#tastyfics

Content warning: Johnny being misogynistic. Mentions of the world cup in the US. Male perseverance which could be triggering/annoying to some.

’Tis a bit of a rough one for me, BUT how else does one expect to improve their writing if not through…writing. Sigh.

You’d heard the saying: “When a man knows, he knows.” But you’d never seen it in real life. At least, not until the World Cup came to the US…Not until you’d met him.

The day started out as planned. You met up with your friends early on, spent a few hours walking around downtown where most of the festivities were, and then dispersed around midday, leaving you to explore on your own.

That’s when you saw him. He was rather large. That was the first thing you noticed. The top of his blonde head peaking out amongst the sea of people. The second were his eyes. Dark—even from a distance—and large like the rest of him. Round in the way you found appealing, but not exactly soft as one typically associated with that shape. No. There was still an edge to them.

You glanced away before you got caught and walked off, unaware that you had already been caught—noticed long before this moment. Unbeknownst to you, Simon Riley was already interested.

He had seen you earlier when you were with your friends, laughing at something they said in a way that he stereotyped as very American: loud, unapologetic, and a bit uncaring about your surroundings. Nevertheless, he was intrigued. Felt himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. How could he? He hadn’t the faintest idea who you were. But he knew he wanted to know.

You were on your own now. Aimlessly wandering the streets yet still looking determined. He wasn’t sure of what, but he was determined to find out.

You didn’t expect to cross paths with him again. But you did. Or rather, he stopped in your path and you accidentally walked into him.

Up close, his eyes were a warm brown. Like coffee with a tablespoon of milk.

“Sorry.” The first word you said to him.

Taking in your worried expression for a man like him, he knew right then. As the saying goes: “When a man knows, he knows.” Even if you didn’t yet.

You learned he was visiting to support his team with two friends from the UK—Johnny and Kyle. You liked Kyle. How could you not? He was the very embodiment of charisma. Truthfully, Johnny was a bit much for you. A flirt by nature with hedonistic tendencies who tried one too many times to make an advance on you. But Simon…

There was something about the way he watched you intently as you spoke, leaning his head in slightly as if not to miss a single syllable you uttered. His presence at your back in crowds as the group moved from spot to spot. The usual overwhelm you felt in crowds subdued completely. The way he shortened his steps when the crowds cleared to remain by your side when Johnny and Kyle sped ahead.

Something about him…

You weren’t sure why you had agreed to tag along with them. You could’ve left it at giving them directions to the sports bar they were looking for and parted ways. You had declined when Johnny insisted in that flirtatious manner of his and even resisted the charms of Kyle. But when Simon looked at you with the tiniest ounce of hope in his eyes, you caved. Figured you could spare a few hours.

After all, what’s a few more hours of fun?

What followed was the better half of the afternoon spent hanging out with this group. While Simon didn’t say much to you—or anyone else for that matter—you realized he was an excellent listener. He waited patiently for you to complete your sentences. Eyes locked on yours in what felt like polite undivided attention to you, but was really internal planning of future affairs for him. How could he ensure seeing you again? He had to.

You were witty, smart, and tough—holding your own when Johnny got a bit too flirty. You were it.

Things were going well until it was time to go.

“‘Ey bon, you coming back to ours?” Johnny asked, his eyes a bit hazy from one glass too many. This man was already on thin ice with you after the stunt he tried to pull earlier.

Your smile was tight—irritation thinly veiled.

“One woman heading back to some undisclosed location with a group of men? Hardly seems wise.” You took the ‘joking’ approach: softening the blow to give him a chance to bow out gracefully.

Kyle nodded as if he understood. Simon was too busy mustering up the courage to ask for your number. But not Johnny. Foolish, drunk Johnny. Your smile dropped slightly. Accept the decline, Johnny. Don’t make this bigger than it has to be.

”Oh come oan. Spent the whole night chattin’ with nothing to show for it?” He smiled lazily again, but you saw something else in his eyes. Frustration bordering on annoyance.

“Do you feel entitled to something because we had a conversation?” The attitude you often kept at bay, started to surface. No sign of a smile anymore.

”Well if I knew you weren’t goin’ tae put out, I wouldnae bothered.” He said it as if it was a joke as he looked towards his mates, neither of whom were laughing along with him. Kyle was sending him unsubtle warning looks. Simon looked absolutely menacing. Coffee eyes now iced.

”Johnny.” Simon’s voice was low. Dangerous.

The Scot just sighed heavily and put his hands up in surrender. “Alrigh’ alrigh’. Jus’ saying wha’ we’re all thinkin’. Though’ American girls liked a bi’ o’ rough.”

You snatched your bag from the table and walked off, whipping your phone out to call a ride. Any patience or semblance of kindness completely evaporated.

…

You made it to the lamppost, turning back when you heard footsteps behind you. It better not be Johnny’s disrespectful ass.

“Oh.” Your shoulders dropped slightly. “It’s you. What do you want?”

Simon stopped a few feet away from you—mindful of maintaining a respectful distance, but not willing to let you go all the same. Not when he knows.

“Wanted to apologize. On be’alf of Johnny. ‘e shouldn’ta said tha’.”

You rolled your eyes. “He said what he meant. And he doesn’t need you apologizing for him.”

He grimaced a little. “Still. ‘e was a shite for tha’.”

You crossed your arms. “He’s your friend.”

Simon didn’t say anything to that. Just pursed his lips slightly. You weren’t wrong.

“Can I make it up to you?” Can I see you again? If only just to exist alongside you once again?

”No.”

”No?” He looked slightly disappointed then—the most expression you had seen all day. His eyes were a bit wider than usual, bottom lip slightly separated from the top.

”No.” you pushed your chin up slightly. “I believe people are reflections of the company they keep. You didn’t say shit when he was speaking out of turn to me, but now that he’s not here, you want to say something? No. Goodbye.”

You turned 90 degrees, giving him your side profile. Your signal that you were no longer interested in speaking with him.

Simon stood there—his mind running a mile a minute. He needed to see you again. You were it. He could feel it. He was not going to let this opportunity pass.

“Please.” It slipped out before he could stop it. He should’ve been a decent man. He should’ve respected your answer. But there was something about you. About the way you commanded space, stood your ground, shot him down without hesitancy. It stirred something in him. Something about the way you looked at him in all of his scarred glory with concern instead of judgment when you first spoke to him to apologize.

You turned your head to look at him. What was this new expression? It hinted at…desperation? The irrational look of a man who was watching his potential life slip through his grasp.

“A phone number. Anything. I…Please. I have to see you again.”

”I’m not giving you my number.” It briefly crossed our mind that this could’ve been a little bet. Simon racing out to prove to Johnny that he knew the way to the American woman’s heart better than he did. Something they could laugh about together in whatever hotel they reserved for this trip. Your pride would never allow it.

His fingers clenched and unclenched at his side. He was grasping at straws so desperately, his body couldn’t help but carry out the motion.

Your ride arrived. You stared at him for a minute before pressing your lips together.

“Sorry.” The last words you planned on ever saying to him. How cyclical.

You turned to open the door when Simon’s voice stopped you again.

“[+]. Please.”

You really looked at him then. Took in the disheveled jacket that was pulled on in his rush to leave the bar after you. The hint of panic in his eyes juxtaposed with the determined set of his jaw. You thought for a moment. The ball was in your court. Simon had shown all his cards—laid down his pride. You could leave right now and that would be it, or…

This could either be the best decision or the worst one…

”I’ll be here tomorrow at 3.” You said before you can stop yourself, slipping into the car and shutting the door quickly. So quickly, you failed to notice Simon Riley with the biggest grin on his face.

Who cares if the only tickets he actually bought were for the 3pm match tomorrow? It was a date.

I didn’t see this!!! :’0 ty ty ty !!

best friend!simon riley x reader who doesn’t quite get it…

———

Being best friends with Simon meant you never had to worry about finding a seat when you arrived at group functions. Without fail, there was always a space next to Simon. It got to the point where your other friends knew better than to even ask if the seat next him was free. But he was just being a good friend, right? Good friends make you feel included. That must be it.

This time was no different.

The bell above the door to the cafe jingled as you entered the establishment. The warmth hit you first, the smell of coffee second, and the anticipation from seeing Simon, your best friend, completed this trio of senses. Breathe. You’re friends. Don’t ruin this by making it weird.

“Bon!” The sound of Johnny’s voice broke through your mantra. Your eyes found his as he waved you over to the table. Smile. Be normal. DO NOT look at the back of Simon’s head. DO NOT imagine yourself running your fingers through his blond strands again. It’s not healthy.

You quickly averted your eyes at the first sign of Simon turning around, your heart practically leaping into your throat. You could feel his heavy gaze as you approached. Keep your eyes firmly locked on Johnny’s.

The Scot—ever affectionate—pulled you into a bear hug before squeezing back into the booth next to Kyle and his girlfriend. Both offered you a warm smile despite being squished by Soap.

“You lot look cozy,” you teased, doing anything to delay acknowledging the other side of the booth—nerves not yet ready.

”Blame ‘im.” Johnny grumbled gesturing towards Simon who hadn’t taken his eyes off you, ever patient for his turn for your attention. There was no more delaying it. You peeked in his direction meeting his eyes as Johnny continued complaining in the background.

“Richt bastard. Wouldnae let me sit doon. Said ‘e was savin’ it for ya.”

Simon said nothing, just watched your reaction. He was allowing himself to be relaxed in the booth, aiming to appear casual as he leaned back, knees spread and arm slung across the back of the booth. That was friendly, right? Of course it was. Relax.

You willed yourself to slide into the booth like your mind wasn’t running a mile a minute with thoughts that were detrimental to friendship. Sit. Scooch. But not too close. Well…maybe close enough to smell him. In a casual way of course.

And smell him you did. The heady, intoxicating combination of woods and smoke with undertones of metal did very little to ease your anxiety. Quite the opposite.

Even at a respectful distance, you could still feel his body heat. Could still sense a solidness to the presence next to you. Something sturdy and strong. Something to lean into or wrap around on a winter night.

As always, Simon was a furnace. Simply sitting next to him increased the temperature a few degrees—not that you were complaining as the weather got colder. Times like these, restraint from crossing the line felt more difficult.

Chatter from the group continued all around you. This was a typical outing with your friends which usually brought you peace. But not tonight. All thanks to the one friend in particular who started feeling less and less like a friend in your mind. And no doubt, in your mind only.

The other side of the booth was wrapped up in an intense debate about something you lost track of a while back. You dared to spare a glance at Simon. As if feeling your attention immediately, his eyes slid to yours, slightly questioning.

“Thanks for saving me a seat, Si.” This was his favorite part unbeknownst to you who couldn’t see anything past your own insecurities. He saved you a seat, you smiled at him sweetly in appreciation, and he got to be close to you for a few hours. All under the guise of being a good ‘friend.’

Simon shifted slightly under the pretense of hearing you better. His thigh lightly bumped into yours and like a perfectly inelastic collision, remained in contact after he settled.

If you were warm before, you were on fire now. Your knees were touching. Hell, your thighs were touching. You didn’t want to read too deeply into this, but this seemed to be happening a lot more recently. Most probable reason for tonight’s occurrence: he was cold. It was winter after all.

“S’no trouble, love.” Love??? No wait. Calm down. If Soap can call you ‘Bon’ and still be your friend, Simon could call you ‘love’ and feel the same. It’s just British people being British, right?

Simon seemed to be watching your internal monologue play out, the corner of his mouth slightly quirked up.

You zeroed in on it immediately. “What’s so funny?”

Simon shrugged lazily in response. “I can’t jus’ be chuffed ta see ya?” His deep voice was laced with teasing, but his eyes held a startling sincerity.

Your eyes darted across his features over analyzing at hyperspeed. Pupils blown: most likely from the low lighting of the cafe. Ears tinged pink: probably from the cold weather. Nevermind he’d now been indoors for a solid hour. If his legs were cold and seeking warmth from yours, no doubt his ears could still be cold too.

Simon waited for you to draw your conclusions wondering if you would actually be correct this time. You decided to get a confirmation—gather more data. A choice that was normal for you, cute to him. Not that you’d let yourself entertain such an idea.

“You are?” Your voice was hesitant, eyes searching his.

”Said so, didn’ I?” His deep brown eyes searched yours right back. His voice was steady. Cue intense stomach flipflopping. He was happy to see you…No big deal. Friends are happy to see each other all the time. Of course he’s happy to see you.

“I’m happy to see you too.” Said as a friend, meant as something else.

“Didn’t seem like it earlier,” he huffed. “Could barely look at me.” He was being a bit unkind in his teasing and he relished in the fact. He knew why you couldn’t look at him. Same reason why he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was just biding his time.

The back of your neck felt painfully hot as he called you out. It took everything in you to maintain eye contact and play it off.

“You paying that much attention to me?” You joked.

”Yes.” No hesitation. Simon tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Not exactly wot mates do, is it?”

Your eyes widened on instinct—mouth opened to verbalize anything your brain could conjure up in that moment of confusion. Blank.

Someone asked Simon a question. He kept his eyes on you for a few long moments before lazily sliding them in the direction of the other booth.

…him overthinking what to text you before the date. Just feels different now. Leading to lots of typing bubbles appearing, disappearing, reappearing and—after lots of internal debating—the occasional nervous ‘:-)’ tacked on at the end of a message.

🍿

…being picked up in his truck that smells like him: woodsy, smoky, slightly metallic. Simon opening the door for you.

🍿

…more of him brushing/styling his hair and you calling it out.

‘You did that thing with your hair again.’

’You said it was nice.’

’It is. Then again you always look nice to me.’

Cue feigned nonchalance betrayed by red ass ears.

🍿

…him smuggling shit in your purse with a, ‘C’mon love. It’ll fit. Just gotta push in a bit more,’ as he squeezes your favorite snacks he picked up beforehand in your bag. You, purposefully ignoring the obvious sexual innuendo much to his amusement.

🍿

…ongoing best friend activity as you wait for popcorn. Simon standing right behind you and looking at the top of your head.

‘You’re balding.’

You immediately covering your head. ‘No, the fuck I’m not. You’re balding.’

Him chuckling that dry ass ‘heh heh heh’—smartass reply on his tongue. ‘Can’t be. Gaz has me on some rosemary shit.’

🍿

…him insisting you only need one ICEE and one straw because it’s so much sugar, and he isn’t going to have any. Also him, proceeding to drink more than half—denying it all as if his tongue wasn’t fucking blue.

🍿

…sharing a bucket of popcorn with hands occasionally touching, his eyes on you each time to monitor your reaction. Neither of you pulling away.

🍿

…lots of him staring at you. Simon looking back at the screen when you catch him at first before just holding your eye contact whenever you catch him next; accepting that he didn’t come to watch the film (he doesn’t even like romances—so he claims). He came to watch you watch the film.

🍿

…you forcing him to sit in the aisle so he can stretch his long legs, even if it means you’re off center from the screen.

🍿

…his and your knees touching because he takes up so much space. Him brushing off your concerned gaze and attempt to reposition with an, ‘‘M fine.’ Followed by an even quieter, ‘don’t mind it with you.’

🍿

…Simon actually getting into the plot, complaining about dumb choices the characters make. Mumbling, ‘I’d never do that to ya’—eyes fixed on the screen.

🍿

…you gasping and sitting up at the plot twist, your hand finding his knee instinctively. Your eyes on the screen; his eyes on that hand of yours—or rather, more importantly—that hand of yours on that knee of his. Cue more red ass ears and gratitude for a dark location.

🍿

…Simon glancing at you out of the corner of his eye when the main love interests are making out on screen. Mind running through different scenarios. Imagining. Hips shifting in the seat. Popcorn bucket suddenly in his lap and not yours. And yes…red ass ears.

🍿

…him stretching his arms up afterward to reveal that delicious sliver of skin at his hips and chuckling smugly when he catches you staring. ‘You can look. We’re datin’ now.’

‘We’re on a date. Not dating.’

‘Same thing.’

Cue a sassy look from you because you can’t help it. Countered with a simple shrug from Simon. ‘Yer wit me now. Ain’t gonna let ye go.’

——————

Different formatting here bc I just write however I feel motivated to :)

cw: dark/morbid joke (that I found on the internet…oof. sorry) delivered by best friend!Simon, use of y/n once, rando character who is not apart of tf141 included briefly.

—————

”How did you not find that funny?” You asked in astonishment. Your eyes were locked onto your best friend’s as your laughter at Kyle and your coworker—Mira’s—shenanigans died down.

“‘M not immature,” Simon answered gruffly. The slight upward turn of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

You pursed your lips in response and shot him a playful glare, grumbling under your breath. “More like you lack a sense of humor…”

Simon leaned forward, forearms on the table as he stared into your soul. “What was tha’ ‘bout my sense of humor?” He challenged, the conversations of your other friends fading into the background as you zeroed in on him.

”I said,” you started, leaning in to match his energy. “It’s lacking, love.”

He didn’t bother trying to hide his smirk that time. “You like my jokes.” He said it like a statement, fully confident in his ability to make you laugh.

”I don’t.” Liar.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Tha’ right?”

You perked up at the hint of a challenge and leaned even closer. The distinction between his warm brown irises and slightly blown pupils even more clear at this proximity.

“Go on then. Make me laugh.”

At this point, the rest of the table was watching with interest. They were used to the antics of you two. Simon and you had quickly grown close after your introduction to the group a few months back. It was hard to find one of you without the other in a group. Simon going as far as leaving a hangout when he heard you were sick. You both knew you’d do the same for him.

He was locked in on you now, eyes never wavering. ”Alrigh’.” A thoughtful pause. “How do you stop a baby from chokin’?”

“What?” This felt less like the start of a joke and more like the end of a CPR certification exam. But this was Simon you were talking to…There had to be something—

”Let go of its neck.” There was another pause before you heard the deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Heh heh heh.”

The group looked at him in horror. You pretended to also be appalled before the urge to laugh overcame your efforts. It was his delivery and that wheeze of his. Got you every time. You couldn’t help it as you burst out laughing—even harder than before, causing the group to now look at you crazy.

“Y/N!” Kyle protested at your outburst. You tried to cover your mouth to quell your laughter when Simon’s hand shot out to stop you. His grip was firm on your wrist. “Don’t shy away now, love. Let me hear ye.”

You glanced at his large hand on your arm—vision blurred by tears. Your other hand found its way on top of his hand as you unsuccessfully tried to ground yourself and stop laughing. As per usual, Simon’s knuckles were rough under your fingers.

“Dry ass hands,” you managed to wheeze out between laughs. “Nice and warm, but dry as hell.”

Simon just rolled his eyes, still smirking and pleased from making you laugh harder than Gaz and Mira had.

“Don’t you ‘ave tha’ greasy shite wi’ ye?” He huffed out, looking at you expectantly like a properly trained young man used to your lectures on proper skincare.

“It’s not greasy. It’s moisturizing.” You corrected with a smile, using your free hand to dig the lotion out of your bag and apply some to his knuckles. As much as he liked to complain, you had a feeling he secretly enjoyed it. If his half lidded eyes and small grunts of approval had anything to say about it.

“Anyone else want any?” You offered while rubbing it in on his hand—your fingers slipping over his skin and between his fingers until the cream was all worked in.

As if on autopilot, Simon proffered his other hand to you like a good boy. Didn’t even have to ask him to. He definitely enjoyed it.

You pretended not to see it and went to put the lotion away.

“Oi.” Simon looked offended.

You shot him an innocent look. “What?”

“Wot ‘bout my other hand?”

You played dumb. “Oh. My bad, Si. Here. Hold out your other hand, I’ll give you some more and you can rub it in yourself.”

He slid the hand you just moisturized under the table out of sight. “Can’t you do it?”

“Why? Can’t you?”

Simon shot you a look that said ‘quit playing.’ A warning. You almost broke but remained strong and waited for a verbal response.

He sighed. “C’mon love. Don’t wanna do it m’self.”

“Why not?” You responded, pulling another frustrated look from him.

“Like it better when you do it. You know tha’” He stared you down until you took his other hand in yours and did it for him. He had the audacity to grin as you massaged his hand. Content and borderline smug.

”Aye. I’ll take some if it also comes with the massage.” Johnny piped up, holding out his hands. Simon swatted them away.

“Jus’ f’me.”

A teasing smile settled on your lips. Your turn to be content and borderline smug. “Think you’re special or something?”

His eyes held yours intensely as you felt your skin grow warm.

”Tell me ‘m not. I dare you.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, caught all the way off guard as the rest of the table snickered at your facial expression.

He chuckled to himself—a knowing smirk on his face—before flicking your nose, suspiciously affectionate. “S’cute. Like a fish ou’ of water.”

You recovered from being stunned to flip him off before sitting back with an indignant huff.

Simon chuckled again. “Real mature, swee’eart.” The sarcasm was thick.

”Yea well, if you want mature, talk to Kyle.” You quipped back.

Kyle put his hands up in surrender, wanting no part in whatever this was. Simon’s stare didn’t falter from your face. “Never said I wanted it.”

You flicked your eyes back to his, a soft smile on your lips. His eyes briefly darted to clock the action before meeting your eyes again. You spoke up, “Yea?”

Tired of watching best friend!Simon and you pining obliviously, your friends take matters into their own hands at the weekly pub outing.

cw: MDNI! swearing (a healthy amount), pining (probs a bit unhealthy), slight sexual themes (but NOT full on smut), rando coworker character again, use of y/n, a bit lengthy (I was yapping, y’all), and oof…multiple attempts at phonetic dialogue. Yikes. Also, probably unrealistic nervous!simon depiction. And lots of inner thoughts. <3

*She’s a bit rough. Respectfully.*

wc: ~2.4k

How could you tell if your friend actually liked you back?

Were there signs? Or did standard and established routines suddenly seem like signs simply because you wanted them to be?

But.

Are you sure he didn’t look slightly more excited to see you last Friday night? A cruel trick of the light perhaps? More like a cruel twist of the mind. Accept it. Move on. You were his friend.

But…

You sighed, gripping the steering wheel to ground your emotions and silence your thoughts. It was another Friday night at the pub. Another round of self-inflicted pining torture. You parked your car and checked your reflection in the visor mirror.

Could he tell you were putting a little more effort in lately? How would you know if he cared? Lingering stares? Not exactly unusual for him. He always stared. It was just his thing. You were not special. You were friends. Besties.

Accept it. Move on.

The four of your friends were huddled together speaking lowly. Kyle and Mira—your coworker, were on one side of the booth with Johnny and Simon on the other.

Of course he looked good as hell. Delectable in his very well-fitted black t-shirt and a simple pair of jeans. Must he have his tattoos and scars on display? Was he trying to kill you at this point?

But there was also something new. Something slightly different…

His hair. A haircut? No, not quite. But it was different. Less messy. Was it…styled? Was that…product? The directions his hair laid appeared intentional tonight. Much unlike usual, where he seemed to just let the blonde strands behave however they wished.

You allowed yourself to momentarily lean into the delusion that such effort was made for you—imagining him sheepishly approaching Kyle or Johnny for help. His own attempt to impress you. Of course, you’d assure him he was handsome to you either way.

You were playing a dangerous game. Delulu as hell.

A distinct Scottish accent lifted over the rest of the pub chatter as you made your way to the table. ”—Leave it wi’ me.” Johnny was saying.

“Leave what?” You asked curiously, once you got within earshot.

Everyone straightened up when they heard you—spines snapping to attention as if they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Johnny nearly jumped out of his skin. Whatever conversation they were having came to a sudden halt. No one offered an answer. Just sheepish smiles. Hmm…

No. Don’t read into it. Seeing things that weren’t there led to nothing good. Just be normal.

You stopped in front of the table. Cautious. But in a normal way. “Am I interrupting something?”

Kyle, Mira, and Johnny shook their heads quickly—suspiciously. Simon seemed intent on burning a hole into the beer in front of him, his jaw slightly clenched.

“Sorry I’m late.” You ripped your eyes from Simon and his pretty hair and offered a tired smile to the rest of the group. Normal.

Johnny stood up with a smile of his own, waving off your apology. ”’ere lass, ‘ave a seat. Yer lookin’ pure done in ‘n I need a top-up.”

He gestured to the now empty space next to Simon, who was definitely stiffer than usual, before heading to the bar for another round.

At this point, Simon would have at least offered a small smile. A glance in your direction. Something. Instead, his forearms were firmly planted on the table—that poor glass of beer strangled between a pair of pale knuckles.

You slid into the booth slowly, scooching in closer to Simon but careful not to touch him. Respectful. Friendly.

“Hey,” you smiled, addressing him directly. There was a pause. He managed a small nod, his lips pressed tightly together in some sorry semblance of a smile.

You tried again. “Your hair looks nice. Do something new?” This time, a brief glance at the table in front of you and another small nod of his head. Okay…

“Are you ok?” you asked quietly, words only meant for him. Another pause. You could practically see the internal debate in his mind. Please let the side of him that wants to open up win…

Simon’s eyes met yours. But it was a small victory. He was clearly more guarded than usual—his eyes carefully impassive, half-lidded to portray a practiced indifference. But something about them. Maybe it was the way they roamed over your features, seeming to memorize as they went. But why? You weren’t going anywhere. Was he?

And what was with that expression?

Before either of you could say anything, Johnny returned with a new drink. The liquid sloshed dangerously against the rim as he sat on the other side of you and pressed in. “Gie’s a wee bit o’ room, bon.”

”Room where?” You managed to squeak out as you felt your lungs constrict from the sudden pressure on both sides. Johnny was relentless, insisting you could squeeze in tighter. You were insistent you most certainly could not. And Simon…

Simon was…warm. Solid. So tangible in a way you’d never experienced before. Sure, you sat near each other on your couch to watch a movie that one Friday night he found out you were sick and came over. But this was different. You were touching. A lot.

Your heart pounded like it wanted to be freed from your ribcage. Similar to how you wanted to be freed from this sudden emotional onslaught. And Simon. Poor Simon. His eyes were glued to the sight of your thigh against his. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. What was that look? Truly unaffected or a carefully crafted mask?

Stop. Accept it. Move on. You were his friend. You were making things uncomfortable by always looking for more. He was clearly having an off day, and this situation wasn’t helping.

His eyes were on you now. Watching. Analyzing. So intense. So brown.

Be cool. Eye contact is not a sign. Even if it’s sudden. You rolled the inside of your cheek between your teeth and bit down until it hurt. Simon’s gaze followed the action. His eyes briefly settled on your mouth before quickly looking away. He tightened his grip on the glass. What was that? What did that mean?

No. Nothing. Nothing. Don’t make it uncomfortable.

”Give us some space, yea Johnny?” You tried to remedy the situation.

Of course his ass was unhelpful.

“What? I dinnae hear you, hen.” Johnny lied. You knew he was lying.

”I ken you did,” you teased, switching tactics. If asking politely got you nowhere, you knew your use of the Scot’s vocab in your very clearly non-Scottish accent always softened him.

He chuckled as expected, blue eyes sparkling as he opened his mouth to reply.

“I dinnae.” This bitch. With his big ass back.

Johnny pushed in closer with his hand around his ear to ‘hear better’, shoving you even further into the wall that was Simon Riley.

Damn, Johnny. Any closer and you’d basically be in Simon’s damn lap.

You blinked slowly.

You? In his damn lap? Shit. Fuck. Shit. Now was not the time to think about how his thighs would feel under yours. Those strong, thick thighs…Flush. Supportive. Stable…

No. Focus. No thoughts of ass to crotch for you. Fuck. Ass to crotch. As in your ass to your best friend, Simon Riley’s crotch? Shit. No. What the hell is wrong with you? Snap out of it.

Kyle and Mira giggled together across the table in some sort of secret conspiracy huddle. No doubt at your expense.

The audacity of these scheming friends of yours was astounding. You looked over at Simon for support, but his eyes were firmly set on the glass in front of him—lids hooded. His jaw clenched so tightly you could practically hear his molars grinding. The skin of his arm touching the skin of yours.

Oh great…You were making him uncomfortable. You fucking knew it. Simon wasn’t fond of physical touch and here you were: glued to the man—dreaming of sitting on his lap like some sort of nymphomaniac. You needed sedation.

Johnny observed the two of you. A stupid, satisfied smirk on his face. His eyes flickered to Simon’s profile and then to his death grip on the glass—devilish grin widening.

“Alright, Simon?”

Your eyes snapped to Johnny. If looks could kill…Here lied Johnny MacTavish. What kind of stupid ass question was that?

“Johnny, please—“ you started to reason when Simon’s voice halted you.

”’M fine.” His voice was gruff and clipped at the ends, glancing in your direction so briefly, you might’ve imagined it. You probably did. You wanted him to look at you so badly, you were willing to make it up in your head. Accept it. Move on. This had to be polite dishonesty. There was no other possibility.

Look at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. His posture was ramrod straight. His eyes still cast down on the glass. He must be trying to spare your feelings. He didn’t care for you in that way. But he still cared. Of course. You were besties after all.

Kyle’s voice pulled your attention across the table. “See? Simon’s fine.”

But was he actually?

He’s not one to lie, you remind yourself. But he’s also not one to hurt you either. Would he lie to spare your feelings?

Then Mira’s voice. “Yer tellin’ me you don’t like it, y/n? We all know yer type.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Proper big boy.”

You wheezed. Biiiiiiitch.

If you thought Simon was stiff before…It was like the man stopped breathing all together. You couldn’t look at him, and he was glad. Johnny’s laughter confirmed everything he suspected about the state of his ears. Deep red.

The warmth of Simon’s body against yours combined with Mira’s ridiculous, but true, statement sent your head into a dizzy spiral. How were you supposed to respond without giving everything away? ‘You’re so right, Mira. In fact, to prove your point, I just sat here and imagined what it would be like to ride the shit out of his thigh, lol.’ Yea no. That didn’t seem productive towards the friendship agenda.

The group looked at you expectantly. Except for Simon. Poor internally disheveled Simon who was discreetly trying to get his ears under control.

“Tha’ so, y/n? Fancy a big bloke?” Kyle chuckled.

Johnny, who also couldn’t resist giving his unsolicited two cents on the situation, snickered. ”If tha’s what ye like lass, ye shoulda jus’ said. Our Simon ‘ere’s a big boy. Jus’ yer type, aye?”

You were making sounds, sentences started and suddenly halted to create one giant unintelligible mess. An audible representation of your brain being thoroughly fried in real-time. How did we get here?

Simon’s eyes were back on you—searching. No. ‘Searching’ was too polite. The man was drilling holes into the side of your head. Do not engage. No way in hell was now a good time to make eye contact.

Another strangled noise from you. “New topic. Please.”

Your eyes found Mira’s, pleading. You owe me. ‘Proper big boy’, my ass. That was meant to stay between the two of you. Not all five of you.

Mira relented, sighing heavily. Plan A foiled. Time for Plan B. “Kyle and I were talking about going to the cinema this weekend.”

Immediately, your eyes lit up. “I love the movies.” That must’ve been what they were talking about when you arrived. It wasn’t anything bad about you. A weight lifted off your chest. Stop imagining things that aren’t there.

You happily leaned into the distraction. “Actually, I think that one movie I wanted to see just came out. What’s it called again…? The one with the blonde actress. You know…the romance? It just came out.”

You looked at Simon, eyes big and round—trusting he knew what you were talking about like he always did.

“Fuck.” It slipped out. He didn’t mean to say it. You could tell by the grim line of his lips pressed together—forbidding any other accidental verbalizations of his inner thoughts. He just…He wasn’t expecting for you to look at him like that.

Unbeknownst to you, he registered the slight shock on your face. Recognized and dreaded your anxious internal processing as you convinced yourself that he didn’t mean exactly what you thought he might. His point proven when you tried to play it off.

“Pretty sure it wasn’t called that.” You teased, already convinced that friends said shit like that.

He rolled his eyes, unable to help the tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

For a second, there was normalcy. Like how it used to be, before your hearts developed minds of their own.

”We Live in Time.” Simon spoke finally, blinking slowly to regain control of his faculties but also not looking away.

“Yes! That’s the one!” You beamed at him, and you swore his eyes softened. Or at least it appeared that way in the pub lighting, you corrected yourself. You knew how this mind of yours tended to run wild. Chill.

Johnny’s jaw dropped. “How’d ye ken that from that vague description?”

Simon’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes still warm. From the lights, of course. “Told me ‘bout it.”

“Like two weeks ago,” you interjected, impressed. He just shrugged as if that was normal behavior. Was it?

Google would say no. Google would say this man had a crush on you. You would know. You’d searched many a times this past month. But Google clearly didn’t know shit about Simon Riley.

“Well I’m no watchin’ that. I want tae see the other one. Where the wee lass gets taken. Lots of explosions.”

Kyle and Mira nodding in enthusiastic agreement.

Simon made a disapproving noise. ”Rather see y/n’s film.”

Silence fell over the table. Kyle was the first to break it. “But mate…you hate roman—“

“I don’t.”

Johnny spoke up this time. “Pretty sure you do, mate.”

”Said I don’t.”

“It’s fine, Si. The three of them want to see the action movie. I’m sure you do too. You don’t have to pretend for my sake. It’s really fine.” You shrugged. “Majority rules.”

But Simon shook his head. “Nah. You wanna see yer film. We’ll go.” He held your gaze, dead serious. He was just a good friend. He was just a good friend. But you could’ve cried. Because he was such a caring friend.

“Just the two o’ ye?” Johnny asked with a quirked eyebrow, clearly fighting back a grin. “Like a wee date?”

You? Dating Simon? In your literal dreams. You wished. But that was not going to happen. You were his friend. Accept it. Move on. Then again, he had been behaving differently lately, right? Wrong. Trick question. Stop it. The only thing different was you. Move. The fuck. On.

But…

Simon hesitated, fingers fiddling with the glass again. His brown eyes flickered to yours.

He was doing that thing again, mapping your face with his eyes as if he was ingraining it into his mind. Like he wanted to remember your face as it was, in case it was the last time.

Oh.

Fear. Behind the expression, was fear.

He inhaled once. Sharply. Then set his jaw.

”’m fine with tha’.” Then a pause. “A date.” Another pause. “If you are.”

Nonchalant on the outside, but you knew better. He was nervous. Been nervous this entire time, you realized. Any potential jitters condensed into a simple, controlled squeeze around the glass in front of him.

Forget moving on. In fact, cease all movement. No more tricks of the light. This had to be a sign.

Google was fucking right.

———————

cw: crush on a friend, a bit of friend-zoning, unresolved emotions, Simon not wearing a mask in public and that being normal, unintentional switching between verb tenses bc it was/is my weakness lol… use of y/n, rando other character.

wc: 1.7k

Opinion: Every boy-girl friendship between two heterosexual individuals reaches a crossroads at some point. Do you want anything more with this person? Do they want anything more with you? Or are you just destined to be friends? Besties for life.

You had reached this point with your…friend, Simon Riley, a bit sooner than you had anticipated. This made it increasingly difficult to continue having normal conversations with him—let alone even look at him the same.

It was a Friday night. The lights from your favorite pub cast a warm yellow glow over the table where you were currently sitting with your friends as you did every Friday night since you moved into town. In the six months since you’d been here, the hum of these bulbs had grown familiar—nostalgic even. And right now, they were a very welcome distraction from the chaotic cacophony of nerves and feelings long unfelt and uncomfortably present at the forefront of your mind every Friday night.

You sat at the table between your two friends, Kyle and Mira—the only coworker you wanted to see outside of work and the one who introduced you to this current friend group—laughing at something they said.

Laughing at them is better than staring at him, you reminded yourself as your hand circled around the glass in front of you. It was cool to the touch—a welcome relief from the high body temperatures of your two friends and, more importantly, a stabilizing sensation to combat the nerves of being so close to your…friend.

You glanced around the table at your other friends as Mira launched into the next juicy bit of gossip from work this week. Your eyes darted around the table flitting from Mira’s animated gestures to Kyle’s warm, attentive eyes, to Johnny’s wry smile.

There was one person you had yet to look at directly. However, this recent lack of eye contact in no way meant lack of observation. No. You were always painfully aware of him. The trick these days was to make sure he didn’t know that. Simon Riley. Your…friend. You still remembered the first time you saw him—huge and inevitably taking up space. He seemed to command attention while simultaneously avoiding it.

Your attention was snapped back to the present when you heard Johnny ask Simon a question. With Simon’s concentration elsewhere, you dared to take advantage of the distraction to chance a peek.

You started with his mouth, eyes drawn to the way his lips moved around the words of his response to Johnny. A few scars pulling at the skin across his lips from fights he previously won and lost. Scars that you undoubtedly found attractive as hell. Not that you would ever mention that to your…friend. No, of course not.

Your eyes traced up to his slightly crooked nose that fit his face well and added a delicious sort of…rugged edge that used to intimidate but now seemed to invite. It said ‘I, too, have flaws…even if said flaws happen to complete me perfectly.’

You shook your head slightly to clear those irrational thoughts—instead listening for the hum of the lights overhead to ground yourself. Funny how they never changed these past six months, but somehow your feelings did. And seemingly irrevocably so. How annoying.

You took a sip of your drink hoping to hide your staring behind the rim of your glass. This was just the casual observation of a friend, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t take extra precaution. You waited to taste the cherry syrup and fizz of ginger ale before your eyes flicked up to his.

Warm brown irises were already focused on you from across the table. Focused and unrelenting as he watched you watch him while continuing to answer Johnny’s question.

The fizzy cherry beverage suddenly found its way into your nose as you sputtered in surprise—your heart nearly jumping out of your chest. You coughed heavily into your arm once or twice as the group ceased all conversation in concern.

You were mortified. The sting of liquid going down the wrong pipe combined with how loud you were combined with the fact that this was all happening under the watchful adorable brown eyes of your…friend.

You felt Kyle and Mira’s hands on your back patting and rubbing soothingly as tears pricked your eyes. You were sure you looked ugly as hell right now which just added salt to the wound. Look away, you tried to will in your mind to no avail.

Through it all, his eyes remained on you, taking in your furrowed brow, bloodshot eyes, flared nostrils, embarrassingly ajar mouth—esophagus on full display when your face wasn’t securely tucked away into the crook of your elbow.

And this bastard…This bastard had the audacity to smile…to chuckle that deep and dry ass “heh heh heh” as you fought for your life—no doubt getting some sick satisfaction from knowing he was the cause of this. Knowing that he had you all out of sorts just from looking at you. Watching you watch him. Simon couldn’t be more pleased with himself, and it was clear.

Johnny had run off in search of a fresh glass of water from the bar and returned with one shortly.

”Here bonnie, drink this.” He said, brow furrowed with concern. You accepted the glass gratefully and took a few small sips, sputtering out small ‘thank yous’ when you could breathe again.

You took a larger gulp now and said a quick prayer of gratitude to everything but your friend, Simon who was feeling a bit like foe at the moment. Mira handed you a tissue and you blotted the corners of your eyes. Sliding out of the booth, you headed off to the bathroom to collect yourself and reset (and maybe also spaz out for five minutes out of embarrassment).

You looked at yourself in the foggy bathroom mirror. “Get a damn grip, y/n.” You say seriously, pointing a finger at your reflection and more importantly, looking at your reflection point back at you. “So what if he saw you freak out? We’re just…friends. Ok? Snap out of it.” You’re rambling to yourself now as you pace in front of the sink.

So what if he has big beautiful brown eyes with nice round sclera and a pretty face and a…decent(?) personality? Who are we kidding? His personality is right up our alley. His entire being is right up our alley. You damn near slap yourself to end the embarrassing pining.

“Dignity.” You remind yourself before straightening out your clothes and stepping out of the bathroom.

“Alright?” The deep voice makes you jump and clutch your chest. Simon’s large frame was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom. His arms were folded across his chest emphasizing the muscles he worked hard to develop. Why did he have to be so damn hot? His head was tilted slightly to the side, his brown eyes trained on yours.

”Sheesh, Simon! You scared the hell out of me!” You take a deep breath and feel your heartbeat start to settle beneath your hand. How long had he been standing there? He couldn’t hear anything, could he?

Simon pushed off the wall, a slight smirk on his face as he stepped closer. “You’ve been on edge around me.” He states it like a fact, no room for questioning. Typical Simon. Cool, calm, confident, and collected. At least outwardly. You were positive there was plenty of inner turmoil swirling around inside him, and all you wanted to do was bathe in it.

Behave, y/n.

Instinctually, you try to play it off, save face. “Me?” You start to protest when Simon cuts you off with a firm, “Why?”

You look up at him. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes. His eyes. There was something swirling in them despite his calm facade. What was it? If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve guessed something like…hope? Impossible. It was gone before you could name the emotion and was quickly replaced with a flicker of concern when you didn’t answer.

”Did I do somethin’?” Simon’s jaw clenched as he stared down at you.

Besides steal my damn heart and hold it hostage in those large…beautiful…veiny hands of yours? Your eyes quickly shifted from the hands in question to meet his worried eyes.

”What? No. You haven’t done anything wrong.” You quickly assured him, your tone suggesting that the notion was preposterous. “You’re literally perfect,” you grumbled under your breath, eyes sliding to the wall, frustrated with yourself and the situation.

”’M not.”

Your eyes jump back to Simon’s. It was quiet by the bathrooms. Too quiet. You missed the incessant drone of the lights over the bar tables. Wished for anything that would fill the space in your head and leave no room for thoughts you didn’t want to have. Thoughts you couldn’t afford to have. Like how close he was. How he smelled faintly of something woodsy, smoky, and slightly metallic—a dizzying combination. How his arms might feel wrapped around your chest instead of his own. How his eyes…his eyes…

Instead you cracked a smile, and playfully punched his delicious and wide shoulder.

“You are to me.” You carefully kept your voice light and teasing, trying to take the edge off words you actually meant with your whole—stolen—heart.

He quirked his right eyebrow slightly—his tell-tale sign that he was processing something. Running the past few moments back in his mind to analyze every tiny quirk and movement to discern a hidden meaning. In this case, a hidden meaning you really didn’t want him to uncover. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards as if he was drawing some type of conclusion.

Your heart raced as you replayed your previous tone in your head. Was it too obvious? Could he tell that you were at the infamous crossroads in this friendship? You’ve got to do something to salvage this.

So you punched his shoulder again and threw in a “Bestie” for good measure. Maybe you could also convince yourself if you tried hard enough. Unlikely.

The corner of his mouth halted its ascent, smile faltering. His processing brow hesitated before falling back in place. Simon cleared his throat and slowly lifted his arm to playfully punch your shoulder back—much lighter since he was a man aware of his own strength.

“Bestie.” He confirmed.

Your smile was tight as you nodded. “That’s us, heh. Besties.”

For the resties. Just like the buzz of the yellow pub lights, nothing will change, and Simon will remain a constant in your life—which is good. Constant is good if it means he’s still around. Right?

Simon watched you in silence for a bit longer before nodding sharply. Message received.

————

cw: lots of swearing, use of ‘sis’ once to refer to self, brief sexual innuendo

Of course it was another Friday night which meant only one thing for certain: You were at the pub sitting in a booth with Kyle, Mira—your coworker, Johnny, and Simon.

Simon, Simon, Simon…The man who was not in your good graces. That fucker.

Why, you might ask? Because he was Simon. And Simon behaved as Simon always did—triflingly. Now, of course you knew you didn’t always feel that way about him. And you were sure that—after a few breathing exercises—you would slip right on back into your old ways of not so secretly loving him and actually rather embarrassingly pining for him. All very reasonable, of course, because come on…those deep brown eyes…Those fucking arms…Those—

Regardless. Simon was on some bullshit that night. Cheeky bastard. A few moments ago, Kyle decided to say something unexpected right as you took a sip of your drink—resulting in you understandably choking as the liquid went down the wrong pipe.

And what did sexy ass infuriating Simon do? He just unashamedly—and rather loudly—chuckled at you choking. The fucking audacity of that man. No offers to help. No huge ass warm…worn…rough…delicious hands on your back—which was a damn shame. Nothing. Just a dry ass ‘heh heh heh’ and his usual heavy stare.

After you righted yourself, you shot a nasty glare in Simon’s direction. It was always easier to look him full-on when you were angry about something—when you could hide your real feelings underneath something sharper. Tonight was no exception.

“Does witnessing my demise amuse you?”

He stared back at you—almost teasingly, the corners of his lips still lifted slightly post-chuckle, in some sort of sadistic, lazy grin.

“You weren’t dyin’,” he said matter-of-factly. Of course he did.

”You don’t know that—“ you started to protest indignantly when he interjected with a cool and calm, “I do,” effectively shutting down that statement.

That just served to fuel your anger further as you huffed in your seat and crossed your arms. “Oh yea?”

”Aye.”

You glowered, and Simon ate it up. The rest of the table’s eyes greedily darted back and forth between the two of you. Who needed tales of workplace drama when there were front row seats to live action tea right here?

”What are you? The grim reaper?”

He lifted one broad shoulder in a half-shrug. “Somethin’ like that.”

His ass always had something to say, huh? This whole nonchalant shit was really starting to piss you off…

But…

Why was it also kind of hitting lowkey? Why’d it have you internally performing that Debbie Ryan hair tuck? Radio Rebel, headass.

Focus. Suppress any outward signs of enjoyment. Nope. Too late. He clocked it. Damn him and his unwavering gaze. Was there no reprieve from his scrutiny???

Relax. Recover.

”That’s dark, Simon.”

He grinned wolfishly now. “You love it.”

”I tolerate it.”

Simon paused, tilting his head to the side as he watched you carefully behind narrowed eyes. You were flustered. It felt like he was in your brain. Reading thoughts you 100% didn’t want him to know about. What was he looking for in there?

His grin widened, eyes locking in on yours like a predator honing in on prey. You could easily imagine him licking his lips as if he was about to dine.

I’ve got something for you if you’re hungry…The thought ran through your mind before you could stop it.

Suppress, sis, suppress. Damn.

Then he spoke, low and slow. ”Tolerate, hm?” Voice like velvet. Mocking. Unbelieving.

“S’what I said.” But you knew nobody at that table believed you. Least of all, Simon. Not if his shit-eating grin meant anything.

He let your weak reply hang in the air for a moment—almost reveling in the frailty of your retort. Like he wanted you to come to terms with the fact that everybody recognized the reality of it all, even if you tried to ignore it.

Simon slightly quirked an eyebrow as he watched your reaction, the corner of his mouth rising to match.

“Don’t lie, sweet’eart. Not to me.”

——————

Short n sweet n—more importantly—finally out of my drafts :)