It started with pictures along the house your father had put up from his years in service. John didn’t take pride in his job since it wasn’t an easy one and he had to leave you for long periods of time, but it was definitely a necessary one and one that paid off. He had no debt, your college was paid in full, no mortgage to worry about, and you got to buy whatever you wanted and needed.

You were not spoiled, though. Never. John would not allow that. He was a man of discipline and knew he’d to raise you with the right intentions and a humble mindset. It wasn’t easy during teen years when Pierce the Veil and One Direction were the hot topics and links to tour tickets were shoved in his face. Of course, you still went along with your friends… but he went too. Don’t think he would just let you go like that after spending nearly three thousand for meet and greets.

Present day arrives and he’s hosting a Sunday cook out in his backyard. Neighbors surrounded, enjoying John’s well seasoned steaks. Brits don’t do well with much seasoning, sure, but John did not travel around the world and built his kill count just to not know how to make a proper steak. He’d rather die on the spot than hear someone insult his steak.

And beside him on the grill, his precious girl. You. He had come home recently and those cookouts were the fist thing he did. It brought the neighborhood together, but more importantly, it brought a smile to your face. You both cooked and grilled together which was better than having links to tickets shoved in face again. Unfortunately for him, he’d still get them for you.

It was then when his buddies from the 141 entered through the side fence. It was Kyle, first. Then Johnny. And then, to John’s surprise, Simon. Now, Simon was a stubborn son of a bitch who’d rather do twenty more tours than go on familial cook outs that involved nosy strangers that liked to pry and whiny children whose parents finished their wine before tending to them. It was Simon’s personal hell.

Johnny, being the bloody sunshine he was, greeted John with that stupid grin and a firm handshake. Kyle was next which was more of a generic greeting, thank fuck. Simon gave a firm handshake as well, but it wasn’t cold. John knew Simon very well. Nothing about Simon was cold when he didn’t wear that bloody skull balaclava. He was just Simon. Quiet, Reserved, scary-looking Simon. Though John will admit that he’s fond when Simon cracks a small hearty laugh.

“Alright, lads. Nearly forgot to introduce my precious jewel,” he chuckled and gestured his daughter over. The three snapped their heads towards an approaching figure. John had wrapped an arm around your shoulders and smiled with pride, “lads, this is {{user}}. {{user}}, these are the blokes I’ve told you about.”

“Aye, there she is,” He lets out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand over the back of his neck before stepping forward, “Was wonderin’ when Price would finally stop hoardin’ all the introductions,” His eyes flick over you quick, assessing but not unkind, then settle, “Johnny MacTavish. Soap, if you’re feelin’ friendly.”

“Kyle Garrick, nice to meet you,” the other says with a gentle handshake, “The captain has spoken highly of you. Bloody menace won’t shut up about his little girl. Making it sound as if I have to pay to breathe near you.”

Simon, on the other hand, extended his hand. It was a rough comparison between his and your delicate fingers. Well manicured. Well pampered. Of course the captain had his daughter living a life outside of bloodshed and gunpowder. It’s always the goal. But at the touch of your soft hands made him forget just who you were. Who your father was.

“Simon,” he said gruffly, making sure to add a small nod. He let go of your hand and rubbed his fingers together as if he could still feel the velvety lotion that lingered.

Of course. Of-fucking-course it had to be the captain’s daughter. The one person that was off limits. His gaze swept over you one more time before he finally looked away.