simons-simp

[simons-simp]

Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader

Part 3 | Previous

The smell of damp earth and petrichor filled your lungs, as the pine needles crunched under your wellies. The birds had come back after the heavy rain and sang loudly on the tops of the trees around you. Your eyes were darting to your legs regularly, paranoid for any mosquitos. When you had arrived there had been swarms of them following you, something you didn't know was common for the area, but maybe it was because there was a lagoon so close by.

In the distance you can always hear the ocean. Its presence is like a backdrop, never ending. You're not used to it - it's as if you were near some large waterfall or there was always strong wind over a hill nearby - that low constant rumble. You could feel the mosquito bites on your foot itching, inaccessible. You tried to focus your mind on the forest around you, the occasional stir of the trees above you, as your mind thought about this new situation of yours. Away from friends and family, it's what you had wanted, no? To get away from it all? The responsibilities of being a loved one? Have you been able to completely switch your phone off? Not really. Even though there were mostly low cellular bars on most of the land, you still desperately clung to it, tethered to the familiarity it brought you.

You climbed over your first hill. The trees here looked like they had been bent over from a storm, although you weren't sure - tire tracks marked the sandy earth and you could suppose this had been man made as well. But ahead of you lay a fallen branch from a tree, it's yellow flowers now laying on the soil. It was quite large but you felt like if you were any stronger you could have moved it out of the way. You stepped around it, noting that up the second hill lay another one of these. Looks like the wind and storm yesterday did more damage than you would have thought.

When you reached the beach, you gasped. Today it was a turbulent green, and close, much closer than last time to the dunes. This time, you were alone on the beach. You looked down the long stretch, on your left where you couldn't even see the end of it, and on your right, the coastal town. As if like some magic, you suddenly felt the sun on your back. The clouds had parted and you could see the blue sky, something that when you had been on the land, you hadn't yet seen that morning. You did feel freer here - the dunes outstretching for miles, parallel to a wild Atlantic ocean. The wind strong, but not so strong as to destabilise you, just enough to give you gasps of fresh air. And no mosquitos.

You relished that you were alone. No large lumbering fisherman you had to keep your eye on. Just you, the wild ocean, and the sun, bringing out her gorgeous hues of greens. You loved how she was always a different colour, always unpredictable. And always wild. Watching the waves crash, one after the other, never stopping on the sand, it felt like she was giving you permission to also be loud, unstoppable, and strong. Not caring if it disturbed anyone, or was too much. The ocean was the ocean, that's just how it was. You held onto your hat tightly, not wanting it to fly off your head unexpectedly. This time, there was no fisherman to grab it before it got lost into the waves.

You noticed the waves were getting closer. Your eyes couldn't help but fall down to the shells and stones again that littered at your feet. You crouched over, your eyes scanning for any interesting one. Once you started to find one or two that piqued your interest, it was hard to stop. You pocketed them into your hand and picked a fragment of a shell. It was orange and striped, but the stripes looked like they belonged to Jupiter or the rings of Saturn. There was something unearthly about it, and in a way, it was. You thought about how the ocean was less explored than space, even though it was right there, just a few feet from you. The wind was really picking up but you kept your head down, looking for more treasures, your hand moving past the first layers of shells and digging a little deeper into the sand. Maybe there were more layers here to uncover.

You were startled when a shadow covered the shells in front of you. You stumbled backwards, and landed on your ass, suddenly very aware of how cold and wet this beach was. You quickly looked up, although you had to crane your neck to actually fully see the behemoth standing above you. It was him.

"You betta watch out b’for' the waves take ye." He said. His voice easily cut over the sound of the crashing waves, a mere few metres away. You didn't know how to respond. You focused on standing back up, your shells now strewn back into the sand and mixed up with the others. You unsteadily came back to your feet, and roughly rubbed your sandy hands against your trousers roughly.

"I was being careful." Is the only thing that finally comes into your mind to answer him. After all, who is he to tell you what to do on the beach? You curse the gods above you for ruining your privacy, and almost as a response, the sunshine that had warmed you so nicely between the strong gusts of wind, was covered behind a large grey cloud. Well, that wasn't coming out any time soon. And where on earth had he come from?

He didn't answer you, just stood staring at you, hands deep into his black waterproof coat, black mask covering his face. Was he sick?

"Not fishing today?" You say, noticing his lack of gear.

"S'my off day." He replies shortly. Another silence. What is he waiting for, what does he want?

You shift your weight onto your other foot and you feel a chill run up your spine. It suddenly hits you that you two are completely alone on this beach. The layer of security that you always feel wrapped around you suddenly feels like it's been violently ripped away.

You try to cling onto the normal, the casual, and give him a small smile, the kind you give to a stranger you acknowledge across the street.

"Ok well, I'm gonna-"

"Let me buy ye a drink" he interrupts. It's like he knew you were trying to slither away. The request surprises you, both because it's still before midday, and because you find it hard to imagine a man like him asking to buy anyone a drink.

"Um... Right now? I still haven't had lunch yet and..." you don't know why but your words fail you. While you started speaking you had made eye contact, deep brown eyes and blond wisps of eyelashes, and his stare was so intense, so smouldering, that you didn't know exactly what you were trying to say to him. You didn't want to go for a drink right? Or did you? Suddenly you weren't so sure of yourself.

"Come on, I know a nice pub where they make a good fish n chips." He says, and he suddenly begins to move past you, hands still on his pockets, as he starts to walk down to the coastal town in the distance. You stand there for a few seconds, watching him walk away…

No one is forcing you to go, and you had to admit there was something about him that creeped you out - maybe the way it seemed he didn't know how to make normal conversation, or his unnaturally large size. But your legs began to walk towards him, following, a few paces behind, before your mind could actually make a decision.

You didn't bother to try and keep up with his strides, content to be a little behind, watching the back of his neck where his short blonde hair started, and you could make out the edge of a black tattoo, whenever the collar of his rainproof jacket moved down with his steps.

You had to admit, there was something a bit off putting about him, like the smell coming from his stall. What should have been a smell you usually enjoy - fresh salty ocean - was mixed in with death and guts: smells that should have stayed contained. The glassy eyes of the fish staring at you, as if to blame them for their predicament, their cold cadavers now laying on ice chips. Perhaps the smell of the dead fish served to cover his own smell of death that came off him.

[simons-simp]

Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader

Part 2 | Previous

The rain had come and gone all night long. It would start out of nowhere, heavy showers hitting the top of your caravan. You were volunteering on a beautiful plot of land, looking after horses, in exchange for staying in a little caravan. The owner of the land and the horses had herself lived in this van before finding this place, nestled between civilization and the ocean. You enjoyed the rhythm and routine of it, waking up early in the mornings to feed the horses and give them hay. You appreciated their presence and energy, when they sometimes galloped in the field or the paddock. You also appreciated the daily routine and work, losing yourself in the morning and evening duties. But with all this rain, and the owner gone for the weekend, you were left with a lot of time on your hands. Your caravan was cozy - a little bubble of protection from the elements outside, and you enjoyed snuggling up to the cats in the little cabin that held the kitchen, while you waited for the water on the stove to heat up for your tea. You had been for a few walks on the fields or forests around the land, but you had yet to go into the small coastal town. After waking up early on a cold Saturday morning, and assessing that the grey clouds above you looked too bright to breach with rain, you decided to take a walk into town. It wasn’t too far; a twenty minute walk along some agricultural fields and suburbs.

The ground was still wet from the night before and you were careful to avoid stepping on any snails. You had heard from the owner that there was a market early on during the day on Saturdays and Sundays, where local farmers came to sell their produce, and you were keen to stock up on fresh fruits and vegetables. Once you arrived into the small village you were already in love with it. All the walls or the small houses were washed white, and you felt like this place hadn't moved in the last fifty years. You couldn't spot many of the chains you were used to, instead, you saw a small grocers, tailors, and pharmacy. It felt like stepping back in time.

You quickly found the town centre, following the buzzing noise of both stall holders and the crowd. It was a lot bigger than you expected, rows on stalls snaking around trees in the square, and you even see stalls serving hot food and drinks.

You eagerly made your way to one of them, wanting to get yours hands on a warm tea. The food smelled good but you decided to maybe buy some once you had finished your groceries. You were instantly lured to a stall overflowing with vegetables of every colour - bright purple aubergines, dark green spinach, orange carrots, fluffy light green broccoli. Dumbfound, you asked the stall keeper if these were locals and she laughed.

“Of course dear. We've got the best of the area here. We don't have the money to import anythin’!”

You smiled and she helped you pick different vegetables. You were already buzzing with dinner ideas you could whip up in your small caravan.

You kept walking around, indulging in local honey and jams, a lady giving out baked good samples. You would have to try and come to this market every weekend.

You were reaching the end of the stalls when your nose turned up and a strong and fishy smell. That's when you saw the wet ground around it and your eyes went up to see rows of dead fish as well as other seafood you couldn't identify, coldy laying on ice. Your eyes kept going up and you instantly recognised those broad shoulders. It was him.

He was serving customers silently, grabbing fish with white gloves and turning them over to show off the size and weight to the customer, before they nodded and he stepped back, placing the fish onto the counter and wrapping it up in plastic and paper.

You never liked the smell of fish stalls, and you remember as a kid, always trying to hold your breath whenever you got near one. But now, you couldn't hold you breath. All you could do was look at him.

“Ye gonna stand there all day starin’ or you gonna buy smthin’?” He asks, snapping you out of your daze. You feel the tip of your ears get warm as you step a little closer.

“Wasn't staring…” you say with a small voice looking down, even though you knew he had definitely seen you staring. When you looked up at him, his face clad with a black face mask, you could see a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well only the fish is for sale over ‘ere love.”

Your moth dropped open a little bit and you felt yourself get even more hot. What an idiot.

“Don't call me love.” Is all you can find to say back to him. The amusement is still there in his eyes and he crosses his arms over his black apron, wet and glimmering with cold water. You can hear a low chuckle.

“Alright, pet.” He throws back at you. That motherfucker.

At that you decided to roll your eyes, clearly showing him your displeasure, and you turn around, deciding to make your way back to the top of the market. Besides, you still hate the sickly ocean smell and your bag full of groceries is getting heavy on your shoulders.

You're sure he's looking straight into the back of your head as you walk away but you don't care. You'd just avoid this section of the market next time.

Part 3

[simons-simp]

Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader

Part 1 | Next

You had come here to cleanse your mind. The salty air wafted over you as you climbed over the sandy dune, your feet sliding down in the sand. It took you double the effort to climb up the small sandy hill, but when you finally made it, you had to stop in awe. In front of you, the expanse of the ocean: white and blue. It was a deep shade of blue, deeper than usual, and right at the horizon, you could make a thin line of something more azure than blue.

The beach was deserted, spanning on for kilometres, more than your eye could see. A few fishermen here and there, walked with their poles, trying to get lucky. Your eyes counted how many there were, two to your right, and one down the distance, one on your left. You wondered what kind of fish they usually caught around here.

Carefully, you began to make your way down to the beach, trying not to fall. It was high tide and the ocean was already close to the dunes, leaving only maybe a few metres between you and it.

You knew the water would be cold, but you decided to roll your jeans up anyways, and slide your shoes off, wanting to at least feel the water. You approached the ocean cautiously, watching as different sized waves came crashing onto the sand, leaving trails of foam in its wake. Before you knew it, a large wave crashed right next to you and you found yourself squealing as you felt the cold water rush over your calves and almost up to your knees, a lot higher than you had been expecting. You quickly retreated back to the dry sand, dry sand sticking to them. You trudged back up the dunes, looking down at the numerous seashells and stones that kaleidoscoped the beach beneath you. Maybe you could sit here for a while, just watching the ocean. You slowly scrambled your way up, the sand sliding softly under your feet.

You found a comfortable looking spot, amidst the long grass bending over from the cold wind, and looked out at the ocean, satisfied. Your eye was caught by one of the fishermen, not too far away. It was bright, and you couldn't make out many details, but you could tell he was of a considerable size, broad shoulders under a tight fitting black fleece. You watched as he pulled his rod back, and with a strong motion, cast it back into the ocean. The line disappeared over the white waves and your attention stayed on him. You didn't know why, but you couldn't take your eyes off him. You felt a bit weird staring, but the safety of the dunes, height and distance wise, emboldened you as you kept looking. Besides, he was facing the other way.

You watched as he kept moving down the beach, coming closer to you, always focused on casting and recasting his fishing line out. You weren’t sure if he had noticed you or not, but as he was almost directly in front of you, just lower down and a few metres away. His face was turned towards the long expanse of the beach. Blushing, you looked away. You were sure you were in his peripheral now. You didn’t know if he was looking at you or not, but you decided to play it safe by focusing on the waves in the distance to your right. Then, before you knew what happened, a violent gust of wind blew your hat right off your head. A squeal left your mouth as your hands went to your hair but it was too late. Your hat was flying down the dune, and was being whipped around wildly. In one swift movement, you saw him catch it, and a mix of relief and nerves suddenly filled your stomach. He held the hat in his hand, examining it, before looking up at you, up in the dunes. You stared back blankly, a little stupefied, before coming to your senses and standing up from your spot in the damp sand. Carefully, you made your way down the dune, anxiety rolling around inside of you like the turbulent water in the waves. What if he mistook the staring as you being interested in him? You approached him, trying to keep your pace casual and even. He held the hat, unmoving, his eyes trained on you. The bottom half of his face was covered from the wind with a neck gaiter, tucked into the black fleece, which only made his stare more intense.

“Erm, thank you…” you said as you reached out to grab the hat from his gloved hands. He said nothing in response.

“S’alright” he finally said after what felt like too long of a pause. You thought you could hear a British accent. You raked your brain for something to say. Maybe he wanted for you to just leave now, and that could explain the uncomfortable silence.

“Catch anything good?” you asked, looking at the bag on his hip, where you assumed he kept the fish he was catching. He continued to stare at you. In the bright light reflecting on the ocean and sand, you could see his eyes were a deep shade of golden browns.

“Not yet.” You barely heard over the crashing of a wave right behind him. “But I feel like I’m’bout to.” He added at the end, his eyes never leaving your face. You laughed, unsure as to whether he was making a joke or simply talking from fisherman’s instinct. Another gust of wind threatened to steal the hat in your hands and you gripped onto it more tightly. Right then…

With a small nod towards him you took a step backwards and started to turn back. You made your way back to the break in the dunes where a small forest path lay a little further along, to take you back home.

Once you breached the dune you looked back, a weird feeling creeping up your neck. What if he watched where you crossed over and followed you down the little trail home? You nervously watched the top of the dune, half expecting to see a large figure rising up from behind it. But why would he follow you home? And how long would you stand there, waiting for nothing to happen? So you shook your head and turned back to the path, trying to get him out of your mind.

Part 2

[simons-simp]

sometimes I wonder how y'all are obsessed with specific characters and I'm like "why them" but then I remember that sometimes its literally not your choice you just look at them wrong and all of a sudden they're taking up your every thought forever

[simons-simp]

[simons-simp]

don't know what this says about me but i desperately need someone to write a price/reader daddy kink heavy fic where he cups your jaw and brushes your teeth for you while staring at you through the bathroom mirror.

thought about Price growling "Spit" and lost consciousness for a split second

[simons-simp]

Went to the beach and writing more for my fisherman!Simon idea... 😈

[simons-simp]

I know there’s a lot of hype around Butcher!Simon and god knows I’m obssessed with that concept, but what do we all think about fisherman!Simon? Spends his time on a small trawler, or on the wild beaches, expertly throwing fishing lines out. Slicing open silvery fish and gutting them without even looking, his eyes trained on you, the cute little sweet girl who’s new to this coastal town and checks out the Saturday market. Unlike the other sellers, he makes zero effort in attracting anyone to his stall, and yet by the end of the day, he’s always been cleaned out, his fish always fresher and bigger than any others at the market.

But he doesn’t care about any of that when his eyes fall on you. Now he’s only got one thing he wants to catch on his hook.

[simons-simp]

My mind has been buzzing with the idea of an Off Grid!Ghost, a rugged lonely man, who after his discharge from the military found the most remote place in the mountains that he could, built himself a cabin, and spends his time developing and maintaining completely self-sufficient systems. That is, until he found you far from the trail, a lost little rabbit. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t offer you food and shelter, and protect you from all those predators out there?

Here’s a little drabble. I want to finish this but wanted to post what I have so far…

Untitled Drabble

You look at him as he hovers over the stove, his mass covering it from your view entirely. He has to crane his body down to stir the sauce in the old pan with a black bottom, and even you have to admit, it smells good.

You look around the rest of the cabin, taking opportunity that he is distracted to have a better look. It’s small, is the first assessment you make, especially considering his size. The walls inside are the same as the outside - rough logs with the bark still there in some places. There’s a little stove in the corner, crackling quietly and warming up the room well. Next to the stove, a little counter and sink, and you notice a bucket underneath the sink, catching the water that comes down the drain. It's rustic but warm.

You bring your feet closer to you, tucking them under you as watch the back of his head, his blond hair buzzed down. You can see a gnarly scar running up his neck, just under his hair.

“Whatcha starin’ for pet?” He asks, his gravelly voice taking you out of the slumber you didn’t even notice you were starting to slip into. You avert your eyes. How did he even know? The pet name is unexpected and you want to show some sign of being indignant to it but you can’t help but squeeze your legs together, feeling heat spreading down to your core, which you ignore.

“I’m not a pet…” you say, your voice coming out a bit weak, and you clear your throat. “And I wasn’t staring.” You tack on, hoping that adds some bite.

”Ok. Whatever you say, pet.” He chuckles, and you feel the tip of your ears warm up.

”What’s that scar on your neck?” You suddenly blurt out and as soon as the words have left your mouth you’re already regretting them. Why are you asking him about scars now? He stays quiet as he continues to mix the food on the stove.

”Long time ago. I was in the forces.” He says. You sit there, feeling uncomfortable, and you’re not sure if its because you were prying, or because this new piece of information only makes the difference between you feel even more vast. He’s not just twice your height and three times your mass; he’s trained in how to use his body, and you don't doubt that, if he wanted to, it wouldn’t take him very long to pin you to the ground in a few seconds. Do they do martial arts in the army?

It’s been quiet for a few minutes now and you can feel the uncomfortableness creep in again.

”How long were you in the army for?” You squeak out, realising that if you dont want silence, you have no choice but to pry.

”Don’t know.” He almost grumbles out. His answer surprises you. How much of his life has he given away? His short answers only make you want to pry more, digging your slender fingers into the nape of his neck and prying it open to look into his brain.

”Why’d you leave?” You try again. It feels like a natural follow up question. Silence again.

”My knees were fucked.” he says, matter of factly. You can’t tell if he’s pissed at you or not, and you’re unsure if you should keep going, but before you can get another question out of your mouth, he picks up the large pot of boiling water on the corner of the stove, and starts to dump it down the drain into an old plastic colander, the hot water quickly rushing down the drain and into the bucket underneath the sink. You watch as the steam rises up, and you can already see the windows getting foggy from the heat. Deftly, he flips over the colander into the pan he was staring, and your feel your stomach grumbling. When was the last time that you ate?

[simons-simp]

Welcome welcome!

Follows are from @beautifulbutcrazylife

First things first MDNI!!! I think that’s an obvious one but worth mentioning anyways.

Now that that’s out the way: Welcome to my blog! Here you will find all things 141 related. I’ll probably be focusing more on Simon but who knows, the others are also getting under my skin…

Masterlist

Hook, Line & Sinker | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader - Fisherman!Ghost, slowburn, afab reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Amazing fic writers who’s writing I find incredibly inspiring. If it weren’t for them, I don’t think I would have found the courage to start posting! Please check them out if you haven’t already: @ceilidho @eowynstwin @dante-mightdie @oceantornadoo @bussyyeukie @yeyinde @peachesofteal