b.yeukie

yuh i write stuff 😝 MDNI 18+ diff fandoms and feel free to send messages and chat and junk blehh 🙌

[bussyyeukie]

bussy Masterlist

I hope you all enjoy! Feel free to repost, comment, and send requests or little ideas if you want!! But like, be respectful ya know....no punishments for spamming 😋

i'll add more to this list when i write for that thing buuuttttt only have COD fics right now, and that's probably what the majority of the fics I write are going to be fyi, but I'm going to do my best to not fall into the depths of my hyper fixations for y'all

Call of Duty

[bussyyeukie]

141!space crew x pilot!reader: The blinking and beeping was so consistent you nearly didn’t hear it anymore. It droned into something akin to rainfall, or the crashing of waves. Although you weren’t sure what true waves sounded like, only having seen videos of them, or heard the man-made synthetic replications.

You were positive it sounded better in real life, Earth made–but Earth didn’t make them anymore. The water that was there was polluted and not safe to swim in, hell it was barely ok to stand by unless you really liked bad sewers. 

But it didn’t bug you too much, no use yearning for things that were impossible to obtain.

Your feet splashed in the puddles covering the ground, it would’ve soaked through your boots if they weren’t so high quality, having spent nearly a whole paycheck on them. New and thick and laced up high, metal lining the front of back of them, and the soles were so soft and padded.

Too bad the rest of you wasn’t as taken care of, your coat–although large–was thinning and the zipper got so stuck it was almost useless to zip it up if you wanted to unzip it in the next week. Your hood pulled tight over your head, even if it didn’t feel like it did anything. Ends of your pants tucked into your boots and shirt tucked into them. Hands shoved in your pockets as you walked, weaving through people left and right. Everyone was always in such a hurry, the neon lights everywhere nearly destroying the concept of darkness, and the buzzing ads ringing out of large screens and hologram projections standing out in the street. Women smiling wide with all too fluid movements, pitching some product in skirts and professional looking shirts. 

People walking through them or even swatting as they passed.

Your footsteps landed hard as they splashed up water around them. Vendors shouting out about their food or goods, people on calls screaming at wifes and secretaries. Keeping your eyes locked onto the people bustling in front of you. Building taller than anything, large machines filling any area that wasn’t packed with people. Drones and ships and space-crafts filling the sky. There wasn’t a single place that wasn’t occupied.

Even down the dark alleys behind the nightclubs, they were occupied too even if you couldn’t see them, either with people or with droids who were selling something.

The lights off everything reflected off you, off your eyes and damp skin, brushing loose hair out of your face and licking your lips. The water tasted like mud, it wasn’t clean or clear or refreshing. It was like licking a boot. Gasoline and dirt and muck.

While lost in your thoughts about water and obnoxious screens, you didn’t notice the man with the collar of his leather jacket up–covering a good portion of his face, or that he was about to run into you.

“Ow–hey what’s the big–”

Nearly sending you falling on your ass, the boney shoulder ramming straight into you, but your retort died on your tongue as you caught a glimpse of the man and the aggressive scowl he had on his face and the wild look in his eye. Pupils popped and ran into his irises, his sclera a off yellow, fairly typical with heavy druggies the past year. Your brows pinched together and you felt your gaze linger on him. His hair was dark and sticking to his face and neck.

“What…” his voice was croaky, harsh as he stopped in his tracks, the inside of his lips blackened. Letting people bump into him and send a swear as they disappeared back into the crowd.

“Uh,” you faltered, before shaking your head and holding your hands up, pressing your lips together tightly. Taking a step back as your eyes tracked every twitch he made, the cold escaping you for a moment as your attention shifted focus, “Nothing, sorry for bumping into you…”

You scoffed to yourself and turned, trying to swim your way back into the ever moving crowd.

Taking about two steps forward before a hand yanked you back, gripping your hood tightly as you stumbled.

“Hey–!”

Your voice was drowned out by the noise around. The pink lighting of the sign above you both casting down onto you, basking your shiny skin in warm light and color.

“I know you…” the man squinted his eyes, raising his other hand to your chest, gripping the thick jacket in a tight fist. Damn near caging you in–no one around stopped their pace or even sent a second glance. If a fight was going to happen, they’d rather be far away from it than caught in the middle, especially if Enforcers got involved, most everyone had something illegal on them or they were illegal. This part of town was notorious for its nightlife, and you’d rather be dead than detained by an Enforcer.

“No, you do not,” your voice held a light chuckle to it as you grabbed the man's wrist, utterly confused, “Trust me, I’d remember…that.”

With your other hand you gestured loosely to his face.

The man frowned deeper.

“No, I know your face,” he growled, grip tightening as he drew you in closer, like he was really studying your features and waiting for the answer to pop up.

“You do not, I promise,” you said, a firm hand pushing against his shoulder, leaning your head back, blinking away the water that was getting in your eyes. Hair already weighed down with the weight of the rain, pieces sticking to your jaw and neck like glue.

“You are…”

The tweaked out man’s eyes started twitching, lips curling. Like the amount he was thinking was hurting him.

“Hey, I am not that unique looking, I’m sure you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, because I have never met you, ever,” you pushed firmer at the dudes shoulder, he wasn’t terribly tall, but he had some leverage on you, “The chick at the pulled pork place like 10 minutes away looks just like me, it’s freaky.”

The darked haired man didn’t buy it, just about to open his mouth to say something when he was ripped off of you. Your eyes widening as you hopped a foot back, squinting in the rain.

“Christ, yer just can't stay outta trouble, can yer?” the lumbering man grunted, practically tossing the other man to the side, focusing his attention on him, “Fuck off mate.”

The dark haired man shot one last look towards you, then popped his collar up higher and stalked off, making his way into a jog through the crowd.

A grin fought its way onto your face as you re-adjusted your hood back on your head, pushing water and hair out of your face.

Standing before you was the large, darkened form you’d grown to enjoy seeing. Hood pulled tight on his head, covering the blond hairs, a dark mask pulled down under his lips as a smoldering cigarette sat between them. Lighting up a miniscule portion of his face, the fair skin and scared lips blooming under the light.

His shoulders were broad and solid, even slumped as they were, thick layering and jackets building that up more. He trudged towards you, footsteps silent all for the splashing.

“Ghost! Shit, I thought I'd get to the spot first,” you whined, walking fast to keep pace next to him.

He sent you a glance as he plucked the cigarette from his mouth before pinching the end of it, putting it out, stuffing it back onto his pocket.

“Pickin' fights, or are ya just that popular?”

The smirk could be heard in his jest, and you rolled your eyes, sending a look back over your shoulder into the muddled crowd of bodies.

“Just that popular,” you looked back at him, “Dude was a freak, I’ll tell you that.”

Simon chuckled, before clapping you roughly on the back, sneaking his hand up and tugging down the front of your hood.

“Ass,” your face heated up as you adjusted your hood. 

“Ah don’t be a poor loser, lovie,” Simon glanced at you, then looked discreetly behind him.

The walking turns out to be a lot easier now that you have a large barrier blocking the stream of people. You looked in front of you for a moment, watching the back of someone in a rugged suit try to get around someone he deemed too slow of a walker, your lips pursing as you swung your arm and smacked Simon in the stomach with the back of your palm.

“I didn’t lose anything, you just had to be all ‘white-knight’…”

All he did was laugh it off, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Ah, sure Price’ll love to know why his pilots late,” Simon mused, his gait widening, “Cap’n loves late departures.”

“What–” your eyes widened as fear shocked its way through your belly, jogging to catch up with the blacked out man who was steadily gaining distance in front of you, “No–I didn’t do anything! Gho–hey!”

He sent one look over his shoulder, pulling up his mask over his nose, before disappearing into the crowd.

[bussyyeukie]

i need more fighter!simon 😔😃

i got you 🙏 got a part 3 and drabble for ya

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Blood Fights drabble

Fighter!simon x reader: his first time seeing you, and the first time he’s ever truly wanted something for himself.

Simon stood with his arms crossed, black jacket pulling at his muscles on his shoulders. Brows pinched together tightly, his lips downturned–although you couldn't see that part past the black baklava he was wearing, skull painted on the bottom half of it, hood pulled up over his head. Eyes blacked out by the dark smudging around them. Blending into the scene like a ghost despite his size.

Eyes scanning out over the crowd, air murky with smoke and the neon lights in the basement.

He couldn't seem to get away from the scent of mildew that filled the air. Groaning to himself about how he wanted to take his 5th smoke break of the hour just to get out of the thick air and men shouting.

A fight was going on in the makeshift ring in the middle of it all, Gaz repeatedly slamming his fist into some poor bloke's face till it was nearly mush. The crowd ate it up. Simon rolled his eyes as he swept his gaze around again. Everyone was behaving–or behaving for the event, no other fights breaking out, no one causing unnecessary problems.

His boots thudded against the ground as he walked over to the makeshift bar, looked pretty legit for being set up that afternoon, but Price knew good people for it.

It was packed with drunk men, shouting and spewing nonsense.

His eyes landed on a familiar face, who was practically slumped over the bar with a drink in hand, squinting at his phone that was turned up too bright. The blond man shoving his way through the crowd, and damn near slamming his arm down next to the man, leaning towards him.

“Yeah I mean,” the man hiccuped a bit, rubbing his mouth, trying to show the bartender something on his phone, “She’s so hot ya know, but god just a bitch–like she just wants me ta-to be there allll the tiimmmee. Then when I actually wanna see her she’s all like, ‘bleh i’m so busy with work,’ and ‘wah wah i’m too tired tonight’.”

The bartender rolled his eyes as he mixed the drink, looking at the man with an annoyed gaze.

“It’s so annoying, she was cool at the beginning but ugh, she’s like…she’s so hot and good in bed but jesus it’s like, like she, like I’m supposed to just go to her whenever, like, I need my time ya know, my man time and shit…”

The lumbering man felt his stomach churn with what he was hearing, growing even more irritated with the bastard than he was.

The man looked at his phone again, sighing, muttering to himself, “Wish she had bigger tits though…”

“Nice night, ey mate?” Simon’s voice was gruff as he spoke–the man jumping in his seat and whipping his head around.

“Christ–uh, Ghost–heyy man uh–”

The man's hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead, face flushed as he fumbled with his phone. Simon glanced at it, and felt his fist tighten up and his heartbeat speed up.

“Price’s been lookin' for ya, got some things to settle with ‘im.”

“Y-yeah,” the man looked to the bartender, who snorted out his nose and left the two alone, sending Simon a quick look, “I, I’ve got the money–almost um got the money like i’m so close to it–”

Simon cut him off by slapping his back roughly, jolting the man forward, digging his ribs into the bars corner.

“Oh I’m sure,” there was a beat of silence before he gestured to the phone on the bar, “That yer bird there?”

The man gulped and looked to his phone, as did Simon, a picture of you on the screen–it was a picture of you sitting with your knees to your chest, you were in a pair of black sports shorts that were just starting to ride up on your ass and a worn green t-shirt with some soda slogan on it. Your hair up messily and a fork resting between your lips. You were looking up at the camera through your brows a bit annoyed, a bowl of pasta sitting in front of you.

Simon felt his teeth grind together a bit, forcing himself to peel his eyes away from the phone to look at the much less pleasing sight of the drunk man who was sitting with his mouth open.

Simon agreed, you sure were something that was easy on the eyes. More than easy, he could look at you all day everyday if given the chance.

“Um…yeah?” the man sounded unsure of himself, slightly confused, “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Hm,” Simon hummed to himself, looking down at the picture again, “Pretty thing, ain't she?”

The man chuckled in a douche manner, “She’s pretty hot yeah, that’s why I’m dating her.”

There was a weird sense of boasting that rolled off the man's tone, eyeing Simon up and down.

“Wanna see more?”

Simon's gaze grew dark as he looked back to the drunk sitting there, who scrambled for his phone and started tapping at it, before holding it out to Simon–whose muscles tensed up and whose scowl deepened.

It was a picture of you on your hands and knees, chest nearly to the floor and your arm bent uncomfortably to reach under a shelf grabbing for something. Obviously unaware the picture was being taken.

“The fuck is that?” the titan of a man felt his voice drop lower, shoulders squaring out.

The drunk seemed to not catch the shift in atmosphere, “Got a great ass, don’t she?”

He looked back to his phone as Simon grabbed the man's wrist tightly, making him shout out a swear and look up with wide eyes.

“Hey what the hel–”

“Delete it.”

“Wh-what?”

“Delete. It.”

Simon’s tone was scary smooth, pulling the man's arms closer to him as he squeezed, leaning in closer.

“Uh–I…yeah I, ok I will…” Simon let go of the man and he stumbled back slightly, before shakily bringing his phone back to him, “Ya know she’s my girlfr–”

One look from the much bigger man caused him to shut up, snapping his attention back down to this phone.

“Ok, it’s gone…ass.”

Simon nodded, then reached around to grab the back on the man's collar. Pulling him up as Simon straightened up, arm solid with muscle as the scrawny man stumbled and reached around for him.

“Since ya ain't doin' nothin’, sure Price would like to 'av a word wi' ya…”

“I-I–”

Simon dragged him away, leading him out of the crowd stumbling and tripping over his feet with Simon’s wide steps. The blonds mind wandering back to the bird on the screen, his heart jumping again in his chest. For a moment he was taken out of the grimy place he was stuck in for the night, the air seemed easier to breathe and the nose not so grating on his ears…he had to see you again.

the lovely fighter si tag list:

@sophhieannee . @rafaelacallinybbay . @oceantornadoo  . @jamdoughnuts . @kupids-arrow . @msjaeger . @hidden-treasures21

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Blood Fights p.3

(fighter!simon x secretary!reader)

part one. part two. part three.

It had taken you nearly a full day to do that paperwork.

Could’ve taken you an hour of just signing blindly, but you decided to read (most) of the pages inside. A handful of NDA’s, some stuff about medical history, agreements about the job–that you won’t find another while working for Price and his men, and that you won’t disclose any info (more NDA’s within that) about his, and yours now really, fighters. Stuff like that. Not to mention the pages, upon pages, upon pages of legal crap you did not understand. You weren’t dumb, not by any means, but it was just legal, lawyer type paperwork that you’d never dealt with before. So it was no surprise that your search history looked like you were trying to cheat on the Bar exam by the end of it.

Currently, you were sitting at the desk in front of the entrance, a shitty little desk with a few things on it and a file cabinet. Not really an office desk but more something where some files about the fighters and “clients” were kept. Nothing too in depth, really it all just looked like gym filing to anyone else, and it’s where Price had stationed you for the time being. You had voiced your concern about confidential information being so close to the front entrance, and he had said, “Don’t worry about’ it darlin’, I got my own tricks up my sleeve too…” and left you with a wink. You assumed it meant the information was false, or it was extremely known things. All fighters have two legs and bones!

You rubbed your eyes, hair tucked behind your ears. You failed to really style it today, so it sat a bit messy. Glancing tired eyes at the clock it read 3:00pm. You groaned, looking down to the empty desk in front of you. All except a number 2 pencil you had been pushing around.

Price had sat you there this morning, and said to “keep an eye out” which meant you’d been sitting there for about 3 hours doing nothing. Watching the occasional person walk by, and one random person in training gear walked in. You sent them Price's direction with a sweet smile.

The bell above the door chimed, you looked over, sitting up a little straighter, your shirt stretching slightly across your chest and shoulders. You’d decided on a skirt and button-up short sleeve today. Wasn’t terribly cold out, and you’d learned the gym was usually warm–if not hot–almost all the time. A fairly snug gray skirt reached your knees, very professional mind you.

A smile creeped onto your face as you spotted the brunette Scotsman push through the door, large duffle bag in hand and hoodie on, but still rolled up over his bright cast. Looking down the street, shouting something.

“Ah won’t staun ‘ere aw day waitin' fur ye!” he scoffed, “Hurry up!”

He grumbled to himself and paused when he saw you sitting at the desk, attentive.

A cheeky grin swiped across his lips, pushing the door open further, you raised an eyebrow as he walked in. 

“Weel looky here,” he leaned against the desk, ginger on his bad arm, “this sure is a bonnie sicht fur this afternoon, eh?”

You chuckled a bit, “Good afternoon Johnny.”

You’d know these boys for about a week. Not especially well or anything, but Johnny was scary friendly, and so was Kyle–so it was easy to talk to them when they were constantly bothering you and forcing conversation. Simon on the other hand…he kept his distance. Not a lot of distance, but still distance. He was polite, and spoke to you when needed, but he didn’t go as out of his way to talk to you like Johnny did–and when Simon did it was short, awkward conversation that typically ended in him roughly excusing himself or going, “I have to go, train…” and walking off in some random direction.

Once he’d walked into the girls bathroom (not used since there were never any women in the gym) and stayed in there for 30 minutes just in case you were still out there when he emerged. Icing on the cake was he said he was going to go speak with Price as he walked away.

You honestly liked talking to him. Weird as he was, Simon was sweet and was obviously not used to conversation with anyone other than like five people currently in his life. Five might be pushing it. Judging from his typical company, he probably wasn’t used to getting a word out during conversation.

He reminded you of yourself in the 3rd grade when you thought the weird talking points you'd memorized the night before was gonna make you friends.

“Price mov' ye oot here fur the day??” Johnny leaned in closer, smug as he grinned, catching your eyes everytime you looked somewhere else, “Pretty borin’, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t believe, nothing to do but sit here. Wait for you and the rest to show up I guess…”

He laughed, clapping a hand on your desk and shouldering his bag more, “Ach! Weel, somewan's been sittin' aroond aw day waitin', an' sure is gonna get a kick oot o' this welcome committee!”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms on the desk and leaning in, secretly, “Oh really?”

“Aye,” Johnny nodded, “He’s strugglin’ t'day.”

You glanced behind Johnny, just in time to spot a large body filling up the doorway, bell chiming as the door opened. The lumbering blond had on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, frowning as he walked in. Catching your eye immediately, as he gripped the strap of his duffle bag tighter, jaw clenching.

He walked up to Johnny, standing next to him, looking at you. He was taller than Johnny, and had a good view over the desk where you sat, not that it was a tall desk or anything to begin with.

His cheeks went a bit pink as he stared at you, blushing a bit yourself when you realized he wasn’t really staring at your face.

Maybe the skirt was unprofessional for this environment?

“Good afternoon Simon,” you nodded tentatively to him, with a sugary smile. Tugging the end of your skirt down, trying to stretch it past your knees.

He grunted and nodded, “Aft'noon.”

Fidgeting with the strap of his bag slightly.

You glanced behind them, noticing the absence of a person there, “Where’s Gaz?”

Looking between the two, Soap shrugged, and Simon rolled his eyes.

“He’s leyte t'day, summat about 'is cat,” his grumbly voice seemed to clear in the gym, even with the background noise. Johnny was loud, sure, but something about Simon’s voice just cut so clear through everything. Maybe he did theater in high school, and learned to project.

Your pouted slightly, looking between the two, "Oh, I hope she's ok, Kyle said she'd been acting a little off recently."

“Price got 'er workin' reception fur the day” Johnny jutted a thumb at you as he eyed up the slouching hulk next to him.

“Ah can see that Johnny…”

You huffed a bit, standing up, catching the way Simon immediately refocused his attention on you, not hiding the way he looked you up and down. His brows scrunching together, lips pressing a bit tighter.

“Come on,” Johnny scoffed, “Come back with us, we’ll show you a few moves huh?”

His chuckle was cut short as he seemed to snap to attention a bit. Shoulders squaring and a weird look crossing his face as he looked past you.

Your brows quirked up before a heavy hand found itself on your shoulder, the sudden sensation making you yelp and jump. Whipping around to look at the man standing behind you. A warm smile on his face, crows feet deep set next to his eyes and full cheeks. 

“Pullin’ ‘er away from work so soon?”

“O-oh,” you put a hand on your chest, hands nearly shaking as your heart pumped under your ribs. Gulping as you licked your lips, the chapstick left a sticky wet on your tongue that tasted of vaseline, “Mr. Price, you spooked me.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, hand dragging down your arm as he gripped it, tucking you against his side in a buddy-buddy way as he looked to the boys in front of the desk.

“My 'pologies darlin', didn’t mean t'give yer a fright,” he jostled you slightly, your gaze finding itself back to Simon, “Shud work on yer awarness sometime though.”

“Y-yeah, probably,” a tight smile found itself onto your face, Simons fists clenched tight, the one on the strap of his bag, and the once hanging by his hips. Muttering something to himself and looking from the hand around your arm to Price–who was looking back at him.

Johnny broke the moment of silence quickly, “Wasn’t gonny, sir! Jist a joke, wouldn’t dream o' pullin' 'er frae work.”

Price jostled you again slightly, your feet finding themselves in a poor placement as you stumbled for a moment. Praying you wouldn’t totally tumble on a rolled ankle. Finding your balance quickly, looking up embarrassed. Cheeks pinker than before as you stood with your shoulders raised. Pressed against the side of Price’s chest, you looked up to him, finding him already looking at you. Your eyes widening as you nervously look back in front of you, a sheen of sweat finding itself around your collar and your palms–which were clasped tightly against each other.

“Good! I need 'er fer a li'l outing,” he looked to Simon out of the corner of his eye, demeanor changing slightly, more professional and stern, “Yeh too, Simon, bizness mattahs.”

Simon nodded curtly, bumping into Johnny as he walked past, not rough but in an irritated manner. Sending a wicked side eye to the scot as he passed, you followed him with your gaze for as long as you could, without turning your head dramatically to catch him turning the corner.

Jumping as Price squeezed your arm roughly, snapping you back into the moment, and away from how Simon's shoulders lumbered as he walked and his butt was probably thicker than yours.

“Yes! Uh, Sir,” you collected yourself quickly, then pinched your brows, “Outing?”

“Yeh ma’am, I’ll brief ya more on the ride there, got somethin' fer ya in the meantime.,” he gestured to under the desk, “Grab yer things, quick.”

He pat your low back as he let you move and lean down, grabbing the bag under the desk with your work items in it. Grunting as he moved you, pulling you with him away from the front desk and away from Johnny. Who scoffed and waved to you cheekily as he walked towards the other side of the gym, towards the rings.

You watched him for a moment, before stumbling as John quickened his pace towards his office.

“Um, sir,” you cleared your throat, “I promise I wouldn’t have left work, even if they invited me, I would’ve stayed right at my spot.”

Price laughed, glancing at you as he pulled at his door, holding it open to you.

“Don’t worry, Y/n, I know yer a good, 'ard workin' girl, wouldn’t let temptation stray ya.”

His smile was so warm it almost didn’t fit the rest of his demeanor. You swallowed, nodding as you quickly made your way into the office.

It was stuffy as ever, the scent of smoke ever present, and the old chair was as worn as always. There was a file on the desk as Price walked over and snatched it up. Passing it over to you.

“You’ll be joinin' me an' Simon on a business meetin', here’s some info on the other party and their fighters an' that, as well as the possible location,” he leaned against the desk on his palm, shifting his belt in the loops of his pants.

You cautiously flipped open the folder, it wasn't very thick, only a few pages really. Some informational sheets.

“Um, thank you sir?”

“So polite. Wait outside fer a mo', Simon’ll be with us fer a bit, I just gotta grab some things an' we’ll be on our way. Meetin's in 30,” Price chuckled, shaking his head, he stopped himself before turning to you more, “After today, you’ll be comin' to all me meetin's with me, an' you’ll be in charge o' schedulin' 'em an' keepin' up to date. Got it?”

Nodding your head, and tucking some hair behind your ear, you smiled tight, “Yes Mr. Price.”

The burly man patted you on the shoulder, smoothing out the fabric of your shoulder where he crinkled it. 

“Now go wait outside for Simon.”

“Yes, sir…”

“Oh, and drop yer bag 'ere, lot safer than just sittin' out under the desk out there,” he gestured to the room, but mostly to the spot under the large window that was always closed off with shitty curtains. You licked your lips slightly as you nodded and thanked him and set your bag down, pulling a pen from it and chapstick. Shoving both into the pocket of your blouse quickly, same with your phone. It wasn’t huge, but it did pull at the fabric of the pocket.

Your lips felt dry as you watched him walk around his desk, he was dressed in a semi nicer shirt than usual, and his pants were slacks instead of jeans. You turned on the toe of your foot, and dragged your eyes away from Price as he yanked a drawer open. 

The door was heavy as you opened it and stepped outside, shoes clicking on the hard floor. 

The metal of the wall next to Price’s door was cold through the fabric of your shirt, and you took a deep breath in, letting your head fall against the wall. You looked at the subtly swaying light on the ceiling. Thinking about how you got here.

You huffed and rubbed your eyes carefully–trying your best to not smear the makeup.

“Yer cryin'?”

The deep voice made you jump, whipping your head to look at the man next to you. Slightly taken aback at what you saw, brows furrowing and mouth parting as you looked at Simon.

“What?” you shook your head, “N-no, I, no–I was just rubbing my eyes, sorry…”

Simon shrugged and turned, hands in his pockets, his eyes boring holes into you.

“Alrigh',” his response was short and sweet. You looked him up and down. He was in a suit, not an exactly nice one, but like something a fancy limo guy would wear, you weren’t even sure Simon could sit in a limo, much less the driver's cab, he just seemed too…large.

But he didn’t look bad, in fact he looked pretty handsome, it fit him at least, but the tie wasn’t tied exactly well, and the top button was undone, as well as the buttons by his hands. The shirt also wasn’t tucked in, and the coat was unbuttoned. Not to mention his pants were tight on him, not noticeably unless you were looking…but you were in fact looking.

He looked unbelievably hot.

Your jaw clenched and your shoulders raised when you found your gaze drifting back up to his face. His brows pinched and lips slightly pursed.

“Wha’?”

“Huh,” your voice sounded foreign, cracked a little in fact.

Simon scoffed and looked to the side, “Where’s Price?”

You straightened up fully, gulping, and tucking hair behind your ear that didn’t need to be tucked, “Um, he’s in his office, he’ll be right out though! Said for me to wait out here with you for a moment…”

Simon nodded, and leaned against the wall, looking off towards the rings. 

“So…” you broke the silence, with that weird pitchy voice that wasn't yours, “What’s with the suit?”

Simon grumbled, pulled a hand up to rub his face, “Stupid shit, Price makes us wear 'em when we interact with other…fighters, says we can’t be lookin’ a mess when 'e’s in charge of us.”

You nodded, then pursed your lips, “Should…should I be dressed better?”

Looking down at your outfit, you smoothed out your skirt, and double checked your buttons and collar, and glanced at your legs to see if you had any runs in your stockings.

“Nah,” Simon's voice was stuffy as he cleared his throat, “Yer lookin' good. Real pretty, like a proper business lass.”

You blinked owlishly as you looked at him, forgetting about your triple check of your clothes, swallowing thickly as you felt your stomach shift. Face growing hot and your knees creak with the sudden weight of your body.

“O-oh,” you ran your hands down your front, looking down at the floor–missing how Simon tracked your hands down your front, “Well, thank you. You look, really handsome too actually.”

At that Simon cleared his throat louder, shifting uncomfortably, looking like he just got hit in the stomach. 

“They're uncomfortable fuckin’ clothes.”

You shrugged, “Well your tie is tied wrong for starters, plus you don’t really seem like you wear ‘office ready’ clothes often. Although you look more like a bodyguard.”

Simon looked at you as he licked the inside of his cheeks, the flesh moving differently with the scar tissue in its wake, you’d seen Simon's face a lot, and each time it’s like the first. You'd also notice he acted different in the mask, more A-line with the 'stoic fighter' persona. There’s always something new you realize, or notice about his face, or he makes an expression you’d never seen or you watch how his skin tugs in certain ways due to his scaring. But you never got when Johnny would make a joke about scaring girls off, you assumed he was getting more than he could handle. But now as you thought about it–he’d very rarely speak about women, or any ‘encounters’ he’d had with them. Maybe it was because you were there, and he didn’t want to spill his guts around some stranger girl. Not like Johnny would, seemed like he had a new girl every night.

“It’s tied fine.”

You giggled, crossing your arms, “I think I’d know Simon.”

You missed that way his shoulders tensed when you’d said his name, and you definitely missed the way his hands shifted in his pockets and if he was a little less ashen he’d be blushing.

“Well it doesn’t do any good to just point out I didn’t tie the stupid bugger well.”

He tugged at the tie with one of his hands, loosening it more. 

God you swore the room instantly got 10 degrees hotter.

“I–well I’ve just tied a lot of ties ok,” you gulped, “I didn’t ya know, mean anything–I, I can help! If you want…”

What you wanted was to leave, to throw yourself from a building and somehow figure out how to delete what you say out of existence. But you can’t do that, so you just stand there with your lips pressed together and a constipated look on your face.

Simon curled a brow and shrugged, “You can if ya want. Your choice.”

You felt so light after that, he took a step forward and your muscles froze. All of a sudden you were worried you’d completely forgotten how to tie a tie.

“Yeah I mean,” you paused, maybe saying something about how he’s supposed to look nice and not sloppy wouldn’t be the best, “Just come here…”

Simon hesitated, then clenched his jaw, taking a step forward as you tucked the file under your arm, squeezing it tight to you. Fixing your hair behind your ears before you stood straight, reaching out to his tie–which was a simple black tie. Honestly it was a little short for the tall man, but you didn’t think Simon would care too much about how long his tie was supposed to be.

“I think I have to take it all the way off,” you said, looking closer at the knot the blond had tied it into. You glanced up at his face, and the tall man shrugged.

“Do what ya need.”

Your hands worked fast to untie it, and pulled the tie from around his neck before straightening out. Your face felt hot–you were sure you were red, or looked sweaty at least, and Simon was just…staring. Brows relaxed for once as he looked at you with a blank face, which, was slightly softer than his usually resting face. As you went to re-loop the tie, you found yourself going onto your tippy toes slightly. Leaning in closer to him as your arms went up. You tried to keep distance between the two of you, professionally of course, he was technically your boss in some way. But Simon leaned down, almost like he was chasing the distance you were subtly creating as you leaned back. You could smell him, even in ‘nicer’ clothes he still had the almost minty lingering scent of cigarettes and a certain musky sweat smell to him. It wasn’t bad, like BO sweat, but it wasn’t like cedar or “ocean mist” or anything like that.

You looked up to his face, quickly finding his eyes locked onto you. Sunken and brown, you couldn’t help but notice how thick his lashes were, and they were light, not blond but light. They seemed to catch the light of the gym beautifully, even though the lighting was terrible, Simon didn’t seem to get the memo. Even his eyes looked like they were reflecting a golden hour type light. Even with the dark circles and eye-black residue around them (which you noticed never fully came off, you’d never see him without some short of muck on his face).

You gulped, licking your lips nervously as you snapped your gaze back to the tie, burning hotter than ever. There was no way he happened to not catch you hard you were staring directly into his eyes.

But, you didn’t notice how intensely he was staring at you, so he might’ve not noticed.

“Um, so,” your voice again was squeaky as you spoke, “You just make sure this side is longer than this side, and then cross it over here…”

Your hands were slightly unsteady as you showed him. Explaining as you went, finishing with a fairly decent tied tie. Much better than what Simon had done, as you adjusted it, you also found yourself fixing his collar, which was a bit uneven, and buttoning one of the buttons he hadn’t. Before you found yourself squaring out his shoulders like a mother would her child you stopped yourself.

“Uh, sorry, got ahead of myself, I tied my boyf–ex’s ties all the time, he didn’t know how, like at all, it was embarrassing…for him! Not for you!” you chuckled nervously as you pulled your hands away, rubbing them on your skirt, which you also adjusted where it didn’t need it, tugging it down a bit, “It’s totally understandable for you, he was just like, um a child ya know. Totally helpless…”

As soon as you mentioned him you regretted it, not only did it make you think about him, which you had tried not to do since you last saw him, but Simon’s whole demeanor changed. He tensed and his brows pinched tight, his mouth curled down and he had a thinly veiled sneer on his face. Shoulders leaning forward slightly, fists clenched at his sides.

“Enuff of that,” he pulled his hand up to run it down the tie, looking from it to you, looking at you with that same annoyed sunken look he typically had, “Don’t gotta talk about that tosser anymore. Fuckin’ wanker pushed his luck, used it all up with ya.”

You raised a brow, looking at him confused.

“Used it all up?”

“Glad t’see ya kids gettin’ along.”

The stray voice jolted you two out of the bubble of standing outside Price’s office. Speaking of, the grumbly man was closing the door behind him, holding a sleek black briefcase in his hand. Smiling at the two of you.

“I–” Looking at Simon, you realized how close you two were still standing, how he was slightly leaning down to you, and how you were standing with your hands clasped behind your back in a school-girl way.

Simon grumbled, standing up straighter, “Ya talk like yer on yer deathbed, old man.”

Your heart was racing, and your eyes wide as you looked at Price. Not exactly sure why you felt like you’d been caught doing something, but your body was reacting the same, embarrassed and nervous. Not a feeling you enjoyed.

“Um, yes sir! I was helping with Simons tie,” you yipped, gesturing to the tie. Simon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Your stomach jumped at how barrel chested he looked, and how thick his arms looked, and his fucking mitts of hands.

You quickly snapped out of it, smiling at Price sheepishly.

“Aw, Simon couldn’t tie ’is own tie,” Price laughed and clapped the large man on the shoulder, giving him a look you couldn’t quite figure out. Felt like you were out on an inside joke.

“I can tie me tie, she just... does it better, office-snob type,” Simon glanced at you, the back to Price.

“Hey,” your brows pinched together as you huffed, “I’m not a snob…”

Price laughed, “Don’t worry darlin’, we don’t think yer a snob, yer just well put together, somethin’ Riley’s not used to.”

The bearded man laughed again as he clapped Simon on the shoulder harder than before, almost as a reprimand. Price squeezed Simon’s shoulder as he looked at you.

“Well, best get on our way, there’s a car out front we’re takin’,” and with that Price walked off, whistling a soft tune as he went, “Don’t wanna leave everyone waitin’.”

When he was out of ear-shot, you looked to Simon.

“I’m not a snob,” you said, crossing your arms, pouting. 

“Don’t read too much int’ it, love,” Simon didn’t seem to be listening too much as he looked at you, but he shook his head and as he walked ahead of you, you swore you saw a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

Scoffing to yourself, you jogged to catch up, following the two men out of the building. Price let you two to a back parking lot you didn’t know was there, and to a large truck. It wasn’t exactly brand new but it looked like a sturdy work truck.

Honestly, you were expecting something…nicer. An expensive black car with blacked out windows and so clean the paint was like a mirror. But, a large dirty white work truck that was slightly lifted and had dents in the doors was the only car in the lot. You clutched the folder tight as you followed after the two, nearly jogging to keep up with their long legged pace, and the uneven ground wasn’t ideal for heels.

You were also very aware that there was apparently no backseat.

Price reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys, glancing back to the two of you.

“Sorry 'bout the ride, darlin', the regular work car is,” Price paused to think over his words as he stuck the key into the door, unlocking it, “In the shop at the mo', got a bit banged up. So we're usin' Simon's truck.”

Simon sighed as his large hand reached for the passenger door, pausing as he looked into the car the back to you, like he was piecing something together. The driver's side door groaned as it opened, rocking the truck as Price swung himself in, grinning.

“She ridin’ in the bed then?”

Simon jerked the door open as he shot a nod towards you. Your eyes widened as you looked at the bed of the truck, swallowing thickly as you looked at the brute, he didn’t look like he was cracking a joke. But then again, he never really did.

“I'm not riding in the bed,” you said, pointing a finger at it, then looking at Price, “–um, sir…”

Price laughed, turning the car on, the engine rolling. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not ridin' in the bed,” he chuckled, patting the seat next to him (which was not a seat but the hump in between the two seats that would maybe fit a five year old…so not you).

“O-oh,” you squeaked, Simon stepped off to the side, still gripping the door tightly. His lips pressed tight together. You grabbed onto the truck and lifted yourself up, setting the folder down as you climbed into the truck. As awkward as it was, and you nearly stumbled forward as you pulled yourself all the way in. A bit red in the face as you sat yourself next to Price, keeping a few inches between you two. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Price pat your knee and looked past you, the grin on his face growing.

You had a few inches separating you and Price, that was till Simon got into the truck. The cab rocking and his large frame squishing you against Price. Your body tensed as you were squished tight between the two men.

Simon grunted, shooting you a side eye, “Can’t ya move o'er.”

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth, curling in on yourself instinctively, then looked to Simon with a crease in your brows, “No. If I move over anymore I’ll be in Mr. Price’s lap…”

The blond man let out an annoyed grunt, “Just–christ woman…”

Price let out a belly laugh as he looked to you both, “Now no bickering, I need you two on your best behavior for this meeting, understood?”

He looked at you at the end, gaining a bit more of a serious tone. Your shoulders raised and you nodded. File clutched in your hands as it rested on your lap.

“Of course, uh, sir, Mr. Price…”

Simon scoffed lightly next to you and Price patted your thigh, feeling Simon's arms rub against you as he crossed them over his chest.

The ride was stuffy, even though the windows were down both men smelling heavily of tobacco and Simon smelled of sweat and Price of cologne. Not to mention the truck, god it smelled like an ashtray and mothballs, and, the lingering scent of pennies would catch your nose every other breath. The scratchy radio playing something quietly.

Unfortunately both men man-spread, and it was a manual truck, so you could either try to spread your legs around the gear shift, or tuck them tight against Simon. Which, you opted for. Body burning hot at each bump or gear shift that jolted the truck–at a certain point you think Price was doing it on purpose with how harsh his start and stops were, and a particularly sharp turn that landed you nearly splayed over Simon's lap.

You refused to look at him after that, face burning all the way down your neck. Simon kept a steady gaze out the windshield, solid as stone in his seat. At another rough turn by Price, Simon moved. A hand reaching over to press itself hastily against your shoulder–steadying you on the turn. 

“Uh, thank you,” you muttered out, licking your lips nervously, not looking at the bulky man.

He grunted in return and looked out the window next to him, his hand moving down to wipe itself along his slacks, his muscles tense as if he was hesitating to make a movement.

“Ow long 'ave you lived in town?” Price's voice cut into the air., Making you jump slightly.

“A few years,” you fidgeted with your hair then looked at Price, the older man switching between looking at you and the road, “Something like 4 or 5, I moved once while I was here.”

“Oh is that right?” Price mused. You nodded and hummed at him, looking back in front of you. There weren’t many people out, and not too many cars parked along the road. You were entering a nicer part of town, where more of the business and financial buildings were. Nothing extremely high end, but your old job was about 10 minutes from where you were now.

As you were looking around the area, watching people hurry up and down the street, all in nice clothing, you felt Simon shift next to you, then felt the weight of his arm behind you. Your brows raised as you instinctively sat up straighter, sending a side-eye his way.

He had his face turned away from you, and looked even more tense than before, but this time his arm was resting on the upholstery behind you, there were no headrests, so you could lay your head back on his thick forearm if you wanted it. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you could smell him more now that you were essentially tucked into his chest, under his arm.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to move, or scooch away from him. In fact the thought of it made you tense up more. The car was silent.

“Comin’ up on it,” Price said, a cheesy grin on his face as he looked at you both, “It’s jus' 'round the cor'ner.”

“Mmhm!” your voice was squeaky, and went even higher when you felt Simon’s arm move closer to you, more wrapping around your shoulder now. You honestly didn’t know what to do, it was like when a cat laid on you and you didn’t want it to move…or claw you to shit. This all felt like some Johnny shenanigan, the “yawn to arm over the shoulder” thing seemed very much up his lane, but not Simons. Especially not with you, you weren’t sure he liked you in general–much less had a romantic liking hidden in there for you.

Price pulled around a tall building with large glass windows, and parked in a shadowed off parking area down an alley behind it. Roughly turning the car off and opening the groaning door.

“Hop out, love-birds, we’re 'ere!”

Simon ripped his arm away from you faster than you'd ever seen him move, and got out of the car, walking off quickly.

God it felt like you had whiplash, grabbing the file tightly and slipping out of the car, hopping down onto the pavement. Looking up to see Simon pulling on his black balaclava, tucking it into the collar of his shirt, speaking quietly with Price at the end of the bed of the truck. You found yourself frowning slightly at the covered up face, you’d grown to like not seeing it covered.

Simon glanced over, rolling his shoulders when he saw you. Your brows pinched slightly as he just stared at you, before peeling his eyes away to look back at Price who was saying something to the large man. 

You closed the door of the truck, and looked down at your attire, adjusting your skirt and shirt, flattening it out properly before you walked over to the two men.

Price looked at you as he shoved the keys in his pocket, resting his hands in them as he spoke.

“Ah Y/n,” he sounded more reserved than usual, more professional, “Stick close to Simon, yeah? Don’t want ya wanderin' off in 'ere, an' don’t speak to anyone unless you're with me an' I’m talkin' to 'em. Got it?”

You nodded, “Yes Sir.”

Simon sighed heavily, as Price clapped his hands together.

“Wonderful,” the man reached up and pinched your cheek, “Simon'll keep ya safe, darlin', don’t worry 'bout it. Jus' be sweet an' smile that pretty smile.”

You nodded and rubbed where Price pinched you, looking up at Simon who was looking steadily at Price with a hard gaze. 

“They really got into character when it related to business,” you thought, huffing through your nose. Following them into the building. You felt your pace falter slightly at how nice the inside of the building was. Pristine and shiny and everything looked so expensive. Especially the people walking around.

There were a few eyes on you three as you walked in, but for the most part everyone acted like this was a normal occurrence. Which, it probably was for all you knew. It was cold inside, and smelled like a hospital. Not warm or welcome at all.

Price walked up to the front desk where a pretty girl was sitting, typing away. She had hair pins holding her hair back and a radiant face. She glanced up at you three, her eyes lingering on you–looking you up and down before glancing to Price with a “really?” look on her face.

“Mr. Price?” she asked, folding her arms on her desk, tilting her head.

“Yeh, ma’am,” he grinned. Simon stood behind and to the side of Price, looming over him and the desk–like some kind of evil guardian angel.

“You’re late you know,” her tone was sharp, not terribly, but she wasn’t exactly pleased. You felt your face flush when she looked at you, “Why have the secretary if you aren’t going to use her?”

Price waved her off, “We made it, didn’t we?”

The woman behind the desk shook her head and picked up the phone, typing numbers in, “You know Kate hates starting off late…”

Price chuckled and shrugged, “I’ll deal with 'er, don’t you worry.”

The woman laughed and scoffed, “Yeah I’m sure you will–12th floor, third room on the left, and you better hurry up.”

With that Price nodded and led you both to an elevator, once on it you three stood in silence. Standing between Price and Simon, the elevator had the lingering scent of cologne and perfume, watered down by the time between people using it.

“That was Laswell's wife,” John said, leaning against the wall of the elevator slightly, stretching his leg out like his knee was bothering him, “Sweet woman, but no doubt sick of us coming in and putting her wife in a bad mood.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head.

“Laswell?” you asked, quirking a brow. The name ringing a faint bell in your memory.

“Ah yes,” Price snapped, “I don’t believe I ever officially put 'er in your files. Think of 'er as upper management, she’s me boss essentially. Oversees most, if not all, of the organizations workin' in our line o' business. Gets the las' say in 'bout 80% o' anythin'. Tough woman. Makes sure everyone gets theirs an' gets it however she deems it fair— which, ain't always exactly fair.”

“She can be a'right cunt most o' the time,” Simon grumbled.

“Don’t mind 'im, he’s jus’ pissed Laswell lets guys use ‘performance enhancin' drugs’ before fightin' 'im,” Price explained.

“Fuckin’ shits.”

You nodded, feeling your back straighten as the numbers above the doors grow higher, anxiety seeping through your skin and dripping into sweat. An image of this evil, towering, red-eyed woman popping into your head. Sharp claws that had blood dried underneath. Shadowed eyes and a serpent tongue. Sweat beading at the base of your back, joints tight as you shifted, shoes suddenly unbearable and clothes incredibly tight.

The elevator dinged, and you felt your breath suction back into your lungs, nearly making you lightheaded. 

Simon shifted up straighter, hands clasped behind his back and Price was still messing with his leg, shaking it out as cursing about an old injury under his breath. As the doors opened you nearly wanted to look away, fearing you’d meet eye to eye with medusa.

Instead you saw the bright light of the floor, and a lean blonde woman standing with her arms crossed a few feet from the elevator doors. She had her hair pulled into a bun, her bangs swept across her forehead. Lips pulled into a frown and brows wrinkled together. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her shirt was perfectly tucked into her navy slacks which fit her unbelievably well. Straight legged all the way down to cover the sleek black heel she was wearing. The air that radiated off of her reminded you of the very high up business women you’d see go off on people at your old job or who your boss would try to suck up too when they’d come in. Demanding respect and holding so much power over the room.

“You’re late,” she said, voice heavy with annoyance, she licked her teeth under her lips and sighed, “Again.”

my lovely tag list for this series:

@sophhieannee . @rafaelacallinybbay . @oceantornadoo . @jamdoughnuts . @msjaeger .

[bussyyeukie]

an unhealthy obsession

stalker!konig x reader: sure this happens, but you never thought it'd be you, I mean, you didn't do anything...you didn't even talk to that many strangers, sure you were nice just not overly, and yeah you were attractive but not to the degree of being obsessed over, you didn't even have that much money for someone to obsess over! God why'd you always get the short end of the stick...

You were being haunted. You were sure of it. Maybe not by a ghost or demon (although you'd debated that), but by something.

As silly as it sounded, but your brain was more ok with that than the thought of someone stalking you. At this point you were more sick of it than scared, your clothes went missing just to turn up a week later smelling weird, your soaps and lotions would run out quicker than ever-and they were expensive. Your dirty glasses would wind up on the counter when you'd get back from work, new lips marks on them on-top of your old ones, especially if you'd worn lipstick. It would stop for a few months, or weeks at a time and just when you thought it was finally done for, it would start up again. One time after 5 months of nothing happening, you'd woken up and went to the bathroom, only to find it covered in piss. Like, covered, you had nearly moved at that point. Your window (which you'd close and lock at night) would be cracked when you woke up. The trees outside your window would insistently tap at the glass, and you'd come home sometimes to weird 'gifts' on your counters or in your fridge. One time you came home to a bottle of wine and a back of condoms on your living room table. You stayed at a friends house that night. Didn't even put your work bag down before you decided "nope, not staying here tonight. Not dealing with that."

You tried the police, but you didn't have any real evidence, and you hadn't seen the man (or ghost), had no idea who it could be, and you hadn't been physically attacked...yet. So they didn't do shit, only said to call them if it progressed. Which it did, and they still didn't help.

You'd even taken all the stickers off your car to try to make it less, recognizable. Not that it really helped, but, you didn't know that. Even if you got a whole new car it wouldn't help any.

The first time you met him was in the dead of winter when you'd stopped off at that grocery store for some cleaning supplies. There were odd stains in your clothes that would not come out, no matter how much you'd wash them.

The basket tucked in the crook of your arm pinched at your skin, even under the thick sweater and jacket you wore, weighed down with a bottle of bleach and some fabric cleaner-the spot treatment kind, and a bag of coffee grounds.

You adjusted it as you reached up on the shelf for a bottle of "stubborn stain remover". Seemed overkill but the stains were so common recently that you were willing to try anything. Even mixing chemicals. Normally you'd just throw the item out, but this was your all time favorite shirt, and you wanted to give it a fighting change.

Your basket was posing a challenge though, every time you'd reach up for the tall shelf the items would shift and knock around, pinching your further or just making it tough to hold the basket. You'd opted for setting it down next to your feet with a huff. Before looking back at your item, which you still found challenging to reach. It was on the very top shelf, and seemed to be pushed back. Which was odd that it would be in suck an inconvenient place.

"Ugh," you sighed, straining your reach to grasp at it, fingers trying to nudge it closer to you uselessly, "Come on..."

You tucked your chin down to you chest in hopes that would be the extra inch you needed. But after your side started cramping you just gave up. Settling back down onto your heels as you rubbed your forehead, thoroughly annoyed.

A shuffling at the end of the isle caught your attention, glancing over-which turned into whipping your whole head to look. A shocked look on your face, lips pressed tight and eyes wide as you looked at the man at the other end of the isle, holding a basket in his hand and reading the label of a bottle.

He was...huge. Beyond huge. This mans head was easily looking over the top of the shelves and the basket in his hand looked like a child's toy basket.

Your eyes raked up and down his body, he looked...suspicious to say the least. Wearing dark clothing and lots of layers, big boots and a ballcap that was tugged down his face. A mask covering the lower half.

Pulling your gaze back to the items in front of you, you felt a weird feeling of unease rack up your spine, rolling around your ribs and getting lodged in your throat.

Sighing, minorly upset you were judging this stranger so hard but, considering the stress you'd been under recently it wasn't a surprise.

You'd been shorter with people lately, and didn't talk to strangers as much as you did before. You also stopped going to new places pretty much all together.

As you tucked your hair behind your ear you rubbed the back of your neck, looking up at the item you needed. Quickly picking up on the heavy sound of footsteps approaching you. Glancing out of the corner of your eye to see the man walking closer, looking at the shelves as he passed.

As he got closer you tucked your backset closer to yourself, and further out of his way. Trying to eliminate any points of talking or interaction with the man before it happened.

Clenching your jaw as you chanted 'please just keep walking, keep walking, keep walking' as he grew closer. The music playing through the crackled speakers in the grocery store putting you even more on edge.

"Ex-kyoos me?"

You cursed to yourself and looked next to you, a tight smile on your lips as you craned your neck to look up at him. His voice was higher than you expected it to be, and he had a thick German accent.

"Um, yeah?"

You looked at his face, smile faltering a little at the look in his eye. It was...unsettling, he looked excited. From the skin you could see it was pale and had thick dark eyebrows, his eyes were pretty blue, even under the shadowing of the cap. He had almost a pleading look to him.

"I don't mean to in-trood, but," he chuckled a little, gesturing up over your head to the shelf, "I no-ticed you strug-gling a lit-tle bit."

His words sounded a bit clipped with his accent, and you felt your face flush as you looked off to the side.

"Um, yeah it's," you looked up to the shelf, "A little high for me, I was ab out to start climbing the shelf honestly."

You chuckled a little at your joke, and the man let out a sharp laugh and nodded.

"Ah ja, I vas vondering if you vere going to," he locked his eyes to you, holding an uncomfortable amount of eye contact, "However, I vould be more than happy to help if, ah you don't feel like clim-bing."

You shrugged, looking at the shelf and smiling kindly, "Yeah I'd be happy for the help, thank you."

As you were about to step off to the side, clear out of the mans way, he stepped forward, nearly trapping you against the shelf. Reaching up and grabbing the stain remover easily. Your eyes were wide as you were nearly nose to chest with the man.

Blinking owlishly as you looked up to his face, brows pinched together tighty.

"Um..."

He smelled of, old sweat, and something mildly familiar. But not enough to place. He also smelled of smoke, like wood smoke, or a old campfire or something along those lines.

He stepped back with the item and his eyes were crinkled like he was grinning happily under his mask.

"Heer you are bärchen!"

He held the bottle out to you, you hesitated to grab it, hand reaching out impishly to grab it, placing it into your basket. Eyeing the man up and down.

"Thank you?" your pitch peaked at the end, licking your lips nervously as you bit them.

"Of course," his tone was cheerful and he didn't back up any more, still far too close for comfort, "Vy else be zis tall if not to help, ja?"

You chuckled quietly with him, glancing down at his basket, and to his large, sturdy boots. There was mud caked on them, almost to the point it was flaking off.

"Yeah that's a good point there," you nodded, putting your hands into pockets.

"A lot of clee-ning sup-plies, yes?" the man gestured down to your basket.

You looked down to yours, sighing out, "oh yeah, my clothes just won't stay clean recently, not sure how they're getting so dirty."

You regretted saying it the moment it came out of your mouth.

"Ah, den zis vill help. My mutter used to use lemon to clean grass stains out of my clothing as a mäuschen," the man laughed, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man was a bout as wide as he was tall, your brain kicking into fight or flight as you looked at his arms, You swore you saw muscle moving even under all the clothing. His legs as well, they were obviously solid, about as thick as your torso.

"Oh, I'll try that one," you nodded along, then looked down at his basket. Almost upset that you noticed a handful of your favorite items, and your favorite brands.

That weird feeling made its way back with a vengeance. Nearly making you dizzy by how suffocated you felt being towered over by this man.

"I've actually," you grabbed your basket, lugging it into the crook of your arm, smiling sweetly at the man, but anyone could see how the corners of your mouth twitched and how tight your face looked, "I've really gotta get going, thank you very much though! It was very sweet..."

"Of course bärchen, any time."

You backed away, praying to any god out there that the man just let you leave. Quickly making your way out of the isle when he made no move to stop you, but he watched you intently the entire time until you were out of sight. Even then you felt like he was looking over the shelves to watch you. You must've broken a record with how fast you checked out and got to your car. Sighing heavily as you locked the doors. Smacking your head against the headrest.

The drive home was uneventful, but you'd taken a strange route just because you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that you were still being watching. Whipping around at a red light to look in the back seat of your car, finding nothing. Groaning to yourself and rubbing your face aggressively at how crazy you were acting. Really thinking someone tucked themselves into the back of your car-much less that 6'7" mountain from the grocery store.

"Christ, I'm loosing it."

When you got home your door was locked, and nothing was out of place inside. Putting your items away, and tossing your bag onto your couch. Feeling a wave of relief wash over you until you made it into your bedroom.

Where you found a package of your favorite chocolates on your pillow, and a pair of your missing underwear placed delicately by the chocolate, a pretty lacey bow tied around them.

You shouted loudly, throwing your heavy jacket down onto the floor, hair wild as you put your hands raked into it.

"God-damnit!"

[bussyyeukie]

Just read your witch reader x könig story and it’s SO DELICIOUS!! the dialogue is so so good and I LOVE that könig is literally a sopping wet hulk of a man. He’s literally 🥺 and I love love love a soft könig!! Your writing is incredible and I couldn’t help but let you know!! I hope your drinks are always the right temperature and your clothes never pill 🫶 ok I’ve rambled enough bye!!!!

OMGG pls you're so sweet im dying--ok just for this im writing a p.2 to the witch story as soon as i get unlocked out of my computer so i hope you like 🤭 (and yess i love big soft soaking wet cat konig with all my heart 🫶🫶)

[bussyyeukie]

konig x witch!reader: Tales of witches spread across the land. They always had, and you’d heard every rendition, every addition of sin and atrocity that came with the name.

Wicked, wicked witches. Women murdered and outcast for hallucinations and illness, how disgusting. All the tales of how cruel and ugly they were, ragged hags who lured children, who were decrepit and decomposing. Alone in their caves and huts.

Every whisper of it made your nose scrunch, made your stomach twist. How could they ever know? They’d never even seen a witch, they let their fear and their paranoia rule their societies. Every time you had to venture into town the eyes never left you, as sweet and kind as you were. Never raised your voice at a villager, never harmed anything. Always paid more than what you owe. Their crops rarely ever failed. The game was always large and the weather never as bad as it should have been.

Yet still, witches were evil, vicious creatures that ate babies and caused plague, that cursed and killed. So evil they had to be burned, hung, torn apart. To cleanse the land of their sin.

Your brows twitched and your hand squeezed tighter into a fist as the peach you clutched exploded. The flesh of it mangled in your fist, the juice dripping down into the plate in front of you. A harsh breath escaping your lips. 

“Evil,” you shook your head, before you gingerly placed the peach down onto the place, the sweet smell of it lingering in the air, “How darest they utter such a thing…”

You wiped your hand on the apron tied around your waist, the skirts under it bulky. Your feet padded against the floor as you walked to the basket by your door. Leaning to lift the blanket over it, grumbling in an irritated way and you snapped back up. Stomping a foot in an almost childish manner.

“Ugh, and now I am bereft of peaches,” your lips pursed as you looked to the side. Grabbing the thick shall laying on the chair by the large fireplace and roaring fire you threw it around you. The thick smell of smoke, anise and angelica filling the house. 

Your hair spilled over your shoulders and rolled down your back, grabbing the basket and fully removing the blanket over it. Wind chills your face as you open the door. You never got fully cold, nor hot, but you still felt the temperature outside.

Outside your house, about a ten minute walk away, was an orchard, a variety of trees in it–all growing surprisingly well for the time of year. Apple trees, apricots, peaches, oranges, figs, you name it. The walk was always nice, never another living person even close to it, and the animals were always calm. Taken care of and docile towards you.

The trees around you were full, the sweet smell surrounding you, reaching the edge of the rochard where the peaches were. The tree heavy with the pink-orange fruit.

You licked your lips, reaching up and grabbing the fruit. The air was quiet, just the sound of the light rustling of animals in the foliage. Until a heavy scent reached your nose, thick and metal and rotten. Your face rolled into disgust and you looked around. Your basket reached the ground as you followed the scent, frowning as it grew stronger. Steps silent, moving almost weightless as you walked, winding down from your orchard and into a hiding of thick trees. The hand is what you saw first, skin prickling as you followed it up to the arm, and then the head, which was face down in the mud. You ventured closer, eyes widening as you saw the size of the man laying there. His clothes were nearly too small for him, and a knife laid discarded feet away from him. Pooling of thick blood around him, covering the cloth and his porcelain skin. He wasn’t breathing, in fact he was completely motionless.

Your steps grew more tentative as you grew closer, till you were standing right over him. You crouched down, looking the man over. Sighing, it was nearly a shame such a pinnacle of a man was dead. You hadn’t seen someone this size in…years, decades nearly. Hand reaching out to him, you placed it softly on his back, nearly jerking it away at the shooting of energy up your arm, tingling residing in your fingertips.

A chuckled bubbling at your lips, “Alive, is it?”

With a sigh you looked out at the woods, then back to the man, still face down in the mud, glancing down to his feet, shoeless. His feet caked in mud and probably cut. Your brows pinched, then dig your hands under him, standing as you grunted, flipping him over. Letting out a huff at the struggle, he was as heavy as he was big.

There was an eerie chill that ran up your spine as you looked at him, at his face. He was handsome, chopped hair sticking to his face with the mud, his nose obviously broken, and he had gashes littering his skin. 

It was like wolves got to him, or a bear, or someone who really did not care for the colossus of a man.

“Thou poor soul, what hast thou done to merit this?”

Your hands ran over his chest, before pulling it back and seeing the dark liquid covering your skin. Looking back to the man's face, your muscles tensed to a near solid state.

He was looking at you.

Eyes bloodshot and drooping.

“Thou…an angel in hell…?”

His voice was dark, raspy. Ringing into the cold air around you two. It almost made the still air colder. Your brows pinched together, licking your teeth under your lips.

“Thou art dying, thou knowest this, dost thou not?”

He blinked slowly, and tried lifting his head up, only to let out a throaty groan as his eyes rolled back, head falling back against the ground. Your eyes were trained on him, knees touching down in the mud under the man, leaning down next to his ear, lips just barely brushing against the marred skin. Voice airy and light on your tongue.

“Wouldst thou live?”

There was a beat of silence before the man's head twitched towards you, a shallow breath rattling through him.

“Why would I desire to live…if I be seen as a monster…”

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, fingers spreading wide, as you pressed your hand firmly to his chest, and flesh molding to you and the thick feeling of his heartbeat rattling against your bones. Lips pressing closer to his ear, voice echoing into him in a honeysuckle sweet tone.

“Wouldst thou live deliciously?”

The man gulped, you felt his gaze on you, weak as he was, his arm jerked up, hand shaking and curled in on itself. Until it gripped onto your wrist, squeezing it as tight as he could. The skin of his hand frigid on yours with the tingling rang through yet again.

His head weakly lifted up again till his mouth was near your ear, his breath quick and weak.

“...y-yes frau…”

The smile on your face grew, cheeks pulling as your eyes cut into the forest in front of you. Hand pressing harsher into his chest, muscles taught under your skin as the man's head fell back to the ground.

“Then I shall save thee, my fair little one…”

A groan left the man's lips as you stood, feet and knees muddy, palms covered in the dark rich blood that seeped from him. Looking down at him, the titan body laid out in the foliage, ripped and torn. The cold creeped up around him, and pulled him into the earth.

The lumbering sound of footsteps rang through the house. Thick smells of earth and musty like jericho. A smile twitched at your lips as you sat in front of the fire. The wood floor in front of you empties all for the scribblings on the floor, and the candles and strewn about herbs and the dead dove in the middle. Laid on its back with its wings opened wide. The golden white color of it shining in the light of the fire, your face illuminated as well. A pristine butterfly laying above the head of the dove. Skin sweaty in the light, only wearing a bunched skirt that had smearings of oils and charcoal on it.

You turned to look behind you, eyes shining as you looked at the shadowed figure standing a few feet behind you. Heart hammering in your chest, and your breathing picking up as your eyes dragged up the muddy figure.

“Thou hast done this…”

The giggles that jabbed against your throat were barely contained as you stood, body moving lanky and like you were approaching a wild beast. His voice was rough and raw, face shadowed in the darkness.

You watched as his hand tentatively pulled to his stomach, pressing his hand to it as he felt up and around his abdomen. Like he was scared he’d still find himself cut open.

“Not to thy, liking?”

Your smile stretched wide as you tilted your head. The man nearly didn’t fit inside your house, his clothing was dripping wet, soaked and caked onto his body.

“It…” the man's tongue caught in his throat, swallowing thick as he took a step forward, hesitating a bit as he did, moving further into the light of the fire, “I was dead…”

You stepped to the side, splaying your arm out at the ritual laid in front of the fire.

“Naught that I could not mend, lahm,” you said, scrunching your nose in an endearing way, poking fun at the man's thick germanic accent.

The man leaned down, bringing his full face into the view of the light, he was littered with scarring, an especially gnarly looking one pulling from near his ear to his top lip, tugging it up. Even with the frown he wore. His dull and muddy blue eyes locked onto you.

“Why, frau?”

You couldn’t help but admire his face, even with the scarring, and the pale skin, he had a strong nose and full brows. Your hand was brought up and wiped some of the layered mud off of his face, booping him on the nose.

“Life is precious, and I shall not abide the way 'twas torn from thee ere thy time,” you grinned at him, leaning in a bit, till your faces were mere inches apart, “Not to disturb the natural order, but oft must tweaks be wrought.”

The man looked at you longer, then stood up. Lifting one of his bear paw hands and gripping your shoulder, his eyes darting up and down your body as he moved his hand more towards the back of your neck and away from your chest, ever respectful.

“Thou dost play with life’s fate?” he asked, chuckling to himself, “How fortunate am I that thou hast found me, ah frau?”

You gripped his wrist, thumbing at the skin exposed, scraping your nails along his goosebumps flesh.

“Aye, how truly fortunate thou art…”

[bussyyeukie]

deathproof!Price x reader: normally you didn’t fling yourself into trouble, not that you didn’t find it, but you didn’t exactly hide from it…and this man with the broad chest and the smug smile screamed something awful, too bad you weren’t able to read that the first go around…

The rain beat down hard outside, such a contrast from the dry heat of the day–but that’s southern weather for you, so unpredictable sometimes. At least to you, not that the rain would've changed your plans.

Your teeth softly nipped at the butt of your cigarette, slowly smoldering away in front of you, smoke whispering up around your face and into the air around you. Eyes drooped and body relaxed leaning against the beam next to you, arm crossed under your breasts as it supported your other arm, which was reaching for your cigarette. Taking a slow drag from it as you followed with a deep breath in. Looking out over the parking lot, small and dirt. The bright billboard was captivating you. Something about the woman laid out on it with a wicked smile, her hair huge and a certain glint in her eye. You’d spent about 10 minutes staring at it, your first cig had just smoldered out the first round. But you weren’t as totally drunk as you were 10 minutes ago, so you could focus on two things at once better.

Your skin is deceivingly warm in the chilly night, even without a jacket. Boots nearly to your ankles and wide on your calves, nowhere near the short cutoffs you wore, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter tugging tight at your back pocket, phone tugging at the front pocket. Your shirt was exactly thick either for that matter. But by god did the liquor and the unbearably stuffy bar help warm you up.

Your brows furrowed as you looked at the billboard, sloppily pushing your unruly hair out of your face.

“Those’ll kill ya, y’know,” a gruff voice broke the near silence. Making you jump and whip your head around, eyes impossibly wide.

“Jesus fuck–” your voice was muffled by the cigarette pressed tightly between your lips, putting a hand to your chest, you plucked the cig from your mouth and scoffed, “You scared the hell outta me!”

Looking toward the door of the bar, dusty yellow light flooded out of it, only to be blocked by the stocky man in the doorway.

His arms crossed over his chest, pulling the sleeves of his jacket tight on his arms, and no doubt tight on his back too. A warm smile stretched across his face, which was full with mutton chops, and scruff.

Your brows furrowed tighter, cocking your head as the man chuckled, deep and rumbling, like heavy bass.

“Sorry darlin', couldn’t help it, not my intention but,” he walked forward a bit, shaking his head, making his way over the railing you were at, “No matter wot, I think I would’ve spooked ya.”

Wish a heavy breath you looked up at him through your brows, licking your teeth, before huffing and looking out over the parking lot again, silence falling between you two. You pulled another drag from your cigarette as the man chimed in.

“Serious though, those'll kill ya one day.”

With a glance to the side, before you turned to him and blew the smoke out–with no care how much it got in his face–you smiled. He didn’t even flinch at the smoke, instead you swore he took a deep breath in.

“Lots of things could kill me,” you said, hand on your hip, hooking a thumb in the waistline of your shorts, “And last I checked, most do die someday, and I’m not one to try and fight off the inevitable.”

Your smile twitched as you let the cigarette hang between your lips again, this time leaning back on the post behind you, and crossing your arms, looking the man up and down.

“Very true darlin', can’t really argue wiv that,” the man leaning on his elbow, which was propped on the railing beside you two, before sniffing and holding a hand out, “in that case, care t' share?”

There was a beat of silence before you rolled your eyes and chuckled, cheeks pink.

“Yeah man, sure,” you handed it over, not noticing the way the man's fingers lingered all too long on yours. Touching far too much for a pass of a cigarette. You did take note of how warm he was, skin rough and buzzing with heat. You also notice for the first time the hat he had on, almost a fisherman's cap but you couldn’t really tell.

He took a long drag of it, watching you the whole time, before sucking his teeth and passing it back to you, “Wot a pretty thing doin' all alone out 'ere? Dangerous this time o' night…”

You laughed a beat, the creepy nature of the comment flying over your head. 

“Admiring the local art,” you gestured to the billboard–which seemed much less interesting after your intense concentration on it had been broken, you paused for a moment then looked at the man and pointed accusingly, “hey–I can protect myself, thank you.”

The man chuckled, whipping his nose before settling back into his jacket, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

You crossed your arms smug-like, eyes scanning over the man's face, definitely taking note of how full his facial hair was, and how there were crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He was…very attractive, and they didn’t get past you. He had broad shoulders, and a full chest, and a taught stomach, and thick thighs. Your eyes dragged back up to the man's face, a smug smirk on his lips as his eyebrows were raised.

You leaned in closer to his, grinning, swaying your body slightly.

“I have a secret,” you said, rather sing-songy.

The man grinned wider, “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh,” you leaned back, back thudding against the beam, licking your lips slightly.

“Gonna tell me, darlin', or just leave me all high an' dry?”

You leaned forward, keeping heavy eye contact with the man in front of you, back straight as you bent at your hips. Sliding your hand down your leg as you did, reaching down into your boot, fingers twitching as they touch a cold metal in your shoe.

“You gonna ask nicely?”

The teasing chip in your tone made the man laugh, leaning down slightly himself to get closer to your face.

“Can I please know yer secret?”

A wicked grin stretching across your face, tugging at your lips. Eyes widening.

“You wanna see it?”

The man leaned down even further, looking nearly face-to-face with you.

“Ah reelly wanna see darlin’.”

The air was thick between the two of you. You could feel sweat pebbling on your palms, and on your upper lip. The man's gaze was so firm with your own, that it made your cheeks twitch with your smile.

In a split second your hand was out of your boot and the blade of your hunting knife popped open with a click, 5 inches long, and sharp. The tip of it resting just under the man's chin, just barely scratching at the scruff that was there.

Your pupils were dilated as you looked at him, grinning and wagging your hips playfully as you bit your lip rather rough. But you didn’t care, you were pretty drunk.

The man didn’t move, his eyes still locked steady with yours, not even flinched at the knife to his neck. In fact, he looked even more excited.

“Cute little thing,” he said, voice gravely and low. It sounded like he was speaking directly into your ear, you’d forgotten it was raining, or that your cigarette was now soaked in the rain as it laid in the dirt right under the railing. You’d forgotten the billboard, or the bar that had music going and people laughing.

The man reached out, and gripped your hand that was holding the knife, your arm steady as you pushed it slightly harder against him, pressing into the skin–not enough to cut, but to fully feel the pressure of the blade.

“Yer gonna get in trouble if ya keep pullin' knives off people,” the man teased, tsk-ing at you.

You shrugged, biting the tip of your tongue, “Been fine so far…”

“So far…”

The man chuckled, his grip on your hand was hot and tight, squeezing tighter as he stood to his full high, easily keeping your hand from following him.

“Like I said,” he watched as you stood fully, knife still clutched in your hand as your arms hung at your sides, looking the man up and down. His arm came up, and you watched as his thick, mutt of a hand cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lips. Prodding it softly past them for a brief moment. Glancing to the side then back to you, “Dangerous fer a pretty little thing like ya out ‘ere in the dark like this..”

Your brows scrunched as you looked at him, feeling him run his thumb over your lips again, his hand taking up nearly half your face.

“Well, I’m out of cigarettes,” you said, tilting your head as he dragged his palm over your cheek to grip your jaw, holding your head in place, “So I won’t be out here for long, will I?”

The man tutted, looking you up and down (which it wasn’t the first time he had), “Looks like we’ll 'ave to do somethin' about that, won’t we?”

A smile tugged at your lips, “If you’re drivin’...”

He stood straight and laughed, deep from his belly, then walked around the side of you, dragging his hand along your skin till he was gripping your nape tight in his hand. His fingers toying with the neckline of your shirt, dipping them under the collar as he squeezed.

“Of course, darlin', wouldn’t ever dream of it…”

There was a weird tone you couldn’t quite place, a weird intention somewhere in there you couldn’t figure out on your own at the moment. But alas, you felt your stomach flip as he moved you, the drunken haze making this feel like you were being lifted and floated, not near dragged down the steps to the shadowed car across the parking lot, the knife in your hand still glinting in the fading light of the inside of the bar.

[bussyyeukie]

about to start posting insanely niche COD au oneshots so be warned

[bussyyeukie]

Fresh Meat p.2

(butcher!simon x student!reader)

part one. part two.

Your shoes crunched under the loose branches and earth as you walked. It was a very familiar path you'd take nearly every day on your morning walks. The ground was hugged with fog and your hands were firmly in your pockets, the old lady you rented from had called you the other day. It wasn’t the first time you’d spoken to her but it was not something that happened often. She’d go quiet every now and then and you’d hear the shuffling of walkers and beeping of machines in the background. She’d repeat a question and then interrupt you mid answer.

Not that you minded, it was obvious she wasn’t all there and honestly you don’t think she could really hear that you were answering. After about 10 minutes of an old lady rambling and odd updates on her health, she’d asked you a favor. Suddenly much more coherent, she’d asked if you could keep her collection going. Bones, stones, dead things, bugs–that sort of collection. Said she’d hate to see the house lose its touch. Although you’d argue that most wouldn’t step foot inside that house if they knew what was in there.

It piqued your interest, you’d picked up a few things here and there on your morning walks but nothing big, and nothing remotely as interesting as what she’d already had in her home. But you agreed, it would give you something to do while you were job hunting and working on your classes work-load. Minorly (very) jealous when you’d been emailed a picture of your old dissection team working on a new body the lab got–everyone smiling and you had to close your computer for the rest of the day when you realized what a shut-in you'd become.

You’d hadn’t even been to your favorite butcher in two weeks, granted you’d not been cooking meals, mostly living off muffins and coffee and whatever you happened to leave on your bedside table. 

Warm breath huffing into the cold air, your heart hammering a little harder.

You've gone to the butcher once a week for about two months now. Not sure if you’d consider Simon a friend but he was close enough to one that you missed him. Of course the fact that he was a near perfect specimen to you didn’t help much, or that he listened to your ramblings, or that he gave you good cuts nearly free, or that he was hot. Really hot. 

Shaking your head of the thought you groaned, shouldn’t get those types of fantasies in your head, it never worked out well. Once you convinced yourself this boy in your class had a crush on you–turned out he was just spooked and thought you were freaky. He had obviously said no when you’d asked him out. Easy to tell you didn’t date much, and that experience didn’t help your confidence on the subject.

Glancing to your feet you paused your steps, holding a steady pace till now, following the trail that led through the woods behind your home. You spotted a nice femur of something. Almost polished clean, minus the dirt.

You pulled out a ziplock you had in your pocket and picked it up, the weight of it heavy in your palm. Glancing over it with a smile.

“I’m sure that old bat will figure out something with this,” you giggled to yourself. Then licked your lips as you looked around, only a few feet off the trail, very unworried about getting lost or anything like that. Plus you’d walked this path for months, surely you’d know where you were going at least a little bit. Stepping further off the trail you brushed your hand along the thick, mossy trees surrounding you. It was scary quiet except for you. 

For your light puffs of air, nose cold, for your shoes (socks now damp) crunching along the mud and the sticks forming the ground under your feet. The shifting of your clothing, fabric rustling against fabric.

Your eyes raked the ground, a few small bones lay before you but you were looking for something bigger, no use holding pocket space for a bunch of random mouse tibias and ribs.

Breath hitching slightly as you heard a loud snap around you. 

You perked up, head on a swivel, spinning slightly to look at your surroundings. Empty. Nothing but trees, not even a bird.

Licking your lips nervously you looked back to the ground–the trail was still within your vision–and you ventured further into the woods. Grinning when you come across a pelvis, not large enough to concern, and obviously not human the closer you got to it, long and narrow. It was dirty with the ground and the elements, but mostly clean from any gore that would’ve been leftover from a meal.

If you had to guess you’d say it's a deer pelvis, but you didn’t hunt, and you didn’t study animals. So it was really up in the air, but deer seemed like the best guess. 

You looked around to see if any other remnants of a meal laid around, possibly a spine or a few ribs. Tucking some hair out of your face with your free hand, turning your head to peek over your shoulder. The lingering feeling of eyes boring into you was something you couldn’t shake.

It felt, familiar almost, like something you’d experienced before, a weird sense of familiar dread leaking into your gut, dripping down the back of your throat as you expected hands to appear and the heavy feeling of them grabbing onto you.

A shudder ran through you at the thought, smacking your forehead with the butt of your palm to get it out of your head. 

“What the fuck brain,” you grumbled, voice incredibly clear in the air even when whispering, “Why would you think of that?”

Placing the pelvis gingerly in the bag you continued looking, thoughts drifting to Simon…

He would know what animal this came from, he’d probably be able to tell you anything about an animal you'd want to know, you thought about his butchering. The motion of his arm, the wide swing and the harsh collision. The way his muscles tensed and worked perfectly, generating so much power and the way his whole unit seemed to move with a sense of power. Everything he did commanded a sense of respect at the sheer size of him, like hunters not even bothering with a bear too big cause they know they won’t be able to kill it.

Simon was your bear, and you were the foolish deer who kept trying to drink from the stream it was hunting in.

Everytime you entered the shop it was like a heavy blanket fell on you, Simon’s eyes glued, you swore he didn’t blink until you left. Even if conversation was short and typically one sided he was enraptured by everything you said. You’d never seen anyone so engrossed in you.

In the back of your mind it concerned you. You’d never seen him angry but you were sure it was terrifying. The times you’d seen him actually irritated and not just annoyed were scary enough, loud voice snapping orders and meaty fists clenched and threatening. There was a shift in him, like a dog with it’s hackles up, or when a hound would let out a bark that was deeper than normal and put you on edge.

He’d pitched a fit last time you skipped a week, you couldn’t imagine the whining you’d hear this time.

Like a big baby, complaining and asking if someone kept you from coming in, or if something was wrong. Once he offered the meat free as if pricing was the issue, and said you could “Just bloody take the thing, free, if you’re gonna be petty about it…”

You’d rolled your eyes, pinky promising you wouldn't miss the next week, Simon’s cheeks turning peachy when your skin touched. You didn’t know he held his pinky for the rest of the day acting like it was your hand. 

You giggled at the memory, everyone in town thought he was this big stoic butcher but he was just like those big dogs you had as a kid who would whine about everything and just had to fall asleep cuddled up in a blanket with you. No real threat to anyone…well you thought so…

You paused, looking at the animal tracks in front of you, were they animal at all?

Brows pinching as you leaned down to look closer, they didn’t really look like animal tracks, but they definitely weren’t human. Now you didn’t know animals, but you knew enough to distinguish certain tracks–you’d gotten a guide to help you out in the woods. These tracks looked like nothing that was in that book. The fingers were almost too long, with weird claw marks, and the butt of the paw–you think it was a paw anyway–was animalish enough.

A weird stone sat in your stomach, your skin prickling with chills. You didn’t like this at all. Looking around cautiously, you stepped back, finding your way back to the beaten path. 

Jogging a little when you heard some movement in the still woods around you.

A shaky breath leaving you when your feet finally crunched against the path again. It was a safety line in your eyes. Shaking your head slightly and running a cold hand through your hair, beginning on the trek back home.

When you’d made it home, the house was warm and smelled of coffee, a very peaceful scene. Dropping your bag on the kitchen table as you shed some layers, a thin bit of sweat on your skin from the walk. Even with the chilled air surrounding you. The bones rattled against each other as you draped your jackets on the back of the kitchen chair. You started the water in the sink, turning it hot as it went. Letting it run as you rolled the sleeves of your sweater up and headed over to the table, passing by the window of the kitchen that opened to the backyard. Glancing at the thing looking over the fence as you passed the window. Just barely reaching over the fencing.

Hand outstretched to the bag on the table, you froze. Eyes staring at nothing as they widened. Backtracking, movements almost rusty, to the window, peeking out of it hesitantly. You swore you could hear your joints creaking as you moved.

Obviously you were just seeing things, a shadow that spooked you. 

But there was a pit in your stomach that made you second guess, for the life of you, you couldn’t identify what you’d peeked at as you passed. Looking through the window again, you saw nothing. A breath leaving you as you looked at the bare fence lining the yard, and the creatureless backyard. Rubbing your face, pushing hair back away from your forehead you walked back to the table.

“Jesus, I’m getting cabin fever or something,” you muttered to yourself looking at the screaming taxidermy coyote that was on a mount in the living room, which was only about ten feet from you, “What do you think? Is the Creature of the Woods gonna get me?”

You chuckled then let your face fall, snatching up the bag and grumbling.

“Great, now I'm talking to stuffed dead things…”

With a big huff, and your hands on your hips you turned on your heels and opened the cupboard by your feet, pushing around bottles and other cleaning supplies.

“Hm…” frowning a bit you tucked some hair behind your ears, and squinted, shifting on your knees, looking deeper into the cabinet, “Oh you gotta be kidding…”

Plopping back onto your heels and closing the cabinet. 

All out of hydrogen peroxide. You furrowed your brows as you stood, your knees were killing you honestly, creaking more each day. In this weird, freaky house you were being out of hydrogen peroxide. When you’d first moved in it was nearly stock piled.

Snatching up your coat and sloppily throwing it on as you shoved your phone and other such items into the pockets. Bumping the door open and closing it–it was a little tricky, cause you had to lift the handle a bit to get it to latch fully, jiggling the key into the lock.

A weird feeling took you over. The kind that made the hair on the back on your neck stand up and your stomach churn. You almost didn’t want to look behind you.

Turning the key forcefully, you turned around.

Nothing, there was nothing there, obviously there was nothing. What a silly thought to think something was behind you. The walkway up to the house is barren all for some leaves and the slightly overgrown grass.

Rubbing your face and sniffing and putting your keys back in your pocket.

You’d spent the last night watching ghost movies, and had spent the night looking up how spirits pass from one life to the next, and those who get stuck. Which was probably the reason you felt so watched. Not to mention you tended to look for things in places they weren’t.

Conjure up wild theories to things that have a simple explanation.

Many nights kept awake by stray noises, and unsettling dreams.

Even as a child, you were like this, so fascinated by things your mother had said were creepy and scary. Ghouls and creatures. Immersing yourself in the more grotesque side of things, the gory and the broken. Easily pushing yourself into the rabid, sick and the salivating jaws of the unknown.

Even surrounded by people who were interested in anatomy. You seemed to like it in a different way, often being the butt-end of a Frankenstien joke. Although if your masterpiece had been successful, if you’d reanimated a being, you wouldn’t abandon it. “Oh it’s too scary! I don’t like it anymore!” You rolled your eyes at the thought. That was your only critique of those jokes. Not that anyone really cared to listen.

You were sure if you’d been a boy, you’d be institutionalized at some point by your fascinations–you’d never hurt anything, killed animals and all that–but you were often written off as being a “different little girl” who had a vivid imagination.

Your hands snug in your pockets as you walked down the street, heading into town.

As you thought of the ghost stories you’d read up on last night, you wondered about the Creature the locals warned you about, you’d never really taken it seriously, since it was all a bunch of BigFoot type talk. Only a bit more frightening, talks of attacks in the 40’s and stuff like that. Not to mention BigFoot had been debunked in your eyes. Weird accounts of hunting incidents and missing animals.

You believed in that type of stuff, but not blindly. You were an academic afterall, you enjoyed the study and the proving of theories and such–and thinking of school made you think of your school, and your little dissection lab. You did miss it. It was where you’d spent most of your time, going in at early mornings and late nights when other teams requested your help.

Maybe you’d get into taxidermy or something.

“Maggie would like the new additions to her house i’d bet…” you muttered to yourself, giggling a bit. 

It wasn’t a long walk into town, but enough that you’d worked a bit of a sweat around your hairline and on your palms. Watching the townsfolk wander around the streets. Mothers coralling their children, couples hand in hand–swinging their arms, old folk with canes poking at things in their way. 

You turned a corner, heart skipping a beat as you recognized the road, the street the butcher shop was on. The thought of the shop always made your heart beat faster, the thought of seeing Simon excited you to an almost concerning level. Working yourself into a near frenzy typically with how giddy and anxious you’d become.

You didn’t see him on the street, your muscles tight with nerves. You hadn’t been this nervous around someone in a while–you just really wanted that lumbering butcher to like you.

He was the only thing close to a friend you had in this town.

As you get closer to the shop, you subconsciously slow your pace, still no sign on him. As you got closer your foot hit a raise in the ground. Jolting you forward, a gasp leaving you as you steady yourself, snapping your gaze down to your feet. Hair in your face as you finally balance. 

“Christ, fallin' for me already, luv?”

Your breath was sucked into your lungs with a choking sound as you snapped your head up, cheeks burning red and eyes wide as you were met face to face (chest really) with the man in front of you.

Hastily pushing your hair out of your face and grinning with probably too many teeth and chuckled, “O-oh! Simon! Funny, uh, seeing you here!”

He stared at you with a blank stare, softly bringing the half smoldered cigarette up to his lips, his shirt splattered with blood near his shoulders and collar, almost outlining the apron he wore in the shop. His other hand is in the pocket of his jeans. Which had definitely seen better days.

You swallowed nervously, eyes glancing at the cording muscles in his forearm as he dropped it back to his side. His eyes lifeless as ever and his lips pressed against the cig, smoke fluming out his nose.

“I mean,” you chuckled, “You work here, so, it’s not that weird. Or funny…”

He stared at you intensely for a few more seconds, before pulling the cigarette from his mouth with a sharp suck and crackle.

“That ah do,” he didn’t bother looking away to blow the smoke out, licking his teeth, “Where’ve ya bin.”

With your hands clasped behind you, you shrugged, “Eh ya know, got kinda busy recently, my Professor sent like 20 assignments he forgot to grade for the class I TA for, and so I needed to crank those out–oh and then he sent me the wrong key for it, so that was a hassle.”

Simon didn’t react. If you’d been paying more attention you’d realize the way his shoulders tensed and his feet shifted.

“He keepin’ ya busy huh?”

You nodded, “Yeah, it's really lame.”

Simon nodded, placing the cigarette between his lips, which you couldn’t help but feel your eyes linger on. 

“Come in this week,” he grunted out, his voice gravely as he spoke, “Missed ya’ around the shop.”

“Aw really?” you chuckled, perking up, “That’s sweet.”

He shrugged again, “As irritatin' as yer, yer make good convo. Can talk an' 'ear off, woman.”

You deflated a bit, huffing, crossing your arms over your chest, “Well jeez…not like anyone else is gonna.”

He huffed a breath of laughter out his nose, “Tha’s true. Not many are this friendly to their butcha.”

You grinned softly, rolling your eyes, “Forgive me?”

Simon stood silent. Watching you. Sniffing roughly as he tilted his head. 

“Gonna 'ave to put more work inter it than that for me forgiveness, girly,” he dropped the cigarette onto the ground, snuffing it with the toe of his boot.

He turned and walked into his shop, “Aw what? Come on Simon–”

You followed him inside, almost blindly–you would’ve followed him wherever he went, it was empty in the shop. Cold as ever inside, fittingly, as cold as a big freezer. The bell dinging was a sound you didn’t know you found as soothing as you did till you heard it again. The wet smell of raw meat filling your nose, that and the mix of the smoke that lingered around Simon.

He walked behind the counter, reaching down under it, the sound of a latch clicking made you pause. Leaning over the counter the best you could, seeing as it was rather tall, the floor behind it higher than the floor you stood on. You looked back up to Simon, who was staring at you, as he usually was. His gaze locked and unblinking as he grabbed whatever he was looking for. 

He was tall already but behind that counter he looked unreal. Like some mythical giant in a fairytale.

You broke eye contact first, flushed as you looked down to the package he dropped in front of you, neatly wrapped with a pretty bow on top, tied in twine.

Of course it didn’t slip past you the way Simon was more careful with the bow tying on your meat. Like he was trying to impress you with it. But you were more impressed with the meats, the cuts and how he handled it all so professionally. Like it was something he was born to do. To butcher things…

A smile spread across your lips.

“Yours,” he said, almost jerking the word out, “Special for yer, was gonna 'ave a nice cut for last week, but yer never showed.”

Guilt gnawed at the inside of your cheek.

“Sorry Si, really,” you pouted, blinking dramatically as you placed your hands together under your chin, “It looks beautiful.”

He rolled his eyes, looking off to the side, then back to you, “Don’t matter.”

You grabbed the package and placed it in the side pocket of your coat, zipping it back up. The feeling of Simon’s eyes on you as you unzipped made your skin crawl. With unease or excitement you weren’t sure–probably both. 

“I won’t miss next week,” you cleared your throat, watching as he leaned against the counter, biceps pulling at the sleeves of his shirt, “I’ll come in twice.”

Simon seemed pleased with that, humming.

“You been in the woods recently?”

You blinked up at him again, “Yeah! Actually I was there this morning on a walk!”

“I can tell.”

You snorted, “Yeah sure. What–do I have leaves in my hair?”

“I can smell it.”

Now this made you pause, confused. Nose scrunching a bit.

“What?”

You smelled your coat, it didn’t smell any different than it usually did to you. Possibly a little more damp.

“Yer smell like them woods…”

There was a beat of silence between you two, a weird feeling again scraping its nail at the back of your neck.

“Oh, is it bad?”

“No.”

You had no clue what Simon was talking about, maybe he had a really good nose and could smell the trees on you or something. Or he’d been here so long he could smell native plants, surely you’d walked through some on your trek. Or maybe you just really smelled like mud and dew…

“You shouldn’t go out there alone, dangerous for someone like you.”

Shrugging, you waved him off, “I’m plenty safe, I stay on the paved trail, and I carry a pocket knife.”

Simon didn’t say anything, tapping his finger like he was thinking. 

“Call me next time you want to go out there, I’ll take you.”

Your heart jumped. Call him? Like, so he could come out? To walk with you? Anytime you wanted?

“R-really?”

Your tongue felt stuck as you spoke. 

“I wouldn’t offer if I weren’t serious,” Simon scoffed, he held out his hand, “Give it ta me.”

Snapping into action, you dove into your pocket, pulling out your phone, handing it to him, shakier than he was as he held his steady hand out. You’d never really thought about him having a phone before, it seemed so out of place.

“Thank you, that’s…sweet,” you’d never felt more awkward. Watching him type on your phone, it looked so small in his hands. Your stomach flipping as you thought about it, watched his fingers and the twitching of his forearm as he moved.

He set it down on the counter.

“Buncha shit in them woods, animals an' idiots alike.”

You nodded, looking at the screen, it just read his name–no last name, or emojis or anything, just ‘Simon’.

“I'll definitely let you know next time I’m heading out there,” you smiled, “No one will mess with me if I have a damn bear lingering around.”

Simon’s lips twitched into a soft smile.

You glanced at the time, sucking in air between your teeth.

“Shit, I gotta go, those papers need to be turned in like an hour,” you put your phone back in your pocket and took a step back–hesitating, “I…thank you, really…”

“Don’t mention it,” Simon shifted, going from leaning on his elbows to his palms. Shoulders were broad and thick as he settled.

“I’ll text you soon, save my number!”

You forced your feet up as you exited the shop, each step felt like you were walking on glue. You didn’t want to leave, as strange as the conversation was there was something about Simon that was addicting to you. You wished every talk was hours longer, every brush of your hands was stronger. You could always feel the staring, it was hard not to notice since he was always staring.

Even as you closed the door behind you, you could feel his stare burn into your back, then your face as you threw him a wave.

He sent a stiff one back, and disappeared into the back of his shop.

[bussyyeukie]

slasher!John Price x reader: this choice will have consequences (teen john and teen reader for this backstory)

The days were hot, they were always hot and dusty, so dry at times it would burn your throat to breathe. The dirt rolling in the wind as the scent of wheat and heat would linger in it. You always had sweat on the back of your neck, rolling down your chest and pebbled on your low back.

It was like that now and it was like that when you were young.

It was like that when you’d walk down the road, face warm and skin sweaty as you wandered down the long road from town. You’d lived far, not unbearably, but it took about an hour to walk there and back if you were fast. You’d never cared much, would have a bag in your hand watching the same land you’d watch almost every day.

Your shorts would be slightly damp, and your legs dirt covered and bruised. Even now they were perpetually dirt covered and bruised.  Loose tank top meeting the same sweaty fate. Boots clomping as they sat too big on your feet as you walked. Nearly reaching your knees with how high they came.

Old boots your mother would wear out in the mud when it would rain.

As a child your hair was always short, your mother cutting it with kitchen scissors into some sort of pixie cut. She never seemed to mind when you'd take the haircut into your own hands, no matter how bad it was.

As a teen you grew it longer, never any neater, but you were keen on keeping it in your face, the front of it at least, the rest was usually up because of the heat. While the look didn’t gain you many friends, there were many other things that put people off about you. Not to mention it was a small town (population wise) and people were set in their opinions.

As you would walk down the hot road back home. You’d walk slowly with your cd player clipped to your waistband on your short polyester shorts, and you’d pretend you were in a movie as you looked out at the vast fields full of yellow and brown. Passing into trees and houses in the distance, far from the road. Cattle in fields, and cars rolling past.

None ever stopped, a few would slow down and drive with you so your classmates inside could shout profanities or catcall you or something of that nature.

The only time anyone would stop was when it was an old truck that had creaking brakes and smelled of smoke and gas, and always had too much stuff weighing down the bed of the truck. Missing a mirror on the passenger's side and carrying a gruff classmate you knew well.

John Price.

The boy who always looked years beyond his age, and had big thick hands that were much too rough, but a surprisingly warm smile, and he smiled all the time. He was someone you knew well, not really a friend, but, not not a friend. You never spoke in school, and you never really ‘hung out’. But it seemed every time you were walking that road he’d find you there, and he would drive as fast as you were walking and talk to you. He’d talk about anything, and he’d never speed up when people would honk up a storm behind him. He’d never pull over when people could pass him on the two lane road, and flip him off as they’d pass. 

John would sometimes not even talk, he’d just play the radio loud as you walked beside his truck and he’d watch you. Like some sort of weird barrier or protector from the road.

The first time he’d done it you’d thought he was about to shout at you. Hell when you’d looked over you thought you were about to get picked up by some creep. But after a moment you'd recognized him.

After about a summer of this, you two had grown close. You’d never tell him when you were walking, but he’d always know, and he’d be there. It was strange to you. Like he had someone who would call him and tell him when you were walking. Or he was psychic.

(What you didn’t know was that he did have someone calling him, the lady who ran the local grocer was his aunt, and she knew he had a little crush on a certain someone, and she’d tell him when you’d leave and he'd hop in his truck and catch up to you.)

The day that changed things was the day that it had rained, unexpectedly, it had been hot the day before, so you’d dressed for hot weather, but you were halfway home when it started raining. By the buckets it seemed. By the time John had pulled up, you were soaked wet, clothes sticking to you and hair plastered to your face and neck. He was in work clothes when he’d screeched to a halt beside you.

“What’re ya doin’ out here?” he’d asked, panicked. His cap messily pushed back on his head, eyes looking you up and down.

You’d quirked a brow, holding up the items in your hand, “Wha’da you think genius?”

John rubbed his face, “Git in, you’ll get sick out here, or git hit or somethin’.”

You huffed, looking at the long stretch of road in front of you. Then back to John, you’d remembered the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed looking at you, brows pinched. You remember the way the air chilled your skin and the surreal feeling you had walking in the silence as letting the water soak you down.

You never would have guessed that getting in his truck would’ve led to where it had, but no one can ever really guess what the consequences of their actions will be.

“Fine, but I get to choose the station.”

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Bloody Fights sneak peak

fighter!Simon x (newly) secretary!Reader

just a little bit while i'm working on p.3, lwokey got crazy writers block rn and everything seems so clunky and forced

p.3 sneak

You rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t believe, nothing to do but sit here. Wait for you and the rest to show up I guess…”

He laughed, clapping a hand on your desk and shouldering his bag more, “Ach! Weel, somewan's been sittin' aroond aw day waitin', an' sure is gonna get a kick oot o' this welcome committee!”

You raised an eye brow, crossing your arms on the desk and leaning in, secretly, “Oh really?”

“Aye,” Johnny nodded, “He’s struggling’.”

You glanced behind Johnny, just in time to spot a large body filling up the doorway, bell chiming as the door opened. The lumbering blond man had on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, frowning as he walked in. Catching your eye immediately, as he gripped the strap of his duffle bag tighter, jaw clenching.

He walked up to Johnny, standing next to him, looking at you. He was taller than Johnny, and had a good view over the desk where you sat, not that it was a tall desk or anything to begin with.

His cheeks went a bit pink as he stared at you, blushing a bit yourself when you realized he wasn’t really staring at your face.

Maybe the skirt was unprofessional?

[bussyyeukie]

fresh meat drabbles and junk

simon's first meeting thoughts

simon's first meeting thoughts (behind closed doors) 18+

[bussyyeukie]

Fresh Meat

butcher!simon x sutdent!reader

Mood Board

Part One

Part Two

Drabbles/Blurbs/Nonsense

[bussyyeukie]

butcher!simon drabble

his thoughts on your first meeting...

The heavy thumping of meat hitting the cutting board and the swing that followed was routine. Something Simon had grown extremely used to, like white noise. The dull humming of the AC and the lights and the boring people who came in and out all day. Even the ones who chatted his ear off didn’t make him want to engage. It didn’t interest him, it was the same as the endless thumping and slamming and sheering sounds of the meat. Only not as good.

It was something he was out of control of.

But the moment the bell rang and the door opened and you walked in Simon felt the droning buzz in his ear quiet for a moment. The smell of ash and raw meat replaced briefly by something else, something he couldn’t quiet name but it was something he needed more of.

Eyes transfixed on you. Catching every small twitch of your finger, and everytime your eyes darted around the shop he saw it. Like he was tracking you.

Everyone could tell, they all watched as the Butcher froze up and squeezed what he was holding too tight.

The first time you’d ever come in Simon thought his heart stopped beating. It was concerning the way it thumped in his chest. His face set harder into the stone mask he had, as he snapped his gaze down to the meat he was cutting. Swallowing thick as he catches a whiff of your scent every other breath, breathing so deep he got lightheaded.

He wasn’t even sure he’d charged the people in front of you the right price, solely focused on getting them out.

A sick giddy feeling slipping into his gut as he watched you walk closer. 

A grin twitching at the corners of his cracking lips. Eyes nearly dead as they didn’t move, didn’t blink. He couldn’t miss a second of you.

He had to catch everything you did. Every glance, every smile, every blink. Simon had to see it all.

God your voice, it was as perfect as he’d imagined anything to be, something that finally cut the droning in his head to silence. Breath growing heavy and labored the longer you stood in front of him, palms clammy and brows pinched together.

When he’d leaned over the case, he didn’t miss the way your eyes widened slightly or the way you nervously licked your lips. His eyes dragged over you as you asked questions. Not exactly listening to what you’d asked him. Utterly enraptured by you.

After you’d left he’d gone to the back and held the hand that touched yours against his face, nearly suffocating himself with his own palm in an attempt to get your scent closer to him.

A light igniting itself in his life, a fire on his front lawn he couldn't ignore. Something he’d either have to put out or let consume him, and consume him it did, waiting hand and foot for you every week. For the moment you stepped into his shop for 20 minutes of conversation, or when you’d occasionally run into him out back or out front (which was much more often then out back, so he’d started taking his lunch on the sidewalk) and chat with him there. 

He couldn’t help it, you were something he had his sights on, and he was waiting for the day you got close enough that your leg got caught in the bear trap he had laid out for you.

[bussyyeukie]

Oh god I neeeeeed more butcher!Simon

I have a part two in the works right now fret not you'll have more soon (hopefully-i'm procrastinating on choosing a title rn 😝)