishes, laundry, took out tha trash. know yer tired,” he kneeds your thigh, his hand swallowing it, “jus’ let m’ take care of it, hon.” a beat. “let m’ take care of ya.”
this only upset you more, wailing, “you’ve been away on a mission, simon! living in small, grimy bunkers. i k-know you’re tired! you’re getting s-shot at and escaping d-death—” your hand covered your mouth, simon bringing his to remove it. “don’ mean nothin’,” he kisses your knuckles now, “will always take care of ya and suppor’ ya. wanna be there for ya.”
you looked into your husband’s eyes, heart melting at his sweet words, “ya just gotta let m’, y/n.”
a few seconds passed, the sensation of your husband’s hands on your thighs making you relax more. i really did miss simon.
nodding your head, “yes, si,” sniffling your nose.
your husband smiled, kissing your lips, satisfied with your answer. “good girl.”
he turned away from you, the sound of water pattering filling the air, “gonna take one togetha,” he motioned to the shower.
simon undressed himself first, shifting to you to help remove your clothes. “thank you,” you told him, kissing his shoulder before he grabbed you off the counter.
he held the curtain open, grabbing your hand to help you step in, following after you, “‘s tha water too hot, fawn?” “no, si.”
your husband took time to scrub your body, gently massaging the tight knots he found across your back, stealing a few kisses along your shoulders. when he began washing himself, you crossed your arms over your chest, “seriously?” he laughed, handing you the washcloth so you could return the favor. you had to use your elbows on some of simon’s knots, your fingers being too small for them. of course your husband got huge knots, everything about simon was big!
he began washing your hair next, lathering the strawberry scented shampoo through your locks of hair threaded between his scarred digits. “lean yer head back, luvie’,” he directed, using the shower head to rinse your hair. “needa do yer conditiona’ now,” he repeated his actions, the conditioner frothing. “feels so good, si,” you hummed, lightly rocking on your heels.
you shampooed and conditioned your husband’s hair when he finished yours, the large man having to slightly lean down for you to reach— he loves accommodating himself to your height. you snuck kisses along his jaw and neck, down his sculpted chest and abs, eliciting a hushed groan from him. “love ya so much,” he smooched your head.
you both got dressed in your matching pjs, simon choosing them for you two, “wan’ to match with m’ sweet wife.” “great idea, simon!” you happily clapped, smiling up at him.
he brought you back to bathroom when you were clothed, squeezing some toothpaste over your toothbrush, “open for m’.”
you obeyed, the brute beginning to brush your teeth. he made sure to reach every side, the man using his thumb to pull your mouth apart wider, “stick yer tongue out.” following his command, ahhhh fled from your throat as he brushed the pink muscle, “atta’ girl.”
simon dried your hair for you, even detangling the strands, “sorry, luvie’,” when you’d slightly wince. “it’s alright, si!”
“light yer candle for us, yeah?” your husband asked, walking out your bedroom. continuing down the stairs, he shouted, “needa finish tha last load of laundry!” “i will, si!” you called back.
now, you were laying in your bed with your husband, entangled in one another’s arms, legs sprawled over his. some tv show you and simon started before he left played on the screen, laughs occasionally leaving both of you.
your chronic tiredness made some activities difficult for you to deal with alone, but having an amazing, nurturing, and loving husband by your side, made it much more manageable.
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