In light of the new trailer, how is olderbf!Simon? Is he well? Does his back ache? Does he know how to save nudes to his phone? I miss him 🥺💖
i am SO glad you asked 😭❤️🩹
he is well! his back still has some naaaasty knots in it and that back is broad too so by the time you’ve got him face down on the bed and you’ve worked one side out (and he’s snoring and twitching beneath you) there’s still a whole other side you’ve got to get
he’s got a flip phone so whilst he might be able to save them they’re so pixilated that you can’t even tell what the photo is anymore- he swears black and blue that he can and you don’t argue because you reckon you could send him a picture of your elbow and it would make him hard
he’s always right where you left him, never far! just being grumpy and a little softer around the edges these days
thinking about free use ghost again and again and again and again-
it’s easy to imagine free use with older bf!simon as him taking whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
and it is, it really is (i even wrote about it).
but that’s not all it is.
of course he can reach out with one great big hand and take anything he wants without even needing to ask.
but, so could you.
simon made it abundantly clear from the moment you both became intimate that whatever you wanted from him was all yours.
yours for the taking, literally waiting for you to take it (he’s not above begging).
but for a man as big and ugly as he is, he can be patient. not wanting to scare you off, wanting you to know that there isn’t a part of him that’s off limits for you.
once you get your nerve?
simon watches football with you balanced in his lap, chin hooked over your shoulder as you roll your hips against his.
one hand gripping your ass and the other splayed against your lower back, guiding your movements as you whimper into the crook of his neck.
“simon- please”
“nah, none of that- you’ve got it”
when he’s in bed early, leaning back against the headboard with his reading glasses low on his nose and his book in his hands.
you’re nestled between his thighs, duvet gently drawn over your back to keep you warm, lips wrapped around the head of his cock.
after he turns a page, his hand makes sure to stroke your head- humming to himself as you softly suck him off like you’ve got all the time in the world.
and you do.
“thas’ real nice, play with it a little- yeah?”
simon who just likes to be part of things.
when he’s fucking knackered after returning from mission, barely able to keep his eyes open at the dinner table let alone when his back hits the mattress.
but unable to miss a thing.
“jus’ do it up here for me”
hand reaching across the bed to drag you towards him, manoeuvring you until you’re sat on top of him.
sat on his stomach, feeling the hard lines of his abs beneath the softer layer of him.
hiiiii pretty cosmos, just read sm of your older bf!simon (again, shocked are we. ((no)) and the meet cute + first date was adorable 🥺 id love to hear your thoughts on their first night together
i am ALWAYS shocked when people read my stuff, let alone more than once 🥹🫶🏼 p1 | p2
if it had been up to older bf!simon then you probably would’ve had your first night together the first time you met.
and if it’d been up to you it would’ve been the night of your first date.
but the second best time to plant a tree is now.
simon had plied you with a plate of pasta, washed the dishes, and had retired you both to the couch where your feet rest in his lap.
if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to spend the night.
he only ever wanted to talk about you, how work was for you, how your weekend was, what you liked to do. you figured you’d have an easier time pulling teeth than getting anything out of him.
not because he didn’t want to talk- hell, if you asked him, this was the most he’d spoken his entire life.
but because he was scared?
see simon couldn’t quite understand why you wanted anything to do with him.
when he’d asked you for your number that first day, he was genuinely shocked when you’d said yes.
when you’d asked him out to dinner, he was sure it was all a cruel joke at his expense.
so there was this part of him that was entirely terrified to actually let you see any real part of him, actually let you in, just in case you hated what you saw- simon didn’t think he could handle the humiliation.
(and worse, what does he do if you did want to stick around? he’s never even been remotely close to a situation like this before)
so simon skirts around questions, dodges and parries any attempt at learning anything more about him. he wants to keep you at the surface, treading water where you’re safe.
but, he’s also plied with pasta and he’s warm and your couch is soft and your feet are resting so nice on his thigh he’s been thinking of offering you a foot massage if that isn’t weird and-
he lets slip. the tiniest little slip that tells you he’s not as stoic as he makes out to be.
“who’s gaz?”
simon freezes because he can’t believe he gave you an in, gave you the chance to learn more about him and-
“he’s a mate- well actually he’s a team mate- he’s uh-”
he hates the way your eyes glow as you gaze at him along the couch, hand folded under your chin and a content smile that says you’re learning about this man come hell or high water.
and it’s the beginning of the end really, because he can’t talk about gaz without talking about johnny who you can’t talk about without talking about price which means you have to talk about-
work.
the darkest part of him.
and yes, you know what he does for work- hell it’s how you met him. he should be grateful for work, and he is, it brought him to you.
but you don’t know what he does when he goes to work. you don’t know what he’s done, what he’s seen, the things-
that’s what he wants to keep at arms length. you’re so soft and so sweet and he’d never forgive himself for marring you with the unkind that follows him home like a stray dog.
but you’re not accepting the easy way, you’re asking questions.
“only what you’re comfortable sharing”
oh, ok.
simon keeps himself on a leash, forever tugging at the collar he put around his own neck as early as he could remember.
but he tells the truth.
and you don’t look scared? you look interested? you nod at the right moments and you smile when you can tell he’s trying to joke and you frown when you know he’s trying to be taken seriously.
most importantly? you don’t make it last.
you let him trail off until he’s convincing you that you’d actually like a man united game if you just sat down and watched and his ears are burning hot when you tell him you’d like to watch a game with him.
you let him be simon, you chose simon- you never called him ghost.
simon learns a few things that night:
a good recipe for pasta
you look lovely in lamp light
he really likes making you laugh
he never thought of himself as someone that could be soft. there’s a voice inside that chastises him for “going soft on me, boy” and he tries his hardest not to put a name to the voice.
but you light up when he becomes soft.
you curl into his side of the couch and you like it when he talks nice.
he realises it’s a side of him he likes- but only if you’re the one who sees it. the only one who sees it.
he decides he wants to compartmentalise, whether rightly or wrongly. but he wants to create parts of himself that are reserved for you.
he also realises, very quickly, that the parts he wants reserved for you are the parts of himself he hasn’t let himself acknowledge for a very long time.
that parts that feel like him.
he only realises it’s late when you start yawning and he dreads the idea that you might ask him to leave and then he has to skulk home under streetlights like-
“only if you want to?”
simon begins to realise that the time spent in his head is time spent without you. hard to reconcile with given he spends almost all of his time in his own head.
this was all a very roundabout way to say, you'd invited him to stay the night and he was so stuck in his own head that he'd completely missed it.
dimwit.
a really loud part of him reckons he shouldn't. looks at you, looks at the way you're staring up at him like he's responsible for placing all the stars, looks at you and thinks-
he really cannot afford to fuck this up.
and, to simon, that's what will happen. that's what happens when he opens up and allows himself to enjoy. allows himself to go soft, boy.
that anything he does that isn't out of bare necessity is surplus to requirement and he should live out his days on a threadbare mattress thousands of miles from anything that resembles home.
that it's almost guaranteed he'll fuck this up because anything he touches turns to blood and he's simply not the kind of person that deserves nice things.
he ends up on his back in your bed because you decide he deserves nice things.
the tv merely glows at the end of your bed, it's playing a show simon hasn't even heard of (because it's not top gear) but he's not watching because you're not watching.
and you're not watching because you both can't stop giggling.
(yes, simon giggles even though he'd never forgive you for calling it that but there is no manly explanation for the sound that comes out of his mouth)
your head rests on his chest so you move with every laugh and every intake of breath- you can hear his heart just a little out of reach but closer than it's ever been.
he could stay like this all night, and it feels like he does. in reality, he falls asleep very easily, easier than he has in a long time.
and easier than he feels he should.
if he still had his wits and consciousness about him, he'd be making himself repent for letting his guard down so quickly. but he doesn't.
so he sleeps.
for the first time in that long time he's always thinking about, he really sleeps. he evens thinks he might've dreamt.
simon lets himself fall into the plush of your mattress, lets himself wrap you up him arms, lets his lips press to the crown of your head.
lets himself be.
doesn’t hear that chastising voice of impending doom, reminding him that at any given moment all of this can be taken from him.
because that’s really hard to believe when you’re so close you’re literally in the palm of his hand. he doesn’t have to let go if he doesn’t want to.
