Bartender Simon, Who Cuts Of A Drunk Costumer. The Costumer Is Angry And Begins Insulting Simon, Particularly

Bartender Simon, who cuts of a drunk costumer. The costumer is angry and begins insulting Simon, particularly his looks. It doesn't bother Simon but how does Waitress!Reader react?

Alas... the much-awaited ktih

Warnings: making out, groping, dry-humping

It was only seven pm, and Cole was already drunk. Simon knew this would happen - it usually does, at least every Friday night. He comes in, drinks for a solid two hours, until Simon finally has to cut him off and steer him in the direction of his apartment. The man at least lets him add twenty percent auto gratuity if he has to be sent home like that - and, more often than not, it's every week.

Today, however, is a different story.

Cole had come in at four, right when the pub opened. He gave you his usual, tight-lipped smile, making his way to the seat he took every Friday evening. Simon was already pouring his beer by the time he removed his coat. The conversation continues (mostly one-sided on Cole's part), as does the night, and he never ceases to tip the beers back - rattling on about how much money he makes, only getting louder when a group of women walks by.

Around nine at night is when he began to get drunk enough that the numbers on his tab begin to blend together. "A'aight- 'nother one for good fortune." He smacks his empty glass against the bartop, making you jump slightly as you did your tips at the end of the.

"Not tonight." Simon says, hovering over the POS and punching buttons on the screen. "You got 'nuff for good fortune. You can pick it back up next week."

"Bahhh, c'mon - I'll pay double." Cole slurs, leaning over the bar.

"What's your wife's name?" Simon asks, turning back around and leaning against the liquor shelf.

"... Sharon."

"Ya not even married, Cole."

He laughs, eyes glassy as he smacks the bartop and wheezes. "Tha's good! Real good- ya got me. Can't keep a woman 'f I tried."

Simon doesn't comment. He slides Cole's receipt across the bar, before promptly turning back and grabbing a glass.

Cole sighs, crumpling the receipt in his fist. "Y' don't want business?"

"Don't want you gettin' lost findin' your Uber." Simon replies, polishing a glass.

"Y'know..." Cole leans back in his seat, very adamantly refusing to leave, "I know you're strugglin' t' bring in the money with... whatever ya got goin' on behind the mask."

Maybe when he was a lieutenant, constantly dealing with jabs and stabs towards his ego, it would have gotten to him. But Simon just huffs in annoyance. "This what you resort to when you can't get a beer?"

"Defensive much?" Cole bites back. "You could use the money to fix y'r fuckin' face. Should stop bein' such a cunt n' worryin' 'bout me like you're my mum."

"Hardly - your mom probably wishes she'd swallowed you instead."

Simon nearly drops the glass - it takes him a moment to realize that you had spoken, and another one to process just what exactly you had said. He turns around to find you, staring Cole down with the most disgusted, angry expression he's ever seen you display. He's speechless - mostly because he didn't know you had an arsenal of insults, ready to fire off like this.

Cole chuckles drunkenly, turning in his seat to face you from down the bar. "Don' like it when I insult y'r bank account, do ya?"

"Aren't you supposed to be dumpster diving or something?" You snap, getting up out of your seat - Simon's never seen such a look in your eyes, and he quickly steps out from behind the bar to jog over to you. He places a hand on your shoulder, but you don't back down.

"You realize who you're talkin' to, little girl?"

"Draco Malfoy if he'd gone into British Parliament."

"Oi-" Simon snaps, fingers digging into your shoulder - surprisingly, you swat his hand away. You're fuming at this overgrown cabbage, running his mouth like he actually means something to anyone in this pub.

Cole purses his lips; your insults are getting to him. "You gonna do somethin' with this chick?" he asks Simon - who nearly blows a cap, but you beat him to it.

"Y'know, maybe you should spend your money on fixing those fucking teeth - because I see they're still social distancing - instead of wasting our time here, you grey, fucking sprinkle on a rainbow cupcake-"

"Hey- stairwell. Go." Simon gives you a gentle shove towards the stairs, and you throw your hands up and storm off. He stares after you, wide-eyed and tense, watching as you disappear behind the stairwell door. He's quickly growing hard, concerningly, after witnessing you fire off at Cole with a loaded gun full of wit and anger - it was quite possibly the most attractive thing he's seen you do.

Cole huffs, breaking Simon's focus. "Women - sticking their noses where they don't belong." he looks at him, expecting the bartender to agree.

Simon's holding back the urge to drive his fist into the man's skull. He grabs Cole's jacket from the back of the chair and shoves it into his chest so hard he nearly falls from his seat. "If you're not gone in the next ten minutes, Soap 'n I will make you leave, you understand?" he doesn't even wait for a reply, turning on his heel and stalking towards the stairwell, boots thudding heavily against the ground.

He's got bigger priorities at the moment.

You're standing in the stairwell, chewing the edge of your sweater as you stare at the dustpan and broom. Simon can surely fight his own battles - he didn't seem irritated in the slightest by Cole, why did you step in? Simon isn't yours (unfortunately), you don't need to defend him. You don't have the right to defend him other than the fact that he's your coworker. Manager. And you were definitely doing it based on other, unspoken reasons. It was obvious. Is it obvious to him? Forget possibly losing your job, is he going to be mad that you lost your shit like that? That you put your foot where it doesn't belong? That-

The door to the stairwell swings open, and you stop your pacing. His eyes are lidded. Angry? You can't tell. He looks rather intimidating, tall and tense as the door swings shut behind him, mask bunched into his fist as he shoves it into his back pocket.

You think he's about to let you have it, to chew you out for your outburst. "Simon, I'm-"

His rough hands are around your face before you know it - right as you open your mouth to yelp in shock, he leans down and kisses you.

Your eyes force themselves shut. You don't have a chance to pull away, not with his hand cradling the back of your head. He won't let you; you don't want to. His breath fans across your face, fingers calloused yet gentle as they relax around you, and you sigh into his touch, tilting your head to let him get closer. Your arms rest against his shoulders, squeezing the muscle as you feel months of worry and anticipation melt away-

And then, as quickly as it had begun, Simon has the audacity to stop and pull his head back.

His eyes find yours, still cupping your face in his hands. He looks breathless - good. At least you know he's just as riled up as you are, now. There's a hint of pink on his cheeks, and a need for reassurance in his hazy stare. He needs to know he was right, despite the months of flirting and the little chase you've been leading him in; now that he's finally caught up, caught you in his grasp, he needs you to tell him you want this. Though he doesn't know how he'll survive if you don't.

"You ok?" He pants, brow creased with uncertainty.

You let out a noise of frustration - threading your fingers behind his neck, you pull him back down, sealing your lips against his once again.

He exhales through his nose in relief. His hands find your waist as you part your lips, letting him slip inside and explore your mouth. Your fingernails dig crescents into his skin - he lets out a rather needy-sounding groan, backing you up until you hit the wall. You whine; your tongue flicking across his lower lip sends a shiver down his spine, heat building and twisting and tangling in his gut until you break away for a moment, nipping your teeth into his lip.

His mind short-circuits; he grunts, all the blood in his head rushing south to his cock, where it's getting uncomfortably warm and tight. He grabs you underneath your ass and hoists you up, and you squeak, instinctively locking your legs around his hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he kisses you feverishly, desire brewing in your stomach as he presses you into the wall, tongues and teeth clashing, the both of you unable to satisfy the ever-growing blaze. It threatens to burn up the stairwell until there's nothing left but a sweaty, naked mess.

Simon breaks away to latch onto your neck, taking the thin flesh and rolling it between his teeth You bite back a whimper, carding your fingers through his hair; he bucks his hips in response, albeit involuntarily. You can sense the knot in your pelvis tightening, underwear growing slick as you feel the size of his erection with each thrust. Even through his clothes, you can tell it would be a challenge, but you've never been one to back down.

Fingers slide under his shirt, feeling the solid wall of muscle and fat beneath - his retracts a hand and drags it up your stomach, kneading and groping your tit through your shirt, silencing your moan with another searing, wet kiss. He's grinding into you now, hips rolling, cock twitching through his pants as you lock your ankles behind his back, and fuck he's ready to strip you bare right here and fuck you against the wall, ready to get back at you for teasing him for so long, ready to listen to your cries as you take each and every rung of his piercing-

He catches himself, lips moving away from yours to kiss along your chin, all the way up to your jaw. He sighs as he stills his hips, letting his head fall against your shoulder as he leans his weight into you. You feel him relaxing, wondering if he's worried about you again, but you so desperately want this to continue where it's heading.

"I'm alright, I'm alright-"

"I know..." he mumbles, his hand sliding back to your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, fingers barely slipping past the hem of your shorts. He wants to go further, to feel the hem of your panties snap against his fingers, but he forces back the urge.

"What's wrong?" you pant, craning your neck to the side to look at him.

"'M not..." he huffs, pulling his head back and gazing down at you. "Not fuckin' you in the stairwell, dove. 'S filthy back here."

Your face heats up even more - the fact that he had to hold himself back from disheveling you right now is an unspoken compliment. "Can we take it upstairs?"

He chuckles and gently sets you down, much to your disdain. "No. Got a bar to run." He says, preening at the way you pout at that. "And I'm takin' you out, first."

"Out?"

"Yea, for lunch."

"Wh- where?"

"You decide. Monday."

Monday - that's deep-clean day. "Don't we have to be here at noon?"

He chuckles. Always worrying about losing your job. "I'll make an exception. Won't fire ya for goin' on a date with me."

Date. God, you could scream. "But what if Price-"

"If that man ever threatens your position at this pub," Simon leans down, gently grabbing your chin between his fingers, "you come to me, n' I'll knock some sense into 'im. Sound good?"

You're too starstruck to register half of what he's said. Simon Riley's just kissed you. AND admitted to wanting to fuck you. Now, he's taking you on a date on Monday. Did you have any plans? Doesn't matter. If you do, they're cancelled.

"Uh huh..." you say, absentmindedly leaning into his touch.

Looking down at you: you, you... god, can he call you his? Is that too soon? The stars in your eyes while you're staring at him, the struggle within himself to avoid both adoration and getting hard(er)... He takes another deep breath, thumb running down the blossoming hickey on your neck.

"Right." he taps your cheek softly, then goes to tuck his shirt back in from where you'd torn it from the waistband. "Go ahead n' take a minute. Come to the bar 'fore you leave."

He grabs the handle to leave, hesitating only for a moment. Both of you seem to have the same idea, sharing a hive mind with each other. You quickly move forward and he leans down as you both kiss again, slower, trying to savor this one. Honey drips from your brain into your chest, every cell in your body screaming in relief, satisfaction, and pure joy...

He breaks away again, laying a kiss to the crown of your head. You sit down on the stairs as he walks back onto the pub floor. He's still hard, and it's plain as day - but he could care less right now. He's got you just as much as you've had him. There's a lightness in his shoulders, a voice in his head that you've finally plucked free and thrown into the abyss, only to be replaced by your own being.

You're still sitting on the stairs, massaging your tits through your shirt as you try to smooth your nipples out. Your mind is racing a million miles a minute. What should I wear? Will Price be upset? Should we try to hide this? Will anyone care? Should I wear perfume or just body spray? Is work going to be weird now? He's not going to treat me differently, is he?

You sigh, biting your lip and trudging up the stairs. Your fingers run over the hickey on your neck. I need to find a whisk.

“Don’t listen to yourself. Listen to the advice you give others.”

— Michael Lottner

childhood bully!Soap who became enamoured by you the first time you pushed you down, fascinated by the way your eyes well with tears, crying out and shoving him away when he reaches out to pinch your cheek

From that moment your tears are his and his alone. Pulls your hair, crushes the flowers you’re admiring, pushes you off the swings, anything he can do to provoke a reaction out of you, and if it doesn’t please him, all he has to do is squeeze your cheek until you wail

But if anyone else dared touched you? Dared to lay a hand on HIS cry baby? The first and only boy to ever pull your hair besides Johnny wound up with a broken wrist, and he never looked your way again

Forget about boyfriends when the two of you reach high school. The first time he ever stumbles upon one of the older boys kissing you in a secluded hall, the next time you see him his nose is broken and he avoids you like the plague

The first time YOU see Johnny kissing another girl, he locks eyes with you, and he is thrilled when he sees the tears spilling down your cheeks, but you never have to worry

none of these girls are HIS little cry baby

they could never be you

you were his

I figured it'd be safe to upload this here |･ω･)

(please do not re-upload this anywhere, it's Tumblr exclusive for a reason)

I painted this a while ago for my friend @aessedia87 for her Aerialist AU!! <3 (which is very cute and sappy because these two cannot ever help themselves in her universes - please never change Stephanie)

bartender ghost who takes one of your tables who was argumentative and rude after you begged and bargained with him (he only caved when you said you’d ask soap)

Omg he'd totally think he could make you work for it too - you come up grumbling how table three is being so rude and they sent the food back twice, and they're treating you like you spat on your food or something.

"They'd be much nicer if you took them." You say, leaning over the bar.

"An' why's that?" He replies, pouring the contents of a shaker into a salt-rimmed glass.

"You look like you could set them straight."

"'N that's a good thing?"

"You're not afraid to be mean!"

"You jus' smacked the life out of four uni kids last week."

You huff, dropping your forehead against the bar. "You're mean..."

"Y' jus' said I was."

"Pretty please?" You beg, looking up at him. Simon has to steel his gaze to the shaker, pouring liquor and bitters and ingredients into it as he refuses to look at you. You got him last time with this trick - he'd caved like a tower of cards. But now, he's prepared. His eyes don't meet your pout (or your breasts pushing up against the bar), instead focusing on the drink before him.

"Not happenin." He says, shaking the drink with a strong arm. "This is your job, remember?"

You sigh and give up the act. "You can't even say anything to them?"

"Like wot?"

"Like- I dunno, just go as them 'is everythin' ok?' Like you do, you know, all scary."

He chuckles. "Ya got t' stand up for yourself, luv. Can't fight your battles."

You groan in defeat just as Soap pops out from the kitchen, placing two plates of food in front of you. "Got tae bring out yer own scran, Bonnie - 'm not yer food runner."

"Johnny!" You exclaim before he can disappear back into the kitchen. He gives you a quizzical look.

"Could you bring it to the table for me?"

Simon stops pouring the drinks, frozen in his spot.

"I jus' said nae!!"

"Please? They're being assholes about the food-"

"Oi, lower your voice." Simon barks, and you shoot him an apologetic wince.

"They're gonna complain about the food again if you don't talk to them yourself."

"Bullshit, I'm not doin' tha'."

Ghost smirked behind his mask. Taught Johnny well.

"I'll give you half of their tip."

Soap paused. "Nae, gimme the shot where ye slap me after."

"Deal!"

"No- no deal-" Simon growled, putting his drinks on the bar. He's not letting you drench Soap in water and slap him across the face, because he knows the lad will be more turned on than a lightswitch. "Fuckin' animals you two." He grabs the plates, and glares down at you. "'M not doin' this for you again."

"I won't ask again - promise." You giggle, and he wants to be mad at you, he wants to hate the sound... but he'd make a fool out of himself a thousand times, over and over, just like this, to see you looking up at him with that smile - you know you've got him wrapped around your finger, he fears, grumbling as he goes to have a chat with the bothersome table.

who is taking full offense that you're not wincing as you take a seat after spending all night split open and why is it ghoap? because it's ghoap.

it's johnny choking on his eggs while you plop onto the chair, legs creaking under the weight. he'd remembered having to warm compress for days after his first ghost lay. hissing through his teeth every time he had to sit on any flat surface. even now, as a seasoned veteran, he still wakes to a lingering ache. it'd be impressive if he didn't feel a bit slighted. (you took them both last night and the only thing average about him is his height.)

it's simon, thinking about how johnny made him take it easier on you. dinnae wanna scare 'er off, he'd said, yer too intense, and here you are, prettier now that your neck and chest is peppered in their love bites, wearing his shirt and johnny's boxers, with an appetite to rival that of price's. clearly you can handle him. handle them. he'll test your mettle soon enough. (that he wants to see you look up at him with discomfort pooling in your eyes after the fact is something he'll keep to himself.)

(it's you, limping to the bathroom in the middle of the night and almost sobbing when you spot the bottle of tylenol on the counter, swallowing it with a cupped hand full of sink water. as you sit in front of them now, foot coming to rest on simon's thigh, there's a lingering ache that no doubt would've left you curled up in bed for most of the morning. thank god for medicine.)