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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course sir—“

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t—“

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

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

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

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

Apples in another.

Lemons to the side.

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

“Ya’ got a lass under ya now?”

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

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

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

You seemed to be adjusting pretty well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whiskey, neat.”

“Same here.”

“Gimme a scotch, good man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She?”

“Got a problem?”

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

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

“Gimme—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got it, sir.”

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

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

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

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