Simon Ghost X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 4

Part 8 college!simon x reader. Reader works her first shift at the bar and meets team 141 🙊 feel free to like comment & reblog!

Masterlist here ✉️

First shift. You muttered to yourself, buckling your black belt in your jeans. All black outfit, perfect for waitressing. Your hair was tucked in a bun to keep it neat, some strands fallen. Closing shut your mirror, you eyed your dorm room, taking off the lights before leaving with your bag.

“I wonder what that crew is like…apparently they must mean a lot to him.” You said, under your breath as you walked to the main street. The bar was located behind Campus apparently and took about 15 minutes to reach. It wasn’t horrible—you saw shitty motel buildings and broken neon lights along the way.

Cars passed by every now and then. Your mind drifted back to Simon. Maybe that was where he got those eyebags from—working all these night shifts.

The bell rings as you enter and of course, you hear an electric guitar strumming over the speakers. Glasses clink and the displays are showing a football match. You nervously approach the counter and soon a man comes in—mohawk, beard and sharp eyes. Tanned. Tall, muscular and a rag thrown over his shoulder.

What you didn’t expect what his strong scottish accent. “Aye, y’er ere’ fa’ the job, lass?”

“Yes—“ You furrowed your brows, slowly comprehending it to which he barked out a laugh. You weren’t sure you heard him right and the words just spilled out your mouth.

His shiny teeth glittered in the lights. “C’mon, love, no reason t’ be scared. Names Johnny.”

“Of course sir—“

“Johnny.” He said firmly, eyes cutting a glance at you as he began cleaning the glasses with his rag.

You nodded and bit your lip—first mistake. You then made your way behind the counter, boots thudding against the ground. You always wore your lil platform combat boots—added a nice touch.

“Lieutenants got a hold on’ ya?” Johnny said suddenly, eyeing you. Confused, you turn to look at him and you shake your heard, lips tugging down a bit.

“I wouldn’t—“

“Damned man. Cannae help it, you’re a pretty one.” Johnny smiled, rolling his eyes and grinning.

You stare mildly shocked at his carefree attitude, not knowing what exactly to say—or how Simon would respond to this.

After a pause, you then say, “Show me around, yeah?”

“Look at er’ givin’ me orders.” Johnny teased and then got to work, dropping his causal persona. He led you gently to the kitchen, showing you where to restock the fruits. Oranges went in one crate.

Apples in another.

Lemons to the side.

You nodded.

He then showed you how to clean the damn ice maker, which took a good portion of training. He even had you do it, watching you. A half hour at least passed.

“Y’er gettin’ it.” Johnny said, pleased. He patted your back hefty, and you nearly groaned at each pat. He was heavy handed.

You scoff a bit and smile, slowly getting comfortable. After that, was washing and soaking the glasses in lukewarm water to get stains out and debris. And then drying them. And then placing them on the hanging racks by the bar counter for use.

Just then, the door rung and Simon walked in, ready for his shift. When he rounded the counter and saw you, back facing him and drying a glass, he froze momentarily. He then slid his hands into the dark wash of his jeans, black button up wrinkling.

“See ya’ made it in one piece.” A gruff voice said from behind you. You recognized it.

You turned around and grinned, brow raising slightly at his appearance. He sure cleaned up nicely, although his stubble remained rough, hair uncombed. It looked like he ran his fingers through it multiple times.

“Johnny over there s’been keeping me alive. Does he always have a knack for teasin’?”

“Shit, shoulda mentioned that to ya. Don’ let em’ talk his way in y’er panties.” Simon said gruffly, although eyes flashing in amusement. His heavy lidded eyes raised and you found yourself staring a bit longer than necessary, and then turned around. Carefully rearranging the glasses so they stood upside down—the wet ones draining.

“Would be funny all he found were a pair of balls. Steel ones.”

With that, Simon let out a small laugh. A choked out chuckle, shoulders jerking up and grin stretching wide. The curve of his nose wrinkled, eyes flashing down to undo his cuffs to raise his sleeves over his hair forearms.

“Steel ones you said? Quite the image.” And with that, leaving you dazed and flustered, he went off to the kitchen.

——

As Simon approached the kitchen to begin slicing the oranges, and lemons, Johnny appeared.

“Ya’ got a lass under ya now?”

“Shut it, before I stuff Price’s unwashed sock in y’er mouth.” Simon is at it, gruff and glaring. Brows pinched together, big hands cradling the lemon. He tosses it up, then catches it, giving a sharp glance to Johnny who grins mischievously.

“I ain’t signin’ myself up fa’ tha’.” Johnny winced playfully and moved back, to which Simon found it pleasing. Even at work, he was still regarded as Lieutenant—which should still be. Regardless of being at base or not. His position would remain.

He then glanced at you, who leaned against the counter and spoke to a customer. Your grin, although some strands fell delicately, most was tucked away neatly. You shook the drink, mixing and poured it over.

You seemed to be adjusting pretty well.

‘’Aye, lass, come work the back, yea?’’ Johnny called out, from the kitchen. You moved swiftly on your feet, after given the man his drink to which he dropped tips on the counter.

‘’Ya forgot—‘’ Simon started when you breezed past him, sighing through his nose. He walked up, cleaning his scarred hands with the rag, and then slid the tips over.

‘’For that girl.’’ said the man, drinking his mojito and eyeing Simon. He didn’t like this fella. Something itched at him. Maybe it was the sly twinkle in the mans eye, the slight lift of his lip. Bushy eyebrows peeked out.

“Didn’t need ta’ explain yourself.” Simon muttered, stuffing the tips in his pockets, although in his left, making sure to keep his tips separate from yours. Seems you still had some learning to do.

The man returned to his drink, although occasionally eyeing Simons back who now worked the front of the bar. He used the calculator to punch in numbers. Just then, a crowd of people came in—as usual. Night settled now and chatter arose in the bar.

Barstools shook as people sat, slamming hands and cheering. Simon approached and leaned his hands on the edge, eyeing them. “What ave’ we got?”

“Whiskey, neat.”

“Same here.”

“Gimme a scotch, good man.”

Behind, you worked cutting the oranges skin off. Stealthy hands worked and even Johnny let out a whistle. “Things ya’ canna do with those hands.”

You found your breath catching and you shifted on your boots, leaned over the table. You pinched your brows. “You woke up cheery today.”

Johnny laughed and sautéed the vegetables, steam rising. A crackle sound rung in the air, then hissing as he mixed in steak. About halfway, he flipped it expertly. “Jus’ focus on makin’ them hands work, yea?”

“You got it, Johnny.” You quirked, releasing some of your rigidity. He grinned, eyeing you for a second appreciating your tenacity. Slowly, you were getting used to this work environment. It appeared to be smooth, occasionally filled with teasing and banter. Maybe this wasn’t so bad—you thought.

Simon didn’t like as soon as you arrived—new recruit—you’d gotten stares. What he didn’t like were the usual assholes that crept up here every night. He figured he should give you a heads up, although maybe you knew. He wasn’t sure.

And he also wouldn’t lie, you were a pretty thing. He stilled himself once he realized his train of thought, then went back to shaking the drink harder. Almost as if threatening the damn drink. Brows pinched in semi focus— and a hint of irritation at himself. He then removed the shaker and poured smoothly the drink into the glass, pushing it towards the rugged man.

Just then, he spotted Price who arrived. He took his jacket off, resting it on the hook in the small closet next to yours. The man didn’t take long to realize what had changed. ‘’We got a new one?’’

“Aye, shes in the back.” Simon responded, voice lowered.

“She?”

“Got a problem?”

“Nah, just thought you’d bring in a little lad, is all.” Price grinned widely, small eyes crinkling. His mustache brushed his lips.

Price earned a look from Simon. His usual stoic, and cold demeanor not wavering. As Simon leaned against the soda machine, he then perked up when a woman approached the bar, lipstick smudged and hair a wavy mess. Price took this to his advantage and moved to the back.

“Gimme—“

“Gimme a…Malibu mixed with pineapple and cranberry.” She mumbled, grasping the counter and smiling at Simon.

Price then saw you, peeling away at the oranges skillfully. Beside you were a whole basket—unpeeled. And another—ready to go. Price grabbed his apron and tied it round’ his waist, chin tilted down, eyes not leaving you. “Recruit, see ya’ made it to the team.”

You jumped as you were stuck in focus and the man smiled, one corner lifting up. He looked like a millennial dad, you thought. Shifting on your boots, you watched as deft fingers made a skill-full knot behind his back and then he moved to the table beside you.

He grasped at the large knife, as it shined in the overhead light.

“Names y/n.” You said, Johnny taking a long glance over at the scene as Price began slicing smoothly at the chicken.

“You up for waiting tables?” Price said gruffly.

“You got it, sir.”

And at that, Price gave you a smug smile, eyes flashing over you. Johnny then prepared a plate, handing it to you. His tall form towered over you for a moment before going back to prepare another round.

“That ones’ fa’ table five, love.” Johnny said and your eyes peeked up at the nickname. Honestly it seemed casual for him—maybe there was no meaning behind it.

Nodding, you grasped the plate and then caught eyes with Price. He was busy slicing the flesh clean.

Wasn’t so bad for my first shift, you thought.

Part 9! College!simon x reader. Hope yall enjoy—UGH the slowburn is slowburning 🥺 feel free to leave feedback & like/reblog!! Even more motivation.

Masterlist here ✉️

You’d been working the bar for some time now, four days a week. You’ve had some hiccups along the way, trading shifts with Simon when you needed to stay back to study. First, he was firm about it and looked displeased.

He did that usual thousand mile yard stare into your soul.

“Come on, Simon—I’ll do your assignment as a way to pay you back.” You groaned.

“No.” He stood behind the counter, burly arms crossed and lips pressed thinly. He resumed his stoic face. That was exactly why he pulled you to work at this bar—not to do some illegal shit.

You sighed and rubbed at your nose bridge, desperately needing a plan. Then, you perked up, brows raised and looking at him with that twinkle in your eye.

“I’ll fix your jacket.”

“This bloody lass…wot now?” Simon purses his brows, finger tapping impatiently on his elbow. He stared at you, meanwhile the sunset was setting behind you.

“Your jacket? It looks faded and broken. The one that says Lieutenant.” You slowly egged on, hoping he’d catch on.

He stiffened for a moment, eyelids widening for a split second. Then he cast a side glance at his hanging jacket in the closet. It was indeed ripped, buttons hanging loose. He inwardly cursed. Of course you just had go catch on. But curiosity sparked in him—the idea of your hands on his jacket gave him a rush.

So then, he looked at you.

“Bring it back neat n’ pretty, yea?”

That’s how you won. Now, after a long night of studies all you wanted to do was collapse and sleep. But no, instead your fingers worked deftly to fix the buttons hanging off loosely.

His jacket. Now it lay in your arms, spilling into your lap.

It even smelled like him. Musky. Maybe you went too far, but you repaired the leather on it. Only with distilled water did you carefully wipe it down, removing the dirt. Then with some saddle soap—rubbing a rag over it—you worked gently in circles over the leather.

“Cannot believe he has me doin this—“ You grumbled under your breath. Although it was your fault—needing to swap a shift again. Twice. You knew he felt irritated, but you hoped to make up for it by restoring his jacket.

After letting it dry for about 15 minutes, to which you nearly dozed off in bed—your alarm went off.

“Goodness Christ—“

You then got to work. Some youtube tutorial you watched years ago on caring for leather got you here. You owned a leather jacket anyway, red and hidden away in your closet.

“Alright…conditioning it is.”

Shortly after finishing, you managed to fall asleep in the chair, his jacket covering your lap.

——

“Ya done fixed er’?” Simon said, almost at a loss for words when you showed up the next day. His hands that were cleaning the glass now slowed, rag hanging limply. Lips parted in pleasant surprise, brows raised. A scar on his brow shined in the light.

There you were, holding his jacket folded in your arms. The brown leather was as good as new, and shiny. The cracks had faded and the buttons were sewed on.

“There she is. Told ya I’d have it done.” You said with that usual sarcastic tone. Your lip lifted in a smirk.

“Where in the hell d’ya learn t’do sum’ like this?” Simon asked, brow cocked and reaching out to grab his jacket from behind the counter. He sniffed it. It smelled new to which he’d have to drown it in his cologne. Rough fingers traced the soft leather, feeling its weight.

“I just happened to whip it outta my ass when I needed it the most.” You joked, hopping up on the bar stool and perching a hand on your chin.

It was then Simon noticed the bags under your eyes and he hung his jacket on the hook. He returned to glass cleaning, as the bar was quiet for now. It was you and him as Johnny and Price were most likely on the way.

“You didn’t sleep much, did ya?” Simon asked gruffly, eyes flickering to meet your dazed look.

“Studies.”

“So you really were busy—aye?” His eyes did this sudden gleam—and you found yourself staring. A rare look. You moved and put your arm in your lap, tearing your gaze away.

You didn’t want to be caught staring.

“Arabic class. You know how that goes.” You mumbled and sighed, shaking your head.

“Lass, since ya swapped the last few shifts, I needed to give ya’ this.” He then held out your tips from the first shift. Simon remembered the few times he’d try to find you to give it to you—but you were always busy. At a table, cutting up lemons, headphones in your ears, or cleaning the ice maker. And then last shift he heard you swapped.

You watched his movement, then eyed him, sliding the cash into your pocket. You shifted on the bar stool.

He had half a mind to ring your ear for leaving it—but the eye bags suggested he hold his tongue.

“Don’ leave it, yea? Some’ will give ya’ tips, so take it.”

“Got it.” You said, momentarily biting your lip.

Simon caught onto the movement and then shifted his gaze away, chest puffing slightly.

He then cocked his head at the window, light illuminating the hook of his nose and strong jaw. Motorcycles pulled up at the front and laughter ensued.

“Look who’s ere’. Troublemakers.”

“Gotta babysit em.” You joked which earned you—and lately—his wider grin.

You liked it.

——

The bell rung—and suddenly you found yourself spinning around. Another day another shift. Simon stood there, clad in his grey zip up, balaclava, but you recognized his eyes and that gruff tone of his—and boots. A backpack was slung onto his shoulder.

“I need ya’ to cover f’me.” He said lowly, his heavy eyes staring into yours.

Just then, your lip tilted up—amusing how now he was in your position.

Just days ago you begged him, if you remembered correctly.

“Only if ya give me your tips.” You beamed, unable to help to cat like smile.

He furrowed his brows and then leaned in—cologne and musk rising to your nose. His blonde lashes brushed faintly his cheeks, and then lips parted. You could see the scarring from his past so clearly, and now you wondered. What exactly was the training he went under? You knew he was Lieutenant…

But now you hugged your breath in—at his proximity. Your hand stalled from cleaning the glass.

“Lass, you can ave’ my tips. Don’ need em anyway.” He spoke gruffly.

“I—“

“Don’ want ya strugglin’.”

He then moved away instantly and straightened up, clearing his throat. He left no explanation.

You then resumed cleaning the glass, impossibly faster this time as if you’d turn it into a damned cup. Your neck flushed and it spread to your ears.

Simon thought he saw it, only to see you turn away.

“Is tha’ a yes?” He called out, gruffly.

“You got a yes, Cap.”

He then made his way out, bell jingling and boots thudding against the pavement. You watched his back, curious and slightly flustered from the whole scene.

You finger tapped the counter, “Hate to see you go, love to see you walk away.” You gave out a dreamy sigh.

Lately you’d been thinking about him more—and not necessarily in a friendly way. But more so—the way his cologne smelled, the eyes peeking from the balaclava mask, the flex of his biceps. The way his words rung out teasingly, and then some days—grumpy and stone cold when Johnny questioned him.

My god.

You were really getting sucked into him.

You wondered if he even felt that way for you too. Goddamnit. You’re a 27 year old woman, not a teenager. You knew money was tight ever since you moved apartments. This one was slightly above your pay grade—and then again, the old apartment, broken sink and regular gas leaks just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

Remembering his words, that he didn’t want you struggling something warm fluttered in your chest. You shifted slightly, unable to help the flush that deepened.

——

Close to the end of your shift, you and Johnny had been cracking a beer. Well, he did. You? You kicked back to some whiskey. Beer wasn’t your type. You know both sat on kitchen tables, all cleaned off. Johnny’s long legs braced the ground, perched at the edge, beer in one large hand.

“Dinnae think ya’ had it in ya’ handlin’ this job.” He muttered, taking a swig.

“Asshat tried to make a move on me earlier—wasn’t having it.”

He barked out a laugh, cheeks raising. They developed a slight flush from the beer now, and it only made his skin glow.

“Gotta’ show em’ what they shouldna’ mess with. Do what ye’ will.”

You grinned, bashfully looked down at your glass. Your finger tapped the side, seeing the whiskey sway a bit form your movement.

“I told him to get a pussy that can take a pounding or two.”

At that, Johnny bursted out laughing. His hand slapped his thigh, and you joined in, chest rumbling. Your head tipped back as you finished the last of your whiskey, hearing him howl.

“Goodness—lass. Remind me t’never bother ya.”

Thud.

Just then, the door swung open revealing Simon. He went behind the counter, back facing you.

You stiffened up, sensing something wasn’t right. You kept your eyes trained on his back, seeing his shoulders were tense and movements—half a second scurrying to punch numbers in the calculator.

Johnny watched, although not surprised or shocked at all. He’d gotten used to see his mate like this. But you—oh that would be entertaining to watch. So he sat, sipping his beer and eyes wide.

“Simon?” You got up and approached, resting your glass near Johnny who fished it and placed it in the sink. You emerged out the kitchen archway and into the bar. When he turned, your breath caught and your hand involuntarily flew to his arm.

Johnny couldn’t help the long glances as if this were some telenovela.

“What the hell—“ You hissed.

“Is’ nothin.’” He’d say flatly, cutting you off. He was sporting a black eye, lip busted. It looked nasty. The cut looked fresh, although not bleeding anymore. His lip was swollen from the hit, and knuckles grazed red. His clothes were wrinkled and shifted off his broad form slightly.

“You can’t just say that and not explain.” You said stiffly, arms crossed and glaring up at him. You were adamant, and defiant. And if he wanted to play this game of hide and seek—you’d find the truth eventually.

But Simon knew better now than to hide from you. He scratched at his neck with an arm raised. He initially didn’t want to worry you, but now—the plan went to shit.

So his eyes slowly followed yours as you assessed the rest of him. He couldn’t fight the sly grin that pulled on his lips, lips aching and all. He was Lieutenant after all, and after years of combat, training, near death experience, he’d never seen a lass so wound up over a black eye and scratch.

“Ya know I’ve andled’ worse.” He said with less of a bite this time.

You shook your head and out the corner of your eye saw Johnny leaned against the crate, smiling widely.

“You can’t leave it like that. What. Happened.” You repeated again, this time enunciating it. You walked to the back of the bar, past Johnny who sent Simon a wink.

Simon—just in time sent him a glare to shut him up, then returned to you, eyes softened just slightly. He perked up when he saw the first aid kit you brought out and nearly stifled a laugh. He found it endearing in a way—how you got all pissy and frantic over some scratch.

“Aye, the brute fought wih’ sum’ rascals is what.” Johnny said. You glanced at the Scottish man, shaking your head scoldingly at Simon. You dragged him to sit him down on the kitchen table edge, brows furrowed in thought—and irritation.

“Aye, ya’ heard the man. Few rascals were gettin’ feisty with the store manager. One of em pinned me.” Simon muttered, rolling his eyes. He could’ve fought better—but sleep deprivation made him lose his touch.

“One of em? Lieutenant, ya’ losing it?” Johnny said, cocking a brow amused and half concerned. “Is’ all tha’ damned Geek gettin’ to ya’.”

“Greek.” Simon corrected, although not necessarily caring.

Meanwhile, you got an ice pack, and squeezed it. A pop was heard and you grabbed his larger hand, placing it in his hand. Simon glanced where your hands touched, feeling sparks shoot up. He was hunched, the other hand resting on his knee, shoulder angled. He raised the icepack to his eye.

“I ain’t losin’ it. Jus’ went easy on em’ is all.” He gruffly said.

Johnny snickered and you moved to his lips, placing a small bandaid on it. It was a hello kitty one.

When he saw it, he glared at you. Brows slashed down, displeased. A pinch between the brows—and eyes narrowing.

You couldn’t fight the grin. “Sorry. Its all we had.”

“Ahh. Ya see. Knew this woulda’ happened.” Johnny grinned mischievously, so you put two and two together.

You scoffed and then moved back, eyeing Simon who never removed his eyes from you. You held your breath at the sight of his darkened gaze, something dark in them. Why was he staring like that? You thought.

“I look pretty now, is tha’ it?” His voice rung out, deep and smooth.

Johnny finished his beer, washing up your glass. He turned his back to you both.

You shifted, then gave out a quick reply. “You look like you belong in a tea session with hello kitty.”

Johnny bursted out laughing, shaking his head as he scrubbed the glass. “Lassie—you really makin’ me piss my pants tonight.”

Simon then got up, arm brushing yours to walk past. You followed with your head—then walked behind him, leaning on the archway of the kitchen entrance.

Simon began wiping down the bar counter.

You didn’t say a word, but eventually spun to face Johnny who was as red as a tomato. He couldn’t help his massive shit eating grin, standing behind you.

When he muttered you smelled the beer on him. “Dinnae tell Lieutenant, but I may ave’ put the hello kitty bandaids in it.”

Part 11! College!simon x reader. 🙊 god i can’t get enough of this—enjoy! Pls like comment & reblog because it means a lot to me.

Notes: slowburn, mutual pining, bit of angst, swearing as usual. slight smutty thoughts of reader.

Masterlist here ✉️

There you were, drunk and wobbling into Simons room. He left you no room to argue, and not that you would anyway, you were a spinning mess.

“Don’ touch that.” Simons gruff voice said, guiding it hand away from the lights of the room.

You scoffed out a laugh—chest rumbling. You were ahead of him, feet tripping over one another. Simon constantly had to angle your shoulders this way and that—so you wouldn’t fall.

“What? This your batcave or somethin’?” You slurred, now eyeing his somewhat dim room.

He had his lamp on, giving some light. Some of his clothes were layered on his desk. Most likely he was busy and unable to fold them away.

God, you felt tired. But the alcohol was still coursing through your veins. You decided to settle for sitting at his desk, torso facing Simon. This was becoming quite regular, visits to his room. Your cheeks were flushed and you were slightly sniffling from the cold.

“Jus’ prefer to keep it dim, yea?” Simon said lowly. He turned around once you sat—closing his door. He then advanced to his closet and leaned down, strong hands grappling at some blankets. With a huff, he spread the largest one on the floor, then another ontop, and slapped a pillow down.

“What—is that f’me?” You asked, perking up. You tilt your head at his motions.

Simon shakes his head and then walks over to you, beckoning for you to stand. You wobble, and glance around to his bed—then him. Your chests brushed slightly, but he remained at a distance, heavy eyes gazing into yours.

“No, you’re sleepin’ on the bed.” He ordered.

“Simon—“

“Don’t give me lip, aye?”

The brute huffs and you quirk your lip, looking down momentarily. His bed.

Was it odd? Two friends just stuck in this awkward situation, since your keys were lost.

You sigh, and then undo your jacket, resting it on the back of his chair.

Awkwardly, you shift and then climb up onto his bed. You could smell his cologne and scent mixed on the sheets. But you didn’t lay down, no you just sat up on your knees and thought to ask the most ridiculous question. Your eyes had this twinkle.

“D’you have makeup remover?”

Simon was just settling onto the makeshift bed, large form groaning. His hair was a mess, and he looked down—only for his eyes to snap up at you. He could see your shit eating grin—still drunk. He scoffed, the shaking his head boyishly.

“Do I look like the kind t’carry that?” He said, gruffly. He was amused at your state, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t.

He then sat up, and shifted so his torso faced you, hunched, elbows resting in his lap.

You could see in the dimness the way the light bounced off his pale skin, illuminating his pale lips, his eyes. His irises glowed despite the heavy look he always carried. His hair had grown out, tufts of hair sticking up. Did the man ever hear of a haircut?

“You look a mess.” You slurred, swinging so your legs hung off the edge of his bed. It squeaked and your hazy eyes gazed at him.

“You got a lotta’ tongue on ya, lass. Always like this when you’re drunk?” Simon quipped, languid eyes tracing over your form. You felt squirmy under his gaze—or maybe it was just the alcohol making your head swing.

You scoffed and curled your lip up, palms resting at the edge to steady yourself.

“Just sayin’ a haircut saves lives.”

Simon groaned and lowered his head into his palm, the long fingers grazing his forehead. He looked quite ready to quit the night—but it was a joke. He wasn’t actually tired, you could tell, by the way his lip tilted up momentarily.

“Ain’t it funny how y’er callin’ me a mess. And y’er all drunk.” Simon scoffed and looked at you, moving to stand up.

He approached your form sitting at the edge of his bed and grabbed from behind you—his sweater. You shifted and first didn’t even realize it was there.

Faulty neurons.

You gulped when you felt him standing so close—the pump of the alcohol doing nothing to soothe your nerves. You then looked up at him—catching him already staring with brooding eyes.

“Touché…got me there.”

“Go t’sleep. I ave’ class in the ass crack of dawn.” Simon muttered and then moved away, laying down on his blankets.

He shifted so his hands cradled his head, back on the blankets. But apart of you didn’t believe he really wanted to sleep—because he always stayed up. Since something seemed to haunt him at these hours.

You shifted as you gazed at him. Sometimes—you caught yourself wondering about his scars. You knew he was a Lieutenant, but what were the stories behind it?

Before you knew it the words tumbled out your mouth.

“Those…” You sucked in a breath. “Those scars…does it hurt?”

Simon stilled for a moment. His eyes that were once gazing at the ceiling, the small lamp shadowing his features—now his eyes looked over at your form.

He knew this was going to be a long night considering you weren’t sleeping.

“Not anymore, they’ve healed.” He said, although the words hung heavy.

He turned so he could face you, to your surprise. His elbow was propped up, holding his head up, eyes bleary and fatigued. It was racing to 2:30am—but nonetheless you felt this stirring feeling in you. A need to know.

“D’you…get it from the military?” You asked, voice lowered from the weight of asking. You wondered if he would open up. You shifted your weight and adjusted your sleeve—Simon watching.

“I got it from the missions—opps’ got me a few times.” Simon said a bit too casually, although eyes straying. He began to wonder back to the good old days, the searing hot pain of his wounds. The way it all went down, countless stories, and too little time to tell.

“That—that must’ve sucked.” You slurred, gazing at him wide eyed. There was concern in your gaze, as your hand stilled that was fixing your sleeve. The warmth in your gaze caught his attention, and he found himself staring a lot longer than necessary.

Before he knew it he grinned and scoffed, finding it somewhat amusing your casual words, “must’ve sucked,” to be intriguing.

More than just sucked, he thought.

Countless words floated in his head, as his finger tapped the blanket. After a pause, he then spoke up gruffly.

“You once asked why I was here.”

“Huh?”

“In university.” Simon specified, knowing you were close to losing more than one brain cell at this rate. Apart of him thought, it wouldn’t hurt to have said it.

You wouldn’t remember anyway, right? He figured he could just open up slightly, and then you’d probably wake up a mess. A mess. He quite liked the sound of that—then he pushed the thought away as soon as it came up.

He focused back to you.

He watched your form lay down on the bed now, legs folding up. Your head on his pillow—it did more than just rile him up. He found himself momentarily short circuiting, the way you just lay so comfortably as if having been there so many times.

As if this was your space.

As if you two had seen each other like this countless times.

Then, he began.

“I want to start over.” He found himself saying slowly, almost as if double checking himself. He swallowed roughly, tearing his gaze away from your laying form. He eyed the ceiling, forcing his gaze away from you.

His heart began to race—just the mere sight of you could do this. Shit.

“Start over…yeah. Sometimes it isn’t easy. You can’t just wipe the slate over.” You mumbled, head tilting to also gaze at the ceiling dizzily. At that, Simon found himself intrigued once again. God damnit. It was like you tugged at him, and then just when he thought it was fine, his attention tugged at you like a damned puppy.

He didn’t expect you to have sounded coherent despite the night. Maybe you were sobering up.

“You sound like you seen it all, lass.” Simon said, kore quietly now.

He could hear both your breathing and soon, your sloppy chuckle joined in. Soft, and airy. His heart lurched—and the stoic man found himself reeling.

Trying to maintain control, and trying to find ease.

“No—I’m sure you have…” You trailed off, sighing. Your lashes brushed your cheek, as your eyes shut. You felt like waves were washing over you, and you were floating admits the sea. And his voice was calming— soothing despite the usual gruff tone.

‘’Get some sleep, lovie.’’ Simon said, the nickname slipping. You would’ve been startled at the nickname, but sleep over came you.

——

The next few classes passed with a drag. You just finished from the gym—deciding to start some workout routine. You only went on the treadmill and could hear your friends voice in your ear: Don’t become one of those people who get stuck to it, along with her snort. You turned off the treadmill and glanced up at the tall windows, revealing the sunset of the cold November. You wiped some sweat from your forehead, all snug in a fitted black top and matching leggings, sneakers laced up.

Your phone rung and you found yourself reaching for it, brows furrowing. It was Johnny. He never called you, as he proffered to blow up the Molly’s group chat with memes and barrages of broken text.

‘’Hello? Johnny?’’ You say, somewhat amused.

A pause. There was a clank and Johnny answered with a chuckle.

‘’Uh—Lass? Think ya can handle a shift? Kyle called in sick—lads not here.’’

You glanced around the gym and moved to your bag, picking it up. ‘’On my way.’’

Today was your day off—Saturday but you figured you could use the extra pay.

Then you found yourself hobbling in the cold. Clutching your jacket—having changed into a black button up and jeans.

The bar was horribly busy. People ambled everywhere drunk and whistling. They were cheering and unionizing as someone chugged—and you found yourself used to the antics.

You hastily unfastened your jacket, bumping into some guy—who mumbled an apology. You hung your jacket up, striding behind the counter and meeting Johnny and Priced who was cooking. Johnny flambé the vegetables—jostling the pan expertly back and forth, sweating.

Price was working up a fit, seasoning the chicken breast freshly cut— eyes meeting yours.

‘’Recruit, get over here.’’ Price grumbled, although a hint of warmth in his tone.

“Where do you need me?”

‘’You better hope you’re good with a knife.” Price grinned at you, seeing as you then turned to grab it from the stand. The blade gleamed and you chuckled amused.

“The things I can do.” You winked, playfully.

Price chuckled heartily.

Sometimes as you worked, you caught eyes with Simon who eventually came in. Memories of the night he took care of you—vividly flashed in your mind. You hadn’t said a word to him since, which he found odd.

He then thought you probably needed space, but from what?

You knew what it was.

Your feelings were eating you up. The way he spoke, his scent, his jokes. The way you two seamlessly got along, only to sometimes butt heads at work when your schedules didn’t align. He was something that surrounded you non stop.

The way he opened up just a bit about his past had you wanting to know more. More of his past, who he was. The things he faced.

But it scared you. It terrified you. These feelings. The change.

It suddenly became more than just, “a passing,” between the two of you.

As the shift ended—nearing 2am, you were absolutely exhausted. You groaned and walked to your dorm building, hiking up the path. It was quiet, a striking contrast from the busy bar with all the shouting. You sure as hell were going to be paid in full, that’s what.

‘’Lass—‘’ Someone called out to you.

Turning around as you recognized the voice, you widened your ears to see Simon jogging up.

He wore some dark wash jeans, a hoodie pulled over his head, and his rugged face shadowed. He grabbed your wrist—to your surprise, and you flushed at his touch. It was easy to blame it on the biting cold. Your eyes met his as he slapped his tips into your hands.

If it was even possible, your heart melted more.

‘’For house keeping.’’ Simon gruffly said, shoving his cold hands in his sweater pockets, looming over you. He was close to you, shifting his weight onto one leg.

‘’You didn’t have to—‘’

‘’Don’ go back on y’er word.’’ He scoffed down at you, slightly smirking, ‘’Remember I owed ya for that shift.’’

Nodding, you swallowed. You glanced up at him, unspoken words lingering in the air. Your breath caught in the cold, and flashes of the night being drunk, smelling his pillow and the sheets crossed your mind.

You swore you could still smell it.

Behind him cars drove and neon lights flickered from the store fronts, his eyes not leaving yours.

Get some sleep, lovie.

It echoed in your mind and you gazed up at him. Your nose was red and cheeks too, hair blowing slightly in the wind.

“Ya look tired.” Simon said, cutting through the air.

“Of course. Its 2am.” You scoffed, moving your eyes off of him. You turned around, huddling to keep warm and continued your trek up.

Simon knew that night weighed on your mind. He wasn’t sure if it was right time to talk about it, being that it was 2am. You both were tired and fatigued, and his eyes drooped more than usual.

He sighed, tapping a finger against his thigh—before deciding to follow you. His boots thudded and the brute needed to talk. Needed to get it out.

To see you again.

He called your name.

You froze and your heart pounded.

Slowly you turned around and faced him, close to your dorm entrance.

‘’What is it? I need to get inside its cold—‘’

He gave you no room to respond and scanned his ID. He followed you inside, starring holes in your back.

‘’You’ve been avoidin’ me.’’ He started, coming right in tow behind as you met your room. You bit your lip, reaching for your key replacement.

‘’I’ve just been busy—‘’

‘’I know.’’ He said, although calmer. Warmer, almost.

You turn your head to him. Regrettably, you spoke, ‘’Look, I gotta sleep. I’ll see you, yeah?’’ You didn’t want to cut the conversation short—but it was late. And you had other pressing matters to attend to. Like becoming a couch potato and daydreaming about him.

Damn it, Simon thought with a frustrated sigh as he watched you leave with a certain kind of irritation, and longing in his eyes. Almost like he didn’t want you to go. His eyes tracked you as you went in, closing the door.

Even the sound of it felt harsh.

That night he didn’t sleep, as usual. But not because he found the usual horrors of his past haunting—but because you, the nightmare of a woman was haunting his mind.

A pleasant nightmare.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

——

“We need to talk.” Simon said gruffly, the next day at your shift. You were leaning on the bar counter, weight on one leg, shoulders shrugged in concentration. His eyes couldn’t stop staring at your figure, the way the jeans hugged in all the right places, and the shirt.

He happened to be leaning on the archway of the kitchen, Johnny Price and Kyle working like mad hens behind him.

Damn it. He needed to stay focused.

You ‘re at the POS system, punching in an order and then you threw a glance at the Brit.

“Is it work related?” You say, a bit too stiff for his liking.

“No.”

You tap your finger at the side of the system and sigh, then turn. Your lower back leans against the bar counter, and you eye Simon. Your arms are crossed.

“Make it quick.”

Simon grunted. He could think of something else considered quick—

He shut himself up, shifting against the wall, and crossing his arms. The muscles flexed as rugged eyes stared you down. You felt like you were shrinking under his gaze if it were even possible.

“Why did you run off to your room?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” He persisted in that damned accent.

“I—“

Simon crossed the floor in an instant and ushered you aside—a hand on your arm. You bristled and swallowed, as Simon pushed you into the janitors closet.

Shit, Johnny was going to start asking around for us soon, you thought. You crossed your arms, head tilted up to the Brit, waiting for his response.

He shut the door of the closet and his boots thudded when he turned to face you, leaning in. All of a sudden that frustrated dissipated—being replaced by an unknown feeling. His cologne surrounded you, just like that night in his bed. You unconsciously took a whiff, and then gripped your arms tightly.

The hell was he doing?

“Lass,” he breathed out, now eyeing you, he then saw you clenching your arms and leaned in more, a hand raising to rest by your head, caging you in.

The shadows of the closet shaded his eyes—you couldn’t see what was behind them.

He said your name when you didn’t respond—causing your eyes to snap to his. How could you respond? Suddenly both your chest were pressing against each other, and you breathed heavily, heart hammering.

“Simon, I said make it quick.”

Again, the way you said it. This time he groaned audibly, his hoodie straining from the angle as he leaned forward for eye you, leaving you nowhere to run.

“I need to know why you’re avoiding me, lass.” He repeated, firmly. His shadowed eyes never left yours, the sight of his lips moving made your heart pitter patter.

You took a breath to still yourself.

“I’m sorry—ever since that night…” You froze, realizing how this was coming across. Romantic, maybe? Were you actually beginning to open up? Fuck.

You sweat and shifted on your feet, swallowing.

“Ever since the night you were drunk?” He picked up, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, that…I just…well no before—“ Your breath hitched and the closet room spun. You swallowed thickly, sweating a bit and now your eyes darted everywhere but him. But his big broad chest blocked the exit—behind him.

“Before what?” There it was again. That thick, barrel smooth voice. Your eyes met his and you nodded, going silent. For a second it was you and him, just gazing and hearing the loud buzzing of the bar.

Before, I caught feelings.

“Why did you drag me in here?” Now you demanded, keeping your voice down. You eagerly looked up at him, brows furrowed and lips pressed firmly.

You were getting uncomfortable by your own feelings, and it was rolling off of you in waves. Irritated at his constant demands.

Irritated at your own inability to just say it.

Simon scoffed, his breath hitting your face softly. You swallowed.

“Only way to get you alone.” He admitted, the words rolling out smoothly. His eyes roamed all over you, taking in the defensive look you had, arms crossed, tight. That pinch between your brow—but if anything he found it endearing. He had gotten used to this side of you, so it was no surprise.

Right. You mentally face palmed. Of course that’s why he brought me in here, you thought.

You shifted your gaze away to which he noticed and Simon felt a kick to his stomach. He saw the frown—the way you lowered your head to avoid him. He stiffened up, brows raising slightly.

Suddenly, he withdrew and dropped his hunky arm to his side.

“Don’t tell me I made you uncomfortable.” He said, surprisingly with a shake to his voice. The tremor was slight, and he sounded almost hesitant.

Your eyes widened and you realized he misunderstood. Your stomach dropped and inwardly you cursed. Bloody hell—

“No—Simon—“

“Lass, you can always tell me.” Simon reminded, his hand gripping into a fist. He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and now his lips pressed thin, nostrils flaring.

“Simon—“ You said again.

“I’ll be outta’ your way.”

He went to turn to open the door but in an instant, you lunged.

You don’t know what came over you, but your lips captured his—hands flying to angle his head to meet yours.

Maybe it was the need to communicate how you really felt.

Maybe it was the frustration of being misunderstood. Or all of it.

You could feel how tensed up under you, not expecting the kiss at first. Then his fingers twitched with life, his heart pounding with vigor.

And then, his lips moved—almost hesitant to test the waters even though you kissed him first.

Soon—your back was to the wall of the small closet as his hands roamed, clutching gently at the fabric of your shirt. His hands rested on your waist, holding you and eyes shut, kissing slowly. He was drinking you in—your sounds, your taste, your smell.

Your heart was hammering and with the way you were pressed against his, his was too.

“God—“ You pulled away, panting softly. Your eyes met his.

You sucked in air sharply at the sight.

Simons eyes were ferocious, a bit of hunger, desire and longing in his darker eyes. He panted softly, fingers tightening slightly on your waist so you wouldn’t run—and his nose brushed yours.

His voice came out low, hushed, as his breath fanned your cheek. “You ave’ no idea how long I’ve been needing that.”

Part 10!! 🥺 this one was so cute reader and simon ughh. Got me sobbing and clenching the sheets. Romcom vibes fr. I believe in happy endings 🥹 pls enjoy! Feel free to like comment & reblog

Masterlist here ✉️

Back on campus, you shifted your buckled bag and sighed, foggy white air leaving your lips. Snow didn’t fall yet—but soon it would. Now you eyed the foggy evening, seeing faintly the blue sky that was darkening within the hour. Your boots crunched on the ground, your fur lined jacket hugging you to keep you warm.

You found Simon walking out of the gym at the same time, long legs striding and carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder. He wore a beanie—tufts of blonde hair sticking out the side. His dark bomber jacket was unzipped, revealing a thicker fleece hoodie under. He wore his balaclava mask, eyes peering through and into the darkness.

Maybe you responded this way since you felt more comfortable now—but you called out to him which made him pause. He recognized that chirpy voice.

You then strode to him, smaller legs carrying you as fast as possible.

You nearly slipped on iced over part of the sidewalk and yelped, arms flailing.

Your brows raised—eyes wide—

Simon then steadied you by grabbing your arm upright, pursing his brows together, “Lass, you’d better watch your step. One blackeye s’enough for the two of us.”

“Ah—shit. Black ice. Hate that. Anyway—you joining us at Mollys?”

“Fa’ drink or two? I got an exam, lass. Dunno’ if I can make it.” He said, eyes shifting away. His hand warmed when he had steadied you but now pulled away, legs continuing to carry him down the stairs. He carefully watched for any black ice. A cold wind blew against him, making his eyes shut.

You clutched your arms closer to your jacket, following suite.

“A drink or two. Or three. Johnny said it’s on the house.” You shivered, cheeks pink and feeling numb at the cold nipping at it. You couldn’t shake the memory of his hand on your shoulder, and found yourself replaying it.

Should probably focus—

“I’ll see to it, yea? Get goin’ it’s gettin’ late.” Simon said, before opening the door for you.

He scanned his ID in, towering over your form, an arm bracing to hold it open. He watched as you breezed by, hair flowing. He couldn’t help but take note of how much shorter you were—he found it somewhat endearing.

Small but with a bit of spunk.

He cracked a grin at the thought and then followed you, watching as you went down the stairs.

“Good luck on your exam.”

“It’ll be jus’ fine.”

He watched as you then disappeared behind your door, retiring. Simon, left with his thoughts circling of you, stood there. He had half a mind to knock to join you—to go to Mollys. But that damned exam. His eyes shifted away, as his hand curled around the strap of his bag.

He found himself wanting to be around your company more. To hear your jokes and see your contradicting, nervous flits—the way your eyes shifted and finger tapped impatiently. To see you shake a good drink over at Mollys—something about it had him going.

“Damnit…” He’d curse before turning away to his door, keying it open. He then disappeared for the night.

Later on, you had gotten ready. You wore a black skirt that reached your mid thigh, some matching stockings and a longsleeve top. It was a bit slouchy, the collar cut off and hanging off your shoulder. You left your hair down, lining your eyes with black liner.

“Whoo. Do I look good tonight.” You couldn’t help but mutter to yourself in the mirror, applying some gloss.

You then threw on your leather jacket, scarf wrapped around your neck. You shoved on your biker boots, making your way out. It was near freezing and you wore this damned skirt.

“Okay…maybe not the best idea.” You mumbled, sheepishly.

Soon you reached the bar—no sight of Simon which you found yourself inwardly sighing at. You knew he was busy with exams. Apart of you missed his presence.

Johnny and Price arrived—along with a new guy. He was sporting a beard, neatly trimmed. Buzzcut grown out, with strong features. He wore a battered hoodie, something written across it: Straight Outta Ammo.

“Recruit, come on over. This is Kyle. Gaz. Whatever ya’ wanna call him.” Price said, waving you over already. The door shut and you grinned, before hanging your coat up. Price swept his eyes over your attire, then looked at Kyle who shook his head.

“So this the recruit Price been’ telling me about.” At that, your brows raise playfully in surprise, shooting Price a look who grins and jerks his head, rim of the glass nudging his lip.

“Don’t make it seem like the lass is important.” Price then looked over at you when you sat on the barstool next to them.

Kyle was to your left, Price on your right.

Talk about testosterone being high—

“So what, is Kyle working here or?” You ask, looking at Price.

“Gonna start joining shifts yeah.” Kyle says from besides you, hunched as Johnny appears. He’s making the drinks tonight with a devious grin, fire in his eyes. You recognized that look. Oh, he was cooking up something real good.

“Lass, tell me what ya’ cravin’ fer’” His eyes landed on you.

“Whiskey, neat. The usual.” You grin and Kyles’ eyes widen slightly at your confidence.

He turns his head, watching you with interest. First, he was stoked by your ability to even understand Johnny—two—whiskey?

“A woman after my heart.” He said, warmly, making Price choke out a laugh. He swirled his drink, elbows perched on the counter, his long mustache disguising his grin.

“Didn’t know you had one.” You joked, eyes flashing with amusement.

Johnny whistles—Price watching with mild amusement. He isn’t surprised, he knows you have a bite, and the look in your eyes were back. He knew all that studying tired you out a few shifts ago, but seeing it return had the old man revving.

Kyle holds his chest—fake groaning as if hurt. “Now, don’t go stompin’ on it gal.”

You snicker and Johnny then hands you the drink, after pouring it smoothly. You drink, grimacing slightly at the burn. Sighing, you shifted in your stool.

“Tell me, what do you do? Just work at Mollys?” Kyle asked, brow raised. His finger tapped the counter along to the electrical guitar raving in the background.

“Nah—I’m in University. Same one as Simon.”

His eyes meet yours—surprised. “Simon knows ya?”

“He’s the one who hooked her up at Mollys.” Johnny said, leaning against the soda machine. His brow was raised—expecting Kyle to have known. The slow hour helped with the chatter, not having to prance around every second to accommodate customers.

You poked your tongue against your cheek, eyeing Johnny for a moment. His mohawk was a floppy mess.

Seems like Kyle and Simon hadn’t been talking in a minute.

“Damn Brit doesn’t talk.” Kyle muttered which earned him a rough laugh.

Price was entertained by his sulking behavior. He rubbed at his mustache, then eyed the tv displaying the football match.

“Lass, ya’ know ow’ t’do a hurricane shot?” Johnny said deviously, gaining both the mens attention.

You stiffened up slightly, not sure where he was heading with this. Back in your old waitressing days—you’d seen it done. But never had it done yourself to anyone.

“I’ve seen it. Why?” You said, voice low. You peeked from under your lashes to see Johnny, rim to your lips to drink.

Kyles’ eyes couldn’t stay still. He found the window bleary with neon lights to be interesting, whilst Price found himself gazing at the side of your head, brows furrowed as if trying to figure you out.

You were complex—in his eyes. Some small gal joining the team with all this—“aura,” as Johnny called it.

“Think ya’ got the lads interest. Should I say—two of em’.”

Johnny teased and Kyle’s eyes widened by a fraction. He downed his drink. He had a feeling he would need more—as the night got interesting.

Price grumbled, eyes darting away from you, and you sighed. Finally relieved to not have this gaze burning holes in you.

“Wouldn’t want my mustache or hair messed up.” Price grumbled.

“Me neither.” Kyle added.

You began laughing, hand flying to your mouth. It seemed the whiskey was kicking in—and Johnny joined in, catching on. Both your laughter collided in the bar.

“Look at em—worryin’ bout their hair like little lassies do.” Johnny humored and you only laughed harder.

Kyle had a softer look to you, grinning and shaking his head at both your antics.

Meanwhile Price glared like a kicked puppy, the look only making you laugh harder.

Your body shook—twisting to look at Price fully.

“And you’re telling me—he was captain?” You choked out, wiping literal tears. You gasped for air. Kyle chuckled, patting the counter to get Johnnys attention.

“Damn right I was—“

“Another one—“

“A fine smooth bourbon—righ’ up.” Johnny grinned and you weren’t surprised to know Kyle preferred that. A sweeter drink.

“Make one for me too.” You joined in, Kyle catching your somewhat half lidded gaze. You grinned, cheeks lifting.

“You tryna race me?” Kyle raised a brow.

“Might be.”

And that’s how you ended up getting piss drunk. Honestly you needed it. Nights of studying and managing work was not easy. As the hours passed—till it was 1am, Kyle had gotten up to help Johnny with the onslaught of customers. Price eventually joined in, although grumbling about not being able to finish his drink and laze around.

You were hunched, cheek in your palm, dazed and flushed. You watched the team work, Kyle in the kitchen, apron tied. Johnny shaking drinks and Price taking orders.

“Lass, if ya’ weren’t so out f’it—I woulda’ pulled y’er arse up here.” Johnny said, still having energy despite the damn hour. You perked up and languidly looked at him, huffing out a slow laugh. The room was for sure spinning faster than it did before.

“Put me to work. I got it!” You clapped—drawing some customers attention.

Johnny shook his head, placing a lime delicately at the edge of the glass and passing it to the rugged deadbeat man across.

“Enough f’that, lass. Hand it over.” Johnny then turned to you, grasping the glass when you still drank. His fingers bumped your chin. You groaned, giving a slight glare but gave in towards the end.

Just then—amongst the loud chatter and clinks, Simon walked in. He wore his new and improved leather jacket, beanie pulled over his ears. Cheeks and nose flushed slightly red from the cold. Under his jacket he wore a long sleeve knit, and dark jeans.

His eyes then caught onto your hunched and flushed form, grin pulling slightly at his healing lips. He slowly made his way to the bar beside you, nudging you with his arm.

“Aye, how much has she had?” Simon asked immediately to Johnny, when he was met with your slurred mumbles of racing drinks with Kyle.

At the name—Simon sighed.

“Had a good amount, that one.” Johnny tipped his head at you, snickering. Kyle peeked his head out, seeing Simon.

He approached, wiping his hands on the apron and staring.

“She might’ve raced me.” Kyle said sheepishly, scratching his head.

You leaned upright, blinking slowly and arms placed on the bar counter.

“Simon, you finally made it.” You managed to say, head swiveling to look up at him. Your eyeliner was smudged under your eyes, curve of your nose glittering in the light. Your lips parted.

Simon nearly found himself reeling at the sight but remained composed, hand bracing the back of your stool, an arm leaning on the counter, body angled to you.

“I’ve been ere’, lass.”

“Oh.”

How much time had passed?

You didn’t even know. You looked down and Kyle huffed out a laugh before disappearing in the kitchen as Johnny shouted for him.

“Come on, lass you can’t keep up.” Simon said, watching your swaying form on the stool.

“I got it, Si.” You said, mumbling. You moved to stand up and Johnny chucked a water bottle across the area into Simons hand. He held onto it, sure you would need it. At the nickname—he probably thought you were too tuckered out to say his full name, which he found amusing.

But concern flashed in his red rimmed eyes when you approach your jacket, lazily reached over the counter that stood in the way, arm outstretched.

“Ugh—“

“Don’ piss ya’self. I got it.” Simon gently placed his hands on your hips, although only briefly to move you aside as you blocked the mini gate leading behind the counter. He bumped his knee and it opened, letting him in. He swiftly garnered your jacket and turned to you.

He then swung the jacket over your form, pulling your hair out so it didn’t get stuck under.

“Can ya zip up, or d’ya need me for that?” He was testing how out of it you were.

“I-I got it.” You hiccuped and uselessly stared down at your jacket. Your hands fumbled at the zip, and instead of remembering to pull it up, you flicked at the little thing.

You seemed hooked on the sound it made.

“Bloody hell.” Simon grumbled, although amusement flashing in his eyes. Towering over you, he leaned in, pulling you to him.

You wobbled and raised your head up, neon lights flashing against your cheek, highlighting your skin. Purple and blues colored you. It colored Simon as well and in the moment you found yourself wanting to see more. The way his blue irises shined pulled you in even more, the rough eye bags accentuated.

Simon didn’t utter a word as his larger hands clutched the zip and yanked up, swiftly. He was glad the boys weren’t watching—not needing their useless teasing. The bar was busy for a reason.

He led you out, although pinching the corner of your sleeve so you wouldn’t wander off and slip on ice like the drunk puppy you were.

The door slammed shut.

“Oh—your exam. How’d it go?”

You suddenly remembered, cheeks flushed. Your heart was pounding warm and the cold night soothed your nerves a bit.

You tilted your head up, trying to walk forward to chase the wind—but Simons pinched grip at your sleeve stopped you.

“Went jus’ fine. Passed.” Simon muttered and kept his grip. He watched the way your head tipped up as if thirsty for cold air. He’d never seen you drunk—but this was entertaining compared to the dull exam he had. This woke him up now.

“Y’er really are out of it, lass.” Simon gruffly said, now walking forward. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t amused. Boots thudded, keeping a much slower stride to guide you along.

Eventually you led the way forward, remembering where to go from here.

“Ugh—it was Kyle and Johnny. We had a bit of a drinking game.” You snorted and shuddered at the cold.

Just then you felt around your neck and turned to Simon, amused. A grin broke out and he tugged you along by your sleeve—probably dismissing it foe your drunken antic.

“You forgot my scarf.”

“Wot—“ He slowed down and faced you, shoulder tilting. “D’ya need it? I can get it f’ya.”

“No no I’ll just get it next shift…” You mumbled off, as the two of you walked. Now Simon was ahead, the store lights flashing against his leather jacket he wore, and hair.

All of a sudden a comfortable silence fell between you two. You knew he was wearing the jacket you took time to fix—him in the sight of it was making you reel with feelings you didn’t know you had. The idea of him wearing something you fixed, your own hands—all because you wanted to swap shifts, made heat blossom in your chest.

Maybe it was the damn alcohol.

But then you found yourself trailing down to see the view. And not his ass—but the way he held your sleeve corner of your jacket, gently trailing you along. You admired the sight, glad he couldn’t see your face. Your boots crunched against rocks and gravel.

“We’re both wearing leather jackets.” You blurred out, eyes widening. Simon then glanced at you and the corner of his lip did a tilt—something you found yourself daydreaming of lately.

“You got a point, lass?”

“We’re almost matching—“

Now that caught his full attention.

He turned his head to you, brows furrowing at your rumbling nonsense. He led you up, hand around your back cautiously in case you fell up the turn. He then followed, leading you out the local streets and into the familiar pathway of your dorm building.

“I-I mean mine is red and yours is brown but I don’t think the colors are far from the color wheel unless—“

Simon laughed, causing you to fall short in your ramble. You reached the dorm building, with him beside you.

He scanned you in, then followed you, larger hands ushering you down the stairs carefully. He stood behind, guiding your jerky and choppy movements.

“This way—“

He said stiffly, when you went the wrong way. He basically grabbed your shoulder and spun you around to see your wide eyed expression.

“Ah—hahaa. Well that hallway looked a lot like mine.”

“I can tell ya, as someone who hasn’t had a single drink, it’s not.”

Simon held back a snort around your clumsiness and then led you to your door. He held a hand out, covered in scarring—leaning against the wall.

“Keys.”

“Oh right.”

You fumbled in your jacket and mumbled. You eyes then widened, heart pounding at the realization.

“Shit…I don’t have my keys.”

Simon stiffened up, dropping his grin. He was suddenly alert.

Something dark flashed in his eyes like seriousness, as he moved closer, chest almost touching yours. He batted your hands away to gently dig into your smaller jacket pockets, feeling for it.

But nothing. He could smell the booze off of you, to which he sighed.

“D’ya remember where ya’ left it?” He asked, brows furrowed harshly. He wasn’t mad at you.

He just hoped no stalker or asshat wiggled his way in your jacket when you didn’t look. Especially since you were in a vulnerable position.

“Maybe it fell out…Price grabbed my jacket to put his next to mine. It was on the wrong hook…”

Simon sighed, relaxing a bit. But he was atill on edge. His eyes softened as he looked down at your form.

“Damn it. I can’t ave’ you stayin’ out here.” Simon said, gazing into your “barely there” look. Eyeliner all smudged up.

He knew what he would have to do.

“You’re sleepin’ with me.”

You have a tough week at work

hey yall—tough ass week here. i needed to write this cute fluffy moment with reader x simon x price ughhh. my poor heart is mush atp. enjoy!! pls like comment and reblog to share the love <3

notes: she/her pronouns used, lots of fluff & reader struggles for acceptance affection. Lovie, lovebug, love nicknames are used.

I think after a long week and shedding tears over a tub of ice cream—Simon & Price decide you’ve had enough.

First you come through the front door frowning, your usual scowl and eyes twitching from the lack of sleep. Your neck sags, shoulders hunching from the heavy bag and responsibilities weighing on you. You feel like you’re never enough.

Immediately Simon rounds the kitchen corner, not hesitating to take your shoulder bag off—lengthy fingers curling around the strap. You could see the warm lamps are lit, the fireplace on and going which never failed to make you feel at ease in tough times. The flames roared with life.

You trace your eyes to look up all puffy eyed and your nose red—most likely from just crying in frustration. You stiffen up for a moment at him seeing you like this, and faintly you could hear Price cooking in the kitchen. It smells of warm food.

“Lovie, give it up.” Simon said gently—much gentl(er) to you than he would with anyone. His brow was raised and he’s got that scolding look to him.

One that told you to bite down on any resistance.

So you did, too tired to fight and knowing it would be useless. You give the bag to him, and Simons’ hunky form maneuvers to the couch, where he placed it down. His mask if off, wearing sweatpants and a longsleeve knit you got him. His rugged features glow softly in the fire light, oranges and yellows lighting his irises.

Price then calls out from the kitchen, “Is the love bug back already from work?”

“Aye, I got er’.” Simon responds gruffly—turning around when he heard you groan.

There you were trying to take your shoes off, bent over and fingers sluggish working the laces. Damn thing wouldn’t undo itself. Tears sprung up in frustration, finding the simple task so demanding and exhausting. And it didn’t help every muscle protested in pain.

“Lovie—“ Simon closes the distance with his house slippers and holds up upright by your elbows.

“I-I can’t do it.” You say weakly, frowning. Apart of you feels like you needed to “adult,” better—but this week? This week was a mess.

You hear a clank from the kitchen.

“Lovie, come, none f’that, yea? Let’s get you sorted.” Simon briefly caresses your cheek with warm tender fingers, and you find yourself aching for more when he pulls away, round wide eyes gazing.

Simon doesn’t miss the look you gave him and knows. He knows what you need. He gently leads you to the couch, making you sit. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed and places one behind your back to support you, and occasionally hearing your sniffles.

“I’m sorry—“ You begin to say, voice shaky and on the verge of sobs. You felt guilty for making them care, but then again it was their job as well. They looked out for you, you looked out for them.

Simons heart aches as he hears you. The woman he knows who is determined, strong and wise is now hurting. Vulnerable, cracked open. He knows what this must feel like, since he did too at some point of his life.

It was a hard choice—sharing how you felt. And be found himself appreciative of how you let him take care of you tonight. He was determined to put your stressed soul at ease, doing whatever you asked for if you did.

So, his warm voice floated in, as deft fingers loosened your shoe laces, gentle warm eyes peering up at you from under his brows.

“Lovie, its a’right. A big man like me can untie y’er shoes, no?” Simon says lightly, lip lifting up slightly.

That earns him a swift grin from you despite the tears and your chest warms. You know Simon could do a lot more. It was so secret anymore who he was, his past, and Price as well. His large hands slide under your ankles, supporting it up into his lap.

Price then turns the stove off and you hear soft padding. Simon slips off your shoes and tosses them aside—his attention immediately back onto you. He could care less of the shoes. He wanted-needed to know if you were okay.

Price wiped his hands on the rag—his face falling when he saw you, his love bug all teary and crestfallen.

“Dove, let me make you a cup of tea.” Price said firmly, without question. He knows you must be a bundle of nerves and felt frazzled. A nice tea outta do it, he thought. Inside, he was worried.

He worked with ease at the kitchen, tall form hardly needing to stretch an arm up to open the cupboard. He already reached its height anyway.

Immediately he steeped a bag, a nice peppermint tea. In your cute little mug you always loved—the one with pink and white fluffy clouds, with golden stars painted and the moon. He found himself warming at the sight—you.

You were everywhere and he loved it. Little remnants.

He returned and Simon got up to sit next to you, a hand rubbing your back. He softened at the sight and crouched down in front your resting form. He saw the eye bags wearing you down, the redness of your eyes and how irritating the skin was from all the rubbing. Most likely wiping your tears off.

He could see the frown lines, the way your eyes had glossed over in exhaustion.

He felt even more concerned—maybe even livid at the way work had drained you. Nonetheless, his priority was you, not blowing up because of your work.

“Love bug, d’ya think you could sit up for me?” Prices’ warm voice said, one large hand holding your cute mug, the other resting on your knee.

You gently nudged your head in acknowledgement—which was resting on Simons shoulder. All warm and content.

You moved to sit up and uncurled your legs, warming at the sight of Price holding you mug.

Not just any mug.

And the tea you loved too.

Tears sprung up again and you grabbed at the mug, holding it.

“Lovie—“

“Love bug—“

They both said immediately at your tears.

“I’m okay…just overwhelmed by your support.” You managed a small smile, eyes flitting to meet both their concerned ones.

Simon had his brows furrowed, an arm slung back behind you. But now he moved to lean in, a hand touching your back again.

He nodded, meanwhile Price continued rubbing your knee in a comforting manner, thumb drawing circles now.

“Love, you have nothing to apologize for. We know its been hard for you lately.” Price said in a soothing low tone, brows raising. He lowered his head to get a look at you—although not staring holes into you.

He watched as you drank your tea, sighing in relief.

“I-It was.” You began, “I lost track of time and missed some deadlines at work. My Boss has been upset.” Your voice cracked as you explained, and the tears sprung up.

Both of them knew how late you were staying at work, and to hear your inconsiderate Boss only add fuel to the fire was maddening.

Simons’ chest puffed out, taking a breath in—and Prices’ eyes flashed momentarily, only to soften when he spoke to you.

“Just let it out lovie.” Simon said softly, a large hand brushing your hair aside as you cried. Tears dripped down and Simons calloused hand cupped your cheek, rubbing them away. Gently. He wasn’t used to this—but with you, it came so naturally.

There was this feeling in him you reached deepest. It only amplified in moments like this. He didn’t even know he was capable of being gentle still, yet you brought it out in him.

Price patted your leg softly, “Easy love. Let me get you some good food in that tummy. I made you your favorite.”

With that you look up at him as he arose, and Prices’ eyes crinkled underneath with his warm smile. His heart melted—a mixture of concern and care as your eyes were watery and half lidded. He reached a hand to cup your jaw, stroking the tender skin before gliding to the kitchen.

You sniffled and leaned into Simons arms, needing warmth and comfort. Immediately he accepted—no questions asked. He didn’t stiffen up the way he would when you first met him. He let you in completely, loving you the way you did to him when he was lost.

He knew you needed someone to lean on. Both physically and mentally.

“Love, we got this, aye? You jus’ let us do the big work. Don’ worry bout’ bein’ big. And doin’ the big things.” He would whisper soothingly into your hair, a large arm wrapping around your shaky form.

It curled around you so easily, and you closed your eyes, cheek nuzzling his chest. He softened even more, hand reaching up to wipe your face.

But before he did, he made sure to tilt your head up so he could get a good look to clean it.

“There she is.” Simon whispered, affectionately.

He heard Price shuffle back and you gave a soft smile—although weary.

The rest of the night was spent with Price feeding you, even if you complained about doing it.

Simon held you, your back to his chest while he figured he could learn to braid your hair. Halfway, as Price fed you a spoonful, perched onto the coffee table—Simon grumbled and spoke up.

“Lovie, you ave’ such nice hair—I don’t want to be an arsehole, but how in the hell do you manage it?”

Simon whipped the braid over your shoulder so you could see it. Price held the spoon up, cocking a brow at the braid—to which Simon glared.

What you saw had you laughing. It suddenly bubbled out—chest shaking and smile breaking out. Hair was sticking out, untucked properly in the braid. His tension was off so it looked like some braids were bigger than the other, and he fumbled with the hair tie which was slipping off.

“Lovie.” Simon whined roughly—although he couldn’t lie, seeing the lights on in your head again and the way you laughed—it had this man crumbling.

And Price—Price looked proud. Almost like: I knew we’d get her back. His smaller eyes were wide in joy, drinking in the way your shoulder scrunched and lips stretching.

“Simon—this is so sweet.” You say, sighing. God, laughter really was the best medicine, you thought.

And with that, Simons fingers began gently prodding your side to tickle you. You squirmed and hands scrambled to hold his broad shoulders—once again laughter pouring out like bubbles.

Price grinned, a lip quirking up, as he set the bowl aside, “I’m tryin’ to feed her.” But he was enjoying this well enough—

“Oh come on old man, you like this.” Simon teased, his voice slightly shaky as he tickled your squirming form.

He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay! Okay!” You stated, panting, and face red. You were still smiling, leaning to the side and holding up your hands with the widest grin at Simon.

“Good, lovie?” Simon asked.

“Good.” You repeated.

——

Lets just say, HR received multiple complaints from “two” anonymous sources who relentlessly called over and over.

It piled up until both got what they wanted—your Boss suspended for verbal harassment and having employees work overtime.

When you heard the news—you were glad and relieved. Didn’t need to deal with him ever again, you thought.

As you hummed and blasted your music in your headphones, tucked away in your room for the night, both Simon and Price grinned at each other.

Part 11! College!simon x reader. 🙊 god i can’t get enough of this—enjoy! Pls like comment & reblog because it means a lot to me.

Notes: slowburn, mutual pining, bit of angst, swearing as usual. slight smutty thoughts of reader.

Masterlist here ✉️

There you were, drunk and wobbling into Simons room. He left you no room to argue, and not that you would anyway, you were a spinning mess.

“Don’ touch that.” Simons gruff voice said, guiding it hand away from the lights of the room.

You scoffed out a laugh—chest rumbling. You were ahead of him, feet tripping over one another. Simon constantly had to angle your shoulders this way and that—so you wouldn’t fall.

“What? This your batcave or somethin’?” You slurred, now eyeing his somewhat dim room.

He had his lamp on, giving some light. Some of his clothes were layered on his desk. Most likely he was busy and unable to fold them away.

God, you felt tired. But the alcohol was still coursing through your veins. You decided to settle for sitting at his desk, torso facing Simon. This was becoming quite regular, visits to his room. Your cheeks were flushed and you were slightly sniffling from the cold.

“Jus’ prefer to keep it dim, yea?” Simon said lowly. He turned around once you sat—closing his door. He then advanced to his closet and leaned down, strong hands grappling at some blankets. With a huff, he spread the largest one on the floor, then another ontop, and slapped a pillow down.

“What—is that f’me?” You asked, perking up. You tilt your head at his motions.

Simon shakes his head and then walks over to you, beckoning for you to stand. You wobble, and glance around to his bed—then him. Your chests brushed slightly, but he remained at a distance, heavy eyes gazing into yours.

“No, you’re sleepin’ on the bed.” He ordered.

“Simon—“

“Don’t give me lip, aye?”

The brute huffs and you quirk your lip, looking down momentarily. His bed.

Was it odd? Two friends just stuck in this awkward situation, since your keys were lost.

You sigh, and then undo your jacket, resting it on the back of his chair.

Awkwardly, you shift and then climb up onto his bed. You could smell his cologne and scent mixed on the sheets. But you didn’t lay down, no you just sat up on your knees and thought to ask the most ridiculous question. Your eyes had this twinkle.

“D’you have makeup remover?”

Simon was just settling onto the makeshift bed, large form groaning. His hair was a mess, and he looked down—only for his eyes to snap up at you. He could see your shit eating grin—still drunk. He scoffed, the shaking his head boyishly.

“Do I look like the kind t’carry that?” He said, gruffly. He was amused at your state, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t.

He then sat up, and shifted so his torso faced you, hunched, elbows resting in his lap.

You could see in the dimness the way the light bounced off his pale skin, illuminating his pale lips, his eyes. His irises glowed despite the heavy look he always carried. His hair had grown out, tufts of hair sticking up. Did the man ever hear of a haircut?

“You look a mess.” You slurred, swinging so your legs hung off the edge of his bed. It squeaked and your hazy eyes gazed at him.

“You got a lotta’ tongue on ya, lass. Always like this when you’re drunk?” Simon quipped, languid eyes tracing over your form. You felt squirmy under his gaze—or maybe it was just the alcohol making your head swing.

You scoffed and curled your lip up, palms resting at the edge to steady yourself.

“Just sayin’ a haircut saves lives.”

Simon groaned and lowered his head into his palm, the long fingers grazing his forehead. He looked quite ready to quit the night—but it was a joke. He wasn’t actually tired, you could tell, by the way his lip tilted up momentarily.

“Ain’t it funny how y’er callin’ me a mess. And y’er all drunk.” Simon scoffed and looked at you, moving to stand up.

He approached your form sitting at the edge of his bed and grabbed from behind you—his sweater. You shifted and first didn’t even realize it was there.

Faulty neurons.

You gulped when you felt him standing so close—the pump of the alcohol doing nothing to soothe your nerves. You then looked up at him—catching him already staring with brooding eyes.

“Touché…got me there.”

“Go t’sleep. I ave’ class in the ass crack of dawn.” Simon muttered and then moved away, laying down on his blankets.

He shifted so his hands cradled his head, back on the blankets. But apart of you didn’t believe he really wanted to sleep—because he always stayed up. Since something seemed to haunt him at these hours.

You shifted as you gazed at him. Sometimes—you caught yourself wondering about his scars. You knew he was a Lieutenant, but what were the stories behind it?

Before you knew it the words tumbled out your mouth.

“Those…” You sucked in a breath. “Those scars…does it hurt?”

Simon stilled for a moment. His eyes that were once gazing at the ceiling, the small lamp shadowing his features—now his eyes looked over at your form.

He knew this was going to be a long night considering you weren’t sleeping.

“Not anymore, they’ve healed.” He said, although the words hung heavy.

He turned so he could face you, to your surprise. His elbow was propped up, holding his head up, eyes bleary and fatigued. It was racing to 2:30am—but nonetheless you felt this stirring feeling in you. A need to know.

“D’you…get it from the military?” You asked, voice lowered from the weight of asking. You wondered if he would open up. You shifted your weight and adjusted your sleeve—Simon watching.

“I got it from the missions—opps’ got me a few times.” Simon said a bit too casually, although eyes straying. He began to wonder back to the good old days, the searing hot pain of his wounds. The way it all went down, countless stories, and too little time to tell.

“That—that must’ve sucked.” You slurred, gazing at him wide eyed. There was concern in your gaze, as your hand stilled that was fixing your sleeve. The warmth in your gaze caught his attention, and he found himself staring a lot longer than necessary.

Before he knew it he grinned and scoffed, finding it somewhat amusing your casual words, “must’ve sucked,” to be intriguing.

More than just sucked, he thought.

Countless words floated in his head, as his finger tapped the blanket. After a pause, he then spoke up gruffly.

“You once asked why I was here.”

“Huh?”

“In university.” Simon specified, knowing you were close to losing more than one brain cell at this rate. Apart of him thought, it wouldn’t hurt to have said it.

You wouldn’t remember anyway, right? He figured he could just open up slightly, and then you’d probably wake up a mess. A mess. He quite liked the sound of that—then he pushed the thought away as soon as it came up.

He focused back to you.

He watched your form lay down on the bed now, legs folding up. Your head on his pillow—it did more than just rile him up. He found himself momentarily short circuiting, the way you just lay so comfortably as if having been there so many times.

As if this was your space.

As if you two had seen each other like this countless times.

Then, he began.

“I want to start over.” He found himself saying slowly, almost as if double checking himself. He swallowed roughly, tearing his gaze away from your laying form. He eyed the ceiling, forcing his gaze away from you.

His heart began to race—just the mere sight of you could do this. Shit.

“Start over…yeah. Sometimes it isn’t easy. You can’t just wipe the slate over.” You mumbled, head tilting to also gaze at the ceiling dizzily. At that, Simon found himself intrigued once again. God damnit. It was like you tugged at him, and then just when he thought it was fine, his attention tugged at you like a damned puppy.

He didn’t expect you to have sounded coherent despite the night. Maybe you were sobering up.

“You sound like you seen it all, lass.” Simon said, kore quietly now.

He could hear both your breathing and soon, your sloppy chuckle joined in. Soft, and airy. His heart lurched—and the stoic man found himself reeling.

Trying to maintain control, and trying to find ease.

“No—I’m sure you have…” You trailed off, sighing. Your lashes brushed your cheek, as your eyes shut. You felt like waves were washing over you, and you were floating admits the sea. And his voice was calming— soothing despite the usual gruff tone.

‘’Get some sleep, lovie.’’ Simon said, the nickname slipping. You would’ve been startled at the nickname, but sleep over came you.

——

The next few classes passed with a drag. You just finished from the gym—deciding to start some workout routine. You only went on the treadmill and could hear your friends voice in your ear: Don’t become one of those people who get stuck to it, along with her snort. You turned off the treadmill and glanced up at the tall windows, revealing the sunset of the cold November. You wiped some sweat from your forehead, all snug in a fitted black top and matching leggings, sneakers laced up.

Your phone rung and you found yourself reaching for it, brows furrowing. It was Johnny. He never called you, as he proffered to blow up the Molly’s group chat with memes and barrages of broken text.

‘’Hello? Johnny?’’ You say, somewhat amused.

A pause. There was a clank and Johnny answered with a chuckle.

‘’Uh—Lass? Think ya can handle a shift? Kyle called in sick—lads not here.’’

You glanced around the gym and moved to your bag, picking it up. ‘’On my way.’’

Today was your day off—Saturday but you figured you could use the extra pay.

Then you found yourself hobbling in the cold. Clutching your jacket—having changed into a black button up and jeans.

The bar was horribly busy. People ambled everywhere drunk and whistling. They were cheering and unionizing as someone chugged—and you found yourself used to the antics.

You hastily unfastened your jacket, bumping into some guy—who mumbled an apology. You hung your jacket up, striding behind the counter and meeting Johnny and Priced who was cooking. Johnny flambé the vegetables—jostling the pan expertly back and forth, sweating.

Price was working up a fit, seasoning the chicken breast freshly cut— eyes meeting yours.

‘’Recruit, get over here.’’ Price grumbled, although a hint of warmth in his tone.

“Where do you need me?”

‘’You better hope you’re good with a knife.” Price grinned at you, seeing as you then turned to grab it from the stand. The blade gleamed and you chuckled amused.

“The things I can do.” You winked, playfully.

Price chuckled heartily.

Sometimes as you worked, you caught eyes with Simon who eventually came in. Memories of the night he took care of you—vividly flashed in your mind. You hadn’t said a word to him since, which he found odd.

He then thought you probably needed space, but from what?

You knew what it was.

Your feelings were eating you up. The way he spoke, his scent, his jokes. The way you two seamlessly got along, only to sometimes butt heads at work when your schedules didn’t align. He was something that surrounded you non stop.

The way he opened up just a bit about his past had you wanting to know more. More of his past, who he was. The things he faced.

But it scared you. It terrified you. These feelings. The change.

It suddenly became more than just, “a passing,” between the two of you.

As the shift ended—nearing 2am, you were absolutely exhausted. You groaned and walked to your dorm building, hiking up the path. It was quiet, a striking contrast from the busy bar with all the shouting. You sure as hell were going to be paid in full, that’s what.

‘’Lass—‘’ Someone called out to you.

Turning around as you recognized the voice, you widened your ears to see Simon jogging up.

He wore some dark wash jeans, a hoodie pulled over his head, and his rugged face shadowed. He grabbed your wrist—to your surprise, and you flushed at his touch. It was easy to blame it on the biting cold. Your eyes met his as he slapped his tips into your hands.

If it was even possible, your heart melted more.

‘’For house keeping.’’ Simon gruffly said, shoving his cold hands in his sweater pockets, looming over you. He was close to you, shifting his weight onto one leg.

‘’You didn’t have to—‘’

‘’Don’ go back on y’er word.’’ He scoffed down at you, slightly smirking, ‘’Remember I owed ya for that shift.’’

Nodding, you swallowed. You glanced up at him, unspoken words lingering in the air. Your breath caught in the cold, and flashes of the night being drunk, smelling his pillow and the sheets crossed your mind.

You swore you could still smell it.

Behind him cars drove and neon lights flickered from the store fronts, his eyes not leaving yours.

Get some sleep, lovie.

It echoed in your mind and you gazed up at him. Your nose was red and cheeks too, hair blowing slightly in the wind.

“Ya look tired.” Simon said, cutting through the air.

“Of course. Its 2am.” You scoffed, moving your eyes off of him. You turned around, huddling to keep warm and continued your trek up.

Simon knew that night weighed on your mind. He wasn’t sure if it was right time to talk about it, being that it was 2am. You both were tired and fatigued, and his eyes drooped more than usual.

He sighed, tapping a finger against his thigh—before deciding to follow you. His boots thudded and the brute needed to talk. Needed to get it out.

To see you again.

‘’Y/N.’’

You froze and your heart pounded.

Slowly you turned around and faced him, close to your dorm entrance.

‘’What is it? I need to get inside its cold—‘’

He gave you no room to respond and scanned his ID. He followed you inside, starring holes in your back.

‘’You’ve been avoidin’ me.’’ He started, coming right in tow behind as you met your room. You bit your lip, reaching for your key replacement.

‘’I’ve just been busy—‘’

‘’I know.’’ He said, although calmer. Warmer, almost.

You turn your head to him. Regrettably, you spoke, ‘’Look, I gotta sleep. I’ll see you, yeah?’’ You didn’t want to cut the conversation short—but it was late. And you had other pressing matters to attend to. Like becoming a couch potato and daydreaming about him.

Damn it, Simon thought with a frustrated sigh as he watched you leave with a certain kind of irritation, and longing in his eyes. Almost like he didn’t want you to go. His eyes tracked you as you went in, closing the door.

Even the sound of it felt harsh.

That night he didn’t sleep, as usual. But not because he found the usual horrors of his past haunting—but because you, the nightmare of a woman was haunting his mind.

A pleasant nightmare.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

——

“We need to talk.” Simon said gruffly, the next day at your shift. You were leaning on the bar counter, weight on one leg, shoulders shrugged in concentration. His eyes couldn’t stop staring at your figure, the way the jeans hugged in all the right places, and the shirt.

He happened to be leaning on the archway of the kitchen, Johnny Price and Kyle working like mad hens behind him.

Damn it. He needed to stay focused.

You ‘re at the POS system, punching in an order and then you threw a glance at the Brit.

“Is it work related?” You say, a bit too stiff for his liking.

“No.”

You tap your finger at the side of the system and sigh, then turn. Your lower back leans against the bar counter, and you eye Simon. Your arms are crossed.

“Make it quick.”

Simon grunted. He could think of something else considered quick—

He shut himself up, shifting against the wall, and crossing his arms. The muscles flexed as rugged eyes stared you down. You felt like you were shrinking under his gaze if it were even possible.

“Why did you run off to your room?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” He persisted in that damned accent.

“I—“

Simon crossed the floor in an instant and ushered you aside—a hand on your arm. You bristled and swallowed, as Simon pushed you into the janitors closet.

Shit, Johnny was going to start asking around for us soon, you thought. You crossed your arms, head tilted up to the Brit, waiting for his response.

He shut the door of the closet and his boots thudded when he turned to face you, leaning in. All of a sudden that frustrated dissipated—being replaced by an unknown feeling. His cologne surrounded you, just like that night in his bed. You unconsciously took a whiff, and then gripped your arms tightly.

The hell was he doing?

“Lass,” he breathed out, now eyeing you, he then saw you clenching your arms and leaned in more, a hand raising to rest by your head, caging you in.

The shadows of the closet shaded his eyes—you couldn’t see what was behind them.

“Y/N.” He said when you didn’t respond—causing your eyes to snap to his. How could you respond? Suddenly both your chest were pressing against each other, and you breathed heavily, heart hammering.

“Simon, I said make it quick.”

Again, the way you said it. This time he groaned audibly, his hoodie straining from the angle as he leaned forward for eye you, leaving you nowhere to run.

“I need to know why you’re avoiding me, lass.” He repeated, firmly. His shadowed eyes never left yours, the sight of his lips moving made your heart pitter patter.

You took a breath to still yourself.

“I’m sorry—ever since that night…” You froze, realizing how this was coming across. Romantic, maybe? Were you actually beginning to open up? Fuck.

You sweat and shifted on your feet, swallowing.

“Ever since the night you were drunk?” He picked up, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, that…I just…well no before—“ Your breath hitched and the closet room spun. You swallowed thickly, sweating a bit and now your eyes darted everywhere but him. But his big broad chest blocked the exit—behind him.

“Before what?” There it was again. That thick, barrel smooth voice. Your eyes met his and you nodded, going silent. For a second it was you and him, just gazing and hearing the loud buzzing of the bar.

Before, I caught feelings.

“Why did you drag me in here?” Now you demanded, keeping your voice down. You eagerly looked up at him, brows furrowed and lips pressed firmly.

You were getting uncomfortable by your own feelings, and it was rolling off of you in waves. Irritated at his constant demands.

Irritated at your own inability to just say it.

Simon scoffed, his breath hitting your face softly. You swallowed.

“Only way to get you alone.” He admitted, the words rolling out smoothly. His eyes roamed all over you, taking in the defensive look you had, arms crossed, tight. That pinch between your brow—but if anything he found it endearing. He had gotten used to this side of you, so it was no surprise.

Right. You mentally face palmed. Of course that’s why he brought me in here, you thought.

You shifted your gaze away to which he noticed and Simon felt a kick to his stomach. He saw the frown—the way you lowered your head to avoid him. He stiffened up, brows raising slightly.

Suddenly, he withdrew and dropped his hunky arm to his side.

“Don’t tell me I made you uncomfortable.” He said, surprisingly with a shake to his voice. The tremor was slight, and he sounded almost hesitant.

Your eyes widened and you realized he misunderstood. Your stomach dropped and inwardly you cursed. Bloody hell—

“No—Simon—“

“Lass, you can always tell me.” Simon reminded, his hand gripping into a fist. He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and now his lips pressed thin, nostrils flaring.

“Simon—“ You said again.

“I’ll be outta’ your way.”

He went to turn to open the door but in an instant, you lunged.

You don’t know what came over you, but your lips captured his—hands flying to angle his head to meet yours.

Maybe it was the need to communicate how you really felt.

Maybe it was the frustration of being misunderstood. Or all of it.

You could feel how tensed up under you, not expecting the kiss at first. Then his fingers twitched with life, his heart pounding with vigor.

And then, his lips moved—almost hesitant to test the waters even though you kissed him first.

Soon—your back was to the wall of the small closet as his hands roamed, clutching gently at the fabric of your shirt. His hands rested on your waist, holding you and eyes shut, kissing slowly. He was drinking you in—your sounds, your taste, your smell.

Your heart was hammering and with the way you were pressed against his, his was too.

“God—“ You pulled away, panting softly. Your eyes met his.

You sucked in air sharply at the sight.

Simons eyes were ferocious, a bit of hunger, desire and longing in his darker eyes. He panted softly, fingers tightening slightly on your waist so you wouldn’t run—and his nose brushed yours.

His voice came out low, hushed, as his breath fanned your cheek. “You ave’ no idea how long I’ve been needing that.”

Part 11! College!simon x reader. 🙊 god i can’t get enough of this—enjoy! Pls like comment & reblog because it means a lot to me.

Notes: slowburn, mutual pining, bit of angst, swearing as usual. slight smutty thoughts of reader.

Masterlist here ✉️

There you were, drunk and wobbling into Simons room. He left you no room to argue, and not that you would anyway, you were a spinning mess.

“Don’ touch that.” Simons gruff voice said, guiding it hand away from the lights of the room.

You scoffed out a laugh—chest rumbling. You were ahead of him, feet tripping over one another. Simon constantly had to angle your shoulders this way and that—so you wouldn’t fall.

“What? This your batcave or somethin’?” You slurred, now eyeing his somewhat dim room.

He had his lamp on, giving some light. Some of his clothes were layered on his desk. Most likely he was busy and unable to fold them away.

God, you felt tired. But the alcohol was still coursing through your veins. You decided to settle for sitting at his desk, torso facing Simon. This was becoming quite regular, visits to his room. Your cheeks were flushed and you were slightly sniffling from the cold.

“Jus’ prefer to keep it dim, yea?” Simon said lowly. He turned around once you sat—closing his door. He then advanced to his closet and leaned down, strong hands grappling at some blankets. With a huff, he spread the largest one on the floor, then another ontop, and slapped a pillow down.

“What—is that f’me?” You asked, perking up. You tilt your head at his motions.

Simon shakes his head and then walks over to you, beckoning for you to stand. You wobble, and glance around to his bed—then him. Your chests brushed slightly, but he remained at a distance, heavy eyes gazing into yours.

“No, you’re sleepin’ on the bed.” He ordered.

“Simon—“

“Don’t give me lip, aye?”

The brute huffs and you quirk your lip, looking down momentarily. His bed.

Was it odd? Two friends just stuck in this awkward situation, since your keys were lost.

You sigh, and then undo your jacket, resting it on the back of his chair.

Awkwardly, you shift and then climb up onto his bed. You could smell his cologne and scent mixed on the sheets. But you didn’t lay down, no you just sat up on your knees and thought to ask the most ridiculous question. Your eyes had this twinkle.

“D’you have makeup remover?”

Simon was just settling onto the makeshift bed, large form groaning. His hair was a mess, and he looked down—only for his eyes to snap up at you. He could see your shit eating grin—still drunk. He scoffed, the shaking his head boyishly.

“Do I look like the kind t’carry that?” He said, gruffly. He was amused at your state, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t.

He then sat up, and shifted so his torso faced you, hunched, elbows resting in his lap.

You could see in the dimness the way the light bounced off his pale skin, illuminating his pale lips, his eyes. His irises glowed despite the heavy look he always carried. His hair had grown out, tufts of hair sticking up. Did the man ever hear of a haircut?

“You look a mess.” You slurred, swinging so your legs hung off the edge of his bed. It squeaked and your hazy eyes gazed at him.

“You got a lotta’ tongue on ya, lass. Always like this when you’re drunk?” Simon quipped, languid eyes tracing over your form. You felt squirmy under his gaze—or maybe it was just the alcohol making your head swing.

You scoffed and curled your lip up, palms resting at the edge to steady yourself.

“Just sayin’ a haircut saves lives.”

Simon groaned and lowered his head into his palm, the long fingers grazing his forehead. He looked quite ready to quit the night—but it was a joke. He wasn’t actually tired, you could tell, by the way his lip tilted up momentarily.

“Ain’t it funny how y’er callin’ me a mess. And y’er all drunk.” Simon scoffed and looked at you, moving to stand up.

He approached your form sitting at the edge of his bed and grabbed from behind you—his sweater. You shifted and first didn’t even realize it was there.

Faulty neurons.

You gulped when you felt him standing so close—the pump of the alcohol doing nothing to soothe your nerves. You then looked up at him—catching him already staring with brooding eyes.

“Touché…got me there.”

“Go t’sleep. I ave’ class in the ass crack of dawn.” Simon muttered and then moved away, laying down on his blankets.

He shifted so his hands cradled his head, back on the blankets. But apart of you didn’t believe he really wanted to sleep—because he always stayed up. Since something seemed to haunt him at these hours.

You shifted as you gazed at him. Sometimes—you caught yourself wondering about his scars. You knew he was a Lieutenant, but what were the stories behind it?

Before you knew it the words tumbled out your mouth.

“Those…” You sucked in a breath. “Those scars…does it hurt?”

Simon stilled for a moment. His eyes that were once gazing at the ceiling, the small lamp shadowing his features—now his eyes looked over at your form.

He knew this was going to be a long night considering you weren’t sleeping.

“Not anymore, they’ve healed.” He said, although the words hung heavy.

He turned so he could face you, to your surprise. His elbow was propped up, holding his head up, eyes bleary and fatigued. It was racing to 2:30am—but nonetheless you felt this stirring feeling in you. A need to know.

“D’you…get it from the military?” You asked, voice lowered from the weight of asking. You wondered if he would open up. You shifted your weight and adjusted your sleeve—Simon watching.

“I got it from the missions—opps’ got me a few times.” Simon said a bit too casually, although eyes straying. He began to wonder back to the good old days, the searing hot pain of his wounds. The way it all went down, countless stories, and too little time to tell.

“That—that must’ve sucked.” You slurred, gazing at him wide eyed. There was concern in your gaze, as your hand stilled that was fixing your sleeve. The warmth in your gaze caught his attention, and he found himself staring a lot longer than necessary.

Before he knew it he grinned and scoffed, finding it somewhat amusing your casual words, “must’ve sucked,” to be intriguing.

More than just sucked, he thought.

Countless words floated in his head, as his finger tapped the blanket. After a pause, he then spoke up gruffly.

“You once asked why I was here.”

“Huh?”

“In university.” Simon specified, knowing you were close to losing more than one brain cell at this rate. Apart of him thought, it wouldn’t hurt to have said it.

You wouldn’t remember anyway, right? He figured he could just open up slightly, and then you’d probably wake up a mess. A mess. He quite liked the sound of that—then he pushed the thought away as soon as it came up.

He focused back to you.

He watched your form lay down on the bed now, legs folding up. Your head on his pillow—it did more than just rile him up. He found himself momentarily short circuiting, the way you just lay so comfortably as if having been there so many times.

As if this was your space.

As if you two had seen each other like this countless times.

Then, he began.

“I want to start over.” He found himself saying slowly, almost as if double checking himself. He swallowed roughly, tearing his gaze away from your laying form. He eyed the ceiling, forcing his gaze away from you.

His heart began to race—just the mere sight of you could do this. Shit.

“Start over…yeah. Sometimes it isn’t easy. You can’t just wipe the slate over.” You mumbled, head tilting to also gaze at the ceiling dizzily. At that, Simon found himself intrigued once again. God damnit. It was like you tugged at him, and then just when he thought it was fine, his attention tugged at you like a damned puppy.

He didn’t expect you to have sounded coherent despite the night. Maybe you were sobering up.

“You sound like you seen it all, lass.” Simon said, kore quietly now.

He could hear both your breathing and soon, your sloppy chuckle joined in. Soft, and airy. His heart lurched—and the stoic man found himself reeling.

Trying to maintain control, and trying to find ease.

“No—I’m sure you have…” You trailed off, sighing. Your lashes brushed your cheek, as your eyes shut. You felt like waves were washing over you, and you were floating admits the sea. And his voice was calming— soothing despite the usual gruff tone.

‘’Get some sleep, lovie.’’ Simon said, the nickname slipping. You would’ve been startled at the nickname, but sleep over came you.

——

The next few classes passed with a drag. You just finished from the gym—deciding to start some workout routine. You only went on the treadmill and could hear your friends voice in your ear: Don’t become one of those people who get stuck to it, along with her snort. You turned off the treadmill and glanced up at the tall windows, revealing the sunset of the cold November. You wiped some sweat from your forehead, all snug in a fitted black top and matching leggings, sneakers laced up.

Your phone rung and you found yourself reaching for it, brows furrowing. It was Johnny. He never called you, as he proffered to blow up the Molly’s group chat with memes and barrages of broken text.

‘’Hello? Johnny?’’ You say, somewhat amused.

A pause. There was a clank and Johnny answered with a chuckle.

‘’Uh—Lass? Think ya can handle a shift? Kyle called in sick—lads not here.’’

You glanced around the gym and moved to your bag, picking it up. ‘’On my way.’’

Today was your day off—Saturday but you figured you could use the extra pay.

Then you found yourself hobbling in the cold. Clutching your jacket—having changed into a black button up and jeans.

The bar was horribly busy. People ambled everywhere drunk and whistling. They were cheering and unionizing as someone chugged—and you found yourself used to the antics.

You hastily unfastened your jacket, bumping into some guy—who mumbled an apology. You hung your jacket up, striding behind the counter and meeting Johnny and Priced who was cooking. Johnny flambé the vegetables—jostling the pan expertly back and forth, sweating.

Price was working up a fit, seasoning the chicken breast freshly cut— eyes meeting yours.

‘’Recruit, get over here.’’ Price grumbled, although a hint of warmth in his tone.

“Where do you need me?”

‘’You better hope you’re good with a knife.” Price grinned at you, seeing as you then turned to grab it from the stand. The blade gleamed and you chuckled amused.

“The things I can do.” You winked, playfully.

Price chuckled heartily.

Sometimes as you worked, you caught eyes with Simon who eventually came in. Memories of the night he took care of you—vividly flashed in your mind. You hadn’t said a word to him since, which he found odd.

He then thought you probably needed space, but from what?

You knew what it was.

Your feelings were eating you up. The way he spoke, his scent, his jokes. The way you two seamlessly got along, only to sometimes butt heads at work when your schedules didn’t align. He was something that surrounded you non stop.

The way he opened up just a bit about his past had you wanting to know more. More of his past, who he was. The things he faced.

But it scared you. It terrified you. These feelings. The change.

It suddenly became more than just, “a passing,” between the two of you.

As the shift ended—nearing 2am, you were absolutely exhausted. You groaned and walked to your dorm building, hiking up the path. It was quiet, a striking contrast from the busy bar with all the shouting. You sure as hell were going to be paid in full, that’s what.

‘’Lass—‘’ Someone called out to you.

Turning around as you recognized the voice, you widened your ears to see Simon jogging up.

He wore some dark wash jeans, a hoodie pulled over his head, and his rugged face shadowed. He grabbed your wrist—to your surprise, and you flushed at his touch. It was easy to blame it on the biting cold. Your eyes met his as he slapped his tips into your hands.

If it was even possible, your heart melted more.

‘’For house keeping.’’ Simon gruffly said, shoving his cold hands in his sweater pockets, looming over you. He was close to you, shifting his weight onto one leg.

‘’You didn’t have to—‘’

‘’Don’ go back on y’er word.’’ He scoffed down at you, slightly smirking, ‘’Remember I owed ya for that shift.’’

Nodding, you swallowed. You glanced up at him, unspoken words lingering in the air. Your breath caught in the cold, and flashes of the night being drunk, smelling his pillow and the sheets crossed your mind.

You swore you could still smell it.

Behind him cars drove and neon lights flickered from the store fronts, his eyes not leaving yours.

Get some sleep, lovie.

It echoed in your mind and you gazed up at him. Your nose was red and cheeks too, hair blowing slightly in the wind.

“Ya look tired.” Simon said, cutting through the air.

“Of course. Its 2am.” You scoffed, moving your eyes off of him. You turned around, huddling to keep warm and continued your trek up.

Simon knew that night weighed on your mind. He wasn’t sure if it was right time to talk about it, being that it was 2am. You both were tired and fatigued, and his eyes drooped more than usual.

He sighed, tapping a finger against his thigh—before deciding to follow you. His boots thudded and the brute needed to talk. Needed to get it out.

To see you again.

‘’Y/N.’’

You froze and your heart pounded.

Slowly you turned around and faced him, close to your dorm entrance.

‘’What is it? I need to get inside its cold—‘’

He gave you no room to respond and scanned his ID. He followed you inside, starring holes in your back.

‘’You’ve been avoidin’ me.’’ He started, coming right in tow behind as you met your room. You bit your lip, reaching for your key replacement.

‘’I’ve just been busy—‘’

‘’I know.’’ He said, although calmer. Warmer, almost.

You turn your head to him. Regrettably, you spoke, ‘’Look, I gotta sleep. I’ll see you, yeah?’’ You didn’t want to cut the conversation short—but it was late. And you had other pressing matters to attend to. Like becoming a couch potato and daydreaming about him.

Damn it, Simon thought with a frustrated sigh as he watched you leave with a certain kind of irritation, and longing in his eyes. Almost like he didn’t want you to go. His eyes tracked you as you went in, closing the door.

Even the sound of it felt harsh.

That night he didn’t sleep, as usual. But not because he found the usual horrors of his past haunting—but because you, the nightmare of a woman was haunting his mind.

A pleasant nightmare.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

——

“We need to talk.” Simon said gruffly, the next day at your shift. You were leaning on the bar counter, weight on one leg, shoulders shrugged in concentration. His eyes couldn’t stop staring at your figure, the way the jeans hugged in all the right places, and the shirt.

He happened to be leaning on the archway of the kitchen, Johnny Price and Kyle working like mad hens behind him.

Damn it. He needed to stay focused.

You ‘re at the POS system, punching in an order and then you threw a glance at the Brit.

“Is it work related?” You say, a bit too stiff for his liking.

“No.”

You tap your finger at the side of the system and sigh, then turn. Your lower back leans against the bar counter, and you eye Simon. Your arms are crossed.

“Make it quick.”

Simon grunted. He could think of something else considered quick—

He shut himself up, shifting against the wall, and crossing his arms. The muscles flexed as rugged eyes stared you down. You felt like you were shrinking under his gaze if it were even possible.

“Why did you run off to your room?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” He persisted in that damned accent.

“I—“

Simon crossed the floor in an instant and ushered you aside—a hand on your arm. You bristled and swallowed, as Simon pushed you into the janitors closet.

Shit, Johnny was going to start asking around for us soon, you thought. You crossed your arms, head tilted up to the Brit, waiting for his response.

He shut the door of the closet and his boots thudded when he turned to face you, leaning in. All of a sudden that frustrated dissipated—being replaced by an unknown feeling. His cologne surrounded you, just like that night in his bed. You unconsciously took a whiff, and then gripped your arms tightly.

The hell was he doing?

“Lass,” he breathed out, now eyeing you, he then saw you clenching your arms and leaned in more, a hand raising to rest by your head, caging you in.

The shadows of the closet shaded his eyes—you couldn’t see what was behind them.

“Y/N.” He said when you didn’t respond—causing your eyes to snap to his. How could you respond? Suddenly both your chest were pressing against each other, and you breathed heavily, heart hammering.

“Simon, I said make it quick.”

Again, the way you said it. This time he groaned audibly, his hoodie straining from the angle as he leaned forward for eye you, leaving you nowhere to run.

“I need to know why you’re avoiding me, lass.” He repeated, firmly. His shadowed eyes never left yours, the sight of his lips moving made your heart pitter patter.

You took a breath to still yourself.

“I’m sorry—ever since that night…” You froze, realizing how this was coming across. Romantic, maybe? Were you actually beginning to open up? Fuck.

You sweat and shifted on your feet, swallowing.

“Ever since the night you were drunk?” He picked up, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, that…I just…well no before—“ Your breath hitched and the closet room spun. You swallowed thickly, sweating a bit and now your eyes darted everywhere but him. But his big broad chest blocked the exit—behind him.

“Before what?” There it was again. That thick, barrel smooth voice. Your eyes met his and you nodded, going silent. For a second it was you and him, just gazing and hearing the loud buzzing of the bar.

Before, I caught feelings.

“Why did you drag me in here?” Now you demanded, keeping your voice down. You eagerly looked up at him, brows furrowed and lips pressed firmly.

You were getting uncomfortable by your own feelings, and it was rolling off of you in waves. Irritated at his constant demands.

Irritated at your own inability to just say it.

Simon scoffed, his breath hitting your face softly. You swallowed.

“Only way to get you alone.” He admitted, the words rolling out smoothly. His eyes roamed all over you, taking in the defensive look you had, arms crossed, tight. That pinch between your brow—but if anything he found it endearing. He had gotten used to this side of you, so it was no surprise.

Right. You mentally face palmed. Of course that’s why he brought me in here, you thought.

You shifted your gaze away to which he noticed and Simon felt a kick to his stomach. He saw the frown—the way you lowered your head to avoid him. He stiffened up, brows raising slightly.

Suddenly, he withdrew and dropped his hunky arm to his side.

“Don’t tell me I made you uncomfortable.” He said, surprisingly with a shake to his voice. The tremor was slight, and he sounded almost hesitant.

Your eyes widened and you realized he misunderstood. Your stomach dropped and inwardly you cursed. Bloody hell—

“No—Simon—“

“Lass, you can always tell me.” Simon reminded, his hand gripping into a fist. He didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and now his lips pressed thin, nostrils flaring.

“Simon—“ You said again.

“I’ll be outta’ your way.”

He went to turn to open the door but in an instant, you lunged.

You don’t know what came over you, but your lips captured his—hands flying to angle his head to meet yours.

Maybe it was the need to communicate how you really felt.

Maybe it was the frustration of being misunderstood. Or all of it.

You could feel how tensed up under you, not expecting the kiss at first. Then his fingers twitched with life, his heart pounding with vigor.

And then, his lips moved—almost hesitant to test the waters even though you kissed him first.

Soon—your back was to the wall of the small closet as his hands roamed, clutching gently at the fabric of your shirt. His hands rested on your waist, holding you and eyes shut, kissing slowly. He was drinking you in—your sounds, your taste, your smell.

Your heart was hammering and with the way you were pressed against his, his was too.

“God—“ You pulled away, panting softly. Your eyes met his.

You sucked in air sharply at the sight.

Simons eyes were ferocious, a bit of hunger, desire and longing in his darker eyes. He panted softly, fingers tightening slightly on your waist so you wouldn’t run—and his nose brushed yours.

His voice came out low, hushed, as his breath fanned your cheek. “You ave’ no idea how long I’ve been needing that.”

Part 12! College!simon x reader 🤍 small ending ughh i gave them the soft life they deserved 🥺 especially Simon. Happy simon=happy me.

Masterlist here ✉️

Ever since that kiss—that moment in the closet, you replayed it over and over. It was stuck in your head and you couldn’t blame yourself. The man was sweating and heaving—and the way his pupils were blown with desire, shadowed and peering into yours-

It was too much.

You definitely did yourself a nice one in bed that night, unable to hold back.

Now, at Mollys you were at the POS system, printing out a receipt. You slapped it towards a man who seemed drunk off his ass. He tipped the empty drink to you in a thanks before slamming it down.

“Thanks lady.” He gruffly spoke.

“Of course.” You say.

Just then, the door jingles. Company. Your eyes shoot up, unraveling the rag and folding it.

Simons boots thud as he walked, now in front the counter. He wasn’t dressed in his usual work attire—which would be all black, a casual wrinkled button up and some dark jeans. A button or two popped, and sleeves rolled up to expose tattoos of his own. Thick forearms.

You crane your head up, brows raised. Your skin warms as you remember that evening kiss—and your heart begins to race.

God, the mere sight of him had you raving.

“Not here for work?” You say, eyeing him. You cringe internally—did I sound too casual? You wondered, glancing away from him as you placed the rag away.

Simon’s heavy lidded eyes gazed into yours, large hand resting on his strap.

Johnny frantically yells—probably dropping something. “Bloody onion.”

You scoffed and your lips curled up momentarily.

“Come with me.” Simon says lowly, almost like a command, leaning forward slightly. His warm body brushed yours and the smell of his cologne hits your nostrils. Musky with a blend of spices, peppery.

Had he changed it? You found yourself sniffing more. Your heart races at the sound of his tone. It wasn’t a question—a command.

You knew you both needed a conversation

You glance behind the bat before saying, “If I spend time with you, you better be covering my ass next time.”

“I’ll be doin’ much more than that, sweet’art.” He teased, eyes never leaving your moving form.

The way he said that as you rounded the corner made you sputter. Your wide eyed caught his amused ones—although lips laying flat.

Simon liked these moments, though he had yet to vocalize it. The moments where he caught you by surprise.

Shifting, so he followed behind you and outside into the dark night, you two walked up the path. Cars drove by here and there and a cold wind blew. Flashlights lights and signs bounced off color.

You crossed your arms to block the wind, eyes squinting

“Here—“ Simon said gruffly.

Before you could ask, he unzipped his hoodie to reveal a thicker shirt under. Wider chest, biceps flexing and fingers working fast.

You turned your body to his—huddling for warmth. Your eyes once again filled with surprise.

“Simon, we won’t be long.” You say, cheeks warm. At least you thought you wouldn’t be. But apart of you was excited to see him offering his hoodie now.

“You’ll be complaining in a minute. Take it.” Simon said, fingers grabbing at the material to hold it up.

He passed you his bag which you held—quiet. Instead of talking, you observe his motions. His bag weighs heavy to you, but to him he could lift it with ease. And behind him the bar flashes colorfully, still alive with its metal rock music.

His taller form tilts as he wraps the hoodie around your shoulder, making sure its well fitted. Your breath hitches, its bigger and dwarfs your form.

Then, you talk.

“Thanks…” You say, in a hushed tone.

Simon stills for a second and leans in, brushing your chest with his. He watched as your eyes dart around and to grab your attention he gently tilts your chin up with a finger.

His rugged eyes bore into yours—although this time there’s something much softer to them.

“I want…I need. I need to tell you this.” Simon murmurs, as a cold chill blew. He didn’t even shiver. By the looks of it the man was a heater.

Meanwhile you grappled for the sides of the hoodie and pulled it tight.

“I’m listening.” You say, leaning in for his warmth. Your heart raced, tons of thoughts in your head. What did he want? Did he like the kiss? Judging by his reaction—he more than liked it. The damn brute was aroused.

You gulped.

He leans in too—and suddenly the moment becomes even more intimate. Your head angled—lips brushing his chapped ones. Puffs of air dancing on both your faces, the car lights illuminating strands of your hair. You had to straighten up to meet his lips.

“This…I meant it. The kiss.” Simon murmurs against your lips and it takes all of you to not kiss him there. Your heart races and you’re sure you feel his too—for such a stoic man this was new.

It captivated you.

You wanted to hear more.

You look him in the eyes now—renewed with confidence and beaming with satisfaction.

“What do you want us to be?” The words slip out softly.

“More. More than what we are.” Simon pulls you against his hard body, his hoodie slipping off your small shoulder. He adjusts it—so you could be warm, and looks at the way the sleeves fold over your hands.

If it was even more possible seeing you this way—his clothes, his hoodie, staring at him expectantly, was driving him mad.

But it was more of a tender kind of madness. A madness to hold you, feel you. To wake up beside you. To hear your complaints of the cold—to see your nose all red and cheeks flushed from it. And the way you huddled immediately to the kitchen for some warmth in the bar. He knew all your mannerisms.

He wanted more. More of it all.

“I want—“ He started hoarsely. He had never done this. His heart was racing and he sucked in a breath as a car drove past behind you.

“I want to wake up beside you. To feel you. To hear your jokes every morning as we make breakfast together.” Simon continued, finding his confidence.

Seeing your widened eyes, lashes brushing your brow and the way your lips parted—god did it drive him feral in a different way. And at every moment in class did he remember your body up against his in the closet.

But for now—he held back. He needed the moment to remain pure and gentle.

Because it was what he felt for you.

Pure, gushy, gentle feelings.

“Simon…” You say breathlessly.

“Is tha’ a yes?” Simon asks, an eager twinkle to his eyes. The sight warms your heart and if you weren’t in front of him you’d be running in circles giggling like some teenager.

That’s how he made you feel. Young again.

“Yes, Simon Riley.” You stated, breaking out into a wide grin.

Simon scoops you against him—arms wrapping tight as if you’d disappear. The man was craving you. He angled his head low so he could meet you and kissed gently—feeling flecks of snow wet him. Just like that, flurries of white fell smoothly, painting the ground in a blanket as you two kissed.

You smiled in the kiss and swayed a big—hand resting on his chest. Your eyes glittered when you opened them to look at him, absolutely entranced and captivated.

You knew you wanted a start over.

Coming here to university, meeting his team unexpectedly. A new job that paid decent, but the jokes made up for it. Now this? A relationship? It was right up your alley. Never expected it, but somehow it all changed after you met him. Your wide eyes traced all over his features.

“Simon…”

“Yes, love?”

Your heart lurches at the nickname.

“Take me home?” You ask, pleading.

“Love, your shift.” Simon reminds you—lips brushing your ear as he murmurs. He still holds you, not wanting to let you go.

You roll your eyes and scoff—before grinning up at him.

“I know. I was saying it as if we were in one of those cheesy rom com movies, ya know?”

Simon chuckles—smoothly and his lips stretch into a genuine smile. Once again your breath catches at the rare sight—drinking it all in. The way his eyes wrinkled, the neon lights illuminating his pale skin, and teeth shining. The scruff of his jaw rubbed your face when he leaned in.

“Is this the part where I shove y’er arse back in? Hm? Is that cheesy enough for you?” Simon chuckles again—and you knew you’d never forget it.

“Alright, alright. I’m going. Gotta babysit Johnny and Kyle again.” You giggle—capturing his lips once more, hands cupping his scruffy jaw.

“I’ll pick you up—sound good?” Simon whispered against your lips.

“More than good.” You respond warmly, as the snow cascaded peacefully around your huddled forms.

just fixed & removed y/n 😭 from the college!simon x reader fic.

Realized it would irk me & others reading lol

just imagining johnny texts simon abt something. Simon hardly responds to their group chats because he prefers to stay to himself. you know, typical simon riley. hes nursing a beer on his couch and chilling when his phone keeps buzzing.

annoyed he checks his phone and sees johnny blowing up the groupchat and kyle.

“found ur panties.” Johnny texted and took a picture of simons balaclava thrown on the bed. he left it there from one of their drunk sleepovers.

simon scowls.

he scrolls.

“the man has so many masks, he’ll find a new pair.” kyle wrote with a wink emoji.

simons eye twitches.

he goes to type, fat thumbs moving clumsily on the small screen. “i’ll pick up the baklava tomorrow.”

his phone buzzed immediately.

“baklava?” Johnny repeats.

then he sends an obnoxious voice note laughing loudly, slapping his thigh. at first simon didn’t even know what the hell that note was. he just pressed play.

“BALACLAVA.” simon types in all caps, very annoyed.

I've been busy with work and I'm thinking college!simon at the library with reader doing work and maybe helping each other (some way some how) Idk what direction I'd like this in, I just find a little study session would be cute with simon 😭😭😭 be free with this prompt my friend 🫡🫡

AHHH Omg I totally did not scream and giggle when I saw your ask—hi :) my first ask lolz. it’s also 1am and im gonna die tmwr. But. Idea must come out. Pls be safe at work my friend.

slightly nerdy!simon so cute & reader being confused on what was said in marketing class. simon listens to readers lovely idea of opening a lil book area for college students to exchange so students wouldn’t need to go to the campus shit library. hes in awe

Entering in the library—it’s quiet on the first floor. Some people mingle about but it’s mostly alone. Some figured lean on the bookshelves, flipping through pages. The sounds of paper wrinkling fill his ears, before his languid, and bloodshot eyes scan the foyer. Force of habit.

Simon swipes his key card in and the woman smiles, letting him in. She frowns slightly as his gaze bores past her, disinterested. His simple balaclava mask is on, hiding any sort of emotion in the thick night. His long legs carry him over to the elevator where his phone buzzes.

Your name pops up, and he finds himself staring. This wasn’t the first time you’d texted him. The texts became frequent since Mollys, when you two needed to swap shifts only.

“Coming? 2nd floor, I’m by the booths.” Your text said.

Simon chucked his phone in his cargo pants pocket and waited for the elevator to arrive. It dinged and he entered in the boxy, dingy and rackety elevator. He pressed the button swiftly, and a pair of heavy, exhausted eyes were seen before it shut closed.

When he saw you, hunched over at the table by the window—scaling out to reveal the dark campus, he approached.

“You never watch your back.” He said gruffly.

“I don’t need to, not here.” You snorted. You patted the area across and Simons’ too tall and hunky form sat. He shifted to get comfortable, dropping his bag beside es his worn and aged boots.

He fished out his laptop and book—to which he opened his laptop first. The white flash illuminated his pale skin, reddened eyes and purple eyebags.

“You look fuckin’ dead.” You couldn’t resist a tease.

“Good fuckin’ morning to you too.” Simon scoffs, his shoulders rising slightly from the movement.

And here you sat, gazing at his form for a while. Your book is in front you, laptop off to the side. Your pen nudges your lips as you eye him with curiosity—all which Simon sees. It doesn’t irk him the way you stare, he has gotten used to it by now.

But this was different—your stare. It didn’t put him off or rub him the wrong way. In fact he found it refreshing. Refreshing in the sense that he didn’t need to complain about the judgement he perceived immediately by it, to feel casted out. Your eyes held more to it, a sense of humanity.

“What d’ya need help with?” He gruffly asked.

“I don’t understand this…uh…perceptual map thing.” You wrinkle your nose and he finds the action interesting.

His cocks his brow and he leans forward, to see your laptop.

A big hand gestures it to him before you can, and you stare, pausing. He stares at the screen, eyes tracing from left to right smoothly as he reads for a second. It’s quiet and the familiar sound of him breathing almost calms you.

“If I actually gave an arse bout’ what this professor said, it woulda’ been this. Your competitors need to be rated based on high price, high quality. Low quality, low price. And high quality, low price. Vice versa.”

“Understand?” Simons cognac eyes meet yours and you process his words, tapping the pen on your lips before nodding.

He circles the laptop back to you and his fingers tap away at his laptop as well—and he scans his work. It falls quiet for a second as you work, and Simon finds himself glancing over a few times. He tells himself: it’s to check the exit behind you, for safety.

For your safety or his?

He isn’t sure yet.

But then his eyes fall to the way your messy hair in a bun falls forward, the strands hanging and brushing your lips. The way your brows pinch in concentration as your eyes work the screen. You’re tapping away at your pad, nimble fingers working with efficiently.

You glance up at him, tired eyes peeking up, “What?”

Simon doesn’t remove his stare, “Like I said, your back is exposed.”

You snort and laugh—and he finds himself still perplexed by your sense of ease. He himself was still finding his roots here, in this new place. Especially in this new environment and social setting. But your laugh, it inspired something carefree in him.

“You need to loosen up.” You said, rolling your eyes. You then quirk your lip, and Simon goes back to focus on his greek assignment. Something about performing a reading on a reconstruction of Knossos in Greek, if it was plausible and accurate to the historical timeline.

It was discussion section and Simon dreaded those. Having to see his name be shared on a public site made him want to throw his laptop in the garbage. He clenched his jaw, but before his fingers could work, he heard you call out.

“Hey, can you help me make a logo?”

“Lass, I got my own work to do.”

“Please? It’ll only take a few.” You give him your puppy eyes and slight push of your lip has him caving in. You were almost too sweet and precious for this world. How in the hell did you even make it? He wondered.

So he sighed, beckoning with his finger for you to come beside him. The movement gave you butterflies. Your eyes light up like daylights and you quickly gather your belongings, before moving your chair and plopping beside him.

Simon can smell your floral scented perfume and his head spun for a moment.

“A’right. What’s this business bout anyway?”

“A bunch of stock fart noises played on repeat.”

You blankly stare at Simon. He stares back, not amused, not necessarily catching the joke. You give an awkward tilt of your lip before brushing your hair aside.

“It’s more of a book corner I want to start. Because over here in this shitty library—you borrow books and students have a limited time to use them. They usually end up returning it before the semester ends. Not enough time.” You find yourself explaining, gesturing with your hands as you begin to get serious.

You glance away in thought, lashes fluttering and Simons torso is angled to yours, a large hand resting on his thigh, shoulder tilted. His eyes are tracing over your features, before resting on your lips, but you don’t realize.

“And what I want—is I want us to create a program where students can come in and share copies of their textbooks. It’ll be a huge data source where everyone can rent from each other. They’ll need a monthly pass from our program for ten dollars. This way it’ll last the entire time they’re here. The original owner gets half those earnings when someone uses their books as an incentive.”

Your eyes lit up and you look at Simon who is already staring. Your cheeks fluster a little and you stutter under his gaze, trying to explain, “I-I want everyone—“

“Go on. It’s just you and me.” If anything, his baritone words sit warm in your stomach. You pause for a moment and then nod in excitement, eagerly. Your smile returns widely, lifting the apples of your cheeks.

Simon finds himself immersed in the way your brows furrow and hands move about as you talk. The way your voice arches up when you reach an interesting part—Oh! And how your eyes widen as you explain how the program will progress. Your imagination.

The Lieutenant finds himself aching for more moments like this, oddly. To find himself wrapped up in mundane worries, such as the next project. The next idea. The next coffee drink to try. He can’t help it, it’s the way joy lights up your face at the simplest of things and he craves more of it. Maybe seeing you this way made him realize—maybe he could be this way too. Different.

He’s surprised at himself even.

“I like it.” He then simply states, smooth voice slightly muffled from the mask. He cocks his head, shoulder leaning on the booth wall to gaze at you.

You’re surprised—and the action has his heart pattering. Damn it, maybe I should say it more often instead of being a brick wall, he thought.

“Really? Well come on. Help me with the logo.”

You two are spent hunched over at one small laptop, shoulders and arms pressed together. Both your body heats mingle and your hair brushes his ear when you lean more to his side to point—and when he moves to point, his cologne whiffs in your nostrils. You mutter something about the font, and Simon sighs, because you’re picky yet he’ll never admit your determination inspires him.

The soft light illuminates you both—tired features and all, but you manage to have a pleasing conversation despite the night.

When you go back to your chair, back facing the door, he finds himself dutifully gazing at the exit, then at you when you weren’t looking.

Safety.

Maybe looking out for a civvie wasn’t so bad.

Old habits die hard.

thinking about writing a fic & publishing it on ao3 👀 probably not this WIP (price x undercover!reader) although maybe…

maybe ill post this one too

just tried to create an acc on ao3 but but gotta wait for an invitation…GRR it says oct 6

:(

getting personally invited to ao3 through a tumblr user…yes…invite me to this massive black hole ill never leave

Operation: Unforgettable (WIP)

notes: price x undercover!reader. smutty, MDNI, p in v sex. possessive!price, fem pronouns used. no y/n. please feel free to leave feedback & comment ideas you’d like me to write in my asks <3 includes blood, violence, cod mw3 spoilers

The tension

The craving

The hunt

Operation: Unforgettable

The Craving (Price x Reader)

notes: MDNI, reader is legal age, no y/n, female pronouns, possessive!price, cursing, violence, smut scene, filthy thoughts. Mentions of a bomb. Pls enjoy! Id appreciate any feedback & your thoughts on this series. smut scene but no p in v.

Masterlist here

Of course there you were—getting around. A young charming man had whisked you away, although your focus was on the mission. You positioned yourself nearby the Konnis’ to listen in, swaying with the man who introduced himself as Alexander. Even as he waltzed with you, there was a disinterested look to your eyes and your head was tilted to the archway.

“Do let me know when you’re home.” The man muttered and your eyes snapped to his, in slight surprise.

“What? You look too good to not have.” He whispered in your ear, and instead of it electrifying you the way Price did—it made you pull away. Your mind wandered back to Price and you found yourself swallowing, processing how you felt.

“That I do.” I muttered, “But lay off the flirting, mm?” You hummed and he laughed, grinning. It seemed like he then eased up and then let go of you, his hands resting gently at your waist.

“You know, I’m not stupid. I can see how much he wants you.”

You scoff.

“Why don’t you both—“

“Both what?” You snort and Alexander grins. His teeth sparkles in the light and he guides you so your front faces Price. You met eyes with Price who was burning holes in Alexanders back, hand wrapped firmly on his flute. His head was tipped low to send a crude, intense stare. He was not pleased with you.

You could faintly see the gun peeking out under his suit and your legs wobbled.

“Tell me you don’t see it in his eyes.” Alexander huffed, and you furrowed your brows, struggling to maintain composure.

“What does it matter to you, you’re just a stranger.”

He laughed and his body shook. “I find myself needing to see what’ll happen next. For the plot.” He whispers in your ear and you tilt your head up to him, eyes meeting his chocolate brown ones.

He winks and you immediately catch onto the plan.

And that’s how Price ended up completely wrapped up by you. His gaze never wavering. He had half a mind to rip you off this Alex—whoever he was. At the same time he held himself back, not wanting to create a scene. But the more he watched the more his chest got tight and his blood pumped. He kept holding onto the fact that he wouldn’t make a move.

He couldn’t forget the way you and Alexander swayed too closely for his liking. And he knew you had moves. The same one you pulled on him, you were doing as well. Each circular movement of your hip made him nearly see stars. It only made him remember the way you rode him in bed, ontop and hair flowing down your shoulders in vivacious waves. How it brushed his cheek, the fat of your skin rippling as you moved back and forth harmoniously.

He watched the way the taller slender man grabbed more drinks for you, your red lips teasing the rim of the glass. And then your thinner hand slipped to grab his bicep, leading him to the floor.

How it burned in his gut to have held you instead. To feel those curves pressed against him again, and to trail his hand up and down, the way Alexander was doing. He clenched his jaw and the muscle jumped. To have your hand touching his bulging muscles instead, to feel your nails digging in from ecstasy and overstimulation.

“Another one.” Price muttered to the bartender. This time he got rid of the damned wine and went heavy. Whiskey, neat, half a glass.

He downed it, having shifted. The light obscured his intense gaze, leaving it darker. He no longer lounged against the bar but stood upright, a hand shoved in his pocket to hide his fist. Brooding. It was almost as if the person next to him had noticed and awkwardly glanced—before moving away.

The last straw was the way you leaned in, back facing Price. But he could see so clearly how your plump lips met Alexanders ear, a tongue swiping to lick.

Price nearly crushed the damned glass. His tie felt too tight and he found himself closing the distance on long legs, grabbing your arm in a swift move.

“Price—“

“Now.” He growled.

As he dragged you off the floor, your heels clicking, Alexander shot you an excited look and waved, brow raised. He then turned into the crowd and disappeared. Your wingman.

You huffed and nearly fell on your heels—your arm aching by the way he held it. Price brought past two doors and now it was secluded. He backed you against the foyer walls, although not wanting to hurt you, and towered over you—his breaths coming out in ragged exhaled.

“God, Price—“ You shuddered, eyes wide as you realized what you had done. The plan worked. But now you couldn’t pull away. There was still more to be done. You bit back a grin—a bit too bold for his liking, and tilted your head up, meeting his darkened gaze.

Did you have a death wish?

Under him, probably.

“The fuck did you think you were doing?” Price gritted out, nearly spitting. His leaned in sharply, shoes crowding yours as he pushed himself between your legs. His hips hit yours, and you sucked in a breath. The movement had your stomach quivering and tightening.

Your heart raced at the tension and bass in his voice. It reverberated through you like ripples, resting at your core where it clenched and unclenched. You shuddered under him.

“God help me, woman. I have a lot of patience. But that—that back there.” Price shuddered for a moment and inhaled through his nose, eyes shutting. He seemed to calm himself down and then looked down at you, a hand reaching up to tangle in your hair. It stroked the nape of your neck gently.

You’re surprised at his touch, softening slightly against the wall. You could tell he most certainly did not like that—no he despised of it. Seeing another man on you.

It excited you, to see him this way.

“What…? It was just a game.” You whisper and glance at his lips now. He knew exactly what you needed, what you conveyed through those hazy eyes.

Price clenched his teeth and his resolve snaps. Immediately he crashed his lips into yours, knocking your head against the wall. You have no time to protest before his veiny hand is yanking your hair back, demanding you tilt your head up to feed your breaths into his mouth. The kiss is nasty. Feral. Teeth nipping and his body weight drowning yours. His body heat surrounds you.

“Nasty, nasty girl. I think you need to be taught a lesson.” Price growls against your mouth—the words trickling down your throat like fire. It burns in your stomach and you shudder and grab at his biceps to steady your dizzy form from the euphoria and blood rush.

“I thought it was just sex. I thought you didn’t care.” You breathlessly say, lips swollen from his feverish kissing. Your lipstick smudged slightly and Price pulls his head back, gazing at you. His hungry eyes roam all over your face, taking in the sight of you all dazed and lit with arousal.

“We never agreed on there being anyone else. You get that?” He says lowly, grabbing your chin to make sure you understood.

Strange, you thought. He didn’t directly answer your question.

His hand in your hair releases and slides down the front of your throat, then down to your clavicle, where he traces the bony area. It’s sensitive.

You shiver and gulp—mouth going dry. Even your own words were gone.

“If I see you with anyone else, I’ll strangle them. You’re mine.” Price said firmly before a hand groped at your chest—squeezing the flesh. Not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to remind you of his position.

You gasp and your jaw hangs open, to which he finds satisfaction in. His hand lingers, and you feel your core tremble and drip.

Before you could talk—Johnny chimes in over your lines. You switch your comm on shakily, and Price moved away. You fix your dress and take in a breath, trying to calm down as Price adjusts his tie with a harsh, angry pull. “Damned cockblock.” You thought you heard Price mutter.

“Armed suspects approaching the north hallway. 7-2 your closest.” Johnny says to you, and you nod.

You fix your hair and Price stares, eyes narrowing before he responds, “Copy that.” His voice is rough with desire and tension.

You give him a glance before swallowing and moving away. What else could you do or say? As much as the ache between your legs begged for release, you had work to do.

As you turn to face the tall white doors leading to the main hall—Price stalks behind you and ushers you in.

“Report in five.” He said stiffly.

Parting against your will overwhelmed, you knew you also needed the space. That was bloody intense. You usher in and then wait by the arched hallway in the shadows as the men seperate. One is sent for drinks, and shortly after Price follows—who strikes up a civilized conversation about their suits. Most likely discussing brands and where they imported their fabrics from.

Of course, comparing them.

You could hear them faintly.

The other man is sent off—as you heard the leader discuss something about, “Check the Harmonica.”

Now the leader was alone. Sweet. He was tall, towering at 6’4 and had shiny slicked back hair. Lower set brows to reveal a more menacing look, and a chiseled jaw. He tucked his card in his suit front pocket before turning away, down the golden hallway.

Harmonica? Who the hell’s playing a harmonica? You hesitate on whether to tell the team and tap your finger against your thigh. You need more information and without it—it’s considered a distraction.

“Going in. Comms off for now.” You report.

You then make your move, wobbling drunkenly on your heels and on your phone. Clumsily, accidentally on purpose, you bump into the leader. Your phone catches and falls, landing with a thump and you bend to grab it but he is faster first. His nimble fingers pass it to you.

“Oh god—I’m so sorry!” You put on your barbie ecstatic voice. You knew he would be the type to fall for it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man grins and eyes you, shadowed by the hallway lights as you two stand. Far behind is the crowd and music—and you can hear his voice sharply, “Qattara.” He reads your card momentarily, rolling the words out smoothly.

You carry on, plastering a smile on your quite excited features.

“It should be me asking that, you look a little too fine tonight to be alone.” You give him a flirty once over, one he can’t mistake. That pulls him in.

“I assume you’re here for the vault meeting, mm?”

This was going to be a long night.

“Weapons are coming in from Dubai, then he will receive his blood money.” He scoffed, lanky form walking smoothly ahead.

He sounded russian. Typical for any Konni man. The one thing that made it easy to identify them. You stare at his back.

You were poised as you followed him up to the vault room—a suite. You eyed his key card he pulled out, knowing it would come in handy for later. There’s a beep—then the door opens with a soft hiss. Luxurious, you note.

He enters first—you last. You watch your back before shutting the door, your hand pushing it.

“Makarov must be havin’ a helluva time receiving it, then.” You scoff, playing along. You cross your arms, a finger tapping on your bare arm as he strode forward to the table. Soon enough chatter is heard down the other room, and a few tall men enter. One woman.

You’re outnumbered in case it all goes sideways. You remain firm, eyeing and taking in their details. Armed as usual.

“Alright, alright. Enough.“ The leader silenced them. You could hear a pin drop. The woman eyed you, having shorter hair.

He then turns to you quite comically—with a little spin on his heel, tilting his head. You didn’t like the look he’d given you.

Now you felt like his prey. “This fine little lady joined us, Qattara was it?” He asked, slowly walking forward.

But the real Qattara was found and held in Laswells’ quarters for investigation. You were simply her replacement. You could see the other men getting ready to sit—the smell of musky cologne clogging your nostrils. The woman also sat at the end of the table, pressing her skirt down with her manicured nails.

The man ahead tilts his head this way and that as if trying to figure you out. He then comes close and whispers in your ear, “If I find out anything that I don’t like, well. You know where it’ll end.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Let’s talk guns and weapons shall we?” You say, although trying your best to conceal the sarcasm and bitterness as he leaned in. You knew he was trying to assert some sort of dominance over you by instilling fear, yet you knew you had to play compliant.

“Feisty. Давай, join us.”

And so, the meeting began. You mentally made a note of everything, having switched on your wire so the team could hear. You sat across a man, eyes set on the leader who elaborated his plan with his arms, a drink in one hand. No surprise to see it was vodka.

“Good, you’re doing great.” Price said through the comm whilst you nodded your head along to the man.

His voice made you feel tingly—almost comforting through the overpowering masculine presence in the room. Your mind flashed as you remembered the moment in the foyer where he held to you the wall—legs clenching slightly. It was an amazement to you how he managed to do this—switch from absolute madness to team leader.

If anything, it encouraged you. Even though earlier he was absolutely feral.

Teamwork, right?

“Shipment container is being sent here. We’ll have our men stationed there ready to receive the equipment.”

You fold your hands together on the table, catching eyes with an older gruff man. His gun is settled in his lap, hand resting on it. He eyes you with a curiosity and intrigue, and you tilt your head just a bit.

The man doesn’t look away. He’s got a buzzcut, a scruffy jaw and dark eyes. His suit lays flat and firm.

“Where is Makarov located to receive the money?” You ask the most important question. For a second it falls silent as if the misogynistic men did not expect you to have talked. You straighten up and stare down the Leader, firm.

“Why do you need to know that?” The room went still as all eyes were on you.

“I need to know if the money is an international wire transfer.” You reply smartly. You raise a brow and you thought you heard Price chuckle smoothly.

“That’s the lass we know.” Johnny said, before going quiet.

Once given the location of him, you nearly ease up, and nod your head.

You glance up as you stood, the rest of the men leaving the room. You wait, watching their bodies leave single file.

“Where is your accent from?” His gruff voice sounds out. He sounded like a smoker. He’s busy at the bar and you slip the key card the leader left, that rested on the chair seat. You slip it into your bra as if adjusting your girls.

You then pause and still, gathering your thoughts. Moving your hands, you sling your purse over your bare shoulder. Your dress glints in the light and you never remove your eyes from him as he stood across the table.

The door shuts softly.

“Do I sound too american for you?” You give a vague reply, meeting the question with a question. There’s a slight humor to your voice.

The man cocks his head and stares you down. He’s serious, not one for joking.

“You sound much too american for the Qattara I know.” He said sharply, eyes cutting into you like ice. Your blood runs cold and you swallow, eyeing him. It was as if the room dropped several temperatures.

He goes to drink his whiskey from the glass, pouring it back. Something irks you know. The drink was almost like a kicker for him, for what’s to come.

You know you’ve been figured.

Your heart patters as you hear Price growl in the comm line, “Get out.”

Your head spins and you straighten up, smiling slightly and stepping back. Your back faced the exit door.

“And what was that quote? From the Quran? I’m sure you know it.”

“There’s many.” Your answer only confirms his suspicions. Your breath hitched and you know you’re about 10ft away from the door. His eye twitched at your smart ass response.

Price growls and you hear something slamming like a door on his end.

The man slowly stalks closer, holding the glass of whiskey. Until he stops, staring at you. He does not move, but holds the whiskey in his hand.

Your heart pounds and all you could do was stare.

When you don’t say anything—you see the slight movement of his hand gripping the glass and you hurl yourself in your heels, grabbing open the door.

You fling it open just in time for the glass to crash, missing your head. You could hear a barrage of laughter from behind, his voice booming, “I’ll give you ten seconds, before I rip your throat out.”

You’re blazing down the hall, and eventually you throw off your heels, grabbing them. You curse as it threatens to slip off. Again, you think back to the Harmonica. The Harmonica, check on it.

Your heart batters in your chest like a ram, and you could hear a crash and the sound of shoes thudding as he chases after you.

“Harmonica—harmonica—“ You rehearsed, breathing harshly.

“Harmonica what?” Price snaps on the line and you panted. You glanced up at the chandelier, knowing where you were approaching. Soon enough a cold gust of wind blows down the hallway.

“It’s code, Price. Code for something.”

“Like Bravo?”

“Like bravo in the water.”

“A fuckin’ bomb?” Price seethes, “We got a bomb threat unconfirmed in the building.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon hashes out over the line.

“Steamin’ Jesus, we need t’find it.” Johnny says urgently.

“On it.” Kyle said.

“Kyle stay in position.” Price demands, “Simon, where did you last see the men walk off upstairs?”

“Towards the north wing.”

“Fuck, that’s where I am.” You shouted and grab a waiters pan. A loud thunk and clank is heard as you toss it against the mans face who chased you.

“The hell was that—“ Kyle muttered.

“Bonnie—“

“Focus! Simon find the bomb.” You shouted.

“What’s your position?” Price says lowly, although you’re sure you could hear his voice tremble. You focus on turning the hallway—as the cold gush of air worsens.

“North side of the balcony.” You shout and the man follows, his dress shoes slamming rapidly against the carpeted halls. You take off even faster if it was possible, hair flying behind and gun gripped tightly.

To slow him down, with your free hand you yank your gun out the thigh strap. You take a shot but miss. Too hard to do it when you’re running and your gaze is unsteady. The bullet bounces sharply off the wall, and the man grins wolfishly as if hunting his predator.

“7-1, take the North side. You’re closest.” Price orders.

“On it.” Johnnys accented voice sounds in your ear and you know he’s on his way.

“Watcher 1, position to the North Side balcony.” Price orders.

You ran under an archway, feet thudding on what sounded like tiles now. The cold air of the night blew rapidly and you turned, having nowhere to run. The balcony columns were there, guarding your fall.

You wheezed and panted, wide eyed. Looking for the man—he soon approached and rounded the corner with a haste and dangerous glint in his eye. He crossed the area and before you knew it, instincts kicked in.

Your heels hung in your hands, swaying with the breeze. Damned if you were going to lose these expensive Louboutins.

As he strodes forward with vigor—training kicks in. You kneed him in the groin earning a sharp groan—then without time wasted, with your free hand, you bashed his head against your knee as well. A sickening crack was heard and he cried out. Blood sprayed, and you then grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pushed him to the balcony railing.

“Got him, 7-1.” A minute later, Johnny strides in and glaring. His jacket is thrown off revealing underneath his black dress shirt, tight and pulled from each movement. His gun on display.

You move aside, and he grabs the wanker by his suit and hoists him up against the wall roughly.

Time is running out, you panic.

“Johnny, go now.” Johnny growls. His teeth bares at the sight of the wanker just laughing and drags him along.

Just then Simons voice made you two pause.

“Bloody hell, 7-2, we got a bomb. North wing. It’s situated bad near an oxygen line.” Simon mutters and you freeze up. Your hand reached up for the comm, eyes meeting Johnnys’ wide eyes. The man scoffs.

Soon a loud bang is heard on Simons’ end. And then gargling and a thud. He most likely dispatched one of the Konni soldiers.

“Time?!” Johnny growls out. He discards the man, shoving him roughly to the side. The man was useless at that point. He scrambled nearly tripping over on his feet—before dashing off like a cat.

Johnnys’ long legs strode to keep up with you, as you’re running and down the hall, hair flying behind you. Desperately looking out for the foyer doors.

“Blows in 10.” Despite the situation, Simons voice was flat and gruff. You panted and felt your heart racing with realization. It almost sounded as if he accepted this—part of job. Dying at any moment. It sounded too real. Your heart was shriveling.

“Ghost, get out of there now.” Price warns and you hear a, “Copy that.”

“Did he hurt ya?” Johnny immediately looked over you—hearing screams echo about as you both neared the main hall. You shake your head and look at him, eyes wide.

“No. Stay sharp.”

“Hope Simon is able to dispatch the bomb.” Johnny cursed, hurrying you along down the red carpeted hallway.

“No time.” Simon barks over the line.

Property of evanescencelovrr. do not modify, repost, or translate.

god im sitting here its 7pm. im sitting. and im raving about why a hot man like simon wont walk to me & ask me what a pretty thing like me is doing up alone.

should I post my drawing journey here? :,) im beginning to draw again after years and i wanna document my journey.

back to anatomy (yikes)

Operation: Unforgettable

The Hunt

MDNI, fem pronouns, cursing, fighting, violence, blood, simon gets hurt :(, just a lil guys, reader does an interrogation. some military inaccuracies. inspo from jonny & simons scene as they interrogate milena—but a slight difference :) reader is involved! smut!! p in v.

enjoy yall ur comments & feedback means so much to me!

Masterlist here

You and Johnny managed to find a stairwell leading to the foyer below, immediately traveling down. You both hopped and skipped steps. Your feet hurt as you’re barefoot but there’s bigger fish to worry about now. The steady sound of your heart racing did nothing to soothe your nerves, as you both try to get away from the detonation site.

However, Johnny couldn’t resist making a joke next to you, sweating and heaving himself. He jumps down, skillfully landing.

“Fuckin’ hell lass, you’re somethin’ else runnin’ like tha’.”

“We have to.” You respond stiffly. Johnny could see the firmness yet the anxiety underneath your gaze, and he rounded the steps with you in tow. He had to admire your strength, you were like a stallion in your dress.

Only then—did a loud boom erupt minutes after Simon relayed his last position. One by one, the windows blew out from the pressure, glass shattering everywhere.

Both you and Johnny collapsed onto the stairs from the violent jolt, rolling down as the building swayed and shook, leaving your visions unsteady. Your head banged several times and Johnny himself heaved.

Eventually, your legs got tangled up in his, whilst loud grunts and groans could be heard from the stairwell.

A beam or two creaked loudly before collapsing, just a few feet away from your prone bodies. It lay haphazardly on the stairs. Dust and debris flew everywhere, attacking your nostrils.

Your palms bury in the ground, digging in for stability. There’s pain in your side but you disregard it as the need for survival comes first. Your blood rushes and pumps loudly in your ear, hot and brazen.

Coughing and shaking, Johnnys’ lengthy fingers wrap around your elbows to pull you up, as a series of screams and shouting erupted.

You two both staggered your way to the foyer and out the main hall through a set of doors. Your dress is ripped at the side where the zipper is at—but your focus is on the damage. Your eyes were wide and chest heaving with adrenaline.

It was distraught. The chandeliers had crashed and fell—people running like mad hens. The balcony top left stair crumbled completely, leaving only one side available for access. Glass shattered everywhere and painted the ground in sparkles.

You look to Johnny and he motions for you to stay put as you’re still barefoot. You then realize he has a small gash in his forehead.

“Johnny—“

“I know, dinnae fash yer’self.”

“Simon? Simon report.” Kyle shouts over the line and you spin around to see Kyle sweating and making his way over to you all. His boots crunch over glass, brows taut together.

Your eyes widened and you all wait for a response—head tilted and breaths held. Johnny pinched his chin in a vice grip, as his arms folded.

After a while noise comes in on all your comms.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon groans out, roughly. He heaved and groaned with effort, his voice portraying a slight tremor. You clench your gun as the building rumbled above, your eyes flicker to it as it was unsteady.

Another collapse was imminent.

“We gotta get out.” You breathed out harshly.

Johnny glares and grips his fists tightly, glancing at you, “I cannae leave him.”

“Simon, status?” Price shouts and you could hear the exasperation in his tone. Sharp and tense. Where was he? You know he didn’t exit along with you both. Your heart jumped and you frantically look around—no site of him.

“Shrapnel—I think. Stuck in the goddamned suite. It’s burnin. It’s burnin’ real bad’.” Simon huffs, and for a second you can hear the genuine agony in his tone. The smoothness is replaced by a shakiness and slight cry for help.

“Shit.” Johnny drags a hand down his lips.

“The suite? I have the key card.” You scrambled for it in your bra and held it up for the men. Kyle gives you a look but doesn’t say anything, his brows knit together and hands clenched tightly.

Johnny is too caught up with worry to crack a joke for his life. The site of his stern glare and intense gaze nearly had you pissing your pants. It was such a stark contrast to the chipper and vibrant Johnny.

Price cursed over the line as he didn’t have one. “Johnny, take the card. Meet me at the north side fast. We’ll get him out.” Price ordered tensely.

“Copy that.” Johnny replies instantly through his comm, yanking the card from your grasp. He turned into a blur as he angled between the yelling crowd. He was heading back to the dangerous burning site.

You couldn’t protest, or join him, as you’re left with Kyle. There was nothing for you to do anymore—you’re barefoot. Following would only compromise the mission and rescue op, and it made no sense.

Your dress is ripped at the seam, exposing a small amount of skin. It was easily hidden by your arms though when you lowered it. Your stomach doesn’t ease, though. Anxiety crawls up and down your stomach, making it churn uneasily. You feel the need to throw up but push it aside, closing your eyes momentarily.

The whole mission had turned upside down. With the explosion, and Simon hurt, two men going in to find him, it was a mess.

Kyle then motions for you to move out, from behind. “Come on.”

Turning to stumble out you cough from the smoke, back rattling. A woman races past you, her heels clicking. A fury of short hair flying. She shoves at a person, angling to run past.

That’s the one you recognize from the meeting upstairs.

You don’t hesitate.

Immediately pulling away from Kyle, you ran to her and threw her body against the column, fastening her hands around her back. She shouted and writhed, and Kyle sprinted over, grasping her shoulder to keep her still.

“She’s one of em.” You state roughly, jerking your gaze to him as you hold her wrists, “Stop resisting. We got you.”

The woman snarls and you then jerk her over to Laswell who’s by her SUV, in her tactical vest and wired up. She eyes the woman and recognition flashes in her eyes, “We got her.”

Laswell takes over and arrests her in the SUV for good measure. You sigh loudly, one job less to worry about.

Everyone is evacuated outside beyond a fence line and firefighter trucks roll in—blaring. Their lights flash brightly and you hear the shouts of them as they unload and begin working the aerial to the north side to cool the fire.

“We can’t vent the roof, it’ll collapse.” A firefighter shouted.

Unease fills you as your team members are still inside.

You turn back to Laswell, your jaw set and even the muscle jumps from the tension, “Fuckers figured me out. They’re gonna stall the delivery.”

You cursed and shook your head, praying Simon and Price made it back safely. Your eyes kept wandering back to the entrance, seeing smoke bellow and fire rave from above.

“No use worrying about that. We got her.” Kyles’ brow raised in the direction of the woman sitting in the car. She’s scowling, her head hung low and silent. You had a feeling she’d be tough to crack.

“Let’s hope she knows more than something. Can’t wait for the interrogation.” You scoff and cross your arms, then swivel your head to Kyle and Laswell.

“You and me both.” Kyle said firmly, not removing his steel gaze from her. He watched her like a hawk, eyeing her every movement.

“Has Qattarra cracked?” You ask, brow raised at Laswell.

“No. She’s been silent.” Laswell sighs, holding her walkie.

Just then—her walkie signals and your comms shoot alive.

“Bravo Team—how copy?”

“Good.” Kyle shifted on his soot covered dress shoes and sends his gaze to the entrance of the venue, vigilant and cautious.

“Price?” You immediately say, hand flying to your comm.

“We’re good. Kyles’ with me. Unharmed.” You said firmly, turning over to look at the entrance as well. Your eyes narrowed, trying to see for a sign of them. The smoke is so thick and turning black, a race against time.

Parts of the building structure rain down heavily, people dodging just in time as a statue crumbled down. Rocks collide and slam on the pavement.

Not a good sign.

“Everyone out! It’s gonna blow.” The fire chief shouts gruffly in his walkie, eyeing the blackening fire as he strides around the front of the venue. He grips his walkie talkie tightly, chest rising and falling from exertion. His eyes are filled with a maddening worry you understand.

“On the way.” Price says gruffly before the line glitches. You swallowed, heart pattering. As you watch the entrance, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of anxiety. Of course you cared for the team. You knew Simon was injured, and Johnny was in there helping.

And Price—he sounded okay.

A minute passed and eventually you see three hunky figures come out the smoke and debris. Simon is placed on a stretcher, his mask still on and his eyes are shut weakly. His rugged and pale features were on display—white vest completely soaked red. You know it’s not good. His arm drapes off the side and he then raises it, to give Johnny a thumbs up clumsily.

The blood loss made him woozy, because the real Simon would’ve never done such a thing. It only made you even worried, fingers itching to come over.

Johnny scoffs and can’t help the grin despite the situation. But immediately, Price and him and rushed to the side and Simon is placed in the awaiting ambulance.

“I’m goin’ with him, Cap.”

“Could use the help.” Price said, eyeing Johnny. But Johnny looks conflicted and stressed again—eyes flashing.

Price could sense his unease and then nods his head to the ambulance.

Johnny climbs in immediately and the doors shut.

Behind, a mushroom cloud of smoke erupts and another boom commences. The entire building shifts as the medics drive away to the nearest hospital. The roof caved in—leaving an expansive gaping hole where the fire broke free.

Before you could walk towards them, Kyle grabs your arm. You glance at it before looking at his warm charcoal eyes. You almost get lost in them—they shine so brilliantly in the light.

“Not yet.” He says gently, although his eyes stayed on yours. “Stay with me.”

You stay by his side and more than ever, you’re thankful for your team member. Kyle places a comforting hand on your shoulder and you crossed your arms tightly, brows set in a furrow.

Back at base, it was absolutely tense. Price leaned over his desk, suit jacket thrown aside and tie loose. He looked a mess. He was stiff and silent, bracing his hands on the desk. A strand of his hair flicked down.

And Kyle sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, and hunched over. He was tense as well, his leg was bouncing a million miles a minute, the sound of his zipper flapping filling your ears.

“Come on, we can’t waste time.” Price suddenly spoke up and you’re immediately at his side. You moved from the table you were leaning against, causing your gear to shift.

Kyle looks up, alert and awake.

You lean over the table and Laswell strides in—sensing the tension in the office. Her heels click loudly, arms swinging with vigor. A few other men follow in and they set their briefcases down, unloading a bunch of paperwork.

“He’s alright. Just checked in with the surgeon. A bit of shrapnel pierced his lung.” Laswell said—immediately loud sighs and groans filled the room of relief.

Kyle got up and followed them to the table determined as ever. His fists are clenched, as he too understands the importance of his team.

“First name basis, huh? That’ll do ya a lot.” Price said to Laswell, slightly amused to help the situation, although his face was focused.

She scoffed and turned her torso to the interrogation room, chest heaving. She was coated thinly with sweat from all the movement. “Better to have connection with me than to not, right?”

“Damn right.” Kyle said, rubbing his scruffy jaw.

“Is she talking?” Laswells eyes snapped to Price, before the interrogation window again. Inside, the woman sat. It was the woman Laswell arrested.

You craned your neck, eyes narrowing slightly. Your arms were crossed and your blazer pulled tightly at the corners from the effort.

“I haven’t taken a crack at her yet.” You said, then uncrossed your arms and placed them onto the cold glass table. Your eyes peer up at Laswell, seeing Kyle grow irritated at the lack of the woman’s compliance. You can’t blame him. Time was ticking and Simon got hurt because of her incompetence as well as her people.

“Take a stab at her. We need the details.” Laswell cocks her head.

You look to Price who nodded, his eyes tracking you. You clear your throat and enter in. You strode on your kitten heels that gave just a bit of height, whilst not destroying your feet from earlier events. You cross your arms and lean over her, your dress pants straining.

She sat, head down. But upon hearing you, she stiffens up.

“Milena.” You say, slowly. Almost as if tasting her name on your tongue. The glint in your eyes make her stiffen up and she swallowed, clutching at her arms. She doesn’t like the way you say it and it only irks her.

Good.

“I hear you’re not talking.”

Milena grits her teeth, her eyes darting away. That only elicits a dangerous flame to light in you. You take well to hostages behaving stubborn and defiant—especially when the team was under pressure already.

“Who’s your Boss?” You spit, impatiently and frustrated. Your hand slam down on the table, asserting dominance and frightening her sitting form.

She swallowed and her chest heaved.

“I don’t have one. I work alone.” Her russian accent is thick and she enunciates the “t” heavily. You narrow your eyes, not buying it for a second. A lone woman like her? She must have connections and ties. Special relations.

Besides you is a laptop and you grab at it swiftly, leaning over it.

“I don’t buy your bullshit.”

“Believe what you want, if it comforts you.” She spat, and you turn your head to her. Something in your expression shifts and it has her shaking. You raised a brow—almost in admiration and respect for her tone. You’re slightly amused as well, by the hostage.

She sure had it coming. “For someone who’s being held captive, you have a lot of tongue on you.”

Milena glares up at you, resembling a pouting child in your eyes.

You lean forward, not hesitating to grab her hand.

She tensed up. “What are you doing—“

“Taking your hand—“

“Why? So you can cut it off?” Milena snaps, as you drag her finger to the sensor of the laptop. You scoff, a lip quirking up. Now she was giving you ideas. You’re amused by her behavior even more, finding it entertaining.

“Don’t go around threatening me with a good time, Milena.” You say smoothly.

This shuts her up for now.

Immediately you have access to her banking site and Milena recognized the site. She crossed her arms once her hand is free, glancing at it with daggers, her silence was soon replaced by another snarky comment, “Nothing in my bank account will get you closer to Vladimir.”

Your head lowered as you scrolled through her bank account. Sure enough you recognize the transfers and ID numbers. You suck in a breath, and soon behind you, you hear commotion. You don’t turn around though, whatever it is, Price has it handled.

That was until the interrogation room slammed open, revealing a tall and hunky, sweating Simon. He’s coiled and tense, his simple balaclava mask revealing brooding and bloodshot eyes. He leans heavily on the door, his eyes trailing over to your leaning form, and then Milena like daggers. Like he caught his prey.

You clamp your mouth shut—and realize Milena was in for a good scare.

Sure enough, she begins to breathe heavily at the sight and you hear Johnny from behind—“I tried to get him to listen—“

The door shuts.

“Why the mask?” Milena digs at Simon who leans against the wall, burly arms crossed as he watches you work like a hawk.

The Brit has no little to no patience. Frustration rolls off of him in waves and you know he’s seconds away from releasing what he’s holding back. He’s more so pissed off—not by the little lady bickering and trying to start an after school fight, but the fact the mission tossed sideways, wasting more time. Precious time.

He was like a toy box winding up. For now, he stood back.

“To hide my face.” He responds gruffly, his strong Manchester accent spitting out.

Milena jumps, not expecting it.

“Her bank records trace back to the Zordaya Prison. Multiple Konni accounts are hidden in here, damned witch.” You spit, eyes cutting her a stare you know she can’t run from.

“Money for Makarovs escape.” Simon puts two and two together. The name made her flinch and she looked away from Simon.

You revel in her reaction.

“Wealth opens doors.” The smug woman says, shrugging. Despite her cocky choice of words, you could tell she was close to cracking. And Simons presence was making it a helluva lot harder for her to stay still.

You scoffed. “More like blood money. That’s what this is.”

“Swiss account. Personal. It’s been tapped.” You say, unable to help the lifting grin that graces your lips. You lean back on one heel— bent to gaze at the laptop. You got her now.

This seems to have struck her nerve and sleuth of russian escapes past her lips—glaring at you.

“Думаешь, я тебя не пойму? (You think I wouldn’t understand you?)

You return, seeing her shrink down, her heart elevated. Her corotid is jumping at your efficiency Russian—cracking her open. Having another woman beat down on her and expose her, all whilst in her mother tongue was like slicing a knife through her.

Simon nodded his head up very slightly in approval of your tone. He has seen you interrogate a few times, and knows you have nothing in you to sit down and enjoy a game of poker. If anything, you were similar to him. But he didn’t carry the decorum you did.

You go back for her hand and she yells, “What the fuck are you doing—“

Simon then advanced forward, having enough of this. He ignores his pain, and looms over her beside you, head positioned down. His heavy lidded eyes bore into hers like needles, the black war paint illuminating them more dangerously. “Give her the print, or tell us where to find Makarov.”

You inwardly thank him for his support. But for now, you remain focused, eyeing her.

“Fuck. You.”

She should not have done that.

Simon leans forward slowly, angling himself. He searched her eyes and then narrowed them, invading her personal space to where she flattened herself against the chair in terror.

The look in his eyes—the impatience, the way they flickered with something unbridled, made her hesitate.

“We. Need. Makarov.” Simon then enunciated, his voice coming out in a poisonous spit. He never removes his steel eyes from hers, his hand slowly reaching for his sidearm to threaten her even more.

If anything the pain stabbing his lung makes him growl out the words insistently, with a sense of force. “Now.” His lip sneers.

“Where is he?” He demanded, much less of a question. You had to admit, his voice sent chills down your spine as you watched them both. You admire Simon as he worked efficiently despite his injury.

Milena’s lips wobbled and she then shouted his location.

——

You’re busy gearing up before the next mission in the armory, pulling on your shirt. Your hair is tied up and out the way, shifting on your combat boots with ease. You replay the interrogation in your mind over and over again, never wanting to be in Milenas’ position. Simon had her real good. He was getting checked by Johnny in the meantime—to which you heard Simon cuss.

Soon, boots scuffled against the ground and Price appears. He slaps a folder on the table beside him, and enters in, closing the door. A moment with the captain.

You spin around slowly, brow raised. You know he’s here to talk. Your hand works the pouch you wore, tightening the belt.

“That russian sounded a lil’ too good.” He said gruffly, almost with a proud glint as he watched you. He leaned against the door, his arms crossed. The lights above flickered and you swallowed, resting your shotgun rifle in the locker. It slumps from the weight.

His gaze is like a knife tracing over your hot searing skin.

“Price.” You said, eyes meeting his burning ones.

“You think I forgot that little stunt you pulled?” He then stalked closer, after the lock clicked as his hand moved. It hung by his side and your breath hitched. You were clad in your cargo pants, and a compression top, yet the top did nothing to provide pressure to calm your pounding heart.

“Price, I—“ You said his name, trying to explain but he cuts you off when he grappled for your waist and pressed you against one of the lockers firmly. His eyes roam all over you and he shushes you, his breath fanning across your face.

“I know, I know you said it was a game. Is that all this is to you?” He says lowly, a slightly condescending tone to it. You narrow your eyes and something in your heart lurched at his words. Was it all just a game? Only sex?

“What is it to you, if it’s just a game?” You spit back, feeling your head press against the locker metal. You swallow and his eyes track the way your neck moves, a hand reaching up to stroke the delicate skin. It makes you shudder, your resolve weakening. But you grip the side of the open locker door tightly.

“Quite answering my questions with questions, sweet’art. You know where that’ll land you.” Price murmurs and then his larger hand gently wraps around your neck. You nearly found yourself melting into his touch, the simple act drawing something submissive out of you.

Your head tilts and gently his padded fingers press at the side of your neck, not choking, but holding.

“You and that little red dress. All night. Teasing me. I need to get it off.” Price whispers, leaning in to touch the shell of your ear. His tongue licks the curve and you closed your eyes, feeling heat spread between your legs and stomach.

“You think I didn’t think about you? How we could’ve been matching? If you wore a red tie. Matching with my heels. My dress. My lipstick.”

“Is that what you want?” His warm voice traveled deep in you, and sent shivers, “Because if you want that, we’d have to be more.”

You stiffen up and tilt your head to look at him. His hand strokes your belly, before traveling low and under your shirt. He teases your waistband, and removes your gun and pouch. He places them in the locker and resumes his movements, feeling for the thin lacy material.

Your breath catches, “And what? Do you like the sound of us being more?”

“You tell me, with those pretty noises.” Price nearly groans it in your ear, his body weight pressing against yours with need. Your legs shake as he managed to find that pudgy button and warmth explodes in your lower area. You bit your lip to which he grabs your chin and jerks it to him.

He watches as the flesh gets pulled under your teeth and pants at the sight. “I’ll make you forget him.”

“I don’t care about him.” You said roughly, aching with need and desire for Price. Your chest heaved, feeling his hand stroke soothing circles right where you craved it the most. The skin erupts with tingles and you struggle to hold back a moan to talk.

“And you care about me? You can’t get me outta’ that pretty head of yours?” Price hums and it almost sounds condescending. But to you, it sounds hot. The way he teases and taunts you as you’re in no position to bite back.

Your panties are soaked—an admission of your feelings. “When you make it sound like that, it’s as if I care more.” You scoff.

Price pushed against you more—causing a strangled gasp to leave you. His hand presses firmly against your poor throbbing clit, his nose brushing your jaw, then your ear and to the slender curve of your neck.

“You have a nasty mouth on you. Been too long since our last fucking?” He growls out, shoving your pants down swiftly. Before you know it, he delivers a sharp slap to your puffy clit and you jerk, crying out.

“Get on me.” He orders. You jump and wrap your legs around his wider waist and arms around his neck, angling your head to kiss him feverishly. It’s true. Ever since the venue you’re left for craving for him all over again. You want to ravish him and take him all for yourself—much more than ever.

And Price is consumed by the same feelings. The desire to feel you around him, shaking and unable to focus on anything else but the way he stretches you. He wants to make you forget about him—that stupid little boy, and wants you to focus on what he can give you instead.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers in the kiss, almost soothingly, as if reassuring you your desires were safe to explore. Your head spins at his voice and warmth climbs up your arms and neck, as a flush settles on your cheeks.

“You and those pretty little heels. The ones I got for ya. Would love to do you in those.” Price huffs and grabs your face, kissing harder before you could respond. He swings around to dump your behind on the table and it shakes. Your hands immediately unfasten his belt and Price groans with need.

“I made sure to save em. You never know.” You tease, panting heavily in his mouth. Price helps you undo his thick belt and tosses them aside, the metal clanking. His pants drop heavily, and he scrambles to yank off his shirt.

Naked now, all that’s exposed are thick quads, bulky legs and a toned abdomen. Which is covered in a happily trail leading lower. You could see the imprint of his bulge against his boxers and you nearly drool. There’s a wet spot and you only imagine the way the liquids must be leaking down in thin white beads. Over the veins, over the throbbing skin.

You trail your eyes up and take in the sight of his wider chest, biceps flexing and straining as he undoes his boxers. His eyes stare at you hungrily, lips parting to breath harsh and fast—his hair chest rising and falling.

“Eyeing me up as if this ain’t the first time.” He mutters, discarding his boxers and then leaning in. You groan loudly, although muffled as his lips silence yours, moving with a fast unbridled pace. His tongue immediately pushes in, seeking entrance and demanding to explore.

Your tongue twirl and tangle. This isn’t soft and sensual with the usual tender licks—no he was livid. In the way his tongue pursued yours. Your head tilted back and you scrambled off your panties as well.

Soon, he slots himself between your legs.

“Raw?” He mutters, jerking himself off as precum dribbles down and coats his veiny, thick shaft. His balls were hanging low and his bulbous head points at you, red and angry. It’s thick and wide enough to bully your folds.

You moan at the sight, and the sound revs him. “Raw. Get it in.”

And just like that, his hips fill yours. He doesn’t stop, no, he pushes in one go and the feeling has you yelling in ecstasy. Immediately his hand covers your pretty mouth to muffle it and your head is craned back against the wall, feeling him bottom out. His tip kisses your cervix snug, and you had no time to adjust before the man starts pounding.

“Take it, take it all. Every inch. Naughty girls like you need this. You crave it, don’t you?” Dirty words fly out your captains mouth as his hips jack hammer at an intense unforgiving pace. Each pound has gasps leaving you, body shaking. The fat of your thighs jiggle, and your hands scramble to hold the edge of the shaking table.

“Oh, you can’t respond.” Price said smugly, keeping his hand over your mouth. He can feel how you quake and grab at his length, gummy walls squeezing and collapsing. It hugs him down good he groans and vocalizes his sounds. His head lowers, and long groans left him, eyes shutting at the feeling.

You grab at his head with one hand—the other supporting you and you eye him. You’re hazy with pleasure and your head spine, as the table squeaks and rocks.

“Oh? You want to hear me more?” Price leans and whispers, in your ear. His hand stays firm on your mouth and he chuckles shakily—entertained by your actions. The way you can’t talk, completely consumed by his control.

He breaths out loudly, with a mixture of a guttural moan leaving him. The sound has you rolling your eyes back.

“That’s right, you like it when I come in to do you? Hm? And cover your mouth—so no one can hear your filthy noises?” He grunts sharply, sweating. He grips the table with his one hand and then his other rests on your stomach, pressing and feeling his bulge jut in and out.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet, f’me.”

You try—his hand has you gasping and writhing, eyes shutting tightly. You think you see stars, the pressure was making it intense. Your legs spasm and your feet arch, toes curling. You barely repress this noise.

“You’re doing so good, sitting there, legs spread like a doll. Takin’ it f’me.”

“You jus’ needed my cock, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t believe the dirty things flying out his mouth. All you could do was groan loudly and shudder, sweat soaking your skin completely. You were sure you needed a shower before gearing up.

“Fuck, Price.” You could only say, yet be understood how lost in the pleasure you were. His eyes roamed greedily over the way you arched, your breasts jutting out and the skin trembling. Your hair bouncing back, angling your head so your neck was revealed and clavicle. Your brows arched and lips parted to moan.

“God you look so fuckin’ pretty under me.” He rasps, leaning in over you. Your back falls onto the table and you accidentally shove his folder off. It falls—paper scattering about. But none of you care.

If anything, he jack hammers into you, right against your gummy spot where he knows he’ll have you crying out the most. But he quickly covers your mouth to silence you—sweating himself. A strand of his hair falls forward onto his forehead.

“Shh shh, take it.” He can see the pleasure in your eyes, the tears. The haziness has him hooked completely, and he is sure he can never erase you out of his mind. Soon enough he feels his balls tighten and he grunts, eyeing you. You shudder and grab at the table, approaching your orgasm. Your toes curl and your neck tenses up.

Price pulls out before he could release into you, splattering onto your stomach. He grunts loudly and leans his head down to muffle them into your sweaty neck, as you convulse under him.

Soon, the two of you are left shaking and panting for air. You could feel his release traveling against your skin and sinking into your navel and your hands scramble to his shoulders. You’re still experiencing the afterglow and your eyes blink slowly.

“You bloody idiot. You came on me.” Your voice is somewhat groggy.

“Would you have rather me come into you?” Price teased, gruffly. He straightens up, needing a shower himself. He looked at your stomach and reveled in the way it coated you, thick fluids gliding. Your stomach quivered and he sucked in a breath.

“Fuck—no.” You muttered and sighed. Shakily you grabbed a napkin—but Price stopped you.

“Stop. You’re wasting it.” He muttered, holding your wrist. You paused and stared up at him wide eyed, still flushed.

“I’ll teach you what to do when you let me cum like this.” He murmurs and then his finger traces down your stomach. You jump, still sensitive from your orgasm and shudder. You whimper, and he stifled a groan at it.

Before you know it, your lips are wrapped around his finger that feeds you his sticky fluids. He watches the way those plump lips stuck, and he nuzzles your head with his nose. “So good f’me.”

The mere words has you melting. You wouldn’t do something as depraved as this—yet here you were. Eating his release that landed on your stomach. The things he made you do.

He then grabbed his clothes when you finished and you did as well, your back facing him. None of you say anything. The silence pierces your heart and you ignore the dull ache. You wanted to hear him say something. Something soft.

To be held.

The way he held you just now.

More.

But instead, you were met with his muscled back and you frowned. You were glad he couldn’t see you, because you looked like a kicked puppy. You then put your clothes on before heading to the showers. The door shuts, and Price buckled himself up, fingers working fast as he watches you leave.

The one thing he can’t get out his mind, is how you looked wrapping your lips around his finger and swallowing him. Those half lidded eyes consumed by pleasure and a hint of surprise at your own behavior.

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that gap in my resume…i spent hours drawing writing and watching hot fictional men & studying them 🥰 im a behavior analyst now!!