Simon Riley hasn't wanted anything in life, in a very long time. not since he learned early on that 'wanting' was a luxury for him. while personnel on base bragged about their women and children, or new homes and family accomplishments, simon listened quietly. it was easy for him to ignore the phantom ache in his heart as it briefly wanted those things they talked so animatedly about. he'd gotten so good at it, even, that he thought he was having a heart attack when he saw you on family day.
the 141 was stationed somewhere from home again, Bahrain to be exact. it had been five months into their eight month deployment when family day was approved. simon was never looking forward to it as he was incredibly estranged from the family that he did have left; but he did enjoy seeing soap's loud family, price's wife and child, and gaz's brothers. they always made sure to include him anyways.
so, family day was supposed to be like any other time they've had it. until you came in with gaz's youngest brother and simon felt that ache again. it consumed him the moment he locked eyes with you. he tried to tell himself that you must be taken, dating gaz's brother or even gaz himself. until it became all too apparent how similar you and his sergeant looked. you were just way prettier. there was no ring on your finger either and when you smiled at him while gaz introduced you as his twin sister, he began to know what it meant to want.
and damnit, would he do whatever it took to have you.
cw: Talks of violence from Simon and mentions of abuse from Reader
a/n: Thank you guys from all of the responses to the poll, I really hope that you guys like this chapter! My taglist is now closed, thank you for everyone who asked to be put on the taglist! I will also say that I am working through my master's degree and I am about to get fairly busy, so chapters might come a little slower, so thank you for your patience!
pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4
wc: 2,465
Simon was used to battlefields, shots ringing out close to his head, and pulling off some of the most dangerous missions unknown to the normal civilian. But right now, he felt like this was the hardest thing he had ever set out to achieve:
Successfully go on a date with the pretty woman next door.
He had been debating his outfit, whether he should bring her something, which cologne to wear, and many, many other things since his feet hit the floor at 4 am. He had settled on a nice black button-up (one that highlighted his biceps; he really hoped she would be into it) and a pair of black pants with his boots. He sprayed on a little bit of his cologne, not wanting the smell to be overpowering if she was sensitive to the smell, and took one last look in the mirror.
As he looked into the mirror, he brought his hand up to his mask, lightly tugging at the edges to adjust it. Should he take it off? How would she react if he did? Would she scream in horror and slam the door in his face? Would she vomit right there in front of the door? Would she call the police? He was beginning to spiral deep into his insecurities, and quickly shook his head to snap himself out of the downward spiral before he became too lost in his own head. Taking one last glance in the mirror, he checked the time on his watch.
8:55
Perfect. He adjusted his mask one more time and grabbed his keys and wallet before heading out. He walked the few feet to her door and gave a gentle knock to let her know he was here to pick her up. What greeted him, however, was an unfamiliar face.
"Who is it-?" The woman asked, pausing as she was met with a broad chest, slowly dragging her eyes up to meet Simon's eyes underneath his mask and let out an unholy scream before slamming the door shut. Simon didn't even flinch, as he was used to those reactions whenever people saw his face, or at the very least letting a grimace show on their face.
"I'm telling you we need to call the cops! There is literally a robber right outside the door with a skull mask and everything! I'll grab the bat, and you take Nugget and yourself into the bathroom-!"
He then heard the gentle voice break through the panic, soothing her friend.
"That's Simon, the guy I told you that I was going on a date with today and why I asked you to watch Nugget. He's not a robber, I promise. He's a very sweet man; he's helped me and Nugget several times."
"Are you certain about going on a date with him?"
"Absolutely."
Simon's heart skipped a beat at the confidence in her answer, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread underneath his mask. The door opened again, and there she stood looking like she came straight out of a photograph. She wore a cozy cream sweater and her bottoms were a good contrast to the sweater, and her boots were a good combination of practical and stylish. His mouth went dry as he looked at her, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Y-Yeh look great, luv." He said softly, offering his hand for her to take. She smiled and gently placed her hand within his own, giving it a small squeeze. "You look handsome as well, Simon."
She turned back to the door where Nugget was standing with her friend, letting him run into her free arm as she squatted down and gave him a tight squeeze. "Behave for Miss Carol, okay Nugget?"
"I will, mommy! 'll be soooo good!" He gave her a smooch on the cheek, causing her to giggle and kiss his head.
"I love you, Nugget."
"I love you too, mommy! Have fun wi' Mister Simon!"
After watching her friend and Nugget go back into the apartment, Simon gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they began to walk towards the apartment parking lot. "Go' a question for yeh, luv."
"Yes?" She blinked up at him, tilting her head ever so slightly.
"Woul' yeh prefer to take a normal car to the cafe or…we could take my motorcycle there?" He kept his eyes on her face as he watched her reaction. Her eyes went wide, squeezing his hand tighter as her face lit up. "You have a motorcycle?! I've never ridden on a motorcycle before!"
Simon chuckled, pulling out his keys to his motorcycle and guiding her over to his ride. It was one of the first things he had done when he went into retirement from the military. He had found it alongside one of the roads for a cheap price and had spent months finding parts and fixing it up by hand until it was in perfect condition. He prided himself on his 'baby,' and he enjoyed the look on her face as she looked over the motorcycle.
He went around to the back and pulled out two helmets, walking back over to her after setting the larger of the two helmets on the seat. "Hold still for a sec, luv."
He gently slid the helmet over her head, being careful not to mess up her pretty hairstyle. He softly explained what he was doing as he went through the motions of adjusting the helmet to fit her head, being careful not to let the straps pinch her or let the helmet be too tight and squeeze her head.
Once he was satisfied that she would be safe should anything happen, he slid his own helmet on and adjusted his straps. He slid onto the motorcycle first, adjusting to sit comfortably.
"Alrigh' luv, slide on behind me and hold on tight. Don' wan' yeh falling off and hurtin' any part of yeh." Simon smiled as he felt her carefully slide onto the bike behind him and felt her arms wrap tightly around her abdomen. He started up the motorcycle and pulled out onto the street, glancing to make sure nothing was coming before starting down the street. He didn't go as fast as he normally would, considering that he had precious cargo riding with him this time.
The day was pleasant, with a chilly but bright blue sky over them as they made their way from street to street. The breeze that blew over them was refreshing, letting the cool breeze soothe his nerves. He felt her arms tighten around him further to get closer to his warmth, letting out a chuckle. "Yeh doin' alright back there, bird?"
He felt her nod against his back, reaching down to squeeze one of her hands. "Almost there."
He pulled into the parking lot of the cafe a few minutes later, helping her off once he cut the engine. The warmth of the cafe was pleasant, and the atmosphere was comforting. The smell of coffee and pastries hit his nose, and he felt his stomach grumble. He glanced down at her, watching her glance at the menu and the glass case that contained replicas of the food they sold. Her eyes roamed over all of the different options, but her eyes lingered on a breakfast croissant sandwich. The longing in her eyes could be compared to that of characters looking at each other in a romance movie, and the thought made him almost let out a loud laugh.
"Get what yeh want, sweetheart." He gently nudged her and gave a nod at the register. "Brunch is on me today."
She looked nervous as she went up to the register, giving her order of a small coffee and a simple blueberry scone on the menu. Simon was in shock as he heard her order the scone with the way she was looking at the sandwich, but he figured that she felt like she was going to be a burden if she ordered what she truly wanted. He racked his mind for a way to fix this, a small idea popping up in his mind.
"Luv, why don' yeh go find us a spot to sit?" Simon gently placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her towards the tables. "'ll order mine and meet yeh at the table."
She gave him a little nod and walked off towards the tables, letting his eyes linger on her figure for a moment longer before turning back to the register. "'ll take a large black coffee, a chocolate muffin, and 'd also like to add the croissant sandwich to the order as well."
Once paying, he slid his card back into his wallet and began to scan the room for the woman he absolutely adored. His eyes locked onto her sitting by one of the large windows at the front of the shop, looking outside as she rested her head on one of her hands. He could have sworn that she looked exactly like a painting, and wished that he could capture this moment. Simon walked over to her table and slid into the seat across from her, watching her startle for a moment and then relax once she realized that it was just him.
They chatted for a few minutes as they waited, and he saw the staff member bringing their food over to their table. Her eyes went wide as both the scone and the sandwich was placed in front of her, her eyes darting up to him with a slightly accusing look on her face. He laughed as he watched her reaction, finding her pout absolutely adorable.
"Seriously, Simon? I would have been fine with just the scone, really…"
"Sweetheart, you were staring at that sandwich like it was the long-lost love of your life. I couldn't jus' let yeh walk away without getting it. Now, eat up and no more fussin', got it?" He playfully pointed a stern finger at her, raising an eyebrow.
She pretended to pout for another moment before sighing dramatically. "Yes, sir. But I won't enjoy a single bite, you hear me!" She took a bite out of her sandwich, and he watched her visibly melt and close her eyes in pure bliss. He took a sip of his coffee as he kept his eyes on her, enjoying her reactions to her meal.
He wondered how often she got to enjoy things like this, especially seeing how worried she always looked when money was involved. She always seemed to put Nugget's enjoyment and needs above her own, and he wondered if she truly ever got things for herself to enjoy. The thought broke his heart, he wanted to be the one to ensure that she and Nugget never had to worry about financial needs ever again and that they would have whatever their hearts desired.
"Sweetheart, how often do you do something for yerself…?" Simon asked gently, grabbing her hand delicately and allowing his thumb to rub over the back of her hand. She bit her lip as she considered his question, looking a bit melancholy at his question.
"Nugget is a child; his needs and wants are more important to me than my own. He deserves the world, and I wish I could give him everything he could ever want or need. It breaks my heart to see him look at the toy stores while we walk home and ask for something and have to tell him no. Right now, it's just hard to get back on our feet after the divorce, and I didn't really ask for any money from my ex since I just wanted to get us as far away from him as possible."
"Sweetheart…" He understood the feeling, and was grateful that she was being honest with him instead of continuing to hold it all in. "I'm so sorry yeh had to go through something so horrible. I suppose I got a glimpse of what you had to experience for so long the other night, but I want yeh to know that I am here if yeh need anything. I want to be there for yeh and Nugget, and I want to show yeh that what I feel for yeh is true."
"Simon…" He could see her eyes watering, but a genuine smile had made its way to her lips as she looked up at him. "Thank you, thank you so much!"
"Since yeh have given up multiple parts about yerself, I figure it's abou' time I did the same for yeh." He took a breath, giving her hand a small squeeze as he readied himself. "I…I was in the military. A very special part of the military where our missions were classified. Pretty much ''ll-have-to-kill-yeh' if yeh knew. 've taken plenty o' lives and seen many lives taken, and it still gives me nightmares every night. t's another reason I wear the mask, 'm not the most handsome bloke because of the scars 've gotten and 've made plenty of enemies." He kept his eyes downcast from her face, not wanting to see the disappointment and horror that must have been on her face as he spoke about what he had done.
"Simon…" He tensed, waiting for the yelling, the screaming, telling him that he's a monster and that she never wants to see him again. "…I think you're really brave."
His head shot up, his eyes wide in shock as he looked at her. "B-Brave?!"
She nodded, a confident look in her eyes. "Yes. You served your country, you had to see and experience so many horrible things, and I'm sure you lost many people who you were close with. Yet you still get up every morning, you run your shop, you take care of others, and you've opened up about that part of yourself to me. I think you're really brave, and this doesn't change a thing about how I feel about you!"
Simon was stunned into silence, his heart pounding and face bright red as he tried to make his mouth function again. Her own face was red, but she still clasped his larger hand in her smaller one and a determined look in her eyes. "I-if you still want me after hearing about what I have been through, then- then I still want to be by your side after hearing this, if you'll have me!"
"O-Of course 'd still want yeh, sweetheart. I would love nothin' more than to be a partner worthy of you, and to remain by Nugget and yeh. I…I want to be with you, if yeh'd be okay with that…?"
Her face lit up with a smile, leaning over to press a kiss to his masked cheek.
💌 this is a gift for @lumilily for their donation to the Anishinabek Nation 7th Generation Charity | if you would like your own gifted fic, you can find all the information on this post or you can go to @charitywriters for more!
prompt: wholesome/fluffy ghost x reader finding and taking in a stray cat together, with ghost having "dad who didn't want a cat but ends up loving it the most" energy
There is a cat under the neighbor's car and it is — screaming.
A thin, furious sound; a complaint for Mother Nature and the rain she’s bestowed upon the city for the better part of three days.
You crouch down on the wet pavement in front of your building and peer into the dark undercarriage, you find two yellow eyes glaring back.
"Leave it," Simon says above you, holding the groceries in one hand and the umbrella over you in the other.
"It's soaked,” you protest without looking back at him.
"It lives outside, it’s used to it."
"It's a kitten, Si," you complain.
"Kittens live outside too."
You extend a careful hand under the car and the screaming stops, which you choose to interpret as encouragement. "Hi," you say sweetly to the curled-up-black-mass. "Hello. You are very loud, did you know?"
You stretch out your index finger to gently pet it’s cheek and the kitten bites you — not hard — just a test bite, checking if your finger is food, probably. Then just as quickly, it stalks out from under the car and you learn he’s orange, drenched and too skinny for your liking.
It walks directly past your outstretched hand to sit beneath Simon, right in the space between his bulky boots, its probably ten weeks or so.
"No," Simon says to the cat.
The cat looks up at him and screams again.
“We can’t leave him in the rain. He’s so skinny, Si. Look at him, let’s at least feed him. We just bought plenty tuna.”
“Yeah, and it’s for me,” he grumbles.
——
You do everything on your own that first night while Simon remains at a distance with his arms crossed, providing pessimistic commentary.
"Cats are unpredictable," he says while you dry between the kitten's ears.
"He's been rained on for days, the fleas have drowned," you turn the kitten over and start to dry his belly, finding confirmation there that he is, in fact, a boy.
"They scratch furniture," he continues later from the sofa while you crank open a can of tuna in the kitchen. "Piss in shoes, bring in dead things," he lists. "We’re not keepin’ this cat."
"Nobody said we were," you sing-song through the doorway, scratching at the kitten's chin, cooing at him where he’s sat on the countertop.
"Puttin’ it on the record, s’all.”
The kitten eats some tuna from your hand and drinks some water out of the saucer you place on the floor. After, he ignores the box you lined with blankets completely, and opts to fall asleep in the middle of the living room floor, just in front of Simon’s socked feet.
——
In the morning you make a list — litter, cat food, flea treatment to ease Simon’s mind — and leave the two of them alone together.
——
The kitten follows him around immediately and everywhere, at a peppy rolling trot. The kitchen, down the hallway, he shuts the bathroom door just to find a paw under it seconds later, sweeping side to side.
When he comes out the kitten falls in at his heel again.
"You've got the whole flat," Simon tells him.
The kitten looks up at him, wide-eyed, and says nothing, which is somehow worse than the screaming, Simon thinks.
He starts the kettle on the stove and the kitten jumps — scrabbles, mostly, all back legs — onto the counter and sits down next to him.
"No," Simon says. "Off."
The kitten stares at him.
"Y’not meant to be up here, mate. Counters are for food."
Simon picks him up one-handed and sets him on the floor.
The kitten is back on the counter before the kettle boils. Simon sets him down again.
By the third try, the kitten nearly sticks the landing, wobbles, and headbutts Simon's forearm, and Simon stands there and has a quiet think.
"Well,” he slides the kitten away with his hand. “Not near the hob, then," he decides. "Gotta draw the line somewhere, yeah?"
By the time your home, they're both in the front room — Simon on the sofa, the kitten on the armrest, both facing the telly.
"Checked. Shelter’s open Monday," he says before you've even got your shoes off.
You look at the bag of litter in your arms, then at the cat right at Simon's side.
"Right," you say, rolling your eyes. "Monday."
——
To your surprise, Monday comes and goes without a complaint. When you return from work and find the two of them on the couch again, you choose very deliberately not to ask.
Tuesday there's a proper bowl on the floor in the kitchen, stainless steel and weighted, because ‘the saucer kept sliding’.
Wednesday you come home to a litter box with a hood on it, tucked behind the bathroom door.
Thursday it's a scratching post — sisal, with a platform bed on top — and a small mouse toy, already disemboweled in the hallway.
You… did not buy any of it.
The kitten has started to become a resident. He has routines now: he sits in the counter's approved quadrant while Simon cooks, supervising. He does laps of the flat at three AM like a lunatic and sleeps until ten like the king of this place.
Two weeks later, he is, visibly, day by day, less kitten and more cat.
You're both on the sofa, your feet in Simon's lap, nose in a book, some film on in the background that you’re not sure Simon is even half-watching because there is an awful lot of shifting going on behind your novel. Then a small rhythmic thump against your ankle. Then another.
Thump. Thump-thump. ThumpThumpThump.
You lower the book.
Simon has pulled the string of his hoodie out to dangle over the armrest, swinging it side-to-side, round-and-round, and the cat is up on his back legs boxing at it, every lunge sending an orange ball airborne, ricocheting off your shins.
“Really?” you ask fondly.
“‘e started it,” Simon says, eyes still on the cat.
He flicks the string and the cat leaps, misses, and slides halfway down the armrest with a scrabble; Simon catches him around the middle with one hand and sets him back up top.
The kitten catches the string at last — teeth and claws sunk in, back feet kicking, growling at it like prey. Simon lets him keep it, the corner of his mouth tugging sideways, satisfied; charmed, even.
You watch them over the top of your book — your enormous, cat-hating man, losing a tug-of-war to one.
“Should probably name him,” you try, hiding your grin, pushing your feet under his thighs.
“Been callin’ ‘im Nigel,” he says, not looking over. “Decided that’s what ‘e wants t’be called.”
You sit up so fast you lose your page. You furrow your brows. “Nigel?!” you complain. “We’re not calling him Nigel!”
“S’too late, love,” he grins down at Nigel. “Look at ‘im and tell me tha’ s’not a Nigel.” He nudges his foot under the cat and he climbs up his leg right away, as if the trick has been practiced.
The pair turn and look at you at the same time, heads tilted exactly the same.
You tilt yours back, the corner of your mouth twitching up.
a/n: I hope you guys like pt 4 of this series!! I might put out a poll tomorrow about the next chapter, so keep an eye out for that! My taglist is still open, but I might have to close it after this post since so many of you have asked to be put on the taglist which I am so blessed to see!
pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.5
wc: 1,473
Simon let out a groan as he collapsed onto his couch after kicking his boots off at his front entrance. It had been a long day, especially when a Karen came in and was complaining about his prices and having to painfully explain that he was charging market price and that every butcher's shop around would have the exact same price per pound. She was not happy about that and decided to throw a tantrum in the middle of his shop while other shoppers watched on awkwardly. If he were still in the military, he might have gotten away with snapping at her, but now that he was a civilian, no bueno.
Just as he was about to grab his cigarettes and head outside to have a smoke to relax his shot nerves, a soft knock came upon his door. He grunted as he got off the couch and grumbled as he made his way over to the door, ready to chew out whoever was on the other side. Whatever harsh words he planned on throwing out died the moment he saw the nervous woman before him.
"Yeh alright, luv?" He asked, his voice immediately softening and his body relaxing from his defensive stance. He leaned against his doorframe, keeping his eyes on her as she nervously shifted from foot to foot.
"I-I'm sorry to bother you, Simon, and I know you probably just got home, but my neighbor in the apartment on the other side of me gave me a fresh piece of cod, and I wanted to try cooking it for dinner for Nugget and me. I'm not sure of the best way to cook cod, and I knew you gave me a really good recipe last time for the salmon, and I was wondering if maybe you had a good one for cod…?"
She looked so adorable rambling on about being unsure about how to cook the fish, and he was more than happy to help his sweet bird out. "'m more than happy to help ya, luv. Lemme get my shoes on and 'll come help yeh cook the fish."
She went wide-eyed and immediately began to quickly reassure him that she just wanted a recipe, that she didn't want to bother him after a long day of work, that she was sure he wanted to rest, but he waved off her concerns and slipped his shoes back on. He stepped out of his apartment, gently guiding her back a few steps to make room for him to step out. He still got a little bit of a rush whenever he stood next to her and the size comparison, his heart pounding just a smidge faster at the contact.
Seeing as she couldn't convince Simon to rest, she begrudgingly allowed him into her apartment and called out for her son. The little boy zoomed over to his mother, beaming up excitedly at Simon.
"Mister Simon, Mister Simon! You're really here! Are you here for dinner? Are you gonna cook dinner?" He was so excited to see him, and it warmed Simon's heart, as most kids were usually scared of him with his mask.
"Yeah, 'm gonna help yer mum cook a good dinner for yeh. How does that sound to yeh?" He gently ruffled his hair, eliciting a loud giggle from the boy. He nodded, excited that 'Mister Simon' was there to cook dinner for him and his mother.
After a moment, Simon walked into the kitchen where she was already getting out the piece of fish and a few other ingredients that could go along with the fish dinner they were about to prepare.
"Alrigh', let's see wha' we're workin' with, luv." He examined the piece of fish with a scrutinizing eye, examining the piece for any bad pieces or uneven cuts. Once he was satisfied with the quality, he grabbed a knife from the knife block sitting on the counter and began cutting the fish and eyed out three equal portions.
"Woul' yeh prefer baked or panfried cod, luv?" He glanced over at her as she cut up some vegetables to go along with the fish.
"Whichever is fastest, I have a feeling that nugget will get hungry soon. The faster it'll cook, the faster he can get his stomach full." She smiled over at Simon, and the whole kitchen seemed to take on a comfortable tone. It was domestic, the two of them working side-by-side in the kitchen and discussing exactly what to make for dinner to feed their her son. Simon nodded and looked around for a pan that he could begin to sear the pieces of fish, as it was faster than baking.
Once armed with a skillet, he added oil into the pan and turned the heat up. While he waited for the pan to get hot, he filled a pot with water to steam the broccoli that she cut up and she shot him a thankful look with that gentle smile, and he would give anything to keep that look on him for the rest of his life. All of his life, he had been rough and hard, but she made him want to be soft and gentle like he was handed something fragile. Perhaps he had, after hearing what her ex-husband had done to her.
The oil was beginning to smoke, letting him know the pan was ready. He set the pieces of fish into the pan, watching them carefully to ensure that they wouldn't burn and serve her and her son pieces of coal for dinner. 'Nugget' had come into the kitchen too, sticking around Simon and yapping away about everything that he had done that day, and Simon responding with nods and 'oh reallys '.
Everything came together quickly, and soon enough, dinner was being served, and she was cutting Nugget's fish into little pieces. Dinner was filled with laughter and stories from the day; it really cemented the domestic feeling that had settled into Simon's chest and made him ache in a good way. He wanted this, he wanted this every single day of the rest of his life. The cooking, the back and forth conversation, the laughing, the contentment that comes with having a good meal.
Simon even helped clean up afterwards, even with her insisting that he didn't have to help clean up after cooking dinner for them. He stayed a little longer until Nugget began to yawn.
"You ready to start getting ready for bed, nugget?" She asked softly, the little boy nodding his head sleepily in response. She scooped him up into her arms and pressed a little kiss into his hair with a smile on her lips. "Alright then, say goodnight to Mister Simon so we can get you ready for bed."
"Nig' Mister Simon…" The little boy mumbled sleepily, bringing a soft smile to Simon's lips.
"Night, kiddo." He watched her take Nugget into the bedroom and set him down for a moment so she could come back over to Simon. She walked with him to the front door, standing in the doorframe as he stood back out on the cold concrete of the flooring outside of the apartments.
"Thank you again, I really can't thank you enough for this. I mean, you've cooked dinner for us, you listened to me the other week, you've done so much for us. I feel like I haven't done anything in return for you." Her voice was soft, an appreciative look in her eyes as she gazed up at him.
"I already told yeh luv, it's not a problem. I enjoy gettin' ta help yeh out. Besides, tha' little boy in there definitely makes things more interesting." You also make things more interesting, bird.
"Seriously, what can I do to pay you back for everything that you've done for us?" He could tell she was serious, her eyebrows creased and a little frown on her lips as she put her hands on her hips.
Simon thought for a moment, deciding if it would be worth the risk. He decided then and there that if he could handle being shot at and nearly being blown to bits multiple times, he could do this.
"Woul' yeh consider getting a coffee with me sometime?"
He kept his eyes on her, taking in her response. She froze for a moment, a flush rising to her cheeks. "L-Like a date?" She asked, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him.
Simon nodded, adjusting his mask almost nervously. "Like a date, if yeh would allow me to take yeh out?"
After getting over her shock, she gave a small little nod and avoided eye contact. "I'm free for coffee on Saturday? I can drop Nugget off with a friend of mine."
cw: Mentions of domestic abuse and violence, soft Simon
a/n: I seriously cannot thank you guys enough for all the love and support you guys have shown for this series and asking for more! In honor of my birthday tomorrow, I kind of went a little more ham on this part! If you would like to be put on the tag list, please leave a comment and let me know!
wc: 1,966
pt.1 pt.2 pt.4 pt.5
Simon's apartment was normally peaceful, a quiet and serene getaway from the chaos of life outside of his four walls.
His peace, however, was nowhere to be found tonight.
His old team, formerly known as Task Force 141, had come over to watch a football game and catch up on their lives, which had grown now that they weren't getting shipped off on dangerous missions every few weeks. Currently, Simon had a paper plate full of food resting on his lap and holding a can of soda in his free hand while his other hand carded through Riley's fur. He was recommended an emotional support animal after he left the military and was a bit resistant to the idea at first, but after visiting a nearby animal shelter and seeing Riley there, he ended up adopting the pup and bringing him home.
After a few minutes, though, Riley was bribed away by Soap, who was waving a chicken wing in Riley's direction with a mischievous grin on his face. Simon rolled his eyes and tried to focus back in on the game, but unfortunately, his friends decided to not grant him any peace tonight.
"So, Simon. You seem to be…lighter lately." Price had a knowing smile on his lips as he looked over at the masked man. Simon let out a grunt, keeping his eyes glued to the TV and trying to avoid the plummeting feeling in his stomach. He didn't want to give up the private little piece of his brain (and heart) that contained the woman and her son who continued to visit his butcher shop frequently with smiles that seemed to be just as warm as their hearts. It made him look forward to opening up shop on Fridays, knowing that they would show up after the little one's school got out.
He was a man who hadn’t been able to have much in his life, and he wasn't willing to let life rip this good thing out of his hands too.
"I think yeh got your head hit one too many times, Captain." Simon said, crossing his arms as he replied to the mustached man, his eyes narrowing behind his mask.
"Nah, I think he's right, mate. Yeh do seem different." Soap grinned at Simon, propping his chin up on his fist. "I think he's got a bird that he doesn't want us to know about."
Simon whipped his head around to glare at the Scottish man, gritting his teeth. "Shut yer trap, McTavish." He hissed out between clenched teeth. He felt like he was a cat being cornered and was about ready to swipe his claws at his friends if they kept pushing.
Gaz chuckled, plopping down beside Simon on the couch. "Easy, guys. Poor bloke looks like he's about ready to throw himself out the window any moment if we keep pushing it." Simon glanced over at Gaz and gave him a small appreciative nod. The other two settled down after Gaz's comment; the conversation seemed to return to normal, and the attention settled back onto the football game.
After a little while longer, he felt the itch to smoke begin to scratch at the back of his mind and decided he needed a break from the chaos of his mates and the game for a few minutes. He groaned as he got up off the couch; muscles and joints that had been abused on countless missions now felt like stiff rubber bands as he stretched his limbs out.
"Headin' outside for a baccy." He grumbled to his mates, grabbing the cigarette pack off of the side table and a random lighter and headed out the door into the cool night air. He allowed himself to pause and take a deep breath, letting his muscles relax.
He rolled up the edge of his mask, just until his lips and nose were visible before placing the cigarette between his lips. He was about to light the end when he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye. The figure was a woman on her phone, and he could hear voices from both sides, but one was soft and stern and the other…
The other voice sounded exactly the same as his father when he was angry.
It made his blood run cold, turning his thoughts more towards listening in on the conversation and trying to understand what was being said by both parties.
"You know you're not supposed to contact me directly; you're supposed to contact me through my lawyer!" The woman paused, listening to the yelling on the other end. Her body language was tense, and her shoulders were shaking as if she were crying or holding back anger. From the way it sounded like the conversation was going, perhaps both.
"No, you will contact my lawyer. I never want to see your face again, and our- no. My son doesn't need to be anywhere near you! My son and I deserve better, and you deserve to rot in a prison cell for the rest of your life!" Simon watched as the woman hung up on the man's screaming voice and let her hand drop to her side. Her shoulders were shaking even more now, her hands coming up to cover her face as quiet sobs came from her form.
Simon felt slightly awkward, feeling like he had just intruded on something highly personal that he shouldn't have been listening in on. He cleared his throat softly as he approached, hesitantly reaching out to the woman. "Ma'am…? Are yeh alright?"
The woman turned to face him, and he felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped on him. There she was, the woman who had been haunting his thoughts the past few weeks. Her cheeks were damp with tears and her eyes glistening in the moonlight, and her face was flushed in anger and shame.
"S-Simon…?" She croaked out, quickly wiping her face and eyes with the backs of her hands to rid herself of the dampness on her face. "W-What are y-you doing out here?"
"I came out for a smoke, but I saw yeh on the phone. I didn't realize yeh were 'ere, luv." Simon responded, being sure to keep his tone gentle. Well, as gentle as his rough voice could get. He didn't want to scare the poor bird; she was already shaken up as it was, and he couldn't blame her. He wished he could simply take her in his arms and tell her that he would never treat her or her son like that, and he would rather carve out his own heart than let anything hurt them again.
"I-I'm so sorry you had to hear that…" She hiccuped, avoiding Simon's gaze. He shook his head, tilting her chin up gently with his fingers and watching her shiver slightly at the contact.
"No luv, yeh don't have to feel ashamed. Not wi' me. Yeh don't deserve to be spoken to like tha', yeh hear me?" He made sure to keep eye contact and searched her eyes for any sign that she understood his words. "Yeh don't have to tell me now, but if yeh need to talk abou' what happened, 'm all ears. "
She sniffled, wiping her face once more as she took in a shaky breath. "M-my ex-husband, somehow he got ahold of my new number and called me in a rage…he's still furious about the divorce and that I got custody of our son. He was told he could only contact me through my lawyer, but you can see how well he listened to that…" She let out a chuckle, but it wasn't a humorous one. It was a tired, exhausted laugh, one where it seemed like the weight of the entire world was on her shoulders. Perhaps to her, it really was.
"I couldn't keep nugget there; I couldn't do that to him. He was only violent with me, but the thought of him turning on him and going after him too-" Her breathing was becoming erratic, and Simon quickly pulled her into his arms without thinking, rubbing a large hand up and down her back and shushing her gently.
"It's okay, luv. Yer 'ere away from 'im, yer son is safe, yer safe." He said quietly. The warmth of her in his arms felt so right, but he didn't want to put how he was feeling ahead of what she was feeling and needing to be there for her. If she was falling apart, he would be there to hold all of her broken pieces together.
Simon let her cry into his chest for quite a while, shushing her softly and continuing to rub his hand in circles between her shoulder blades. After a little bit, her sobs turned to sniffles, and she was able to pull her head back to look at him. Her eyes were definitely puffy now, but he still thought she was gorgeous even like this.
"There we go, luv. Yeh feel better now?" He asked her softly, receiving a small nod in response.
"Yes, thank you. I'm so sorry you had to see me like this…I really appreciate you listening to me."
"Hey, yeh don't need to apologize to me, not one bit. Yer so strong taking care of your son by yourself every day and having to deal with tha' ba- with that jerk. Yer working and doing a great job."
She gave him a small, genuine smile and the tightness in his chest loosened up, feeling like he could breathe easier now that she was smiling again.
"H-How come you're at this building, Simon?" She asked, seeming to want to change the subject.
"Ah, I live in tha' apartment back there." He pointed at his door that was just a few paces away from where they were both standing. Her eyebrows lifted, a shocked expression on her face.
"No way! I live in the apartment beside yours! The door with the little plant outside!" She was quick to point at the door to the right of Simon's, and indeed there was a little potted plant he had never noticed before.
"Wha' are the odds then?" He chuckled, smiling down at her. It was then they both seemed to realize that she was still in Simon's arms. She let out a little squeak and slightly scrambled back, cheeks flushed. "I-I'm sorry, I-I'd better check on my son and make sure he's okay! H-Have a good night, Simon!"
Simon watched her quickly retreat into her apartment, still feeling her warmth that had soaked into his hoodie. His own face was warm beneath the mask, but a big smile was on his lips. He no longer needed his cigarette after that, shoving it back into the case and stepping back into his apartment.
He could feel his mate's eyes bore holes into him as he stepped back into the apartment, their gaze continuing to follow him until he sat back down on the couch.
Soap was the first one to speak, one eyebrow raised. "Tha' was an awfully long smoke break, L.T. Yeh run into a burglar or somethin'?"
"My bet's on chatting up a pretty bird." Price said, a grin on the ex-captain's lips.
"I think he needed a break from all of our noise. It has been a while since we've been able to let loose like this." Gaz chuckled, continuing to watch Simon's expression.
Simon ignored all of their comments, his heart full. The gentle woman lived right next door to him, and he was going to make sure that absolutely no harm would come to her or her son. He also had an excuse to see her more often now, and he wasn't going to let this chance slip through his fingers.
a/n: Thank you guys so much for all the love and support on my last post! I hope you guys enjoy pt 2 of the 'Keeping Them Fed' series! I also may or may not already have a part 3 planned if ya'll wanted that 👀
wc: 978
pt.1 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5
Simon was cleaning his knives and equipment late one Friday afternoon, still thinking about that mother and child that came into the shop last week and those smiles that had begun to melt the hardened wall around his heart. He shook his head slightly as if he could simply shake away the thoughts of the two from his mind. Simon was sure that she was married, though he didn't get a glimpse of a ring on her left ring finger. There was no way a sweet bird like her wasn't married though, especially with a son.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the bell above his door ring out, alerting him to customers. Setting his equipment aside, he turned to face whoever came into his shop, and as soon as he caught a glimpse of their face, his heart stopped for a split second.
There she was. Her smile was just as bright as before, but this time, it reached her eyes a little more. He looked down and saw her son standing there too, his little chest puffed out with pride and a grin on his face. Pinned on his jacket was a blue ribbon that had a gold '#1!' on the white part and had become slightly crooked from movement.
"Mister Simon, look! I won an award at school today!" He pulled his jacket out more to bring it upwards to show Simon better, even though he could already see it well enough. Simon let out a chuckle that vibrated through his chest, and he smiled slightly behind his mask.
"Congratulations, champ. Wha' did yeh win it for?" He asked, leaning forward over the counter to easily talk with the little boy.
"I won it for art! We had a compi- compototion?" The little boy's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to get the word out, his face scrunching in frustration.
"Competition, nugget." The woman's voice was gentle as she corrected her son, smiling at him as she fixed his mussed-up hair.
"Yeah, competition!" He cheered, the bright smile coming back to his face after she told him the word he was looking for. "My teacher told me that my drawing was the best and- and she gave me this ribbon!"
Simon's eyebrows raised enough to go underneath his mask slightly, eyes crinkled with a smile as he nodded. "Sounds like yeh have somethin' to celebrate then, huh?"
The woman nodded, looking up at Simon. "Yes, I told him that we could celebrate tonight and that I would cook him whatever he wanted for dinner. He decided he wanted hamburger steak, so could I please get a pound of ground chuck? I have more on me this time, I promise." She let out an awkward little chuckle, but Simon immediately caught onto the anxiety and embarrassment behind the laugh.
Simon nodded, changing into a fresh pair of gloves. "I gotcha, luv. One pound o' ground chuck."
Grabbing the chuck she wanted, he began to grind fresh meat for them. He told himself it was because he needed to grind some anyway for grab-and-go packages, but deep within his heart, he knew that the true reason was that he had a soft spot for this mother and son.
He measured out the chuck before hesitating for a split second. Making up his mind, he discreetly added more into the package after printing out the sticker for the package and sticking it on so she would be none the wiser about what he had done for them. Turning around, he gently placed the package onto the counter.
"Tha' 'll be 5.19, luv." Simon watched as she pulled out her wallet and grabbed a £10 bill, but he could see the calculations going on behind her eyes. His heart ached for her, and he was glad that he had decided on giving her a little extra. He gently took the money from her hand and allowed their fingers to brush against each other. He glanced down inconspicuously at her hand to see if there was a ring on her finger or not, and his heart skipped when he saw no band circling her ring finger.
Simon quickly got her change and handed it back to her, giving her a slight nod as he did so. She smiled that gentle smile at him again, and he noticed the flush on her cheeks as well, a small bit of pride flaring in his chest.
"Thank you, Simon. Also, I wanted to thank you for the instructions last time! The fish turned out so flavorful, and your instructions were well written! I might need to shoot you a text if something goes wrong with any other meat dishes, though." She said, letting out a shy laugh.
Was…
Was she flirting with him?
Oh, he hoped so, stunned into silence for a moment. He cleared his throat, adjusting the mask over his face. "Yeah, yeah, I'd be more tha' happy to. Jus' let me know."
"Well, we'd better head home so I can start working on that hamburger steak for nugget here." She motioned to the little boy who was fiddling with the ribbon on his jacket with a proud little smile on his face.
"C'mon nugget, let's go home." She said softly, holding out her hand to the boy who immediately latched on.
"Thank you, Mr. Simon!" He chirped. "I'm going to eat lots and lots of mommy's yummy hamburger steak!"
Simon nodded. "A growin' boy needs his protein. Congratulations again, kiddo."
"Thanks again, Simon. See you later!" She called out as she and her son walked out of the shop, and Simon kept his eyes trained on them both until they were out of sight once more.
He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. 'Get it together, mate.'
Summary: A night of free drinks, curious friends and a stranger’s failed flirtation leads you straight into Simon’s office. There, whiskey and honesty expose the fear and desire keeping you from taking the final step.
Classification: Fluff
Word count: 4k
Divider by me ;)
You wove your way through the crowd, slipping between clusters of people swaying to the music with your phone balanced in one hand, thumb tapping out a reply as someone nearly bumped your shoulder. The bass pulsed beneath your feet, conversations blending into laughter and clinking glasses until it became little more than background noise.
I'm here
I'll be at the bar until you're done
Take your time
You sent it in a few short messages, more out of habit than anything else. A few years ago you might have worried about sending too many texts, about coming across as impatient or needy but Simon had long since made it clear that none of that bothered him. If anything, he seemed to like knowing where you were.
“There she is.” The familiar thick Scottish accent carried over the music before you even reached the counter. “Wonderin' when you'd show up…He's been grumpier than usual.”
Soap's grin was impossible to miss from several steps away as he finished ringing up another customer. The second they walked off with their drinks, he wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder and immediately reached for the bottles he needed, already making your usual without asking.
“Hello to you too,” you replied, a tight smile tugging at your lips as you leaned your forearms against the polished bar, your eyes wandering over the familiar crowd. There were the regulars occupying the same stools they often claimed, a handful of soldiers loudly celebrating something you doubted they'd remember tomorrow morning and a scattering of new faces who looked slightly overwhelmed by the atmosphere.
“Ye know,” Soap continued as he poured the liquor with ease, “I was about t' call ye myself if ye hadn't shown up soon.” He laughed to himself, clearly far too entertained by the situation.
You let out a quiet sigh through your nose, shaking your head. “Can you at least pretend you're not enjoying this quite so much?”
“I'm afraid I cannae do that, lass.” There wasn't even a hint of guilt in his voice.
You were fairly certain all of them had figured out that something was going on between you and Ghost, maybe they didn't know exactly what it was or how far it had gone but they weren't blind, much less deaf. They'd seen the lingering conversations, the stolen moments and just how Simon's mood changed whenever your name came up. Soap, unfortunately, had turned those observations into a personal hobby.
He slid the finished drink across the counter until it stopped neatly in front of you. Without thinking, you reached into your jacket pocket, pulled out a folded ten-dollar bill and pushed it across the counter.
Soap looked down at it, then back up at you. He clicked his tongue, nudging the bill right back with two fingers. “Can't take tha’,” he said with an amused shake of his head. “You know it. Boss' orders.”
“Tell your boss to stop being a fucking ass,” you said, flicking the bill with your finger so it sailed neatly over the counter and disappeared somewhere behind the bar. You were practically family here, Simon refused to let you pay for anything and by extension neither did anyone who worked for him.
It didn't matter if you ate at the attached restaurant four times a day or wandered back later when the place transformed into a crowded bar and nightclub, every drink, meal and tab was covered before you ever had the chance to reach for your wallet. No reservation was ever needed, no questions were ever asked and every member of staff knew exactly whose standing orders those were.
“Ye tell 'im tha’,” Soap grinned, polishing another glass without looking at it. “He won't fire ya for it.”
You snorted softly. “Neither would he you,” you pointed out. “Just take it Johnny, I won’t tell. Buy yourself a pack of condoms or something…You might actually find a use for 'em tonight.” You took a slow sip of your drink as your gaze wandered across the club.
It was even busier than usual, though that hardly surprised you anymore. However exclusive the entrance looked from the street, the place had become more successful than anyone, including its owner, had ever expected. It attracted the sort of crowd that rarely felt welcome anywhere else, old friends of the now-retired 141, veterans, bikers and rough-looking men with loud laughs and soft hearts, all creating an atmosphere where almost everyone felt safe enough to let their guard down, at least most nights.
“Aye,” Soap nodded with exaggerated confidence, his lips already twitching into another grin. “I'll make sure t' save ye both half the box. Fuck knows ye'll need it.”
“Won't work,” you replied, hiding your own smile behind the rim of your glass. “His kind of size is hardly found in the market.” The words left your mouth so casually they caught even you by surprise but judging by Soap's expression they landed exactly as intended.
His grin vanished, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief as his mind visibly fought between demanding answers he absolutely wasn't supposed to ask and acknowledging the increasingly impatient customer waving for his attention down the bar. “Go,” you laughed, pointing toward the waiting patron. “Before they start throwing bottles at you.”
“This conversation's not over,” Soap warned, pointing a finger at you before reluctantly turning to the increasingly impatient customer. You simply lifted your glass in acknowledgment and took another sip, letting the music swallow the exchange as you quietly sang along to the chorus playing overhead, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the condensation gathering on the glass.
A moment later, someone slipped into the empty space on your left, resting both forearms against the counter before setting a half-finished beer beside them. He was tall in the conventional sense, broad enough to occupy the space comfortably but you barely spared him a glance at first. Between the dancing club lights and your complete lack of interest, his face never really registered.
“Hey,” he said, leaning closer than necessary, his words edged with the unmistakable warmth of alcohol.
You looked up shortly to acknowledge him before your eyes drifted away again, briefly meeting Soap's across the bar. The slight tightening around his eyes was enough to remind you how closely you were watched in this place. You answered with the smallest shake of your head, silently telling him you had it handled.
“Wassup?” you replied dismissively before taking another sip of your drink.
The man shrugged, flashing an easy grin as he moved a little closer, his shoulder inching toward yours. “Not much. What's up with you?”
You narrowed your eyes ever so slightly, not at the question itself but at the confidence behind it. Tilting your head to look past him, you spotted a table further into the room where a group of men had very clearly been watching the interaction unfold.
You recognized the booth immediately. It wasn't the most exclusive one in the club but it was close, tucked into one of the busiest rooms where reservations disappeared weeks in advance and tables usually went to whoever spent the most. You'd spent enough time wandering through Ghost's office to know exactly how that side of the business worked.
That table wasn't cheap and judging by the smirks being exchanged in your direction, that was exactly where his confidence had come from. “Do I know you?” you asked, your attention returning to him as you lazily swirled the ice in your glass.
“Not yet,” he answered with another grin, extending his hand across the bar. “I'm Blake.”
You looked down at the hand he was offering, then back up at him, making no move to take it and just as the silence between you began stretching into visible discomfort, he hurried to fill it.
“I'm the owner.”
Your brows lifted and the smile that spread across your face came entirely from amusement. You had time to kill, so there was no harm in entertaining yourself for a minute. You finally took his hand, your grip so firm that it made him readjust his own.
“The owner? Woah…” you mused, your voice carrying sufficient surprise to sound convincing. “It's...it's a great place you've got here,” you added, slowly looking around the room as though you were taking it all in for the very first time.
“Thank you,” he nodded, taking a sip from the cheapest beer sold in the building, a detail you couldn't help noticing. “That's always nice to hear.” The irony almost made you laugh. “Look, I've got a table with some of my buddies,” he continued, proudly pointing toward the booth you'd already clocked several minutes ago. “The bar gets pretty crowded with people just grabbing drinks and all that. You should come over…We've got you covered.”
Your smile widened into the sort you wore whenever you were seconds away from laughing out loud. “Oh wow...what an honor,” you replied, tilting your head ever so slightly with exaggerated sincerity. “But I don't want to bother you guys.”
In truth, you had no interest whatsoever in joining them but you were mildly curious to see just how far he'd take the act.
“No, no,” he insisted, stepping closer as though persistence alone would seal the deal. “You wouldn't be. Like I said, we've got a table.”
“It's a good table too,” you noted thoughtfully.
“It is,” he chuckled, mistaking your observation for admiration. “So, what do you say?”
Your lips had already parted, another harmless lie ready to leave your mouth, when a familiar pinch landed lightly against your side to steal your attention as it always did. You didn't even have to turn around to know who it was, Simon had a habit of getting your attention exactly like that whenever he wanted nothing more than to disappear back into his office but had still come to fetch you himself so he could walk you in.
You didn't even turn around. Instead, your hand reached back to catch his wrist behind you, fingers closing around it before he could continue walking away, subtly pulling him closer.
Simon followed without the slightest resistance, allowing himself to be guided through the crowd as though your grip rivaled the strength you knew he possessed, weaving between people until he came to a stop beside you.
You could feel his eyes settle on you immediately, carrying that familiar silent question of ‘What was that about?’ but you never looked up at him, keeping your attention fixed squarely on Blake with the same pleasant smile you'd been wearing all along. “Simon,” you said brightly, “perfect timing. This is my new friend...” You gestured toward the man in front of you before pausing with an exaggerated frown.
“Blake,” he supplied quickly, extending his hand toward Simon.
“Blake, yes,” you echoed with a small puff of air through your nose. “Sorry. Terrible memory.”
Simon accepted the offered hand without hesitation, his much larger one swallowing Blake's entirely. Under any other circumstances he probably wouldn't have bothered but you were the one making the introduction, which meant there was a reason for it.
He trusted you with an unsettling certainty, following your lead the way other men followed maps. His instincts had never failed him where you were concerned and somewhere along the way you'd become the closest thing he had to a rulebook in situations that didn't come with one.
Watching Blake's confidence visibly shrink beneath that handshake was enough to make you laugh. “He's the owner,” you announced cheerfully, raising your brows toward Simon as you finished the last sip of your drink.
“The owna'?” Simon repeated, glancing down at you for confirmation.
You nodded once, setting the empty glass on the bar.
Blake cleared his throat. “Y-yeah. It's not really something I like advertising, so I'd appreciate it if you kept it on the down low,” he said with an awkward chuckle, the easy swagger he'd approached you with now noticeably thinning. “I was just inviting the pretty girl over for a few drinks. I'd invite you too, big guy, but we need to keep this place open through the weekend.” He laughed at his own joke and reached over to clap Simon firmly on the shoulder. The impact barely disturbed the fabric of his shirt, let alone the man beneath it.
Simon glanced down to where Blake's hand had landed on his shoulder, then at you, his eyes lingering briefly to silently confirm what he already knew. ‘Pretty’ wasn't the word for it, you looked gorgeous, always did, whether you were dressed up for a night out or tucked away in his office hiding from the rest of the world with him. If he were any less selfish, he might've called it a waste.
“Mhm,” he murmured, dragging his gaze back to Blake. “Wouldn't want t' drink all the stock.”
Blake laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No offense.”
You looked between them, thoroughly entertained, deciding the poor man had suffered enough for one evening. “Right, well...thanks for the invite, Jake, was it?” you asked with an innocent shrug that made Blake open his mouth to correct you before thinking better of it. “But I've got plans.”
Without waiting for an answer, you slipped into the crowd, disappearing between dancing bodies while both men watched you go, though for very different reasons, until Simon's attention drifted back to Blake as though struck by an afterthought.
“Could I leave ya my curriculum t' be a bouncer?” he asked with complete seriousness. Somehow, through the music and the haze of conversation, you still caught every word and couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself.
Blake blinked, his eyes slowly dragging away from your retreating figure to meet the towering man beside him. “Uh…” He hesitated, genuinely considering it before giving a small apologetic smile as he began walking away. “I don't think you're the right fit.”
“First time I've ever been told tha’,” Simon muttered, turning to follow you but before he'd taken more than a step, Soap's voice rang out from behind the bar.
"Boss!" Simon stopped and looked over as Soap slapped the ten-dollar bill onto the counter with exaggerated disappointment. “Lass tried t' pay again.”
Simon cursed under his breath as though that bill represented the greatest threat to his peace all week, plucking it off the counter between two fingers before fixing Soap with a long, unimpressed stare. “And ya let 'er?” he asked, tilting his head in disbelief, the disappointment in his voice making it sound like Soap had betrayed him.
Soap barked out a laugh, unable to keep a straight face. “Practically threw it at me. Think she likes winding ye up more than she likes drinkin' for free.”
Simon exhaled through his nose, already feeling the familiar weight of a conversation he'd had a dozen times before and knew would end exactly the same way. “Alrigh'. I'll talk t' her,” he muttered with a resigned nod, pocketing the money as if reclaiming stolen property, fully aware the same speech would be delivered next weekend, ignored with the same smile and repeated again the weekend after that.
He had already turned to leave, as was his habit, never bothering to properly end conversations, when Soap leaned both forearms onto the bar, a knowing grin spreading across his face.
“Amongst other things,” he added, eyebrows lifting suggestively.
Simon stopped mid-step and slowly looked back at him, finding very little employee and entirely too much friend standing behind the counter. He pointed at him without missing a beat. “You're fired.”
Soap's eyes widened theatrically as his hands flew into the air. “Wha'? It was a joke! I was just sayin’...” he protested at a volume that made a couple of customers look over but Simon was already disappearing into the crowd again, which seemed to part around his broad frame before closing behind him again.
“I know what you were sayin'. You're fired. Go piss off someone else,” he grumbled, making his way through the staff corridor toward the administrative wing tucked behind several heavy locked doors where, one by one, each door muted the pounding music until only a distant bass remained, replaced by the comforting quiet he always sought when the club became too loud.
Without bothering to knock, he leaned into Gaz's open office, where he sat hunched over his laptop, clearly intending to spend the rest of the evening buried in paperwork. “You're on main bar duty,” Simon said, jerking his thumb back toward the club. “Johnny's fired.”
Gaz didn't even look surprised anymore, only sighed as he lifted his eyes from the screen.
“Again?” he asked dryly. “What about Price?”
“Not back yet…it’s too busy to put any of the others, an’ I’m not in the business of losin’ money,” Simon said as if the conversation was settled. He paused to pat the doorframe, glancing back toward Gaz. “Put Johnny on latrine duty. I’ve got better things to do.”
With that, he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Gaz exactly where he was and Soap exactly where he always ended up, because Simon knew those words had been nothing more than oxygen wasted between friends who had never taken his threats seriously, at least without weapons involved.
He passed the lounge, the kitchen, the staff areas filled with the quiet hum of people working behind the scenes, before climbing another set of stairs and pushing through one final door that swallowed the last traces of the club’s noise. The silence on the other side was immediate and familiar and when he stepped into his office, his eyes found you instantly.
You were sitting in his chair like you owned it, your belongings long abandoned on the old leather couch in the corner, your feet propped casually on his desk beside stacks of paperwork and open files, flipping through one of his notebooks with the same effortless curiosity you had always shown toward the parts of his life he usually kept locked away. Simon didn’t comment on it, only walked over to where you had left your jacket and slipped the ten-dollar bill back into the pocket.
“Got to quit tryin’ t’ pay around here,” he said, repeating the argument you had both had too many times to count. “You’re wastin’ their time and time’s money.”
You looked up with an amused smile, watching him move around the office. “Spoken like a true businessman,” you teased. “It’s called a tip, which you should be familiar with.” Your eyes followed him as he crossed to the alcohol cart, the quiet clink of glasses filling the room as he poured whiskey for both of you. “Do you fake an accent during calls or have you developed a customer service voice already?”
Simon ignored the jab entirely, returning with both glasses and setting yours down within reach before calmly taking the notebook from your hands, it wasn’t because there was anything in it he didn’t trust you with, if there was something important enough to matter, you’d already know but because he knew you enjoyed pushing your luck.
He dropped it onto his desk with a soft thud before bringing the whiskey to his lips. “Johnny doesn’t need tips,” he said simply as he let a beat pass. “He’s fired.”
Your grin widened, you had heard that exact sentence in various forms more times than you could count and neither of you believed it. You finally lowered your feet from his desk and reached for your glass, taking a small sip while watching him over the rim.
“He’ll be back in the morning,” you said confidently, you knew Johnny too well and you knew Simon even better.
The corner of his mouth threatened to move. “Foolish of you t’ think he listened at all.”
“Well, it’s been proven that he possesses the ability,” you chuckled into the rim of your glass before taking another sip, the whiskey warming your throat as you sat comfortably. “Selective hearing…After being stuck with all of you out in the desert for years, I’d expect him to know exactly when to switch it on and when to turn it all the way off.”
Simon watched you over the top of his own glass, eyes narrowing ever so slightly with curiosity as he took a slow drink. “What’s tha’ mean?” he asked, genuinely unsure where you were going with it.
You smiled, already amused by the image in your own head. “It means he would've taken that tip as permission to hand-deliver us a box of condoms before the night's over.”
The words made Simon's hand stall halfway to his lips again. He swallowed his whiskey a little too carefully before clearing his throat. “But we're not...” He hesitated, finding it harder to finish the sentence than he had expected.
“...Fucking?” you finished for him without missing a beat, giving a small, dismissive shrug. “No. We’re just doing everything else.” You let the thought hang between you for a moment before adding, “Besides, you refusing to let me pay for anything makes me overthink it, so maybe start thinking of it as a donation instead.”
Simon blinked once, then again, his gaze never leaving yours as he quietly tried to untangle your logic. “And wha'd’ya tell him?” he asked after a moment.
You tipped your head toward the jacket hanging on the couch where he'd discreetly slipped the ten dollars back into your pocket. “Just made a joke about how big I think your dick is,” you admitted with a grin that carried absolutely no shame. “You know me.” Then you gestured lazily toward him with your glass. “Just like you know I'll find another way to tip someone on your payroll eventually.”
“I do,” he admitted with a small nod before letting out a quiet sigh, setting his glass on the desk with a soft clink that sounded louder in the stillness of the office. “If I could...know I tip big.” He delivered it with such a straight face that only the faint shift in his eyes betrayed the innuendo hiding beneath the words, his thick accent doing little to soften it.
Your brows lifted for the briefest moment as you instinctively sat forward, your gaze dipping below his belt before you forced it back to his, biting back a smile that threatened to give you away. “I figured,” you replied, amusement lingering in your voice. “So why don't you?”
Simon held your gaze for a long second before reaching for his glass again, rolling the last mouthful of whiskey around as though it might help him find the right words. “'Cause it's where we're too similar,” he answered, finishing the drink before setting the empty glass aside. “We'd keep comin' back for more.” His eyes dropped briefly to the amber stain left at the bottom of the glass before finding yours again. “I know I would.”
You leaned back into his chair, one arm resting comfortably on the armrest as you exhaled through your nose, entirely too calm for the conversation you were having. “Worried it's not something you can give?” you asked gently.
Simon's jaw clenched. “Afraid it's not somethin' you want.”
The quiet smile that found your lips, made something tighten painfully in his chest. You took another slow sip of your whiskey without ever looking away from him. “You might not know me that well then.”
Simon had become a selfish man. Once, he had convinced himself that surviving was enough, that wanting more than the next mission, the next deployment and quiet night alone was a luxury reserved for other people. It should have been enough, yet the more life offered him, the more he found himself wanting to reach for it with both hands instead of letting it pass by, he wondered whether all the rules he had built his life around had only ever been placeholders until someone came along worth rewriting them for.
