College!simon X Reader Masterlist

College!simon x reader masterlist 🤍

Thanks so much to everyone who read/is reading this! This was my first ever fic lol. Your feedback & comments mean a lot to me—as a writer 🥺✉️ it motivates me! Feel free to reblog & comment!

divider creds: @fairytopea

Lil blurb

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Bartender Simon when a customer yells at reader for a mistake?

I love the way you guys think LOVE keep em comin!!

It starts when he's restocking his bar, carrying crates with fruit, bitters, coasters, and straws. He comes down from the pantry upstairs to a decently relaxed lunch crowd, when he hears the second half of the customer's tantrum.

"You expect me to eat this?! It's bloody raw!"

"I'm so sorry, I can take it back aga-"

"You already did that - went to the kitchen and stuck it under the warmer for a few seconds and thought I wouldn't notice, huh?"

"No sir, I gave it to the che-"

"I don't want to hear fucking excuses, just go fix my damn burger. I'm paying for this shit, aren't I? And you're working for my tip. So fucking work, cunt."

Humiliation isn't enough to describe what you feel - there isn't a strong enough word for it. Claiming you're a liar, saying you grovel for tips, yelling at you in front of your other tables, calling you a cunt - it makes your eyes sting with oncoming tears, staring at him and using every muscle in your jaw to keep from spitting insults back at him. You want to throw the food in his face, but instead, you grab his plate and storm off to the kitchen before he can see you cry.

The man scoffs, looking at his watch. "Fuckin' great..."

Simon's still standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his crates and staring daggers at the man. He knows what it's like, being berated by customers. He says "that's customer service for ya" and moves on. But for this wanker to berate you - he sees red. He sees his next target.

He swiftly crosses the restaurant floor, boots thudding against the old wood as he drops his crate behind the bar. Soap's already yelling about the asshole when he pushes his way into the kitchen.

"Order it fuckin' rare and ye get fuckin' rare, bloody clipe- talkin' mince, bawface bastard-" he slams the burger back onto the grill with a tense arm, continuing to grumble as it sizzles. "Cookin' ye a nice strip o' shoe leather-"

You're sitting on an overturned crate, sobbing into your hands, pen and notepad on the ground beside you. Price is on one knee, one arm around your shoulder and the other on your leg - you'd never officially met the owner of the pub, but now was as good a time as any, you suppose.

"Wot happened?" Is all that Ghost could say without going off on a rampage. He's saving that for later.

"He fucking embarrassed me, that's what happened!!" You snap, looking up at Simon. Your eyes are red and puffy after only crying for a minute or two, cheeks wet from your tears. You hug your arms around your middle and choke on a sob. "Told me his fucking burger wasn't cooked, so I sent it back- then he tries to say I never even gave it to Soap?! Calls m-me a cunt in front of my tables?! Make me fucking work for his money - I don't want his goddamn money!!"

Price shushes you, worrying your anger might be leaking through the kitchen door - he doesn't want the same customer to hear you bad-mouthing him, although it's rightfully deserved. He rubs your back gently as you drop your head into your hands again, shoulders shaking as you cry.

Simon's seething - he's already moving before his brain can catch up, still stuck on the picture of your teary face. He marches behind the line and reaches across Soap, picking the burger right off the grill.

Soap makes a shocked sound. "Ye gone mad, LT?!"

"Table six?" Ghost asks, holding the sizzling burger patty in his hand, grease dripping onto his forearm.

You stare between his face and the patty - your crying stopped, your face now replaced with a stupefied expression. "Uh- yeah."

And like that, he's off; he shoves himself back out onto the floor and makes his way towards the customer who yelled at you. The burger burns his hand, but he doesn't even notice the pain. He drops it onto the table in front of the man, who yelps in disgust. "What the fuck-"

"Better?" Ghost says, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he looked down at the man, now stuttering and blubbering in shock. Specks of grease are freckling his white dress shirt.

"Are you- is this a fucking joke?"

"It's your fuckin' burger."

"I can't believe this-"

"Then get the fuck out my pub." Ghost growls; he grabs the man by his arm, ripping his blazer off the back of his chair, and drags him to the front door. The other customers look with wide eyes as he busts the door open with his shoulder and throws the man onto the sidewalk. He wheezes as he hits the ground, and Ghost throws his blazer at him next.

"If I ever see your face in 'ere after this, 'm throwin' you out again and keepin' your bullocks as a fuckin' souvenir."

The man stares at him, flabbergasted, as Ghost walks back inside. People are focused on their meals now, heads down and pretending they didn't see Simon body a man to the ground - the guy deserved it, after all.

Simon huffs, picking up the burger from the now-empty table. His hand stings a bit, but he has years of callouses built up to keep any real burns from settling in. He gently kicks the chair back into place and starts heading back to the kitchen, when he sees you.

You're staring at him with wide, wet eyes, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and mouth slightly ajar in awe. You've fully stopped crying, but there are still tears on your face from before. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged a bit, but it only makes Simon's fondness for you blossom.

He gently nudges your shoulder with his elbow as he pushes past you. "Take a fifteen. I'll watch your tables."

You stare after him as he throws the burger into the trash, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping his hand. Wide back facing you as he looks at Soap, who stares at him with a frustrated sigh.

You're horny now. Horny for Simon - and you're definitely relaying this entire shebang to your friends tonight.

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!!

Part 4 of the college au :) enjoy! Feel free to like comment & reblog

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Just great. His voice replayed over and over in your mind. Tell y’er friend I said thank you. How you wanted to bury yourself in a pile of blankets and not come out your room. But classes continued, your human needs existed and that meant coming out briefly.

You’d seen him a few times after that throughout the week, but never said anything. He would watch you, leaning against the wall by his door, long legs shifting. He’d lean his weight onto one leg, arms crossed. His boots were worn and distressed.

Apart of you felt bad for avoiding him but you couldn’t stop your face from turning red each time you remembered the moment. You sighed, opening your door with your keys, glancing at his behind you. His door was shut.

Thank god, didn’t need to see the brute.

You sigh softly and come in, immediately hit with a blast of cold air. Of course—you caught something briefly on the news channel that a cold front was coming in as late October approached. You shuddered, hugging your bare arms close to you. You then stared at the window, approaching your desk and setting your water bottle down.

“Damn thing…” You muttered under your breath. Once again you climbed up on the old school heater, it was off. It was boxed off by wood and had slits to release heat—so standing on it was fine. You grunted, hands desperately trying to push down on the steel.

Nothing. It creaked if anything.

You groaned in frustration, pensive for a moment. You’d know you’d have to get someone to fix this.

But not your mosquito of a friend.

And that’s how you know found yourself sulking like a puppy in front of Simons door. Well, now his name was Simon. You could see the little Ghost character with his name on the door, the RA probably made that for him. A grin itched at your lip—thinking he’d seen it and left it there.

But the sulking returned once you realized you had to ask for help, so you sighed and rolled your eyes. You raised your hand to knock, hearing nothing.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” You called out.

No response.

You bit at your lip, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Maybe he was avoiding you—or maybe he wasn’t there. You decided to wrap it up, arm moving back to your side.

“What’re ya doin’?” You hear a gruff voice from behind. Hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you spun around to see the tall Brit present, moving stealthily like a ghost. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps.

Your heart rate spiked. “I-I was—“ You stammered.

Simon dragged his eyes over your form slowly, taking you in. He then tipped hair head up slightly in a “aha,” manner. His large hands fumbled for his keys, hanging off a keychain that said “Team 141,” on it. You noticed it but didn’t ask.

“I had a feelin’ you’d come crawlin’ back. Aftah’ avoidin’ me for a week.” He said, snapping you out your observation.

You moved aside when he gestured with his key, to his door, brow raised.

Almost like: You’re blocking the way, lass.

You bit the inside of your cheek and moved, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t avoiding you…okay maybe I was. Can you blame me?” You then caved in, raising a brow at him and shoving your back to the wall. You could hear the jam of the keys as he eased it into the lock, wrist turning to open it. He then cast a sideways glance at you before resting his bag on the table, shifting. He tore his jacket off, hanging it on the hook. Underneath we wore a black button up, and his usual cargo pants.

“I don’t blame ya fer’ talkin’ bout me.” He said, lip itching to grin sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes and he found himself gazing at you, as you leaned on his doorway, shoulder leaning on the frame. Your hair traveled down. Smooth skin peaked out from under the sweater you wore.

“Figured your like Uncle Sam. You never let anyone go a day without your teasing.” You scoffed lightly, although amusement striking your eyes as you stared at him. Something in his gaze pierced you and you found yourself shifting, moving off the frame to look at your open door. A cold chill blew.

“You know my window is a piece of shit.”

“And you want me to fix it, aye? Is that wot am’ hearin’?”

Now you could hear the grin in his voice. He was practically purring like a cat at your demise. You tap your finger in irritation against your arm and released a sigh through your nose, looking at him.

“Yes. There. You heard it right. Congrats for passing your hearing test.”

Finally, after a hidden grin, he came out the room after resting his balaclava mask on the desk. He revealed his rugged fired face, eye bags under and red. Purplish even. As you gazed at him when he walked by into your room—you couldn’t help but wonder if the man slept. He looked dead. His hair was a rugged mess, as he had a low taper fade. He ought to cut it again—it was growing long, he could sense your gaze on it.

He then pushed your door open, head almost brushing the top of the door frame. Broad back tilting to sliver in. Fuck. He was tall—you thought, following after him. You barely even reached halfway at the door. Even had to tiptoe to look out the peephole.

“Ah. There she is.” He said at the window, although his eyes said otherwise. As you were behind him he took sight of your room. It was simple, some blankets piles on your bed unfolded, pillows pink. String lights hung from the ceiling, pipe to pipe. Some bobo thin scarves were used to create a little hanging nest, where your plushies rested.

“What a dungeon ya got.” He commented shamelessly, the brute man not even needing to stand on the heater to raise his arms. Muscles flexed as he pressed his hands down on the steel, immediately bringing down the window. His pants tightened around his thighs, from leaning forward, leg bumping the edge of your desk.

A huge creak was heard.

“So you were lookin’ around?” You teased, smirking behind him. You couldn’t help but also take advantage of the view as well, whilst he did too.

And the view was looking mighty damn fine.

“It just happened to be there.” He muttered, then stepped back. He left a gap in the window for air circulation, your box fan spinning loudly. He sighed and wiped his dusty hands on his pants then turned around to look at you, the light exposure behind him. His hair glowed, face shadowed giving him a rougher look.

“I’ll be seeing ya then.” He would mutter, arm brushing yours when he walked past. Again, you felt the sparks and you straightened up, turning around to face him as his back tilted again to leave. His fingers brushed your door knob.

“Get some sleep, you look dead.”

You said, which earned you a smooth baritone chuckle. The door then shut softly.

omg you mind holy wow i love your brain i would never come to lobotomize you omgomg by god i need more bartender!simon you recently mention, maybe abt how they interact and develop? idk i really dont care what exactly you write, i js need any words from you abt bartender!simon

Hmmmmmm I have some headcannons!

You show up for work thirty minutes early because you're NOT risking losing this job.

Simon sometimes lets you bang on the back door for a few minutes, yelling for someone to let you in, until Soap gets tired of hearing it and opens the door. Simon finds it funny.

You think Simon is the owner of the pub until Price comes in one day with cash for your tip payout. You screamed as soon as you saw him walk in through the backdoor, thinking you were being robbed.

Simon barely managed to swing into the kitchen and grab you around the waist before you pummeled Price with an empty beer keg.

Price later told Simon he thought you were a perfect addition to the team.

You do your tips at the end of the bar every night as Simon polishes the glasses across from you. Lets you have one drink on the house.

First floor is the restaraunt/pub, second floor is the pantry/walk-in fridge/office where Price does money work, third floor is the studio apartment where Simon lives (Price discounted it for him).

When it's slow, you and Simon and Johnny all take a smoke break in the alley out back - you don't smoke, but you talk to them while they share a cig, complaining about customers together.

You bring it up to Simon that you've noticed how Johnny always comes to the front of house when Kyle brings the new kegs in, "Simon, need ya to check somethin' - ah, hey, Garrick!"

Simon scoffs at your revelation. "Jus' now seein' that?"

You live ten blocks away from the pub and ride your bike to work. Simon let's you stuff it in the alley for safekeeping.

If you're feeling especially sporty, you pop in your earbuds and take your skateboard. Simon nearly had the breath sucked from his soul when he saw you zipping by the window the first time.

You mop front of house because Simon hates it. Simon restocks the to go boxes because you can't reach the top shelf where the overflow sits.

You tried to pour a lager once when Simon was busier than usual. After watching you attempt it, he banned you from doing it ever again.

You enter Pino grigio in the POS as "peeno greeshio" and Simon hates it, but you love the way Soap cackles from the kitchen when he sees it.

Kyle sometimes sticks around to help you drag the new beer kegs up the stairs, and he shows you how to connect them to the taps.

You're constantly begging Price to set up a Karaoke machine in the corner of the bar. He says when you can afford it, you can buy it.

You broke the soda gun once; you and Soap were frantically filling container after container with tonic water while Simon was on his back under the bar, cursing and trying to turn the water off.

Monday mornings are deep-clean days, and everyone has to participate. You're all wearing sweats and bleach-stained shirts, pulling out the stove, sweeping behind the kegs, dragging the mats into the alley to clean them, emptying the fridge and scrubbing the entire thing.

Simon doesn't like to think too much about how hot you look in your sweatpants, ratty t shirt, and sweaty, flushed skin when you're exerting yourself.

You're constantly thinking about how those sweatpants hug his hips, those muscles in his arms flexing, and the grunts he makes when he's shoving the stove back into its place.

Simon gives you full permission to return any nasty attitude the customers dish at you.

After you go home for the night, Simon often finds himself lying on his bed, one arm behind his head and the other hand on his chest, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day - and they're all centered around you

Ughh thinking about simon ghost riley in university and you see him drawing a few times one day on campus, sitting on the bench. He wore a black hoodie, hiding his form and hood pulled over his masked face. Lengthy tall fingers held charcoal, all smudged and dirty. He seems so focused you don’t say much, so you eye him & walk away, leaving it to him. But apart of you wonders what’s got him so wound up and focused on drawing. You never took him as the type to draw anyway.

And then next week you see him walking out the gym, balaclava mask pulled up to reveal pink chapped lips, busted from his the boxing class offered at University. He held his duffle bag over his shoulder, biceps flexing as long legs strode down the pathway—most likely to his dorm. The idea that he drew so meticulously and in the dead the night, so serene and wistful—

And then this. An absolute fighting machine, all biceps and a hunk of muscle. Not a single thought behind those eyes as he focused on darting out punches.

Both of it had you eager & melting to know more about this mysterious man.