Thinking about Fae!Simon and herbalist reader…a little fixer up meet cute 😋
It started with a small recommendation from his captain; it was especially high praise coming from him. He had slid Simon five gold one night with a pat on the brooding mans shoulder. “There’s a little shop at the end of Penrose Lane. A herbalist, Riley. I’m sure doc will be able to sort you out in no time, usually is on point, that one.” Simon wanted to bristle, but he knew John was right; he never really was the same after he got medically discharged.
The Fae’s knee was aching badly by the time he appeared at your shop. The gold in his pocket seemed like it weighed more than him, and he had half a mind to turn back. The door opened.
“You alright?” Your groggy voice sounds, keys in hand. Simon analyzes you for a moment, determines you weren’t what he was expecting (especially since Price didn’t tell him you were cute), and then comes to the bright conclusion you were closing up shop. It was dreadfully late at night. “If you need to be seen to, I can squeeze you in for a moment.” You left the door ajar as you slipped back inside. He followed.
The shop was cramped, almost suffocating, with books piled in every corner and plants crawling up the walls. His hulking frame in the doorway certainly looked out of place.
“This way,” You called out, weaving around the corner and patting to the cushioned table. He sized it up. Definitely way too small.
“Knee? I could tell. You’re hobbling. Just sit down so I can take a look at it.”
You gave him a pointed look. “I said sit.” He sat and immediately, your hands found his aching knees. He bristled and huffed.
“A little warning next time, love?” Truth be told, he wasn’t really bothered by it.
His wings flexed when your thumbs dug into his tender kneecap. “I’d ask if this is from old age, but clearly you look military.” You jest, meeting his gaze.
“Just fix me up, will you? I’m not telling you my whole life story.”
“Touchy subject, jeez. And here I thought we had a special connection.”
“We don’t”—he cut himself off and hung his head—“I’m Simon.”
You tell him your name, your tired eyes giving away to an amused twinkle. “Well, I’ll be. Nice to meet you, Simon.”
