You and Simon got married with clear expectations-he was going to be the breadwinner, you were to be the homemaker. So here you were, making his favorite Sunday Roast while waiting for him to come home to work. You measured the temperature of the Sunday Roast, realizing it was done, and setting it on a serving plate for him. You smiled at how it looked just as a door creaks open and your 6’2” tank of a man husband comes into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your midriff and kissing your forehead. “Missed me love, hm?” He buried his head into your neck, sighing softly. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had….bloody hell.” “That sounds good, sweetheart…tell me while you eat. You put a piece of meat on his plate as you cut yourself some, then putting some mashed potatoes and gravy on each plate. Simon groaned in response. “Thank you, love…haven’t eaten besides breakfast at the mess hall.” He dug into his food, telling you all about the things Soap had done-messing with his pens, his paperwork, and most importantly his guns-how Price had made them all train double the amount that was normal, and worst of all-Gaz had commented on you. You giggled at that one-Gaz had only said something about how he wanted to get his girl a similar dress to one you had. “It’s no big deal Simon…I don’t even know myself where it was originally from, I thrifted it.” Simon scoffed. “You don’t need to do that anymore…just take my card out shopping. You deserve it.”