‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ you work at the convenience store and sukuna works at his family car workshop by its side, which means you guys acknowledge each other daily but never really talk. that is, until he notices you crying while sitting on the curb, capri sun gripped in your hands, and an unusual relationship blooms between you two. a relationship that both of you try to preserve desperately, at some point, but life sometimes has other plans.
contents. sukuna x fem reader! fluff • first times • awkward reader • sukuna is down bad but he won’t admit it • eventual smut • angst • hurt/comfort • eventual after high school -> adulthood timeskip in later chapters • friends to lovers to strangers to lovers?? the art belongs to @/to00fu !!
‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ you work at the convenience store and sukuna works at his family car workshop by its side, which means you guys acknowledge each other daily but never really talk. that is, until he notices you crying while sitting on the curb, capri sun gripped in your hands, and an unusual relationship blooms between you two.
contents. sukuna x fem reader! fluff • first times • awkward reader • sukuna is down bad but he won’t admit it • eventual smut • angst • hurt/comfort • eventual after high school -> adulthood timeskip in later chapters.
the summer had been creeping in quietly, the way it always did in this forgotten corner of the suburbs—longer evenings that stretched the daylight into golden haze, warm air thick with the faint, dusty tang of sun-baked asphalt and overgrown weeds pushing through sidewalk cracks. cicadas hummed earlier each day, their relentless drone seeping through open windows like a promise of heatwaves to come, a persistent soundtrack that seemed to accelerate time itself.
at school, faded graduation banners hung crookedly from the rusted gates, fluttering limply in the breeze like surrender flags. teachers had long stopped pretending anyone cared about final lessons; they just droned through attendance, their voices blending into the chatter of students scrolling phones and trading gossip about post-grad freedom, about escape, about everything waiting beyond these walls.
high school was ending.
and somehow, you were leaving it exactly the way you had entered it three years ago— invisible, adrift, alone, like a ghost who'd learned to walk through hallways without anyone to see.
your family's convenience store sat stubbornly on the corner like it always had, a little box squeezed between the narrow, pothole-riddled road and the low concrete bulk of the auto workshop next door.
it had been there before you were born, would probably be there long after you left— assuming you ever found a way out. its faded sign flickered intermittently, buzzing like a trapped fly against the glass, the letters worn thin by sun and neglect. inside, fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on scuffed linoleum floors sticky from spilled sodas, the kind of place people passed through but never stayed.
the bell above the door chimed every few minutes, a tinny jingle that marked the parade of regulars: weary construction workers grabbing packs of cigarettes and black coffee before dawn shifts, kids on bikes snatching candy bars with sticky fingers, tired mothers with overflowing baskets of instant noodles and cheap frozen meals, their faces etched with the same exhaustion you saw in the mirror.
after school, you worked the register; scanning barcodes with mechanical precision, stocking shelves with cans of off-brand soda and bags of chips that crunched under your fingers, wiping down sticky counters that never stayed clean. you smiled when you had to, a tight-lipped curve of your lips that never reached your eyes, because that's what kept the customers coming back, that's what kept the business running, that's what was expected. you had learned early that performance mattered more than feeling.
and every afternoon, like clockwork, the workshop next door roared to life, shattering the store's dull rhythm.
metal clanged sharply against metal— wrenches dropping, hoods slamming. engines revved with guttural growls that vibrated through the shared wall, sending faint tremors into the soda fridge, making the bottles inside clink against each other like nervous teeth. loud voices carried through the open garage doors, rough laughter and barked orders from the men who worked there, oil-stained shirts clinging to sweat-slicked backs.
the air outside grew heavy with the sharp bite of motor oil, rubber, and exhaust, mingling with the store's perpetual scent of stale air freshener and artificially flavored slushies. it was a smell you'd come to associate with late afternoons, with the dying sun, with the border between your world and theirs.
and him.
ryomen sukuna.
he worked there with his family— his older brother mostly, from what you'd overheard in passing, fragments of conversation that drifted through open doors like smoke— his presence as commanding as the rumble of an engine tearing through quiet streets.
grease was always smudged somewhere on him: black streaks across his knuckles, up his veined forearms that flexed when he hauled tires or torqued bolts, sometimes even a careless swipe along his sharp jawline, darkening the faint shadow of stubble there. he went to your school— same grade, same echoing hallways, same looming graduation— but your worlds never touched. they weren't even in the same universe.
he was a storm cloud moving through crowded corridors, students parting like the red sea: the quiet ones averted their eyes, whispering about fights he'd won or rumors of trouble with cops; the bold ones trailed him like moths, hoping for a scrap of his attention, a nod of acknowledgment, anything. sukuna never looked particularly interested in any of it. his steps were deliberate, shoulders broad under his worn black tees, pink hair tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to care, tattoos peeking from collars and cuffs— marks that screamed don't approach, don't ask, don't even think about it.
you had never spoken to him, didn’t even want to, although sometimes you were too curious for your own good. you just noticed him, couldn't help it, really. the way he owned every space he stepped into, like gravity bent around him, like the air itself made room. the effortless tilt of his head when he laughed at something crude, the rare flash of sharp teeth that could have been charming if it wasn't slightly terrifying. the way he moved— it was safer to watch from afar, hidden behind the register counter, invisible in plain sight.
sometimes he came into the store.
energy drinks, mostly— cans of monster sweating beads of condensation that left wet rings on the counter. once, a pack of spark plugs wrapped in plastic, the kind you'd seen a thousand times but couldn't name. another time, a box of bandages after what looked like a nasty cut on his hand, the skin around the wound angry and red, and you'd wondered briefly if it hurt, if he'd hissed when the antiseptic hit, if anyone had helped him clean it. you'd ring him up in silence, fingers flying over the keys, avoiding his gaze with the precision of long practice.
the total would flash on the screen: 4.50. 12.99. he'd slide crumpled bills across the counter or tap his chipped card, the screen lighting up green. you'd hand back change, quarters warm from your palm, a receipt fluttering down like a dead leaf. neither of you ever said anything beyond the price. a nod, at most. a grunt. that was the extent of your relationship, if it could even be called that: transactional, forgettable, the kind of interaction that left no trace.
until the day everything hit you at once, like a wave you didn't see coming, like drowning in slow motion.
it was after school, the last week before graduation ceremonies and that final, suffocating assembly where they'd call names alphabetically and you'd walk across a stage to shake hands with people who didn't know you existed.
the hallways buzzed with excitement— clusters of students swapping numbers, planning beach trips to the coast, wild house parties with contraband booze, university orientations in shiny brochures clutched like golden tickets. group photos snapped in the quad, laughter echoing as poses turned silly, arms around shoulders, heads tilted together.
promises flew: "text me all summer!" "we gotta do this again before college scatters us!" "i'll visit, i swear, don't cry!" you stood on the edges, backpack heavy on your shoulders, listening to it all with a hollow ache in your chest that had grown familiar enough to almost ignore.
nobody asked for your number and nobody snapped a picture with you and nobody said, "we should hang out before we all leave town."
you didn't even have anyone to say goodbye to. no yearbook scribbles, no tearful hugs, no shared inside jokes to carry into the unknown. when you'd checked your yearbook that morning— the one you'd paid for like everyone else— you'd found exactly three signatures. one from a teacher who'd written "keep up the good work!" in looping cursive. one from a girl in your english class who'd clearly mistaken you for someone else. and one that just said "have a good summer" in handwriting you didn't recognize. three. out of a class of four hundred.
the feeling clung to you like damp clothes after a rainstorm: heavy, embarrassing, stupidly raw. you tried to shake it off during your shift at the store. you restocked the fridge methodically, shoving bottles into neat rows until your fingers went numb from the cold, until the bones ached. you counted change with exaggerated focus, stacking coins into perfect towers, sliding bills into their slots with precision. you smiled at customers— a harried dad buying diapers, an old lady haggling over lottery tickets like her rent depended on it—your voice steady, automatic: "have a good one," "come again," "that'll be $4.87." the words meant nothing. they were sounds you made to fill space.
but when your shift finally ended and the sky bled into deep orange, painting the workshop's open bays in fiery light, painting the oil stains on the concrete gold, it all came crashing down. the weight of three empty years buckled your knees before you could even make it inside the house attached to the store's back, the small apartment where dinner waited and questions waited and life waited in its endless, grinding routine.
you sank onto the curb between the store and the workshop, back pressed against the rough, graffiti-scratched wall that separated your worlds. knees pulled tight to your chest, you clutched a cold capri sun pouch you'd grabbed from the fridge on impulse— straw still tucked in its side, condensation slicking your palms, the foil crinkling every time you shifted. the pavement bit into your thighs through thin jeans, but you didn't care. the cicadas screamed louder now, mocking you with their endless noise.
and you couldn’t help but cry.
quietly at first, hot tears slipping down your cheeks, blurring the cracks in the sidewalk into rivers, into oceans. you bit your lip, willing it to stop, willing yourself to be normal, to be fine, to be anything other than what you were. but the dam broke— ugly, wrenching sobs that made your shoulders heave, your breath hitch in sharp gasps that scraped your throat raw.
snot dripped, your face twisted in that childish way you hated, the kind of ugly crying no one should ever see, the kind that made you look as broken as you felt. you kept your head buried against your knees, hair curtaining your face, praying the evening shadows would swallow you whole and no one would notice.
unfortunately, the workshop next door was still open, floodlights spilling harsh white across the lot, illuminating everything you wanted hidden.
the sound of heavy footsteps crunched on gravel, stopping just a few feet away.
you froze, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you could feel it in your throat, in your temples, in the places where tears still tracked down your cheeks.
you didn't need to look up to know who it was. that presence—unmistakable, like a shift in air pressure—
"…you done?"
you swiped at your face frantically with your sleeve, mortified heat flooding your cheeks as you stared at a grease stain on the pavement, willing yourself to disappear. "i'm not crying."
a beat of silence passed, thick as the humid air, heavy as the weight in your chest.
"you're sitting on the curb holding a capri sun like it's life support," sukuna said, tone dry as the dust kicking up around his boots, flat as the concrete under you. "and you're crying. i saw.”
you squeezed the pouch harder, the plastic crinkling defensively under your grip, the straw digging into your palm. a weak defense. a pathetic one. "it's cold. helps."
you braced for him to laugh or walk away as he stared down at you— either would shatter you and confirm everything you already believed about yourself.
he didn't leave. his shadow loomed, broad and unmoving, blocking the last of the sun. that somehow made it worse, his silence pressing like a thumb on a bruise.
"did someone die?" he asked after a moment, tone completely serious, which only confused you more.
your breath stuttered. "…what? no. god, no."
"you got dumped?"
you shook your head, fresh tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, hot and unwanted. "i've never dated anyone."
"you fail something? exam? class?"
"…no. i passed everything."
he went quiet again, like he was cycling through a mental checklist and coming up empty, and you were a problem he couldn't quite solve. the distant rev of a test engine idled behind him, underscoring the awkward stretch with mechanical rhythm.
you sniffed hard, pressing your damp sleeve to your runny nose, feeling the fabric grow wet, the mess of yourself in every possible way. the words clawed their way out before you could swallow them back, desperate and unfiltered, torn from somewhere deep.
"high school's ending."
the cicadas filled the uncomfortable silence, relentless and indifferent.
"…and?" he prompted, voice even, but there was no judgment you could detect, just curiosity.
you stared at the ground, throat so tight it ached, pavement blurring anew. "and i didn't make any friends."
the confession hung there, small and pathetic in the open air, smaller than you'd imagined it would sound, more embarrassing out loud than it had been in your head.
"everyone's talking about summer plans," you continued, voice cracking like glass under pressure. "i just stood there, listening to it all week. three years of classes and lunch tables, and nobody even noticed i existed. i was just… there. like background noise. the one kid no one remembered."
you laughed weakly, a choked sound that hurt coming out, wiping your eyes again with a sleeve that was already soaked. "isn't that stupid?"
a long pause stretched, the workshop's clamor fading into white noise, the cicadas seeming to hold their breath.
you risked a glance up, peeking through damp lashes, through the blur of residual tears.
sukuna stood there, arms crossed over his grease-flecked chest, one boot tapping idly on the gravel. a fresh streak of black smeared his forearm, tattoos curling like angry serpents beneath, ink stark against skin. his expression was unreadable— crimson eyes narrowed slightly, assessing, like you were a busted carburetor he was figuring out and he was deciding whether you were worth the effort.
"so make one."
you blinked, brain short-circuiting, “…what?”
"a friend," he repeated, as if it were the simplest fix in the world, as obvious as changing a tire or filling a tank. "you said you don't have one. so make one."
your mouth opened, closed. opened again. "…that's not how that works. you can't just—people have groups already, histories. there's no time to—"
"seems like it is," he shot back, unfazed, cutting through your protest like it was nothing. "you're not dead. start talking."
you stared at him, puffy-eyed and stunned, capri sun forgotten and crushed flatter in your lap, foil crinkling with every small movement.
he stared back, eyebrow arching faintly, as if you were the one making this complicated. you were not? aside from being slightly more awkward than your average teenager, you were normal and perfect capable of being someone’s friend. although the last bit wasn’t proven yet.
the workshop buzzed on behind him— clangs and shouts, the hiss of an air compressor, the rumble of an engine turning over. the evening air hung warm and heavy, carrying faint diesel fumes and the distant smell of someone's dinner cooking. your face still throbbed, nose red, you were a mess, clutching that stupid pouch like a lifeline, like it could save you from drowning on dry land.
before you could talk yourself out of it— before sanity could kick in and remind you who you were talking to— the words tumbled free, reckless and raw, torn from somewhere you didn't know existed.
"…will you be my friend?"
the second they left your mouth, regret hit like a freight train. you wanted the earth to crack open and swallow you, the curb to dissolve, you wanted to disappear into the gravel. what was wrong with you? asking ryomen sukuna— the guy who radiated don't-fuck-with-me energy, the one everyone whispered about like he was a live wire, the one with rumors and a reputation that preceded him like a storm front— to be your friend. while sobbing like a loser and clutching a capri sun like a child.
silence stretched, eternally confusing. your stomach plummeted to your shoes, then through the pavement, then into some infinite void below.
he stared at you, crimson gaze piercing, face unreadable.
you stared back, horrified, heat crawling up your neck, burning your cheeks, making everything worse. "…i mean, you don't have to! forget i said that. i was just—emotional, stupid, i didn't mean—"
"sure."
"…what?"
"sure," he repeated, casual as asking for a pack of cigarettes, shifting his weight like this was no big deal.
you blinked at him, brain rebooting slowly, painfully. "that's… it?"
"what, you want a contract? pinky swear? engraved invitation?" a flicker of something crossed his face— amusement, maybe, or disbelief at your disbelief.
"no, i just—" you floundered, searching his face for the punchline. "why?"
he shrugged, broad shoulders rolling under his shirt, grease flaking off as he uncrossed his arms. "you're here every day. store's right next to the shop. i see you restocking, ringing up idiots, wiping down that counter. might as well make it official."
that… was his reasoning? proximity? convenience? you didn't know whether to laugh, cry again, or pinch yourself to wake up from whatever strange dream this was.
"…so we're friends now?" you asked in a small voice.
"guess so." a ghost of a smirk tugged his lip. “don’t make it weird.”
another pause settled, charged now, electric. he jerked his chin toward the mangled pouch in your hands. "you gonna drink that or just keep strangling it?"
you glanced down— forgotten, warped into a sad pancake, foil crinkled beyond repair. cheeks burning, you fumbled the straw in, stabbing until it punctured, and took a sip. artificial orange flooded your mouth, overly sweet and fizzy, tasting like childhood and sudden, dizzying relief, like something you hadn't known you needed.
sukuna watched for a beat, crimson eyes flicking over you, then he turned on his heel like he was heading back to the workshop's chaos, done with this strange interaction, finished with you.
panic flared hot in your chest— don't go, not yet, please not yet—
"wait."
he paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder, eyebrow quirking, waiting.
you swallowed, voice still small but gaining traction, finding strength you didn't know you had. "…friends hang out, right?"
"…yeah."
"so… do you want to hang out? sometime? i mean, if you're free after—"
he studied you for a long moment, the dying sun catching the pink in his hair, turning it fiery, turning it almost gold at the edges. you held out your capri sun toward him, a pathetic peace offering.
"…we can share this?”
he looked at the pouch, then at you, then back at the pouch.
"…that was just in your mouth."
"…i can get you another one."
he gave you a long-suffering look and sighed, running a grease-streaked hand through his hair, disrupting the already chaotic pink.
"…you're weird."
"…i am? well— kinda—"
"…and you cry on sidewalks."
"it was an accident!"
he stared at you one more second, crimson eyes unreadable, face giving nothing away. then jerked his chin toward the store.
"go get another one."
you blinked, confused, as if you weren’t the one offering a minute ago.
"…get what?"
"capri sun, loser," he said, like you were slow. "grape."
your heart stuttered, skipped, restarted.
"…that's a yes?"
he turned, already walking back toward the workshop, toward the noise and the grease and the life you'd watched from afar for so long. you scrambled to your feet, knees protesting, capri sun crushing further in your grip.
"wait—!"
he stopped, half-turning.
"…what."
you clutched the crushed pouch to your chest, feeling your heartbeat through the foil. "…hi. i'm—"
"i know," he cut in, flat and certain. "i read your nametag."
your mouth opened and closed uselessly. "…oh."
and then he walked back into the workshop, swallowed by the noise and by the world you'd never been part of.
you stood there on the curb, staring after him, watching the space where he'd been, feeling the evening air warm on your skin.
your eyes still stung and your face was still puffy and your life was still a mess, still uncertain, still terrifyingly empty in so many ways. but for the first time all day— you were smiling.
just before he disappeared completely, his voice carried back to you, low and steady,
"i get off at eight."
and just like that, your summer started. not with parties or plans or promises from ghosts. not with numbers in a yearbook or invitations to beaches or group chats you'd never be part of.
but with him, with the hum of cicadas and the promise of eight o'clock ticking closer, with the taste of artificial orange still sweet on your tongue and the weight of a crushed pouch in your hand.
thinking about husband!simon, who pays for everything his wife’s heart desires
husband!simon, who regularly checks up on his bank account, only to see what kind of stuff his wife bought now.
The most unhinged thing you had ever paid with his card was probably, if Simon had to guess, his own present of a car.
Yes, you had decided to buy your husband a new car as a birthday present, with his own money
Safe to say, he was a little bit taken aback when he saw a brand new dodge in his driveway, a big red bow on top of the hood.
Taken aback, but not surprised, nor shocked, because Simon knew when he signed up for the lifelong relationship with you called “marriage”, that you would always find new ways to make his life exciting.
And right now, you were in your “spending-era”, as you liked to call it.
At that, a question formed in Simons head; had there ever been a time, where you had not been in your “spending-era”?
Simon didn’t remember a single date where you had to pay, all the groceries were paid by him, expenses and bill charged to his card, decorations and furniture for the house billed to his name.
Of course, he wasn’t mad, he always encouraged you to save the money you made with your own job for yourself.
In case, you know, something happened to him.
In his line of work, everything was fast paced, life could be over any minute.
He wanted you to be able to provide for yourself, even if he wasn’t there anymore to bring home more than ten grand each month.
But giving you gifts, being able to see the smile on your face when you bought your sixth set of tableware and matching decorations for your themed dinner parties, Simon thought of himself as the happiest man alive.
Seeing you admire a painting you bought from some bloody artist because you said it matched the “energy and vibes” of your living room, even though Simon was sure his talented wife could have done that for a lot less money, then so be it.
When going out shopping, Simon never complained. He’d stand at your side, like a silent guardian, only waiting for you to ask him questions like “wouldn’t this fit perfectly with the throw pillows in the guest bedroom?”
He’d nod, hum and say “Absolutely, luv”, all while watching a radiant smile grow on your beautiful face at his response.
Occasionally, you bought things Simon deemed a little bit useless. Like a lawnmower robot. He was very much capable of doing that himself, and you knew that. He felt a bit hurt in his pride as the hardworking man he was, but as soon as you gave that thing a name and he realised how convenient that thing truly was, he was immensely thankful for your immaculate shopping ability.
It all took a turn though, when one day, a package was delivered to your door step. Simon looked at whom it was addressed to, of course it was for you.
He put in on the living room table, waiting for you to get home.
While checking his bank statements, he realised, that you didn’t order anything in the last few days, so either this package just so happened to come belatedly, or you had the audacity to pay on your own.
Confusion simmered in Simon, and when you got home, he immediately asked, if you thought him poor.
“What, no? Why?” You looked at him in disbelief, shoes just kicked off while you were still standing in the entryway of your shared home.
“A package came in today, but I didn’t see anything on my card that matches” He explained, hanging up your coat for you and taking your heavy handbag from your hands.
“Oh, wait, it came?” Suddenly, your voice grew giddy, as if you had been waiting a long time for this.
That must be it, Simon thought. Just a slow shipping process.
However, he realised he must’ve been wrong when after dinner, you sat him down on the table, told him to close his eyes and wait. He heard you opening the package, seemingly get frustrated when it didn’t open as easy as you wanted it to.
“Luv, do you need my help-“ “Don’t you dare open your eyes, Simon Riley, or I will gauge them out myself!” Your voice was threatening, making Simon laugh to himself. All while sitting at the head of his dinner table, eyes closed, looking like an absolute idiot.
After a few minutes, you were finished.
Your hands covered Simons eyes, heartbeat loud in your ears.
“Okay… you may open your eyes now” Your voice was carrying excitement. You took a deep breath, mentally prepared and then pulled your hands off of his eyes.
Simon blinked a few times to adjust to the light, gaze falling onto the basket laid out before him.
pov: husband!simon accidentally calls his wife “fat”
tw: talk of reader being of a certain body type (simon “calls her fat”, then he says she is far from it), proceed with caution if you have any issues with portrayed body imagery <3
part 2 to this drabble (i highly recommend reading part 1 first)
︶⊹︶︶𖥔 ︶︶⊹︶︶𖥔 ︶︶⊹︶︶𖥔 ︶︶⊹︶︶⠀𖥔
“You’re pregnant?”
All the giddiness your face had just been radiating left it just as fast as it came.
“Are you calling me fat?”
Simons heart stopped beating for a second. His eyes went wide, his hands started trembling.
This is it, he thought.
This is the end.
Simon held his breath.
This was how he was going to die.
At the hands of his own wife, he’d find his sweet demise, the ending of a life fulfilled.
Strangled, he soon be nothing but decomposing in a grave.
A grave in the backyard of his own home, the backyard that he landscaped with his own hands.
His dog tags resting on her night stand, a silent evidence of who once lied beside you.
Would you burn his clothes? Would you donate them?
Simon was not so sure.
In fact, Simon wasn’t sure about anything right now, it seemed.
Was all that time, effort and money wasted because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut? Because he so deeply insulted his own wife, the most important thing to ever exist?
At this point, he was sure he deserved it.
He was ready to die at your hands for the sin he committed.
Closing his eyes, he waited. He counted to ten.
He was sure he felt the earth moving.
He sucked a breath in when your voice reached his ears again.
“Did you just call me fat?”
Oh no. You were really mad. And you were going to let him feel it.
He would leave this earth, while his wife would be mad at him.
Simon was sure, you being mad at him and him not having the time anymore to apologise properly was the greatest punishment one could order upon his earthly existence.
You being mad at him for all eternity was worse than death itself. Hell, even you being mad at him for a fraction of a second was worse than death.
“And now he doesn’t even disagree, you hate me, don’t you? You want me to disappear from your life forever, it’s best if I just die, right?” Your voice grew louder, accusations heavy in the room as your temper became evident.
Simon saw only one way to fix this.
In a moment, so fast you could have missed his movement if you blinked, he was on his knees, grasping the back of your thighs.
“My love, my dear, sweetheart. Dove, my one and only. Mrs Y/N Riley, the light of my life, dearest. Luv. I do not hate you, I do not think you as fat, and if you disappeared from my life, whether through death or else, you’d take all the light and joy and colour with you” His eyes grew pleading. He was really pushing his brain to its limits here to form such words, cut him some slack.
“Oh, so you think I’m not fat, but in reality I am?” You were offended, and very obviously, not cutting him any slack.
Damnit
Simons expression grew more and more desperate by the second, his frustration and regret were so apparent, for a man normally so stoic, so emotionally unavailable.
“Please, luvie, forgive me for being so dumb and not speaking correctly; you ARE not fat, nor will you ever be, you have the perfect size, your body is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on, may I be please be forgiven?” His face grew pleading, dark eyes staring up at you from where he knelt.
This had to be one of the top ten moments of Simon being emotional.
“Hmph” You looked to the side and crossed your arms.
Simon swore he heard his heart shatter in his chest.
“My dove, please. Anything. Do you want a new car? New clothes? Anything?”
That made your head whip back around to look down on him.
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m fat and that I need a new car because I’m too lazy and fat to walk, and that’s why I’m fat? Are you saying I gained so much weight that my old clothes don’t fit anymore? That I look-“ You took a deep breath.
“Too fat in them?”
Simon was speechless.
How did he fuck up this badly?
It all started with him being a little bit outraged on how you had the audacity to pay for your own stuff, with your money, like, be for real, how could you?
Simon had felt so utterly betrayed in that moment, only for him to later realise you wanted to surprise him.
I mean, how would he know, the birthday present of a car he got from you, was paid with his card. You normally weren’t that big on keeping a secret a secret.
I mean, you were married, bloody hell.
There was nothing you needed to hide from him.
So why has turned something that was supposed to be something he does with your good and wellbeing in mind, into this?
This hunk of a man kneeling in front of your much smaller (and definitely not fat) stature, defeated and looking like a kicked puppy.
That man had killed people with his bare hands, and what brought him to his knees, was his darling wife, who could simultaneously be the nicest and cruelest person he knew.
Simon did not know what to say. This situation was so bizarre, even for your standards.
I mean, you cried over the coaster at the bottom of the stack once, because -and he quotes- “it must feel so alone down there and so unlovable and undeserving of being used and so useless, I am so sorry”.
Yeah, that was a pretty bizarre situation.
He only used that coaster from then on, by the way.
But this?
He didn’t know how to fix this.
He looked at you, puzzled look on his handsome face, mouth slightly open. Even like this, brows pulled together with rage and something that he couldn’t name, you were the most beautiful woman to ever grace this downright devilish earth.
Suddenly, your eye started twitching.
Uh-oh. Simon thought. She truly is going to strangle me.
All of a sudden, you burst out laughing.
Toppling over, you hold your stomach and scream while laughing.
“Oh- Fuck, Si-“ You couldn’t get the words out, always interrupting yourself by laughing more, louder, while Simon sat there, still on his knees, all confused.
“Oh- Oh shit” Tears escaped your eyes as you tried getting it together but ultimately failed.
Simon did not understand what was happening, at all, but he still felt himself smiling at how your laugh echoed through the room, how gorgeous you looked while laughing, how much you glowed.
Catching your breath, you sat down on the chair next to the one he had previously been sitting on until he started begging for your forgiveness.
“Si- Oh, wait, let me breathe for a second” You reached for your glass of water to take a big gulp. “Okay, okay. Whew. Simon, baby, it was a prank!”
That left Simon even more confused.
“What?” He stood up, sitting back down on the chair to look at the basket again.
“The ‘did you just call me fat’-part.” Now you were serious again, your full on grin being no more than a small, nervous smile now.
After your spontaneous prank on your husband you were now taken back to reality. The basket in front of your man confirmed just that.
His breath hitched as he took a closer look.
Ultrasound pictures, a small plushie in the form of a little green t-rex, a black t-shirt that read “LIEUTENANT DADDY” in bold, white letters. And of course, a pregnancy test, wrapped in a plastic bag. Three, to be exact.
Simon felt his heart clench. You had gone through so much effort, all to be able to surprise him like this.
His eyes felt wet all of a sudden.
“Simon?” Your voice was soft, almost trembling, as if you were scared. And you were. So, so scared.
Simons past and his job left little to hope, almost nothing to love and almost no love to give.
You were scared he’d abandon you because he couldn’t take on the burden of another, another weakness of his.
But all your worries were useless, you realised; Simon was crying.
The second time in the years you have known him.
First on the day of your wedding.
And right now, silent tears slid down his cheeks, getting caught on his shiver of a beard.
His lower lip was slightly trembling, so light you almost missed it.
“Simon-“ You were interrupted, his strong, thick arms wrapping tightly around you, crushing you to his plush chest.
“I love you so bloody much” His tears wet your shoulder as he craned his neck to buy his eyes in the safety of your collarbones.
Suddenly, your eyes started burning too.
Feelings of relief, excitement, fear of what was to come, love for the man infront of you, everything all at once, it washed over you. It was overwhelming in the best sense, your own arms coming up to wrap tightly around your husband’s shaking body, as if you were clinging to him.
His fingers were buried deep in your sweater, yours gripping his t-shirt with such a force, a surprise it hadn’t ripped apart yet.
So the both of you kept standing there, confining each other in your own embrace, bodies shaking with tears, tears of joy, joy of being able to give something so precious to the world, together.
The both of you. And nobody else. In that moment, it was just the two of you.
And you two were elated to soon be sharing that privilege with a third.
*・゜゚・*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚・**・゜゚・*:.。..。.:*・゜゚・**・゜゚・*
a/n: hope you liked it 🩵 feedback in the form of likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)
@ancientbeing10 thought of myself as so fucking funny, just had to write that down immediately 😝😝
The kind of tired that sits behind your eyes and makes your shoulders ache. Your bag slips from your shoulder the second you step inside, and all you can think about is your couch, your blanket, and the oversized hoodie waiting for you.
“Simon?” you call out, toeing off your shoes.
No answer.
You frown slightly and move further inside - and that’s when you hear it.
Water.
A soft, steady sound from the bathroom.
You blink.
Simon… in the bath?
You walk toward the door, confused and a little concerned. He never takes baths. Showers, quick and efficient. Baths are… indulgent. Unnecessary.
You knock lightly on the doorframe.
“Everything okay?” you ask. “You sick or something?”
There’s a pause.
Then his voice drifts out, low and calm.
“No.”
Just that.
You step inside.
Steam curls through the air, fogging the mirror, softening the harsh bathroom light into something warmer. The tub is full, water nearly to the rim, and Simon is stretched out inside it like he owns the place - broad shoulders above the surface, hair damp, dog tags around his neck, arms resting along the edges.
He turns his head when you enter.
His eyes are already on you.
Not sleepy.
Not relaxed.
Focused.
Predatory.
You narrow your eyes. “You hate baths.”
“Usually,” he says evenly.
You cross your arms. “So?”
A slow beat passes.
Then he says, “I had a dream.”
Your stomach flips.
You try to play it cool. “Yeah?”
His gaze drags over you - tired posture, work clothes, the weight of the day still clinging to you.
“Yeah,” he repeats. “About you. Right here.”
Oh.
Oh.
You shift your weight. “Simon…”
His mouth tilts just slightly - not a smile, not soft.
Dangerous.
“Get in,” he says.
You let out a breathy laugh. “I just got home. I’m gross, I’m tired, I just want the couch -”
“Get in,” he repeats, quieter this time.
Your body betrays you immediately.
Because the way he’s looking at you?
Like he knew you’d say that. Like he knew you’d come in here pretending to resist while already halfway undone.
“Bastard,” you mutter under your breath.
His brow lifts faintly. “Mhm.”
You shake your head, but your hands are already moving to your clothes.
You peel them off slowly, not even meaning to make it a show - you’re just tired, heavy-limbed - but Simon watches every second like it’s exactly what he wanted.
Your shirt drops.
Your trousers follow.
Your underwear.
By the time you step out of everything, his jaw is tight and his eyes are darker than before.
You dip a toe into the water and hiss. “Hot.”
“Good,” he says.
You step in carefully, turning and lowering yourself between his legs. The water wraps around you instantly - heat sinking into your muscles, easing the day off your bones.
You sigh without meaning to.
Simon’s hands are on you before you even settle fully.
One sliding over your stomach under the water. The other resting heavy on your thigh.
His mouth is close to your ear now, breath warm against damp skin.
You go still.
“Tired?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” you whisper.
“Mm.” His thumb traces a slow path over your stomach. “I’ll wake you up.”
Your breath shortens already.
His hands move lazily at first - like he’s mapping you. Water muffles the sensation, makes every touch feel heavier, slower, deeper.
His palm slides over your hip. Down your thigh. Back up again.
You feel the shift in him behind you too - the solid warmth of his body, the unmistakable sign of how much he wants this.
Your head tips back against his shoulder.
“Simon…” you breathe.
He turns his face into your hair, lips brushing your temple.
“Wanna hear what I dreamed,” he murmurs.
You nod, barely able to form words. “Yes.”
His fingers drift higher under the water, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters as sensation blooms low in your belly.
“I dreamed you came home tired,” he whispers. “Just like this. Thought you’d go sit on the couch.”
You huff a laugh. "Accurate."
His fingers find that sensitive place that makes your whole body tense, rubbing slow, tight circles, and you gasp softly.
“But you didn’t,” he continues, voice deep and steady. “You saw me in here… and you couldn’t resist.”
You let out a shaky breath. “You know I can’t.”
“Yeah. I know,” he murmurs.
His thumb moves in slow, maddening patterns, learning your reactions, making your thighs shift apart without you even realizing you’re doing it.
“You got in,” he whispers. “Just like this. Sat right here.”
His other hand slides up your inner thigh, encouraging your legs open a little wider.
Your breath turns uneven, chest rising and falling faster.
“And then,” he says, lips brushing your ear, “I touched you until you forgot how tired you were.”
His fingers move with more intent now, and your head falls back against him fully, a soft sound escaping you.
“Simon -”
“Shh,” he murmurs. “Just let me.”
You can feel how much he needs you too now - hard, warm, pressed along your lower back under the water.
Your hand reaches back blindly, finding his thigh, gripping.
“You feel that?” he asks quietly.
You nod, breathless. “Yes.”
“That’s what I woke up with,” he whispers. “Wanting you like this.”
His fingers don’t stop, don’t rush - just build, slowly, steadily, until your body starts to move on its own, chasing the sensation.
“Turn around,” he murmurs after a moment.
Your eyes flutter open slightly. “Simon…”
“Turn. Around,” he repeats, softer but firmer.
You shift carefully in the water, knees sliding on the tub floor until you’re facing him. Your hands brace on his shoulders automatically.
His gaze drops between you, then lifts to your face again.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
You move closer, straddling his hips, the heat of him unmistakable now.
Your breath catches.
Simon’s hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, then settle on your hips.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like my dream. You gonna use those hips for me. Nice and slow."
Your body obeys.
Not because you have to.
Because his voice makes you want to.
You lower yourself slowly, guided by his grip, the feeling of him filling you completely making you gasp his name under your breath.
Simon’s head falls back slightly, jaw tight.
“Look at me,” he says, voice rough.
You do.
Then he whispers, "Make my dream real, love."
His eyes are blown dark, locked on your face like he’s memorizing every expression.
You start moving, slow and controlled, rolling you body just the way his hands guide you, water lapping softly around you with every motion.
“In my dream,” he murmurs, “you moved just like this.”
Your breath breaks into small, helpless sounds, hands gripping his shoulders tighter.
“God, you feel…” he mutters, cutting himself off with a sharp exhale.
Your forehead drops to his.
The world narrows to heat, water, and Simon’s voice in your ear telling you exactly what he dreamed - and how you’re making it real.
When pleasure finally crashes over you, it’s quiet but intense, your body folding forward against him as your breath shatters.
Simon holds you through it, arms tight around you, his own control slipping a moment later with a low, wrecked sound against your neck.
After, you stay like that.
Foreheads touching.
Breathing the same air.
His thumb strokes slow circles on your hip under the water.
“Mission accomplished,” he smirks.
You laugh weakly. “You’re impossible.”
He kisses your cheek.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “But you still got in.”
Then Simon slides one arm under you and stands, lifting you out of the tub like you weight nothing. Water streams off you bodies onto the tiles, a mess everywhere.
You squeak, clinging to him.
"Simon!"
He grabs a towel one-handed, wraps it around you like a cocoon, and holds you thight against his chest.
His mouth brushes your temple.
"You said you were tired, so I'm helpin'."
You laugh breathlessly.
Then his voice drops lower. "I'm not done taking care of you tonight."
For the last couple of weeks, he's been deployed away from home on another grueling mission where he was more machine than man, more weapon than human, and there's nothing that helps him relieve stress more than when he's like this, sprawled out on his bed, the laptop next to him playing one of his favourite productions on full volume.
He's lost in his own imagination, the sounds coming from the small speakers amplifying the scenarios playing behind his closed eyes. His eyebrows furrow, sweat rolling down the valley between his wide shoulders, lips parted, bicep flexing with every-
A sharp, loud knock cuts through his concentration. The image in his head scatters like puzzles, and he groans, loudly, in frustration. The knocking doesn't stop. He pauses the video and tips his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he forces himself up, replacing his earlier thoughts with thoughts of kicked puppies and sad kittens.
When he opens the door, you blink up at him, seeming just as confused by this interaction as he is, as if you're not the one to initiate it.
"Uh, you're loud."
"Was I?" He says, slightly out of breath. "I'll keep it down."
You nod, shifting from one leg to the other, cheeks flushed. "I have work early in the morning, so just for tonight..."
He quickly nods. "I got you, don't worry, luv. I didn't realise I was being so loud."
"Thank you..."
He swallows, trying very hard to keep his eyes on yours instead of on your bare legs. It's not the first time he sees you. He often runs into you when he's off duty, either when you're on your way back from work or shopping or running errands, but god, he'd be lying if he said this isn't, by far, his favourite look of you: hair a mess, oversized, sleeping shirt barely skimming your thighs, eyes half lidded from sleep and, his favourite part, a little spark of annoyance in your gaze.
His cock twitches in his sweatpants.
"Your, um, lady friend, too," you add.
Simon blinks down at you, confused for a second, and then it hits him. You thought he was in there fucking someone. As much as he wants to correct you, the truth is far more embarrassing.
He smiles, all neighbourly and polite like he wasn't just imagining dicking you down mere seconds ago. "I'll let her know, luv. Need anything else?"
You give him a slow once over, and Simon is actually glad he didn't think of putting on a shirt before opening the door. His cock presses against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, hard and throbbing just from that little up and down look you shot him.
"No," you say, already turning to leave. "That's all."
Simon tilts his head and watches you leave. He's painfully hard now, and seeing your behind doesn't help at all. What it does help with, however, is providing more scenarios for him. He shuts the door and goes back to his room, putting on headphones this time. As much as he likes the echo of the moans and whines in his bedroom, mainly because he imagines you're with him and the sounds are coming from you, he's a gentleman. He wouldn't want you to miss on precious sleep just because he's deprived and downright filthy.
This time, he doesn't take off his pants. He stuffs his hand inside and imagines you're jerking him off hard and fast, little fist wrapped mercilessly around his leaking cock as you gaze down at him with that familiar spark of annoyance in your eyes.
And as much as Simon loves the idea of you resting, sleeping as much as you want and waking up refreshed, it also means he doesn't get to see you again. Not until a few days later. And even then he doesn't see you. You just text him it's a girls' night and you'll be out late, so he can do his thing.
Simon stares at the text, certain you got his number from the obligatory tenants group chat where the landlord keeps saying the elevator is out for maintenance every few weeks.
He can do his thing without bothering you. He'd much rather be doing you. But he can't. He tells himself it's complicated, but he knows better. He doesn't have the faintest idea on how to approach you. Your interactions can be counted on one hand, your conversations even less, but it was enough for Simon to be intrigued. You're almost introverted to the point of being antisocial, but you seem to open up a little when he's around. Twice he helped you take the groceries up to your apartment and you asked him to stay for tea, and on one of those occasions he got to catch glimpses of you smiling and laughing. It was enough to have him think about you, curious, and then, a few weeks later, fantasize about you, hard.
Much like he's doing right now, fist wrapped around his cock, porn playing loudly from the speakers of his laptop. He groans, panting, eyes screwed shut as he imagines you on your knees, lips sliding past the tip of his cock.
Pleasure shoots up his spine, biceps flexing as his hand moves up and down in a brutal pace, his hold vice-like, stomach contracting as-
Someone inserts a key in the door to his apartment. Or at least, they try to, unsuccessfully. Anyone else would have missed it, the small sound drowned out by the porn still playing on his browser, but Simon is not anyone. He's trained to isolate these small sounds because they're the ones that matter in life and death situations.
His hold falters and he reaches over to his laptop, pausing the video.
The rustling of keys and spitting of curses continues.
Simon tips his head back and exhales in frustration. The one time you're out and he gets to do this the way he likes it, someone is trying to break into his apartment.
He gets up, puts on his pants, and goes to open the door.
You blink up at him, keys in hand.
"What are youuuuu doing in my apartment?"
You're drunk. And you think this is your apartment.
Simon's body is still thrumming from nearly cumming all over himself just thinking about you, and now you're standing in front of him, an alcohol induced flush covering your cheeks. He's never seen you like this, all dolled up, and his cock gets rock hard in less than two seconds.
"It's not your apartment, luv."
You frown, eyebrows knitting together. He can't help but watch every expression you make closely. It'll feed his delusions later, and he finds everything you do quite endearing.
"3B is my apartment."
"That's correct," he says with a patient smile. "It doesn't say that on the door now, does it, luv?"
He watches as you look at the door, frown deepening, and then look back at him. "No, it doesn't."
"That's right, luv."
"I'm drunk."
"I can see that."
"I feel like I'm going to throw up."
Simon sighs, but it's not out of irritation. It's something akin to fondness, something soft he never thought he'd be capable of feeling. "How about you come in? I'll take care of you."
You eye him for a second and then step past him into his apartment. He catches a whiff of perfume and something else, a scent that's entirely just you. Perhaps your shampoo or your body wash, because he always smells it when you're around, and it doesn't help his aching cock. But even with the inconvenience of being horny to the point of desperation, he focuses entirely on you. Helps you out of your jacket, leads you to the bathroom, gathers your hair and holds it in a makeshift pony tail in his fist.
You groan into the toilet. "I'm never drinking again."
"Wise decision."
You don't puke. He leads you to the bedroom, shoves his laptop away, offers you a comfortable shirt and sweatpants to change into. You start stripping before he leaves the room, and his dick starts twitching again.
He flees to the kitchen, mainly to give you privacy and partly because holy fuck. He pours himself a large glass of water and downs it in one go. Then he fills it again and takes it to you.
You're in just his shirt, laying on his bed, the sweatpants abandoned on the floor. He swallows, hands clenching, then loosening when he remembers he could easily shatter the glass.
"Drink up."
With some difficulty, you open your eyes and take the glass from him.
"Didn't like the pants?" He asks.
"Too big."
You take two sips of water, lips glistening. Simon watches, enthralled and barely breathing.
"Why are you hard?"
He snaps out of his trance. "Huh?"
You point to the bugle in his pants.
The tips of his ears feel warm. He works his jaw, trying to find a fitting answer. With the way you're looking at him, sitting so close, on his bed, in his clothes, he can hardly think of anything else.
"Because you're in my apartment," he says.
You raise a brow. "You're that easy?"
"Just when it's you."
That sobers you up. He can see it on your face. Your eyes focus in on him, appearing less dazed. He doesn't like that. He was hoping you were drunk enough to brush away his words and chalk them up to alcohol induced delusions the next morning, but alas.
"Why?"
He shoves his hands in his pockets so he could clench them without your notice. "You're hot."
"Such high standards-"
"And interesting." With a soft grin, he adds, "and you don't interrupt me when I'm speaking."
"What do you find interesting about me?"
Christ, straight to business. He exhales. He was not planning to pour his heart out to you tonight. His plans were pretty clear actually: fuck his fist while fantasizing about you until he falls asleep.
"You're drunk," he says, a detour to a different topic.
You scrunch up your nose. "That's what you like about me?"
He grins. "Who said anything about liking you?"
That spark of annoyance appears in your eyes again and his dick starts hardening. He had gone semi soft when you started interrogating him, mostly because he was panicking on the inside, but now that you're looking at him like you want to strangle him, or kiss the grin off his face, all blood starts rushing down, fast.
Your eyes dip then snap back up to his. "Is my annoyance turning you on?"
"Yes."
"You won't even try to deny it?"
"There's no point, you can see the evidence yourself."
"Don't you have a lady friend?"
"Why do you call her that?" He asks, amused. "You sound eighty."
"What would you like me to call her then?"
"My laptop."
You stare at him.
"I watch...stuff. No lady friend."
"On full volume?"
The last thing Simon wants to do is discuss the ins and outs of his alone time with you, no pun intended. He'd much rather you'd join in and he'd show you, but he won't suggest that, not when you got alcohol in your system.
He approaches the bed and lifts the covers, pulling them over your thighs. "Go to sleep."
You study his face with curious eyes. "Why?"
"Because it's night."
You huff but don't argue, which is a small mercy Simon is endlessly thankful for. If you were to argue with him, he wouldn't be able to say no to you, not when you're looking like this: hair slightly a mess, the flush from the alcohol finding a home on your cheeks, lips glistening from the water.
You blink up at him. "Sleep next to me?"
Fuck.
---------------
I dunno how I feel about this one. I don't like it much but here it is. Might delete it later or rework it. Let's call it a warm up
The day you met Simon was also the day you spent your first ever valentines day without a date.
You had been determined that you did not need anymore dates with guys who couldn’t cover the entire bill and satisfy you afterwards, no. That belonged to the past.
Thus, you and your girlfriends decided to spend “galentines” together, first eating lunch together, a themed meal that thoroughly fed you, instead of the salads you usually ate when going on a date. Afterwards, your group hit the pub.
Getting shitfaced hadn’t been on your agenda that day, but when your eye caught onto the big, burly, hunk of a man sitting at the bar in between to others of the same stature, you knew you had to drink on a little bit of courage.
Well, that little bit of encouragement turned into downing roughly six shots back to back, while continuously sipping on your friend’s jacky coke.
That was how Simon met you. Not how you met Simon, because you didn’t remember anything the next day.
Disregarding your smudged lipstick, and the way you giggled at everything and anyone, Simon thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Seven years later, you had been married for four years, thus now spending your seventh valentines day in a row with him.
The day of love usually consisted of you hosting a themed dinner party, the tradition of “galentines” still going strong, while Simon kept busy in the kitchen, mixing mimosas and lillet berry for you and your girlfriends, taking care of the dishes while you spent at least half an hour standing in the entryway of your shared home, with the premise of saying goodbye to your girlfriends and then end up remembering a conversation you had yet to finish. Most of the times, it was about some juicy gossip one of the girls had picked up, or a story about how Simon caught the guy in medbay cheating on his wife with the way too young apprentice.
Then, after you finally finished every bit of your conversation, you usually go upstairs to get ready, putting on a nice outfit, jewellery, makeup, heels, you name it.
This year, it was a chanel dress Simon had bought you for christmas, the black fabric hugging your curves just right, jewellery accentuating your natural glow. Your makeup brought out the beauty of your facial features, truly a sight to look at, if you were to ask Simon.
Heels in hand, you made your way down the stairs, your husband already waiting, hand in the pocket of his dress pants, the other holding his suit jacket over his shoulder.
His eyes grew wide with adoration and love as you descended down the stairs, his gaze catching onto the glittering collier that was sitting prettily atop your collarbones. He had gifted it to you on the occasion of your fifth anniversary after overhearing how you told your friend that “diamonds are a girl’s best friend”.
“Bloody hell, dove, you look… magnificent”
You giggled, lashes fluttering as you looked up at him while stringing your arms around his broad shoulders.
“Magnificent, huh? You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Riley” You said, leaving a small kiss on his freshly shaven jawline.
A rumble akin to one’s chuckle emanated from your husband’s chest, the sound making your heart skip a beat and your stomach release butterflies.
“Come on, let’s not miss our reservations.” With that, he led you to sit on the bench in your entryway, already kneeling on one knee to put on your heels for you.
His fingers were gentle, making sure to not do them too tight, caressing your ankle in the process.
You looked down, and suddenly you got flashbacks; him, on one knee, proposing to you with the most beautiful, stunning ring you have ever seen. You have yet to find a more impressive one.
The day you officially became Simons fiancé must’ve been one of the happiest days of your life, right after the day of your wedding ceremony, of course.
“I like that look” You said, threading your manicured hand through his short hair.
“Wot, me on my knees?” The question was accompanied by a lopsided grin”
“That too, yes, but this in particular reminds me of you proposing”
A laugh reverberated through the room at your statement.
“I was so bloody nervous that day, I almost tripped when I getting down, you know that?” He looked up at you, staying in that position for a bit longer.
“You already told me, like, five times, but I still think it’s funny to think about; you, a man of your size and status, being nervous and having a mental breakdown on the inside” You giggled behind your hand, accepting his as he finally got up to help you stand up as well.
“Yeah, yeah. You just continue to get a laugh out of it. I was sweating bullets that day, luv” A calloused hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his hardened chest.
“And yet, here we are” You whispered, slowly inching closer to him until your lips touched his.
“And yet, here we are” He confirmed. “I wouldn’t change a thing about it. If I could, I would marry you over and over again” His admission made shivers travel down your spine and heat pool in your belly.
One of Simons hands traveled up to your face as a sound of content escaped him, his arm snaking tighter around you.
“Mhh~ Si, we’re going to be late!” You exclaimed as you tried to fight yourself free from the comfort of his arms.
“Yer probably right” Simons voice was coarse as he spoke before capturing your lips in one last passionate kiss.
You turned away with a shy smile on your face, biting your lip as you picked up your purse.
After Simon held your coat for you to put on, he slapped your ass and followed you out through the door.
The ride to the prestigious restaurant was filled with promises of good food and wine, reminiscing of older days and memories that have come from a long, happy and fulfilling marriage.
While sitting in the car, waiting at a red light, you noticed, how satisfied and content you were in your life, a man who lived for your happiness at your side.
You looked at his side profile, his sharp jawline, the stubble on his cheeks that already grew again, even though he had just shaved this morning, his darkened eyes.
To you, Simon was the epitome of attractiveness. He made you feel safe, wanted, you knew you had struck gold with this man.
“I love you, you know that?” A small smile was gracing your face as you spoke, looking at him with such love, it made his heart swell with pride (and love) for pulling you.
“I love you, dove. And I will continue to do so as long as the world turns” He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, closing his eyes just for a second to breathe in the scent of your perfume you had dabbed on.
For Simon, there was no greater good in the world than being at your side, no better place than in your arms and no better sight than to see your smile everyday.
This man was happiest with you, and even the darkest pit of hell or his job could get his mind off of his beautiful wife.
Simon loved you, everyday, not just on the day of love.
a/n: heart divider by @purefantasia
enjoy your valentines day with this little drabble that i wrote while insomnia kicked lat night <33 likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, if you have any feedback, please feel free to let me know!!
thinking about husband!simon, who pays for everything his wife’s heart desires
husband!simon, who regularly checks up on his bank account, only to see what kind of stuff his wife bought now.
The most unhinged thing you had ever paid with his card was probably, if Simon had to guess, his own present of a car.
Yes, you had decided to buy your husband a new car as a birthday present, with his own money
Safe to say, he was a little bit taken aback when he saw a brand new dodge in his driveway, a big red bow on top of the hood.
Taken aback, but not surprised, nor shocked, because Simon knew when he signed up for the lifelong relationship with you called “marriage”, that you would always find new ways to make his life exciting.
And right now, you were in your “spending-era”, as you liked to call it.
At that, a question formed in Simons head; had there ever been a time, where you had not been in your “spending-era”?
Simon didn’t remember a single date where you had to pay, all the groceries were paid by him, expenses and bill charged to his card, decorations and furniture for the house billed to his name.
Of course, he wasn’t mad, he always encouraged you to save the money you made with your own job for yourself.
In case, you know, something happened to him.
In his line of work, everything was fast paced, life could be over any minute.
He wanted you to be able to provide for yourself, even if he wasn’t there anymore to bring home more than ten grand each month.
But giving you gifts, being able to see the smile on your face when you bought your sixth set of tableware and matching decorations for your themed dinner parties, Simon thought of himself as the happiest man alive.
Seeing you admire a painting you bought from some bloody artist because you said it matched the “energy and vibes” of your living room, even though Simon was sure his talented wife could have done that for a lot less money, then so be it.
When going out shopping, Simon never complained. He’d stand at your side, like a silent guardian, only waiting for you to ask him questions like “wouldn’t this fit perfectly with the throw pillows in the guest bedroom?”
He’d nod, hum and say “Absolutely, luv”, all while watching a radiant smile grow on your beautiful face at his response.
Occasionally, you bought things Simon deemed a little bit useless. Like a lawnmower robot. He was very much capable of doing that himself, and you knew that. He felt a bit hurt in his pride as the hardworking man he was, but as soon as you gave that thing a name and he realised how convenient that thing truly was, he was immensely thankful for your immaculate shopping ability.
It all took a turn though, when one day, a package was delivered to your door step. Simon looked at whom it was addressed to, of course it was for you.
He put in on the living room table, waiting for you to get home.
While checking his bank statements, he realised, that you didn’t order anything in the last few days, so either this package just so happened to come belatedly, or you had the audacity to pay on your own.
Confusion simmered in Simon, and when you got home, he immediately asked, if you thought him poor.
“What, no? Why?” You looked at him in disbelief, shoes just kicked off while you were still standing in the entryway of your shared home.
“A package came in today, but I didn’t see anything on my card that matches” He explained, hanging up your coat for you and taking your heavy handbag from your hands.
“Oh, wait, it came?” Suddenly, your voice grew giddy, as if you had been waiting a long time for this.
That must be it, Simon thought. Just a slow shipping process.
However, he realised he must’ve been wrong when after dinner, you sat him down on the table, told him to close his eyes and wait. He heard you opening the package, seemingly get frustrated when it didn’t open as easy as you wanted it to.
“Luv, do you need my help-“ “Don’t you dare open your eyes, Simon Riley, or I will gauge them out myself!” Your voice was threatening, making Simon laugh to himself. All while sitting at the head of his dinner table, eyes closed, looking like an absolute idiot.
After a few minutes, you were finished.
Your hands covered Simons eyes, heartbeat loud in your ears.
“Okay… you may open your eyes now” Your voice was carrying excitement. You took a deep breath, mentally prepared and then pulled your hands off of his eyes.
Simon blinked a few times to adjust to the light, gaze falling onto the basket laid out before him.
Warnings: Dead 🕊️ , DO NOT EAT, MDNI, 18+ themes, extreme violence/death depicted, graphic descriptions, talk of SUICIDE, MURDER, SEXUAL ASSAULT, eventual smut
Summary: An unfortunate accident expels your boyfriend, whom you expected to become your fiancee, from the living, leaving you to fend for yourself in a cold world, without a job, no experience or education. Fortunately for you, your boyfriend’s killer has taken a peculiar interest in your person…
Warnings: Dead 🕊️ , DO NOT EAT, MDNI, 18+ themes, extreme violence/death depicted, graphic descriptions, talk of SUICIDE, MURDER, SEXUAL ASSAULT, eventual smut
Summary: An unfortunate accident expels your boyfriend, whom you expected to become your fiancee, from the living, leaving you to fend for yourself in a cold world, without a job, no experience or education. Fortunately for you, your boyfriend’s killer has taken a peculiar interest in your person…
Your day had started off great; you woke up to your boyfriend nuzzling your neck from behind, grinding his bulge right up your ass, waking you up with his rough morning voice.
“Good morning” you had whispered, still a little sleepy. The fire in his half-lidded eyes had you ending up in doggy, and him fucking into you from the back like a desperate mutt.
One look at the nightstand clock had told you that - once again - you would not get to reach your orgasm by his hands or tongue. Ever since he got this new job, he provided for the both of you, but had to leave earlier and come back later than normal.
Okay, alright, you could live with a few orgasms postponed, and instead get your fill of sexual please by using your fingers.
In return, he had insisted you stay home so that you could finally be free from your stressful dayjob that you had been working at, at the start of your relationship.
Anyway, the rest of your day had been pretty ordinary - until it wasn’t.
You spent noon time with cleaning, ironing your boyfriends dress shirts and frantically searching for a hidden engagement ring. You were sure he would propose any day now, you just wanted to have the guarantee, and you know, prepare, just in case. Get your nails done, hair done, eyebrows plucked, legs lasered, pussy and asshole waxed.
You name it.
When you received his message; Pick you up at 7. Wear something real nice ;), you were 100% sure, that he was going to propose. You spent the rest of your day getting ready, squeezing in a nail appointment while plucking your eyebrows on your own.
Afternoon came and went, the sun slowly going down, the last few rays shining on your smooth hair. It was cascading down your shoulders, the amount of conditioner you put in absolutely criminal.
Your black stiletto heels were already hurting your feet, but beauty was pain, you were ready to sacrifice comfort for your boyfriend and the proposal pictures.
Your dress was short, sexy, but modest enough for a nice dinner, glamorous almost. You grasped your clutch tightly, the slight summer breeze making your legs shiver.
Weird, he was already 15 minutes late… As we know from this morning, your boyfriend was always prone to being punctual.
Another ten minutes of waiting, and he pulled up to the curb. Climbing in, you kissed him on the cheek, smiling already.
Hm, did he use a new perfume? Maybe something unisex, since it had a more feminine tone than his normal perfumes.
You were too giddy to notice anyway.
On the twenty minute drive you were rambling about your day, the neighbours cat and the stray dog that you fed, all while leaving out your preparations, to avoid letting him grow suspicious.
When you got there, your jaw hit the floor: a big, beautiful estate, decorated with fairy lights, signs reading “WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL CURSE CORP. GET-TOGETHER”.
So it was a work event, why didn’t he tell you about this earlier?
On the inside, you sighed. The idea of a proposal was definitely out of the picture for this evening. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t let this ruin your mood; your makeup was perfect, your outfit immaculate.
Your boyfriend had led you through groups of people, up to a table which had a namecard with his name on it lying there.
You sat on his left side, in a seat, which would habe been occupied by some woman named “Yorozu”. You didn’t think much of it, your thoughts too full with anxiety, thumbs fiddling and fingers picking at your cuticles.
You felt out if place; while your boyfriend conversed with colleagues passing by, laughing at their jokes and sometimes introducing you, your anxiousness seemed to be swallowing you whole.
Eventually, he noticed. Noticed worry tracing your features, your hands shaking, legs bouncing and teeth peeling the color from your lips. Nothing about you seemed at ease. To be frank, he was embarrassed.
He led you outside, through the back, where you were cast off from the main entrance, from the dining hall, the dance floor, the stage. No one would come out here, no one would be able to hear your cries and your sobs, your gasps and shivers.
You followed him, three steps behind, glance casted downwards, careful not to stray too far, trailing him. Like a good future wife should.
When he opened the door, the cold air hit you. Your jacket had been left inside, making goosebumps crawl up your arms and shoulders.
He took one deep breath, fishing out cigarettes from his jackets pocket. The *click* of the lighter made you flinch, already anticipating what kind of storm had been brewing inside of him.
Internally, you felt so small; you thought, today had been a good day, maybe he would be in a good mood for once. You thought back to the champagne flutes he had been clearing for the short entirety of your time here.
You thought back to your ramblings in the car, on how much you trusted him, even though almost every evening turned out to be something like this.
Your boyfriend took another deep breath.
“I give you a life full of love, surprises, you get to rest everyday at home, get your nails done and do spa days - everyday -, you do not have to go out on your own, in fact, you are never alone, because you have me. And this one time, I want you to give me something back, to honour this job that provides for the both of us, especially you since you like to spend my money so freely” Slowly, he turned around.
“This one time, you cannot get your shit together and be a good little piece of arm candy? Why is that so hard for you? Why?”
At this point, your eyes were filled with tears you willed not to fall.
“Answer me!” His loud voice made you flinch.
When you started to speak, it was merely above a whisper, voice wavering, small: “ I- I’m - I’m so-“
His hands grabbed your chin roughly, yanking your head up. “Look at me while you speak, you bitch” His face was full of hatred, eyes burning with anger.
“I’m - I’m sorry, I- I d-didn’t mean to-“ Your lips trembled, eyes squeezing shut when you saw the telltale signs: the back of his palm striked your cheek, the impact making you stumble and fall on the ground, your hands and arms scraping on the rough, pebbled surface, in the hopes of catching yourself.
“Worthless piece of shit you are, you can’t even speak properly, don’t even know why you’re still at my side - YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY USELESS!” Your boyfriend was furious, yelling, gesticulating, face contorted with fury.
Your heart squeezed at his admission, had you really been that bad of a girlfriend to him? You almost didn’t want to believe it, but if he said it, it must’ve been true.
“Is there a problem here, Haruta?” A deep voice interrupted your boyfriends yelling, making him stutter, breath hitching. Slowly, he turned around.
In your panic, you didn’t even notice the slight tremble of his hands when he did, or maybe your sight was too blurry from the tears that had started falling uncontrollably.
“No- No- Sir- Sukuna-Sama. There isn’t, everything’s just fine, really. Thank you for worrying about us!” He took a step back, as if to shield your still struck down body from the mans sight. “Thank you!” Your boyfriend bowed, deep.
A mistake, really.
When he bowed, he cleared the line of sight for “Sukuna-Sama” to look right at your shivering figure. Crying, vulnerable, blood running down your arms and palms. Makeup smeared, hair a mess, your lip was trembling, your shoulders shaking. Every single thing about you screamed, you were not fine.
“Woman. Get inside.” Sukuna-Samas voice was calm. Deep and rich, as if somebody took a voice actors deep tones and put it inside of a two metre body, something you could decipher from him being illuminated from the street light behind him. The rest of his face or body, you couldn’t see. Wether it was once again the tears or truly just the physics of light, who knew.
Scrambling to get up, you looked to your boyfriend for permission, but his head was still bowed. His hands were clenched at his side, fingernails leaving deep crescent shaped in his skin.
“Go on” It was creepy, how the timbre of his voice carried such authority you wouldn’t even dare to dream of disobeying him.
You rushed to the door which had led you to this disaster in the first place, closing it behind you. You decided to wait, if your boyfriend came back. Besides, you didn’t know where to go, how to go back out there, looking like this.
What if your boyfriend broke up with you after this?
*BANG*
A loud noise cut your rumblings short, followed by a thud. You did not dare to move. You may be naive, according to your boyfriend useless too, but you were not stupid enough to ignore what that was; a gunshot. Right outside that door.
You waited a few minutes.
You could distinguish people talking, something being moved, dragged away maybe?
Now, your whole body trembled, the tears couldn’t stop falling. You flinched when the door opened, and the man your boyfriend had called “Sukuna-Sama” stepped inside.
In the dim light, you noticed three things about him: first, his size. He was huge. So huge he filled in the whole doorframe. Second, his eyes. Or rather, his eye, was crimson. The left one was obscured by an eye patch, wrapping around his head, carving into his soft-pink hair. Third, he was handsome. Like, insanely handsome. Tattoos marked his face, jawline sharp, nose clean. Even though it looked like it had been fractured or broken a few times, it fit him perfectly.
“What’s your name, woman?” His voice yanked you out of your thoughts.
You stuttered your name, your head sinking when thinking about what might have happened to your boyfriend for not bowing fast enough.
“L/N, I need you to leave. Forever. Go home, pack up what you must and leave. Your boyfriend is dead. For the government, he will exist for another two weeks. Do what you must in that time. Break up with him, tell your friends and family, stay with them until you get a new place. Break all the ties with him you have in those two weeks” With that, he turned around, leaving you to gawk at his blood speckled long coat, hugging his frame loosely, almost not touching the ground.
That was two weeks ago. Ever since then, you had been making prepartions. Those consisted of trying to contact your friends, well, people who had once been you friends before your boyfriend had isolated you from the rest of the world, trying to contact your family but failing, because, well. Same scenario.
Nothing of what you were trying to achieve seemed gratuitous, no messages came back, even though you sent everybody a rather desperate message of "I broke up with my bf, can I stay at urs?". Maybe not the best approach, but the first thing that ChatGPT gave you when asked what to write.
You were desperate, desperate enough to ask an AI bot for help. Really, you felt pathetic; without your boyfriend, whom you lover so dearly, your life would surely crumple before your eyes, really fast, really drastic.
You only graduated from highschool, didn't go to college, you have not been working for a whole year, what were you supposed to do? Alone, useless, you brought no value to this society without any education, without any experience. Without him.
Your cries have been heard by the neighbours who did not dare to check up on you, your sobs had the strays howling with you and the cats covering their ears.
Who were you without your boyfriend?
Nothing.
You felt like nothing too, the fridge had been empty for around three days now, your watterbottle discarded on the nightstand, carrying the same water it had two weeks ago, as if that would erase the fact that your boyfriend wasn't alive anymore. If his DNA stayed on that baby pink water bottle, maybe a piece of him would always stay with you.
Baby Pink. The color you would've painted your future daughters room, because you had always wanted a daughter and you had always loved pink. Your boyfriend had despised the color with all his might, and now he was dead, killed by someone with baby pink hair.
You had always hoped, hoped for him to propose soon, hoped for a daughter, for your then husband to stay at your side forever, until your faces sagged with age and your hair had long turned grey. Hope, apparently, had all you've been clinging to.
But now, there was nothing left to hope for.
You felt like nothing, anyway. Might as well.
You looked at your boyfriends nightstand. Over the last two weeks, dust had been accumulating, since you haven't been cleaning it daily. You stood up from where you were seated in the corner of the bedroom, near the closet, because that was where he kept his perfumes, it still smelled like him.
Slowly, you took step after step towards the little night stand, an ESQUIRE magazine laying there, along with his sleeping pills. Your hand shook as you reached out to grab them fingers closing around the little bottle like it was your life line. Ironic, really.
The pills rattled against the plastic from how hard your hand was shaking, your other hand coming up to grasp the lid.
Your eyes filled with tears as you unscrewed it, memories from a past life resurfacing.
Him and you, getting to know each other in your last year of school. Him asking you out, going on a picnic. Him officially asking you to become his girlfriend, announcing it to his friends, his parents. Everyone knew you as a duo. Wherever you were, he was near. Wherever he was, there was a good chance you were not there.
You looked inside the bottle; Around ten pills. That should be enough. Hopefully.
You looked over to the baby pink water bottle on your nightstand, on the other side of the bed. Lying down in bed, you grabbed it, opened it, and waited for a second.
Maybe, just maybe, your phone would ring with a notification from anybody, or your boyfriends keys would turn in the lock of the front door. Maybe, you would wake up from this bad dream, a nightmare in which they both die at the end.
You waited. A long time. You had been waiting for ten minutes, but to you, it was just a fragment of a moment.
When nothing came, you put the pills in your mouth, all at once.
Both your hands grasped the bottle tightly, not willing to move.
You closed your eyes for a second, took a deep breath in, and then-
A loud knock disturbed you.
It was rapid, brutal and impatient.
You let out that breath, wether from relief or basic human nature, you did not know.
Slowly, you left the bed, flinching when another flurry of knocks came as you were walking down the hallway, towards the door.
It was dark, the curtains had been closed, not that it mattered anyway, the sun was already setting. Had you not been living in isolate darkness for the past two weeks, you would not have been able to see.
You opened the door, scared of what might wait for you.
And you should be, because in front of you, standing there in the rain, umbrella in hand, was Sukuna-Sama.
Big frame towering over you, eye cast down your shivering body.
His eyes were scrutinzing, analysing: Your hair was matted, eyes sunken in with heavy bags hanging low. Your apartment reeked of faultiness, as if nobody opened the door or windows to let fresh air in. Your skin was fragile, as if touching you would rip a wound.
You really looked half dead. A shell of who you once were.
Pathetic. Sukuna tought. Really, you should thank him for killing that stupid bastard. Sleeping behind your back with Yorozu, Sukunas Secretary, all while abusing you. Both of you, Purely Pathetic
Your eyes were twitching while you looked at him, your hunger and thirst holding you from thinking clearly. Your head was held as high as you could at the moment.
You did not speak. In fact, you did not even seem to swallow, Sukuna noticed. Drool was escaping the sides of your dry lips, as if you dared no to move, or as if swallowing would kill you. If only he knew.
Sukuna did not have to wonder a lot, because a few seconds later, you were puking. Right onto his shoes.
Pills, drool and something else, that was surely not food, since you hadn't been eating anything, dripped right onto the polished leather of his black dress shoes.
Sukunas face contorted with disgust. Not disgust about the way your drool seeped into his socks, but rather the way you ended up.
He was disgusted by you.
You reeked, absolutely abhorrent.
"Uraume" he spoke. "Take care of it"
You felt so pathetic. You couldn't finish yourself off, so now Sukuna had to do it for you. YOu squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the noise of a gun shot, but it never came. Instead, a hand raked around your neck, guiding you. Openening your eyes, you were shocked to see you were led to a black SUV.
You followed the direction of the hand, sitting down in the back seat. Sukuna appeared beneath the driver window, talking to the chaffeur, whom you didn't even notice in your trance.
"Bring it to the estate, let the servants take care of it. Send another car to come pick us up. Wear a mask, don't want you to faint from that stench. Keep the back windows open."
To the estate? Servants? Your hazy mind could not make any sense of the words he had said, you cast your glance down to your feet; they were naked, dirty from all the dust and hair lying around. Your legs were still free from any hair, consequence of your proposal preparations.
You were clad in nothing but his boxers and shirt. Your boxers were the only thing you changed. Sometimes.
The car ride seemed endless. Clad in unsuitable clothing, you were shivering in the back, your mind occupied by shame and humiliation. You were so emberassed, you didn't even notice your arrival.
The driver opened your door. Your legs were shaky when you stepped out of the vehicle, like a newborn fawn, The pebbles cut into your feet, stones and dirt catching in the ridges of the small cuts.
Following him, you were led to the entrance of whatever this estate was supposed to be.
You were sure you had been driving for a long time, this kind of scenery was nothing you could find inside of Tokyo.
Mountains and trees surrounded you and the building in front of you; it truly was a traditional japanese estate.
Alas, you didn't give it too much thought, as you ended up in front of a woman.
"My name is Sakuranomiya Akiko. You may call me by first name. Follow me please"
You did so, without a word.
Sakuranomiya Akiko led you to a small room. It was more of a cleaning supply closet, judging by the size. On the floor lay a tatami mat and an oil lamp. In the corner, you could see a cushion. It looked old, the fabric worn and stained in some places.
"Sit down, please. I will get everything ready and will come to get you, as soon as I'm finished. Please don't move, my sister doesn't like that"
Akikos words barely registered, as she guided you to drop down onto the cushion, that did basically nothing to alleviate the ache that had settled in your bones a long time ago.
You wanted to die. You were so useless, you wanted to die.
And even that, you could not achieve.
Truly, your existence was a waste of air.
As usual, you did not know how much time had passed, before Akiko returned. Or at least you assumed it was her. In her hands, she held a basket. What was inside, you did not care.
"Follow me, please"
Draining was the walk, your body using the last bit of energy it had left to follow her, but eventually, you couldn't take it anymore. Your frame collapsed, thudding on the ground. Your head was pounding, your chest heaving and your hands did not move to heave yourself up from the ground.
You could barely hear Akikos sigh, your ears not picking up anything except for the steady tone of a flatline echoing.
What if this was it? What if you just died the most pathetic death ever?
It would be fitting, you assumed.
Closing your eyes, you accepted your fate.
Your mind was too tired to conjure anything up, you only saw black.
You awoke to the noise of a match being lit. It was too loud. Suddenly, your eyes were flooded with light, it was too bright. Your eyelids still closed, you tried lifting your hand to cover your face.
You couldn't move it.
Reluctantly, you tried to open your eyes. What greeted you was your knees, pulled up to your chest. You sat in a body of water.
Lifting your head, you were able to make out three different things. First; it was a woman holding your hand, cutting your fingernails.
Second, you were naked.
And lastly, it was warm.
Your nose picked up on the scent of roses and lavender.
"You're awake. Do you remember what happened?"
Flinching, you looked at the woman wide-eyed.
"I suppose you don't" she sighed, putting away her equipment.
"Do you remember how Sukuna-Sama came to you?" You nodded slowly.
"Okay. That's something. I am not in the position to talk about why he did it, but my sister might be able to explain. You were sent here, for different reasons. I am sure you have questions, but first, we need to bathe you" She looks at you with pity in her eyes, then she picks up a comb.
"I am sorry to say all this, but you reeked really bad. And your hair was completely matted, I had to cut it off a little bit. But I did my best! I hope it doesn't look to rugged!"
She gave you a mirror as she started combing.
You saw your reflection, but did not want to believe that the person staring back at you was truly you.
Impossible.
To spare yourself, you looked to the side, not willing to look at this ugly being in the mirror anymore.
You saw the womans face. She looked beautiful. A face full of hope, something that once fueled you too. She wore round glasses, had dark hair and full lips.
Your gaze fell back to yourself: your hair was shaggy, had lost all its shine and was still knotted here and there. The way she had cut it, was way too short for your liking. It barely grazed your shoulder, bangs now framing your face.
"Anyway-" The woman, whom you assumed was Akiko, continued. "You will live with us now. For a very long time. My sister told me everything I need to know about you. I would give out my condolences, but to be honest, that doesn't make it better"
At least she's honest.
The rest of the bath Akiko told you trivial things, that didn't truly matter, like that the bathwater you were currently sitting in was imported from France, a country you would've loved to visit on your honeymoon.
She also gave you something to eat, and fed you when she realised you wouldn't be able to eat on your own.
She was a really kind soul, you realized.
After she had fed you three bites and a few gulps of whatever it was, she willed you to brush your teeth.
Somehow, you managed.
Standing up from the tub, Akiko helped you. She wasn't really tall, you realised, maybe she was just a child. Was she older or younger than you?
Why was she working for Sukuna-Sama?
What did this kid have to go through?
Now that your body finally got some energy, the questions were starting to pile. Not a good thing, you quickly realised, as the doubts, shame and memories also started to cloud your mind once again.
"I am sure you are exhausted, do you want to go to sleep or would you rather have answers?" Akiko asked as she towel dried your hair carefully.
You shrugged, you truly couldn't decide for yourself right now. Now that you think about it, you probably haven't done that for quite some time now.
"Okay, that means you won't be able to sleep, because you are too occupied with thinking. Which means you want answers?"
You shrugged again. But quickly nodded reluctantly after that.
Your inability to speak did not seem to frustrate your Akiko. Deep inside your heart, you were grateful.
"Alright then! Let's get you dressed and then you will meet my sister. Don't take it personally if she's a bit rude, when she is in her - as I like to call it - boss mode, she tends to get a little bit strict and, you know, bossy, just so you know!" you nod, looking down at her nimble hands tying your obi for you.
A few minutes later, you were kneeling at a table, waiting.
Goosebumps covered your neck when the sliding doors were opened, letting a breeze inside.
You kept your head cast downwards, waiting for someone to speak.
"L/N Y/N. That's your name, right?" A stern voice ripped you from your doubts.
You nodded, fiddling with your hands. They were clean now. Your nails and cuticles cut, nails oiled.
"You can look at me now." The woman sat in front of you. "My name is Sakuranomiya Sayako. I am this estates caretaker. Including the servants, gardeners and concubines. I am the head of the common folk of this estate. Do you understand what I am saying?" Her head cocked towards the left, making a strand fall from her shoulder. Her long her was a deep black, like Akikos. Her eyes thinner, dark behind her thick rimmed glasses. They definitely were sisters.
You nodded once again, looking at her, taking her authority in. "Business hours, you adress me with Sayako-Sama. If you have any issues, that are too private or too complicated for Akiko or anyone else, I grant every servant permission, to come to me" You nod once again.
"Well, now that we have the ground rules set. I would like to informally introduce myself. I am Sayako, I am Akikos twin sister, I am older by 18 minute-"
She was interrupted by Akiko: "Oh, come on, that's so un-"
She then was interrupted by Sayako: "It is considered rude to interrupt your elders, little sister. Anyway, what was I saying? Ah, yes" Sayakos nimble hands grasped her teacup, sipping from it, before setting it down with immaculate care. "You are to become a servant at this estate. Your boyfriend has a few loose ties with Sukuna-Sama, and since it seems you have not been doing well without any help, he decided to step in. Gracious, truly, if you ask me" She looks at you expectantly, as if you had anything to say in your defense. You did not.
"Your tasks will include cleaning, tending to the gardens, and to help with whatever everyone else needs help"
Her gaze become serious all of a sudden. "A piece of advice; I was once in your shoes too. The only difference between you and me is, my lover is still alive. I have my sister. You have nobody out there. You have nothing to hold onto, nothing that makes you of value in the world out there. Here, in this estate, you will be fed, your needs will be met, a roof over your head, a warm place to sleep. You will gather contacts, maybe even make friends, have something to occupy yourself with.
So, if someone asks something of you, do it. Don't talk back, but I see, you have been doing a great job with that.
After some time, you will find yourself growing more and more enarmoured with specific tasks, and most of the time, we will grant you the honour of doing exactly those tasks. But, let time pass, and good will come to you" Her voice grows softer at the end, her eyes hold pity, kindnesss.
Without you noticing, you had started crying again. Was this some kind of elaborate prank the world was pulling on you? If it was, it was no fun at all.
Sayakos words lingered in your mind long after she dismissed you and Akiko.
The way she held herself, head high, eyes sharp, face stone cold. It sent shivers down your spine.
“This is your sleeping chamber. Since you do not have any great value to the estate yet, you have to share your bath chambers with some of the other servants too. I am really sorry about that”
Akiko gestured to a door at the end of the dimly lit hall.
“I suggest you take a closer look at everything in the morning, better lighting and all. Sukuna-Sama prefers the lights low at night, I cannot really explain why” She shrugged her shoulders, as if trivial matters like why the head of this yakuza organisation did the things he did were of no importance to her.
It was probably better if she did not care for it.
You figured you should start to think like that too, for your own sake.
“I hope you sleep well. I would tell you to come to me if you have any issues, but Sukuna-Sama does not tolerate any wandering from servants, not even from Sayako. You should stay in your chamber, if you want to keep your head”
That sent a shiver down your spine. You had almost forgotten that you were now under the roof of a brutal, merciless killer.
Maybe he could finally finish what you couldn’t…
You quickly rid yourself of that thought; a small voice, a small part inside of you begged for a night, just one night spent in a clean bed, in clean clothes, freshly showered. Just one night, you could grant yourself one last luxury.
A few hours later your body was begging for an entirely different luxury; sleep didn’t come well, and instead, your bladder was screaming at you to ignore Akiko’s warning.
Your bones ached as you heaved yourself up from the tatami, as if they were not willing to help you commit such a treacherous act.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, you slid open the Shoji screen, just a little bit, so your starved figure could squeeze through.
You didn’t light the lamp that was on your nightstand, Akiko had told you some last words before closing the sliding door; “Do not leave any lights on in the night. Sukuna-Sama does not like that” Then she had left.
Seeing as you were used to being surrounded by darkness from the last two weeks, your eyes did not have trouble adjusting and leading you to the door Akiko had pointed to.
Your heart hammered loudly in your chest as you finally relieved your self, realising that this was the real luxury.
Before you opened the door, you braced yourself, gathering what little courage life had left inside of you.
You were shaking. Just the mere thought of Sukuna-Samas presence had your knees weak, eyes wide and hands trembling.
But would your chances get better if you let time pass? Probably not, you thought.
Stepping outside the toilet, you spotted something.
Your body went rigid, the panic of him catching you immeasurable.
You dared not to move.
After a full three minutes, your heart didn’t beat at a nausea-inducing pace, so you willed your feet to move.
On your tiptoes, you made your way to your door, as if it were liberation.
The way wasn’t a long one, but being careful and silent took a long time, as you didn’t want to rush and accidentally get too loud.
A sudden breeze on your neck made your step falter.
That wasn’t there before. Someone must’ve opened the window, or a door.
Which means, that Sukuna-Sama would be roaming about the estate.
Which meant, that he was at the estate.
Another breeze made goosebumps creep up on your neck, your heartbeat picking up.
You turned around, slowly.
You almost screamed, as you were met with a body. A big, blood-speckled body, that was clad in crimson soaked dress pants and shirt.
You froze, gaze locked downward.
“Good evening, little one” His greeting was accompanied by a chuckle.
A silent tear slipped down your cheek.
“What, you are not going to greet me back?”
Oh shit.
Your voice trembled as you spoke, breaking right down the middle as you spoke his name: “Good evening, Sukuna-Sama”
Your fingernails gripped the fabric of your yukata, tearing through the fabric from how hard your hands were clenching.
“I am sure Akiko told you about the rules of my estate. Very simple, very few, no? And still, you could not abide to them. What leads you to put your life on the line?” His voice held an almost amused tone, as if this was all funny to him, as if you were a joke.
“Sukuna-Sama, I- I had to pee. I am sorry”
Did you seriously just apologise for having to go use the toilet? Sukuna thought your self-esteem sure couldn’t get any lower.
He chuckled to himself at that thought.
Akiko must’ve overdone it a little bit, but she was kind of right: Sukuna did kill a servant one time, because he was groaning so loudly from his diarrhoea, that one of Sukunas torture-victims had been distracted the whole time.
The servant magically disappeared the next day and another black SUV had left the estate.
Sukunas hands were bloodied, the crimson had rooted itself deep into each and every crevice of his being. He was tainted, dirty, the devil in disguise. The papers called him “the king of the underground”. Nobody knew who the king of the underground was. Nobody knew of his second identity as the king of CURSES CORP.
Nobody except for his servants and rest of staff of course.
He distantly remembers twisting the head off of a servants neck when Sukuna got wind of the servant preparing to leak who he truly was. That the family who owned international business that sold all kinds of metals, guns, tanks and grenades did have enormous ties to the yakuza, the mafia and the overall underground crime scene.
If only the world knew who the most feared man in the yakuza was.
You definitely did not, although you did seem to have your fair share of respect for him.
Your lower lip was quivering, silent tears continuing their downfall towards the floor.
“Go, now. I hate seeing women cry, especially since I rid you of your biggest burden in life. Shouldn’t you be grateful?” Sukunas grin was terrifying; rows upon rows of sharp teeth revealed behind cracked lips, an imagery that couldn’t have been more horrific.
With trembling hands, you bowed one last time before rushing to your small chamber.
What a travesty your life had become.
Sleep didn’t come to you easily.
Silent tears continued their downfall, tracing the sides of cheeks as you lay motionless on your back, leaving a wet trace in their wake.
Your sobs didn’t leave your body, scared of making any noise in the all-consuming darkness that reigned in the room.
Deep in the night, you cried to yourself, for yourself. For your boyfriend’s life, for yours.
When you awoke the next day, you had barely slept; an hour if you had to guess, two at max.
The sun was still rising, not quite illuminating the whole entirety of the enormous estate.
You looked at yourself in the small mirror that stood next to your bedding: your eyes were puffy, red, sunken in, eyesbags deep.
Your non-existent eating habits had chipped away the flesh on your face, leaving your cheekbones high and lips dry.
You were pale, like someone didn’t want to waste the energy to breathe life and personality into your body.
You looked like someone tried to carve out grieve from marble, chisel and hammer working tirelessly to capture your soulless being.
You didn’t even have any energy left to be shocked at your own reflection.
Who did have enough energy for the both of you was, though, was Akiko.
Her giddy presence and cheerful voice were a testament to how hope carried her, for her, the estate was a sanctuary. For you, it was your prison. You were sure; This is where you will meet your demise.
She came to your door, just as the sun was peeking through between the trees that surrounded the estate for miles upon miles.
With a shiver you realised, even when you could escape Akikos and Sayakos grasp, you wouldn’t get far; where would you go? You had zero survival skills, no experience. No home, no family and friends.
This, it seems, what came from a deal forged with the devil, a deal with no way out.
“Good morning!” Akikos voice ripped you from your thoughts, your gaze landing on her glowing face.
“It is time for breakfast. Sukuna-Sama awakes an hour later than the servants, and since it is your first night here, Sayako-Sama decided to be merciful on you.”
Merciful? You thought to yourself. What about this situation is merciful?
You did not dare to voice out your question.
“I will show you everything you need to know. Your day starts at 6 and ends when every task assigned to you is finished to Sukuna-Samas satisfaction. He does not come check up on everything that you do, but he has certain standards, and sometimes he decides to randomly see how you are doing and if you are doing your job correctly.” Akiko began starting to walk, expecting you to follow her obediently. Of course, you did. It would be foolish to deny her on the first day.
You had a feeling, Akiko was more than capable of defending herself and gathering respect.
Throughout the day, Akiko showed you almost everything the estate had to offer; you ate some breakfast in the kitchen, headed to the meeting hall, passed the entrance to the west wing, which belonged to Sukuna-Sama, fed the koi in the garden in the middle of the estate, surrounded by engawa.
Lastly, Akiko led you to what your stay here would consist of.
The estate was surrounded by forests, wide acres and fields, and most importantly; gardens. Those were the places you had to tend to.
A fairly easy task, if you had to be honest with yourself. Deep inside your chest, a dim flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a while began to sprout. Maybe, just maybe, you would be able to actually do something right here.
After showing you where you could find your desired and needed tools, Akiko left you on your own, saying that she or her sister shall check up on you when the time comes.
Judging by the sun, it was midday, when you started. Your first task, you decided, would be cleaning another pond full of koi fish. How many fish lived on this estate, you wondered.
Maybe there would be some strays roaming around, you could befriend those. While touring the estate with Akiko you realised quickly, you were followed by whispers, hushed conversations behind hiding hands, judgmental glances following everywhere you went.
You supposed you were fine with that. You had faced much worse in the last two weeks.
Time passed, and as the sun began lowering behind the tall trees, you lifted your head from the ground.
The sky was filled with an array of beautiful colors, reds, oranges, pinkish hues and lilac clouds.
The beauty of it all, seeing it right from where you’re standing, in the middle of your makeshift prison, it was bizarre to look at.
Even in a place like this, nature could still give beauty.
With a sigh, you wiped your forehead with your forearm, a small groan leaving your chest as you stood up, your back and neck aching from all the kneeling and physical work you had been doing. After all, your energy was still low, and your muscles weak.
You turned around, ready to feed the koi one more time before leaving, when you noticed a presence standing at the edge of the veranda.
Upon realising who it was, you quickly fell to your knees and bowed.
The wind carried his low chuckle and the sound of footsteps to your trembling form, fear engulfing you.
Surely, he would now turn you into soil for the flowers you just planted.
“Look up” His voice cleaved through the air, ice cold. Shivers ran down your spine as you slowly pulled yourself from the ground and began lifting your head slowly. You did not dare to look at him, still.
He said your name, as if making himself aware of your presence, of the fact that you were still living.
“My, my. You look pathetic.” Something akin to a giggle left his lips, as if your misery were amusing to him.
You felt tears gathering in your eyes, hands beginning to tremble once again.
“But the gardens, in fact, look quite tidy. Good job” With that, he turned around.
You were left confused.
After hearing the shoji door close, you stayed like that for some time, waiting until the sky turned a little bit more darker and the lights on the walls of the veranda turned on.
After that, you gathered your things, made your way to the restroom, cleaned up and denied dinner.
You would just heave it up in the night anyway, out of fear.
Fear, it seemed, replaced the deep ache that carved your bones, a deep ache that once had been hope.
a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! i'm really excited for this series and i hope i will have as much motivation to write for it in the future as i do now. if you have any feedback or recommendations, please let me know!! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3
fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.
“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”
if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.
includes/warnings: pure fluff, a little bit suggestive at times, talk of death (just a little bit), Simon and Reader being married, just a little something I whipped up inbetween chores and duties
word count: ~ 3.7k words
authors note: i had this idea a few days ago and put this together when I had the time, like sitting on the toilet or waiting for someone to finally show up lol
also thank you guys for all the love I received on my last post <3
anyway; have fun reading, comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated 🩵
When you proposed the idea of a BBQ to Simon, he was a little surprised at first. You have been married to him for four years, together for three, seven years of a relationship makes you know someone pretty well, he would think. Yet he never ever expected for you to ask him to have a BBQ party.
You hated barbecues, the smell of burnt coal and meat always settling into the cushions of the outdoor area and drifting into your shared home, where the terrace door was wide open.
You hated the way the smell clung to Simons clothes, coating his natural smell, a mix of leftover perfume, his shower gel and deodorant and something that could only be described as a scent of a man, that was content to be where he currently was.
But alas, deep down inside, Simon loved barbecues. It reminded him of a time when his mother wasn’t sick, when his father didn’t drink to forget. A time that Simons brain had long forgotten, but his soul kept clinging to it like it was afraid, he’d lose his identity if it did.
Barbecues were a sign of the times where Simons body didn’t carry scars, healed bullet wounds, burns and tattoos that tried covering them.
So, when you suggested he ask his mates to come over for some nicely grilled meat and a Stella, he did not hesitate to do so.
“Missus wants you all to come over this saturday.” He had said, not in passing, but at a time when he demanded everyone’s attention.
Saturday came, and with it a whole lot of preparation for you and Simon.
Simon swore himself when marrying you, he would never be the normal, disappointing husband that wives talked about in reddit forums and cafés with too many cushioned seats, but that he would always help and support you, no matter what.
So when you woke up on saturday, you were surprised to see Simons side of the bed empty.
You made your way down into the kitchen, still groggy from sleep but barely hearing the commotion that was going on.
Back turned towards you, Simon was cutting vegetables and throwing them into a large salad bowl to his right.
He was shirtless, putting his tattoos and scars on full display.
“G’morning, sweets” he said without turning around.
You circled your arms around his waist, mumbling “Morning, Simon” into his back.
Inhaling his scent, you immediately felt at ease. You knew that you could trust this man with your life - literally. Being in his vicinity gave you such safety and comfort.
“What’cha making?” You asked as you went to sit on one of the barstools in the kitchen, waiting for him to give you your freshly brewed mug of coffee, like every morning.
“I’m taking care of the salad. I already went to the market and bought some baguettes too, the meat is in the fridge, marinated. The boys should be here in around four hours, enough time for us to decorate the yard” Simon said as he washed his hands in the sink.
His footsteps were heavy as he walked over to you, encircling your waist with one arm, the other tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
He lowered his head until his lips touched yours. It was just short, but the kiss nonetheless set the butterflies in your stomach free, because it was passionate. Passionate in a way that could only be expressed by Simon.
Simon stroked your back before turning back to his salad, taking care of your breakfast in the process too.
After everything was finished, including your breakfast and the salad, the kitchen looked a mess; bowls and spices scattered everywhere, the trash full and plates stacked on top of each other.
“Let me get started on that, you get ready for the day, luvie” Simon said, already tying an apron around his slutty waist, the letters “KISS THE CHEF 💋” adorning the black fabric that was now straining over his muscled pecs.
What a sight for sore eyes.
With a kiss to his stubbled cheek you made your way up the stairs into the master bedroom, humming a tune while doing so.
Today promised to be a good day.
There were two reasons why you wanted to do this barbecue; first, it was summer and once in your life, you wanted to utilise the grand backyard that Simon and a few handymen had spent so much time (and money) landscaping, and second, you had found an old photo album of Simon. He did not know you did, as he was on a no-contact mission back then.
Tears had escaped your eyes as you looked at the pictures, a young Simon Riley smiling at the camera, even back then he was humongous; a tall kid, almost taller than his father, his knees scraped and green from playing in the dirt, his grin splitting across his younger face.
In the photo, he was standing beside a grill, proudly holding tongs in his right hand and a cup of soda in his other.
As his wife you knew what terrors Simon had faced, even if he didn’t say it out loud, the way he writhed in his sleep and was awoken from his restless slumber by ruthless nightmares said enough. The way he looked for emergency exits when eating out in restaurants said enough, just like the way he always carried a gun with him, everywhere he went.
Your heart ached for his poor soul. You wanted to give something back to Simon.
You couldn’t contain your excitement when putting on a cute sundress and some light makeup, smiling to yourself in the mirror as you admired yourself. Simon had taught you how to love and accept yourself the way you were, so it was only natural that you wanted to give him something back by dressing yourself in his favourite dress on you on this special day.
When you went back downstairs, Simon was finishing up, wiping down the kitchen counters and the bar top.
When he saw you appearing in the door way, his breath caught.
Outside this house, Simon was “Ghost”. Lieutenant Riley, a ruthless fighter, who was able to kill people in such silence, it was terrifying.
But inside this house, Simon was your devoted lover and dear husband, and on days like this, when you got all dolled up, just for him, he felt his heart swell with immense pride at his past self for bagging a baddie like you.
As he should.
“You look breathtaking, luvie” His voice was coarse, his eyes tracing the shape of your body before returning to your smiling face.
“Thank you” You giggled, stepping forward to put your arms around his broad shoulders, tiptoeing to reach his lips.
“You wanna put on a shirt or give the neighbours a show?” You grinned while tracing the outline of a tattoo on his right biceps.
“The only one I’d put on a show for, is you, ma’am”
A few minutes later you were standing in the backyard, Simon crouched in front of you, cutting open three different boxes; one contained some fairy lights that looked like light bulbs, another one held a few table lamps and candles, and the third had an array of covers for your outdoor cushions for the seating area.
While you placed and arranged the lamps and the candles, Simon was struggling to untie the fairy lights, cursing under his breath as he just entangled them more.
“Bloody hell, damn thing…”
You chuckled at the sight; Simon, the strongest and biggest man you knew, brought to his knees by a string of lights. (to be fair he loves to be on his knees for you, but THATS DIFFERENT)
It seems, even a lieutenant had his weak moments.
You let him be.
When you were satisfied with your arrangement of aesthetic anti-mosquito candles and table top mini lamps, you got started on changing the covers of the outdoor couches and the chairs at the dinner table.
Normally, in order to help keep them as clean looking and easy to clean as possible, Simon and you had decided on plain black, but the contrast of the new, creme-coloured cushioning against the black woven material of the couches and seats looked a lot better.
You remembered when you had told this to Simon in passing, you had also mentioned that they were a bitch to clean, and that you would eventually replace the white ones you had previously bought.
It seems, that he remembered your call and wishes better than you might take him for.
This was Simons love language, listening; he listened to you always, even in fights. What you didn’t know; Simon loved, when you were angry. You looked so sexy when scolding him, he always chubbed up a little bit in his pants when you yelled at him, but that’s a conversation for another day.
Finally, you were finished, while Simon was still not having it with the lights.
You willed to control your giggles before you made your way over to him.
He either looked like a giant kicked puppy or a very angry one, you couldn’t decide which represented him better right now.
You sat down in the grass beside him, careful of your dress, while taking his right hand into yours.
“Si, how about I take care of the lights?” You suggested, looking up at him with soft eyes.
Simon would have loved to just stare into your eyes forever at this moment, but when the missus asks, he won’t leave her waiting for an answer.
“Definitely not. I’m not going to be defeated by some bloody fairy lights” His brows furrowed, concentration prominent on his face as he continued detangling them.
You released a sound that could’ve been a chuckle as well as a sigh, before helping him.
“Look, you’re just doing it randomly and hoping it might be the right thing to do. You need to analyse, Si”
Your smaller hands wrapped around his giant ones as you spoke. The contact on his fingers and the tattooed back of his hand made Simons brain shortwire.
Damn it, he has been married to you for years, can he just keep it together for a few seconds?
“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, (Y/N)”
Apparently not.
You looked taken aback for a second, but not too long, as this was your husband.
Simon Riley didn’t have a lot of sentimental moments, didn’t have the energy for soft spoken words, but sometimes, something in him slipped and revealed whatever it was that was buried under the surface for so long, it has become accustomed to the darkness, no longer able to show freely.
You smiled gently, placing a kiss on his stubbled jaw while squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Simon. You are the best thing that has happened to me”
Simon felt the corners of his lips lifting, a crooked smile gracing his face.
“Thank you for organising this, luvie” He pulled you into his lap, careful of your pretty little dress as he pressed a chaste kiss to the soft plush of your lips.
“Simon, you did all the work! You prepped the food, the meat, you bought me new decorations and cushion covers, I should be thanking you!” You exclaimed, giggling when his shadow of a beard tickling your skin as he nuzzled your cheek.
“Guess we both should be thankful for each other, aye?” A wicked grin split his face, his eyes mischievous. His hands traveled down to your ass and waist, pulling you closer into him.
“Oh, god, Simon! Not here!” You slapped his hard chest, cheeks heating up.
One hand covered your face as you looked around for anyone that could possibly see and hear the compromising position that your husband just put you in, the other pushing at his chest.
“But somewhere?” Simon lifted an eyebrow, gaze growing expectancy.
“Later” You just stated, which made Simon release a deep, rough chuckle.
“A’ight. Missus wants it later, missus will get it later”
His infatuation with calling you missus clings to you in every way; the way he pays for your clothes and accessories, for the groceries and the bills, but still wants you to go to work to have something to do outside of the house, build your own character and your own career. Just, you know, as his wife.
Simon knows what terrors he could face on a daily, what his fate and yours would be should things go terribly south on a mission.
He had always encouraged you to keep your money, put it aside. In the early days of your relationship he used the excuse you someday buying a car for yourself, as his job provided him with one.
Later on, when the talk of kids came up, he said he would also contribute to your savings fund, so that maybe you could use it to pay for college or something like that.
Deep down, the both of you knew it was futile lying to you. You knew what you got involved in when marrying him, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The rest of the afternoon continued without further ado: the two of you worked in tandem, with Simon stealing random kisses or slaps to your ass while you were concentrating on something else.
An hour before his team was set to arrive, Simon got started on taking out the grill and cleaning it. It hadn’t been used in a long time, but Simon still knew his ways around one. That’s something a man like him would never forget.
Meanwhile, you were stocking up the mini fridge Simon had carried outside for you, stocking it with glass bottles of different sodas, Stella’s, a pitcher of homemade ice tea and two pitchers of fruit infused water.
“Bloody hell!” Simon suddenly exclaimed behind you.
Worried, you made your way over to him, scared that he burned himself somehow.
“What’s wrong, everything alright?”
Simon shook his head: “Nah, nothing’s a’ight, Johnny’s bringing his damn dog”
You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. That was what he got so worked up over?
“Okay, then. I’ll put up an extra bowl of water” You had to go into the kitchen anyway to set the table, might as well grab one extra bowl.
“For Johnny, I presume?” Simon said while facing the grill, not loud enough for it to clearly be a joke but still loud enough for you to hear as you walked back inside. You laughed aloud once again, still chuckling to yourself when you came back outside and started setting the table.
Plates, a water and a wine glass, along with some cutlery now decorated every overlay laid out for everyone coming; John, his wife, Kyle, and Johnny and his dog.
When you were finished, to took one good look around the garden: the backyard of your home now looked like something out of a pinterest board. The front of the back door leading into the kitchen was terraced, the black wood still warm from the slowly setting sun. On the terrace, Simon and his beloved grill had found their place at the wall of the house, behind him, the dinner table.
The grass area was still a little bit wet from when he had watered it a little bit, all the way to the opposite site of the garden, where another terrace was. The seating area and a fireplace stood there, along with a speaker that played soft house music.
The whole garden was covered in a soft glow from the mini lamps, the candles and the fairy lights, that Simon had strung up while you were finishing up on the ice teas and infused waters.
All in all, you couldn’t be more content.
It didn’t take long for the team to arrive, one by one.
John and his wife were first, greeting Simon with a hug and a strong pat to his back, while you were gently greeted.
You and Johns wife, Catherine, fell into a light conversation, about your work, about how she fixed her car herself when the mechanic guy had tried to rip her off and John was on a mission, about how Simon couldn’t get the lights untied and how last week, he forgot to take out the whole array and inventory his cargo pants carried, thus almost destroying your washing machine if you hadn’t bothered to check beforehand.
In the end, you came to the conclusion “Men ain’t shit”
The both of you knew, that was a big fat lie when it came to your devoted husbands, but a little gossip and complaining didn’t kill anybody.
Kyle arrived shortly after, carrying a tray of cake in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.
Johnny arrived around ten minutes later, when everyone had a glass of something in hand and Simon had already put the first pieces of steak and bangers on to the grill, the burning coals warming up the space around him.
Looking at him, it was like looking at a grown up version of the picture; tongs in one hand, beer in the other. A laugh emanating from his chest while John commented something one of the recruits did last week.
Johnnys dog Zeus dashed around your garden, eagerly snaking around your feet when you dangled a small piece of meat in front of him.
The german shepherd was a retired K-9, who would’ve thought, and so it was only natural for him to do all kinds of tricks in the hopes of you finally dropping the snack you have been dangling in front of his nose.
Simon watched the scene, enthralled by your natural beauty and the smile that graced your delicate features. The sun hit your beautiful skin just right, making you look even more a goddess than you already did on a daily basis.
He was so in love with you, gosh, it was almost painful.
The evening continued, the dining table full of food: a big bowl of salad, cooled noodles and warm potatoes, sliced vegetables, steaks, sausages, chicken skewers and more.
You took a picture, multiple, in fact.
All of the pictures that you shot would go into an album, showing an evening full of friendship and love, something that soldiers cherished because it was rare and could always be the last. Something like this was special.
Dinner was peaceful. You asking everyone if they wanted refills for their drinks and getting compliments for your cooking skills and decorations in the process, Simon chuckling under his breath and instead of telling the truth of who did the cooking and bought the decorations asked your guests if they wanted more steak.
When the plates were cleared and the conversations were influenced by the flow of alcohol, you enjoyed a piece of Kyles cake on the couch, looking at Simon while he tried lighting the fire place.
“Luv, could you pass me the matches, please?”
You did so, holding the cake between your teeth while doing so.
The afternoon of preparing had bled into an evening of laughter and free talking, the evening was bleeding into a night filled with more laughter and ramblings about how gas prices have increased once again.
With a content smile, you realised, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Finally, Simon got the fire to burn brightly, illuminating the garden further and calming the goosebumps rising on your arms.
With a groan, Simon let himself sink into the cushions beside you, throwing an arm around you and pulling you into his side.
You released a sound of comfort, nuzzling into him while you closed your eyes for a second and let the smell of Simon engulf you.
Instead of just his natural scent, he also smelled strongly of fire and burnt coals.
You were sure, no matter how hard you had tried to keep the sliding door closed, the kitchen and living room would smell like that too.
But it was a price you were willing to pay if this was how happy it made your husband, how careless and free it let him feel.
“Yer a’ight?” His voice was low and gruff, his eyes full of adoration as he looked down at you.
“Yeah. Just very… happy” You blinked up at him slowly, admiring him the same.
You had cut his hair short a few days ago, the dirty blond hair growing back lighter than before thanks to the summer sun.
Even though he had shaved this morning, his shadow was visible again, covering some of the more minute scars his face carried.
The one cut into his brow gave him this sexy eyebrow cut you liked so much, you always made sure to give it extra care when taking care of his eyebrows.
You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
The rock on your left ring finger was glinting in the light of the fire, catching it beautifully.
Here, in this garden, you felt as though it were the epitome of married life.
Well, one thing you were still missing, but that too is a conversation for another day.
Some time after midnight, when Zeus was sleeping soundly on top of Johnnys feet and Kyles cake was gone, everyone started to leave. Conversations and drinks were finished, jackets were pulled tighter and soon after, it was just you and Simon.
The two of you cleaned up the table, exhausted but happy.
The speaker softly played “Englishman in New York”, a song that held history for you and Simon.
“Humour me for a second, luv” Simon held out his hand for you to take, the callouses were rough against your soft palm, but his touch was as tender as always, as if he was scared you’d break.
Together, in the silence of the evening, the quiet hum of the music as the only background noise, you danced slowly.
Swaying gently, you closed your eyes, reminiscing about the day.
Maybe you wouldn’t mind your kitchen reeking of burnt coals once in a while.
hope you enjoyed it 🩵 if you find any typos or have anything to share, please feel free to lmk