You’d think with the amount of threats you give him before he leaves for each mission, each of them along the lines of, ‘If you come back with so much as a papercut I’ll kill you’, he’d do his best to be a bit more careful. But no, of course, the cocky side of Simon Riley had decided to take over during the life or death crisis he found himself in on his most recent mission. He narrowly escaped with his life, and was goddamn lucky to come away with just a broken arm—a broken arm you sure aren’t going to let him forget anytime soon.

As you sit on the bathroom counter, across from your husband who’s arm is currently resting in a sling, arms folded across your chest and the most smug, ‘I told you so’, expression, he sighs. “Not gonna let me forget this, are you?” He chuckles, to which you quickly shut him up by smearing shaving foam across his mouth.

He lets out a disgruntled little grumble as he wipes it off his lips. “Alright, you win.” He sighs, handing you the razor. You weren’t going to let him injure his arm further by trying to shave, of course. “Go gentle on me, yeah?”