The Girl In Flat 25 (Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader)

Chapter 18: Company

(NSFW, minors please do not enter.)
April 7, 8:47 am.

John straightened his posture instantly, his eyebrows shooting up damn near comically.

"You're lyin', LT." MacTavish had never been so gobsmacked in his whole life. Not only was Simon actually telling him something, but he was telling him the motherlode of all gossip. Gaz would love this. Gaz might even shit himself once he hears, once John can pull him away from the captain, that is.

Simon exhaled through his nose harshly, expression blank but eyes warning. "You tell anyone and I'll gut you, MacTavish."

John held his hands up in surrender, eyes big and mouth turned down. "Wouldn't dream of it, LT."

What a lie. Well, maybe not a lie. John would try to keep it to himself, but one shot too many and strangers would know Simon's business.

Simon shifted his weight to lean against the counter behind him, arms crossing.

"How's that gonna work out?" John leaned forward, his curiosity piqued fully. "Just gonna... Be friends with benefits or something?"

Honestly, Simon hadn't even thought that far in. He just wanted to shake out some frustration he couldn't solve himself. Like when you ask someone to scratch your back. A tension he couldn't break himself.

"I would hardly say friends."

"Ah, c'mon. She's into you. Maybe it's time you think about settling down, sir." If looks could kill, John would be dead on the spot. "Or not. Your choice."

"Settling down doesn't suit me, Johnny."

"Ah, c'mon. You're like the 'ray of sunshine' and 'doom and gloom' trope. Figure out both of your stances on olives."

What the fuck was John saying?

It's amazing how he made English words sound entirely foreign, entirely new and stupid.

Simon blinked slowly and shook his head.

"Not a fuckin' clue what that means, Johnny."

John looked borderline surprised, appalled that Simon didn't know what he was saying.

"You don't know what olive theory is? Oh man, you're helpless, LT. It's when-" MacTavish's words quickly became muffled as Simon zoned out, he couldn't give a rat's ass about whatever made-up bullshit was leaving the Scotsman's mouth. But Simon couldn't help but wonder... Do you like olives? Simon loved them. Well, he loved them with a strong drink. The texture was a downside, but the salty brine and mildly sweet aftertaste more than made up for its mushy texture. If it could be brought up naturally, he'd certainly mention it. Ask about it, ask about your opinions.

Wait...

Why was he even entertaining this?

He shook his head.

"Johnny, I don't know if she likes olives. Maybe you can ask her. I'm not too keen on learning." Small lie. They never hurt.

Most of the time.

Johnny raised his eyebrows, "Maybe I will. She's cute. If you don't ask her out, I might."

Simon wasn't fond of the idea.

Johnny wasn't really known for relationships. He much preferred to party, have short flings, and move on. It was his signature, or for as long Simon knew him it had been his signature. Meet a pretty woman, wine her, dine her... Simon didn't like to think about the rest if he was being honest with himself.

To be fair, Simon wasn't doing you any better with your current arrangement. But, at least in his own mind, Simon was different to MacTavish. At any time the mohawked Sergeant could settle down. Simon had too much baggage. Too many skeletons in his closet and monsters under his bed. Too many lives were taken that had fed into nothing other than a notch on his belt. It was the only notches on his belt he had gotten recently.