hi, there ✨

Because how the hell were you supposed to know his work buddy regularly breaks into his apartment?!

"Fuckin' hell, good swing, kid." Simon slumps over your kitchen sink, nose steadily leaking blood into the basin. Simon, Kyle's friend whom you've met once. "Next time, don't hesitate on a second swing."

"What the hell!" You hiss, shock draining way to pure indignation. You grab his jaw and forcefully lift the balaclava up properly to assess the broken nose "what the fuck were you even doing in here?!"

"Needed a snack." This giant of a man grunts, shrugs his shoulders as if breaking into his friends apartments for a snack is a reasonable course of action.

"Yeah, well now you need the hospital, dumbass." You frown, fishing your phone out of your pocket and shoving ghost to lean back over the seat. You miss the blush that spreads across his face from the rough handling.

You're sure ghost only stayed in the car so he could hear you tear gaz a new one for not warning you about his insane friends. He does try to escape once you actually park, which simply leaves you dragging him in by the ear.

Afterwards, you give ghost a set of keys "if you need something, you text me or kyle in advance and you use the damn door."

something something simon riley shirtless and working on his bike in the sun.

you, in a folding chair with a canned cocktail in one hand and a ciggie in the other, watching the muscles in his back work as he moves. pale scars catching the sunlight. sweatpants dangerously low on his hips. a slow smile spreading over your face when you notice the crescent moon shaped indents on his shoulders; evidence of how well he fucked you last night.

edna, the 83 year old next door neighbour, sipping tea in her lounge, slightly disappointed her view is obscured by an overgrown shrub.

something she just happens to mention the next time you and her share a cuppa and a gossip.

she's entirely thrilled to see the next time simon's working on his bike, you've trimmed the leaves back.

you catch her eye through the window and wink.

simon sees the exchange in his peripheral vision. the tips of his ears go red.

So he gets a tutor. He meticulously researches her (she's from Moscow, so he'll learn from someone with Ilya's same accent). She's signed to more NDAs than he can count. She has 10 years of experience, she's certified to teach English and Russian, and she has 4.8 stars on MyTutor.

Shane pays her a frankly concerning amount of money to make house calls. Twice weekly, unless he's on the road, she arrives at his apartment to teach him foundational Russian. She gives him workbooks, Russia cartoon recommendation, podcasts for beginners, etc. He tells her he's learning because his boyfriend is Russian and she outlines a course that focuses on domestic language first (as opposed to travel or business). She even teaches him what she calls a 'culture course' with lessons on Russian music, food, and various traditions.

She's only a few years older than Shane and he actually finds himself looking forward to her visits. At this point, she's the only person other than his parents that knows he has a boyfriend.

About 4 months in, Shane finally feels comfortable enough to ask about what he'd been very excited about learning.

"You want me to teach you how to talk dirty to your boyfriend?" Ekaterina raised an eyebrow.

"Um," Shane blushed. Was this a little too far? Was this inappropriate to ask of a tutor? "Yes? If - If that's okay, I mean."

A slow smirk spread over her face. "This will be fun. Fun for me, now. Fun for you, later."

"I made a list," Shane admitted. He wasn't going to back out now, he put a lot of thought into his list. He turned to it in his Russian notebook and handed it to her.

She scanned over it indifferently. "You will use all this in one night?"

"Yeah, probably. Is it too much?"

"It is good you have a Russian man," Ekaterina said. "They have good stamina. Mostly, anyway."

And while it was a little embarrassing for Ekaterina to correct his pronunciation of please let me suck your cock, it helped that she seemed just as comfortable with that as there is tea on the stove.

Harvey pretends you're high-maintenance. The truth? He's the reason you're high-maintenance.

He notices things before you do. Your favorite perfume running low? Replaced. The designer heels you kept staring at? Delivered. Your preferred coffee? Already ordered.

He keeps a note in his phone with your coffee order, favorite go-to places, preferred salon, clothing sizes, and the exact shade of pink you insist is not the same as the other shade of pink.

"I can buy it myself" is not a sentence Harvey enjoys hearing.

If you're shopping together, he starts the day acting annoyed and ends it carrying every bag while you hold your coffee.

He absolutely complains the entire time.

"Sweetheart, that's the third handbag."

"Fourth."

"That's not helping your case."

You never open a car door when Harvey is around. He simply appears and opens it first.

Expensive date nights are effortless to him. The reservations are made, the table is perfect, and somehow your favorite wine is already waiting.

Harvey loves seeing you dressed up. Not because of what anyone else thinks, because he knows how confident you feel.

If someone gives you bad service, Harvey becomes terrifyingly polite.

"Would you like to try that again?"

He acts inconvenienced whenever you drag him into a luxury boutique.

The sales associates know better than to believe him.

Because thirty minutes later he's saying things like:

"Get both colors."

He keeps a spare hair tie in his desk drawer.

Donna found it once.

Harvey denied everything.

Donna laughed for ten minutes.

He'll sit through your nail appointments without complaint if it means spending time with you.

The first time he accompanied you, every woman in the salon stared at him.

Harvey noticed.

Harvey enjoyed it.

You casually ask for things.

"That necklace is pretty."

Harvey immediately knows he's about to lose money.

His favorite version of you is when you're excited.

That's the reason he spoils you.

He'll never admit that part out loud.

If someone asks who's in charge of the relationship, Harvey says:

"Me."

Then you look at him.

Harvey immediately corrects himself.

"...We're done discussing this."

Mike, Donna, and Louis know exactly who's really in charge.

Harvey knows too.

He just happens to like it that way.

Because at the end of the day, Harvey can have anything he wants.

So what if this is the first picture Ilya frames from their wedding????

So what if this photo makes him tear up???????

It started off with Johnny noticing how Simon’s gaze often lingered on you, the newest truck loader.

Then he blabbered it off to the entire team. So yeah— Simon may have banged his head against the wall in his quarters and slept that night thinking about choking Johnny.

But here he was, after a long day of being convinced to talk to you.

You had just finished unloading the last truck of the day and what better time to talk to you than now?

“You gotta be confident and bold with your words, L.T.” Kyle’s words.

“No, you have t’ be funny. Make ‘em laugh.” Johnny’s words.

“If all things fail, just ask ‘em for coffee.” John’s words.

Simon took in a deep breath and smiled (the best he could. He doesn’t smile often). You didn’t even catch it either; he was wearing his damn balaclava. “You just started working, yeah?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his vest. Confident, check.

You took off your gloves and patted your sweaty forehead with your arm, “mhm! About two-ish months ago,” you tell the older man, giving him a polite smile.

A quiet hum fell from Simon’s lips as he rocks on his heels a bit, “Once saw y’ trippin’ over a box,” Simon says bluntly. Funny, check.

You stared at him, blinking twice and half expecting him to finish his sentence.

He didn’t.

Instead, the two of you had a staring contest while Simon’s face burned behind the balaclava.

“You can trip on me,” Simon suddenly adds. Funny and bold… check?

Your brows knitted a bit, “what…?” you ask with an awkward laugh.

Fuck.

This wasn’t going how he imagined it to go. He imagined him coolly leaning against a wall or something while complimenting you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Do you have coffee?” Simon changes the topic, his entire face blowing up with steam.

Off to the side, John stared at his teammate with a heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. “Bloody idiot asked for coffee,” he mumbles.

Kyle shrugs a bit, “T’ be fair, you did say to ask for coffee,” he says, defending his lieutenant.

Vs

You, who’s known the entire time. You, who’s done more than know. You, who’s been bribing, blackmailing, and occasionally outright paying women to sleep with him since the first girl. Not to boost his ego. God, no. You’re simply keeping the old bastard happy and unsuspecting until retirement.

AYESHA HARRIS as DR. PARKER ELLIS