Pinned
You’re half-asleep on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, phone forgotten on your chest. Simon’s been watching you for a while—quiet, soft in that way he only ever is with you.
He steps closer, brushes his knuckles along your jaw, feather-light.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, voice low and wickedly warm, “I could end wars with the way you look at me.”
You blink up at him, confused, breath hitching. “I wasn’t looking.”
“That’s the problem.” He smiles—slow, devastating. “Still got me ruined.”
He leans down, foreheads touching, his thumb tracing the curve of your lip like he’s memorising it. His voice drops, intimate, like a secret meant only for your bones.
“If I kiss you right now,” he whispers, “you’ll forget what day it is. And I’ll spend the rest of the night reminding you who you belong to.”
Your heart stutters. He feels it—of course he does—and his grin turns soft, reverent.
“There it is,” he breathes. “That sound. That’s my favourite.”
Then he kisses you—unhurried, deep, like he has all the time in the world and every intention of stealing your breath again.
