#butcher!simon

Butcher!Simon stands imposingly at the whirring band saw, cutting up some poor animal he had the pleasure of slaughtering earlier, making sure to keep a good portion of fat on the chucks of meat, and keeping an eye out to make a few leaner slabs too.

His everyday was monotonous. Wake up, drink a cuppa, open up the shop, sell meat, close up the shop, have a shower sometimes, a quick wank, and before letting his head hit the pillow again at night, ready to do it all again the next day.

But he never complained, no, in fact, he liked the repetition. Found comfort in the practiced moves. Even enjoyed living the same day over and over again, as if it wouldn't drive a normal person crazy.

That was, until you decided to walk into his shop. He swore that he could see the faint halo of pure light around your head. Was it already time for him to meet the big man? Surely he'd be meeting someone with two horns and a tail, no?

You, who walked in with a smile, peering into his glass, somewhat dirty, display case as if searching for a sweet treat. Something sugary to rot your delicate little teeth on. He felt his heart squeeze as you look up at him, pointing to some no-good cut of meat with little fat, that he reserved for bastards that had enough stupidity to tick him off after a long shift.

That wouldn't do.

Simon tutted and sighed 'dunno know yer meats from the shit cuts?'

Simon sliced you up a prime rack of lamb ribs, making sure to wrap it well in the tinted butcher paper, all whilst discreetly eyeing you up, his eyes travelling over the smooth expanse of the little visible skin you had on show. Handed you the package and had you pay a fraction of the true price of the meat.

Sent you on your way with a rosemary and garlic rub, as well as a meat thermometer, telling you exactly how to cook up the ribs, wanting, no, needing you to enjoy the ribs you had bought from him. From his shop.

He watched as you turned to him as you left, smiling brightly as you bid him farewell, promising to stop by soon and tell him how the lamb ribs turned out!

Until next time, little lamb, he thought to himself, cleaning off his meat cleaver.

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- Butcher!Simon who was having the slowest day until you walked in. The jingle of the door bell brought his eyes to your pretty frame stepping in his shop

- Butcher!Simon who watched you a little too intently as you looked at each cut of meat in his display case.

- Butcher!Simon who raised his eyebrows in amusement when you pointed and asked so sweetly for “that one”.

- Butcher!Simon who had to hold in a genuine laugh when he asked you “Tri tip or flank” to which you responded with “yes” and the cutest look on your face

- Butcher!Simon who had to grab onto his apron to ground himself when he said “I gave you two options sweet’art” and you blushed so embarrassed looking at him with the sweetest innocent eyes.

- Butcher!Simon who asked “you ever been in a butcher shop before” and when you shook your head no he did let out a laugh. “Talk to me sweet’art. What’re you making and then I can get ya what ya need.”

- Butcher!Simon who listened so intently when you described the meal you wanted to make, hoping to impress your boss and his wife.

- Butcher!Simon who went into the back to get you his best cut and wrote down instructions on how to cook it.

- Butcher!Simon who’s heart swelled up when you walked in the next day so excited to tell him that it went well and to thank him for

You don't know him, you think, not really.

You've seen him a couple times behind the counter - large man in an apron, blond hair buzzed too short to his skull, surgical mask on his face and in the cool air of the butchery, it almost feels like you are the meat on his counter.

Stupid thought, really, probably because you haven't been resting much lately and maybe, because running from your child's father across the country is draining you of energy, money and hours of sleep.

'What can I get you?' He asks, voice vibrating through the space between the two of you invisible strings getting stroked because you have to crane your neck to look up at him, because his eyes don't blink at you as he stares, because you don't know how to ask for what you want and what do you even need- You shake your head, stepping to the side, pretending you are still looking at the display, letting the impatient man behind you step forward so that the line can finally get moving and butcher's head tilts to the side.

Not even surprised, for some reason.

Your pride and joy sleeps on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your neck - little boy with your eyes and your nose, his hair tickling your nose when you turn your head to breathe him in, trying to calm down.

His gp has already told you that he needs to eat more meat, but apple never falls far away from the tree - a picky eater has another picky eater, because your chid positively despises red meat, refuses any duck or lamb, spits out ground meat, whining about texture and doesn't take to fish kindly either.

And money's tight this month, you chew on your lower lip, fingers wooden with anxiety coarsing through your body like electrical current.

Buzzes in your arms, already aching because your 3-year old is a growing boy, and maybe you aren't getting stronger to hold him up for hours like before when he was an infant and you could pretend you can still carry him under your heart. Keeping him safe.

"What can I get you, luv?" The low voice slithers through your stupor, so you'd look up from the display and see that the large man from before is bracing his arms on the counter, leaning forward. "Been starin' for a while. What's the plan for dinner?" He asks, and you don't know how to push down the animal's urge to back off from him immediately.

The butcher's eyes are dark and round, almost soft when his gazse is anything but.

'Cow's eyes', you think, swallowing a smile because you don't need no trouble and don't want to smile at another man to give him some bloody reason to get closer. 'If cow was a butcher, that is.'

"I'm not...sure." You say quietly, keeping your voice low and he hums, apparently not planning to pull back. "He uh...doesn't like meat much. But I need him to eat a little of it, something...just- just don't know what to try." Your lower lip wobbles and fuck, this is humiliating. But the month have been so rough and so long and you are so so tired.

"Okay." The man nods slowly, tilting his head to the right shoulder, eyes the bottomless well that you cannot get out of, thick stone of it muffling any screams. "Lad eat anythin' from meat or nothin' at all?" He clarifies, keeping his voice quiet and gratitude blooms in your chest for this small consideration.

"Uh, yeah, he..." you nod quickly, wiping tears on your shoulder hastily. "Likes chicken nuggets sometimes. In the shape of dinosaurs." You explain and the man makes a sound only adjacent to chuckle.

"Got decent chicken fillet this mornin'. Fresh." He proposes, nodding at the neatly arranged pale pink of chicken on your left. "Can coat breadcrumbs and bake 'em in the oven till golden. Should taste like nuggets."

It is so simple, so bloody easy but you have no energy to feel embarassed that you did not think of it yourself.

"I'll take two." You swallow the small shudder, because you cannot allow it while your boy's asleep. Can't risk waking him up.

"Four quid." The man nods, starting to move immediately, picking out the meat to wrap up for you and you fumble for your wallet, trying to get it out of the pocket without needing to set your child down.

The butcher huffs out air, but when you glance up at him, he is looking down on the meat he is packing for you. The only give away of his mood - eyes crinkled in the corners.

Is he smiling?

"Here you go, luv." He takes the money from you and passes you the wrapped up meat. "Let me know how it goes with the chicken." The butcher adds, not requesting but telling and you nod automatically, too glad to get it over with.

He is weird, you think. Weird, but he was nice and that's much more than you were getting in the last couple months.

Only back at your apartment when you get dinner ready, you realise something. The butcher didn't pack you two fillets. He packed four.

When you step into his shop few days later, your toddler, holding onto the bag of groceries you have in hand. "Helpin', mum" as he said to you, determined to do just that.

The bell dings above your head and the butcher emerges out of the backroom, his whole massive frame moving too quietly for someone of his size.

When he sees you and your boy, something changes in his eyes, almost eager. Anticipatory of something, when he gives you a short nod and circles the counter, leaning on it again, this time by the register, so he can see you proper.

So there is no glass between you two.

You open your mouth to greet him, only to pause realising that you don't know his name. Bloody hell, you didn't even ask it last time.

"Simon." He chimes in helpfully, eyes crinkling when you quickly nod. He is definitely smiling.

"Thank you for the last time, Simon." You smile, wide and relieved, reaching for your wallet. "But you've given us more accidentally. How much do I owe you for the extra two fillets we got last time?"

He makes a low humming sound, something satisfied passing through his eyes when he turns his head from side to side, slowly shaking it.

"Not accidental. On the house, luv." He says, glancing down at your toddler, tilting his head to the other shoulder when your son just stares up at him back. "Y'like the chicken?" Simon asks, casual and curious, not moving any closer but your baby quickly nods. Stands on his tippy toes to reach for the counter.

Breathes out 'thank u', a little shy in the face of a new person met and when you glance at Simon, his heavy shoulders sag down, dark eyes warm in a way you didn't expect.

"No problem." He says back to your son and glances back at you. "Same today, luv?"

"Uh...yeah, yeah, please." You snap out of your daze quickly and he nods, pushing himself up, suddenly towering over you. "Seems like we hit out jackpot with oven-baked chicken."

Fuck, you did not realise he will be even bigger up close.

"Breast's better today." Simon announces casually, not even looking up at you as he packs it for you just as quickly as the last time. "Same price as last time."

You are pretty sure that it should not be the same, but the big butcher sends you one glance and you promtly shut your jaws closed.

You will still be paying for the meat, so maybe it's okay if he wants to be kind to someone.

"Thank you, Simon." You tilt your head, mirroring his usual gesture without even realising when you take chicken from him. "Love, tell Simon 'bye-bye', we are leaving." You glance down at your child, currently watching Simon with rapt attention, clearly not planning to leave.

Simon huffs out 'g'bye', very obviously amused and says that he will see you later.

You don't question it. Not until you run into him in the grocery store. Then at the bakery.

Simon tilts his big head to the shoulder every time, large and tall, thick thighs wrapped in jeans that should be bursting at the seams by the looks of it.

Simon huffs 'hey, lad' at your son and breathes out 'mornin', love.", purrs 'evenin', luv' and practically savours the surprise on your face when you run into him in your apartment building when he tilts his head at you in the elevator and hold it so you can get in.

Smiles behind his surgical mask when you glance up at him and your throat bobs.

Not good for you and your kid to be all on your own. He could fix it for you, you know.

Simon nods goodbyes to you, says 'see you soon' instead of simple 'bye' and has the pleasure to watch the jump of your pulse at the base of your neck, breathing hitching.

Yeah, perhaps he should. Simon checked, there is no one with you and the laddie you haul on your hip everywhere.

You could use a hand and won't you look at that, Simon had two.

digs through your dirty washing so he can sniff your panties and put them in his pocket as a part gift. pulls the covers off you so he can gently touch the exposed skin on your legs and arms

leans in real close to your lips so he can kiss you but poor guy just gets so nervous he can’t do it :( he likes you so much which is why he leaves you gifts in your fridge. cuts of meat you don’t even remember buying

maybe the severed fingers of the guy you went on a date with the other night and randomly stopped messaging you

Reader who could have a chihuahua, labrador, or great dane and still be treating them each like kings, regadress of size. Her dog, Riley, is an irish setter and the prettiest girl ever. Reader firmly believes that the diet she feeds her is the reason why her coat is so shiny and silky.

So when she moves to a new town, she has to find a new butcher that's willing to give her the cheap pieces that couldn't sell. The one in her last city was a kind woman who also had a dog and understood. She always put her scraps together for Reader every couple nights.

So she has three options, a commercial butcher company, a mom and pop shop, and another simple one located beside a deli and bakery.

The last one is the closest, and she knew she could use the bakery pretty often as well. So it was settled. On thursday evening she walked into the shop, maybe twenty five minutes from closing.

The butcher wasnt infront of the counter when she walked in, so she looked around to see what his selling meat looked like. A couple of minutes later, Simon clears his throat to get her attention.

"O-oh Hello!"

The man was huge. Like a bodybuilder wearing an apron covered in blood. He was sorta scary, and she was very much regretting choosing this shop.

"Uhm. Im not sure if you'll have what i need, actually. Thanks!!" She tries to cover her ass and walk away, but the butcher laughs loudly.

"Well, you've got to tell me what you need, birdie." His voice was deep and raspy, gruff like he didn't use it much. "Got lotsa stuff in the back i keep for my... special customers"

She would blush and turn back around, nervously walking back to the counter. "Uh i just moved here, from wales, so i needed a new regular butcher because i have a generally weird request." Ramble ramble ramble.

Simon would raise his brow and look inpatient at first but got a smirk on his face after he realized how nervous she was.

"Spit it out, birdie."

"I uh, I need some scrap meats for my dog. She gets fed completely human food, and i need to have a place i can go to regularly to rely on."

It wasn't even the weirdest request he's gotten before. He's been asked if he could cook the meat for people or if he sold carcasses, so scraps for your dog? That's nothing.

"Easy peasy love. Let me get some things together for you." And she just beamed at him, all the anxiety running away from her body in favor of graditude.

He'd ask her what her puppies' favorite meats were as he was grabbing selling containers. She'd tell him that Riley wasn't fussy, as long as she got her meat. And Simon froze.

"Riley, huh?" He'd laugh. "Me and your girl got matching names" and she'd crack a smile. He wasnt so scary after all.

After a few minutes of Simon being in his back room, he came back with four containers of chopped meat. Each container had a title on it like 'beef: tounge, heart' 'organs: liver, kidney,' etc.

"Thank you so much. This will be perfect. How much do i owe you?" Simon smirked.

think I'm going to make this a series, this part ends a little angsty though. part one

You've been living with Simon for two weeks now and things have started changing with him. You make all his meals now, you can't stand to see him eating the terrible, small, prepackaged foods every night, you even tried to teach him how to cook which was an even bigger mess than you thought it could be. You wanted to start with something simple so you tried to get him to make spaghetti, everything was fine at first but you left once and when you came back the pasta was on fire and he put the pasta sauce in the microwave which then exploded making a giant mess, so you gave up any hope for him cooking from then on. 

On a happier note though, he’ll eat his food before you now, and he takes his mask fully off at dinner, you've also noticed some mornings he leaves it off for a little longer. He still rarely talks but sometimes you think he asks you things just to hear you talk, you've even noticed him following you around the house, he'll just stand in the doorway staring at you, after a bit he'll either leave or find a place to sit. But imagine your surprise when he decided he was gonna follow you as you run errands, he simply replied “jus’ keepin ya safe” when you tried to object. 

So here you are going down your list getting everything you need with a giant hulking shadow following around, you have to admit though you do feel safer knowing no one will even try coming up to you with Simon glaring at them behind you. Last thing on your list is meat, so you both head over to the butcher shop. You're looking around before Simon pulls you back “wha- Simon what is your problem?” “My problem is this store. Everything is overpriced, half the meat is cut with the grain not against it, and the other half is bad, we're not buying meat from ‘ere” he said plain as can be before walking out expecting you to follow, which you did cause you were still in shock you hadn’t heard him talk that much ever. 

But right as you got to the door an employee called out to you. “Welcome in, how can i help you” you stopped walking and turned around to answer him, but simon cut you off “don’ need your help, all your meats are bad” you immediately tried smoothing out the situation “n-no what he's trying to say is-” but the man behind the counter cut you off “you have no idea what your talking, these meats are the best in town, you know nothing about meat” he said coming around the counter “half ya meat is literally turning brown, worked at a butcher shop for two years, so ya i do know” simon replied getting in between you and the man “are we going have a problem, Simon?” That was the wrong thing to say, Simon immediately jumped forward slicing through the tension as he grabbed the man's collar lifting him off the ground. You were trying to get Simon to let the man down, but Simon wasn’t responding to you. You watched simon lean forward closer to the man “don’ talk to me like that if ya like breethin” 

that was it “simon enough” you pulled him away from the man, who was now flat on the floor, pulling Simon straight to the car. “Simon you can't threaten people, I get you were a lieutenant for years but here you're just a normal person, do you understand?”but when you looked at Simon he didn’t look well. “Simon, are you okay?” “y-yeah, let's go home, ya?” something was off but you just went home knowing he wasn't going to tell you.

Simon was off for the rest of the day, he refused lunch and stayed completely quiet in his room all day, now it’s dinner and he hasn't even picked up his fork “Simon, you need to eat” “price will bring all the meat you need later tonight” “Simon eat” you said plain and firm not letting him distract you, slowly he lifted his shaking hand as he grabbed his fork and tried to eat food but his hand kept shaking worse and worse, immediately you were up and standing by his side “Simon are you okay” you grabbed his hand feeling and examining it, then you felt him gently tug your shirt with his other hand “I can't feel my right side, I-it hurts”

he keeps leaving lumps of meat on your doorstep, slowly moving away from the prime cuts to the offal. now you open your door to twisted intestine still attached to some poor creature's stomach, and feel your own churn with fear. the bloodied note he's pinned to the gorey flesh reads "don't waste it" in scrawled brown ink.

you pull on rubber gloves with shaking hands and gather the viscera from your porch, careful to kick the door shut behind you. it's blended into a slurry quickly, pink and red ground down to a fine sludge that you pour around the roots of the rose bush in your garden. you'd read somewhere once that blood is good for plants, and the last time you'd pitched simon's gift you'd received a worse one the next day.