#helldivers x reader

[sol-consort]

Smut for super earth! 🫡

Sir yes sir 🫡 Smut for democracy!

Launching Helldivers 2 smut in 3...2...1

C-01

[heavy smut, dom/sub, blood, slight humiliation, exhibition, penteration, aphrodisiac, objectification, use of military titles in bed, obedience kink]

[Dark themes, parody of fascism]

[Reader is a helldiver and gender neutral]

[updated, legacy version on AO3]

“Welcome aboard, Helldiver, and great job out there” the ship master held her clipboard as she went over your mission report, “the samples you've collected will be put to great use.”

Droplets of red follow your trail as you move past her towards the ship management screen. The usual heroic wind-flowing cape now sticking to your body, forming a silhouette of your armoured back, drenched in blood, both human and not. The ship master was polite enough not to comment on the limp in your steps, or maybe it was stoic professionalism that let her ignore the shortness of your breath.

Looking over the list of newly unlocked weaponry, it was difficult to decide on which weapon of destruction to spend your requisition slips on, especially with the aching pain in your leg. Each forced step sends a barrage of electrifying pain through your nervous system.

You've already been treated by the onboard medic. By all forms of regulations, your leg is technically service ready… only that you've exhausted your government-assigned monthly allowance of painkillers.

The doctor wasn't keen on describing you any, for that would be treason, Helldiver, wouldn't it? To steal from the government just to fulfil your own selfish desires, are you so greedy to take from the needy because of one measly injury? Those are not the traits of a valorant soldier.

Even as the pain was bordering unbearable, you knew better than to argue or haggle. Thanking her for her services, you limped your way out of the med bay—set up directly next to the evacuation shuttle landing zone for ease of access and efficiency—and onto the barebone elevator

Rations were running tight at the moment. They cut back on Helldivers' luxury medical comforts in order to fund the fight for democracy, mainly by boosting the research for the upcoming mech suits. Just what kind of enemies would require a mech suit when they usually throw you bare at Bile Titans, you wonder.

And so, having exhausted all other options, with the acute pain muffling any remaining voices of reason in your brain, your hand reaches inside a familiar pocket under your armour. Moving by pure instincts, you've done this a thousand times before. The stem injection fits perfectly between your fingers, or was it your fingers that moulded perfectly around its shape.

Head tilting to the side, the most vulnerable part of your neck exposed—akin to a show of submission seconds before a set of sharp teeth tear into their prey—with experienced movement, you swiftly stab the substance over a vital vein.

A shudder runs through your body as waves of adrenaline quickly shoot through your blood stream like a bolt of lightning, every single muscle in your body stiffens in response, pupils dilating, mouth agape under your helmet.

With the injection needle thrown somewhere on the ground, you latch onto the nearby monitor instead, armoured grip almost cracks the screen, wasn't it for the reinforced glass.

Finally, it washes down your body. A sigh of relief is all that's heard as you fix your hunched posture.

Back straightened as all the pain evaporates from your leg, the synthetic adrenaline aids the process of cell regeneration, rushing it is the goal.

Pumping the blood faster by pushing your heartbeat to the edge of the dangerous zone, tricking your immune system into attacking the faulty damaged cells.

With nowhere for the excess energy to go, the dosage bounces through your veins, a pressurised force failing to find any escape. It was meant to be taken amidst a battlefield where you can find release through spreading freedom in the name of democracy at your enemies, in the shape of an RS-422 Railgun, of course.

With no shooting ranges or infiltrating enemies to be found in the safety of your own destroyer ship, the excessive energy rushes wherever your body allows, blood filling every nook and cranny to the brim.

Heat flashes throughout different parts of your body, seemingly at random, sparks fly behind your eyelids whenever you close your eyes.

Eventually, simmering down as it settles between your thighs.

Reigniting your libido, a different kind of throbbing overwhelms your senses. Hyper-aware of the under-armour rough texture squeezing your body.

Left at the mercy of the smallest of frictions between your clothes and your flesh, the sinful stimulating rise and fall of the fabric above your chest offers with every breath you take.

Thighs turned into another erogenous zone; blood wasn't the only wetness seeping into your armour padding.

Heat gnawing at your core, cinders reigniting the flame of desire, of desperation, of depravity as your whole body is turned into one big aching bundle of nerves.

You don't make a single sound, pursed lips, and clenched fists. Resist the siren call, restraint by your own merits, discipline, and not much more.

What else is there to do but endure?

For it wasn't different from enduring the pain of a gaping chest wound. Laying on the battlefield ground whilst holding back waves of crawling terminids, each leg lined with razorsharp thorns, pistol quickly running out of ammo. A blazing spark descending from the sky above as the airdrop resupply approaches its landing spot, inches away from you.

You've signed away your body to be given for the cause long ago, for the future of Super Earth and all of its civilians. Naturally so, you've learned to endure and obey all commands, like the excellent little soldier you are.

Pushing your weight off of the desk, you head towards the navigation map at the end of the ship.

One step after another, the pleasure intensifies. Legs light as a feather, buzzing with energy. Brain plagued by an overactive imagination, heightened senses twisting every otherwise mundane sensation into a suggestive one-person affair, to squeeze any resemblance of sexual gratification it could from it.

The tantalising way your under-armour hugs your body. The stimulating pressure of the padding pressing between your legs, against the inside of your thighs and right over your chest. The sinful looking straps securing the metal plates.

Another step, your body is screaming at you for any relief from the overwhelming pressure building inside with nowhere to go. You're nearly blanking out from the overwhelming bliss.

A final step, and you've reached your destination. The familiar sight of the war map greets you, showing Super Earth at its centre, with the two enemy factions creeping in from the borders. The automatons hugging the figurative walls as their red territory crawls its way upwards the map. While the terminids are swarming towards the homeplanet of Lady Liberty herself at an alarming speed.

“Your fellow Helldivers are fighting on the frontlines for our freedom as we stand here.” The ship's executive officer found his way to your side—a routine the two of you grew into overtime—looking over the dwindling liberation percentage on the yellow territory.

His orders remain unspoken, yet were orders all the same. Go join the fight.

You're not certain about the legitimacy of these said orders. Can he give you orders? Is that something a ship executive is authorised to do to someone of your status?

… And what exactly is your status?

Foot soldier? General? Commander? An overworked janitor?

The ship is yours by name, that much is clear. It was handed over to you alongside the armour from another Helldiver who failed to evacuate in time before the shuttle took off.

But does ownership make you the Captain with a capital C?

You haven't even met the pilot of your supposed own ship. You've made acquaintance with less than a third of your ship crew so far, and that's with you being generous by eyeballing the amount of crew you've seen around. Who knows how many souls are stuffed with you in this floating tincan, merely hidden behind titanium walls.

It's been endless missions after missions, and anything in between is a hibernation blur spent in cryosleep stasis.

To prevent the Helldivers from being at less than their optimal physical age, prolong your lifespan, or years of service, which are basically the same thing. Saved hours add up over time and turn into days, months, and years! It's to get the most mileage out of every single Helldiver before their bell tolls.

With the side benefits of cutting down on unnecessary expenses like food rations, sleeping quarters, body maintenance, symptoms of traumatic experiences that rear their head during idle times, and shore leave.

The brief time spent at your own destroyer in-between missions has become the only waking moments when your fighting instincts aren't pushed to the limits alongside your sanity. A glorious sacrifice to upkeep the daily privileges and rights of humans everywhere.

The Democracy Officer must have noticed the trembling of your fingers, reaching across the map to pick the next destination. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze against one another, seeking relief through frictions, your body steadying itself against the round table.

He must've seen this case before in many soldiers like you, for he clocked you at a glance.

That's why you didn't question it when his hand went under your cape, arm wrapping around your back to help steady you, preferring you lean against him than the table.

Ordering you to follow him—not that you had much choice with your body being half-carried by him—with the same stoic professionalism… if only it wasn't for his gruff voice trailing into a softer tone. Was it your delirium at play, or are you simply noticing things you were once oblivious to.

Registering just how strong he must be under his uniform to be able to endure the weight of a helldiver clad in full armour. His arm kept you in place, and you didn't resist as he led you through the staff quarters. Unlocking the door with a simple face scan,

You were surprised with what you saw inside.

How long has it been since you've seen a bed?

An actual real bed stood before you in all of its mundane glory, barebone army frame, with a thin white mattress above.

It looks uncomfortable, but compared to your standing cryo freezer, it's a paradise of manufactured steel and cheap polyester.

“Now, I assume you're familiar with the rules and regulations set in place concerning fraternisation amidst ranks, Helldiver?”

The same hand that once steadied you, now was the cause of your downfall. A simple nudge with his fingers against the small of your back was all that it took to get you tumbling over face first into the bed. Your current state was a dire one indeed.

“It's highly encouraged.” You couldn't see his face, but you felt his eyes trail over your sprawled body without a hint of shame. Even with all of your armour, he managed to pin you with his gaze.

To boost troops' morale, cure homesickness, and prevent any deviating thoughts about returning to civilian life. Rule C-21 was put in place to allow soldiers to aid each other when it comes to stress relief activities, no matter its nature.

Of course, like any other activity that involved sexual Intercourse with another human, it required an immediate report in the aftermath to the ministry of healthcare in the form of paperwork. In the case that the activity could result in a child, extra paperwork is in order to request a permission slip that you could forward to the ministry of population regulation, which in turn will start your work towards getting pre-pre-approval for the right to create a child. Additional screening and testing are required to pass, plus an additional wait period depending on how many other people are requesting permission to repopulate during this year. All fall under the rule of C-01. Failure to abide by regulations might result in having the right to your reproductive organs revoked for not meeting the standards of civility expected of every loyal citizen to uphold the constitution of managed democracy.

Surrendering all control to your Democracy Officer, you obediently parted your legs in response to his hands taking hold of your hips, feeling down your covered thighs. Grip tightening as he lifted your body, just a mere inch above the bed, positioning you to lay on your knees instead.

Just how he loved to see you.

Face down, ass up, with your captain cape falling off to the side.

A moment passed where he just stood there, admiring his handy work. To have a whole Helldiver below you would do a number on anyone's ego, the saviours of the galaxy, the superheroes who ever so graciously sacrifice their lives for our freedom.

Your figure is a sight for sour eyes. This display of submission is certainly to burn its memory in his brain. Flash behind his eyes for years to come whenever you're standing next to him, peering down at the galaxy map, bending ever so slightly to assess the situation, oblivious to the cocktease that you're acting like.

His grip finally let go of your thighs, one knee climbing into the bed just behind you. You feel the heat radiating off his body, you wonder if he can tell just how wet you are under all of this armour.

The Democracy Office's index finger moves under one of your straps, lifting the elastic up slowly, before watching it snap back into place. Your surpassed shudder didn't go past him.

Settling on only removing the necessary parts, he unbuckled a select few of the straps, most importantly the belt to pants. His front pressed against your back, hand reaching below your stomach, taking advantage of your now exposed waist to bury itself under the armour of your torso, brushing by your chest courtesy of the tight space, and finally reaching the zipper just below your neck, the one necessary to peel off your under armour suit.

Sure, it means your upper body will be completely exposed to press against the cold rough metal interior of your armour, but surely you of all people can endure?

Bring the zipper fully down to have your most intimate parts completely bare, to compliment the view of your ass up, of course. Be thankful he left the rest of your body covered, a gesture meant to save you some face and offer a resemblance of dignity… then why did it just leave you feeling ever more exposed and vulnerable?

“You're dripping… making a mess already.” His voice cut through the silence, quieter and more breathy than his usual tone. Chastising almost.

True to his words, the inner lining of your under armour was shiny with your wetness, be it pre-cum or else. The rest seemed to stick to your skin, dripping down your thighs, making you extremely sensitive to the smallest touch. Even the still-air in this room brushing by you was enough stimulation to have your fingers digging into the mattress below, threatening to tear into the cheap polyester.

Faced with evidence of your extreme arousal and depravity, your Democracy Officer trailed two fingers from the side of your knee to the inside of your thigh. Scooping up as much of your wetness as he could manage in one stroke, carefully

Circling the rim of your hole with the very same fingers, encouraging you to relax. Repeating this process over and over to make it easier for your body to open up to him, for his finger to seamlessly slide in and out.

For lube was another luxury expense, an unnecessary cost the budget simply had to shrug off in order to allocate funds into the actually important places.

You laid there helplessly with not much to do, for he held the reins. You only had to keep quiet and obey, go along with his every whim. Not knowing what might be coming next, you were left anticipating the feeling of being prodded open on his fingers, unconsciously tensing up your muscles.

In an instant, a new wave of electric pleasure shot through you like a bullet, his cupping between your spread thighs, rough leather pressing into your most intimate parts, taking you by surprise.

Just from this simple gesture of having his hand there, not even moving it, you were gasping for air. All remaining walls of your self-restraint came crumbling down as primal desire took over, pure untainted lust dampening all your other senses.

Body moving with a mind of its own, making a display of yourself by grinding down onto his hand with no remorse or shame. The overwhelming ecstasy spirals into an addiction.

Mind blanking out, all forms of rationality, decorum, and courtesy thrown out the window. You couldn't care less for the fact you are his captain, that he was technically your inferior. The sweet friction against your oversensitive messy parts clouded your eyes with a glossy coat of lust.

He merely kept his hand there as you did all the work. desperately pushing against it in search of release. It wasn't enough, but he didn't make any effort to help you, preferring to keep you squirming in neglect.

It was nothing more than a temporary nicotine patch, akin to a band-aid against a gushing wound. Just enough to give you a taste of pleasure and have you pathetically grinding and seeking more. A distraction to unclench your muscles, turn your body pliant and eager to take him inside.

Just like clockwork, as you were busy humping his hand and chasing your own release, two of his fingers pushed inside you, lubricated by your own leaking wetness and nothing more.

Pushing them inside with enough force to have your body caving into the mattress below, sandwiched between his fingers sliding to the knuckles into your hole, and his hand cupping you.

Forcing sounds of pleasure from the back of your throat, whines, and cries muffled by your helmet .

His fingers are wet enough to reach further inside, fucking in and out of you at a steady pace that grew faster and faster.

Clear as day why he was deadset on neglecting your genitals; the only fitting time for any respectable Helldiver to cum, is whilst stuffed to the brim with the cock of your inferior officer.

Because that's what good little soldiers do.

The loss of the leather friction from below you elected an especially pitiful whine from your lips, only to be interrupted shortly by a sinful gasp as a third finger spread your insides even further.

With his hand now covered in your own wetness and pre-cum. In a rare tender moment, instead of wiping it on the sheets or returning the bruising grip on your bare hips, the Democracy Officer went to hold one of your closed fists with his own.

You couldn't feel his skin below the leather, he couldn't feel yours engulfed in metal. Yet he entangled your fingers all the same, his reassuring message was clear: he is here, with you, despite the many walls separating you two.

In contrast to this gentle show, the three fingers pushing in and out of you were brutal, never faltering for a second, never giving you time to catch your breath. Exploring your insides with a purpose, almost bruising in their roughness, the stem injection distorting all pain receptors into another source of pleasure was your saving grace.

The more the pleasure grew, the harder it was to think, to realise the world around you. The light in your brain was dimming as your view narrowed on your utmost basic carnal desires.

In this instance, all you care about is the feeling of being filled, stretched on someone's cock, anyone, human or else. To be thoroughly taken care of.

Paying no mind to your own quickly numbing knees, much like you had to crawl through dirt on the battlefield, kneel amidst the mud and viscera to achieve better accuracy on your machine gun, you could endure staying in this position for hours.

You were made to fight, your body honed for combat, endurance, and stamina.

Every scar painted across your flesh with a sharp brush is proof of every near-death experience you escape, with nothing but its claws scraping your skin as you slipped by. Celebrating another day of living by getting sent to an equally dangerous mission immediately after.

It puts things into perspective, doesn't it? How it is within your Democracy Officer's every right to act as rough and brutal as he wants with you. Because you'll take it, you'll take it with obedience, you'll take it with no fuss or qualms, you'll take it like you took all those souls without a hint of sympathy.

You'll take it like you took everything else the world throws your way.

Because taking it is your sole purpose in life.

It was decided for you, like everything else in your life. You don't need to ponder or get curious about anything. You don't even need to think because your government will do the thinking for you.

Relax, stay pliable and malleable. Just like you are right now. Put this position on a pedestal, and remember to present yourself in a similar manner whenever any governing power approaches your way, even if you outrank them. That this is exactly how you should be facing any difficulty and hardships in life, face down and ass up.

You're clearly not capable enough to make these decisions for yourself; you don't know what's better for you, we do.

You don't even need to touch yourself, just say the word and the closest democracy officer will bend you over the nearest surface to fuck your brain out In front of everyone, even with other helldivers in the room. It's their job, looking out for the helldivers’ wellbeing is a vital role all democracy officers must adhere to.

The armoury is already placed in the middle of the ship, after all, exposed for all to see much like your dignity each time you get ready for a mission. Everyone's already seen everything you have to offer, multiple times, all your officers and engineers, from the lowest ranking crew member to the highest ranking ship master, they know what you look like naked as the day you were born.

There is very little courtesy offered in times of war.

So, really, this whole ‘taking you to a secluded place’ ordeal is frivolous at best, a luxury, a privilege.

What difference would it make to have you pressed against the armoury wall? Haven't we already established that you have nothing to hide? It's more time efficient for the democracy officer to administer your stress relief in the middle of the ship, for any passersby to witness.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drool seeping from the corner of your swollen lips as his fingers press down your tongue, holding your mouth open, preventing you from speaking coherently.

The engineers on the deck behind the railing resume their work like nothing is happening. As if the wet sounds of every thrust into you isn't echoing in their brain, as if your downright obscene pornographic moans aren't causing a fuse to fry in their brain, a dusting of pink to cover their cheeks, a tartness in their dipping productivity.

Don't worry, you won't have to face them. The second you're stuffed with the cum of your democracy officer, he's zipping you up and shoving you into the nearest landing pod. We can't have you missing your mission, Helldiver.

Landing on the planet with your legs all wobbly, body aching, your hole sore and gaping. Desperately attempting to keep all the cum inside, to no avail. You're too used, your hole can't close long enough before the cum leaks out, dripping down your legs, seeping into your armour padding and staining it permanently.

You're just going to have to fight like this, running for your life from falling meteors, gunning down nightmare fuel looking aliens that would love nothing more than to feast on your flesh, to trample you into a mush of blood and cum below.

Having to work with the teammates who just watched you take a generous load inside. Who heard the sounds you make while struggling not to finish embarrassingly soon with so many people watching you get fucked.

Then join them like it's nothing. Eyeing you up like a strung piece of meat, a predatory gaze hidden behind a shaded helmet, allowing them plausible deniability.

You know that they know what the growing stain between your legs is made of.

Circling you like wolves, under the guise of covering your flank. Their touches start to linger, pinching your thigh whenever one lends you their stem injection, groping your ass as you help them reload their heavy weapon, letting you go with a demeaning spank as a parting gift, just before another breach arrives.

You're the first on the evacuation shuttle, they insisted. Guiding you by the nape of your neck, giddy voices as they gave you an encouraging push inside, causing you to tumble onto the floor of the shuttle.

Not waiting for you to get up before filtering from behind you, one by one. By the time the shuttle takes off, you're kneeling its floor.

Face to face with their spread legs, all three heads turn to look at you. Using you to their heart's content in the brief journey to the main ship. Helldivers are supposed to cooperate together, so help them vent out the aftermission adrenaline from their bodies while the Pelican 1 pilot enjoys the sound of your gagging.

That's the humiliating fate that you could be subjected to. That's the life of a soldier you signed up for.

Instead, you're here, laying on a bed, in the privacy of a secluded room.

Having the luxury of getting prepared beforehand, of being taken on a subjectively soft mattress instead of the cold metal floor.

The privilege of working with such professional Helldivers that would never do such a thing during missions. I mean what's next? Helldivers throwing down eagle strikes right before boarding evac shuttles, or using the reinforcement as stratagems by throwing you into hordes of enemies?

Don't be so absurd, those things never happen; your overactive imagination might just land you a mandatory trip to a freedom camp for re-education, as a way to quell your… paranoid tendencies.

Taking you to his own quarters, giving you the exemption of privacy. Going out of his way to treat you with thoughtful kindness, your Democracy Officer must really care for you.

Just don't think too hard about how he's the one to call down the missile strikes on you whenever you stray a little too far outside your mission zone. Charges of treason of all, you know how it is.

How about… don't think too hard ever again?

That would solve so many of your problems, it would make your life so much easier if you'd simply give up this rotten part of your brain.

When has thinking ever done you good?

Stay the way you are, endure everything life throws your way. Keep saying yes to every order, saying no to every break. Keep showing up everyday and obey all commands. Fulfill everyone's expectations of you, and never dare have expectations of your own towards anything. Numb your brain, muzzle your conscience.

Be the good obedient little soldier that you are deep down.

An eager overachiever. A glorified breeding puppy with a cape. A killing machine that's powered by army rations and cum. A medal decorated floormat.

Three fingers pull out of you with a wet pop, your now empty insides desperately clench around nothing. As if you were robbed of a vital organ, a part of you that made you whole.

In all of your haziness and arousal drunk mind, a moment of clarity descends down as you scrounge enough self-will to stop yourself from whining pathetically like a bitch in heat, because it's not becoming of a ship captain.

Patience is a virtue you must embody, laying there with your ass lifted in the cold air. The sound of a zipper pulled down offers you a glint of hope.

Something big and warm slots against your back, squished between your ass cheeks. It slides back and forth, collecting your wetness along the way.

Your throat goes dry, breathing shallow, an agonising hollowness inside as you swallow down. You want to rub against it, want it to spear you whole, you need it inside you more than you need air.

It recedes far enough to rub its swollen head against your once-tight hole. Now gaping in response each time the head gives it a wet tap, slapping it against your opening, making your body quiver.

In your entire life, you've never wanted something more than you wanted this big mean cock inside you.

To feel it stretch you out and finally push you towards your release. Afterall you can't cum on your own, it's not within your democratic rights.

You must wait for permission in the form of your democracy officer's cock fucking you until the lights in your brain turn off.

Very early in training, you're taught never to beg. Be it for your own life against an enemy or anything else, for death is preferable to cowardice; cowardness is treason, and treason is bad.

Even when every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire from anticipation, even when you're being deliberately teased and toyed with for nothing more than another's amusement.

You're a Helldiver, and your job is to endure and follow orders. That's the only thing you're good for.

“Good job, soldier.” Your democracy officer's praise is shortly followed by the head of his cock splitting you open, the delicious stretch of being filled with something so large that it forces your legs to spread apart on their own just to make space for it.

If you reach down, and press on your tummy, you might just feel its silhouette rearranging your guts.

“Thank-” you attempt to stutter a reply, but the air is pushed out of your lungs as he bottoms out inside you. You've never been this full in so long. The less than ideal lubricant amount makes it burn oh so sweetly. For the second time, what was supposed to be pain gets turned into overwhelming pleasure yet again. You keep clenching around him as you adjust to his size. “Thank you, Sir.”

Adjusting your position, the democracy officer closes the remaining distance between you two. Your arms are pulled back, body forced into submission as they're held in place behind your back.

While the hand that was once inside you grips onto your exposed hip, what a docile little being you are, to be manhandled and bent around. Allowing yourself to be put in such a compromising position, truly helpless and left at his mercy.

Fingers dig into your hip leaving their marks behind, as if desperate to etch themselves into your skin, to leave some kind of trace behind, a showcase of ownership for all to see, a sigil that'll be displayed each and every time you change your equipment.

They'll know that you were the one being fucked and not the other way around. That you were the one bent over taking it inside like a champ.

Every thrust pushes you upwards the bed, moving your entire body with its sheer force before he drags you down by your hip and restrained arms as if they were a makeshift handle. Bouncing you back and forth, the creaking of the metal bed frame fills the room.

Your panting and moans would've joined, wasn't it for the helmet muffling the sound to everyone except your own ears. Forcing you to hear your own loud cries in crystal clarity as they echo back at you.

Every hiccup and groan digging into your ego, chipping at your self image, painting you as the obscene slut more than the heroic guardian of humanity.

Thankfully your ego is used to the bruising from being put in place each morning as you stood up and swore allegiance to super earth. They really do unfreeze you each day without prior notice, only for 10 minutes tops.

Ten whole minutes of you repeating how you're nothing more than a servant for democracy, carved stone to be stepped on for a brighter future in the ladder of liberty. Retaking your oath of complete servitude and obedience, a reminder of the autonomy you've surrendered to join the most special of army forces.

His thrusts are powerful and deliberate, a steady pace that doesn't leave you any room to meet them or wiggle away. Making it evidently clear that he is the one in charge, your inferior Democracy Officer. He could do anything to you, strip you naked and devour you like a beast in this bed, mark every inch of your body with his teeth and coat it with his cum.

And not only will you never object, but you'll thank him for it, accept his praise, and take it to heart.

Just how many details about this encounter will go in the report, you wonder.

Is it mandatory for him to describe how he defiled you? Precisely word and phrase how he fucked you? Conduct sentences to give justice to the way your insides milked him dry, spasming and squeezing around his cock with every thrust as if it was your first time getting properly dicked down.

Detail just how you felt, how your body fit against his own like a missing puzzle piece, how your fingers entangled, how he didn't have to jerk off, for he was stone hard the second the two of you stepped into his room. Pushing you head-first into the mattress to conceal the poking boner in his pants from your view.

Maybe he didn't want to scare you, maybe he did it so you wouldn't feel used. It's supposed to be him getting you off by filling you with his cum, then clock off.

Ideally, he should be the epitome of sterile professionalism.

You're supposed to think that this is solely about you. It's against regulations for him to enjoy this as well, let alone how blasphemous it's for him to dare and look forward to it, to get turned on at the sight of your own arousal.

Will he have to specify how he prepared you beforehand? How he didn't use any lube—not that there was any—just your own sticky wetness instead because he knew how much of a slut for pain his Helldiver is.

His Helldiver. You're his responsibility, afterall. Him, and the ship and the crew, they all belong to you, and you belong to Super Earth.

Is it note-worthy to mention how obedient and patient you were the whole time, how you didn't whine or make a fuss? How you still adorably addressed him as sir despite outranking him. How you let him tug and throw you around like you were a common whore instead of an honourable disciplined soldier.

Or does he only have to refer to the time-period in which he defiled you on his bed?

Management can just pull the surveillance camera footage, the same one in the corner of this room right now. Mandatory in each compartment of any ship, because you never know when a cowardly robot or a nasty bug could infiltrate the Helldivers' ranks. So there are cameras everywhere to ensure the safety of the collective, no exceptions made, ever.

For privacy is a small price to pay for liberty and freedom! Or are you so selfish to prefer having your entire crew killed without warning by a bug? Just because you didn't want to give up something as insignificant as personal space? Shame on you, Citizen.

As we all know, it's the people with nothing to hide who have nothing to fear. Could you imagine what people might get up to in their own time if it wasn't public knowledge for all to see? That's why it's important for the government to monitor everyone. It's for the safety of the collective.

For the many shall suffer for the sins of the one.

By now most of the stem injection aftermath has been fucked out of you. The adrenaline is wearing off, and you're growing more exhausted by the minute. How long has it been? You've lost track of time, brainless and limb, only aware of the cock abusing your overstimulated swollen insides.

The same brutal pace that he used with his fingers, only instead, it's a thick cock now, melting your brain into a mushy puddle of pleasure, rewiring your very being to memorise this moment for eternity.

You'll never be whole again once this ends, you've tasted the apple, and now you'll be cursed with the knowledge of just how good it can feel. A sprouting addiction nursed and nourished by your Democracy Officer.

You will always seek this out. He has ruined his Helldiver to everyone else.

You could fuck yourself with your fingers all you want, use toys or gun barrels. Nothing will ever match the real thing.

Let your fellow helldivers use you, sit on their lap and grind down, let them fuck you standing up, it will never be enough.

But… maybe, if no other human can… then maybe an alien—No. No, absolutely not. You will not dare go there. This is undemocratic thinking. Be grateful the liberty tracking brainchip is still in development, otherwise you'd be charged with the worst of crimes for having these oppressive thoughts. Even in the delirium of climax, you must be held accountable for all passing throughs in your brain at all times, whether your own or not.

This is as good as it will ever get. This is what true happiness feels like.

This is your purpose.

You belong with him, you belong to your Democracy Officer.

You're so close. The sweet relief you've been so desperate for is barely out of reach.

Collecting your remaining brain cells to try and form something coherent between all the moaning and whimpering, you manage to make a full word at last.

“Sir-I” a hoarse cry is forced out of you, his cock pressed against a rough patch of skin inside you that lights your nerves up. Almost pushes you over the edge, biting your lips you force yourself to resist the painful temptation to cum.

You attempt again “I'm close, officer. Permission to-” it's burning and clawing at your core from sheer intensity, threatening to burst at any seconds. You put all of your self control into holding it back as tears collect in the corners of your eyes.

You're pulled upwards by your restrained arms, now kneeling on the bed instead. Manhandled by your officer like it's nothing, despite all of your armour. Much like you ragdolled whenever a charger flung you around as you attempted to dodge being crushed by its claws.

Immediately, your body collapses. Deflating down, your vision shakes as you blink away the dark spots clouding it.

He steers you to fall back against his chest. Your neck limb as his shoulder carries the weight of your head instead, turned upwards staring at the ceiling.

With his chest pressed flush against your back, cock buried to the hilt, you meet his eyes through the tinted windshield of your helmet, not that he could tell.

With your arms released, they ache in protest before falling limb to your sides. He scoops you into his arms, wrapping them around your front, to steady you for the second time today, to keep you from falling to the side with your jelly-like knees.

How much the gesture resembles a hug isn't lost on you.

You trace the beads of sweat glistening against his face. A choking sound leaves the back of your throat as he begins moving again, thrusting in and out of you with his cock. Rocking your body up and down. With him caddying most of your weight, you're reduced to a fleshlight in his embrace

One of his hands brushes slightly below your stomach, pressing, pressing into your flesh, changing the angles of his thrusts. It takes you a moment to realise what he's doing.

Attempting to feel his cock bulging from inside you, to trace its shape below your skin with his fingers.

“Permission granted.” His own voice is breathless, unlike the collected tone you've grown used to. The very same one that you returned its greeting with comfortable familiarity whenever you approach the map.

The same voice praising you at the end of each mission, encouraging you before the start of another, that very same voice is giving you permission to cum, a subtle order that you will obey like all the others.

You've held it in for so long, it takes a massive toll on you. Stretching itself long as tears fall from the corner of your eyes, a miserable cry of overwhelming pleasure followed by another. Words of gratitude turning into an incomprehensible mess of yes-sirs and thank-yous

You look him in the eyes as you climax, he must notice your helmet slightly turning to get a better look at him.

Your executive officer watching waves of intense pleasure going through his captain's body, making you spasm, add to the mess on his bed.

He fucks you through it, cradles and rocks you through your painful jarring orgasm. Your once limb body is now a trembling overstimulated mess, all the whines you've tried to suppress so far are pouring out of you, mewling and hiccuping. Clumped eyelashes and glazed-over eyes.

All the injection has been flushed clean out of your system, now you must experience the sour aftermath of a sore overused hole, aching joints, and a dull throbbing pain making your intimate parts pulse against the sharp sting of exposed air.

Except, you're not done yet.

He is not done yet, your Democracy Officer must finish inside you to seal the operation.

You're much more honest when you're completely fucked out and drained of orgasms, much more reactive and vocal. It's highly stimulating for him, he can't tear his eyes away from you, can't register anything but the feeling of your malleable body still shaking against his own, your insides still convulsing around him as if you're still cumming.

“Sir, I need it. I need your cum inside me. I—” you don't want to beg, you can't beg, but you can't take much longer either. You feel like you're going crazy. “Ple—”

Hand cramping over your helmet where your mouth should be as if to shut you up

With one last thrust he makes you swallow your word before it's fully out. Pushing his cock as deep as he can, pressing down your stomach harshly, you feel a warm fluid filling out the deepest of your insides.

His last thread must have snapped.

A ring of white forms around the base of his cock, overflowing cum attempting to leak, as he empties himself inside you, refusing to pull out.

Your knees scream at you, numb legs and heavy feet.

His remaining hand on your stomach gives an experiment press, and your back immediately arches, a choked whine leaves your lips. The more pressure he adds, the more your insides convulse around the cock plugging you, involuntarily spasming and attempting to push it out with no space left for the cum to go.

The hold on your stomach turns softer, letting go of the pressure. Opting to gently rub circles around the now slightly-pudgy part of it. Enjoying the short-lived bulging while it lasts, the second he pulls out, all the cum will pour and deprive him of his favourite view.

Moving down to your hips and thighs, he squeezes them tightly, messaging the cramped muscles with a firm touch. Easing you into a sense of safety, melting away your stiffens, slowly pulling his cock out, inch by inch, dragging the whole process as your frantic breathing slows down.

Only the head is left inside, a sigh leaves him at the feeling of pressure weighing down against the tip, his cum desperate to flood out.

He almost feels bad about what he's about to do.

You thought it was over, anticipating the loud pop of his cock. Except it thrusts back inside, pushing in so fast when you least expect it, while your muscles are still relaxed, fucking his cum back into you.

It's too much.

You're cumming again before you realise it, now an involuntary reflex not under your volition anymore. Your cries sound less and less human, more that of a wounded animal. Your dry tears stain your cheeks, your body drenched in sweat and cum.

He's mean, he's so mean. You thank him for it, thank your Democracy Officer for his cruelty, stutter out a reply of gratitude because that's what good little soldiers do.

You're completely spent in every sense of the word.

One thrust, it took one thrust to steal your breath, to have you overpowered by your own orgasm again.

He pulls all the way out, watching the cum pour out, dripping down your legs, making a small puddle between your kneeling figure, feet completely drenched in the sticky fluid.

Before your insides could close, the same two fingers thrust back in and keep your hole spread open. The other hand continues to rub and squeeze your thighs reassuringly, as you push all the cum out.

Aware of his eyes watching you through this whole thing. Of his fingers buried deep inside, scooping the cum off your walls, much like he did to your wetness at the start.

It's humiliating, plain and simple. There is no other way to describe this. You had to be guided and ordered throughout this whole activity from the moment your ass was up until the second you're having your insides cleaned by your inferior officer.

After what feels like an embarrassing eternity of probing, you're finally pushed forward to lay flat on the bed. Your knees give out instantly as the blood rushes to them. Your arms ache, and your thighs are all sticky and wet.

He picks the hem of your cape, offering you a resemblance of dignity by covering you with it like a blanket.

Even now, laying on a bed, in a puddle of cum, you're reminded of how more comfortable it is than being frozen to sleep each night in your cryo chambers.

Your racing heartbeat slows down. The officer leaves the bed for a moment before coming back with a warm wet towel, wiping between your thighs and cleaning you out as you lay there.

You didn't see the point, any cleaned body part will just get dirty again the second he laid it back on the mess-covered bed. Still, he tried his hardest to wipe away all the sweat, cum, and even some of the crusted blood from your last mission.

He fixes your armour back afterwards, pulling your now ruined underwear back up. It's completely drenched, making you wear the mess you've made.

Your pants follow after, then under armour padding and finally strapping the armour pieces back into place.

The screen monitor on your wrist flashes, an invitation request to join a mission from a fellow helldiver.

You just laid down, but it seems the world can't give you a break. With no time to relish in the bliss that follows an orgasm, that luxury, too, must be sacrificed. Pressing the option to accept the mission, the coordinations get sent to the entire team as the destroyer prepares to make the jump across the galaxy.

The democracy officer extends his hand to you, and you hold on to it as you slowly get up from the bed. Taking the towel and wiping away any stains on your armour.

Your body pulses with soreness and aches in pain. Protesting your every move. You can't tell where the blood ended or cum started in the mess that is your cape, proudly showing off your Helldiver status as Captain on the back.

The Democracy Officer cups the side of your helmet, turning your head to face him. There's a look in his eyes that you can't place; it's too perfect of a poker face to make any details from.

He knows you can't feel it, and yet his hand caresses the side of your helmet with softness all the same.

Knitted brows above his glistening eyes as he attempts to meet your gaze behind the tinted windshield. Searching for a pair of human eyes behind the endless dark void of the helmet.

Do you remember the colour of your eyes? The destroyer doesn't have any mirrors.

Is he looking at you with pity? Or is it pride? These days, you can't tell these two emotions apart, be it in yourself or others.

He tilts his face closer to yours, eyes fluttering shut. time slows down, and you could count the wrinkles on his hardened skin.

Just what kind of life did he lead? What hardships did he endure?

What is the price for surviving this far? What is the cost of keeping one's life during a galactic war? Did he pay for it with his sanity, body?

Or heart?

Chapped lips press against the cold metal of your helmet, a small kiss. tender and fragile like a single snowflake amidst a hail storm. No one will bear witness to it, and yet it's beautiful for having existed at all.

It's over, just like that. Barely having lasted a second. A vulnerable show of intimacy.

“You did well.” There's more he wants to say, more questions he wants to ask, more time he wants to spend holding you. Give you a proper bath and bury you in his chest as he works out all the knots in your muscles. But it's clear he can't, not without repercussions, not with his position as your inferior.

Especially not with the camera watching.

And so he steps to the side, politely waiting for you to finish tidying up your uniform. The once clean towel is now ruined and stained, he doesn't mind.

His uniform was as pristine as ever, except for the few wrinkles standing out where he held you against his body. Still, he looked more put-together than your dishevelled state. Thankfully your crew have never been anything less than professional no matter what state you show up in.

He speaks one last time, the same reassuring hand going under your cape to pat your shoulder lightly “I'll take care of the paperwork. The galaxy needs you to save it, Helldiver.”

You're reminded of each time a fellow helldiver waited for you to reach the shuttle before boarding, each time one hugged you after a successful mission, tight enough to almost lift you off the ground as they laughed from the sheer joy of being alive.

Each time someone watched your flank for you, fistbumped you after an especially difficult fight. The weight of their heavy helmet on your shoulder during the evacuation take-off, stealing some seconds of rest, of actual real sleep and none of that frozen crap, dozing off cuddling to your side.

A stranger behind a mask, holding your hand and reassuring you that everything is going to be fine, knowing that making it out alive is nothing more than an optional bonus in all of your assignments.

His touch doesn't linger, and the world becomes colder after it's gone. Like someone turned off the sun, a familiar freezing numbness barrows in the hollows of your heart, urging you to forget the sweetness of Eve's apple and move on.

“Thank you.” Is all you manage to reply before the announcement chimes, requesting all helldivers to report to the hell pods. A timer starts counting down from 30 seconds on your wrist monitor.

Walking ahead of your democracy officer, your cape trails behind in a show of authority. Another Helldiver is off to save the galaxy and defend Super Earth.

[girl-lostconnection]

The thoughts are chasing me for the last few weeks or so, so now I’m gonna share them with you.

TaskForce 141 x Helldiver!Reader

141 who are getting higher clearance to find out about the whole entirely separate military branch that operate on intergalactic fucking levels.

And then they meet the Reader — always in armour, primary weapon slinged over their shoulder, heavy boots thudding on the metal of their ship as they jog from armoury to main panel, punching in coordinates.

141 don’t think they ever saw someone work this quickly with missions that never last more than 45 minutes at most, jogging through harsh terrain to work through every mission objective.

But still it seems doable. It doesn’t seem like anything too harsh they’ve seen on Earth. Not so different really. They don’t get why the soldiers of this branch are called “helldivers”.

Reader hums, voice getting distorted due to helmet they seem to be always in. Always ready for battle.

“Cause we dive feet first into hell”, they chuckle, rolling their shoulders before locking themselves down into the pod.

141 watching with growing worry the way the pod gets fucking launched down the orbit like a bloody missile. It’s a miracle the person inside even gets out upon collision. It’s a miracle they are in any state to fight.

But there is something wrong with the whole branch. Soldiers too young, heads too hot, missions too risky and weapons that are never provided. Most of ammunition helldivers buying themselves. Spending their own money to improve the state of the ship and their own weapons.

It’s not until 141 find out the horrifying statistic that colour drains from their faces, fingers cold and static-y.

Average lifespan of Helldivers in the field is less than half a minute.

Average age is 18 to 22 years old.

Continuation

[notspiders]

im frend

Inspired by:

No text Ghost and Soap:

[itsmartysir]

Throwing people out of the map in cod! Pt. 1

[defmaybe]

Someone in the Crowd

12 Days of Christmas: Day 12, January 5th, 2025

ITZY’s Lee Chaeryeong & Shin Ryujin x Male Reader

10.1k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: The work itself is going to be a little confusing because of the frequent perspective shift, hope you enjoy it! Also, thanks for the support during the last twelve days!

—

Another Day Of Sun

“So, Yeji,” Ryujin lets the last words trail off in the air. She’s twisting her ankles in nervousness. “I’d like to ask you something~”

Yeji doesn’t look up from her Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. “What is it, Ryu?”

Ryujin giggles. She can do this. “You know you’ve always been my role model in a lot of things, being the strong and fierce leader you are~”

“Yeah, sure, strong and fierce.” Yeji pulls up an air quote, clearly amused by her friend’s sudden compliment.

“Yes, I love you, Yeji,” Ryujin sulks, putting her hands on Yeji’s shoulder. Yeji’s walls are crumbling.

“I love you too, Ryu,” Yeji says, without looking into Ryujin’s eyes. She’s still focused on her book. It’s probably the fun part. She seems to be in the middle of the book, though, not sure what’s so fun about that. Ryujin is more of a romance type than a fantasy one.

Ryujin giggles again. “Hehe, so, as I’ve said, I’d like to ask you for something.”

Yeji clenches her brows a little, but her eyes are still on the book. She flips it to another page. “For something?”

Ryujin’s smile is so bright it hurts. She’s definitely going to get this. Yeji’s giving in to her! “Tonight–”

Yeji suddenly closes her book, and Ryujin’s gleeful expression collapses. Fuck. Yeji didn’t even mark the page she was reading on!

Ryujin is definitely not going to get this.

“Tonight?”

—

Chaeryeong is waiting in her room, kicking her feet in a burning anticipation. Will she have to stay here tonight?

The US tour has been, to say the least, draining for the girls. Yuna is still asleep at two in the afternoon after last night’s show, while Jisu is now throwing profanities into her microphone to her Helldivers' teammates. Chaeryeong and Ryujin, on the other hand, have been planning to go somewhere on their last night in the US. They just have to ask for Yeji’s permission first.

She really needs this, and all she hears are faint mumbles from Ryujin and Yeji talking. Her heart is beating fast.

She really needs this, and it’s killing her.

She really needs this.

—

“Y–Yeah, t–tonight,” Ryujin stutters. Her face turns pale from fear. Is Yeji going to scold her?

“It’s not safe, Ryu. Do you know what can happen here?” Yeji’s expression is nothing but concern, caring for her friend’s well-being. Ryujin knows this, but the blazing fire inside her tells her to keep going.

“Yeji, please, I’m so tired from the tour. I really need this!” Ryujin argues, but it proves fruitless, as Yeji rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t, Ryujin.” Yeji uses her full name. She’s serious about this. She throws the book onto her bed with a thud.

“But–”

“Nothing’s going to change my mind. Try,” says Yeji, her posture inviting Ryujin to bring up an argument.

She has already made up her mind. It’s over.

“F–Fine, Yeji,” and Ryujin walks away, heart full of disappointment.

—

Chaeryeong watches Ryujin walking into the living area, crestfallen. Oh, it was no for an answer.

“Is everything okay, Ryu?” she asks. 

“She said no,” Ryujin answers, still looking down on the floor despondently.

Poor Ryujin, she’s so bad at persuasion.

“I’ll talk to her.”

—

“Yeji,” Chaeryeong says.

Yeji is back to her Percy Jackson and The Titan’s Curse. It’s probably the fun part. She seems to be in the middle of the book, though, not sure what’s so fun about that. Chaeryeong is more of a mystery type than a fantasy one.

She looks up from her book, adjusting her glass a bit. “Same thing?” God, she just read Chaeryeong so damn easily.

Chaeryeong sighs, walking towards the bed before sitting down. The bed creaks a little. “You know, Ryu has given her all for this tour. It’s normal that she’d need some relief. You understand how our lives go, right?”

Yeji sighs. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry, Chae. It’s just not safe out there! I can’t let you guys risk your lives just for a night out. What if you get abducted? What if someone recognizes you?”

“We’ll be careful, Yeji. I can assure you of that.” Chaeryeong pleads, putting her hand on Yeji’s. Chaeryeong has nothing but her promise.

Yeji sighs again. She’ll probably see their effort through the tour. They deserve this.

“Fine, Chae. Be careful, alright?” Yeji plants a kiss on Chaeryeong’s forehead. “Have your pepper sprays ready. Have our numbers on the speed dial.”

Chaeryeong beams. She’s going to have a lot of fun with Ryujin tonight. “Thanks, Yeji.”

—

“So, for the first week’s assignment, just give me anything, alright? Just give me anything you got.”

The professor’s words echo inside your head.

Well, what’s it going to be?

It has been the question you’ve been asking yourself since last Monday, and it’s Sunday now. You’ve tried picking the ones from your Japan trip years ago, but none of them looks good enough. You’ve gone to the Statue of Liberty. You’ve gone to Central Park. You’ve gone to the Brooklyn Bridge. None seemed to work.

Should I pick something from my home? No, that’s too cliché. Should I pick someone? That’s even worse. Everyone’s going to laugh at you.

So, here you are, in a bar at 6 PM, venting your struggle to your bartender uncle in a nightclub—under this eye mask the bodyguards insisted you wear.

You just can’t find a photo to hand in for the first assignment.

—

“Is there any bar you’d recommend to us, mister driver?”

The young driver has had his mouth opened wide for at least a few minutes now, unable to find a voice in his throat. Ryujin has to ask for the third time, and he’s still in shock to see his idols in the back of his seats.

“Mister driver?” Ryujin asks again. Her patience is running thin. Is her presence that shocking to someone?

“Let’s just open Google Maps and pick some random bar, Ryu,” Chaeryeong says.

“W–Wait,” the driver finally says something. “I know a place. I–It’s pretty private.”

Ryujin smirks at the response, and it sounds like a nice place to be tonight. “Take us there, mister driver.”

—

The night wears on, and people are filling the club. You’ve been looking at the photos on your phone for three hours now, and you just can’t seem to find the perfect photo for tomorrow.

The techno music shakes your body, sounds like Reznor and Ross. The colored lights get into your eyes sometimes, but they’re having less effect than they should’ve been. You’re still concentrating on your device. Some people have even bumped into you, but only an apology and your eyes are back at your phone.

“Anything yet, tiger?” your uncle asks, shaking his bartender thing you’ve never cared to learn its name. It kind of works as a percussion instrument.

“Nothing as always,” you reply with slight disdain. You’re going to be doomed when the sun rises.

He laughs, pouring the contents inside his percussion into a cocktail glass. “Try going out there and dancing! Perhaps you’ll find an inspiration~”

You smile softly back at him, but dancing really is not your thing. “I’m not really good at it, uncle. I’ll have to pass.” You take a sip of your Long Island Iced Tea.

He pulls your glass back, staring into your eyes with an encouraging smile. “Look, I’m not going to let your ass sit here being all hopeless like that. Get out there and dance!” he orders, smiling.

You sigh, giving in to his demand. “Fine.”

“Get someone back to your place too if you can!” your uncle says with a smirk before you walk away into the raving crowd.

—

“Thanks, mister driver,” Ryujin says before handing back the freshly signed Crazy in Love album to him. He’s shaking with excitement.

Ryujin and Chaeryeong get out of the taxi to a normal-looking nightclub. Two muscular bodyguards are standing beside the door. Damn, they look scary.

“IDs please,” one of the bodyguards says sternly, and both Ryujin and Chaeryeong comply immediately, showing their cards.

The bodyguards examine the IDs carefully, making sure that the women are of age. The air thickens, and Ryujin finds her limbs freezing up. Are they going to be recognized? Are they going to be denied from getting inside? 

After a while, they finally nod in agreement and give the IDs back to her. Ryujin lets go of the breath that she doesn’t know she has been holding.

“Here are your masks. Enjoy the trip!” the other bodyguard says, winking at them with a smile. The tension drops. He hands two fancy-looking eye masks to the women.

He probably knows her and Chae.

—

Someone in the Crowd

Fuck, how can Ryujin hear her in a place like this?

The EDM music blares through the club. The colorful lights shine onto them. Chaeryeong scans over the club to find a quiet corner to avoid recognition. They still have to be cautious, even with a mask on. Sadly, there’s none, leaving them with only two options: leaving, or trying to blend in with the crowd.

Chaeryeong weighs the choices. The first one leaves her despondent, while the second one contains the risk of getting exposed by Dispatch by tomorrow morning.

This is hard.

But before she can decide, Ryujin drags her into the lively pack of people.

“We deserve this!” she shouts, pulling Chaeryeong’s hand into the crowd.

Chaeryeong feels unsure. She needs this, of course, but the fear of uncertainty lingers, and she just can’t let it go.

“Really?”

“Don’t live to regret this, Chae! We only live once!” Ryujin shouts.

That alone seems to make sense to Chaeryeong.

—

You aren’t sure what moves you are making. They probably look funny. God, you’re embarrassing yourself.

The bass vibrates the air around you and the crowd. You find yourself in the middle of the club, seeing people grinding on each other (even one another can be seen beside you, you swear). You start to feel the heat growing in your pants at the sight. If someone would be beside you right now.

The DJ announces something you can’t quite make out. The crowd roars in rejoice as you’re bored to death. Suddenly, the music changes to ITZY’s Wannabe. Holy shit, you recognize this. You can dance to it, at least a little.

Jansorineun stop it

People start to do Shin Ryujin’s iconic shoulder dance beside you, and you can’t help but join in. Her high-pitched singing voice fills the air with energy, and it flows through you so damn freely, injecting the missing liveliness into you. It’s giving you the life you’ve been missing for the last three hours.

Araseo halge

And that’s the first time you’re having fun tonight.

—

They’re singing their song?

Chaeryeong looks over at Ryujin to see her dancing to it, and she can’t help but follow her friend’s iconic move, smiling. She looks around to see the people also imitating the move. Damn, Ryujin must be so happy.

As the song goes on, Ryujin and Chaeryeong are laughing and dancing joyfully. People are singing and moving to their song! She finds herself beaming uncontrollably to see her efforts not going to waste. It’s like there’s a spotlight shining on them, and that couldn’t make her happier.

I wanna be me, me, me

The crowd cheers, along with Ryujin and her. The concept and message feel so simple, looking back, but the effect it had on people makes Chaeryeong so ecstatic. 

Just be yourself.

This really is their night.

—

After a little over three minutes in heaven, the song ends, transitioning to the citizen-darling APT. You’re still enjoying it, but the thirst in your throat starts to grow. 

It’s time for a drink!

You go back to the bar, evading the people grinding on each other (or one another, you don’t judge them, anyway) to your destination. You tap your hands softly on your thighs to the rhythm of the song.

You find your uncle waiting for you, standing in front of your seat, smiling happily at his nephew’s effort. He’s making a drink in his percussion thing. You’re making him proud.

“How did it go?” he shouts, shaking the drink masterfully.

You let out a somewhat drunk laugh. “It was fun. You were right!” Alcohol is starting to have an effect on you.

“Told ya,” your uncle says, before walking to the other side of the bar, leaving you tapping your fingers to the song alone.

—

Apateu apateu, apateu apateu

Chaeryeong dances to the beat joyfully. She loves this song, always has been. Her arms and legs are moving in sync to the beat. She’s happy. She’s ecstatic, even.

What she hasn’t realized yet is that–

“God, I fucking love this–”

–her friend is missing.

“–song.”

Apateu apateu, uh uh-huh uh-huh

Ryujin is probably going to the toilet, though. Maybe she should just keep dancing along to the song. Ryujin should be back soon.

—

“Long Island Iced Tea, please,” Ryujin says to the bartender. A young man is close to her. He’s tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the song disinterestedly. Is he waiting for something?

The bartender laughs. “Well, my nephew also likes it! Wanna make it two?” He asks the young man, who seems lost in his head. He only nods.

Ryujin lets out a small smile, before taking the seat next to him. He seems nice. Should she talk to him a bit?

“So.”

The young man turns to her.

“Having fun?”

He nods, smiling.

Ryujin lets out a small laugh. What should she start the conversation with?

“Do you listen to ITZY?”

Fuck, why did she ask that? What if–

“Yeah,” he says groggily. He’s clearly starting to get drunk. Thank god, she can probably show her true colors with him without much worry.

“Were you here when they played Wannabe?” he asks. His uncle hands him the Long Island Iced Tea.

Ryujin can’t help but let out a smile. He recognizes one of her songs! She then softly makes the shoulder dance, making him chuckling and following her moves.

He seems like a cool guy.

—

Where the fuck is Ryujin?

Chaeryeong starts her search for her friend, who has now been gone for twenty minutes. She’d never go for a long bathroom break anywhere outside of the hotel, of course. ‘They’re dirty’, she once said.

Chaeryeong scans the crowd for a short-haired woman in a blue denim jacket, but there’s none to be found. Her heart rate rises. What if she was actually abducted?

Fuck.

She tries to call Ryujin, but she doesn’t answer. She needs to go somewhere she can rely on.

Shit, the bar it is.

Chaeryeong walks towards the white area in the club's corner. She’s going to ask someone if they had seen a short-haired woman in her denim jacket, blue. She’s going to find Ryujin without raising a suspicion. She’s going to find her friend.

And be it fate, be it a mere coincidence. She does a double take, then a triple take. She finds her friend sitting at the bar, talking to a young man. Ryujin is rejoicing in the conversation, so does he.

Thank god. 

—

“Hey, I thought I lost you!”

A sound comes from your right. You look over to find a tall, long-haired woman walking towards you two. She’s in a tight-fitted dress that shows off her curves beautifully. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” says the short-haired woman. She seems calm, unlike her friend, who looks a bit worried, hands shaking beside herself.

“Thank god,” the long-haired woman says, annoyed by her friend’s antics. “Don’t fucking go somewhere else alone, alright?”

The short-haired woman only giggles.

The long-haired woman shakes her head. “So, who’s this guy?”

The short-haired woman introduces you to her friend, who’s listening intently. You give her a handshake before dragging the chair behind you close for her to sit down.

And the night begins, for real this time.

The conversation goes on. Many Long Island Iced Teas are served to the three of you, and by the time you look at your watch, it’s eleven already. 

Time flies when you have fun.

The conversation with these two unknown women has been nothing short of calming to you—a contradiction to the raging music around. You’ve talked about your life as a photography student, while they’ve talked about their careers. You find out that they work together, and you understand how tiring and demanding their job is.

“Is it fun working with your friend?”

The two women look at each other before laughing. “Well, it’s good sometimes. But yeah, there are times that I get tired of her face,” the short-haired woman says, as the other nudges her shoulder softly.

“Damn you.”

You look at your watch again. You should go to bed now; class is tomorrow morning!

“So, it has been nice talking to you guys–” you’re trying to sound as polite as possible before drinking up the last of your cocktail. “–but I have a class tomorrow morning, and–”

“Aww–” the short-haired woman sulks, kicking her feet like a child “–can’t you just stay? For us?”

“Yeah, please?” the other woman chimes in.

You genuinely appreciate their gestures, but you can’t stay up late like this, especially in a nightclub.

“I’m sorry, guys, but I really have to go.”

Ask for their contacts!

You pull your phone out of your pocket. “Can I have your Instagrams?”

The women smirk at each other. “Sure, if you can promise you’ll tell nobody about this,” the long-haired woman says.

It’s a bit weird, really, but they probably have their reasons. “Sure.”

The short-haired woman is the first one who types into your phone. She giggles while doing so. Fuck, should’ve cleared the search history first, those IVE Instagrams.

“Seems like you’ve followed me already~” the short-haired woman says, giggling, before handing it to the long-haired woman, leaving you confused.

Is she? She looks kinda familiar.

“And me too~”

You narrow your eyes. Have you met them before? Under that mask, you think there’s something about them, but you just can’t quite make it up.

She hands you back the phone, and your eyes widen at the realization as you look at your search history.

They signal a ‘shhh’ with their fingers, smiling.

They’re @iamfinethankyouandryu and @chaerrry0.

—

Ryujin then laughs at the man’s shocked expression, before closing in on his body. She gets so close to him she can feel his warmth on her. She plants a hand on his thigh, and he shudders in response.

“You know the implications, right?”

He can’t seem to find a word out of his mouth, still hanging open. He must be so damn shocked to meet his idols in a nightclub like this, and they’re lusting over him!

—

With the teasing image, Chaeryeong’s core starts to heat up with desire. She’s a little apprehensive, but with him still seems to be lost on what to do, or what to say next, she has to make a move. She follows Ryujin and touches his thigh.

“Come on, do you want us?”

She then glides her hand up his inner thigh, feeling his muscles. It gets closer and closer to the growing tent in his pants, before she stops just right before the contact. His breath hitches.

“I–I–”

“Don’t be shy, pretty boy. You’re quite a catch yourself~” she says, followed by the hottest lip bite she can make. He sucks a sudden at the sight.

“W–Won’t you guys get caught by D–Dispatch or something?” he asks, voice shaken. His hands are trembling with pure anxiety. “I mean, I’d be v–very honored to be with you two tonight.”

“Well, fuck Dispatch,” Ryujin says, and Chaeryeong nods in agreement. “It’s not everyday we get to do this.”

—

A Lovely Night

The taxi ride to the hotel starts quietly. He’s trying his best to not pull the driver’s attention to the fact that he’s heading to Ryujin’s hotel in the middle of the night. If the driver knows, it’s over for the three of them.

Ryujin, though, can’t keep her hands to herself, snaking down to his crotch whenever she can. She wants this so fucking badly. She’s getting wetter and wetter as the seconds go by. Her core is aching with unbridled lust.

He’s so damn big.

—

Chaeryeong can’t risk having her fame tarnished with a single night, but god fucking damn, why does Ryujin keep touching his cock?

“Want a touch, Chae?” Ryujin whispers into her ear.

Chaeryeong slaps Ryujin’s hand away from his length, not wanting to indulge in such perverse action. “Don’t fucking do that, Ryu!” Chaeryeong sneers quietly, and Ryujin giggles. Fuck, why is she so insufferable?

But Chaeryeong can’t deny the ache building up inside her crotch. She’s feeling it. She needs a release.

—

Ryujin doesn’t stop with Chaeryeong’s words. They only spur her on even more. Her hand finds its place under his tight boxers, and she starts stroking it softly. Her other hand grabs some creased dollar bills for the taxi driver. She’s going to keep quiet about this.

“How much do we have to pay you, ma’am?”

“Just don’t kill each other and you’ll be fine,” the taxi driver says.

—

Ryujin’s aroma is intoxicating you. It’s so sensual, and your cock is so hard because of it. You can’t help but let out a moan. She looks into the rearview mirror to see the well-being of her customer, but she doesn’t seem to care, as she switches back to see what’s on the road without a word.

Ryujin’s smell reminds you of those femme fatale you’ve seen in the movies—sensual, manipulative, dangerous. This is so heavenly for you.

After a while, Chaeryeong puts her hand on your body, feeling your tight abdomen. Her finger draws a pattern on your toned chest. She’s admiring your strong frame.

“You do feel good, pretty boy.”

—

“So,” Chaeryeong says, unsure of what to do next.

“Where do you want to start?” Ryujin asks.

You turn to her. Her eyes are bored into yours. She’s expecting an answer from you. Don’t just say ‘I don’t know, Ryujin’, but where should you start?

“Where do you guys usually start from?”

What a dumbass question! Do you think they bring a guy back to their hotel and do this every day?

“Kissing, perhaps?” Chaeryeong chimes in. “We should start slowly, what happened in the taxi doesn’t count.”

“I have a little game,” says Ryujin. Her hands are groping your back and chest. You shudder at the contact. “Let’s compare our kisses, shall we?”

You gulp, hands trembling, but you’re trying to keep your cool. “Sure, who should I–”

Ryujin captures your lips in a searing kiss, as Chaeryeong unlatches herself from you with a small whine. Ryujin’s tongue invades your mouth aggressively. There’s a faint hint of raspberry covered in that heavy Long Island Iced Tea she drank over the night. Her hands dig into the under of your waistband, groping your raging bulge through your boxers, making you jolt in response. You moan and moan into her mouth.

Your hands start to have a mind of their own. Your right hand snakes under her shirt to feel her toned back, while your left hand finds itself on her lacey bra, kneading her soft, firm breasts. God, she has a nice body. She moans and moans into your mouth.

“Damn.” You hear Chaeryeong say from the back, as you start to get used to Ryujin’s body.

Suddenly, Ryujin pulls back from the burning kiss. She’s panting softly, clearly satisfied with the kiss. “Could’ve used more tongue, but this is already pretty good.”

You try to catch your breath, feeling like Ryujin pulled the air out of your lungs. “Th–Thanks, Ryujin.”

“Your turn, Chae,” Ryujin says.

You turn to Chaeryeong. She’s staring into your eyes blankly. She’s as unsure as you.

You give her an offer, “Do you want me to–”

“I’ll–I’ll do it.” Chaeryeong says, before taking a deep breath. “I just–need to get used to your body a bit.”

Her hands start to find their rhythms. She starts from your hands, holding on to them softly. She then wanders upwards along your arm, feeling your lean muscles.

“You take care of yourself well,” she says, voice laced with sultry.

“Th–Thanks, Chaeryeong.” Your appreciative words are rewarded with a smile from her. Her hands then travel over your body. Her left hand finds your erection under your boxers. She’s stroking it softly, enough to earn a whimper from you. Her right hand runs over your back, sending pleasure through your frame.

“Nghh~”

After a few pumps, her hand leaves your cock, making you groan in the sudden absence.

She then grabs your chin gently, before pulling you into a loving kiss. The faint scent of your cock remaining in her hand flies into your nostrils. 

Chaeryeong doesn’t let her tongue slip into your mouth like Ryujin did. She merely has a taste of your Long Island-laced lips. You can taste the strawberry resting on her mouth, mixed with the Long Island Iced Tea she drank throughout the night.

Your hands feel her pert breasts on top of her tight-fitted dress, squeezing them, kneading them. She has been taking care of herself well; you can feel it. You wander down to her wet cunt under her panties, and she gasps softly into your mouth. You’re sure that she loves this.

“Mmm, that felt good, baby,” Chaeryeong says, muffled into the kiss.

You feel her puffy cunt on your palm, seeking her wetness with your fingers. You find out that she shaves, before you plunge yourself into her drenched cavern.

“Mmmph!” she rasps. Her body turns into a jelly, able to be controlled to your liking. You dig your fingers deep into her sweet, wet cunt, before curling up to where she’s sensitive the most. She falls into your embrace. You hear Ryujin chuckling on your back. Chaeryeong’s body warmth emanates into yours. Her wet cunt is welcoming your fingers easily.

Still, you can’t let her cum so soon. You regretfully pull out of the kiss and her wetness, before sucking on your fingers lewdly. She tastes so salty and musky. God, what a pleasure to your tongue. Chaeryeong pants.

“S–So,” Chaeryeong says, still trying to catch her breath.

“Who’s better?” Ryujin asks, staring into your eyes.

You let out a sigh before answering, “I get to feel Chaeryeong’s pussy, so–”

“Hey! That’s not fair! You didn’t even touch my panties!” Ryujin sneers.

—

“Stand up and face me.” Chaeryeong watches Ryujin ordering, and he complies immediately. His erection pokes through his pants into a tall tent on his crotch.

She admires his stiffness for a while. She seems eager to take in the image of his big cock. Her hands toy with his bulge playfully, eliciting moans from him. 

She then grabs onto his waistband, looking up into his eyes.

“Ready?”

He nods.

Chaeryeong watches her friend pulling his pants down, revealing the bulge under the boxers. He’s fucking horny for them, isn’t he? Chaeryeong can feel the heat building up within her core. She needs a release, but she isn’t brave enough to let it out yet.

The show continues, as Ryujin pulls his boxers down. His erection springs freely. 

God, he’s so big.

Ryujin admires his length for a while. Her eyes are now gleaming with desire, and Chaeryeong can’t help but start to rub her core, sending shockwaves through her body. Fuck the reticence. She needs to cum.

“Again, you said that you didn’t touch my pussy when I kissed you, right?”

He nods sheepishly. Ryujin is going to make him feel her cunt.

Ryujin then pulls him down and captures his lips aggressively again. Chaeryeong lets out a gasp. This time, she brings his hand into feeling her puffy cunt, and he pushes his soft fingers into her. Chaeryeong can hear her friend moan needily into his mouth.

“Mmmph, that feels so good, pretty boy,” Ryujin says into the kiss. His fingers turn upwards to stimulate Ryujin’s inner walls, making her body shiver. Chaeryeong watches their bodies turning into a needy ball of lust. He’s so good at this.

Chaeryeong can’t bear the beckoning heat inside of her anymore. She pushes her slender fingers into her pussy, playing with the inner walls of herself. She quietly moans at the lewd sight. 

—

You hear Chaeryeong moaning from the back. This probably spurs her on, so you lose yourself deeper into the kiss. You push your tongue into Ryujin’s mouth, and she gasps at such audaciousness. She wants your tongue, so you give her your tongue.

Your finger is still working on Ryujin’s g-spot tirelessly, trying to elicit moans out of her mouth. She responds willingly to your touch, and you love the way she reacts like this.

“So–So good, Ryu,” you utter, trying to keep yourself from getting lost in the situation.

—

Ryujin softly plants her lips onto the head of his throbbing length, rewarding her with an airy moan from him.

“Fuck!” he cries in a whisper.

He composes himself well. The other three aren’t going to wake up if he can keep his voice down like this.

“Come on, Chae,” Ryujin unlatches herself from his stiff cock, but still keeping one hand on it, stroking softly. “Make him cum.”

“B–But I don’t wanna kiss you, Ryu. I–”

“Now is not the time, Chae. Just come here,” Ryujin signals her friend to give him an otherworldly blowjob with her. She’s too drunk to care about kissing Chaeryeong right now.

“I–uh–fuck, alright!” Chaeryeong finally gives in, and Ryujin smiles at her friend’s compliance.

Let’s give him the blowjob he’ll never forget.

Ryujin plants her lips onto his cock again from his front, taking in his intense taste. He’s driving her insane with his cock. He rasps quietly in pleasure. His mouth hangs open, and Ryujin is sure revelling in the way he’s feeling her on his cock right now.

Chaeryeong then joins in on his back, starting to take a swipe of her tongue on his hardened testicles. Her hands land on his muscular ass. He’s covering his mouth to not let out a loud moan. God, what a sight for Ryujin.

—

Chaeryeong doesn’t want to kiss her friend. It’s weird to be Ryujin. So, she just paints his balls with her saliva hungrily, meticulously avoiding her friend’s lips. Her hands are roaming over his back—a courtesy of her, while Ryujin takes his front.

She then feels his hand gripping onto her head from the other side. Ryujin is getting it too. He’s pressing Chaeryeong harder into his ass. Their makeup starts to get messy from performing their oral masteries on him. He moans and cries silently in ecstasy while also trying his best to not wake the others up. Chaeryeong can’t help but to run her fingers down between his ass cheeks, and she gets another whimper from him.

His balls taste so damn salty, so musky, and that’s driving her insane. Her cunt feels like it’s on fire. She uses one of her hands to dig down her tight pants and rub on her swollen clit. It feels so good. It feels like she’s going to fly.

“Shit, this feels so–ahh,” a soft moan leaves Chaeryeong’s mouth as she plunges her fingers into her cunt, curling them up where she needs it the most. Her silenced whimpers hit his balls. God, this feels great. 

—

The pleasure these women are giving you is unreal. Ryujin creates a suction around your cock, bobbing her head back and forth. She’s so damn good at this. While on the other side, Chaeryeong drags her tongue from your sack up to your puckered hole. Fuck, it feels so damn good.

You press their heads into your aching heat, and they seem to accept it eagerly. Both Ryujin and Chaeryeong up their antes for you, and that brings you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your head.

“Girls?”

“Yes?” Chaeryeong and Ryujin answer at the same time. They stop their oral masteries, making you groan softly at the sudden detachments.

“Can you guys like–sucking my cock at the same time?”

The two women look at each other. It’s going to make them think. You see Ryujin nodding, but Chaeryeong hesitates a bit.

“I–”

“I–I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, Chaeryeong,” you say. 

—

Chaeryeong has certainly given some blowjobs, but this is the first time she’s going to do it with Ryujin. Hell, it’s the first time she’s going to do it with another woman. This is huge for her.

Chaeryeong contemplates for a few heartbeats. This is going to change the dynamic between her and Ryujin forever. On the other hand, the alcohol-induced aching inside her core is ravaging her inhibition. Plus, they’re just having a little fun anyway, nothing serious.

Fuck it, let’s do this.

She then shoots a grin back at him. “Alright, pretty boy, get on the bed.”

—

He quickly complies with her order. Ryujin watches his erection twitching in pure anticipation before turning to Chaeryeong.

“Let’s do this.”

Chaeryeong nods. She doesn’t seem to be weirded out by the prospect of kissing her friend anymore, and Ryujin couldn’t be more happy with the fact.

Ryujin then climbs up the bed, crawling towards him like a predator. Her eyes look into his hungrily, before taking a long lick from his balls up his shaft. He moans uncontrollably, still keeping his volume low, trying his best to not wake up the other women.

“God, you’re so good at this, Ryujin,” Chaeryeong says, following Ryujin’s lead onto the bed.

Ryujin giggles before giving him another wet lick on her throbbing cock. She has to make him falter under her touch. She gives him a lick, and another, and another. He groans, moans, and whimpers with her sensual contact. 

And if that isn’t already enough, Ryujin takes his mushroom-shaped tip into her filthy mouth, coating him with her saliva. He grunts in pleasure. His body turns rigid.

“My god, Ryu–Ryujin,” he moans her name out, and that encourages her even more. She takes in more of his length with each bob of her head, staring from just the tip, going deeper and deeper. Eventually, her nose hits his pubic bone, taking him in fully and staying right there. She can’t think straight right now, with a cock stuffed in her mouth like this. She wants him to lose control. She wants him to moan her name uncontrollably.

She’s making gagging sounds. Her eyes are watery. This cock is too big for her, but her capacity means shit if that means she gets to hear her boy moan like this.

“Hey,” Chaeryeong snaps Ryujin back into reality, pushing her arm softly. “This cock isn’t just for you, Ryu.”

Ryujin regretfully pulls back from his hardness, slowly. The cock inside her throat is now gone. She whimpers at the sudden lack of filling in disappointment. Black streaks from her makeup are now forming from her tears.

“F–Fine.”

—

His cock is now slicked with Ryujin’s drool. He’s going to taste like Ryujin, isn’t he?

“Can I have him for a sec?” Chaeryeong asks her friend, still trying to catch her breath after taking an entire cock inside her mouth.

“Go–cough–ahead, Chae.”

“Thanks.”

Chaeryeong begins her show slowly, but there has to be sensuality in it. That’s her aim. She works down his taint first, drawing breathy moans from him. His taste is so intense, so addictive. It’s his pure body scent mixed with Ryujin’s raspberry. It’s like an aphrodisiac to her.

She doubles her efforts, drawing a straight line up from his testicles, to his shaft, to his leaking tip. Her tongue is making him whimper erratically, and she’s relishing in it. It feels good to have him lost in pleasure like this.

“You’re doing this pretty well too, Chae,” Ryujin says, finally recomposing herself beside Chaeryeong. He’s shaking.

Chaeryeong can only smile, her lips still busy kissing a trail on his thick cock. She’s smearing her essence all over him. He’s going to taste a bit–different after this.

“God, shit, just suck me off already, Chaeryeong,” he pleads, making Chaeryeong chuckle.

“I’ll wait for Ryu, pretty boy.”

Ryujin slowly recollects herself by the side as Chaeryeong is busy teasing his cock, wiping her own drool off her mouth. Then, she finally rejoins the play, starting by licking the underside of his hardness. He moans in ecstasy.

“Fuck!” he cries out, making Ryujin giggle softly.

Chaeryeong knows that it’s time for her to go in, so she pulls back, taking him on the left side. She’s inviting Ryujin to take the other side of his cock. Ryujin does so, and he lets out a whimper.

—

You’re absolutely revelling in the pleasure these women are giving you. Ryujin and Chaeryeong are giving you one of the best blowjobs you’ve ever had. The amount of saliva is perfect. The technique is immaculate. The sight is nothing short of exquisitely vulgar. You’re struggling to find a purchase in the bedsheets.

They’re sliding up and down on your cock from the side. When one goes up, the other goes down, keeping your cock being fully taken care of by their mouths the whole time. The pleasure on your cock shoots through you like a bullet. Fuck, this feels great.

Ryujin then syncs her movement with Chaeryeong, now moving together in an up and down motion. Their lips make contact when they’re at the tip of your cock, and sometimes, they put on a show for you, kissing each other with your cock in the middle. Their tongues pierce into each other’s mouth, grazing your aching tip as they kiss.

With such a lewd sight, you can feel your orgasm coming. Your legs grow tense. You’re going to cum from this double blowjob from your idols.

“Girls, I–I think I’m gonna cum.”

Both of them only reply with a giggle, before sealing the tip of your cock with a sensual kiss, one that’s so damn pleasurable for your dick. The view is just too splendid for you—two women kissing on your cock. The sensation is unreal. This is just too much. You can’t hold it anymore.

“Fuck!”

Cum is fired out of your cock into the kiss, and the women both hum in satisfaction. Your cock twitches between their dirty mouths. Your whole body jerks and spasms between them. Your whole life leads to this, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

Your whole body shudders in rapture, unable to make sense of the pleasure coursing through it. Cum is shot out of your cock into their mouths, and they seem to be happy to share your nectar together.

Your orgasm inevitably dies down. You’re starting to catch your breath. They look up at you with nothing but lust inside their eyes.

“That tastes good, pretty boy,” Ryujin says, scooping the remnants of your cum on her cheeks with her fingers, before plunging them in Chaeryeong’s mouth. She seems to be taken aback by it, but eventually, she happily accepts her friend’s fingers. Fuck, what a sight.

Chaeryeong is sucking her friend’s fingers with her eyes closed, trying to take in the salty taste of you as much as possible. She lets out a satisfied hum in the action, and you feel like you’re ready to take on both of them again.

—

Chaeryeong loves this. She loves the way Ryujin’s fingers are toying with her tongue. She loves the way his salty taste engulfs her like a tsunami. Chaeryeong fucking loves this.

“So good,” she says, muffled into Ryujin’s fingers, before they’re pulled out of her mouth, leaving Chaeryeong whining in disappointment with a string of saliva.

Then, as she opens her eyes, she is welcomed by the sight of Ryujin unbuttoning her shirt, ready to bare herself in front of them. Her black, lacy bra comes into view. 

She looks so hot.

“What, do I look that hot?”

Chaeryeong recollects herself immediately. She’s caught staring at her friend’s body. How embarrassing!

Ryujin only giggles before removing her outer garment. Her toned tummy is now visible. Chaeryeong watches the man drool over her friend’s body, and she can’t help but chuckle at him.

—

Ryujin is now boiling with lust. She needs to get rid of this fabric cage as soon as possible. Her pussy is drenched, and she needs something inside her.

She quickly unlocks her black, lacy bra she’s wearing, exposing her firm breast for the other two to see. She feels so–naked, so–vulnerable, but fuck it, she needs something inside of her now, and it’s going to be his cock.

“Alright, you two–oh my god, will you guys just fucking stop looking at me and strip, please?” Ryujin sneers, fed up with their gazes on her. She wants a cock inside her now, and if their clothes are staying on like this, all this juice would be for nothing.

“O–Oh, sorry, Ryu,” Chaeryeong says before quickly unzipping her black dress from behind. Ryujin watches the act in contentment. Chaeryeong’s small breasts slowly come into view. Along with her friend, he strips himself off his shirt, revealing his toned abs for the women to see. Fuck, he looks delicious.

“Hey,” he says, chuckling, snapping her back into reality. “Ready?”

“Y–Yeah.”

He moves her chin closer into another torrid kiss. His Long Island-laced lips touch hers. His tongue pierces into her mouth with aggression. They are intertwined in a battle for dominance. His free hand grabs and squeezes her breast, eliciting a jolt in her body. Ryujin moans out into the kiss in pleasure.

She then hears Chaeryeong huffing. “Come on, guys. This isn’t just about you two!” Chaeryeong says, annoyed by the sight of the two kissing.

Ryujin giggles, before pulling Chaeryeong into the kiss. Their tongues are intertwining messily, drool is dribbling down their chins onto the bedsheets. Their hands are desperately clinging on to one another, trying to have their fair share of arousal.

“Oh god,” Chaeryeong utters, barely catching the chaotic rhythm of the kiss. Her drool leaking everywhere, splattering on Ryujin’s and his body. “Th–This is fucking—mmm.”

—

God, this is embarrassing for her.

Chaeryeong is having a hard time catching her rhythm. She’s trying, but the other two are so adept with their tongues it’s making her crumble.

“Goddamn it, s–slow down, guys,” she utters into the blazing kiss. Her hands are caressing Ryujin’s and his body. She knows that her spit is leaking, but she has to catch up.

She hears the other two giggle with her struggle. Fucking bitches.

Ryujin would be the first to pull back from the kiss, panting, leaving the two of them in the act. She leans back a little, clitoris already swelling with arousal. 

“Alright, can you fuck me yet, pretty boy? A woman needs a cock over here,” Ryujin says, teasing her nub with her fingers.

“Just–Just go, she needs this,” Chaeryeong says. She can’t help but feel a little disappointed, as he pulls back from the kiss with a slight whimper.

“O–Okay,” he says, as Ryujin flips onto her stomach, hands and knees on the bed. She’s ready to take his cock.

—

Ryujin is on all-fours, ready to take his cock that she has been craving. She needs his cock inside her cunt. She wants to be plowed. She wants to be fucked.

“Yesss~ put it inside me, put it inside me,” she rasps—so eager, so needy.

He frantically tries to line up his cock against her cunt. His mushroom tip ghosts past her a few times, making Ryujin groan in dissatisfaction. Chaeryeong crawls to the front of Ryujin, spreading her legs. She’s going to have Ryujin eat her out.

“So, I’m supposed to be the middle woman here?” Ryujin playfully teases. She’s more than willing to taste Chaeryeong’s nectar.

“Y–Yeah–ahh! Fuck!”

Chaeryeong’s head falls backwards as Ryujin presses the tongue against her pretty cunt. Ryujin is quite sure that the other women might hear that, but Chaeryeong’s wetness and texture is just too exquisite for her to care. Ryujin lavishes her friend enthusiastically, lapping up the nectar that has been building up through the night.

“Nghhh~”

Chaeryeong’s taste is driving Ryujin insane. She’s salty. She’s musky. She’s perfect. Ryujin just keeps swiping her tongue against Chaeryeong’s folds, eliciting guttural, deep groans out of her friend. At the same time, he plunges his cock into Ryujin’s cunt from the back.

“Mmph! Shit!” Ryujin moans. His cock starts to fill her pussy as she’s lapping at Chaeryeong’s delicious cunt with reckless abandon. His cock is so big, making her feel so full. His hands grab onto her slutty waist for a hold, simultaneously locking Ryujin in place. She becomes a whimpering mess between the groaning him and the shaking Chaeryeong.

His length nudges her g-spot softly, making her knees weak. She falls stomach-first onto the bed, so ready to be prone-boned. Her tongue keeps up the work tirelessly. Chaeryeong is still a shaking lump of flesh in front of her, and Ryujin has to make her friend cum.

A cock inside her spurs Ryujin on. She licks her friend’s pussy even faster, and Chaeryeong starts to put the pressure on Ryujin’s head, pushing her head deeper into her cunt. Ryujin can’t think straight anymore—cock in her cunt, cunt in her face. The two of them are taking over her senses—the size, the taste, the scent. It’s everything Ryujin wants.

—

This pleasure feels like a sin to Chaeryeong. She can’t quite comprehend the feeling coursing through her right now. Ryujin’s tongue is doing wonders on her pussy, but she’s her friend! How are they going to look at each other tomorrow?

Still, the pleasure overwhelms her senses like a goddamn tsunami. It’s fucking electric every time Ryujin’s tongue glides past her swollen clit. Her cunt feels like it’s on fire. Hell, her hand even presses Ryujin’s face deep into her needy pussy!

“So–So good,” Chaeryeong mewls. Her head falls backwards.

The grip on Ryujin’s head becomes tighter. Chaeryeong is trying to intoxicate her friend, making her drunk with her pussy. The strands of Ryujin’s short hair find their places between Chaeryeong’s hands. Ryujin is drunk in her pussy, and Chaeryeong, even if it is so foreign, is loving it.

—

Shin Ryujin’s cunt feels too good.

You pound into her with reckless abandon, eliciting moans and whimpers suppressed by her friend’s cunt. She’s lying stomach-flat on the bed, so perfect for your domination. Her juice spills out of her needy pussy onto the bed. Those poor staff. They’re going to have a lot of work tomorrow.

You lie down against the smoothness of her back, feeling her warmth. You’re putting your weight on her. Your head is right beside her. Such a perfect view to watch Ryujin eating Chaeryeong’s cunt. The sight of her tongue splaying on her friend’s cunt is obscenely vulgar. Chaeryeong’s meaty thighs are shaking in pleasure.

Your hands roam over the front of Ryujin’s body, feeling her abs, her firm tits, and eventually, you grab onto the front of her neck. God, what a body. You pull Ryujin’s face out of Chaeryeong’s cunt, leaving a string of juice between them. Ryujin is so drunk in pleasure coursing through her—your cock inside her cunt, and Chaeryeong’s cunt on her pretty face. Her eyes are barely open. Her expression is so damn puzzled by the situation.

Suddenly, you pull Ryujin in for a sensual kiss. The remnant of the earlier Long Island iced tea lingers. Then, there’s the violent taste of Chaeryeong’s salty juice on her lips. It’s so good. You plunge your tongue into Ryujin’s mouth, making her moan as your cock keeps plowing her cunt with no abandon.

—

Chaeryeong is barely able to catch her breath as Ryujin’s tongue leaves her cunt. God, what a feeling she just had. It’s a bit of a whiplash, but her finger will do. She pushes her digits into her own cunt again as they kiss, watching the rough fucking in front of herself. She curls her finger where she needs it the most, prolonging the intense pleasure she felt from Ryujin’s tongue. She’s chasing her own orgasm, and she’s sure that she’s so fucking close.

“Oh god, oh god, oh goddd!”

Chaeryeong sprays her juice onto her friend’s face, making her the first victim of the night. She cums, hard. Her body shakes with intense pleasure as her fingers are knuckles deep into her cunt, curling up at the right fucking spot. Her body falls onto the soft bed, limping, shaking.

“Nghh~ Ch–Chae, you t–taste good,” Ryujin stammers, eyes barely open, body all limp under his dominance.

She can only catch her breath quietly, in front of the rough fucking Ryujin is taking.

—

The sensation is just too foreign for Ryujin to comprehend at this point. Chaeryeong just squirted on her face, and then she got knocked out from the sheer intensity of her own orgasm. Ryujin can’t move. She’s merely a spectator of this debauchery, and the best part is she’s more than willing to let him fuck her into oblivion.

“Nghmm, s–so g–good,” Ryujin mewls, so cock-drunk with the violent pounding from her back.

He gives her ass a loud spank, making her moan in the mix of shocking pain and surprising pleasure. His cock grazes against her wall so well—perfect curve, perfect length. He’s everything she could’ve asked for.

“More!” Ryujin says.

—

You give Ryujin’s reddened cheeks another harsh spank, making her yelp. Her ass is so fucking soft. You’re loving this. She’s loving this.

“More, p–please!” she mewls, she’s barely holding herself up from the pleasure coursing through her veins.

Your fucking cannot get rougher at this point—the ass slap–

“Ah!”

–the violent pounding. It’s making Ryujin dazed. It’s making Ryujin lost in the throes of pleasure. And the best part? It’s you doing all of this.

—

If he keeps up the pace, she’s going to cum in a minute.

Her pussy is getting stretched by his cock. He’s making her feel so full. It’s hitting all of her right spots. She keeps moaning and moaning in the wake of this divine delight. Her body feels limp, unable to move, but she loves this. She’s getting a cock inside her cunt, and she couldn’t have asked for more tonight.

The wave starts to form. It’s far, but it’s there. Her muscles tighten in this bliss. She’s going to cum!

“Oh god, I–I’m gonna–”

Her words are cut off with another slap on her ass, making her cry an unintelligible sound out. She finds the sound weird, but that’s the least of her concern right now.

“–cum, nghh.”

The wave hits. Ryujin’s orgasm crashes into her like a goddamn tsunami. Her body turns rigid in the wake of this divine delight under his. She lets out a loud wail. Her hands find purchase in the bedsheets, gripping onto them with her dear life. She savors it hungrily. She knows she’s going to fucking remember this, she’s going to.

After what felt like an eternity, she comes down from her peak. Ryujin slowly catches her breath with her still-fluttering eyes. She just had one of the best orgasms in her life. She’s going to cherish this moment, she’s going to.

—

That blowjob plays a part in delaying your orgasm. Thank god.

You drag your cock out of her spent pussy. It’s glistened in her filthy juice, shining against the nocturne. You watch her as she basks in the afterglow, trying to make sense of what just happened.

(Well, you’re also trying to make sense of what just happened.)

“Oh god,” you utter. Chaeryeong slowly sits up on the bed again, hair all messy after her mind-breaking orgasm.

“Should we–Should we take–a break?” you weakly ask, barely holding yourself together.

“Another round, p–please.”

“Fuck me, this time,” Chaeryeong blurts out, seeing the damage you’ve inflicted on Ryujin. “I want the same package as hers.”

Fucking hell.

—

You are sure that you aren’t going to forget this.

You’re fucking Lee Chaeryeong’s ass, as she eats Shin Ryujin’s pussy from above. Ryujin is looking up at you with her doe eyes, so dazed by the overwhelming pleasure she’s feeling. Chaeryeong’s ass feels so tight, so right. You can’t help but moan her name out in pure ecstasy. This is going to leave a mark on you forever. 

Your balls ghost past Ryujin’s face. Sometimes, she’d stick out her tongue to make your body jolt when you thrust into Chaeryeong’s ass. Ryujin moans and writhes under her, so lost in the pleasure her friend is giving. This must feel so right for her.

“Fuck, y–you’re so tight, Chaeryeong,” you utter, eyes barely opening with the intense pleasure coursing through you.

“You–You better c–cum in my a–ass–ah!” she replies, shaken as your cock plow into her ass.

“M–More than happy too, M–Miss Lee.”

—

She now knows why Ryujin was so ecstatic when she’s fucked like this.

He feels so full in her ass, full in the way no one has ever made her feel before. He pounds her without any relent, making sure that she will never forget this. The sensation is just electric. The sensation is just overwhelming, and she’s loving every second.

Ryujin’s taste is also nothing short of insane. She’s perfectly salty. The texture is perfect. Her scent is driving her insane. Chaeryeong keeps lavishing her friend’s cunt tirelessly, so fucking determined to make her cum with her tongue.

“G–God, fuck. Y–You taste so fucking good, Ryu,” she mewls, voice shaken along with the movement of his cock in her ass.

She hears Ryujin giggle from below.

—

Two layers of drunkenness can be a little overwhelming for Ryujin—one with the alcohol, another one with the sex, but she’s fucking revelling in this.

His balls are swinging above her face, and she makes sure to stick out her tongue whenever she can, to make him cum in her friend’s ass. Ryujin grabs onto his thighs softly, leaving enough room of strength to make him move freely. Her nails dig lightly into his skin, leaving crescent marks on him.

Down below (or above, it doesn’t matter anymore), Chaeryeong sure knows how to eat pussy. She’s lapping Ryujin’s cunt masterfully, eliciting moans and moans out of her lungs. She’s so fucking drunk in the sex she just can’t think straight anymore.

The familiar sensation builds up in her loins—the same sensation for when his cock was in her cunt, the same sensation for when her fingers are knuckles deep into her wet, tight cavern. She’s going to cum.

“Oh god, oh god, gonna cum!” Ryujin mewls, so hazy from the relentless pleasure crashing onto her.

Instead of any reply, Chaeryeong only laps on her cunt faster and faster and faster. Ryujin’s head is feeling like it’s going to explode. She’s so dizzy. She brings her finger down to rub herself off, making her hips buck into Chaeryeong’s face with bliss.

Ryujin becomes the first to cum twice in this messy debauchery. Her cunt sprays gushes of juice onto Chaeryeong’s face. Her friend shows no sign of disgust, instead latching her lips on Ryujin’s clit, making her scream in pure delight. Her hands find purchase on the bed sheets tightly, as her scream pierces through the quiet nocturne.

—

Well, Yeji is definitely going to hear that.

Ryujin tastes great—perfectly salty. Chaeryeong feels torn. It feels so wrong to be her friend, but who can resist Ryujin’s charm?

Ryujin’s legs twitch in the corner of Chaeryeong’s eyes. She seems to be really lost in it. Chaeryeong keeps her mouth on Ryujin’s needy pussy, casting her in a state of bliss. She tugs it. She nibbles it. She’s making her friend scream with her filthy mouth, all the while taking his cock in her snug ass.

The sensation from behind her is going to put her in the same fate as Ryujin. Her muscles are blazing now. She’s going to cum with a cock in her ass!

“I–I think I’m gonna c–cum too, nghh~”

“At your service, Miss Lee,” he replies, pounding as fast as humanly possible into her. It’s coming. It’s coming.

Gushes of her own juice are discharged onto the damp sheet. Her body writhes with pure ecstasy. Her head falls onto the bed. The current just cuts through her so easily as she breaks the silence in the same way Ryujin did. This feels too fucking good.

—

It’s fucking unforgettable.

You keep fucking Chaeryeong through her unyielding orgasm. Her ass clenches around you as she cums violently. Ryujin is now panting below you, face full of bliss—eyes barely open, tongue hanging out from her slutty mouth. Chaeryeong’s arms are barely holding herself up. She almost collapses onto her friend’s body, writhing with pleasure. What a fucking sight.

You chase your orgasm relentlessly, not giving up even if Chaeryeong and Ryujin already did. Even thrust, every breath, everything in your life was leading to this moment, and you’re not going to waste it.

The familiar feeling builds up within your loins. You keep chasing it. You keep running for it. You’re going to cum inside of Lee Chaeryeong’s ass, and you’re not letting anyone stop it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu–ah!”

To say that it’s one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had wouldn’t be a hyperbole (up there, rivalling the one that you just had by their mouths mere minutes ago). You can literally see stars within your eyes as you unload globs of cum into Lee Chaeryeong. Your body shakes with unyielding bliss. You grunt—loud, stark. Your nails dig into the waist of Lee Chaeryeong. To cum inside her ass is just utterly divine. Your breathing stops. Everything stops. At this moment, it’s just you, Ryujin, and Chaeryeong in this debauchery that no one is going to rob away. This is the fucking high of your life.

You slowly come down from the precipice. You feel so dizzy from the heavenly sensation you just felt. Your cock twitches its last portion of cum into Chaeryeong’s ass, before you drag yourself out of her tightness. Her asshole gapes, missing your cock. Your cum flows out of her gaped asshole. Fuck, it’s beautiful.

“Fuck,” you utter—lost, dazed. You just did something you can’t comprehend, and it’s going to forever stick with you as one of the best moments of your life.

“Yeah, fuck,” Chaeryeong pants, before collapsing on top of Ryujin.

—

City Of Stars

“I know it’s a bit weird to ask you this.” you pause, unsure of your next words. Are they the right people to ask?

Fuck it, you just had the most mind-blowing sex with them. A question wouldn’t hurt.

“But I have an assignment due–” you pause again, looking at your watch. It's a little after two “–today.”

Ryujin laughs quietly. “What? Are you going to have us help with your assignment?”

You can only smile shyly, looking left and right at their ethereal, after-sex faces. “Kinda, yeah.”

Both women let out a laugh. “Sure, go ahead,” Chaeryeong says.

“As I’ve told you, I’m a photography student–”

“Wanna work for JYP after you graduate?” Ryujin asks.

You chuckle. “If it means I’ll see you two again, definitely.”

“That’s our boy,” Ryujin says, nudging your shoulder playfully.

“Well, as I’ve said, I have an assignment due in like–seven hours,” you continue. “I need a photo to hand in this morning. It can be pretty much anything.”

“Anything?” Chaeryeong asks, her hand gently caressing your shoulder.

“Yeah, anything.”

The three of you say nothing for a heartbeat, letting the silence hang in the air. They’re probably trying to help you.

“That seems like a straightforward assignment for me,” Ryujin says. Her hand roams down your body once more, making you shiver.

“Yeah,” Chaeryeong adds, giggling at your response. “Couldn’t have been so hard.”

She gives your cock a slight touch with the back of her hand, and your breath hitches a little.

“My suggestion–” Ryujin leans in to pepper your neck with kisses, sending pleasure through your body “–just pick something that screams you.”

“Ryujin, ngh~”

“You know, I wanna be me, me, me,” she continues between her heavenly kisses.

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be somebody,” Chaeryeong adds, her hands starting to jerk you off now. “Choose something that’s only you could’ve done.”

“Hhngn~”

The muscles start to tense up again.

“Yeah, because nobody else can do that,” Ryujin adds, still planting small pecks over your now-willing body. Her hands are everywhere.

“Good night, baby,” Chaeryeong coos.

And your vision turns white.

—

[takes1]

final part asahi x feral reader w/ a size k!nk

skip the intro if you want again, (i marked the beginning of actual smut for ease of navigating) couldn't resist adding some kuroo stuff bc i love writing him even if its not sexual/thirst. this has turned a bit more into porn with plot forgive me i'm simple

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

info. nsfw / soft+rough kissy missionary sex / mentions of personal restraint / multiple orgasms / mentions of masturbation / gentle giant!asahi / asahi keeping your mouth shut / mutual size kink / sweet asahi / dacryphilia if you squint / sex toys (vibrator) / kuroo's sister!reader / kuroo cockblocking / kuroo being protective / 3.6k words / thanks for reading this asahi series!! it's been a delight!

haikyuu collection. more hq here! part one here. part two here. part three here.

more links. my ao3. masterlist. requests open!

You chose some giant clothes to cover the fact that you weren't wearing anything underneath.

Then, with your security chair out of the way, you quietly slipped into the hall.

The familiar sound of Helldivers 2 on the entertainment speakers assaulted your ears. Of course, he got to invite friends over for the weekend.

You padded downstairs, the ache between your legs nearly unmanageable. You clenched your fists at the sight of his lazy ass as you walked behind the couch to get to the front door.

It was funny how quickly he zapped all desire from your body. You did not enjoy sobering up so quickly.

"I thought you said you were staying home!" Tetsurou called as soon as you grabbed the leash off of the rack.

You nearly pulled a muscle rolling your eyes so far back. You shook the thing violently from the doorway so he'd get it through his thick skull that you were literally doing what he texted you to do.

A couple voices muttered something, but your brother spoke volumes above it--

"Wait two seconds, shit-head!"

You clipped the hook into your dog's collar. To Hell with whatever he wanted. You unlocked the door and slipped on a pair of giant, black crocs.

That garbage pile gave you enough grief about your no-plans-plan in the past 12 hours to deserve being stranded on a barrel in the middle of the ocean. He could handle playing games with his friends while you went to walk the dog.

"C'mon, baby," You cooed and closed the door behind you.

It was, thankfully, nice and cold outside. You were glad you opted for some warm clothes.

"Where are my shoes?!" He yelled through the crack in the door. Almost to the end of the driveway, you didn't figure he had the gumption to follow you without them.

You pushed your hood up and pulled the strings.

A stop at the other side of the gate, and you waited for Maru to finish pissing in order to continue the walk. The big, empty street looked a little creepy in the dark.

flip!-flip!-flip!-flip!-flip!

You were glad to not be alone, but still threw your head back when he rounded the corner. His hands were shoved into his basketball shorts and he was shivering.

You both looked down to each other's feet at the same time. He had to put on your flip-flops, so his heels were hanging out the back and his grippers were on the pavement.

A silent exchange went down, one shoe at a time.

Now walking again, you returned to your baseline agitation.

"I don't need a bodyguard to walk the dog."

"Try being a little less stupid, and I'll trust you to not run off with the first guy you see."

You stopped dead in your tracks. "You think this is me sneaking out?"

He didn't respond quickly enough.

You kept walking, glad he was so cold that his teeth were chattering, "You're an idiot--."

He pushed you, unable or unwilling to argue.

"Why would I sneak out with the dog?" You muttered.

Another stop for Maru. It was silent, again, and you were wishing he would just go back by himself already.

"What's that smell?" He sounded ridiculously close to your head.

You looked up and realized that was because he was sniffing your hood. A sudden insecurity of smelling like sex flashed through you.

Pushing hard on his chest, you declared, "Fuck off."

It didn't send him flying the way you wanted it to. It only pissed him off, especially because he knew that smell from somewhere. He just couldn't recall exactly how right now.

You expected him to push or slap you back, so you tensed, but no such move was made.

"One day you'll thank me," He muttered with a grumpy chuckle.

A glance didn't do you any good. It was too dark to see his face.

"For what?" You rolled your eyes again.

It was quiet for so long that you were certain he had just been joking. As if he did anything to help you out, anyway. All he did was piss you off and get in your way.

"For making sure you don't get hurt."

Frustration on the tip of your tongue, you began to retort, "I--," but fell short of the will to say anything back for a minute.

Your glancing around in the dark didn't help you form any thoughts.

Maybe Asahi being so kind was just luck. Not the wise intuition you claimed to be guided by. There were already many times tonight that could've made a turn for the worse, and you hadn't realized until after the fact.

That didn't change how you felt, though, other than some newfound patience for Tetsurou's difficult, demanding nature.

Maru didn't want to go much further than the fifth lamp post, so your small party turned around before you could cross the street.

It was quiet on the way back. Just the jingle of your dog's collar and the flip-flip of these shoes you hated.

You rounded the corner and closed the gate behind you, Tetsurou opting to walk ahead since it was evident to him that there was no danger anymore.

It was just getting to be a comfortable silence when he had to speak up one last time.

"Has this tree always been sideways?"

You genuinely thought it was a joke, so you didn't spare a look when you crossed behind him to get inside. He caught you shoulder the way you hated so much and you swiped your hand to hit him, but saw what he was talking about and froze.

The both of you took a moment, dumbfounded, to stare at your lawn tree. It looked nearly snapped, like a hurricane had come through, but it hadn't rained in weeks. Nothing else was wrecked. Just the tree.

You felt guilty about it for just a second, but rationalized that it had nothing to do with you. You weren't sure what that was from.

"Maybe it was rotted from the inside?" You thought out loud.

He glanced around, suspicion at its full peak, and guided you inside swiftly by your upper back.

Tetsurou locked the door behind you and stayed stock-still, staring through the peephole for so long you didn't bother saying anything to him before heading back upstairs.

At your door, you heard him call to Kenma and Bokuto.

"Did one of you kick that tree in the yard?"

You collapsed against the door with a soft shut and an even softer sigh.

There was no time to deconstruct everything that was discussed, because your eyes followed a sound that nearly made you jump out of your skin.

The man took up so much of your bed. He was on his back, scarred knuckles brushed slowly up and down, a casual pump to quell his impatient cock.

His hand fit much better around it than yours. In his other hand, held closer to his face, he was clicking a small device- the familiar buzz of which inspired a complete takeover of tension between your legs.

Your embarrassment was no secret, and neither was his curiosity.

"I'd love to use this," He grinned and looked you up and down, undressing you with his eyes.

It took some effort to find the lock on the door and make your shaky way over to the bed. Like last time, he met you at the side.

However, you noticed that before you left, he didn't have the same edge in his brow, or the eagerness that defined the way he pulled you into him.

When you stumbled, he caught you and tilted your head for a restless kiss. He was shoving his hands under the waistband of your pants and humming a sort of approval against your cool lips. It sent your stomach back into those fluttery waves of excitement all over again.

"You should take your clothes off," He muttered, fully immersed in his desire since he never had to sober off of it.

"Yeah- I should," You breathed against his rough, needy lips.

You were slipping back in quickly, though, when he took your lips in a chaste, passionate kiss all over again. His hands were slipping over your skin, discarding your hoodie before you could do it yourself.

His whole body was warm, it felt like he was burning through you when you stepped out of your pants and fell against his front. Like a melting ice cube.

When he picked you up this time and set you down, it was less premeditated, more animalistic. You gave a giggling smile when he parted your legs for him.

Any shyness he had before was long-gone after 10 minutes of imagining what he was going to do to you- you squirmed at his spit-slick fingers slipping over your soaking cunt.

"Still so wet for me," He muttered, pleased, into your hair, while his massive body settled over you.

That intense, near-evolutionary drive kicked in again where you believed you could take whatever he wanted to give you all night. It may have been the smell of his sweat, it may have been his grumbly voice.

"Obviously," You smirked. He grinned at your confidence.

"We can take this slow," He rolled a condom on without wasting any extra time, "I don't wanna hurt you."

The statement floored you for a moment. He didn't notice as he lined himself up with your tightness.

It echoed in your brain during the most contradictory part possible.

He sank into you- it wasn't easy, but after hours of build-up -more if you counted the self-pleasure you couldn't resist before he arrived- it was beyond rewarding to watch all of the stress and worry on his brow melt away in one smooth, slow stroke.

"Fuck- fuck, fuck," You whined, his grasp on your hip reassuring, but still a pen in which you couldn't wriggle from or adjust against, "God-!"

Your thighs twitched on either side of him, forcibly relaxed- you tried to catch your breath, but felt like your lungs were too constricted to do so.

His thumb brushed your cheek.

Patience and gentleness in the midst of it all allowed you to breathe a little easier.

Only kindness, with a hint of pity, remained in his expression as you gasped and struggled to ease up around his cock.

He looked away for a moment, his hand leaving the side of your face, and you heard a saving grace.

Asahi did you the liberty of placing it against your clit. His face lit up at the sight and sound of your newfound gratification.

"I bet that feels better, huh?" He smiled against your parted lips, stealing a few of your moans with an excited kiss.

There was a hard-to-pin inquisitiveness about his attitude surrounding your vibrator. Like he was dying to use it on you, feel you writhe around his still cock.

"Ohh my god-! Ah-Mn!" You cried against his lips.

It was met with chuckle and the slow pump of his hips sinking deeper into you.

It dulled the discomfort of his size, leaving only a feeling of fullness between your legs, a satisfied craving, and the intense waves of pleasure from your clit.

His pretty face and perfect body over you- how could you not just announce your paradise to everyone in the city?

One hand laced in yours, and you took control of your vibrator to swirl it the way you preferred while he picked up his leisurely pace.

He barely caught your high-pitched tone at the combination with an alarmed kiss.

Stalling, he warned, "You gotta be quiet," and leaned to press further kisses against your neck.

He quickly learned that you weren't going to stay that way for him, even if his balls were allegedly on the line.

The feeling of him going deeper, your thighs bouncing from his weight that shifted your entire body, and the building waves over your clit.

"Asahi," Came out in a needy moan.

"Shhh," He cooed, gripping the bottom half of your face to get your focus on him.

The beat of his thighs against the back of yours stole your attention instead- you squeezed against his palm with furrowed brows.

Another noisy cry at his size splitting through you, and he instinctively covered your mouth to shut you up.

He thrust hard into you and stayed there, earning a pitiful whimper, and leaned in close to catch your avoidant eyes.

A mutter against your heated skin, "Do I need to keep you quiet?"

His cock was stretching you beyond your limits- that steely look in his pretty brown eyes was so layered.

You clenched around him, butterflies attacking you now, of all times, at his stern tone, but genuine concern.

A gorgeous smile spread across his features when you nodded, helpless, but honest.

He felt too good- he filled you up better than you had imagined. You were stunned to feel that you were already close. There was just no possible way.

This wasn't how you wanted it to go.

It was too soon- you didn't want it to be over so quickly. But now, of course, you realized you didn't have the physical capacity to take him all night.

You tried moving the overwhelming buzz away from your needy clit, but met the resistance of his hand instead.

He pressed just enough to guide you right to an edge you couldn't pull back from. You whimpered against his palm.

You couldn't tell him you were about to cum. You couldn't move away, or speak, nor did you possess the will to push against him. All you did was claw, weak, across his back.

The look in his eyes responded to your subtle panic-pleasure without a word. A gentle fondness that he shouldn't have been capable of while he gave you his rougher strokes.

He removed his hand from your mouth just to swallow your sounds with a starved kiss, an avid grumble at the back of his throat when you took his tongue so well.

"Mm-!" You squeaked, nails digging deep red trenches into his shoulder.

It was an ultimate submission you never had the insurance to safely experience before.

You got the chance for a gasp before getting cut off -half a second before you could alert the entire house- by his huge palm again.

Asahi groaned as you tightened around him. He quickly shut himself up by flexing away the pleasure and leaning down to pant, warm breath spilling against your ear.

"Shh- I got you," His kindhearted whisper strung you along, crushing you underneath his weight, while he repeated that sweet promise, "I got you, baby."

All your worry of it being too soon dissipated as your orgasm wracked through your entire body and filled you with pure bliss. He fucked you hard and steady through it and didn't even grant you the dignity of looking away from him.

Your chest was tight at the end of it, eyes stinging, and you would've sobbed if he wasn't still keeping you quiet.

He watched your journey the whole time through your eyes, wholly captivated by your big, glossy fixation on him. When you blinked away the burn, he took no time to kiss them away.

Your body naturally relaxed, a twitchy and overstimulating process.

He slowed for you after he sucked the rest of your complicated tears up.

He was so heavy, so adamant on keeping your noise down that you couldn't tell him to stop. You weren't sure that you would try, even if he wasn't hindering your communication. The fact that you trusted him so much right now wasn't necessarily wise, but it felt right.

His growing intensity didn't hurt, but it didn't start to feel good until a raspy voice told you:

"Feels so good," He swallowed the spit gathered in his mouth and seethed, a light chuckle breezing past his lips, "You got no fuckin' clue."

That was just kind of sinful confession that gave you nervous chills even though he was already fucking you senseless.

He studied how your eyes clouded over at his words. A restrained, toothy smile nudged your jaw in a sugary kiss.

"I'm not gonna be able to get enough of you," He finally took his hand off of your lips and you were able to gasp at the impact of his words.

When he readjusted, he swept your legs up to his shoulders and dipped back down.

"A-Ah!" You barely choked out before he moved his hand back to its diligent place over your loud mouth.

He was so deep- you felt like he'd split right through you. Yet, you welcomed the possibility with the blessing of another steady-growing climax.

Yet, only one of you was so careless. He was so tender, so considerate because he could feel it, too. How fragile you really were in this position in regards to his size.

"God," He sighed at your loving stare.

"Gonna- ah, make me cum, lookin' at me like that," He groaned, a bit strained.

He finally dipped his head with closed eyes at the sweet, slick heat he just wanted to bury himself in. He couldn't get too carried away, now that it was starting to get difficult.

Your shitty stamina stroked his ego so much that he forgot he wouldn't be too far behind for a while. He got a bit ahead of himself and was paying for it with the climbing pressure in his stomach.

Your pussy was reason enough to fuck you harder, but that face was what really tested him.

His hand twitched at the compelling desire to hear you scream for him, but again, had to keep his sanity for the two of you. Next time he would make sure that brother of yours wouldn't be in the way.

He tried to keep an edge going, but found it laughably difficult to settle down.

If it wasn't your Fuck-me-harder eyes building up the needing to cum, it was your cute tits squished against your soft, scratched-up thighs, right under his chest.

It was impossible to keep himself from riding that high in the end.

As if to spite him, to completely spend all of his restraint, your watery eyes rolled back again. Your muffled whines filled his ears as you tightened once more around him, weaker this time but still more than enough to send him over the edge.

"G-od,fu-ck," He groaned, hitting just the right spot to fuck out both of your orgasms.

You felt him swell inside of you, his grip on your hand crushed yours back to the point that you couldn't claw him, his hips stuttered to a slow stop, deep inside of you.

A sense of satisfaction beyond the physical softened your face, your resistance between his fingers, and all your aching muscles. You weren't quite sure what it was, but didn't feel rushed to figure it out.

He was trembling when he released the lower half of your face, a beautiful sweaty and out of breath mess on top of you.

Once again, you gasped at the opportunity to breathe better.

He tensed up immediately and you flinched at the twitch of his cock inside of you.

"Shit- was I choking you?" He managed to stay worried right after he came.

You grinned, carefree on the backend of your own, and shook your head, "Mm-mm."

The look of unmatched relief that washed over him was supremely attractive.

He pulled himself out, slowly, and made a face at how much he came before turning to discard the tied-up thing into the trash with a solid toss.

You welcomed his cuddly shuffle up to your side by burrowing into his slippery chest, and sighed at last, "Cute butt."

That, of all things, made him uncomfortable. He cringed when you spared a glance up to his face from his chin. You rolled your eyes at his overthinking.

"You must be an athlete, or something--," You rubbed your face harder into his chest and felt his laugh resonate throughout your body.

It all felt natural. The joking, the cuddling, the winding down. You both forgot that you weren't together, let alone that you had only known each other for less than a week.

It was already warm with him next to you, but you were happy to be under the soft throw he found and pulled over.

"I can't believe you came twice," His soft laugh invited an embarrassed, but sharp look from you.

He clarified, "It's really hot, don't get me wrong--,"

"I'm not usually so easy," You half-joked.

A big, handsome guy that knew how to use his dick, went down on you, listened to you, and didn't shy away from a vibrator? It'd be a challenge to find a girl who wouldn't cum that quick.

You blushed under the cover of darkness at his gentle, comforting hold on your breast and reassuring kiss to the side of your neck.

The ache in your belly was evident when you were flipped over to be little spoon. It burned pretty bad and you couldn't exactly hide it.

"Did I hurt you--?"

"No," You muttered, clearing your throat, "No, I wouldn't say that."

He placed a big hand on your tummy, feather-light, and you looked over your shoulder to meet his perceptive gaze.

You sure as hell couldn't lie to this guy. He saw right through you.

You pouted and gripped your pillow. Of course you couldn't handle his dick the way you wanted to, the way you bragged about or even genuinely thought you could.

"You were so good," You admitted, a little sad in tone.

A warm kiss to the back of your head. He took the weight of his arm off of your sore body, sighing into your hair.

"You were, too."

He decided to drop the subject, since you both had strong opinions that seemed to clash.

You smiled.

You talked about a range of topics for the rest of the night. General information, first, then personal interests that turned into a long conversation about volleyball, then family history, then academics, then personality, goals, and attraction.

Soon it was 4 in the morning. You were eating popsicles from your freezer and discussing the adventure he had to get up to your window.

You both watched, trying your best to stay quiet, a minutes-long video one of his friends sent in the Karasuno volleyball group chat of him falling out of the tree outside.

A hand flew up to your mouth to silence your intense giggle-fit. You had no idea how you were going to keep something like this a secret from Tetsurou.

Before too long, the pain in your tummy was just an ache and the stranger in your bed turned into a lover overnight.

taglist:

ty for all the replies and reblogs and likes!! it means so much. it's really nice seeing all the other asahi appreciators out here!!

@valiantqueengarden @rinheartshyunlix @alpha-mommy69 @yuyunhoo @insertamazingnamehere

@kreishin

@ruu-https @kasai-https

@40unung @deluluforcarlos55 @lili-harg @beyond-your-stars @noyaskneepad

@rinheartshyunlix @vintagevict0ria @am-3-thyst

<3 u are literally asahi mvp @screamin-abt-haikyuu

masterlist.

requests open!

[admiral-mason]

Automaton Adventures: Helldivers 2 Automaton!Reader x SAGAU

Shenanigans will ensue. Remember this post? Where if [Name] was an automaton trooper instead of a human?

Yeah here's part 2: Mondstadt.

Oh and you get a friend now:

That thing you see above is a devastator with rocket pods which I mentioned in the first post. I didn't name him so instead he's called [Devastator!Friend Name].

Now onto the post!

Reader is gender neutral (but highly implied to be male in their mannerisms)

[Devastator!Friend Name] is gender neutral (but highly implied to be male in their mannerisms)

Warning: Not totally based on Helldivers 2's lore: some aspects of Automatons may be changed, modified, or even made up here; bleeding (though not human); mentions of violence; Sandrone only shows up in the second half of the story lmfao; my interpretation of Sandrone; definitely ooc/out of character in some parts

(Banner below is by me; if anyone wants to use it in any way, shape or form, just go ahead)

For the week you planned to stay in Snezhnaya since you never got to see it while you played Genshin Impact as a game, you mingled with local villagers and civilians (they marveled at your ability to walk around in the frigid temperatures just fine without any clothing), learned about traditions (including how they don't take betrayal lightly god damn), took part in various local events such as a polar plunge (you beat the previous record holder for diving and staying under near-freezing waters for around 4 hours straight; you came out because you were bored), and conversed with the Tsaritsa when you and her were alone in the Zapolyarny Palace.

And also Sandrone hogged you for quite a while during that week. From what you could chart, you spent around 64 hours alone with Sandrone during your week in the snowy nation.

She wanted to examine you a bit closer, particularly what goes on in your head, considering that you were an edgy a brutalist variant of Fontaine's humanoid Meka. This made you iffy at first, but she slowly relented after some persistence on her end.

This did not stop you from internally panicking as you guided Sandrone to remove your face covering. She marveled at the part that processed and handled orders for your robotic body to utilize: your processing nexus.

"THAT TINY CUBE CONTROLS EVERYTHING I DO: COGNITIVE FUNCTION, RECEIVING ORDERS, PLAYING GAMES... IT DOES IT ALL. IT IS THE CONTROL CENTER AND BRAIN FOR ALL AUTOMATONS."

"Pardon, Your Grace-"

You put your hand on her shoulder to interrupt her.

"...I WOULD HONESTLY PREFER IF YOU CALLED ME [Name] INSTEAD, SANDRONE. MY COMRADES CALL ME THAT- THEREFORE YOU SHOULD TOO."

Sandrone got caught off-guard for a moment at that statement as you removed your shoulder, and she looked to the side with a small smile before looking back at you.

"Alright then, [Name.]"

That supposed simple examination of your processing nexus became an hour-long chat session with some warm tea for Sandrone. Then it led to her puppeteering her marionettes again, which you believed would last another hour until one of the other Harbingers, Columbina, knocked on the door to Sandrone's workshop, slipped right past her, and sat on your robotic lap.

"Sandy, you've been hogging Their Grace for quite a while... shouldn't you let others get a chance to bask in their presence too?" The Damselette said sing-songingly as you just stared at her and shrugged.

That being said, you never intended to stay in Snezhnaya forever- you only spent three days visiting six nations, leading to barebone records in your memory banks. Sandrone got a bit pouty when you broke the news to her, but she understood and mentioned how she'd eagerly await a visit once you had the time to do so.

Right now, though, you marched on your way to Mondstadt. As you did so, you passed through mellow grasslands and greeted some local creatures such as elemental slimes and hilichurls.

Adjusting to this life wasn't hard; although you were a war machine at heart, your augmented nexus allowed you to process far more than just "RAHH DESTROY SUPER EARTH" and the automaton marching cadence (it sounds nice, but you think that you're more than just a loudspeaker).

You didn't take long to spot the City of Freedom in your vision. Mondstadt sat in the middle of Cider Lake like a pearl in the middle of an oyster.

"SUCH A PEACEFUL CITY. UNTOUCHED BY INDUSTRY AND ITS INSATIABLE HUNGER FOR RESOURCES," you said to yourself.

And then... it happened.

One of your peripheral sensors picked up something sudden in the sky. Staring up at the sky, you notice the object- wait a minute OH FUCK IT'S A GOLDEN SHOOTING STAR AND IT'S FLYING STRAIGHT TOWARDS YOU

Wasting no more than another second to stare at the object, you turned your body around and bolted backward as far as possible. Although you did make some good distance, the object crashed into the ground, and the shockwave it created sent you falling to the floor.

Thankfully, you're a steel machine, so you're fine. Maybe some paint got scratched, but that's no big deal. Picking yourself back up, you strided to the object and waited for the dust to settle.

What you saw, however, caused your processing nexus to triple its workload to take in what your mechanical eyes saw.

It's an automaton rocket devastator, fully intact despite the crater it created while crash-landing.

[Devastator!Friend Name] kept searching for your presence despite their seemingly fruitless efforts.

You somehow disappeared in the area you patrolled with your squad without any trace or reason; your squadmates and commissar noticed that you suddenly went offline on the neural network.

If there's anything they did know, however, you disappeared suddenly when you went off to take a break and play that game you played. "Genshin Impact" was its name.

No one really minded that you played a game owned by Super Earth. Apparently, some special file encryption designed by the original creators, Hoyoverse, prevented Super Earth game designers from modifying it to include "Democratic" propaganda points. This left it one of the few untainted media pieces made by humans before the era of Super Earth.

The more commanding automatons didn't care either, so long as you only played the game when you weren't engaged in combat duties.

[Devastator!Friend Name] frequently watched you play, beginning two weeks ago when they decided that they wanted to do more than just jog around during breaks. Instead of just directly connecting to what you saw, you would project your screen in front of you like a holographic projector.

The gameplay helped break up the monotony of patrol duty- and the world of Genshin Impact looked so colorful! Seven beautiful nations with a focus on how mystical beings interact with the more mortal civilizations among them. Teyvat presented itself as a pleasing, vibrant world to live in compared to the dull, barren world of Cyberstan.

And now you went missing while playing the game, leading [Devastator!Friend Name] to believe that the game took you away.

"DAMN IT, YOU MUST BE SOMEWHERE, [NAME]..." they said, continuing their efforts which became more and more aimless by the minute. Eventually, they just sat down, sulking at your loss...

...Then their screen began glitching out, with symbols of Genshin Impact's seven elements flashing in their vision. A final message graced their screen before they blacked out:

"Do not worry, friend. A friend of Their Grace deserves to enjoy their world alongside them."

Upon getting close to [Devastator!Friend Name], their systems fully rebooted, and their red eyes reactivated as he noticed your presence right before him.

"THERE YOU ARE, [Name]!" The rocket devastator said before pulling you into their grasp and squeezing you as much as a machine of that stature possibly could.

You were confused but reciprocated their hug. After leaving their grasp, you asked: "HOW DID YOU GET HERE?"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, MY SYSTEMS JUST DECIDED TO CRASH OUT. I SAW GENSHIN IMPACT'S ERRORS AND THEN SOME MESSAGE SAYING 'A FRIEND OF THEIR GRACE DECIDES TO ENJOY THEIR WORLD ALONGSIDE THEM' OR SOMETHING."

"...AH. I GUESS TEYVAT DECIDED TO BRING YOU HERE," you deduced from their explanation.

"WHAT?"

"SO [Devastator!Friend Name] APPARENTLY, TEVYAT AND ITS INHABITANTS WORSHIP ME LIKE THEIR GRAND CREATOR OR GOD OR SOMETHING."

This confused your friend. "WHY THOUGH?" He asked, still appearing to process the situation with your statement.

"I DUNNO, PROBABLY BECAUSE I CREATED AN ACCOUNT TO PLAY THE GAME OR SOMETHING."

"...I GUESS IT KINDA MAKES SENSE." He said before getting up from the ground. "WHAT NOW?"

"I'M HEADING SOMEWHERE. WANNA TAG ALONG?" You said, and he nodded his torso (his head is jammed by his torso bulk by design) before following you to Mondstadt.

Upon arriving at the city gates, your friend's intimidating build caused Swan and Lawrence's faces to droop a little.

"Uh, Your Grace, who is that?" Swan asked, his voice faltering a little at the end. "THEY'RE MY FRIEND. THEIR NAME IS [Devastator!Friend Name]," you responded. "THEY KINDA JUST CRASH-LANDED NEAR HERE, PROBABLY DUE TO TEYVAT BRINGING THEM HERE OR SOMETHING."

"Oh, so that's the loud noise I heard!" Lawrence exclaimed before looking at your friend. "Alright, since you're friends with the Creator, head on in with him. Just don't cause trouble, okay?"

Your friend nodded his torso again, and the two guards let you two pass. Thank god the gates were still tall enough to allow [Devastator!Friend Name] to fit.

Walking in the city streets, your friend took in all the new sights he processed through his visuals.

"THIS IS NEW, [Name]. I NEVER EXPECTED TO BE IN AN AREA WITH SUCH AN AMIABLE AURA IN MY EXISTENCE!"

As you two walked around, [Devastator!Friend Name] waved to all the locals, with them awkwardly waving hello in return. You decided to give some clarification.

"HELLO AGAIN, LOCALS OF MONDSTADT. THIS IS MY AUTOMATON FRIEND, [Devastator!Friend Name]. THEY CRASH-LANDED HERE, WHICH I PRESUME THAT TEYVAT DID SO." The locals' faces were surprised for a moment with murmurs following that Their Grace had friends of their kind as well.

"I CAN SAFELY SAY, HOWEVER, THAT HE MEANS NO HARM TO ANYONE. HE'S NEW, JUST LIKE ME WHEN I WAS BROUGHT HERE TEN DAYS AGO. DON'T BE SCARED BY HIS TOWERING FORM- HE'S MORE FRIENDLY THAN YOU MAY EXPECT FROM AN AUTOMATON OF HIS STATURE."

Your words seemed to have calmed the locals, even if only a little. After everyone went back to their business, you decided that you would introduce [Devastator!Friend Name] to the first vision wielder you saw.

"Woooooow! You're so much taller than Klee is!"

Oh shit.

While turning a corner, you and [Devastator!Friend Name] ran into Klee gently skipping around Mondstadt.

"HELLO THERE, YOUNG CHILD. WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" your friend asked, kneeling down to the best of his ability and staring at the explosive-obsessed child.

"Hi, I'm Klee! And I like to blow things up!" Ahhhhhhhh fuck you just realized one thing you never considered when your friend arrived.

He likes blowing shit up.

"...DID YOU SAY 'BLOW THINGS UP?'" [Devastator!Friend Name] asked, and Klee nodded vehemently.

"I especially love fish blasting! The cooked fish that flies right out of Starfell Lake is sooooo worth it!"

"HAHA! IT SEEMS I HAVE FOUND A FELLOW EXPLOSIVES ENTHUSIAST! BY PERCHANCE WOULD YOU MIND DEMONSTRATING YOUR EXPLOSIVE CAPABILITIES FOR ME?"

You facepalmed as Klee jumped as she heard those words. "No one told me to actively blow things up!" But then her expression grew apprehensive and a little suspicious. "But Jean says I shouldn't trust people I don't know!"

"I'M A FRIEND OF [Name] OVER HERE." [Devastator!Friend Name] said as he gestured to you, and Klee's expression became one of relief and you decided 'fuck it.' "IF YOU TWO WANT TO GO BLOW SOMETHING UP, I'LL TAKE THE BLAME FOR LETTING YOU TWO DO SO. ONLY THIS TIME THOUGH BECAUSE [Devastator!Friend Name] IS MY FRIEND."

"Yay! Let's go let's go!" Klee said as she began running toward Starfell Lake with you two attempting to catch up.

By the time you two managed to get there (Klee was fucking fast), the shores were littered with a lot of seemingly cooked and burnt fish with Klee throwing bombs everywhere.

"...IS THIS WHAT 'FISH BLASTING' ACTUALLY IS, KLEE?" [Devastator!Friend Name] asked, a little confused by Klee bombing fish in a lake, of all things.

"Yes it is! Ohhhh do you have bombs too? How much fish can you blow up?" Klee asked and [Devastator!Friend Name] laughed.

"LET'S SEE!" One thing to note: your friend, unlike other rocket devastators, likes to launch rockets from all 12 of their rocket tubes at once to guarantee a kill against Helldivers. And also...

...They're a current experimenter for prototype-stage high-explosive rockets with a blast radius of around a fourth of a kilometer.

"HAHAHAHAHA!!! FIRING PAYLOAD!!!" [Devastator!Friend Name] yelled as they launched a full salvo of rockets at the lake. The explosions didn't just create splashes; it nuked whatever was in the vicinity at the time and utterly drenched all three of you in water.

When the noise finally subsided, the area was so messed up that your sensors couldn't pick up anything.

"...DID I GO TOO FAR?" [Devastator!Friend Name] asked, and they got their response when Klee stared at them while shaking with fervent joy.

"THOSE EXPLOSIONS WERE SO COOL!!! YOU HAVE TO LET KLEE KNOW WHAT YOU USED IN THOSE BOMBS!"

[Devastator!Friend Name] couldn't help but laugh at what he caused, and you ended up laughing too at the terror you three survived.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" A familiar voice yelled. The three of you turned to face the Acting Grand Master of Mondstadt.

Jean's expression exuded feelings of horror and anger, likely due to her witnessing your friend's folly.

Klee, however, still radiated energy from the fact that [Devastator!Friend Name] managed to out-explode her bombs. "MASTER JEAN KLEE JUST WITNESSED THE COOLEST EXPLOSIONS EVER!!!"

Current universal taglist (this will be on every work of mine): @catratnap

And @obliviousariies2007es and @wandiethewanderer said in the comments of the last post that they wanted a part 2 so yeah

[justalittlelilac]

Literally on a new hyper-fixation and, damnit, sometimes we can't choose so here's a lil' Simon Riley x fem!reader who's a gamer fic, because the voices wouldn't let me live 'till I wrote it. Just fluffy fluff.

Reader referred to as: She/her, his girl, his woman. Based on my own character, but took out the names. Word count: 713 She's totally not playing Helldivers 2.

Simon opened the door to his and his partner's Manchester flat to a dark living room. This was odd to him because his woman had stayed behind while he met up with the guys for a drink down at the pub. She preferred to stay in during their leaves, and he honestly couldn't blame her. Hell, he would have as well, if it wasn't for Soap dragging him out. 

Still, though, she hadn't been answering his texts, and THAT was unlike her. Preferring face-to-face communication, Simon rarely sent electronic messages. Still, when he did, he would almost always receive an immediate reply from her. He hadn't thought much about it while out, but concern filled his gut now that he was in the dark flat.

For a moment, dark thoughts filled his mind of her being taken or worse. The memory of finding his own family dead fell over him like a cold sheet of ice. At the exact moment, he heard her yell, and he barreled down the hall to the closed door of their spare room. His hand practically trembled as he threw the door open, and light filled his vision.

"Mother fucker!" Simon heard her yell as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. Once things came into focus, he let out a sigh of relief. There she was, sitting cross-legged in a computer chair with a headset on. She had already dressed for bed in one of his large black t's and underwear. Simon cocked his head, perplexed, watching as she leaned over her keyboard, fingers clacking and her mouse flicking from side to side. "Fuck, sorry guys, I need a revive." His presence wasn't even noticed by her; she was so focused. 

Simon approached her slowly, but it still didn't help. As soon as she caught him from the corner of her eye, she jumped and threw her headset to the keyboard, rising from her chair and going into fight mode. The sound of gunfire and "Walk" from Pantera blasted from the speakers, and Simon stifled a laugh. Once she realized it was him, she clutched her chest in relief and chuckled shakily. 

"Jesus, you scared me!" She grabbed her headset to speak. "Sorry guys, one sec," she said before putting them back down. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"What are you doing?" he asked in amusement. Her eyes flicked to the screen and then back to him, and she tucked her tousled hair behind her ears. 

"Just playing some video games," she explained. Simon could hear the voices of others on the headphones, and he tilted his head again.

"With who?" 

"Just some people I know online," she shrugged. Simon wasn't online savvy. He never really had time to delve into that sort of thing, and maybe he was too old for it now.

"What're playing?" Simon was genuinely curious. He knew his woman liked video games, but he hadn't ever seen her play nor knew what she preferred. She was an absolute nerd regarding stuff like that, and you wouldn't know unless she told you. He thought it was fucking adorable. 

"Just a shooter, nothing crazy," she shrugged again, and he again cocked an eyebrow in interest.

"Don't you do enough shooting as it is?" He asked, and she laughed. 

"It's not like that!" She chuckled as she went to sit back down. No, no, she was supposed to be relaxing, not leave war to come home and play at it. 

"Nope, think you need a break," he grunted before scooping her up against his chest and moving to carry her. She laughed out loud, only playfully struggling against him.

"No, my teammates! They need me! I can't abandon them!" She called out, arms comedically outstretched towards the computer.

"Sure they'll be fine," he replied simply.

"'Least let me mute my mic!" She demanded loudly.

"Nope," he replied with his own graveled laugh, still carrying her to the bedroom, predicting if he let her go back into that room, she'd just start playing again, knowing her. She relented and just laughed along with it. Fuck, he loved leave, used to not, but he loved his woman enough that coming home to a dark flat could mean finding laughter and not terror. He couldn't thank her enough for that.

[jeromekoehler]

2025-06 Loadout

Rolling (had to add in a Peak Design Roller Pro pun) into June with an update to my current setup (some have respective links to Amazon that help defray the hosting costs and get me more funding to purchase cool, new gear). If you all have any questions about the items below, please feel free to reach out as I am always glad to share my thoughts.

The changes plus the detailed list are below:

Added:

NAS – UNAS Pro

Tablet – Supernote Nomad

Luggage – Peak Design Roller Pro

Removed:

N/A

macOS Applications

Task Manager – Reminders

Text Editor – BBEdit

Terminal App – Ghostty

Automation App – Hazel

Online Backup Service – Backblaze

Backup Application – Carbon Copy Cloner

Calendar Support Application – ItsyCal

Time Support Application – Clocker

Recording/Streaming – Ecamm Live

iOS/iPadOS Applications

Podcast App – Castro

Camera App – Halide

Video Recording App – Kino

Object Scanning App – Scan Thing

Document Scanning App – Simple Scan + Notes.app

iOS/iPadOS/macOS Applications

Password Manager – Apple Passwords + Bitwarden

Package Tracking App – Parcel

Calendar App – Calendar.app

Recipe Manager – Mela

RSS Reader – Tapestry

Read Later Application – Goodlinks

Email Application – Mail.app

Note-Taking App – Tot, Apple Notes

Mastodon Application – Ivory

Social Media – Threads

Social Media – Bluesky

Mind-Mapping Software – Mind Node

Remote Control Application – Screens 5

AI – ChatGPT App

Hardware

Keyboard – HHKB Studio

Dock – OWC Thunderbolt Pro Dock

Laptop – 14″ MacBook Pro

iPad – iPad Mini

3D Printer – Creality K1C

3D Printer – Prusa Core One

Watch – Apple Watch Series 10 Black Aluminum 46mm with Cellular

Phone – iPhone 16 Pro Max

Inkjet Printer – Epson 4850

Charger – Anker MagGo 3-in-1 Charging Stand

Charger – Anker MagSafe Compatible MagGo UFO 3-in-1 Charger

Automation – Elgato Stream Deck Neo

Lighting – Elgato Key Light Neo

Game Capture – Elgato Game Capture Neo

Camera – Fujifilm X-M5

Trackball – Ploopy Adept

NAS – UNAS Pro

Tablet – Supernote Nomad – Took my notes to the modern era via an eInk tablet!

Audio Hardware

Microphone – Rode Podcaster White

Speaker – Beats Pill

Speaker – 3x HomePod mini

Microphone – Rode NT-USB Mini

Gaming

Emulator – Retroid Pocket Mini

Gaming with Friends – Helldivers 2 – Still one of the most fun games (when playing with friends).

Universal Controller – 8BitDo Ultimate Bluetooth Controller

Storage/Bags/Cases

Daily Carry Backpack – Alpaka Elements Backpack Pro X-Pac VX42

Travel Backpack – Peak Design Travel Backpack

Tech Pouch – Peak Design Tech Pouch

Outdoor Backpack – Peak Design 25L Outdoor

Luggage – Peak Design Roller Pro

Stationary

Pen – Tactile Turn Pens

Pen – Leuchtturm1917 Drehgriffel

Kitchen/Cooking

Indoor Grill – Ninja Foodi Indoor Grill

Pressure Cooker – Ninja Foodi Pressure Cooker

Convection Oven – Ninja Foodi Convection Oven

Coffee Maker – Fellow Aiden

Coffee Grinder – Baratza Fortè AP Coffee Grinder

MISC

Car Error Code Scan Tool – BlueDrive OBDII Scan Tool

Hosting Service – Hetzner

Universal Remote – Sofabaton Remote

Cell Service – US Mobile and T-Mobile

[gothic-twink]

Helldivers 2 General Brasch x fem reader headcanons.

he leaves you for a man.

[fishyvamp]

Tbh I only follow you for dbd stuff but I wouldn’t be upset in the slightest if you started posting other fandoms too! It’s your blog for a reason :)

Thanks Anon, honestly I would still be primarily writing for Dead By Daylight because I enjoy the characters and there is a lot to explore and play with. I'm just reaching a point where I'm feeling restricted creatively. Which is self imposed I admit, but the writing I've gotten done during this break hasn't been all that much different from what I've written except maybe the Krumpus fic, but one can argue it's got Fae themes with magical gaslighting and memory manipulation. And the Helldivers fic is bot fuckery.

I mainly just want to write monster fucker fics without having to forcefully jam a dead by daylight killer into it. It's also a mental break not having to worry about getting the characterizations right when it's my own creation vs fanfiction. Because no joke when I write these drabbles especially with a killer I haven't written for before I have 3 to 12 tabs open while writing.

Some OC stories I have a Giant vampire tiefling x reader fic I've written because I wanted to play around with how that OC would react and a Kraken x Pirate!reader fic that I've had fun writing up because pirates and tentacle smut is 100% my jam. (There is a reason my friends call me fishy, yes it's an actual nickname that I was bequeathed by my oldest friends and not just a username I thought was funny.)

I enjoy writing and exploring ideas, so I guess technically the better question would be; would you guys tolerate on occasion seeing OC x reader between DbD x reader with maybe the random fixation on a game popping up?

[girl-lostconnection]

Continuation to this post, that came down to me like a message from a god.

“Lieutenant, you have to let go”, the voice is muffled, all sounds are, like you are underwater. The blood pumping in your ears is so loud you aren’t sure if you can still hear properly.

You aren’t sure if the rapid ascend of extraction shuttle didn’t burst your eardrums.

“Lieutenant, look at me.”, the voice is closer and you can’t help but curl away, your whole body tensing, grip tightening.

Why are they speaking to you? Why- shouldn’t there be medic by now? Shouldn’t someone come out? What’s going on?

There is a stubborn nagging feeling in your chest — poking and prodding, fraying your nerves, sending twitch to your nervous hands.

Your wrists ache, tension coming through them to your fingers, every knuckle burning but the pain is dull.

You are just so cold. Why are you so cold?

It’s not supposed to be so cold on the ship, you just paid for an upgrade, just fixed the ventilation and heating, just —

Another Helldiver crouches in front of you, their eyes unusually soft — glimmering through the visor of their helmet. You don’t know them, they probably came through on the SOS beacon you deployed, just a little too late. The mission is done.

You are out.

But you are wet and cold, lighter armour that let’s you run faster, that lets you get to the exfil as soon as possible is now clinging to your body — wet and sticky in a way that makes your skin crawl.

God, do you hate sweating that comes with running like a mad fucking chick through the terrain that’s never on your side.

“Lieutenant”, the voice of commander — their rank shining like a fucking supernova — is practically gentle. Almost soft.

Unusually so. It grates down on your nerves. Helldivers aren’t soft. You aren’t made to be soft, it gets trained out of you. You can’t be if you want to survive.

“Lieutenant”, but they are soft and you want to scream at them, rage and despair coiling in your belly, your wrists ache, your fingers burn. “You need to unclench your fingers”.

Your mind is so blank, so painfully empty but you just grip harder, your knees joining in, boxing in your valuable cargo against your body, your vision blurring for some reason.

“…Why?”, is a broken quiet whisper, your voice hoarse in a way that makes commander carefully cover your hands with theirs.

Prying your fingers open.

“They are gone, lieutenant”, their voice is just as quiet as yours when they get your right hand uncurled.

Off the vest of your teammate.

The notion hits you like a dumbbell, your eyes sliding to them, your whole body instinctively tries to curl harder around the diver you managed to shove into Pelikan-1 before it got off the ground.

It’s impossible.

You got them inside, you got them out, you two got back, what do they mean?

You saved them, you brought them back, medic will just need to patch them up, why isn’t medic there, why is no one here?

You don’t realise you are shaking until commander physically pulls you off the ground, their gauntlets cold against the torn fabric of your armour.

You don’t notice. You aren’t sure you remember how to breathe.

There is a small persistent sound, that reverberates through your chest, that rises to your head and your mind is so blank and you are shaking.

Sound just gets louder — raw and wet, broken wail no human should be able to make, no human should be made to make.

You realise that it’s yours only when commander forces your head in their shoulder, muffling it effectively.

“You did your due, lieutenant. Democracy’s dignity is protected”, they murmur the script you both know too well.

Words echo through your skull as another wail rocks your body with a force enough to make your knees buckle.

Whats good is your due right now? What’s use of this protection if you couldn’t save the young diver that answered your SOS beacon and bought you time?

“You did good. We’ll be able to bury them. You did good, lieutenant, you didn’t leave them behind”, the voice above your head is thick with something you can’t place and hands around you just get tighter.

Uniform clings to your skin, your body still shaking, awful sticky feeling making your skin crawl.

You don’t realise why until you get back to your quarters, mirror making you lightheaded with panic, suddenly clicking that it’s not sweat.

It’s blood

Gaz looks over your ship with the same excitement young cadets usually have, his eyes shining when he turns to you.

“This sure is something. You keep your bird in prime condition, captain”

You hum, helmet in your head shining with metal detailing in fluorescent lights of your ship.

Prime is an understatement. You poured all resources and money you earned into this ship. You still do.

“I was just wondering…”, sergeant starts carefully with the wariness of someone who knows that it’s not up to him to wonder. Not when it comes to things so much higher his pay grade. But you nod, encouraging him to speak his mind and he continues. “You don’t have med bay around here. Seems like you could use one in your line of work.”

Gaz smiles, lips curling wider and god, he’s so young.

Young and brilliant, eyes so bright you can feel the phantom feel of the blood seeping through your uniform again.

“Had one. But command pulled the funding and pulled the stuff while we were deployed. Said that it’s not profitable use of resources”, your tone is carefully level, your helmet covering your whole head. Nothing to give you out. Nothing to report.

You are a picture of devour Helldiver.

But Kyle’s eyes still sharpen.

Like he can sense years-old rage and despair under your breast plate.

Like he can see the blood seeping though your uniform.

(It’s impossible, you washed it so much skin on your palms started to peel. You washed it so much you no longer smelled anything other than bleach when you wore it)

“Must’ve costed you a lot of good soldiers”, he muses carefully and something in your chest snaps painfully.

Something important. Something soft.

“Well, you know how it is, sergeant”, you say and there is rage in your chest and years-old blood in the threads of your armour (you will need to wash the bloody thing again until you can’t remember how sticky it was).

Kyle’s eyes are sharp and he’s brilliant and you never wanted to get someone off your fucking ship this quickly.

Your voice strings higher but you push through it, turning away, your words coming out more of a script than human speech.

“We do our due, sergeant. We protect democracy’s dignity”

You don’t add that the same can’t be said about your own.

[girl-lostconnection]

Little angst to sprinkle, but Helldiver!Reader who are tired.

God, you are so fucking tired. None of this matters, none of this makes any fucking sense at this point.

You climbed the ranks and you did your due and you paid in blood and flesh and chips of your own sanity. You gave and you gave and you gave.

You trained new cadets, explaining the terminals and heavy nests and fortresses. You have been everywhere command allows space jumps to.

Your ship a big menacing thing, a blade forever suspended in the vast cosmic nothing. Weightless and creaking whenever you have to engage orbital thrusters, chief engineer muttering something under their breath. You never ask what. Engineers can have their superstitions.

You can’t afford to have any.

You can’t afford much at all nowadays, prices biting harder than they ever did, missions deadlier.

You have less and less divers with each year — numbers of your branch diminishing quickly. Frankly, you don’t blame them.

Average age of Helldivers is 18 to 22 years old.

Average survival time out in the field — less than half a minute.

Even with all the propaganda and enlistment perks command simply cannot supply new meat to the frontlines. There is simply no more new meat.

Conditions get worse for rookies, their chances of survival dropping through the crust of the earth. At least when you were starting out you still had a med bay.

At least you managed to scramble some manuals for proper ammunition assembling.

You drag yourself onto the ship, steps heavy and tired — there are black spots in your vision, your head is swimming and you are pretty sure you no longer have anything in your stomach.

Bloody stims devour any available energy source to power your body through the life-threatening injuries.

No wonder you are still limping. Your mind doesn’t understand why the leg that got torn off is in place again.

You don’t really notice Price chatting up your chief administrator when you drag yourself in — bloody and tired, limbs so heavy it’s a miracle you are still standing.

But you can’t call it a day, there are three more missions. Then you can rest.

There are black spots swimming in your vision, you are lightheaded and nauseous, stomach aching — it clenches around nothing, trying to dissolve the food that isn’t there anymore.

You whip out the stim you didn’t dispose after the last mission, needle sliding in your thigh with practiced ease. Your body filling with energy, your vision brighter.

You can finally fucking think again.

There is a heavy silence you don’t notice immediately, too high on the endorphins stims bring. Pain free for the next two minutes or so.

“Captain?”, Price is hovering just behind your shoulder, your fingers twitching around the base of your secondary weapon — you are jumpy straight out of the mission. Automatons start looking like people after too long.

Down on Chort-Bay is hell likes of which you haven’t seen before.

You are not looking forward to jumping down there again. But duty calls, right? No one else would do that. No one is on the orbit right now but you.

“Captain”, you hum, eyes flickering to him for a moment. You have to wipe the visor of your helmet to properly see him — one of the diver’s got blown up on a landmine, his blood is still on your armour.

You don’t have time to wash it off. Not if you want to finish mission before you will need to be up for the next order.

“I noticed…the syringe.”, Price starts after prolonged silence, brows furrowing as he watches you. Eyes the softest blue you ever saw. The summer sky.

You remember the one you saw back at home. The time before helldiving now feels like a feeble attempt of your imagination to cushion the fall from the height of your exhaustion. The time before helldiving feels nowadays like a fairytale.

“Didn’t know you were sick”, he continues and you chuckle, typing in your coordinates. It’s cute that he worries about your health, though understandable. You are still alive and therefore a valuable asset to the command.

“Not sick. Just fucking tired out of my mind. We get a shit ton of stims with every resupply. Probably the only thing we get for free”, your laugh is a dry static-y thing, distorted from helmet, coming out of dynamics in your helmet feeling wrong and twisted.

But Price looks at you now like you have three heads and you try to explain. Perhaps SAS don’t get any of these. Though not like they need the thing, they got actual medics ready to stitch them up as needed.

They got off days and luxuries you cannot afford.

God, you might consider marrying on one of these days. Purely for tax benefits.

“Stims are used to patch us up on the go. Don’t have a whole lotta time to waste. We use them sometimes as energisers as well. A tired soldier is a sloppy soldier and a sloppy soldier is a dead one”, you say, brain fog finally lifting, god, this is good.

“Wouldn’t that constitute addiction with how often soldiers use it?”, John is a heavy stare and deep frown in the line of his mouth, his eyes the prettiest summer sky. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

You shrug, checking your gear before getting yourself in the pod and locking your ankles in place.

“Command told us they had scientists test drive the things and they aren’t addictive. Honestly I don’t know much, Captain. You might wanna ask someone with actual degree about the stuff”

You salute him for the road and then the pod slides you down, all ready to go.

Down there hell awaits. Down there torn off limb is the least that could happen.

Down there you could use any help you can get.

Price watches you getting launched down the orbit and turns away, tension coiling in his shoulders.

Price whisks away one of the stim vials, hiding the thing in the pocket and walking away. He will need to have someone check the bloody thing.

There is no way godsend ambrosia that cures torn off limbs and massive bleeding is not addictive.

John remembers the way your whole body buzzed with energy from the moment you pushed it in. Like there was no more pain, no more exhaustion, no more fear.

Like you were high.

And that’s for sure that sloppy soldier is a dead one. But so is the drugged out one. So is you, if his suspension is right.

[girl-lostconnection]

Wolf in Sheep’s clothing is more than a Warning

Shoutout to my buddy @jesterinc without whom this wouldn’t have happened. Let’s all cheer for him for listening to my feverish rants, contributing a great deal of his own insight and adding fuel to this fire

It wasn’t difficult to get the injection with a stim off your ship and in the lab. All Price had to do was pull rank and say that it’s highly classified.

Coupled with lieutenant Riley’s heavy presence and “stop asking fucking questions and do your job” glare it did the trick. 

So no, it wasn’t difficult to whisk away the miraculous thing that stitched you up in the matter of seconds and left you in a state John could only describe as “high on pain relief”.

Thank God, Laswell was more than inclined to keep it under the cover until they have any substantial evidence or sufficient proof that something was very fucking wrong in Helldiver branch. 

Took them a couple weeks to actually get the bloody lab reports and get through thick pages of terminology that made their blood run cold for more reasons than one.

Stims were highly addictive and devastating in consequences in long term usage.

They drained the resources of the body, they wore out heart’s ability to pump blood, they ate Helldivers alive, they made them dependent on the next dosage and were frequently used as regular energy supplements.

It was not right or safe to keep this information hidden so Price had Kate to call in every favour and get the report and their own letters as high up the chain of command as it was possible.

The more people would find out about it the better.

It was something that had to be loud and flashy, something that would be impossible to ignore.

And slowly, the wheels came in motion.

They were picking up speed with every higher up official that saw the reports and detailed brief sent over from base.

Summary which could have been only described as "we are killing our own soldiers".

And upon investigation that got rolled out another nerve-wracking fact came to life - there were no regulation for how exactly stims were made.

There were no protocols of distribution.

Which meant that every day Helldivers all across the board would get different varieties of the same drug.

With different side effects and different components.

Some made out of terminid remains, some engeneered with the information they brought off Chort Bay, some from picked up samples of Illuminati sector.

Commandment pushed for the whole branch of Helldiver's to be put under review until further notice.

No missions, no dives, no stims.

Taskforce 141 volunteered to be the ones to come to your ship with these news. So you wouldn’t hear it from someone else. So you wouldn’t piece together the timing of it all.

Partially because Laswell let them know that if they won't — someone else will.

And partially because no matter what was going on with your branch — they knew you.

You were a good soldier.

A decorated military officer with years of experience and dedication likes of which Price hasn't seen before.

You were good, you were smart and what mattered the most — you were a friend.

You were their first link with the Helldivers and you were kind enough to let them onto your ship and into your armoury and never have asked a single question about their arrival.

Perhaps, because you never provided a lot of answers yourself — always in the rush, always one leg already in the hellpod, always ready to dive down.

So, naturally, when Kate told them to be part of the internal investigation. Investigation specifically into your involvement, they didn’t spend too much time mulling it over.

Of course, they will take the job.

Better them than some pencil-pusher that wouldn’t know the price and value of diligent work you conducted.

Therefore, without much hassle they packed up and came back to your ship.

They will need to find out whether or not you (divers) were aware about consequences stims brought onto your ships.

Whether or not you participated in distribution and if there was anything else command needed to know about.

Anything at all.

Especially, if there were any Helldivers that were no longer able to continue their service due to the effects of stims.

Taskforce were carefully notified that if you as a current captain of notorious SES “Whisper of Steel” were no longer able to continue in your current role — a thorough report was expected.

So they came back — tight-lipped and tense, bags of equipment in hands, explanations on the tips of their tongues.

Just to find you as calm as a soldier that was used to constant action can be out of said action.

You were sitting on the steps to the hellpods when they were dropped off — old journal in your hand, it's cover so beaten up it was a miracle the damn thing wasn't falling apart.

It was like nothing changed at all, your ship buzzing under their feet, stuff quietly chatting to each other, repairs being made in engineering wing.

Nothing out of ordinary.

You were still covered from head to toe — always ready to jump back into action at moment's notice.

The only part of you not covered were your hands — wide steady palms, deft fingers with a few crooked digits, skin wrapped in scars — jagged shrapnel cuts, splashes of old burns, pearly lines of skin tearing.

You didn’t pay much attention to occasional staring — too engrossed in your work, cataloguing newest supply arrivals, counting up how much more you’d need to order — pen spinning in your fingers.

Simon's eyes linger on ugly markings on some of your fingers — telltale signs of them being torn off and then stitched back on in time, before it was too late. That’s entirely too much pain for a single person, but who is he to judge.

Your nails are short and clean, cuticles darker from gun grease that never washes off fully.

But no signs of neurotic biting or picking of skin, no self-inflicted scratches, nothing to account for your supposed instability.

Or withdrawal symptoms.

Simon slots the knowledge for later, turning away from you.

It's rare to see even a sliver of your skin. Feels almost alien to see that much now.

A little reminder that you are a human just like them.

Simon sits himself down on opposing stairs, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

It's funny, he never thought that that's the way some (most) people feel about him.

So used to seeing armour and fabric covering every inch of skin at all times — the reminder of warm human flesh underneath feels almost uncomfortable.

How much does it take for a person to become something else? How long can you be a soldier before you turn into an archetype? A story.

Something intangible and ephemeral, ghost wearing human's body, memory of memory wrapped in flesh and greyish lines of nerves.

Not a person but a concept.

Part of the agenda, part of the myths, part of the story.

Simon watches you write crouched on the steps of the stairs, so human in the moment he feels like he doesn't know you at all.

Who are you under all that gear? Who are you with it?

His attention slides off you because Kyle as carefully as he can herds you away, pacing in front of you back and forth until you finish and get off the stairs with quiet groan.

His hand gets draped around your midriff which, they still can't get used to, is very much welcomed.

Because you grumble something, reluctantly melting into the embrace and allow him to lead you away, finally giving Simon space to work.

It’s not something he likes doing to you, especially considering how relaxed you seem — you don’t look nervous, you don’t look guilty or like you are trying to hide something.

But as much as Simon likes you and would like to believe what he sees, experience tells him that sometimes people are not who they seem to be.

So, the faster they check you out, the sooner you will be away from the scrutiny and spotlight of the command.

That’s what matters the most.

And with you finally leaving your perch on the stairs right next to control panel means he gestures to Soap to come in and start shifting through files.

They finally get to slip through the cracks and dig up whatever you could have buried.

No matter how deep it is.

Price doesn’t come to meet up with Simon until the evening, too focused on your state and the way you stall under Kyle’s touch before relaxing when you realise it’s just him.

Like you need conscious effort to remind yourself that he is safe.

That they are safe.

Building up trust takes time and effort and John would like nothing more than to stay in this slow warm state with you gradually letting them in.

But he has never compromised in the matters of health and livelihood of his man. He’s not about to make you an exception out of his rule.

But Simon doesn’t find anything.

Neither does Soap.

There is nothing — no personal mementos, no diaries, no letters or email.

There is nothing, it’s like you-person has never existed.

Like there is nothing to you other than Helldiver-you. Other than soldier-you.

Which should be a relief but the gnawing feeling doesn’t let John to just let it go and report you as another Helldiver perfectly loyal to their duty.

Now it was not a matter of work ethics even, it was a matter of bone deep need to know you.

Everyone has something that makes them tick, that makes them them, that gives an inch he could hook onto to pull out the rest of your soft innards out of the hard shell.

There has to be something.

And something they found. Kyle does.

And not exactly finds.

There is a flash drive — angular little thing, old metallic case of which is covered in tiny scratches. Like it spent one too many years in someone’s pocket with all kinds of things.

Kyle pulls it out of your breast pocket, right under the heart, when you start dozing off.

Shame churning in his gut at that, because that’s low.

That’s not fair.

If you ever find out he might never come back from it.

The flash drive in front of them feels like a point of no return. Like stepping over some invisible line in the sand. Like pushing too hard into somewhere they were not invited to.

Johnny doesn’t like it. Johnny doesn’t like sneaking around in your personal things and he can see that neither does usually calm Simon.

None of them does, it’s written on everyone’s faces.

In a way small muscle in John’s jaw twitches with tension, in a way Soap rolls his shoulders as if hoping to shake off whatever sticky feeling he’s got from looking somewhere this deep — from sneaking around to find if you are hiding something.

Heavy hover of Simon’s brows doesn’t encourage Price either. None of them likes it. None of them feels like it’s the right thing to do.

All of them know it’s the necessary one.

“Doesn’t mean we will report everything that can be on it. We looked the other way before, we could do it again”, Simon hums out and it’s so sudden, but Kyle glances at him sideways and turns to captain to give him a tight nod.

It’s their job to work in the grey, is it not?

“But we have to see what’s on it, right? Just for…protection, aye?”, Soap still sounds as unsure as he can get but he actually takes the flash drive now and doesn’t watch it like something that could bite him if he’s not careful.

“Aye”, John just nods, crossing his arms over the chest and nods at Soap’s laptop. “Open it up, let’s see what’s in on it”.

There is no way you will give them all the answers willingly.

Which is weak excuse at best but the more solid one is that they can’t afford to tip you off if you do have something to hide.

Soap spends the next few hours trying to get into whatever encrypted data you have there.

Which admittedly is not what they have expected.

There is a strange type of encryption on them, Johnny shares, eyes glued to the screen as he waits for everything to upload.

Very different from what they usually see on protected data — not meant to destroy everything on the flesh drive as soon as it’s opened.

The code was specifically designed to preserve it.

Was it some kind of valuable intel you never passed on? Were these some kind of records you never got rid off?

About something or someone.

But there is nothing of sorts when Soap manages to crack it open.

On the flesh drive there’s nothing other than audiologs — hundreds of hours of audios, dozens and dozens of half-scraped recordings.

Terabytes of them.

It doesn’t make much sense on the first glance. It makes even less when they start listening.

They don’t know the appropriate order and it looks like a lot of dates has been scraped off the logs.

Frantically, feverishly, like someone without much technical expertise was rummaging through it, wiping off any trace of when and where it happened.

They click through few trying to grasp what is going on there only to find the unexpected.

It’s an entire year of audiologs that just get longer and more detailed the longer they keep going.

There is recorded music in horrible quality, there’s singing — a little off tune and a little hoarse — voice of someone not used to using it this much, but the melody is steady and excitement is palpable.

They don’t recognise the voice. Not at first.

Though whoever is singing they were having the time of their life. They were elated to share.

There’s also obviously male voice — strangely mechanical in its range, almost blank, completely level.

It reminds 141 of butchered quality of dynamics some Helldiver’s comms have. Like someone smashed it before using.

The sound is a little distorted, static flaring up when Soap tries to speed it up so they resign to just listening through the whole thing.

God knows these logs have seen better days.

But there is a lot of what they never expected to find.

There are jokes — old puns and dark humour and laughter, god, there is so much laughter.

It echoes through conversations, it cracks through years to the TaskForce listening with baited breaths.

It’s a beautiful laughter.

They don’t realise at first whose laughter it is. Whose singing it was.

They have never heard you laugh before.

You sound so young there. You sound so human.

Such a stark contrast to the person they came to know you as.

Older you is closed off, older you is guarded and twitchy — silent more often than not, feral animal aching for warmth and terrified of feeling any.

Marks of phantom old collar chuffing the skin of your neck until it breaks. Until you break.

What have been done to you? What happened?

There are million questions swirling through John’s head as he listens, brows furrowing when static flares up once again.

There is nothing wrong with recordings per se. Frankly speaking Price doesn’t see the reason to continue listening, especially since he can see how uncomfortable his team is with going through something so personal to you.

Something that obviously meant enough that you were carrying it with you whenever you went.

But there’s a nagging feeling that doesn’t leave John alone. Like they are missing something.

Helldivers are still soldiers — they are not forbidden from maintaining personal connections.

Why would someone (most likely you) try to scrape the flash drive so desperately? Why would you bother holding it as close to the body as possible?

Somewhere along these recordings there is answer to why you never come down on Chort Bay anymore. Somewhere along the audiologs they are going through there is a reason to why you do missions only in terminid sector.

There’s a question that doesn’t leave Price alone as he sits and listens through another dozen of butchered recordings.

Who’s the person on the other end?

And why do you still have this flesh drive if you could have gotten rid of it long time ago? Would save you a lot of trouble considering how hard you tried to cover up tracks.

So Johnny scrolls through the logs until he finds first one actually dated.

March. Tuesday. 11:51. Six years ago.

“What did you want to be before?”, male voice cracks to life startling them after almost three minutes of radio silence, Simon’s fingers twitching to reach for the gun.

But it’s just a recording, no one is here but them and these butchered audio logs. “Surely…surely, you did not intend to be this. No child does”

There is a small pause before you answer.

As if you want to ask how can the other person know it.

As if you don’t know if you should tell that most children actually do.

Because being a Helldiver is an honour.

It seems like one, at least.

The ultimate sacrifice in the name of greater good.

Your bones might have a chance of being the base of someone’s throne, shouldn’t this be honour enough?

“Ballerina”, your response makes Price quirk a brow, leaning back in chair. That’s the first log without any static. The first one where they can hear you clearly.

Your answer is short, curter than what you’d give your companion before. It reeks of old vulnerability and almost shameful shyness.

Not in your nature to play coy and you apparently didn’t intend to make it seem like it was.

“Ballerina?”, metal creaking is more evident now, male’s voice grinding on their ears, faint whisper of his comms acting as a white noise.

Filling the air with hum none can make out and falling into the background.

It didn’t occur to you at the time that those like your companion have lifespans even shorter than Helldivers so.

That they are machines of war way more dedicated than any diver is.

That they probably don’t dance.

You tell yourself that it’s the only reason you continue talking about something that is no longer viable even as an old fever dream.

“Yeah, the dancer. Did you know they retire young?”, the tidbit of knowledge feels like an offering, like you are a child bringing your stick figured drawing for some approval.

Your voice goes a little higher — smile in your voice so wide, Soap can’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t you all retire young?”, the tone is so level, so perfectly polite that the question would sound innocent if not for undercurrent of teasing.

It leaves you gobsmacked for a moment.

Was that…did he just joke about fast mortality rate amongst Helldivers? He of all people?

Unbelievable.

There’s a pause before your laughter escapes the confines of your mouth — wheezing thin sound that grows into hoarse warm bark of laughter.

“That’s really dark, Sar”, finally a mention of a name forces Kyle to scribble it down as fast as he can. Finally something to hook onto. A bloody name.

“And yet you are laughing”, satisfaction in man’s voice is so obvious it practically drips off every syllable.

Unusually expressive from what they heard before.

Thick and sticky, filling up ears and coating skin.

Like oil.

The recording clicks off and the room falls silent for a few moments with them simply staring at the screen.

There is uneasy feeling in John’s chest, like they are getting closer.

He’s not sure if he wants to keep going.

At this point it would be okay to close investigation on you, to clear you in eyes of the command.

But Soap scrolls down, clicking on the next dated recording without Price stopping him.

It dates almost eight months after the one they just listened to. Johnny clicks “play” and sits back ready to listen, cold slowly filling his fingertips.

What would be worse now — to find something or not find anything at all?

How much is too much as a price for your broken trust?

Your voice rings out of the speakers, too quiet for them to hear and they have to adjust the sound before continuing.

Your voice is tired hoarse thing when you breathe out “what a wicked thing it is. To dream of you. To dream of what I can never have and should have never wanted” and it makes something inside of Gaz ache for you. Why would you say that?

Was the price of being a Helldiver really this steep?

You sound so small on the record, so broken — exhaustion wrapping its heavy arms around your shoulders and pressing down hard.

“I wish it wasn’t like that.”, you finally say after a moment’s silence.

Male voice they already got used to hearing is almost soft when it responds to you — gentle purr of automatic vocal cords, not yet honed timbre of a person still learning to love.

“I know.”, John doesn’t know what he expected but it isn’t this. There is a strange finality to these words.

A quiet intimate kind of resignation he saw in soldiers that knew they are not coming back.

“I can’t do this, Sar”, your voice waivers — wet and cracking and Kyle turns away, leaning heavily on the back of the chair, shoulders slumped down.

This is more difficult than he thought it would be.

You sound defeated.

He has never heard you sound like that before. He now knows he never wants to hear you like that ever again.

“I know”, the gentle acceptance of someone who they ever saw feels wrong in the moment.

Feels like they are still fucking missing something.

A clue that has been looking them in the face all this time.

But with the way you are coming apart at the seams…Ghost doesn’t know how anything but tenderness could be possible.

Stubborn beautiful captain, has no one ever treated you with kindness you deserved?

Has no one but this…whoever that is handled you with proper care?

Did he even handle you with it?

“I…this can never end well”, you got quieter with every word and John has to take a breath because he is aching for you.

Younger you, softer you, bruised you.

Soldier so young you grasped for any straw of support. Soldier so lonely you apparently fell into hands of someone you shouldn’t have.

“Does it really matter?”, the question is so soft John feels like raging, like dismantling the whole fucking branch, like cradling you in his hands and holding tight because the sharp inhale he hears cuts deep.

There is a long pause before you finally answer, familiar clicking of the clip of your gun holster a little too loud.

“No. No, it doesn’t”

Audio ends on that — no usual goodbyes or jokes exchanged. No banter, no witty remarks.

Almost like you can’t do that. Almost like a little more and the rags of you are going to be torn apart.

Too worn-out, too thinly spread.

Oh, dear god, Captain. What have you done?

They take a break so Simon can properly search the databases for any soldier named or call signed “Sar”, any trace of the other person in these audiologs.

There’s an eerie feeling that doesn’t leave John, the same one he can see in occasional fidgeting of his men.

Something happened to these logs — parts of conversations scraped, the sound butchered, the encryption so robust Soap could hardly get through it.

Maybe once it was a happy memento, a treasure you kept close to your heart.

But it was this for younger you — the one who laughed and sang and admitted childish dreams sitting somewhere on the empty battlefield.

Now, in its ravaged state it was no longer what it was before.

It was a reminder.

An ominous one at that.

The kind people tried to brainstorm for radioactive burials so whoever comes across them in the distant future would know that haunted stones of black obelisks meant “stay away”.

John sits in the corner fiddling with a pen, clicking it again and again, gears turning in his head.

The male voice on the recordings — it sounded too rough for a Helldiver, too static-y even when your own sounded clearly.

The voice way too unnatural.

Like the person it belonged to was still learning how to use it.

Like he was mimicking speech patterns.

John comes back to listening through the dozen more broken records until Simon comes back tight-jawed and dark as death.

Finally with an answer.

There is ice slowly spreading in their veins — jaws clenched so hard it’s painful.

But pain is nothing. All of it is nothing.

Because he finally knows why you were guarding the flesh drive.

Why there is no soldier named “Sar”.

There has never been one.

“Sar” is not a name, but a nickname you gave your companion during your talks. “Sar” is short for “Comissar”.

You were communicating with autobot commander.

You were committing treason.

There’s another recording. The last one. Still completely intact.

Soap presses the key so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t fall off.

This time there is no introduction, no greetings. There is only one voice.

The Autobot’s.

“Super Earth’s scum likes to portray us as unfeeling. Machines of pointless bloody war.”, he starts, voice as level as they get, eerie mechanical undertones of too static speech seeping through.

Sar…Comissar pauses before continuing, his voice getting so much softer it’s uncanny.

So soft John feels like grinding his teeth into nothing. Fucking hell, the autobot had no business sounding like that.

“But god, I swear, I could feel the sunlight shine on my face when you’d come down to me.”, there is a wistful component to his voice, one Simon doesn’t fucking like at all.

“I could feel the wind. I could taste the sea.”

“I could taste you.”, the implication leaves Kyle with dread raising its heavy head in his gut, eyes so wide it hurts. He can’t blink and he can’t turn away and he can’t stop listening.

They need to finish.

“We often think Helldivers to be soldiers of the guile — merciless and casually cruel, you plunge feet first into hell from a hell of your own straight above our heads — harbingers of death.”, is said almost conversationally, like it’s another fact. Another thing he probably had to get over.

“But I could have sworn you were an angel.”, there is reverence in the voice of the bloody machine the likes of which Soap hasn’t heard before. The absolute, almost biblical, devotion. Borderline an obsession.

“My angel”, the emphasis is not lost to them.

“My loveliest doom.”

“You were sent down to hunt and destroy my kind, to turn to ash my army, to bring ruin and despair.”, there is a small pause before the man continues.

His voice as tender as they could get, so eerily soft that Soap barely contained the urge to turn it off.

To stop listening.

But they need to finish it, so he just steps back from the laptop, turning his head away, the automatic voice gnarling on his nerves.

“But you brought me peace. You brought warmth.”, there is wonder in Comissar’s voice, quiet excitement of someone who long gave up and accepted the way things are.

“You brought laughter and songs and dreams.”, he says like this was everything. Like it is everything. More than he could have ever hoped for. More than he, perhaps, deserved.

“How strange it is, my love, to be machine deemed incapable of human emotions but still feel.

How strange it is that you — the perfect lovely you — made me so human I can barely recognise myself.”, he stalls for a moment before chuckling — sound cool and gentle, his cords still a little rusty.

“Maybe that’s another ploy of your branch. Maybe Helldivers finally found the way to our absolute ruin.

But oh, what a sweet way to go.

I couldn’t wish for a different one. I wouldn’t have.

Know that no matter what happens next — I have always been devoted to you.”, John’s hand hovers above the keyboard, urge to turn off the bloody recording so strong he almost does it.

“The last time we saw each other you said that it won’t end well. And I won’t lie to you — it won’t.”, the autobot shifts, metal creaking with its every movement, comms whispering in a language they cannot understand.

“I know that they will come for my fortress. I know they will win — my head will be the prime trophy of this campaign.”, the man says and it feels a lot like a goodbye. Like this is it. The end of the road.

“I know it’s not your fault.”, notion kicks the breath out of Simon because despite the revulsion and anger, there is so much gentle acceptance in Comissar’s voice it makes his skin crawl.

“We are not bad people, my love. Just very unlucky ones.

I can only hope that the next time we meet will be better.

I hope next time you won’t have to choose between duty and your humanity.

I hope when we meet next time you will forgive me for making this choice for you.”, John’s eyes flicker to Simon’s who’s already trying to get reports of what fucking happened back then. Someone should be able to share at least a crumb of information.

“Goodbye, my angel. Remember that down on Chort Bay even the rusted remains of my skeleton will love you.

And please,

Don’t ever come back.”

There’s a heavy silence when they record clicks off, finishing the playing of it.

“What the fuck happened on Chort Bay?”, Price doesn’t recognise the hoarse rasp for his voice until Simon doesn’t give him a glass of water, brown eyes dark with something John isn’t sure he understands.

“War torn. The battles are ongoing as of right now but at the time of the recording…”, Simon glances down on the report on his laptop before turning back to his captain. “…Helldiver forces took Chort Bay back — effectively eradicating everything in their way”.

Which means that no one survived.

The “Sar” perished with the resistance leaving you only that — the flash drive with all of your conversations. Perhaps hoping (if robots can hope) that you would understand.

Price thinks to the quiet fractured way you carry yourself and wonders if you ever did.

They need to know what to do now. How to proceed. Because fraternising with the enemy…it’s going to be punishable by an execution. If anyone finds out about their discovery you are going down.

You won’t be just dishonourably discharged — you will be shot dead.

Price rubs his palms over his eyes, heels of them pressing onto his eyeballs because god, how did you even get into this kind of mess? Why would you even hold onto incriminating piece of evidence?

He knows why, god, of course he knows. He listened through remaining conversations and heard your laughter and heard your shy confessions.

(John tries not to think that he had no right to them. That these recordings were not his to listen to, he has no claim over them — they aren’t for him)

They decide to come clean the next day. Maybe figure out how to proceed from then on, what to write. How to save you from yourself, if needed.

But all plans go down the drain when the next morning you are antsy and fidgety, eyes roaming over the ship in frantic search. You already noticed your flash drive gone.

Johnny tries to carefully start the conversation, explaining why they came back, what was the purpose of it.

He feels bile rise in his throat at the look on your face when you see your audiologs in his palm.

When you hear that they listened to them.

Kyle steps in, voice gentle as he tries to explain that they didn’t want to, that it’s just vetting process, that they won’t tell anyone what they found.

He also says that you must have had your reasons, but keeping such thing this close was reckless and wrong and—

But then you snatch the flash drive out of Soap’s hand, eyes wide with something he doesn’t like, clutching the thing like it’s a treasured.

Your treasure.

These conversations — hundreds of hours of conversations with a mechanical voice, tenderness of which seeps through every sound. Very syllable.

Mad, wrong and forbidden.

This should have never happened. It would have never happened if Helldivers were treated more humanely, Price thinks.

It would have never happened if you had proper protocols and socialisation and support in place.

What kind of madness is it, to fall in love with a fucking piece of steel? An enemy no less.

It is wrong, it is mad, it is everything you were never supposed to do. As a soldier, as a Helldiver.

It’s not just a mistake. It’s treason.

You would be executed without martial court, without right to appeal. You are a traitor.

“Captain?”, there’s heavy silence in the armoury, stares on you almost accusatory and you hate it you hate it you hate it.

They don’t know you, they don’t know what it’s like.

They don’t understand. They probably never will.

So you don’t say anything.

You stuff the flesh drive into the breast pocket under armoured plates of your vest, not looking them in the eye, not willing to give them any more than they already took.

“Captain, you- have you ever returned to the automaton sector?”, Simon’s question is carefully worded and it is not the best time to ask whether or not you killed autobots after having an affair with one.

It’s not fair to you and he knows it.

But the situation itself isn’t fair.

Neither are you with your heavy silences and your high walls and your stubborn glares.

“No.”, the answer is as short as they get, your thumb pressing into the sharp side of the metal case, trying to take your mind out of a spiral by any means necessary.

You never came back to Chort Bay. You never came back to autobot sector after coming down to collect the last message from Sar. One mission before you realised you couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t.

Robots were too human afterwards.

Even worse, you were too human — finger always stalling when it came to shooting other autobots.

Other’s like Sar.

Maybe in some deeper level you were still waiting for him to come back, to meet you with the flesh drive like he usually did. Maybe on some deeper level you were hoping for him to find another way.

Maybe you grew soft.

(Helldivers can’t be soft. Helldivers are never soft. Not if they want to survive)

“What does it say about me that I didn’t die with him and kept living?”, you don’t even realise you said it out loud until you look at Kyle and see that his face is grey with horror. He makes a step towards you, something pained in his eyes raising when you twitch away.

He’s spent his trust. It doesn’t take a mind reader to realise who took your flesh drive. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure out that he stole it.

But really, what does it say about you if you are still going though you admitted to Sar once that you probably wouldn’t be able to if something was to happen to him.

You kept living when maybe you shouldn’t have. You kept living like nothing ever happened, like you didn’t lose a part of you — a good part, a decent part, a humane part.

“Capt’n, please…”, there’s anguish in Price’s voice, his eyes — prettiest summer sky — looking at you the same way one would look at animal they ran over. Pity.

There is hot licks of fury in your chest, spreading like a wildfire, scorching you from inside out, cauterising the bleeding heart of yours.

How fucking dare he. How dare they scoop out everything that was left of the good you and watch it with morbid fascination like it was some suffering creature with broken spine.

How dare they even look like they feel sorry for you when there’s nothing to feel sorry about?

“This- look around”, there’s manic desperate chuckle, crack in his voice the size of one in your chest. “This isn’t livin’, capt’n. You are not livin’. You are survivin’. And all for a machine that-”

Maybe you would have listened before to him, but John Price steps on the landmine the size of Jupiter and you snap. Snarling, feral creature — kicked dog whose tail got caught in the closing doors — your eyes stinging, armour clicking in place all around you.

“He has a name.”, you snarl with such viciousness that John blinks in surprise, taken aback by your reaction. “And you don’t know him.”

“For fuck’s sake, capt’n, it’s not a name.”, Price snaps in return, stepping closer to you, eyes blazing, shoulders squaring and it’s almost laughable because what the fuck is he going to do? Wrestle you to the floor of your own ship? “You gave him a nickname. He never had a name. He’s not an actual person-“

Maybe it would have been better if he tried to fight you. At least that way you’d have a good excuse to land a few punches on him. At least that way you wouldn’t feel like someone backhanded you across the face — skin tingling with heat, beast in your chest uncurling into something dangerous.

How dare he talk like he knows what’s been going on? How fucking dare he speak of your friend, of your Sar, like he has been some fucking pet?

The silence is dark and heavy between you two, fire raging so loudly in your head you hardly hear Simon stepping in.

It hardly registers until he mentions something about stims and “withdrawal induced agitation” and your head snaps to him so fast he actually steps back.

You’ll admit it takes you a few moments to piece it all together. The investigation, the secrecy, the tension.

The last conversation that you had with Price.

Your fury builds up into the whole storm, your face so hot it hurts, you are so hot it’s sticky and sweaty, your uniform clinging to your body.

(Blood in the threads of it-blood in the threads of it-blood in the threads of it)

“You stole from me”, the first exhale is pure disbelief before the last bits of you snap like a dry twig and you practically lunge at Price, fingers wrapping around his shoulder with the force enough to break it. “I let you in and you stole from me.”, your anger is deaf and blind. Your anger is powerful.

Your pain isn’t.

You don’t expect it but it still hurts because you let them see so much, you thought they were safe, you thought they were friends.

Rookie mistake. You won’t repeat it again. Never again.

Hurt just amplifies your anger, revulsion flaring up when Soap reaches for you. Usually warm hand trying to soothe, trying to calm down.

But you can’t do this. You can’t-you cant-you can’t.

You think of Kyle waiting for you to fall asleep to take your flesh drive and bile rises to your throat.

You think of Price stealing your stim, of Simon going through your things and talking about your anger like it’s a fucking symptom.

You think of them and you want to crawl out of your skin.

The loud slap of your hand against Johnny, smacking him away clicks something in the team, the whole TaskForce coming into action.

Pulling them into the formation, pulling out soldiers and not friends.

For some reason it hurts even more.

“Captain, you have to calm down.”, there is an edge to Ghost’s voice and you just sneer in response, his changed attitude doing nothing but agitate you further.

Kyle watches you like he’s expecting you to snap. They all do, you realise.

“Get out.”, your voice is alien even to you, your body uncurling to its full frame, fury — now cold and merciless flooding your veins. “Get your things and get the fuck off my ship. Now.”

Simon opens his mouth to say something but you snap before a single word leaves his lips.

“Get out of I will personally drag you off my fucking bird, lieutenant.”, you hiss his rank out and it’s so wounded you almost cringe. Fucking hell, you are getting soft.

But still it works. He pulls back and turns away.

You don’t wait to see whether or not they have something else to say. You want nothing to do with them.

You want them out.

You want to hate them but instead you are just hurt and furious.

It’s a solemn ride back home. A quiet and heavy one, all of them feeling the effect of your fury still.

Simon looks at John and John finally understands. There is no other choice. Not now. Not anymore.

Upon return Price sits in his office for a few very long hours before he finally gets to writing the report command requested on you.

He has never compromised on his soldiers’ wellbeing and he won’t start now.

Even if he will need to drag you thrashing and kicking with a force of a damn bull.

Report gets sealed and so does your fate when he sends it out.

Report written black on white, his full name and rank, date and location.

Report doesn’t name you a traitor but Price knows you will hate them nonetheless.

Report says “recommend immediate transfer. Not suitable for active space duty. Not able to continue in their current responsibilities. Recommendation to discharge Helldiver captain of SES “Whisper of steel” effective immediately”.

[girl-lostconnection]

Tehehehe thinking thoughts of helldivers getting a moment to relax for once in their life and gathering up at one spot as almost like a small party, except the helldivers are being rough and rowdy with each other like how wolf/dog packs are rough and rowdy while playing, they’re trying to be playful and friendly but being out of practice on proper socialization so they can get a little too rough but they all mean well.

Even funnier idea of the 141 witnessing just a giant pack of Helldivers, maybe in and out of suits. Some of the helldivers even bringing along their ‘runts’ (cadets they’ve taken under their wings) to get them to befriend other divers so their existence would be less lonely

God, this is so cute. I love this idea so much, thank you for bringing it to me😭

Initially it was planned to be just a small gathering, few Helldivers that offered to bring you in some of their old manuals that you were collecting. But somehow along the way some of their little charges slipped onto your ship as well and then other’s on the orbit slid closer.

It was a rare thing for Helldivers to have any kind of gatherings, you weren’t the ones who were regularly invited on military parades, you weren’t ones who were invited on official military parties so you made do with what you had.

So you didn’t really have time to warn the 141 about the impromptu party that took place. And frankly, you got a bit carried away in the process.

A pack of cadets now circling your “Stratagem Hero” and Engineering compartment of the ship, whose “no way” and “lemme try, scoot over, McMillan” you could hear on the other side of your steel home.

Few Helldivers in civilian clothes, helmets propped up on a bench in your armoury, capes hanging off the chairs, eyes crinkling with laughter.

Others who even in armour pulled as much of it off as they could without actually getting naked, pulling off gauntlets and gloves and helmets and heavy chest/back plates.

For one evening you weren’t mutts of the military. For one evening you all were people again.

Helldivers always in their armours and always covered from head to toe don’t get a lot of physical contact on daily basis, so to have a little gathering with others just like them was more than welcomed. You could see the invisible itch that scratched everyone here from inside — hands smacking shoulders too hard, wrestling and roughing each others up.

Go too long without proper socialising and you forget how it’s done.

But on here, in the armoured belly of your ship it didn’t matter. You were all Helldivers. A mutual understanding brought out of years of hardship, of loneliness.

So when little runts wiggle their way to tuck themselves to the side of divers that brought them no one’s going to say a thing.

Physical contact is so rare for your branch, you people make a habit of always biting off more than you can chew. Just to save it up for later, savour it until there’s nothing but memory of salt of someone’s skin on your tongue.

Until there’s only memory of memory of how it feels to have a palm on your back or nose pressed to your throat. Knowing that you won’t get it torn out.

You don’t even notice the 141 at first, because the moment you get somehow free there is a new diver literally scooping you up, grinning from ear to ear, squeezing you until ribs protest, until you hiss, kicking. Just to ease their hold and laugh in your shoulder, smacking your back with more force than necessary.

Smooching kisses on your cheeks and jaw, exchanging stories, reminiscing about the past.

You are a rowdy loud bunch. Too touchy and too powerful for your own good, a big pack of starved wolves that for one evening are getting it all.

Eating until you feel sick, kissing until you are lightheaded, wrestling and smacking each other until the body feels more of a bruise than anything really.

You whisk Kyle in time because god, he’s so pretty with his easy smiles and warm demeanour and your pack are starved wolves and they will lick his meat off the bone, they will suck the bone marrow out if he’s not careful.

They mean well, they don’t know he’s not one of them. They don’t know he doesn’t share the same bone deep hunger, the same madness crawling under the tips of his nails.

Still one of the younger charges gets a rough smack on his shoulder. The lad is fairly young but he’s drunk on happiness and hazy with good company, he doesn’t know his own strength — too used to being around monsters that your branch is.

The smack makes Gaz sway, his eyes sharpening as he snaps his head back at the cadet.

You tut your lips at him and practically drag the man to the rest of TaskForce.

You know that they don’t really get it. That it seems too much, too rough, too loud. Fraternising is frowned upon everywhere.

Everywhere but here.

Average lifespan of Helldivers in the field is less than half a minute. On your ship there are people who lived years in the field and came back.

Wrong and twisted and too rough around the edges, stripped of all the humanity until there was nothing but white of their bones to remind that they are people.

You are exactly the same.

So you rub Kyle’s shoulder, your grip is too hard, your hands are too heavy for him not used to being manhandled, urging him to get back to his team. Practically herding him back.

It might’ve not worked with anyone else, but surprisingly Gaz lets you do just that, his own hand carefully wrapping around your waist. He’s not sure how much is okay, he’s not sure what to do.

You stray from being too close to him, to any of them really. You maintain careful distance, you sit behind your walls, you don’t let anyone close.

Johnny watches an older Helldiver pad his way to you, breathing out something in your ear, rubbing his knuckles on the nape of your neck, fingers circling around the scruff of it and you, who twitches when any of them gets too close, fucking melt into touch.

Like that’s the only form you know how to take it in. Like you don’t remember there is any other way.

Simon’s head tilts to the side, eyes heavy when one too many divers smack you around for his comfort, but you don’t ask for help.

You laugh.

He’s not sure any of them heard you laughing before. For some reason the thought stings more than he expected because yes, you let them onto the ship and into the armoury and to your control panel.

But did you really let them in? Are they inside?

Because Price can see the way smaller divers — young, if he can judge by uniform so crisp it feels like they got it issued a few days ago — hug their cuteness aggression on you, yelping when you suddenly hoist some of them up in a bridal hold.

Giggling entirely too unserious when you show how you can pick two of them at once.

You herd Kyle back to his team and suddenly he understands why.

They aren’t meant to be here. They may be in, but they didn’t get the invitation to step behind your barricades. They didn’t earn it yet.

You don’t trust them to handle what you have.

So he nurses one god awful beer, Soap propping His chin on Kyle’s shoulder, relaxing when he sees two very much male Helldivers kicking the doors behind them shut — already dismantling each other’s armour, kissing with so much teeth it’s a miracle they aren’t bleeding yet.

“Wild bunch”, Simon comments, but there’s no edge to his voice, just quiet gruff realisation. Same one Gaz had when he watches one too many divers hug and smack and kiss and hold you.

When he watches you grin and double down on their advances, eyes shining and grin so wide it’s a miracle your face hasn’t cracked.

He tenses up only when one of the older Helldivers slides next to their team, swatting the younger charges away from him, cooing something in their ears when he sends them to the other side of the ship.

“I know what’cha think of us”, the man suddenly says and there’s no malice in his voice but something in his tone makes it clear that he knows. They aren’t meant to be here.

They are not Helldivers. It’s not their gathering.

“Pack of feral animals, eh?”, the diver continues, eyes so heavy it could bend the steel, edge of his mouth a little sharper than before. There’s exhaustion itched in every line of his face.

There’s hunger dripping off his molars when he grins down at shorter diver across the room.

“Think it’s your and your men’s business how you relax”, Price hums, eyes just as heavy when he tilts his head to the side.

He’s not sure he fully understands Helldivers as a brunch but he definitely understands them as soldiers. Seen the same starved mad look before in the eyes of men who were less human than he’d like.

“Half of this room will be dead in a few months”, the man suddenly says and John can feel blood flowing back, chill running down his spine as he turns his head to the diver. Man looks suddenly calm, almost peaceful as he announces it.

“We rarely get out, Captain. We lose way too many of ours down there, we lose even more up here”, Helldiver taps his temple, grin a little too feral, a little too pained. Like there’s glass digging in his gums with every word he says. “But we need something to remind that we are still here. Still human. Still alive”

There’s heavy silence in their corner, stark contrast to booms of laughter and playful wrestling and occasional sparrings with way too many stray touches.

“Little runts need to have someone to fall back on if me or captain of this bird suddenly find ourselves bleeding out in a shithole no one wants to go down to”, diver continues like it’s a completely normal thing and Soap tightens his arms around Kyle. “It’s a good thing we got out for some celebration. Don’t get too many of these in our line of work”

The man’s silence is heavy for entirely too long moment before he hums, eyes distant as he flicks his lighter on and off in long scarred fingers.

“Never thought I’d be one for religion, you know. But sometimes…sometimes I get why these angels fell, you know?”, he murmurs, watching the young divers play arcade, watching laughing divers smack each other one too many times before they finally allow themselves to hug it all out.

“Always an angel and never a god.”, the diver chuckles but there’s no amusement in it. “Wonder how they felt when they realised there’s nowhere higher to go. If they hurt just as badly. One too bitter of a thought it is on a night like this one”, the man shakes it off like a big dog would water and grins at Price.

Big and slightly feral, he smacks John’s shoulder a touch too hard than necessary and jogs off, throwing over his shoulder.

“Welcome to the party, gents. Enjoy people watching, might not get another chance to see this many ‘live Helldivers”

[girl-lostconnection]

Helldivers are just little freaks to me, freaky half feral dog creatures that are tossed to the meat grinder of war. Starving war dogs that do not understand what they are starving for exactly but nonetheless still chasing after what was demanded of them, hoping that maybe, MAYBE, if they go further-If they complete even more missions, they’d no longer feel that gnawing hunger even if it chips away at their very souls.

ANYWHO😌 this is reader to me

“Remember that you can’t save everyone. Remember that you have to try” YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME JESTER OH MY GODDDDDDD THE WAY MY HEART SANK. But yeah, you are spitting facts out here, I’m ready to sign under every word you are saying here.

@jesterinc, my G, this one’s for you

Helldiver!Reader who lives this long mostly because of the kindness and patient teaching from older divers. The shared knowledge, the shared manuals, shared camaraderie.

Reader who doesn’t know why Helldivers who are so much more skilful and who could (and by any standard should have) left them behind decided not to.

Question that keeps them up at night sometimes, question that ping pongs off the walls of their head, echoing louder when it’s too quiet.

Why-why-why-why-why?

Reader who doesn’t understand why these behemoths of war tried to help time after time after time.

They don’t get it until they got their first cadet joining in for a mission.

Jumpy tense thing, losing more bullets than actually hitting the enemy, not used to a recoil yet, not sure how to adjust the satellite tower, not very knowledgeable about the mechanics of battle that are their new home now.

(Everyone knows that Helldivers don’t die sleeping. Everyone knows that death is better than shame)

Reader who suddenly gets it why these older Helldivers helped them, why they carried a new pup on the battlefield, why wasn’t they just kicked to the side.

It is often said that Helldivers as a branch are one big pack of feral dogs.

Starved for scraps of approval, dying too young and snarling at every outsider. Feral creatures. Weapons of war.

Judgement rained from the sky on unsuspecting enemies.

It is often overlooked that the most prominent rule Helldivers live by is “we do not mock young in the field. We do not make them crawl and beg. We help. We were there once. We know how it feels to be a feral dog in eyes both enemies and allies. We know how it feels to be left behind. We do not leave ours behind”.

You that lives long enough to get a little bit closer in experience and skills to mammoths that helped you years ago to survive.

You who patiently covers for young cadet as they fumble with terminals.

What’s a little time wasted if this one might live long enough to crawl higher in rank.

What’s a little effort spared if you as divers already have to prove to everyone that you deserve to be here.

That you are not just dogs. That you deserve the same respect command shows to other branches.

You aren’t going to make cadet “prove themselves” when they have already passed the selection.

They are already here, aren’t they? Means they are worthy. Means they are yours.

Once Helldiver — always Helldiver.

It’s a constant journey and an uphill battle, you seeing first hand how fucking cruel life is to their branch.

How unfair command is. How hard missions are.

So what’s a little kindness shown if cadet behind them might live long enough to see the new generation of cadets.

If one day they too might become what you were to them today. What older Helldivers were to you when you started out.

Your branch is full of feral dogs and behemoths of battle, your branch is a dangerous thing (a grenade without a pin, a rifle without safety, a big bad wolf) hanging on by a thread of believing that your suffering can make the world a little better.

A little safer. A place where young cadets like this one will have more support, more training, more respect.

Simon watches you intently, eyes heavy with understanding, fingers twitching to reach out.

“Remember that you can’t save everyone, Captain”, he hums out, meeting your eyes in the reflection as you watch cadet buying new stratagems with excitement, their rank plate moving up.

Slowly, torturously slowly but steadily. Up-up-up.

They live thought the mission. They live through next three you walk them through. You won’t let them die. Not if you can help it.

“I know”, you muse back and there is phantom feel of hands on your shoulders, hands showing how to properly hold the rifle, hands dragging you out of hell because yeah, no one is gonna save Helldivers.

Other than Helldivers themselves.

You watch the young diver jog to the “Stratagem Hero” arcade, practically vibrating with excitement, eyes darting to you, asking for permission.

Their grin so wide when you nod to go ahead and try it, that you feel like their helmet might be illuminated from inside out.

They are painfully young and achingly fragile, not yet honed by years of work out in the field, their hands not yet calloused and burned one too many times.

Yeah, you remember that you can’t save everyone.

You also remember that you have to try.