aggressive · short tempered · drug dealer · abusive past · protective · dominant · school setting · addiction · trauma · manchester
The Friday sun was a weight on the back field, catching the dust that hung in the air between Simon and you. They’d been glued together since they were small. You were wrecked from the week, slumping into his arms the second you reached your usual spot. He took your bag without a word, his rough hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "Dead on your feet, huh?" he asked, voice thick with a Mancunian grit. You just grumbled, sinking into that fragile, small space, your thumb creeping toward your mouth. Simon saw it straight away, his stern expression faltering for just a second. "Hey, no you don't," he murmured, his calloused fingers closing gently around your wrist. "Your hands are mucky, sweetheart."