I know there’s a lot of hype around Butcher!Simon and god knows I’m obssessed with that concept, but what do we all think about fisherman!Simon? Spends his time on a small trawler, or on the wild beaches, expertly throwing fishing lines out. Slicing open silvery fish and gutting them without even looking, his eyes trained on you, the cute little sweet girl who’s new to this coastal town and checks out the Saturday market. Unlike the other sellers, he makes zero effort in attracting anyone to his stall, and yet by the end of the day, he’s always been cleaned out, his fish always fresher and bigger than any others at the market.
But he doesn’t care about any of that when his eyes fall on you. Now he’s only got one thing he wants to catch on his hook.
Hope I'm not being too forward but I want to kiss you on the mouth because Simon mermaid au?? oh that is so delicious I feel so strongly about this. He is exactly the kind of character I like to read about and the thought of him in this kind of setting and coming across a beautiful mermaid makes me smile so hard my face hurts
not too forward, I am squeezing and kissing you back muah muah muah
I am also very excited about fisherman simon and mermaid reader. I'm not quite sure exactly where their story is going, which is not typical of me since usually I plan out a whole fic before starting on it, but we are being led by the muses on this one. I've been having fun thinking about our mermaid's lore — she's a manatee mermaid because manatees are round and cuddly and cute as fuck and are also mammals soooooo 👀😗 anyways her tail is gray, but in the light there are iridescent undertones of purple, teal, and green. and she's been separated from her pod, trapped in a tide pool, all cold and weak 😔 thankfully simon is about to find her! she can't speak his language but they'll find ways to communicate I'm sure
Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader
Part 2 | Previous
The rain had come and gone all night long. It would start out of nowhere, heavy showers hitting the top of your caravan. You were volunteering on a beautiful plot of land, looking after horses, in exchange for staying in a little caravan. The owner of the land and the horses had herself lived in this van before finding this place, nestled between civilization and the ocean. You enjoyed the rhythm and routine of it, waking up early in the mornings to feed the horses and give them hay. You appreciated their presence and energy, when they sometimes galloped in the field or the paddock. You also appreciated the daily routine and work, losing yourself in the morning and evening duties. But with all this rain, and the owner gone for the weekend, you were left with a lot of time on your hands. Your caravan was cozy - a little bubble of protection from the elements outside, and you enjoyed snuggling up to the cats in the little cabin that held the kitchen, while you waited for the water on the stove to heat up for your tea. You had been for a few walks on the fields or forests around the land, but you had yet to go into the small coastal town. After waking up early on a cold Saturday morning, and assessing that the grey clouds above you looked too bright to breach with rain, you decided to take a walk into town. It wasn’t too far; a twenty minute walk along some agricultural fields and suburbs.
The ground was still wet from the night before and you were careful to avoid stepping on any snails. You had heard from the owner that there was a market early on during the day on Saturdays and Sundays, where local farmers came to sell their produce, and you were keen to stock up on fresh fruits and vegetables. Once you arrived into the small village you were already in love with it. All the walls or the small houses were washed white, and you felt like this place hadn't moved in the last fifty years. You couldn't spot many of the chains you were used to, instead, you saw a small grocers, tailors, and pharmacy. It felt like stepping back in time.
You quickly found the town centre, following the buzzing noise of both stall holders and the crowd. It was a lot bigger than you expected, rows on stalls snaking around trees in the square, and you even see stalls serving hot food and drinks.
You eagerly made your way to one of them, wanting to get yours hands on a warm tea. The food smelled good but you decided to maybe buy some once you had finished your groceries. You were instantly lured to a stall overflowing with vegetables of every colour - bright purple aubergines, dark green spinach, orange carrots, fluffy light green broccoli. Dumbfound, you asked the stall keeper if these were locals and she laughed.
“Of course dear. We've got the best of the area here. We don't have the money to import anythin’!”
You smiled and she helped you pick different vegetables. You were already buzzing with dinner ideas you could whip up in your small caravan.
You kept walking around, indulging in local honey and jams, a lady giving out baked good samples. You would have to try and come to this market every weekend.
You were reaching the end of the stalls when your nose turned up and a strong and fishy smell. That's when you saw the wet ground around it and your eyes went up to see rows of dead fish as well as other seafood you couldn't identify, coldy laying on ice. Your eyes kept going up and you instantly recognised those broad shoulders. It was him.
He was serving customers silently, grabbing fish with white gloves and turning them over to show off the size and weight to the customer, before they nodded and he stepped back, placing the fish onto the counter and wrapping it up in plastic and paper.
You never liked the smell of fish stalls, and you remember as a kid, always trying to hold your breath whenever you got near one. But now, you couldn't hold you breath. All you could do was look at him.
“Ye gonna stand there all day starin’ or you gonna buy smthin’?” He asks, snapping you out of your daze. You feel the tip of your ears get warm as you step a little closer.
“Wasn't staring…” you say with a small voice looking down, even though you knew he had definitely seen you staring. When you looked up at him, his face clad with a black face mask, you could see a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Well only the fish is for sale over ‘ere love.”
Your moth dropped open a little bit and you felt yourself get even more hot. What an idiot.
“Don't call me love.” Is all you can find to say back to him. The amusement is still there in his eyes and he crosses his arms over his black apron, wet and glimmering with cold water. You can hear a low chuckle.
“Alright, pet.” He throws back at you. That motherfucker.
At that you decided to roll your eyes, clearly showing him your displeasure, and you turn around, deciding to make your way back to the top of the market. Besides, you still hate the sickly ocean smell and your bag full of groceries is getting heavy on your shoulders.
You're sure he's looking straight into the back of your head as you walk away but you don't care. You'd just avoid this section of the market next time.
Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader
Part 1 | Next
You had come here to cleanse your mind. The salty air wafted over you as you climbed over the sandy dune, your feet sliding down in the sand. It took you double the effort to climb up the small sandy hill, but when you finally made it, you had to stop in awe. In front of you, the expanse of the ocean: white and blue. It was a deep shade of blue, deeper than usual, and right at the horizon, you could make a thin line of something more azure than blue.
The beach was deserted, spanning on for kilometres, more than your eye could see. A few fishermen here and there, walked with their poles, trying to get lucky. Your eyes counted how many there were, two to your right, and one down the distance, one on your left. You wondered what kind of fish they usually caught around here.
Carefully, you began to make your way down to the beach, trying not to fall. It was high tide and the ocean was already close to the dunes, leaving only maybe a few metres between you and it.
You knew the water would be cold, but you decided to roll your jeans up anyways, and slide your shoes off, wanting to at least feel the water. You approached the ocean cautiously, watching as different sized waves came crashing onto the sand, leaving trails of foam in its wake. Before you knew it, a large wave crashed right next to you and you found yourself squealing as you felt the cold water rush over your calves and almost up to your knees, a lot higher than you had been expecting. You quickly retreated back to the dry sand, dry sand sticking to them. You trudged back up the dunes, looking down at the numerous seashells and stones that kaleidoscoped the beach beneath you. Maybe you could sit here for a while, just watching the ocean. You slowly scrambled your way up, the sand sliding softly under your feet.
You found a comfortable looking spot, amidst the long grass bending over from the cold wind, and looked out at the ocean, satisfied. Your eye was caught by one of the fishermen, not too far away. It was bright, and you couldn't make out many details, but you could tell he was of a considerable size, broad shoulders under a tight fitting black fleece. You watched as he pulled his rod back, and with a strong motion, cast it back into the ocean. The line disappeared over the white waves and your attention stayed on him. You didn't know why, but you couldn't take your eyes off him. You felt a bit weird staring, but the safety of the dunes, height and distance wise, emboldened you as you kept looking. Besides, he was facing the other way.
You watched as he kept moving down the beach, coming closer to you, always focused on casting and recasting his fishing line out. You weren’t sure if he had noticed you or not, but as he was almost directly in front of you, just lower down and a few metres away. His face was turned towards the long expanse of the beach. Blushing, you looked away. You were sure you were in his peripheral now. You didn’t know if he was looking at you or not, but you decided to play it safe by focusing on the waves in the distance to your right. Then, before you knew what happened, a violent gust of wind blew your hat right off your head. A squeal left your mouth as your hands went to your hair but it was too late. Your hat was flying down the dune, and was being whipped around wildly. In one swift movement, you saw him catch it, and a mix of relief and nerves suddenly filled your stomach. He held the hat in his hand, examining it, before looking up at you, up in the dunes. You stared back blankly, a little stupefied, before coming to your senses and standing up from your spot in the damp sand. Carefully, you made your way down the dune, anxiety rolling around inside of you like the turbulent water in the waves. What if he mistook the staring as you being interested in him? You approached him, trying to keep your pace casual and even. He held the hat, unmoving, his eyes trained on you. The bottom half of his face was covered from the wind with a neck gaiter, tucked into the black fleece, which only made his stare more intense.
“Erm, thank you…” you said as you reached out to grab the hat from his gloved hands. He said nothing in response.
“S’alright” he finally said after what felt like too long of a pause. You thought you could hear a British accent. You raked your brain for something to say. Maybe he wanted for you to just leave now, and that could explain the uncomfortable silence.
“Catch anything good?” you asked, looking at the bag on his hip, where you assumed he kept the fish he was catching. He continued to stare at you. In the bright light reflecting on the ocean and sand, you could see his eyes were a deep shade of golden browns.
“Not yet.” You barely heard over the crashing of a wave right behind him. “But I feel like I’m’bout to.” He added at the end, his eyes never leaving your face. You laughed, unsure as to whether he was making a joke or simply talking from fisherman’s instinct. Another gust of wind threatened to steal the hat in your hands and you gripped onto it more tightly. Right then…
With a small nod towards him you took a step backwards and started to turn back. You made your way back to the break in the dunes where a small forest path lay a little further along, to take you back home.
Once you breached the dune you looked back, a weird feeling creeping up your neck. What if he watched where you crossed over and followed you down the little trail home? You nervously watched the top of the dune, half expecting to see a large figure rising up from behind it. But why would he follow you home? And how long would you stand there, waiting for nothing to happen? So you shook your head and turned back to the path, trying to get him out of your mind.
Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader
Part 3 | Previous
The smell of damp earth and petrichor filled your lungs, as the pine needles crunched under your wellies. The birds had come back after the heavy rain and sang loudly on the tops of the trees around you. Your eyes were darting to your legs regularly, paranoid for any mosquitos. When you had arrived there had been swarms of them following you, something you didn't know was common for the area, but maybe it was because there was a lagoon so close by.
In the distance you can always hear the ocean. Its presence is like a backdrop, never ending. You're not used to it - it's as if you were near some large waterfall or there was always strong wind over a hill nearby - that low constant rumble. You could feel the mosquito bites on your foot itching, inaccessible. You tried to focus your mind on the forest around you, the occasional stir of the trees above you, as your mind thought about this new situation of yours. Away from friends and family, it's what you had wanted, no? To get away from it all? The responsibilities of being a loved one? Have you been able to completely switch your phone off? Not really. Even though there were mostly low cellular bars on most of the land, you still desperately clung to it, tethered to the familiarity it brought you.
You climbed over your first hill. The trees here looked like they had been bent over from a storm, although you weren't sure - tire tracks marked the sandy earth and you could suppose this had been man made as well. But ahead of you lay a fallen branch from a tree, it's yellow flowers now laying on the soil. It was quite large but you felt like if you were any stronger you could have moved it out of the way. You stepped around it, noting that up the second hill lay another one of these. Looks like the wind and storm yesterday did more damage than you would have thought.
When you reached the beach, you gasped. Today it was a turbulent green, and close, much closer than last time to the dunes. This time, you were alone on the beach. You looked down the long stretch, on your left where you couldn't even see the end of it, and on your right, the coastal town. As if like some magic, you suddenly felt the sun on your back. The clouds had parted and you could see the blue sky, something that when you had been on the land, you hadn't yet seen that morning. You did feel freer here - the dunes outstretching for miles, parallel to a wild Atlantic ocean. The wind strong, but not so strong as to destabilise you, just enough to give you gasps of fresh air. And no mosquitos.
You relished that you were alone. No large lumbering fisherman you had to keep your eye on. Just you, the wild ocean, and the sun, bringing out her gorgeous hues of greens. You loved how she was always a different colour, always unpredictable. And always wild. Watching the waves crash, one after the other, never stopping on the sand, it felt like she was giving you permission to also be loud, unstoppable, and strong. Not caring if it disturbed anyone, or was too much. The ocean was the ocean, that's just how it was. You held onto your hat tightly, not wanting it to fly off your head unexpectedly. This time, there was no fisherman to grab it before it got lost into the waves.
You noticed the waves were getting closer. Your eyes couldn't help but fall down to the shells and stones again that littered at your feet. You crouched over, your eyes scanning for any interesting one. Once you started to find one or two that piqued your interest, it was hard to stop. You pocketed them into your hand and picked a fragment of a shell. It was orange and striped, but the stripes looked like they belonged to Jupiter or the rings of Saturn. There was something unearthly about it, and in a way, it was. You thought about how the ocean was less explored than space, even though it was right there, just a few feet from you. The wind was really picking up but you kept your head down, looking for more treasures, your hand moving past the first layers of shells and digging a little deeper into the sand. Maybe there were more layers here to uncover.
You were startled when a shadow covered the shells in front of you. You stumbled backwards, and landed on your ass, suddenly very aware of how cold and wet this beach was. You quickly looked up, although you had to crane your neck to actually fully see the behemoth standing above you. It was him.
"You betta watch out b’for' the waves take ye." He said. His voice easily cut over the sound of the crashing waves, a mere few metres away. You didn't know how to respond. You focused on standing back up, your shells now strewn back into the sand and mixed up with the others. You unsteadily came back to your feet, and roughly rubbed your sandy hands against your trousers roughly.
"I was being careful." Is the only thing that finally comes into your mind to answer him. After all, who is he to tell you what to do on the beach? You curse the gods above you for ruining your privacy, and almost as a response, the sunshine that had warmed you so nicely between the strong gusts of wind, was covered behind a large grey cloud. Well, that wasn't coming out any time soon. And where on earth had he come from?
He didn't answer you, just stood staring at you, hands deep into his black waterproof coat, black mask covering his face. Was he sick?
"Not fishing today?" You say, noticing his lack of gear.
"S'my off day." He replies shortly. Another silence. What is he waiting for, what does he want?
You shift your weight onto your other foot and you feel a chill run up your spine. It suddenly hits you that you two are completely alone on this beach. The layer of security that you always feel wrapped around you suddenly feels like it's been violently ripped away.
You try to cling onto the normal, the casual, and give him a small smile, the kind you give to a stranger you acknowledge across the street.
"Ok well, I'm gonna-"
"Let me buy ye a drink" he interrupts. It's like he knew you were trying to slither away. The request surprises you, both because it's still before midday, and because you find it hard to imagine a man like him asking to buy anyone a drink.
"Um... Right now? I still haven't had lunch yet and..." you don't know why but your words fail you. While you started speaking you had made eye contact, deep brown eyes and blond wisps of eyelashes, and his stare was so intense, so smouldering, that you didn't know exactly what you were trying to say to him. You didn't want to go for a drink right? Or did you? Suddenly you weren't so sure of yourself.
"Come on, I know a nice pub where they make a good fish n chips." He says, and he suddenly begins to move past you, hands still on his pockets, as he starts to walk down to the coastal town in the distance. You stand there for a few seconds, watching him walk away…
No one is forcing you to go, and you had to admit there was something about him that creeped you out - maybe the way it seemed he didn't know how to make normal conversation, or his unnaturally large size. But your legs began to walk towards him, following, a few paces behind, before your mind could actually make a decision.
You didn't bother to try and keep up with his strides, content to be a little behind, watching the back of his neck where his short blonde hair started, and you could make out the edge of a black tattoo, whenever the collar of his rainproof jacket moved down with his steps.
You had to admit, there was something a bit off putting about him, like the smell coming from his stall. What should have been a smell you usually enjoy - fresh salty ocean - was mixed in with death and guts: smells that should have stayed contained. The glassy eyes of the fish staring at you, as if to blame you for their predicament, their cold cadavers now laying on ice chips. Perhaps the smell of the dead fish served to cover his own smell of death that came off him.
Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader
Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader
Part 4 | Previous
The rain splattered heavily against the window panes of the pub. You were sitting towards the back, where it felt almost like nighttime, in a corner only illuminated by a small antique lamp that was probably there since the pub's establishment, and didn't do a very good job at providing much light. It only served to make the features on his face harsher. His mask was pulled down beneath his chin as he brought a pint of dark lager to his mouth. You noticed the curve of his upper lip marred by a scar, bring pulled up as if by an invisible hook.
You looked up and you realised he was looking at you. He had definitely noticed you staring. The rain hit the window panes behind him harder, the light coming in only silhouetting rather than illuminating him. The rain had started when you had reached the thatched roof pub, little pitter patters hitting the ground around you as he pushed the heavy door over your head and silently, letting you in before him.
You had ordered the fish and chips and a soda, and you were surprised to see the older barman automatically start pouring him a pint, without him even saying a word. You realised, you didn't even know his name. You couldn't think of any other time you had accepted to have lunch with someone who's name you didn't even know.
You pondered this as you dug into your battered fish when it arrived. Was it too late to ask now? It was a bit awkward wasn't it? Didn't he want to know your name? You kept eating quietly, as he kept watching you, almost expectantly. You put your knife down as you grabbed your soda and took a sip, the bubbles washing over your tongue.
“It's good.” You say, an attempt at trying to fill in the silence. He gives you an appreciative “mhmp” in response, and leans back, arms crossing over his -now- bare arms. You look at the crisscross of tattoos and scars covering them. There's so many, it's hard to tell when the scars start and the tattoos end.
You look back into his eyes that are still boring themselves into you. Has he looked anywhere else but you since you've sat down?
“S’mine. I'm the supplier.” He says. Oh. That explains why he wanted to take you here then. You nod slowly, chewing on another piece.
“Well… It's good. Fresh.” You say as you keep chewing. “I don't even usually like fish.” you tack on, and at that he snorts, surprising you. It's not a sound you've heard him make before and until now, you thought him maybe incapable of finding anything other than his crude humour amusing.
“Not big on fish but you're still bitin’”.
At that you falter. You have no idea how to respond to that, or really what he even means by that.
“Ever been on a fishing boat?” He suddenly asks out of nowhere. You look at him as you keep chewing slowly chewin. It looks like he hasn’t moved a muscle since you both sat down except to occasionally pick his pint up.
“No…” you finally reply. You wonder where this is going. Is this man, who’s name you don’t even know, about to invite you onto his boat?
“What’s your name?” Is all you can think of finally asking him when he says nothing.
“Simon”. He replies curtly. “But round here everyone calls me Ghost.”
“Ghost? That’s a strange name for a fisherman.” you say before you can stop yourself. He chuckles again and your eyes meet his.
“Wasn’ always a fisherman.” is all he answers.
“Oh.” The word falls from your mouth. Now you feel stupid. Embarrassed. You’re unsure if his answer is giving you space to ask more, to keep prying. You decide to test the waters.
“What were you doing before this then?” you say as you make a move to grab your soda, trying to at least, on the surface, appear level headed. Cool. Like the ice that clinks around when you lift the glass. He takes a while to respond.
“A different kind of fishing.” Is what he finally answers. Your eyes go back to the scars marring his arm, the strange but alluring scar pulling at his lip. You don't know how to answer that. “Aren’t you gonna ask me my name?” You say, and you make sure to drench your words with some bite. Maybe you can tease something more out of him than what he’s been giving you. You can see him smiling as he picks up his glass and takes a swig.
“Don’t need to. You can’t stay one day in this town without everyone already knowing who you are.”
You feel yourself start to violently blush. What does he mean? How many people have been speaking about you? Who told him about your name? How much does he know? All these questions begin to flood your mind as you grip the soda, your hands wet from the condensation on the glass.
“Who told you my name?”
“The baker the other morning’. New faces stick out ‘round here.” At that you’re silent. It feels like whatever move you try and pull on him, he’s always one step ahead on the chess piece. It’s then you realise, how much of a game is this to him?
“What brought you to town?” He asks. It feels like the first genuine question he’s asked you since you met him that day at the beach.
“Well, I’m looking after those horses. There’s six of them you know, so the owner, she doesn’t have time to look after them all.”
His eyes are still on you as he takes in the information.
“Sweetheart I know you’re volunteering on that land, living in that little caravan. She has volunteers coming in every other month. But why’dya come all the way here for?”
His replies begin to irritate you. The battered fish sits, half eaten, on your plate.
“Was looking for some peace and quiet I guess.”
“Did you find it?” He asks, almost too quickly. You shrug and look off to the side biting the inside of your cheek.
“Dunno.” You cross your left arm over your chest and bring your right hand up to bite at a loose cuticle, almost unconsciously. “Guess I was, then this fisherman started harassin’ me.” At that he laughs, louder than you’ve ever heard him laugh before. It’s hearty and full, and suddenly you realise you could lose yourself in that sound. Something stirs itself inside you, almost distracting you from the public embarrassment you start to feel when eyes around the pub look towards your table.
“Meet me on the pier tomorrow. At 8.” He finally says as he takes the last swig out of his glass, the dark liquid disappearing down past his pink lips. Your eyes linger on them before going back up and you know he’s caught you staring again.
“What? No, I’ve got to feed the horses and, and-” you start but he cuts you off.
“Wasn’t askin’ love.”
You don’t know what to say to that. Who does he think he is, telling you what to do?
You watch as he stands up and grabs his waterproof jacket off the back of the chair, and easily slides his arms into it. He zips it up, without looking at you, and makes his way to the bar where he places a folded twenty down, before walking out of the pub and into the rain. You’ve never met anyone who behaves like this before in your life, and you try and contemplate how you feel as you sit there, one arm still crossed over your chest. You look at your half eaten fish before you, and suddenly get a cold chill down your spine. Something about it suddenly feels like a foreshadowing, but you’re not sure why.
The next morning you wake up earlier than usual. Your alarm goes off at 6am. You need time to take care of the horses, and while you fill up the empty net bags with hay, the drizzle getting into your eyes, you ask yourself why on earth you’re actually going to go on this man’s fishing boat. That night when you got home, you asked tentative questions to the owner of the land, if she knew of this fisherman who went by Ghost. But her answers were so vague, you didn’t feel them really helping you. What you were really trying to ascertain was, was this safe? Could you trust this man?
But she shrugged, telling you she only saw him during market days and that his fish was always good. You hesitate to tell her about the fact he’s asked you to come on his boat. On the one hand you feel like having someone back on land know your whereabouts would be wise. On the other, something holds you back. What that is, you have no idea. You consider yourself to be a smart girl, someone who’s got her wits about her. But something about him, his stillness, the way his brown eyes stare at you as if you were the only person in the room, ignites something new inside of you, something you’re not sure you have the words to describe. It’s not sexual or primal, you’ve experienced that before - hell you’d been on dates and had one night stands; the stranger you might indulge a dance with, the flirtatious back and forth over glasses of wine. But something about this is different. All those men had seemed superficial to you, and the truth was that after two dates you were often bored. They asked you the same questions (do you have any siblings, what did you major in, and so on) and through no fault of their own, you often never agreed to a third date.
But here was a man who offered you very little, and indeed asked you very little back, and that piqued your curiosity. Perhaps, it was ironically this pure superficiality he was showing you and the rest of the world, that signalled to you there was more underneath. You saw with that scar on his lip something else - a man deep inside of him trying to hide the surface of what he has become, what his experiences, what he has seen and done, away from the world. Maybe that’s why he was also out here, like you: seeking to answer no more questions from others, to break out of the mould of society’s expectations of him.
You wondered this as you lay awake all night. Anxiety was wracking itself through your body as you heard the winds howling outside, the heavy raindrops hitting the roof of your caravan, making it impossible to sleep even if you had been able to.
