#cause seeing that price clip..

[beloveds-embrace]

So glad you asked for more roommates cause I’ve been brooding over it for the last 2 seconds since you asked.

Now just see the vision rq, it’s still kinda early into her moving in but yk they still want her BAD anyways she brings home a guy thinking they were gonna and now she just has four military men questioning and intimidating her tinder date…

I love writing for the roommate au sm so i am always happy for shared thoughts! 🙂‍↕️💕

Roommate au masterlist

The date had started innocently enough- or at least, you thought so.

It wasn’t like you were expecting the boys to be home. They’d mentioned a late training session, and with how demanding their schedules were, you figured you had the apartment to yourself for the evening. So, when your Tinder match, Matt, suggested coming over to watch a movie, you agreed. What harm could it do? Maybe it’d even turn to more. Hell, you hoped it’d turn to more.

Matt was nice enough, you supposed. Decent-looking, polite, and he hadn’t said anything off-putting yet. But as the two of you settled on the couch, popcorn in hand and the glow of the TV filling the room, your front door clicked open.

Your could practically feel a ball drop in your stomach.

The sight of Price stepping through the door, his shoulders hulking under his coat, was enough to send your nerves spiraling. He stopped mid-step, sharp eyes locking onto you and your date.

Behind him, Simon followed, pulling down his hood, but balaclava not yet removed. Johnny and Kyle weren’t far behind, their conversation halting as they took in the scene.

The air turned thick, tension palpable as four pairs of eyes honed in on Matt, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable by the second. You honestly couldn’t blame him.

“Didn’t know we were having company,” Price said, his tone low and deceptively calm as he shut the door behind him.

Your voice caught in your throat. Honest to God, you felt like you were a soldier who’d fucked up in front of him. He just had that Vibe. “I… I thought you guys wouldn’t be home until later.”

“And who’s this?” Soap asked, his smile wide as he nodded toward Matt. It didn’t feel friendly and even you could tell.

Matt shifted nervously, offering a small, awkward wave. “Uh, hi. I’m Matt. Nice to meet you guys.”

The silence that followed could’ve cut glass.

“Matt,” Simon repeated, his voice flat, his imposing frame seeming to block out all the light in the room. To you, he’d never felt that scary before… more like a particularly grumpy giant whose toes were always freezing. “And what exactly are you doing here, Matt?”

“I- I’m just hanging out with her,” Matt stammered, looking at you for reassurance. “A date.”

Kyle crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, though his eyes never left Matt. “Funny. We don’t remember her mentioning anything about a date.” He almost spat the word out.

You shot to your feet, hands up in a placating gesture. “Guys, seriously, it’s not a big deal. We were just going to watch a movie-”

“And you thought bringing a stranger into the house without telling us was a good idea?” Price cut in, his tone clipped.

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that…

Matt’s eyes widened. “I’m not- I mean, I’m not dangerous or anything.”

“Oh, aye? That right, then?” Soap drawled, stepping closer, his easy smile taking on a sharp, menacing edge. “And how d’ye reckon we’re meant to trust ye, Matt? Could be anyone. A thief, a creep, someone tryin’ tae take advantage of her.”

“I- … what?” Matt looked at you again, desperation in his eyes and voice.

“Relax, Johnny, it’s-” you tried, but your voice wavered under the weight of their combined stares.

“We’re just looking out for her,” Kyle said, his tone deceptively smooth as he grabbed a chair and spun it around to sit on it backward. “You understand, don’t you? We are her roommates.”

Simon didn’t say much- he didn’t have to. The way he loomed was enough to make Matt visibly sweat.

Price, meanwhile, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are she let you in? She’s trusting. Sweet. Too sweet, if you ask me. Makes her a target for the wrong sort of people.”

“I- I’d never hurt her, sir-” Matt stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

Price’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. He looked unimpressed, more than anything else. “Good. Because if you did…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

“Okay!” you blurted, stepping between them. You gave up; you knew this date has gone to shit. “That’s enough. Matt was just leaving.”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. He practically bolted for the door, not even stammering a quick goodbye before disappearing into the night.

As the door clicked shut, you turned to face them, your cheeks burning. “What the hell was that?”

“…you can do much better than him.” Kyle huffed, drawing you to sit down beside him on the couch even as you pouted glared. “Much, much better. Ain’t that right, John?”

Price nodded, sighing. “He was trembling like a leaf, love. Men like him? Not worth your time.”

Simon simply stood there, his eyes fixed on you. “Next time,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let us know before you bring someone here.”

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. “…You’re all impossible.”

Though by the end of the night, you still found yourself between Johnny and Kyle, and finished the movie anyways, date forgotten.

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

[meowpupp]

Hi , im here with a thought, i can just imagine puppy reader crying to price about what kyle did and how she was just curious and she didnt really wanna disobey and to please not get rid of her and stuff like that , so kyles punishment is eating the reader out just exactly as price wants , price i feel like is more aggressive and less forgiving towards kyle compared to reader , i feel like price has that "nothing is your fault ♡" attitude for his sweet pup

pt1

owner!price x chubby!puppgirl x pup!kyle

tw//: p in v, oral (fem reciving), hybrid receiving, collars, rough sex, slight mention of overstim, fem reader, collars, probably my most filthy smut yet

prices heart breaks as you cry into his chest, clinging onto him tightly. in all his time with you, hes never seen you so distraught. your body is almost shaking, tail low and ears pulled back as you sob and babble. he just holds you tight, rubbing a big hand firmly up and down your back. “Shhh, s’okay pup. Talk t’me when youre ready, okay?” 

It takes almost ten minutes, tears still spilling down your face as you pull back to look up to him. “please, m sorry captain. i didnt mean t’break the rules,” your words are interrupted by uncontrollable hiccups and stutters, hands gripping his shirt tightly, “please sir, please don get rid of me. i promise ill be good!! wont ever break the rules again, please!!!” you break down into a fit of sobs again, whimpering into his chest as he holds you tight.

He easily lifts you up, your body melting into his as he sits you ontop him. you now straddle his lap, burying your face into his neck. its almost sweet, how youre so desperate for his comfort despite your expectation of rejection. price just holds you tight, hands firm and secure on your body, breath steady and soothing. once you calm, he slowly pulls the story out of you. every little detail. 

he tries to hide the way his face darkens as you speak, his eyes narrowing as you explain what kyle had done. once youre done, he sighs, hands still rubbing circles on your back. he glances over your shoulder, eyes lingering on the garage door. 

“stay here, okay? Be a good girl f’me and strip. kyles gonna say sorry for bein so mean.” with a kiss on your forehead, he lays you down on the couch, leaving you to follow his instructions. 

within ten minutes he returns, not even glancing at you as he enters. his eyes are trained on kyle, watching him closely. a leash is clipped to his sprenger collar. a new addition. 

he forces the other pup to kneel at your feet, hands forceful and grip rough. kyle is huge, broad-shouldered and muscular, looming over you between your spread legs, his eyes trained on your pretty cunt. you can almost see him drool, licking his teeth as he looks over your exposed body as if wanting nothing more than to grip onto plush waist and bury himself 9 inches deep. 

youre snapped back into reality as price tugs harshly on kyles leash, making the collar dig into his neck. “Speak, mutt.” the tone of his voice almost makes you curl into yourself. he sounds vicious, angrier than youve ever seen him. 

kyle eyes meet yours for the first time, “im… sorry.” he mumbles half-assed. you can tell hes itching for your soft body. its almost torture having you spread out for him, yet denied the permission to touch. 

price almost growls as he tugs the leash harder, causing kyles eyes to widen for a moment. “fuck, im sorry, i swear.”

price lets out a huff, pushing kyles head down, making him come face to face with your pretty cunt. “Show her, mutt. Apologise properly.”

its almost instant the way kyle buries his head in you. his hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush to his face. his nose bumping your clit as drinks in your slick. its perverted, the wet noises that fill the room, the way he groans as ruts into the couch as he devours you. 

price doesnt allow him an inch of space, denying him reprieve from your drooling cunt. his voice cuts through the mix of moans, directing kyle exactly what to do. telling him how fast, how slow, whether to suck your clit or thrust his tongue. hes almost cruel, tugging kyles collar harshly each time he doesnt listen, leaving angry red marks around his neck. 

but to you? well, how could he ever be mean to his sweet girl? a calloused hand cups your cheek, his low, growly voice talking you through your nth orgasm. he kisses your forehead, letting you hold his free hand tightly as your legs shake and your hips buck, your voice filling the room as you cry out. 

its only once kyles face is completely covered in your slick that he lets the pup pull away. hes panting, cock straining against his pants as he aches for release. kyles eyes meet prices, desperate and needy. “Captain, please, fuck,” his hands twitch as they hold your thighs, resisting the urge to pull your twitching cunt closer, “let me fuck her, ill make her feel so fucking good, have her screaming for you-” 

hes cut off, eyes wide as price harshly grips his jaw. “When are you gonna learn?” price reaches down, palming kyles growing tent, making the pup whine, “shes not yours to fuck.” he lets go, pushing kyle to the ground, denied and throbbing. 

price makes him watch as he gently picks you up, pulling you once again into his lap. your back presses to his chest, legs hooked around his knees, forced to spread. Price is quick to unbutton his pants, sinking you down on his fat dick. you can feel his hot breath tickle your neck as he laughs, finding amusement in the way your back bows as he forces himself deep inside you. 

his hands trail up the curve of your waist, coming up to cup your tits. he squeezes the fat, grinning as it bulges between the gaps of his fingers. you can both hear kyles whines, eyes trained on you as price starts to toy with your nipples for a moment. “moan for me pretty girl, let him hear how good i stretch out your tight fuckin cunt, how your pretty body belongs t’me.” his beard tickles you as his lips brush your neck, “bounce f’me pup, show kyle what hes missing out on.”

the roll of your hips is hypnotising, kyles eyes wide as he drinks in the sight. your tits slightly jiggle each time you come down, your thighs spread wide as price shows off your swollen cunt. “see that kyle? how she takes me?” price reaches out, gripping kyles arm and pulling. he lands with his cheek pressed against the soft pudge of your tummy, able to feel as price fills you with each thrust, “feel that?” price fucks up harder into you, making your body jolt as you squeak, “thats only for good fuckin pups.” 

he pushes kyle away again, leaving him to fall onto the floor, cock throbbing and aching as he watches your pretty cunt get ruined by your rightful owner <3

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Continuation.... (stalkers!taskforce 141 x reader)

Incorrect quotes.... Let's goo!!!!

Warning: It does get NSFW

*loud arguing from inside the walls*

Y/N yelling from the couch: Can I get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: Can I please get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: That's what I though.... Suckers.

.................

Y/N: Helloooo

Ghost: It's 4am. Shut the fuck up or we are shutting down the WiFi.

*silence*

Ghost: Finally.

*le several minutes later*

Y/N leaning close to Ghost's ear: Herroooo

Ghost falling of the bed: Fucking 'ell!! It's illegal for you to be this QUIET!!!!

Soap rushing in the room: Simon wh- Y/N!!! How did you get in here? This fortress.. is impenetrable?

Y/N: Door was unlocked

Ghost: Son of a bitch

..............

Price: Okay kid.... I'm gonna put this bag over your head, now. Don't struggle.

Y/N: Why?

Price: So you don't see where we are taking you.

Y/N: is it.... somewhere....in my own house?

Price: Well-

Y/N: In the same house I constantly bust you in?

Price:

Y/N: This house?

Price, impatient: Yes, this house. Now, put this on.

Y/N: Can't.

Price, irritated: Why not.

Y/N, quietly: Tied up.

Price: Right.

Y/N: It's not gonna last you know.... It's not that big of a house. I will find you again.

Soap: Shouldn't WE say that.

Gaz: I feel threatened.

Ghost: We made renovations.

Price: Don't tell her that.

Y/N: So you made extra space.

Price: Maybe...

Y/N: ....And didn't fix the leaking roof.

*silence*

Soap chiming in: I dug holes under the house for the water.

Y/N: You did WHAT?!

Price: Shit. Don't trash around... My duck tape!!!

.........

Price fixing the holes from under the house: Kid, listen. I am sorry for my sergent.

Y/N: Man with your cake shouldn't call me "kid".

Price: My what?

Y/N: I have too many spicy thoughts to consider you a father figure.

Price: Not sure I want to understand that.

Y/N: I unfrathered you soon after our first meeting.

Price: Please, stop.

*silence*

*Price reaching toward his shirt*

Y/N: No, keep your shirt off.

Price:

Y/N: Yeah...Flex them muscles.

Price, frantically looking around: What? Where are you?

Y/N: Don't worry about it.

Price spotting a small camera: Did you put surveillance on us.

Y/N: Shhh.... Keep working bby girl. Do your thing.

Price: Don't call me that!

.......

Y/N: It's a crime I am being stalked but nothing more.

*silence*

Y/N: I said-

Ghost: We heard what you said. We can hear everything you are saying.

Y/N: So?

Ghost: What do you want more? Torture?

Y/N, mischievously: I will send you some clips.

Ghost: Our network is secured. You can't just-

*ding*

Ghost: Okay... Not happy about that.

*ding* *ding*

Ghost: I got it.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Ghost: Captain!

Price: Yeah. I got it. Opening now.

Price: Oh my-

Ghost: We are NOT doing that!!!

Gaz: This is deranged.

Soap, stripping: Guess I will take one for the team.

Soap, yelling: Hey lass. If I do that, ya need to put on a helmet.

Price: Don't even think about it!

...........

Soap: It's a very quiet evening.

*silence*

Soap: I will fix the roof in the morning.

*silence*

Soap: Will you just talk to me?

*silence*

Soap, activating his puppy eyes: Your silence is killing me.

*silence*

Soap, angrily: Fine. Be like that. I don't care!

*from another room*

Ghost: Should we tell him, he is talking to a decoy doll for the past 20 minutes?

Price: Nah, let him be. Where is Y/N anyway?

Ghost: Shop? I think.

Price: You think?

Ghost: That's what I've heard.

Price, suspicious: Didn't Kyle say he was going shopping?

Ghost: Yeah.

Price:

Ghost:

Price: Fuck.

..........

*Gaz leisurely stretching on the couch*

Y/N: One down! Three more to go!

*on the other side of the house*

Ghost: Captain! The sergent is down.

Price: Shit. Y/N you will pay for this.

*Gaz laughing cause he can hear them through his ear piece*

Soap, stripping: I will avenge you.

Price: Mactavish! I said no!

...........

*in bed*

Y/N: Wasn't that bad, huh.

Price taking a deep drag from his cigar: Never said it was, doll.

Y/N, scrabbling something in a notebook and whispering: One more to go!

Price: Why one more?

Y/N: Mactavish ambushed me as soon as you feel asleep.

Price, laughing: God dammit.

Price wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N: Now we are never gonna leave... You know that, right? *planting a little kiss on Y/N forehead*

Y/N: I am counting on that.

.........

Y/N, dramatically: You are the last one left. Surrender.

Ghost, tryng not to laugh: Never.

Y/N: There is nowhere to go, Simon.

Ghost: You sure about that?

Y/N: Surrender! Or else.

Ghost: Alright. *drops pants*

Y/N: Shit- How? What do you eat?

Ghost, stretching his arms out: Come 'ere sweetheart.

Y/N, walking backwards toward the door: I think I forgot the bathroom oven opened.

Ghost, walking towards her: No, no. Come 'ere and take what you bargained for.

..........

That's it!

[cutiecusp]

One last call.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x König x Reader.

TW. Talks of death, rivalry, filthy language, angst, betrayal, an established relationship, NOT a HOA! kissing, mild inappropriate boundary crossing. MDNI! (Also, I couldn't find the credits to this image, if someone does, lemme know!)

You were bleeding out.

A mission gone wrong.

Bad Intel means you were the only one left alive.

Hiding behind a crate, you manage to drag your body out of the snow, using the wood as a shield from the elements. Teeth chattering, you call Simon, your ex fiance.

"Ghost." He answers.

The breath gets punched out of you by the cold, so you take a minute to gather your breath, and your thoughts.

"Si." You murmur, just loud enough he can hear you.

"Why are you calling me?" He answers bluntly. Your relationship has been rocky for months, missed dinners, birthdays, missed milestones, the anger issues after a tough deployment... You had regretfully called things off before this deployment.

"I.. I got hit, Si. Dodgy Intel." You explain, pain low in your body.

You hear him grip the phone in his hand, his voice gruff.

"Fuck! I can get Price to get Nikolai-"

You interrupt him, wincing as you shake your head.

"No, It'll be too late, Si. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"I'm on my way." Came the clipped reply.

You let out a dry chuckle.

"Always so bossy."

You pause, your breathing shallow.

You manage to roll onto your back, your eyes glossy with tears.

"Sorry, we never got to fix this." You say softly.

A gunshot rings out in the silence, before heavy footsteps crunch in the snow.

"I'm not alone." You whisper.

"Stay on the line, love. Don't leave me." Simon replies.

Over the next few minutes, the sound of singular gunshots ring through the snowy compound. A single pair of boots crunch through the deep snow that's piling up on the ground.

"Whoever it is, they are making sure people are dead." You whisper, fear taking over you as you realise you can't move, your injuries won't allow you to escape quickly.

Simons heart sinks.

"Play dead, hide in the snow, stay alive till I come for you, I'm getting in the chopper now.. please love. I'm coming."

All you can do is lie there, tears frosting down your cheeks as you realise you are next. The door to the storage room you are next to is kicked open, but you are silent.

Large footsteps sealed your fate as the imposing figure spots your boots.

"Oh, I forgot one." Came a thick accent, causing you to freeze.

"Ah, a little maus... far away from home."

He kicks your boot, pain throbbing through your body as you swallow a scream.

"Such a pretty one, too.." in your eyeline, you see a behemoth of a man, a hood covering his face, blood staining his entire front. He pauses when he sees your face.

"Ah, I've been looking for you."

Fear grips you, but you dare not move.

Your phone falls from your hand as he stands on your wrist, and your eyes finally meet his. Deeply dark, crazed and focused on you.

"Who's there with you, love?" You hear Simon say over the phone.

"Ah, Geist..." the masked man calls out.

"König?" Splutters the reply.

"In the flesh."

"Leave her out of this!" Simon yells, his voice loud through the call.

König laughs, squatting over you, pulling you by your tactical vest to pull you flush against him, his eyes roaming your body.

"She's a pretty one, would make such a lovely trophy." He calls out, antagonising Simon more.

He traces a gloved hand down your cheek, and you can't look away from him. His body is pressed tight against yours, and you can feel every inch of him.

"She's pretty broken, too. It looks like my men did their job in getting her to me."

Your eyes widen, he was behind this?

"Why?" You whisper out, cursing your shaky voice.

"Why? He took everything from me, my wife, my future... so I'm here to repay the favour. An eye for an eye, you call it?"

He removes his helmet, uncovering his face, scarred and war torn, pale and seething.

"Beg for your life, I want him to suffer like i did."

You shake your head, refusing to play his game.

"Don't touch her!" Simon roars down the phone.

"I'm on my way to you, and I'll finish what I started." He continues.

König laughs dryly.

You try and pull away, pulling his fingers off your vest. He grips harder, forcing you closer, his breath warming your cheek.

"I like a struggle, little lamb." He warns, his eyes deadly cold. You pause, your body limp.

"Ah, there's still some fire in you. I see why he likes you." He pulls out his pistol, the metal shining in the low light.

"I won't tell you again. Beg."

You spit at him, his cheek coated in your fluids. Scoffing, he swipes it from his cheek and brings it to his lips.

"So. Fucking. Defiant."

His gloved hand slaps your cheek hard before pressing his fingers into them, tilting your chin up, demanding him to look at you. He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, surprisingly soft. Marking his territory, claiming a victory.

"I didn't want to do this, but he left me no choice. I wanted you for myself. I even tried recruiting you to my team a few times, but you were his.." he spits.

"Now, I want to give you the opportunity yourself. Come with me. I'll get you medical treatment. I'll give you a good life. Or you can die in the snow, I'll make it quick."

You hesitate. You weren't ready to die. You had unfinished business with Simon. But you were tired of being second to everything, tired of making excuses for him, tired of being let down. Your vision was starting to get spotty, and you knew this was the biggest choice of your life.

You look at König, and realise you two were the same. Your lives had been taken apart by a common denominator.

His eyes soften. He nods, understanding your unspoken answer. He picks up the phone, addressing his rival for the last time.

"I won." He says simply, while shooting into the wooden crate behind you, the loud gunshot echoing the painful cry from the phone.

Hanging up, he looks down at you, your shocked gaze never leaving his.

He gathers you in his arms, striding back to his vehicle.

"Time for a new life, little lamb."

Your eyes flutter as your body relaxes for the first time in what feels like forever. Almost missing the way he snaps a picture of you, sending it to Simon via your phone.

"An eye for an eye. She's mine now."

...........................

A/N I wasn't sure about this one. I'm not good at angst, but I hope I did the idea justice! Back to matchmaker later! Xxxx

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations

@evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Bloody Fights

(fighter!simon x reader)

part one. part two.

Your head hurt. Like, hurt.

A throbbing rolling behind your forehead for the better part of 4 hours.

Unable to sleep, barely able to find the taste in anything you ate. You sat on your couch, leaned back and legs spread as you held the remote in your hand, eyes staring unfocused at whatever the fuck was on the old screen of the TV.

A sandwich with one bite taken out of it sat on the coffee table in front of you, next to the barely drunk cup of coffee. The drip that had spilled down the side dried, cutting a line down Snoopy's head.

Your shirt big on your frame, and your shorts had ridden up slightly, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Your hair was unbrushed and thrown into a claw clip that had actually started to sag, not exactly doing its job since you had to keep tucking hair behind your ears. Lips bitten raw, the bags under your eyes prominent as you stared blankly at the screen. You weren’t even sure if you had muted it or if you just weren’t listening.

It had been two days.

Since the fight. Since the bet. Since your newfound job with (if you had to guess) criminals.

Two days.

Mr. Price (or John, as he insisted you called him) said to expect a call from him within the week to discuss a meeting about your new position. You had offered him your number but he said it was no need, they already had it.

Your phone was sitting on the cushion next to you. It was a flip phone, nothing too fancy even in that department. Looked like something a dad who only wore cargo shorts would own. Your gaze would wander to it every few minutes, wondering when it would ring. Your feet rubbed against the carpet under them, socks gliding smoothly.

For the weather outside, it wasn’t too cold in your little apartment. But you pride yourself on keeping it cozy.

There were maybe two boxes by your front door. Poorly taped shut.

They were your ex-boyfriends. Well, it was stuff you were debating giving back to him. Not that he wasn’t around to collect it, the fucker’d been loitering outside your work and calling you nonstop to the point where he was using his friends' phones after you blocked him. Which, you didn’t mind blocking them either cause they weren’t exactly your friends, and you didn’t exactly like them.

You were beyond thankful you two didn’t live together. Suddenly grateful he had denied the offer 6 months ago, which you’re pretty positive is because he was cheating on you. But at the time you didn’t want to admit that. 

Letting your head fall back against the couch, huffing out your nose, you thought back to that night.

You haven't seen your ex the rest of the night. Only the next day when you went to his house to collect your things. Honestly you almost forgot why you had gone when you saw his face, it looked like one big mash of black and blue. Both eyes nearly swollen shut, a bandaged gash on his eyebrow, and on his cheek under his eye. A pretty busted lip, a swollen nose, his jaw even looked swollen. He was almost scared to see you, kept looking over your shoulder and flinching.

He had let you in, bracing the whole time like you were going to hit him. Which, admittedly you were going to until you saw the number that Simon and the other guy had done on him.

…Simon.

You glanced back to your phone, then to the ceiling again.

Subconsciously narrowing your eyes, you thought about the hulking man.

The way his shoulders heaved as his breath huffed into the air in front of him. Stance tall and head bent down, shoulders rounded with fists clenched. Blood coloring in the black and white tattoos drinking up the expense of his arm. Sweat dripping from his nose and splashing onto the ground in front of him. He turned to you and his face–

Blank.

“Right,” you sighed, rubbing your face and trailing your hands up to your hair, “he’s faceless…”

He was strange, the opposite of what you’d expected the man to act like. You almost wished he’d just been some cocky asshole so it didn’t confuse you as much.

Something loud happened on the TV that made you jump and look forward. Hair nearly all fallen from the sloppy excuse for an updo. A breath escaped you, jumping again as your phone rang.

The silly, bubbly song falling from the rough speakers–your friend had changed it years ago and you had no clue how to change it, so you were stuck with some preppy pop song–buzzing erratically on the cushion. Your heart was beating out of your chest, stomach turning, face burning red. You watched it buzz for a second. The brief thought of not answering shot through your mind, but you decided against it. There was no way they’d just give up after one call. An unrecognized number on the dingy yellow screen.

Your throat was dry so it didn’t do much good. Swallowing, you grabbed the phone and flipped it open, hesitantly holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

Your voice was a little scratchy, but nervously high as it echoed back to you. 

“Ah hello!” the voice on the other end was deep, rough as it struggled through your speakers, “Beautiful mornin’ init?”

You shrugged, “Um, I’m sure it is Sir.”

You hadn’t left your house this morning. It was only about 11 anyway, so it’s not like you were shut in all day.

“Ach what’d I tell ya’ about tha’, John is just fine missy,” a chuckling rang between his words, and the grin on his face was evident through the words.

“Right sir–uh John,” you put a hand to your face, pinching between your brows, “John.”

He chuckled again, deep from his belly, “Don’t worry abou' it, darlin', expect ya' know what this call’ll be abou'?”

You nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see you and felt your cheeks flush, “Yes. T-the job right?”

“Indeed,” there was some shuffling on the other side of the phone, “Meet me at 2 today, I’d like ta' speak abou' this in person, face-ta-face, ya' know, not’a mention there’s someone I wan' you ta' meet!”

Licking your lips you paused your show, a rock on your stomach, “Um, are you sure? I really, I’m not sure if today would work best, I have some things to drop…off, and–”

“No,” the word was so solid, even through the crummy speaker you shut your mouth, “You’ll be 'ere at 2:00pm, dress yerself up proper, an' bring a notepad or some'tin to write on.”

With your elbow on your knee and your head in your hand, staring at the floor under you, nodding, you answered, “O-of course, I’ll see you at 2:00. Where would–where would you like to meet?”

"I’ll send you the address, we’re all very excited to welcome ya' to the team, 'eard some good things,” you heard the door open on the other side of the door, perking up slightly, listening in. You couldn’t hear what the other man had said, but Price sighed, “Gonna 'ave'ta cut our lil' convo short, I expect to see you at 2:00 sharp.”

With that the phone was hung up, your tongue fat and choking in your mouth. You threw your phone down, annoyed. With everything, the whole stupid situation. You should just call the cops. The idea seemed bright in your head for two seconds before it fizzled out.

“No…” you sighed and looked to the clock, 11:50, “That would be dumb…”

Pushing yourself up off the couch you rubbed your face and stretched your back. You hadn’t slept well last night, or the night before. In fact you hadn’t slept the night of the fight, so you weren’t running on too much at the moment. Shuffling your way down the hall to your bedroom, you looked through your closet. Thankful at least that you had some respectable clothing due to your job, throwing a pair of gray pleated slacks and a button up on the bed.. For a moment you wondered if Price would prefer if you wore a skirt. Then you scoffed at yourself.

Wandering to your bathroom, you started a shower, the water creaking to life through your pipes. Typically you’d throw on some music, but for some reason it felt out of place. Like you were supposed to be in silence, in mourning. The water was the only sound in the house.

Your mind wandered back to Simon, surely you’d be seeing him today. 

You thought back to him standing on the mat in the ring, hands practically grasping the metal cage in front of him, shadowed and standing like a titan in front of you. Shorts tight on his thighs, markings decorating his skin, color blossoming on his body. Muscles taut and rippling under his skin.

His face completely darkened, shadowed and black to your vision.

Sticking a hand under the water, you let it sit there for a second, the warmth engulfing it as you yawned. The door to your bathroom opened, it tended to get overrun with steam when you showered. Looking out into your bedroom, and to the clothes laying out on your bed. 

This couldn’t be real, there was no way. It sounded like some…shitty story you’d read on tumblr or something. Your boyfriend bets money he doesn’t have on an underground fight and loses, and now you have to work for the big fighters. What a joke.

You looked to your sink, pursing your lips at the potted plant that sat in it. You reached over and turned on the faucet, letting the pot fill to the brim, then turning it off, poking some holes in the first with your finger, watching the thirsty plant drink up the water.

Taking your hair down you sighed, and started to take off your clothes.

The shower passed quickly. Washing your hair, putting products in, and blow drying it in almost a trance. Standing with your arms crossed in front of your bed, staring at those clothes, skin soft with lotion and goosebumped from standing in the non-steamy air in just underwear and a bra. Lips scrunched and pouted. 

“Just put the damn clothes on,” you muttered, shaking your hair out, “You’re being a baby about this…”

You felt cheated, almost like you’re taking on someone else's punishment. The image of your ex’s face flashing through your head made you freeze up, brows raising a bit. He would probably have a TBI from the way those men–Simon, the name rolled through your head like a tumbleweed again–had dealt with him.

You didn’t want a TBI.

Quickly getting dressed, you tucked the creamy pinstriped button up into the slacks that were a little long while barefoot, you had bought them for heels, and buttoned it to the top, not tight enough on your neck that it left you clawing at it an hour into the day. Huffing dramatically you smacked your bed, looking to the clock. 1:20. 

Feet padding against the hardwood of the hall, leaning over the back of your couch to snatch up your phone. The screen reading one notification, you flipped it open, seeing the address that was sent.

You knew what street it was, about 20 minutes from your house, not too far of a drive. The office was at least a 30 minute drive, though it usually turned into 50 due to traffic and your car needed 10 minutes to heat up or it would crap out at a stop light.

You were relieved that the address wasn’t in the middle of one of the crappier areas. Not that the street was high end, but it wasn’t known for the drug corners or stabbings.

Hurrying to the bathroom, you threw your hair up, a little nicer than earlier, pulling parts of the front out by your ears and around your face. You debated makeup for a second, then decided a little wouldn’t hurt. Rubbing the lipstick onto your lips, nothing shocking, you honestly didn’t want to stick out at all, and bright red lipstick might not have helped that goal.

You grabbed a sweater, a dark piece with a wide square neckline. Stopping just below the waistline of the slacks, Belt sleek under it, you hated when a belt was bulky and obvious under a shirt or a sweater. It made your skin crawl.

You snapped your fingers, “Fuck right, a notepad…”

Looking around your apartment, you grew frantic, not finding anything. 

“How the fuck do I not have a notepad,” messing around in your bedside drawer, you found a thin brown notepad, the kind you flipped open, it was pretty much blank, save for a grocery list on the first page, but you can rip that out later. A pen clipped to it already.

Gazing at the clock, you groaned, 1:30.

Stopping by the door, you grabbed a pair of heeled boots, only about three inches, and not big boots. In fact you weren’t sure they were boots, you’d just always called them that. They might have just been regular shoes. Grabbing a bag, your wallet and phone in your hand, you paused at the door, hand gripping the handle. The metal cool under your touch.

Debating again, if you just ignored them…

Ryans face popped into your head. Broken bones, TBI…right.

With that you jerked open the door. The old thing creaking on its hinges.

The radio played in your car. Nearly silent with how low you had it. It wasn’t very cold out, slightly on the chilly side but there were plenty of people in shorts and t-shirts. 

But you’d also seen people in shorts and t-shirts in snow, so it didn’t really mean all that much.

You’d been sitting in the parking lot for 5 minutes already. You have 5 minutes to walk to the door. You’d driven past it, it was two stores down. You felt a little silly expecting it to be some super obviously sketchy place. But it was just a gym, a boxing gym. The sign was pretty nice, reading 141 with neon lighting around it. It wasn’t crazy fancy, it looked like one of those old school places. 

Your head hit the headrest, you turned off your car, and stepped out, keys clutched in your hand, squinting into the light. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyebrows, checking your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired, but not bad. Your lips had regained some moisture since this morning, hopefully you wouldn’t pick at them too much.

Checking the time you sighed, locking your car and quickly jogging to the street, making your way over to the building. Stopping in front of it and swallowing the spit stuck in the back of your throat. There was a big glass door on the wall, pushing it open, a bell dinged, as you tentatively walked in.

There was a front desk, and it led into a very open gym with a boxing ring in the back. Lots of punching bags littered around and some other equipment you didn’t quite understand.

There wasn’t anyone by the front desk. But there were people in the ring, and people in the gym, even though the number was low–two people in the ring and what looked to be a coach there as well. 

You took a few more steps inside, before a loud voice made you tense up.

“Aye, looky ‘ere,” a boisterous Scottish voice rang through the gym, looking to your side you spotted a tall man with a choppily cut mohawk strolling up to you, a bright pink cast on his wrist, almost to his elbow. Lots of signatures of drawings on it. Mostly dicks, the closer he got the more you could see. He was smiling wide and sweating, large basketball shorts and a tank top on. The tank top almost soaked through, sticking to his chest.

The gym reeked of sweat, and cheap cologne.

“Class, lookin’ bonnie ye are,” he stopped just about in front of you, hands on his hips and looked you up and down, “Whit are ye daein' in a place like this?”

You grinned at him nervously, almost looking like you were in pain.

“Um, Price?” you said, clearing your throat, “I have a job interview with Price–John…”

“Oh,” the man perked up, then got a little red in the face, “Sorry, lass, didnae realise ye were that bonnie thing, though it wis jist ma lucky day.”

Chuckling a bit you nodded, “Yeah, I, I think I'm actually late?”

You looked around for a clock.

“Late?”

“I was supposed to meet him at 2:00?”

He scoffed and waved you off, “Nah, he’s late, dinnae worry, come wi’ me, I’ll introduce ye tae the boys till he wraps up whit he wis daein’.”

He hooked an arm around your shoulder, stuffing you in his armpit, which reeked of sweat and strong deodorant. You nearly stumbled as he walked forward, grabbing his arm and trying to pull your head away.

“W-what–ugh, please–” you attempted to free yourself, but that man was strong, and his arms locked up, “At least away from the armpit–”

“You’ll like the boys,” he didn’t seem to have heard what you said, leading you to the back of the gym, around the corner to a more secluded looking boxing ring. Where two men were boxing, “They’re reeaall nice, especially tae the bonnie ones! Haha–real jokers those–”

The sweaty man was rambling about something, but your feet felt like lead as you spotted who was fighting.

Solid hits ringing out into the gym. Both in head padding, and gloves.

You spotted the large man in black shorts, tight on his thighs, hulking figure basking in the overhead light, beautiful ink splattered up his arm, his skin flushed as he moved, shirtless and glowy. Heavy grunts coming from the ring, solid punches landing.

Your feet felt heavy, almost stumbling a bit as the man dragged you closer.

Simon's muscles rippled under his skin as he threw punches, dodging, and light on his feet. Fully focused. Sweat dripped from him, splashing onto the mat under him. The man he was fighting in orange shorts, and a white boxing mask. It was the black man from the fight, you could see his face better through the mask. Eye still a bit bruised, but looking good, his shirt was tight on his body, like a compression shirt gym guys wear. He was much leaner than Simon, you noticed, but he still filled out the shirt.

“Boys!” the scots voice snapped you out of whatever thought process you were in, making you jolt a bit.

The two groaned and slowed down their hits, almost ignoring him.

“Look who I got!”

The pretty boy glanced over and smiled, signalling to Simon to stop, motioning to you with his head. Simon had his back turned to you, shoulders dropping in an irritated state as he turned.

His shoulders rising back up and his muscles tensing, his eyes widening, pink in his cheeks and forehead. He snapped his gaze to the man next to you, brows pinching.

“Oh hey!” voice muffled, the black man chuckled, pulling his head gear off and pulled out his mouth guard. You cringed as spit stuck to it, splattering a bit as he shook it off. He walked over to you two, past Simon–jabbing him in the gut as he passed. Simon grunted and muttered something under his breath, pulling his gloves off, “How ya’ been!”

You gulped, offering a nervous smile, “Um, pretty good…”

The man holding you chuckled, clapping you on the back, relaxing his grip so he wasn’t pulling you into his armpit as much, allowing you to stand to full height. Tucking some hair behind your ear you glanced at the man next to you then to the men in the ring. The pretty man was leaning against the ropes, removing his gloves, turning to say something to Simon. Who was still lingering back, meticulously removing his gloves.

Simon looked at him from under his eyebrows, then to you and the sweaty man.

“Ach, come on, Ghost, be a pal,” the man next to you bellowed, looking down to you, "He’s a wee bit shy, dinnae mind him."

You nodded, “O-ok.”

Your hair was a little ruffled, and your collar was popped on one side now, you didn’t notice Simon watching you.

“I’m Kyle by the way,” the black man held out his hand, as if for a hand shake, the man behind you nudged you forward, your heels clicking on the cement flooring. You smiled and reached up, shaking his hand, “Or Gaz, whichever you prefer.”

“Nice to officially meet you,” you felt incredibly out of place.

The man behind you snapped his fingers, you looked at him curiously, "Ah'm Johnny. Dinnae tell ye earlier, did ah?"

You shook his hand as well. Both men had strong grips, you’d wiped your hand on your pants after Kyle’s handshake, his hand sweaty from the glove. Made your skin crawl a bit as a matter of fact.

Simon walked up next, not leaning on the ropes like Kyle, his gloves and helmet off.

His hair was damp with sweat, cut short and even around his head, curling and waving slightly in places, stuck to his forehead and around his ears. A long scar running up his chin, and one disrupting his peachy lips, making the top lip curl slightly. Another smaller one on the side of his nose, which was strong and defined. Definitely having been broken before, a white scar splitting one of his eyebrows. His jaw was sharp and set, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. The stubble on his chin gone. You were right the night of the fight, his left eye was a bit swollen, a dark ring encompassing it, making his eyes look even more sunken.

Johnny grabbed your shoulder, snapping you out of your staring at Simon. Your face flushing as you realized you were in fact staring. Hoping it wasn’t for too long.

“Tha’s Simon, ah’m sure you knew tha’ though,” he giggled, Simon grunted.

“Yeah I introduce myself,” the words were a bit sharp, and Johnny waved him off.

“I do too!” he retaliated. Putting his hands on his hips.

Simon rolled his eyes and Kyle chuckled.

“Um,” you felt awkward interrupting them, feeling like an outsider, “Do, you know when Mr. Price is going to be back?”

You looked between them all nervously, Simon had his arms crossed in a broad stance, Kyle looked infinitely more relaxed. They both looked to each other and shrugged.

“Hell if I know, he went out to go talk ta’ someone but wouldn’t tell us who,” Kyle said, thinking for a moment, “I hope he brings back food.”

Johnny perked up, “Aye! I’m starved I tell ya’.”

Simon nodded, his gaze still locked on you. It felt more intense without the mask. Like he was sinking his brute hands into you, squeezing through you like wet clay, pushing their way to the center. Boring into you.

You straightened your sweater slightly, “He just left?”

The three nodded. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, checking the time.

2:15.

A snort of laughter rang out. You looked up, expecting something funny. Only to see the three men looking at you.

“What?”

“Wha’ is that?” Kyle pointed to your phone. With a confused look you held it up, “Yeah lass, tha’.”

“My phone?” you looked at it, sure it's a little old but what was wrong with it.

“Thangs a right relic,” Johnny cupped your hand that was holding it, pulling it closer. His hand was warm as it held yours, your brows pinching together as you looked at him.

Missing the way Simon’s lips pressed tight and his scowl grew.

“It’s not that old, come on,” you argued. Looking at the other two, pulling it back to yourself, Putting it away in your pocket.

Kyle grimaced, clicking his tongue, “I don’t know, it’s pretty old…”

You looked to Simon, seeking some sort of…anything as far as support.

He shrugged, a beat of silence, “Things're pretty old, almost as old as Price.”

A ring of laughter echoed through the part of the gym, Johnny clapping his thigh. You smiled as well, giggling to yourself. Simon’s smile was handsome, his teeth surprisingly straight (not perfect but better than you were expecting really), and his lip curled a little funny due to the scaring.

“Wot’s so funny?” a rough voice rang through the gym. You felt your heart jump and you looked back, Johnny doing the same. 

Price was walking up to everyone. Wearing jeans that were worn on his thighs and a tight button up that was rolled up to his elbows, sloppily tucked into his jeans. A tired look on his face and what looked to be an overstuffed planner in his hand. Rings decorating his meaty fingers.

His hair was tousled and shoes clicked on the cement.

“Simon here was just sayin’–”

A thick hand slapped itself onto Kyle's mouth, your eyes widening and a fought down smile making their way onto your face. Simon’s brows pinched tight as he sent a mean look to the pretty man. Whose face was smashed in Simon’s hold.

“Nothin’, sir, mindless chatter,” Johnny grinned.

Price scoffed and put his free hand into his pocket.

“I see you’ve met Johnny,” he gestured with the planner in hand. Eyes crinkling into a soft smile.

“Um, y-yes!” you grinned, holding your hands behind your back.

Price continued walking till he was close to the four of you, glancing up behind your shoulder–to Simon and Kyle presumably.

“Everyone introduce themself?” he looked at you, “Been civil wit’ ya’?”

You nodded, “Yes Mr. Price, everyone’s been kind.”

Johnny clapped you on the back, startling you and jolting your body forward a bit, “See, Cap, she's fine, nae need to worry yer little heid.”

Kyle scoffed, and you swore you heard Simon grumbling behind you. Price shook his head and he walked up, putting a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.

“You ready for that meetin’ darling?” 

He smelled like strong cologne, ushering you with him, guiding you away from the three men by the ring.

“Yes, I believe so,” you glanced back at them as Price moved his hand to your back, pushing you forward with them. Your eyes meeting Simons, his brown eyes lighting up, his cheeks pink as he huffed. His eyes darting down to Price’s hand then back up to your face, Johnny facing him, saying something you couldn’t quite hear. Simon swung at him.

You looked back at Price who was looking ahead.

He led you both to a door, and inside was an office. Nothing fancy, carpeting, a set of four lockers in the corner, a door in the back that looked a bit more heavy duty than the one you two walked in. A metal desk against the wall with a (dying) potted plant by it, an old looking chair and a little coffee table. A coat rack with jackets and hats on it, and a water cooler in the corner.

It smelled like smoke and old air freshener. 

Price walked up his desk, leaning against it with a heavy sigh, gesturing for you to sit in the chair in front.

“Sit, please, can’t imagine those are comfortable,” he chuckled.

You looked to the chair and sat down, placing your bag at your feet. 

“Thank you–they, they aren’t that bad really, I’m used to wearing them at my job…”

Price perked up like he’d suddenly remembered something, “Yes, you’ll ‘ave to put in your two weeks.”

You blanked, puzzled, “I’m sorry?”

“You won’t 'ave the time to juggle this job an' that one, especially if it's a 9-to-5 gig. You'll be workin' a lot to pay off that debt,” Price rubbed the back of his head, and moved around his desk to sit in the groaning chair.

“I–” you looked at him, “I, can’t quit. I, I need the money sir, I don’t be able to pay rent or my-my car payment, I need to buy food and pay my insurance and–”

Price waved you off, “No worries, hun, we’ll take care of all that. Can’t 'ave our new assistant on the streets hungry, can we?”

You swallowed, “N-no I suppose not…I’ll be paying off that debt I accumulate as well I assume?”

Price laughed, crossing his arms on his desk, “Reckon Simon’d 'ave my 'ead for that!”

You tilted your head, confused, “Why?”

The man waved you off, “He’s a sweet man, wouldn’t stand for indentured servitude, I’m afraid.”

Nodding, you glanced down to your lap, where your hands were clasped tightly, licking your lips nervously.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“What do you think of them?”

Looking up, you met Price's gaze, his hands folded under his chin. Eyes steady on your own.

“Who?” you paused for a second before pinching your brows together, a little embarrassed, “Oh–yes, them. They are all very nice, and they’ve been very sweet to me…I…”

You rubbed the back of your head, debating if you should bring it up, “I saw what they did to Ryan…probably would’ve done it myself if they hadn’t.”

Price laughed, deep from his belly, spooking you a bit, suddenly embarrassed.

“You should be thankin' Simon for that, 'ad to drag the man off the poor sap!”

Price rubbed his beard and shook his head.

“Oh,” you don’t know why your stomach flipped the way it did, or why your cheeks heated up, “I should thank him sometime.”

“Don’t worry about it, 'e was more than 'appy to do it, darlin',” he rolled back, jerking the top desk of his drawer open. You sat in silence, unsure how to respond to that. Simon sure was weird.

He pulled out a thick manilla envelope full of papers, nearly an inch thick.

He grunted as he placed it onto the desk smiling to himself as he pushed it towards you. The drawer closing with a startling rattle of the desk.

“I’m goin' to need you to fill these papers out and read through 'em by the end of next week, but good news is that’s all the paperwork you’ll 'ave to do for the hirin', mostly just liability stuff an' certain NDA’s,” he explained, you stared at the papers and nodded along, the feeling of your guts tying up. This was a real, dangerous thing. Not just a job interview, this was you tying yourself up with dangerous people.

Blood. Hardened knuckles. Scarred faces. Strong muscles.

You grabbed the folder, holding it in your lap, “Thank you, I’ll make sure it’s done.”

Price nodded, “Just turn it in 'ere when you’re finished. Gimme a call an' I’ll make sure someone’s 'ere to unlock the room for you.”

“Yes Mr. Price,” you gripped the folder.

“So formal,” he muttered, leaning back into his chair, “I’m just goin' to chat with you for a bit, ask a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Yes sir, that’s no problem,” you smiled sweetly at him. 

He paused for a moment, looking at you, “How long you an' your boyfriend been datin'?”

You gulped, shuffling, “Um, it was just over 2 years…”

“Was?”

“I broke up with him,” you looked to the side, then back to the smiling man, looking very pleased with himself.

“Good! He was a lowlife anyway,” he crossed his arms, “Glad 'e won’t be draggin' you down anymore, you don’t deserve that.”

You blinked, “Th-thank you…”

He spoke like you two were familiar with each other. It was strange.

“Not to sound rude, but, you kind of sound like,” you paused, “Like you know me? I think I’d remember if we’d met before.”

Price laughed again, softer this time, “No, we haven’t met before, don’t worry, but your ex-boyfriend spoke about you a lot, all good things for the most part. Even when 'e didn’t mean 'em to be, they cast you in a good light.”

You scoffed, looking away, of course he would talk shit about you. What did you really expect?

Price’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, “Don’t pay it much mind. Look at 'im now–ah! Don’t worry about fairness, we’ll be visitin' 'im every now an' then to make sure 'e’s been behavin'.”

You nodded, not exactly put off by the idea, “Sounds like something Simon would jump on.”

“See you’re learning already!” he leaned over the desk and clapped your shoulder, jostling you, “You’ll get on fine, won’t be too challengin' of a job.”

You shifted in your seat, it was stuffy in the room, and it was growing hot. Unsure if it actually was or if you were just nervous–very possibly both.

“What would the job be, exactly?”

“Mostly just runnin' errands, keepin' medical papers in check, watchin' over the boys–make sure they don’t get into too much trouble, ya know–keep fight schedules in order, make sure the boys know what that is,” he thought for a moment, muttering to himself, “Ah–you’ll be accompanyin' me to meetin's an' 'elp a little with the tension between some of the fighters… they usually take information better from a pretty thing rather than a grumpy old man.”

You nodded, it was different from your other job, but nothing you couldn’t handle. You’ll just be his personal assistant pretty much.

“As you know Soap’s injured at the moment and –”

“Soap?” you felt your skin clam up when he shot you a look, realizing you’d interrupted him.

“Did he not–” with a sigh he explained, “Johnny is Soap, the loud scott out there, handsy one.”

You nodded, “Oh, sorry Mr. Price, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He scoffed, waving his hand, “Don’t worry, those boys interrupt more than anyone I know. Get out a paper an' I’ll tell you their 'code' names.”

You rummaged around your bag, pulling out the brown pad and pen, opening it, looking at the large man.

“Soap, is Johnny MacTavish, Ghost would be Simon Riley, Gaz would be Kyle Garrick,” he paused, “I’ll send you a list of some of the other fights from other rings, they fight 'ere occasionally an' vice versa, you’ll need to know that as well. When in the ring, you are only to use those code names, for everyone's safety.”

“Yes sir,” closing the notepad, and placing it on top of the folder, which weighed heavy on your thighs. In fact your shoulders weighted down heavily as well, and your head, pulling at your neck.

Price clapped his hands together, “I believe that covers it for now, feel free to call if you’ve got any questions or anythin'. I’ll get you the boys' numbers as well, in case you need the muscle. Oh–and the ‘gym’ is open from 10:00am–11:00pm, I expect you to be 'ere at 8:00am, but I’ll let you know if that changes on the day.”

You clenched your teeth, he didn’t really expect you to work for over 12 hours did he. Everyday?

“Of course Mr. Price,” you nodded, forcing a sugary smile onto your lips.

“I’ll be payin’ you well, let's say $30 an hour?” he nodded to himself, “Yeah, you can do the math on 'ow long that’ll take you to pay off–probably good to mention that I’ll only pay for the 8 hour day, any time I keep you past that will just be your kind donation to the gym.”

He smiled, soft and sweet like he didn’t just tell you you’d be working for a few hours each day no pay, and you're just going to do it. Not like you could argue. You were already in this mess. 

Pressing our lips together, and then prying them open to flash teeth you nodded and made a noise in the back of your throat, “Yes sir. I’d be glad to.”

“"I’m sure the boys would appreciate it as well,” his chair groaned and creaked. It sounded like your bones were doing the same as you sat there. His gaze was sharp, even with the smile, it’s like he was looking at your thoughts, your inner workings.

Like he knew everything you were going to say before you said it–and he was waiting to get his witty reply out. Ready to bite at whatever managed to slither it’s way out from between your lips.

“You’ll start today, be 'ere for a few hours, learn the ropes,” he grinned wide, “I’m sure you’ll find it very fun, girly.”

Your heart sank.

(Word count: 6098)

tag list:

@msjaeger @jamdoughnuts

[kitters-litter-pile]

Day 2 @codywanweek : Cody with a Lightsaber

The hilt clipped to his belt for the past weeks has only gotten heavier. The burden of not only losing the general, but being the one holding his only weapon on a thin strap behind his back has caused him more than enough distress for one rather accelerated lifespan. To have tracked him down to a slaver colony has only added to that stress.

"You're too late. You have no blaster and your General will be on the next ship off planet. I must admit, he fetched a higher price than I had thought. I wonder how much more it would be to offer the pair."

There was no second guessing, no time to think of a response. The way the kyber called to him, vibrated through his very bones, screamed that it's owner was just beyond. It felt natural, instinctual sliding the hilt from it's holder and in one fluid movement advancing on the slaver. There was barely any time between the stumbling out of "But the Jedi-" before Cody had removed his head from his shoulders.

The way the plasma cut through flesh and bone was smooth as a hot knife sliding through butter. Smooth, efficient. He can see why his general prefers this weapon.

"I am no Jedi." But you will no longer harm mine.

[perseephoneee]

okie dokie does a Dean Winchester x reader fic work? Had an idea way back in s1 when jess first dies, (older sister, who kinda takes sam under her wing) reader ended up meeting dean through sam. They had similar personalities but (reader) was more of a hopeless romantic than Dean. Sam on the other hand could totally see them together but Dean always denied it.

“Stop eyeing her like she's a piece of steak, you creep” “The hell? I do not do that, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

so they left ca and travelled and maybe in s2-3 (doesnt have to be accurate) they end up back in ca because of a case or cause reader called sam for help. (not expecting dean to show up as well) and after shes not in danger, turns out they get along really well.

"Im not an arm rest, dean." "Mhm, then why are you so short?" "I'M 5'3 THATS NORMAL"

and just fluff..? idk man let me know if its not what you want to write, i can totally change it💜

not a steak (dean winchester x f!reader)

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ 1k celebration

wow remember when i could actually write things in a timely manner? yeah, me neither. i miss those days (that never existed). whomp whomp.

You don't necessarily remember the exact moment that you met Sam. He's been a constant in your life since you were his TA as an undergraduate, watching this freakishly tall freshman so eager to succeed in your class. He made your heart soft, and he made you feel protective. Even though he was so much bigger than you, a naivety in his persona made you take extra time to ensure he succeeded. He ended up getting an A in the class.

You do remember when you met Dean, however. You had heard stories of Dean from Sam the few times you'd catch lunch outside of school. By this point, you were a grad student, filling the void of the older sibling that Sam unconsciously needed filled. You never pried for too many details, and that's how you got people to shut up really fast. But you did meet Dean right as he left town to look for his Dad. Dean was coarse and dismissive of you as if you were just another roadblock stopping him from taking his brother. When you finally got his attention, it was just to size you up before wordlessly climbing into his car. Sam seemed apologetic, but mostly, you were just worried. You had every right to be. Jessica died a week later.

The thing about you is that you can't let a dead dog lie. Where's the fun in that? You'd much rather figure out ways to raise them.

Sam was brilliant, but he let enough details slip to allow you to research him. And you were a law graduate student; you knew a thing or two about studying. Random newspaper clippings, shoutouts of various names, and blog posts allowed you to figure out the supernatural aspect of his life that he had kept from you. You should've been more surprised, but you were more excited than anything. There was more out there. What a strangely relieving thought.  

This knowledge proved helpful when you realized you had a poltergeist.

The new place you moved into was charming and Victorian, the dream of everyone with a Pinterest board. It was in fairly decent shape, and with your roommates, you guys thought you could polish it up to something livable during your suffering years of graduate school. Unfortunately, the price was too good to be true, which led to the unfortunate circumstance of hauntings culminating in one of your roommates in the hospital, barely alive. You called Sam that night.

"Hey Sam, it's me…" you trailed off at that, feet tucked under you as the machines' beeping cut through the silence. "I need your help."

The next day, he was at your door, enveloping you in a hug. He smelled exactly the same, and you didn't realize how much you missed him. Dean was with him.

"I'm Dean," he nodded, holding out a hand. You raised a brow.

"We've met."

"I would've remembered someone who looks like you," Dean scoffs, an easy smirk on his lips that probably made many women swoon. You just rolled your eyes, going back into your house and hoping Sam followed.

A week later, the boys were still here. This ghost was frustrating, and it was more the principle of it that was pissing you off more than anything. You let the brothers stay at the house since it was safer in numbers and cheaper. Plus, your roommates took a wide berth of the place before returning. A routine developed in the short time they were here. You cooked breakfast, Sam made coffee, and Dean woke up at some point. You and Sam would enjoy the paper before something happened (usually related to the crossword that Dean was totally not interested in), and you ended up bickering with the older Winchester until Sam got fed up with it and shut it down.

"Stop eyeing her like she's a piece of steak," Sam muttered to Dean when you weren't around, having stormed off to some other corner of the house. Dean almost spit out his coffee.

"The hell? I do not do that. I have no clue what you're talking about."

Sam just nodded, hiding a smirk behind his book as Dean grumbled about not checking you out.

For the first time that week, Sam was out that night. He was following "a lead." What that lead was, no one knew, but it meant you were alone. With Dean. In a house. Without supervision.

You grumbled something about making dinner. Dean followed you.

"Are you lost?" you asked, hands on your hips as Dean plopped himself at the counter.

"I'm following the food."

"Of course you are."

"Please, no more rabbit food," Dean groaned. "I can't take it anymore."

"Oh no, definitely not," you smirked, pulling out some steaks from the fridge you had been saving. Dean's eyes immediately lit up. "You're helping me cook these. I'm not letting your dumb ass sit around while I prepare a meal."

"You're bossy," Dean grumbles but doesn't complain further as he removes his flannel and sets it on the chair. You ignore that he looks really good in a t-shirt and return to grabbing ingredients. To his credit, Dean is good at letting you tell him what to do and following through. He is definitely a better chef than Sam, who has burned many things in your kitchen. Dean is an excellent sous chef. You tell him as such.

"The hell? I am not a sous," he says while furiously stirring butter.

"It's a compliment, you knobhead."

"Knobhead? What 1950s show are you living in?"

This conversation went back and forth for a while. But you finished cooking a meal, which is always considered a success in your book. Dean devoured him almost immediately before you could even finish cutting through it. Then, it was just you attempting to finish your meal in peace. This was difficult, as Dean continuously kept eyeing your food, hoping you might give it to him, and then would complain outwardly when you didn't.

"You're not going to finish it," he drank his beer, once again looking at your dinner. You glared.

"I can finish it."

"A girl like you doesn't finish an entire steak."

That comment pissed you off. You finished your steak in two bites, shocking Dean, and then proceeded to grab his glass of beer and down it in one gulp. You slammed the glass down, raising a brow. "You have no clue what type of girl I am."

You grabbed both your plates and made your way to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and starting to clean the dishes. You barely made it through a plate before Dean pushed you out of the way.

"Dean—"

"I'm not questioning your ability, but in my world, the one who doesn't cook cleans. So, sit your ass down," Dean said before you could chew him out. You bit the inside of your cheek and sat down, still glaring at him as he washed each dish meticulously and put them either in the dishwasher or on the drying rack. When he was done, he threw the dishtowel over his shoulder. The domesticity made you soften. "I'm sorry for earlier."

You blinked, not really expecting any sort of apology from Dean Winchester. You did expect that you would not get anything besides those words.

"I don't understand women."

You laughed at that, leaning on your hand with your elbow on the table. "Aren't you a self-proclaimed ladies' man?"

"I know how to sleep with women, but I don't get what goes through your heads," Dean leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You want one thing and then a different thing, and I can't keep up."

"So, you're admitting you're slow." Dean threw the towel at you. "Women aren't that complicated; men are just bad listeners. You included."

"I can listen."

"Really? What was I frusterated about at dinner?" you challenged, getting off your seat and leaning over the counter. He blinked a few times.

"That I kept asking for your steak?"

"No, that you presumed that as a woman, I couldn't finish a steak."

"Well, that's not what I said," Dean replied, getting defensive. You just rolled your eyes, grabbing the wine bottle on the counter.

"Oh, also, insight into women; they lie about how good men actually are in the bedroom," you winked, leaving the room and taking the wine with you. You could almost hear Dean's jaw drop.

"It ain't a lie, princess," he intercepted you, his stupid legs moving much faster than yours. You frowned but didn't say anything. Dean took a breath, locking eyes with you. "Why do you insist on always pushing my buttons?"

"Because it's fun? Because you're both annoying and easy to annoy?" you shrugged, clutching your wine bottle to your chest. You didn't know why you picked on him, besides the fact he could be an absolute ASS sometimes that needed kicking. No, you suppose it goes back to early schoolyard days where instead of 'flirting,' you'd push the person and maybe claim to the entire class that they had cooties. To this day, you still had no idea what cooties exactly were, just that you never wanted to catch them.

"I think you like me," Dean smirked. He had crowded you against the wall leading to the living room. Your wine was an innocent bystander clutched to your chest. Maybe not as tall as Sam, but you still had to look up to see him. "I'm gonna prove it."

"Excuse me?" you breathed any sort of bite to your words caught in your throat as he reached up to your face and stroked your cheek. His hands found purchase holding your neck, tilting your face even higher and infinitely closer. Dean took the wine bottle out of your hands, your last line of defense, and stepped away for a second to put it back on the counter. His hands found your face again.

"Hey princess," he whispered, voice sultry. "Breathe." You couldn't do such a thing even if you wanted to because his lips were on yours, and he tasted like the draft beer in your fridge and apple pie. He was gentle, too gentle, and you wanted more. Your hands, first unsure of what to do, grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. One of his hands moved to your waist, thumb brushing the exposed skin where your shirt rode up. He was everywhere all at once, masculinity encapsulated, and you were drowning in it. He pulled away, letting you breathe, the command you forgot to follow. "I wanted to do that since I saw you."

"Bullshit."

"Honest to god— well, not god, but honest— but then you had to go and be increasingly difficult," Dean scoffed, still holding on to you.

"You don't even remember the first time we met."

"Of course I do; it was a week after my Dad disappeared," Dean responded. "You were wearing pajamas and had a raincoat wrapped around you as you asked Sam not to go so that you could figure it out together. I was curt, and you looked like you wanted to call me a thousand horrible names, but you let it go as we drove away."

You smiled a little at that. "You do remember."

"What can I say? I like pushing your buttons."

You smacked him on the chest, earning a laugh as you fought off your smile. You did finally get your wine and let Dean choose something to watch. About halfway through your movie (and three glasses of pinot noir in), you got distracted by a makeout session that would've made your teenage self swoon, but it didn't progress more than that. Neither of you wanted to go too fast. Most of the time, it was just light conversation, cuddling, and the realization that maybe you two were much more alike than you thought.

Both of you fell asleep like that on the couch, blissfully unaware of the morning light. Sam came home early in the morning, dropping his bags before seeing the both of you entwined on the couch. A smile crossed his face.

"Finally."

taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

[blorbocedes]

Blorbo doing an ask game?? day officially made. cheating a little bit but can I ask for norstappen and arranged marriage or crying?

okay only cause you were so nice about it

Lando is sitting in his veil, looking glum, when Max enters. He manages to muster a glare at Max.

His little wife. Something glowers in Max's chest at that, that they're finally married. Not that Lando is too happy about it.

"Help me get this stupid corset off." Lando demands, getting up and turning his back to Max. There's a tangled mess where he's clearly tried to undo it himself and failed. The pristine ivory white boning is taut, fitted to him like a glove. Where Lando didn't have much of any breast to push, it certainly cinched his waist to an impossible degree. And made it harder to run, if he had been planning on it. Nevertheless, Max thought he looked absolutely lovely the entire ceremony, even if he did get out of breath at times.

Max diligently untangles the knot, then taking the two free separate ends he pulls as tightly as he can - cinching it. Lando, not expecting it, gasps as his back is straightened.

"Sorry," Max says, going back to undoing it. He carefully unties every hook in repetitive movements - each one loosening it ever so slightly. Max's fingers brush against the soft flesh of Lando's back and he can see where the bodice has made indentations on the skin. Lando has a gorgeous flush spreading down to his neck, as Max finishes -- revealing his bare back splattered with freckles like constellations.

Lando is all pink when he turns around again, kicking off the bustle without much care. He's just in a silk petticoat and his veil. Without being asked, Max gets to undoing the clips hidden in Lando's curls to keep the veil in place. The additional height he has over Lando helps. When Lando's looking down, there's the slightest hint of sparkle on his eyelids -- although he has no need for blush.

"Why'd they put roses everywhere? How're we supposed to sleep?" Lando whines. Their complementary Hilton honeymoon suite came with the bed decorated in rose petals shaped into a heart. Max thought it was quite romantic.

"The idea is we wouldn't be getting much sleep, no?" Max teases him.

"Don't get ahead of yourself and think we're doing anything tonight." Lando grumbles, self-consciously crossing his arms over his bare chest.

"That's alright." Max hums agreeably. He's in no rush. They have the rest of their lives to get to that.

Lando's not the happiest bride on his wedding day. He was still reeling from the betrayal. This old silver haired American, some multi-millionaire, was ready to invest millions in their family business for Lando's hand in marriage and his grandfather was all too agreeable for the bride price. Old moneyed families are quite old-fashioned like that, what Lando wanted wasn't even in the question.

Max put up an alternative offer and he had Lando's reluctant acquiescence. Better than being sold off to some geezer. But Lando showed up to the reception wearing Doc Martens under his dress and Max was not about to let his bride runaway in front of his entire family, friends, industry leaders, and the Prime Minister. So he kept a hold of Lando's hand from their First Dance until they made it into the limo, with Just Married~ painted on the back, with Lando digging his nails and refusing to look at him.

His parents always said marriage is hard work.

With the veil off, Lando runs his fingers through his curls and making a disgruntled face that it is stiff with product.

"I feel... gross." Lando goes to the two person sized shower + bath + jacuzzi bathroom and pointedly clicks the lock shut.

Max thought he made the prettiest bride. Stumbling through reading the vows, not being able to look Max in the eye -- too embarrassed. Their kiss was chaste, respectful, and not at all encompassing of all the things Max wanted but it was enough; he was kissing his lawfully wedded bride.

Max undoes his cuff links. He was completely at ease, in his bespoke black suit and bow tie.

Max is almost asleep when Lando rolls on top of him. All the makeup scrubbed off, in his comfortable pajamas. "I've changed my mind. Let's fuck."

"Is this going to happen a lot?" Max laughs, hands easily finding Lando's waist, reaching for the bare skin under his shirt.

"I dunno. You signed up for it."

[soggyriceee]

stress reliever pt2 - captain price

cw: lowkey aggressive price ngl y’all.. forced breeding, bathroom sex and lowkey:.. for like two seconds istg r@pe

“so, will you be taking me up on drinks tonight rookie?” Gaz smiled, holding the door to the armory open as you both brought back magazines for the new machine guns.

“you never stop trying do you?” you chuckled, shaking your head as the heat crept upon your cheeks.

it had been a full week today since you and Price had that little. moment. things have been weird and while he did ignore you for half the week, he’s been trying to apologize and be around you. however you don’t even let him get close, going so far as to ignore when he talk to you during drills or mission assignments.

everyone’s kinda picked up on it. you told them it was something stupid he said and you were just being petty. you knew that was wrong, but hearing you say that gave the captain hope that you’d talk to him soon.

but he’s noticed youve actually completely blocked him out your life, almost at if he were invisible! flirting with Gaz in the trucks, requesting him as a partner for almost everything. he was truly fed up and had no intent on letting this go any further.

“i do not. so. i’ll see you at Danny’s bar tonight at 8:30.” he said, grabbing the other box in your arms before pushing his way to the front of the crowded room, placing the boxes at the front table. Price noticed how you two walked in together, and late.

“3 minuets late. something happen that took up 3 minuets of our time soldiers?” his voice boomed, as you shuffled through the tall men to take your place in the front. “uh no sir just-“ “gaz was asking her out! look at his face it says it all over.” one of the recruits blurted out, causing an eruption of laughter throughout the room. all except one person of course.

price’s eyes met your cold ones, before you rolled them and shifted your way back out the door. “take 10. i better see guns in everyone’s hands fully loaded once i get back, Gaz.” he spat, slamming his clip board on the desk.

you were already well into the women’s restroom, sitting on the sink as you waited out the meeting. or so you thought.

within a minuet price was busting through the door, nose flared and eyes low. “price you sick fuck get out this is the women’s bathroom!” you exclaimed, jumping at the burly man’s sudden entrance.

“i’m yourw goddam captain have you forgotten that?” “yea and you’re also a fucking dick so now what?” you scoffed, almost laughing at his anger.

you felt no remorse of course, he literally ghosted you for a week. “now if we’re done here can you get out? id like to pee now.”

price didn’t like that.

with swiftness, both your hands were pinned to the sink behind you, Price’s body pushed right against yours. “you think you’re funny? think you’re tough shit hm?” he asked, his voice low, grip on yours wrists tight.

price was more than angry with you. of course he was wrong for how he ignored you. but he’s here now he’s trying to fix it. and you’re going on dates with other guys? it made him wonder..

“you’re going on dates either our baby inside you? hm?” to which he got a chuckle from you. “you ignored me, completely, and expected me to keep it? to not take a pill?” another laugh.

for a moment, he felt like his heart stopped and literally dropped. i mean you weren’t wrong for what you did, but the fact you still did it shook him a bit to his core. but that quickly became anger.

his grip on your wrist became almost enough to snap it in half, earning a yelp from you. he yanked you, turning you so your face was smooshed against the bathroom mirror. one hand wrapped around your waist, undoing your pants and yanking them down. no panties.

“Price get the fuck off me!” you cried out, teyinf to move your hips to a voice his hand but all you did was rub up on his cock, poor thing.

he scoffed, feeling his pants grow tight. you too, felt your pussy begin to throb. just slightly tho.

“no panties? what anyone can fuck you now?” he asked, taking his large, calloused hand and rubbing the curve of your ass, every so gently. “you wanna fuck Gaz? want his cock inside you not mine anymore?” he pouted, eyes wandering to meet yourw in the mirror.

you whimpered, the once confident and mean girl in you disappearing into this weak, submissive one. “answer me.” he spat, landing a sharp smack right on the curve of your ass. you yelped, backing into him and feeling the tent in his pants. “n-no no just you. i promise.”

he rolled his eyes before placing yet another smack to your ass. “liar.”

he kept one hand around your waist, the other huridly yanking his pants off his body. oh how much his cock hurt, restricted in his pants while your wet pussy rubbed against it. it was torture.

it was torture fucking into your stolen panties(by him ofc), moaning your name out every night as he overstimmed his cock. how he reminisced on the feeling of coming inside your warm hole, how you rejected it but he still forced all of it inside you. he could never not cum to that night.

“i told you. quit. i told you i’d take care of you.” he spit onto the head of his cock, spreading it with his free hand as he looked back at you in the mirror. “you’re gonna have my fucking baby. gonna make you mind forever.”

for a moment you felt his head, the next he was almost balls deep inside you. price knows how loud you can get, how sensitive you are. but this time, he was so blinded by anger, he didn’t even care.

so, when you moaned out to him bottoming out inside you, instead of covering your mouth like usual, he slid all the way back before shoving himself right back inside you, gasping at how well your pussy took him in.

“p-price please it.. it hurts.” you cried, tears brimming your eyes as you felt his cock make its way back inside you. but he wasn’t listening. in fact, he was way to busy drooling, literally, watching how your pussy sucked his back up again and again, watching how wet his cock got everytime it came out. “o-oh bunny..” he groaned, his hips picking up speed slowly.

your hands pressed flat against the mirror, watching as your captains head fell back, letting his moans out just as he pleased, no remorse or fear of anyone walking in. “you’re gonna.. gonna be such a good mommy.” he breathed out, his hands moving from your hips to the edge of the sink.

he looked down to you in the mirror, watching as your teary eyes squeezed shut, biting your bottom lip as to not give him the satisfaction that he’s satisfying you. but he saw right through you and laughed, picking up his speed.

“you can try baby i know my cocks making you feel good.. just listen to how good i making you feel.” he smirked, leaning down to your ear and gently tugging it with his teeth. “i know how to make my baby feel good.”

it’s true tho. your pussy was absolutely exposing how good and how much you wanted, no, how much you needed this. “f-fuck Price i hate you.” you choked out, all while tilting your head back to look up at him.

“you hate me baby?” you nodded quickly, whimpering out each thrust he gave. he loved it when you told him you hated him. made coming inside you that much more hot. and you knew that, please.

“tell me how much you hate me.” he panted, letting his hand slip up your body to your throat, holding you there while his cock plunged in and out of you. “i-i hate you and.. and you’re stupid f-face. i never.. wanna see you again.” you spoke, the grip of Prices hand growing tighter as you spoke and as he got closer.

he whimpered out, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt his cock twitch inside you. “tell me you don’t want my cum baby. tell me please.”

despite your mouth being dry from all the harsh breathing you’ve had to do, you swallowed your spit and spoke out. “p-please get off me. i-i don’t want your baby please.”

price panted above you. his eyes rolling back as he felt you begin to pulse around his cock. oh how he loved when you did that, chanting how you didn’t wanna take his cum, but you were milking him so fucking well.

“i-i’m coming baby.. hold still for me.” his hands quickly found your hips, giving a few more deep, fast thrusts as his tip hit right at your gspot . “f-fuck it’s coming baby i-im…” for the first time, Price was actually whimpering out from the pleasure, his legs growing shaky as he used you as stability.

“h-holy.. oh my God..” he panted, his body pressed totally up against you as you bent over the sink painfully. you felt his cock still pulsing inside you, his rapid heartbeat on your back.

for a moment, you wanted to cry. cry because again you let this man fill you with his cum, just to ignore you again. you wanted to cry because you so easily melt in his hands every single time. so you let a tear or two drop, both noticed by the man above you.

“i wont leave you. i… i feel so scared to be honest. i want you, i really want you baby but. i’m scared. i scared myself last time.” he confessed.

he slid out of you, not before pushing back his cum inside you for good measure of course. he caught you in his arms, your weak and wobbly legs unable to hold you up. “but i’m not gonna leave again.. please. let me take care of you. let’s start a family let’s-let’s get fucking married.” he chuckled, pulling your pants up before meeting your gaze.

“marry me. i know it’s wrong but i cant resist you. i need you..” he begged, cupping your face as his eyes locked onto yours…

uhhhh you guys can pick an ending i would love to hear alternative endings!! i find that some ppl really want there to be a different ending that i write so i leave it up to you guys

[accio-victuuri]

bobo the piggy. 🐽 + cpns

i think it’s about time to make some kind of compilation about this aspect of the fandom. mainly because xz seems to be attached to it lately. this characterization of him is more of good natured teasing and endearment — nothing derogatory. i know there is a negative impression when someone is a “pig” but that’s not the case at all with yibo. it’s more of the cute side, and to represent that “soft side” of yibo when he’s not on lion or panther mode.

a huge part of this is mugui laoshi’s bobi character that everyone loves and why it’s really stuck with the fandom. who wouldn’t love that cute character? in the same way that yibo also has that cute side to him we all adore.

let me start first with yibo and his connection to the “pig” title. with him being known as the Little Golden Pig in c-ent. i’m getting this one from Baidu:

"Little Golden Pig" is a nickname for entertainment star Wang Yibo. This title comes from his extremely high popularity in the industry. With great influence, he is regarded as one of the top artists. The commercial value is so high that in the activities he participated in such as Weibo night or YH Family concert. Using his name the prices of related products will rise rapidly. Therefore, he known as the "Little Golden Pig" in recognition of his achievements in the business field.

TOTALLY AGREE. <3

other instances of this association:

• videos of him with pigs for your pleasure ( trying to be friends with one and this show actually had him rapping to this pig lol and feeding a pig at DDU )

• the miniso collab doll that is supposed to be yibo is a cute pig.

• he once wore Nike shows that’s called Pink Pig.

• the fact that we associate Pink as being his other favorite color and how he seems to associate that with romance.

• that viral pig meme that danced to Wugan 😂😂

• meme/expressions of him sometimes used by fans where he looks like a pig.

i bet there is some more, but i will stop here cause i know people ( and me personally ) want to move to the cpn side of things already! the first one will have to be PEPPA PIG. something that started within the crew and has somehow evolved into being about wangxian — and by extension — yizhan. ( some cpns here here and here )

• this video by BYS ( by your side ) of a behind the scenes clip when xz called wyb a pig. that’s it, in the video he calls his attention by shouting “pig” and then asks him to catch the sword and then they proceed to their usual banter.

• there is an lrlg rumor where xz was talking about a piggy nose. i think he really fixates on that. and the way xz says it, you can see that it’s good natured teasing. then wyb compares him to a black pig.

• his pig drawing, but it is doing a finger heart sign. a pose wyb was fond of at some point.

• the book xz was photographed with “The Maverick Pig” by Wang Xiaobo. i mean, look at the cover and the name of the author. tho we know that xz loves to read a variety of books and this one seems interesting.

and there was an lrlg rumor where it looked like wyb was reading a letter by xz to him. he started with “i give you my whole soul..” and xz cuts him off. like he is embarrassed and doesn’t want wyb to continue on. cpfs thought it’s from a poem by the same author called loving you is like loving life.

I give you my whole soul, along with its quirks, tantrums, flickers, 1800 bad habits. It's really annoying, there’s only a little good, Love you.

🫠🫠🫠🫠

• pig on his phone! 📲 i think this one is more telling and personal. you can explain it differently and say that since gg is superstitious, he believes that it’s some form of attracting prosperity. which could be true. but at the same time, wyb does the same for him. his piggy who brought him happiness and good fortune in life.

• fake rumor of them arguing as they usually do and then xz saying “the pig is angry” pertaining to wyb.

• another cute rumor:

🟢"It's cold, I'm afraid he'll freeze his head. Doesn't this look good with a hat?"

🔴"Yeah, you're pretty good at taking care of yourself."

Teacher Wang locked his phone. You're not going to reply? Hahahahaha. It's a piglet doll wearing a hat with the number "16" on it. It's pretty cute.

people are pointing at this stuffed toy as the alleged pig that yibo is taking care of. and the fact that it has 16 on it. 👀

and it’s a cow piglet!!!! 💕

just thinking about xz giving bobo a doll to take care of is making me somft!

• and another rumor 😂😂😂

XZ: There is a pig here wyb! [There is a pig sticker on the side of the makeup mirror. I don't know who put it there. ]

then xz was saying it’s cute, wyb then says “don’t say it looks like me!” to which xz replied: “I didn’t plan to say it! Why do you always think about yourself?” 🤣🤣🤣

they are so chaotic!!!!

there is something funny in all of this because with all the symbolism we have associated with them like the moon — xz chose the pig. maybe it’s because there is no room to misunderstand the meaning or association. you can explain what the moon, stars and umbrellas are for in a non-cpn way when he posts about it, but this leaves almost no room for escape. xz is really out here going on vacation and relaxed but leaving us stressed out with the candies he drops!

source.

[pricegouge]

Uhm your last ask abt fairy reader in price’s humidor and I can’t resist

Price having his fairy warm his cigars for him between her legs

Maybe she can make fairy sparks to light his cigar (gives it the same kinda kick as the honey cause it’s got distilled magic in it). Or maybe he makes her strain to flick his table lighter. Maybe he scares her with it, holding her while threatening to burn the bottoms of her feet while she squirms.

Maybe he switches to cigarillos or hand rolled options sometimes— cause with the right finesse, those can fit in her tiny fairy cunt, her honey soaking into the paper.

And in a world where people milk fairy honey? There’s probably all kinds of tools and substances they sell to get fairies aroused fast, but price has a bit too much pride, likes to do things the slow, old fashioned way.

Nikolai who keeps his fairy leashed because he can’t bear to clip her wings. To much empathy for flying creatures— he cannot rob you of that. Or maybe he’s had her long enough to not worry— she’s fully tamed and trained. She’ll lick the powdered sugar from his fingers if he has a donut for breakfast. Price’s fairy is terrified of Nik’s— will she be like that some day? Acting like she’s in love with her tormentor?? She’s even more scared when Nik offers to train her as a favor.

And she gets this funny feeling in her belly when price laughs and politely declines. Says he likes her just the way she is.

(And if we’re talking hardcore objectification. I imagine Soap’s careless. He’s been through more than one fairy in his day. No big deal— Ghost’ll just find him another. Misfits have a knack for finding them)

I’m going a little crazzzyyy

-🦷

[reference - no longer my most recent ask, i'm slow]

i raise you: price training her how to properly hug his cock by making her work herself over his cigars. i also raise you price training his fairy to spark when he flicks her head as if she's a lighter like a fucking dog.

him dipping cigarillos in her cunt is making me severely unwell. can just see him running out of flavor half way through, patting down his pockets like she's a misplaced lighter just to freshen up his dart even as it's still smoking

okay. not particularly related to what you're talking about, but the jewelry bit added at the end of that fic was def inspired by art i found which i'm unfortunately not gonna link just cause i saw it on a repost site and i'm not sure where to find the original art cause I don't have any social media. but! the artist very clearly had a line in which they depicted fairy girls being turned into jewelry and the main link piece would often be a specialized plug their size attached to a chain which would obv be linked to the actual jewelry. i don't really have anywhere i'm going with this I just thought you should know that.

hm. i can picture nik's fairy having just as much empathy for him straight from the gate. like what do you mean this human knows what the world looks like from above better than he does from his actual (significant) level? she's easy to train because she lets herself be trained, at least a little, but price's fairy doesn't know that!! she's scared as hell to be made into some docile little creature, but price would never allow it. she'll never admit she's grateful for him but she is when he tells nik he can handle it, when he stuffs her into his pocket so she can't quite hear when he says he likes her just the way she is, teeth marks on his finger tips and all

(also also. im not normal about burning so i won't go too crazy BUT. i will say when he's training her to bahave like a lighter, he def holds the heated metal of the guard against her ☹️)

[elklounge]

Werewolf Lore Book found in The Quarry Game

Okay, where do I start? A few days ago I was playing The Quarry and trying to get screenshots of Travis. However, while in the Hackett House, I saw this book. I was curious if it said anything. Part of me wondered if it was just gibberish since the player can't really see it and it would just be for dressing the set and making the room look full. However, as I squinted I realized it said Curse of the Moonlight. I began to try multiple different methods to read the two pages of text. I couldn't find it in the game files and searching book didn't get me anywhere. However after some clipping and eye strain through using my glasses as a magnifying glass. Maybe this has already been discovered if so that's okay. I still just wanted to point this out. I am unsure which character was reading this. I want to say Chris Hackett since there are cigarettes present and the only other time I've seen them is in Chris' office as he smokes.

The text reads as the following:

Before the creation of the curse more than 23,000 years ago, the people of the old town, recognized the presence of an evil spirit, which successfully escaped from hell, broke all the spells which imprisoned it since the initial establishment of the Earth. Mankind had been struggling to fight and hopelessly defend themselves before the cruelty and the brutal behaviour of the beast. Finally, through all the tears and bloods, prayers and desperation, mankind lost to the creature and vanished. However, becasue of the vital impact and the destructive damage the conflict resulted, the Mother of Nature abandoned it from the ground, kept it in captivity under thousands of earth layers, for million of years.

The curse is supposed to be timeless. But unfortunately, some unconscious individuals summoned the beast with a deadly ancient magics and spells. Following the guide of the devils, they were forced to wake the monster from the deepest place that the humanity may ever know. Hence, every night when the moon shines the brightest, it will rise and hunt for human lives, as many as he can find, as much as he can fulfill the hunger through so many years, just until the sun rises to the fullest. And that became the story, which is then conveyed and spreaded from ears to ears, about this enigmatic forest.

Once upon a time, there was one said every journey is always full of unexpectancies and moreover, inevitable incidences. Stories have been told through centuries and decades, from villages to towns, from the elder to the youth. But not as the generations pass by or as the time fades, the curse has never been once broken. Whenever the reading is started, the moon will shine and the untamed creature will be released from your worst nightmare. Danger is triggered. And death follows.

Now, one is here in this place, reading these ambiguous is and wondering about everything. But he did not even noticed the wind has begun to blow harder and colder. The surroundings are frozen, not because of the weather, but due to one thing which is coming for the thirst of blood. The shelter is no longer a place to settle. It is now a deadly hunting area, dangerous obstacles, damaged constructions and mysterious blood stains.

In every step he takes, the traces will stay to wait for the beast. Like the last footprint he left during the last moment of his life. His scream will not be heard and his prayers will not be granted. He may survive but the terrified soul will last forever. His curiosity was the cause of the unfortunate event. And now he has to pay the bloody price and no savior would come to rescue.

Every moment he has now is priceless and vital. His life and the journey of survival depends on how he uses his last breaths. Which means now is the time that he needs to start to run.

My most insane attempt to read it which got me 2/3s of the way down the first page.

[the-californicationist]

Troubleshooting

For @glitterypirateduck's super fun Oh, Captain! challenge. This is for prompt #8 where our deceptive captain tries to hide a secret from his gunsmith.

She could smell him long before she saw his hulking form stop in front of her office door. The sweet scent of his signature Romeo y Julieta cigars gave him away; a jewel from Villa Clara, Cuba. The tight-rolled tobacco smoldered amber and gold in the dark, its rustic funk and black licorice smoke gently curling out of his parted lips, trapped under his dirty boonie hat.  

When she had been assigned to his team, she’d been dreading the constant relocating and high profile secrecy. It was hard enough to find 5.56 ammo for that mouthy Scot’s Steyr bullpup, much less have it delivered to a black site without a postcode. But, as she let her eyes wander up his mountainous shoulders, tracing the outline of a sharp, scruffy Adam’s apple, watching as his jaw rippled and clenched to bite down on the soft end of his cigar, she admitted to herself that she could deal with a few shipping delays as long as she got to enjoy John Price. Now, just a few weeks into this roughshod operation, she ached to see what lurked under all that gear. 

She cleaned up her station, carefully screwing on the cap to her powder and putting it under the workbench. When he spoke, it was always confident but soft, like a stage whisper, words only she was meant to hear. 

“Smithy,” he took a long drag from his Cuban and pulled the creamy smoke in through his nose, a very casual French inhale, breathing it out and down sharply, purposefully avoiding her face.

He’d never called her by her name, only by his clipped version of her title of Chief Gunsmith. She knew he must be aware of it since he requested her transfer, but she had always been “Smithy” to him. 

“Captain, how are we this evening?” She gazed into his eyes with intent, hoping he would see her desire in them and be pleased. 

“We’re alright,” he took the cigar from his mouth and let it rest between his fingers, smiling down at her as he loomed, his height making her feel small. He removed his hat, placing it on her bench before leaning against the table, his huge hand spreading wide across the stainless surface. He continued,

“You know, this M4 has been giving me a bit of trouble. I cleaned it, but even after a full breakdown, the bolt isn’t sitting flush. Think you could help me get it all the way in?”

She let his quiet rumbling voice wash over her like a wave, lapping at her mind and making her breath catch in her chest. The double entendre was so obvious as to almost be in jest, but his suggestive tone - though subtle - was enough for her to believe in it. 

“Did you use enough oil? A little lubricant goes a long way, Captain, but some parts need more than others. Especially if it was a vigorous cleaning,” she threw him a bone in hopes he would bite it. 

He did, replying with a sly smile,

“Perhaps I went a little rough with her. Think you can take a look?”

He licked his lips, watching as the flush tinted her neck and cheeks, hungry for her attention. She watched him shift his weight, rocking forward towards the bench, flexing his hips. Obviously, she was getting to him. She turned up the heat, pushing her luck,

“Rough is just fine, John, but with the size of the bolt head you’ve got here, you just need to make sure she’s slick enough to take it.”

She smiled sweetly, taking the rifle from him and laying it across the bench. Now that she had turned her attention to the gun, she could only watch him from the corner of her eye. But, she knew she had landed a punch when he had to turn his head away from her and pull at the inside leg of his pants, adjusting. 

Then, as she took apart the barrel from the bolt and its lever, she realized he had been lying to her. He had replaced the trigger assembly before the bolt, effectively causing the problem he was asking her to solve. Price knew this gun better than the back of his own hand, and he had come down to her office with this game, hoping to score. 

Her heart raced when she discovered the error, and she tried her best to maintain a straight face, not wanting him to realize she’d caught him yet. She still wanted to play. 

She rebuilt the weapon, glossing over the false mistake, and pulled the bolt back flush. 

“There,” she sighed, “good as new.”

The ball was clearly in his court and she waited to see what he would do. His voice had dropped into a deep, threatening register, and he was leaning so far over the workbench that she could see his pupils dilate, pushing back the bright blue and revealing the blackness behind it,

“What was the problem, Smithy?”

He began to stalk her around the edge of the table, taking impossibly slow steps toward her side of the bench, eyes fixed on her mouth. She saw his chest rising and falling faster and stronger, lifting his protective vest and causing the lingering smoke between his lips to billow chaotically around his dark beard. She held her ground, turning her body toward his as he walked,

“You made a rookie mistake, Captain Price. One that you’re not capable of making...”

His eyes sparked to life, focusing on hers now, and he knew that he’d been discovered. She continued to dismantle his farce,

“…and I wonder how it can be possible…”

Price rounded the first corner of the table, hanging on her every word. He took his cigar and pulled a long drag.

“...that such an experienced…”

Another step. The leather of his boot creaked as he pressed it down.

“...intelligent…”

Another step. She could smell his cologne now. Vetiver. Musk.

“...diligent soldier…”

He crossed the second corner, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth, pouring like water down his chin and tangling in his beard, holding his breath to let her view the effect. His teeth were clenched together behind his full mouth, and he began to smile in a sinister, pained way. She went on, quieter, her voice betraying her nerves,

“...would somehow forget how to put his own gun back together.”

Price’s cigar had come to an end, and he crushed it out under his boot as he stood in front of her, too close for propriety, just close enough to smell her coconut shampoo. He hummed, playing along, falsifying a sense of wonder and mystery in his tone.

“That is quite the mystery, innit? Must’ve been distracted by…” Price brought his hand up to touch the tip of his gunsmith’s long braid as it lay draped over her shoulder, laying on her breast, “…something important.”

“John,” she whispered, leaning toward him instinctively.

In the half-second between her speaking his name and the silence that came after, he struck like a snake, wrapping the rest of her braid around his fist like a rope, yanking her head back and pulling her to his body, letting their gear and clothes rustle between them, not caring where the vests and belts and buckles twisted and pinched, letting the tension linger. His free hand grabbed her jaw and neck in his wide, open palm, fingers pressing into her skin, warm and callused. 

His voice was so strained and full of his want that it seemed like a growl, rambling in a rushed, fervent monologue,

“You’ve been teasing me again, Smithy. Ever since we got back from that damn operation. You’ve been coming to the gym at night, when I lift, and you wear those fucking shorts and you show off that thick arse, bending over in front of the racks, pulling them up higher so I can how see your wet cunt is soaking right through them,” his hand yanked her head back, making her gasp. He loved that noise,

“Delicious. Your pretty little cunt, ready to eat. Right within my reach. A whole gym, empty, and you pick that spot every damn time. Moving past me in the lockers, letting me smell you, and now I want a taste.” 

She felt the stinging tightness of her scalp as he tugged on her braid, locking her body in place against his, controlling her head, moving it toward his face. He grimaced like he was in agony even though she was the one under his fist. His touch was such a relief. She’d been torturing him for weeks, and she surrendered to him, pliant to his whims, hoping he understood that her lack of resistance was essentially her begging him to forgive her for leaving him starving.

“Alright,” she smiled, still at his mercy, “If you want a taste, you can have one.” She watched as his eyes grew wide with anticipation as she unbuttoned her pants and tugged down the zipper. She bit her lip and shrugged, “On your knees, soldier.”

AO3 Link

[sevs-corner]

Back to more ideas on Tf 141: Mafia AU!

(Im world building rn + epilogue/ extra scene to the 1st Chapter)

Link to prev part:

So I was thinking how, the relationship would build between the 5 (Tf 141 and reader) naturally, ‘cause I want the story to build off of like small interactions and one shots but sometimes have like, coherent chapters in between to stabilize the “plot” per se.

(Im rusty with my writing skills and I kinda dont edit, ‘cause this is just practice for me but still lmao)

And I want it to be something gradual (just call it slow burn, they say) and I know I write interactions in a slow kinda way where it bounces back and forth from person to person, showing the reader’s perspective then subtly shifting to the character’s perspective— but I think I want to experiment into that, focusing more on dialogue and conversational exchanges that shows how close their relationship has gotten.

For ex, I was thinking how Soap was still wary of reader in the first chap- not as affectionate as he is with his mates right off the bat, he’s wary and it comes naturally in his line off work. You’re an oddity sure, but its not like he’ll put down his walls for you (yet). His speech is rough and clipped, not wanting to reveal much but letting you be privy to the information he can provide- in the mean time anyways.

Yet , at the same time, I want to show his attraction—

He’s enamored and has (maybe) a little crush, but who wouldn’t when you’re so pretty? Sitting there in the room where they grew up, blanket lazily draped across your form as your barely awake self tries to wake up on his bed, hair poking out in all sorts of places, drool dried at the side of your mouth but damn did he think you were a fresh sight to see in this city.

Maybe you were seducing him? Or was it the allure of the domesticity that was lacking in their relationship? He puts those thoughts to the back of his head ‘till he waits for the news of that meeting he was left out of last night- he feels its important when checking out who you really are.

They can’t afford to be careless, but on the other hand- you kinda were, when you first met them unfortunately, that is. Absent-minded and clumsy, that was what he thought of you as he stared at your tripped up self, sadly sitting in a puddle in pain. You were pale, shivering, and simply a mess.

Honestly, the more that he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense to treat you like a threat. Well, at least not an active one at that. You could have been having an off day as a spy or an assassin, but if it were him— he wouldn’t be caught slacking like that in public, whether people knew him or of his occupation either way.

He could even see how you lowered your guard! Jeez, you should be more careful- especially with people like him and his mates- if you’re new to the place. He thinks you might be a lil’ looney for going to this place, especially that part of the city when all of its occupants know that it was mostly a dangerous area to get in to and stay at.

As the neutral hub for all of the mafioso around the cities, it is the one place for regular folks not to get involved in. (Unless you want to meet them of course, but he doubts that was your intention… or, shit- it could have been, considering how Price found something on you.)

Now he thinks of you as a potential client, which makes him feel worse of how off-handedly he treated you.

He knew he was gettin’ an ass kickin’ from Ghost if you were, surely.

Alas, what done has been done- at least you still treated him normally as he left, so he thinks he left a good impression.

Though, that wasn’t at the forefront of your mind right now.

Quite literally, you were being worked to the bone for information from the old Italian couple that helped you stay at their lodgings at the 2nd floor of their bakery.

“‘It’ll help un-fuck my week,’ they said but all gave me was a hope that my minimum wage self has to fight for as they get free labor in return!”

But you don’t dare say that, knowing you were speaking out of turn and out of misplaced anger so you keep your mouth shut- cleaning up the bakery for the opening in the morning.

The couple was sweet, but they were also strict, telling you that “you should move your arse so you can sweat off the sick!” Which… you didn’t want to make sense off so you just nodded, asking if that was the compensation for the information of finding your place, and they agreed. On the stipulation that you work and do all the chores on the list they handed you, making you gape and about to ask for a little consideration— but they quickly disappear, out of sight and out of mind, they say.

And you think that was better before you started mouthing off, not get anything, and then end up lost once more— which you wanted to avoid at all costs so you did sweat off the sick.

Albeit, you looked worse for wear.

Which Ghost bluntly points out as you waited their table.

…let’s just say that it was an overtime work-shift that you didn’t get money for and old italian people were slave drivers.

(yes, i made the love-hate relationship start with nonna and nonno)

[darkfire359]

Izzy and the Myth of the Perfect Victim

One thing that's often bugged me about people saying "Izzy got off on it" about Ed cutting off his pinky toe is how then they proceed to assume "and that makes it okay" (or "Izzy is undeserving of sympathy"), as if that somehow follows at all.

I've spoken before about how I actually DO read Izzy as feeling positively about the interaction—and how I think this makes the scene even more tragic, because it means Izzy was so desperately miserable before that he thought something like this had to be preferable to the status quo. Personally I think that having a toe cut off would be too painful to be arousing, even for a pretty extreme masochist. But even if it was, at the end of the day, Izzy's still going to be missing that toe for the rest of his life.

Plus, even aside from from the permanent effects... people can still be physically aroused by things they find deeply traumatic. It's pretty victim-blamey to imply otherwise. And regardless of how much awe and hope Izzy might or might not have felt, I think it's pretty obvious that he definitely felt fear. Izzy now knows, with absolute certainty, that he's not safe in his own bed anymore, not at all. Even if he doesn't act traumatized, and even if he thinks the sacrifice was worth it, it'd still be a hell of a price to pay.

...Which brings me to the clip from earlier today. One of the things that struck me about it was how Izzy isn't being nice. He's being mean and giving the crew objectively unreasonable orders that they hate. And the crew STILL reacts by seeing underneath that, seeing how much he is hurting and trying to offer support.

It was really refreshing to see, because Izzy cannot afford to stop and cry and ask for help. He doesn't think it's safe to be vulnerable around other people, and he's probably right—it's obvious how much Izzy doesn't believe in the orders he's shouting, but he still goes at it with a kind of terrifying desperation. Maybe Izzy not getting the crew to obey orders is what causes Ed to take off more toes. Or maybe he simply thinks that if he doesn't do his job, if he's not useful, that he'll simply be discarded. (Ed might care about Izzy a great deal, but for all Izzy knows, the only reason Ed saved his life at the end of e9 was because he needed Izzy to fetch him tea.)

Izzy reacts to a lot of the stress in his life in messy ways, and while that's not great, it also doesn't make his suffering any less real. No one is obligated to reach out to help the angry, shouty first mate who insists that he's fine... but it's really wonderful when they do. People are still worthy of compassion even when they can't be the perfect victim.