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nataliasquote · 7 months

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I Will Rescue You | n romanoff

Summary: An alert from the Red Room sends Natasha, Yelena and Bucky on a last minute mission. But what they find is far from expected…

Warnings: teen pregnancy, injury, blood, guns

Pairings: natasha x adopted!daughter!reader

wc: 3.7k

note: this is just precious mama nat who holds a special place in my heart

-⧗-

"Got your six, Natasha. Approach when ready." Nat heard the crackle over her intercom and readied her gun, her elbows locked as she pressed herself against the wall.

Never did she think she'd be back in this place. The one place she vowed never to come back to. But here she was. The coldness of the stone wall was seeping through her tactical suit, which wasn't adapted to support her through Russia's freezing temperatures.

But that was the last thing Natasha was thinking about. There were girls inside. Girls that needed help. Natasha knew all too well how they felt, and she wanted to put a stop to it.

Yelena was on the opposite side of the courtyard, double ponytails swishing back and forth as she kept checking her surroundings. The sisters made eye contact and nodded, Natasha taking that as her cue to move.

Silent as the dead of night, the redheaded assassin crept through the open door, sticking to the shadows like this very place had taught her. She didn't make a sound, taking down guards with a single slice to the throat, clean and precise. Fires shot in the distance and she knew she didn't have long.

But this place was once her home. She knew it like the back of her hand, as much as she hated to admit it. She knew who she wanted to meet for the final time, but a faint rumbling told her that that plan was gone.

"черт возьми." She muttered under her breath as her once careful footing now broke into a sprint. The team had estimated about 30 minutes for extraction, but that had been cut down to 10. There were more guards than the trio expected, but they powered through.

"I'm hitting the training rooms. Nat cover the wings and Yelena-"

"Doors, yes I know. Don't need to tell me солдат."

"Buck, you know she hates being bossed around." Natasha whispered as she climbed the stairs. She heard gunshots through Bucky's comm, but carried on. They could look after themselves.

The sight of the dorm corridor made Nat sick to her stomach. But she hauled herself together and ran along the hallway, checking the rooms. They were empty.

The sight of the tiny beds empty was a relief to her. Maybe they had stopped taking so many young children.

"I've got 15 in here Nat." Bucky called over the comm.

"Take them to the jet. I've got none so far." She checked all the dorm rooms, but there wasn't a trace of life. She thought the place was deserted until a faint whimper was heard, followed by desperate attempts to console.

It sounded like a baby's cry, so Nat placed her gun in her hostler. She didn't need to have her weapons out right now. The widow bites on her wrists would do enough for now to keep her protected.

There were 5 single cells along the back wall, and only one of them was dimly lit. Nat stepped into the light so she wouldn't shock anyone who was living in there. It seemed empty at first, but upon closer inspection Nat could see a young girl curled up in the corner.

Her blue eyes were locked on Nat, muscles tense as she pressed herself into the wall.

"Я ничего не делал, клянусь!" (i didn't do anything I swear). There were bruises on her temples and a hastily tied bandage on her arm and Nat just smiled softly.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." She crouched down outside the rails and offered her hand out slowly, like you would to a frightened puppy. But the girl just stared at Nat, her eyes narrowing.

"You are Black Widow." Her english was broken and laced with a heavy Russian accent. "You disgrace him."

Nat frowned at her words but shook her head. "No, I'm here to save you. I'm gonna get you out."

"Nobody take us anywhere." As she spoke, her arms loosened to show the tiny baby wrapped in a blanket in her arms. It couldn't have been more than 2 months old, but yet the girl only looked around 15. Natasha felt sick to her stomach. What kind of sick programme had they created?

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. How old are you?"

The girl stared at Nat for a few minutes before answering. "16."

"Блядь. (fuck)". Natasha sat back on her heels,

contemplating her next move. "And the baby? Ваш ребенок? (your baby?)". The girl nodded.

"Y/n." Nat raised an eyebrow. "меня зовут Y/n."

"That's a beautiful name. You want to get out of here?" The girl shook her head slowly, and Nat didn't blame here. This was all she knew. To her, it was home, as sick and twisted as it was. "You will be safe."

"Safe? You safe?"

Natasha nodded. "You're safe with me. You both are. But we need to go." As if on cue, the whole building began to shake and pieces of rubble fell from the ceiling. The girl screamed and buried her face in her daughter's blanket, holding her tightly. "Y/n, we need to go!" Nat blasted the padlock and the door swung open. "Now!"

"Can't!" The teenager gestured to her leg, which was openly bleeding. A gunshot wound was clean through her calf, and looked fairly fresh, meaning the girl struggled to walk. Nat registered it and brought her hand up to her comms, slowly to not startle the girl.

"Bucky I need backup. Quickly." After a grunt in reply, she quickly looked around the room to find something to help. But it was bare except for a bed and a sink.

Another vibration shook the building and Nat had no other option. She rushed over to the girl and helped her stand, taking the baby in her arm after reassuring the anxious teenager that she would be safe. The girl could hardly walk, but Nat couldn't carry her. Not with the baby too.

As a pair, they hobbled out onto what once was the hallway, now half broken in the middle and filled with rocks. Y/n was heavily leaning on Nat, pain shooting up her leg with every step.

A voice came yelling down the hallway, and through the dust broke Bucky, racing along trying to fit his gun back in it's holster. "What-"

"No questions. Move. Talk later. You need to carry her." Nat was clear and concise with her orders and she gestured to Y/n's leg, which was all Bucky needed.

But Y/n was wary of the new person and she grabbed Nat's arm in front of her. But the redhead turned to face her.

"Hey, it's okay. He is going to help you be safe." She looked into the girl's blue eyes, knowing they had very little time left to get out of here.

"Natasha, I don't know where you are but you better get out of here because this place is gonna blow!" Yelena yelled into her mic, cursing in Russian as she shot down guards.

"Y/n? Please?"

"если ты делаешь больно, детка, я делаю тебе больно! (If you hurt baby, I hurt you!)". Natasha nodded and carefully settled the baby in her arm. Y/n didn't take her eyes off the infant until Bucky picked her up and she felt the pain shoot through her leg. He mumbled an apology as they. began to run, dodging explosions and gunfires.

They broke through a gap in the wall and Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, not used to the blinding light of the sun on the snow.

Yelena was stood at the base of the Quinjet they had stolen from Stark, and as she saw her sister approaching she ran inside to start the engines. They lifted off the ground just as Nat managed to throw herself into a seat, the baby still safely in her arms.

They'd taken a bigger jet than the Avengers usually used, so the widow's Bucky had taken from the training room were in a separate area where they could sit comfortably together. But Nat had brought Y/n up to where she was sitting so she could look at her gunshot wound.

"мой ребенок! (my baby!)" Y/n cried out as soon as she was sitting, but Nat was already on it. She soothed the distressed girl and gently placed the baby in her outstretched arms.

The young girl may only have been 16, but she was a good mother. She calmed her child and an old Russian lullaby and gently stroked her head, kissing it softly. As she sat opposite, Nat couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy when looking at the mother and daughter. As wrong as it was, she never had that opportunity, and she hated herself for it every day.

"Can I look at your leg?" The young girl nodded and stretched her leg out, wincing slightly. The bullet had gone straight through which made Nat's job easier. "Okay it just needs a few stitches. May I? This will hurt."

Y/n shrugged and pulled down the bandage on her arm. Bucky had to turn away at the sight of the DIY stitches that were 'holding' the wound closed. Nat took a sharp inhale of breath but kept her calm. That could be sorted out back at the compound.

Y/n didn't flinch once as the stitches were being put in. She kept her eyes glued to the baby, stroking her face softly as she hummed once more.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Nat passed the girl a blanket and stepped back to give her some space. "I'll go check on the others." She said to Bucky, who nodded and went to sit at the controls with Yelena.

Y/n was exhausted but tried to keep her guard up. Her eyes darted around the small room, but it wasn't long before she couldn't fight sleep and her eyes began to close.

~~~

"Hey hey woah! It's okay! She's here. She's right here." Natasha was trying to defend herself against Y/n fists as the panicked teenager attacked her. Nat knew the baby wasn't safe just laying on the bed as the teenager slept, so she moved her to a makeshift cot. But Y/n woke up and freaked out.

"You touched her without my permission!" She screamed, swinging a fist at Nat who caught it just in time.

"Y/n, I was looking after her. You needed the rest." Nat held the struggling girl's fists in her hands and stood still, watching as she breathed hard. "It's okay. She's okay."

With a huff, Y/n pulled her hands away and scooped up her baby, cradling her close to her chest. "She needs feeding," she said bluntly.

"Okay. We don't have anything here but why don't you and I go out today and we can buy some supplies, including a cot for our room?" Natasha asked this more as a peace offering and the girl eyed her suspiciously before nodding.

"The other girls. Where are they?"

"Fury- our director has got new homes for them. Don't worry."

"And me? New home for me?"

Nat paused, thinking about her answer. The truth was, she didn't want to see Y/n leave. Not just yet. Something about the girl had reached out to her, and the slight possibility of having a daughter raced through her mind. Maybe this girl was her second chance, a chance to do something good again. "Well, we wanted to keep an eye on you and the baby. Seeing as she's so young."

Y/n just hummed in response before disappearing towards her room with a slight limp.

"You've got a feisty one there." Came a voice from behind Nat. She turned around to find Wanda snacking on a bowl of cereal, spoon halfway to her mouth.

"Yeah." Her reply was half hearted as she stared at where Y/n was last seen.

"Nat?" She turned to face Wanda once more. "I can hear your thoughts; they're really loud. And I'm gonna say go for it, but be careful. You know what you were like when you first came out. She's not much different than you, you know. Give her time."

Natasha smiled at her friend before grabbing a banana. "Thanks Wands."

~~~

Nat really listened to Wanda's words, which is why she called up the store before they left and asked to hire it out for the day. Stark had more than enough money to make that happen, and Nat wanted Y/n to be as comfortable as possible.

They entered through the back door, and only 2 members of staff were on each level of the huge department store. The bright lights and colourful items were enough to overwhelm Y/n anyway, as she held her baby close to her chest, still wrapped in the filthy blanket.

"You can pick whatever you want, okay?" Nat informed the teenager as they entered, but she didn't respond.

She wandered around, face stoic and eyes wide. Natasha could see the outline of a glock tucked into her jeans, but she didn't comment. Where she got it from was unclear, but it brought the girl a sense of comfort and Nat trusted her not to use it inappropriately.

Nat pointed a couple of bottles and baby clothes out, to which Y/n either shrugged or nodded. She was uncomfortable, but this trip was necessary.

"Okay, how about we look at cribs?"

"Our room?"

"Yeah if you want. But there's a nursery we can set up?"

Y/n thought for a minute. "But- no. Close to me."

"She will be close to you." Y/n looked skeptical. "Okay, how about this. We can get one for our room and one for hers, yeah?"

"Okay. But you don't leave no? No moving rooms?"

Natasha couldn't help but smile. "Honey, I'm not leaving. We can get you your own room if you want? For space?"

"No."

"Okay then."

They walked over to the cribs section and looked at the options. Y/n had relaxed a bit more as she considered the options, reaching her hand out to feel the wood. She'd never had the opportunity to make her own decisions before, and it felt foreign.

But within her focussed task, Natasha failed to notice the shop assistant approaching them, until a bright and cheery "Hi there! Can i help you?" broke through their thoughts.

Y/n immediately jumped behind Nat. Her hand would have reached for her gun if it wasn't so busy holding her baby and newly found protector.

"отойди! (stay back!)" Y/n yelled from behind Natasha, who held an arm in front of her. The assistant looked startled and held her hands up in surrender, taking a few steps back.

"Sorry. Could you give us a minute?" Nat apologised quickly and then turned to Y/n. "Hey, stop struggling." The girl unclenched her fist and placed it on her child's back. "That woman is not going to hurt you. Or your baby. You're safe."

"She stay away!" Y/n grunted through gritted teeth, chest heaving. Nat knew there was no winning this, so she placed her arm around the girl, who didn't flinch like she usually did.

"We don't need any assistance right now, thank you." The now shaken woman nodded and scurried away, not wanting to spend another moment around the assassins.

"We go? Now." Y/n stood her ground, staring Natasha directly in the eye.

"30 minutes. Then we go."

"Fine."

Nat rushed around the rest of the store, grabbing baby formula, clothes, cribs, clothes and tethers. She found a bouncer and play mat, even though the infant wasn't even sitting up yet. She grabbed some clothes for Y/n, some of which the teenager picked out, others that Nat knew she needed. The small girl was currently wearing one of Wanda's sweatshirts and a pair of jeans, both of which were too big. All of the items were sent directly to the compound, so they didn't have to carry anything home. And Natasha made sure to heftily tip the woman who had approached them before, as an apology.

Stark had restricted everyone's access except Nat and Wanda to the areas where Y/n was residing. The girl didn't trust men at all, and even with Wanda she was slightly wary.

But after the intense shopping trip, Y/N was exhausted. And her baby was restless, crying even after being fed and changed. The teenager was frustrated and tired, but she refused to hand the baby over to Nat, who offered many times.

But Natasha had another plan. She turned on a movie on the TV and let Y/n sit on the bed, shushing her child desperately.

"Why don't we try her new crib? Maybe she'll settle in there?"

Y/n looked over with heavy eyelids and reluctantly stood up. Her legs buckled slightly but she continued walking to place the baby in the crib. Nat handed her a pacifier but the teenager stared at her blankly, confused at the item she was holding.

"May I?" Nat asked, gesturing to the child.

"Careful." Y/n hissed.

Nat approached the infant and slotted the pacifier into her mouth, smiling at how her cried were instantly silenced.

"ведьма (witch)." Y/n mumbled, watching as her daughter fell asleep within the minute.

"Спасибо, дорогая. (Thank you darling.)" Nat quipped with a smirk as she watched the teenager climb back onto her bed. "Why don't you come onto mine? We can watch a movie?"

Y/N's eyes filled with fear. "Not Snow White. Please no."

Natasha pushed painful memories down and she shook her head. "Definitely not. I still can't watch it."

Y/n shrugged and hesitantly climbed onto Natasha's bed, sticking close to the edge nearest the crib. But Nat didn't comment. She was too busy trying to suppress her excitement over the improvements Y/n had made in such a short amount of time.

She put an episode of Friends on, knowing it was lighthearted and not likely to trigger any fresh memories that Y/n still had.

But she didn't need to worry. Within 10 minutes the teenager was fast asleep, her head resting on Nat's shoulder ever so slightly. The redhead didn't move. She couldn't. This girl was trusting her more and more. The improvement that had been made in a week was beyond anything Nat had ever expected. She paused the movie and switched off the main light, wrapping her arm gently around Y/n's shoulders.

~~~

(5 months later)

Y/n shot up in bed, chest heaving as she broke out of her nightmare. Her eyes automatically darted to the crib beside her bed... but it was empty.

"Mama! Mama! где мой малыш! (Where is my baby!)" She leaped out of bed and raced out of the room, looking everywhere as she ran to the corridor.

She kept yelling for Natasha, calls becoming more and more frantic the longer it went on. But Nat heard her and called back, summoning her into the kitchen.

"I can't find Talia! Someone must have taken h-" The teenager stopped in her tracks, not expecting what she saw infront of her.

Her 7 month old daughter, Talia, was sat in her high chair, eating yoghurt from the spoon that Nat was feeding her. There were berries scattered across the countertop and with every spoonful of yoghurt came a wipe to the mouth from Nat.

"Little miss over her was extra fussy this morning so I made breakfast. Thought you might want to sleep in a bit more."

Y/n breathed out a sigh of relief and leaned against the doorway for a second to catch her breath. "I thought she'd been taken!"

"Well, she just gets more Natty time, don't you little one?" Talia cooed in response, her tiny fists smushing a blackberry on her tray. "Oh you're a messy girl."

"Here Mama, I can clean her."

"Ah ah! I know what I'm doing." Wanda was sat on the other side of the counter eating a plate of pancakes, but she burst out laughing as Talia squished another berry and it squirted onto Nat's white shirt.

"Talia! No baby. Don't play with food." Y/n said, grabbing another wipe for Nat, who accepted it gracefully.

"Good morning Maximoff, Romanoff, Mini-Romanoff and.... Mini-Mini Romanoff." Tony made himself known as he entered the kitchen, Pepper not far behind him.

Over the last 5 months, Y/n had become more comfortable with the rest of the team, especially Tony who spoilt her rotten. He was forever ordering random items or adding updates to her room with Natasha, even without being asked.

"Good morning Stark." Y/n acknowledged him with a smile.

"Nice moves Grandma!" Tony teased as Nat danced around, wiggling her hips, causing her to pause. She grabbed Talia's soggy rabbit plushie that she had been chewing and hurled it at his head, which he only just managed to duck to avoid.

Talia giggled at the sight of her bunny flying through the air and everyone froze.

"Was that her first laugh?" Wanda asked, and Y/n grinned.

"My clever girl! Mama loves her clever girl!"Y/n picked her up from her high chair and held her up, peppering her face in kisses. Talia giggled even more, kicking her legs at the funny feeling.

Nat sank down onto a chair next to Wanda and watched her new daughter and granddaughter laughing together. Tony had given the child her bunny back, and was having fun playing peek-a-boo with her as Y/n held her.

"They've both done so well." Wanda commented as she watched the scene unfold.

"I'm so proud of her. I'm going to ask Fury for adoption papers today." Nat smiled as she felt Wanda's eyes on the side of her face.

"Really?" Wanda's voice was laced with excitement. "You're going to make it official?"

Nat nodded. "She will officially be Y/n Romanoff. My Y/n Romanoff."

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #yelena belova #bucky barnes #black widow

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foxcantswim · 11 months

Note

Hi there! Saw that you may be open to doing requests so I wanted to send one in if you’re not too busy 👋🏼

How about Vanessa’s reaction to hearing f!Reader screaming in the other room, but it ends up just her being scared of a big bug? (Totally not based on recent experiences I’ve had myself 😅)

FNAF Movie / / Vanessa x F!Reader [Terrifying Creatures]

(gif by me)

Vanessa comes to rescue you from something much more terrifying than the animatronics. Contents: FLUFF, Established Relationship Warnings: Van+Mike+YN+Animatronics being idiots WC: 1,486 (Had a lot of fun writing this request. Thank you for the idea @heartof-flies !)

"Seriously guys?" Vanessa sighed in annoyance.

Bonnie and Chica were currently standing nearby, looking down at the mess they had caused. Chica had tripped over Bonnie's guitar and knocked over a table, snapping the legs off in the process. There were a couple of drinks on the table which Vanessa and you had been enjoying too, now they were smashed on the floor. Foxy almost looked smug as he watched on from afar.

She had only gotten here around thirty minutes ago and she already wanted to leave. If it wasn't for you, she would already have. But when you gave her those puppy dog eyes and asked her to help you clean up the mess, she couldn't exactly say no.

You had taken Freddy away so he could help you carry back some cleaning supplies, leaving Vanessa with the other three idiots.

"Come on, help me move this out the way," she beckoned for them to come closer to the table, "You too, Foxy."

He opened his mouth in shock.

"I know you didn't do it, but I still would appreciate the help."

After a few minutes of convincing, he agreed and helped Vanessa, Bonnie and Chica pick up the heavy table and move it to the side of the room. Foxy attempted to kicked some glass away, trying his best to hide it.

"Don't," Vanessa scolded him, "We need to clean up properly. You know how Y/N and Mike are, they'll trip and fall over the smallest thing." She went to grab a broom from the nearby closet, Bonnie following her in the process.

He held up his hand, Vanessa cocked her head before placing the broom in is hand - balancing it as best she could.

Of course it fell to the floor.

"Thanks for the offer, bud. But you don't exactly have a good grip," Vanessa smiled as she picked the broom back up and went back over to the mess.

Upon arriving, she noticed that Chica was pointing at Foxy with her eyes narrowed.

"What did you do this time?"

Then Chica pointed to the floor.

Foxy had clearly kicked around the glass even more, most likely in a fit of anger. He had spread it around to the back of some of the arcade machines.

"You're lucky you have a hook for a hand, otherwise I'd be making you get on your hands and knees to clean this up," she rolled her eyes, "You really just like making my job harder, don't you?"

If an animatronic could smirk, Vanessa was sure that's what Foxy would be doing right about now.

After a few minutes of sweeping, still far from done of course, her mind drifted to you and Freddy.

"What is taking them so long?" she wondered out loud, the animatronics looked between each other clearly curious.

As if on cue, that's when she heard you. A loud ear piercing shriek echoing throughout the pizzeria.

Vanessa wasted no time in throwing the broom to the floor, her hand reached to her belt and gripped the emergency taser hard. She made her way to the storage room at a rapid pace. Bonnie tried to follow out of curiosity, but unfortunately he slipped on the broom... Chica and Foxy were left to now clean up even more as Bonnie fell right into another table.

Vanessa slammed the door open, taser pointed up in the air in preparation.

What she wasn't expecting to see was you standing on a chair in the middle of the room.

"Y/N?" she said, lowering the taser ever so slightly.

"Vanessa! Help!" you exclaimed, terror in your voice.

The blonde looked around the room and that's when she also saw Freddy, he was standing in the corner with a sheet over his head.

"I... What is even going on in here?"

"Careful!" you warned, pointing down towards the floor, "It went under that shelf!"

"'It' being what?"

"The most horrific thing I've ever seen!" you covered your eyes.

Vanessa pocketed the taser, raising an eyebrow in confusion. She kneeled on the floor to peek under the shelf.

"I'm not seeing anything, hon."

"Freddy!" you called, "It escaped! Run whilst you can!"

Freddy wasted no time in removing the sheet from his head, he dropped it to the ground before moving past Vanessa to leave the storage room.

"I didn't think you would actually leave me here, you coward!" you exclaimed as you watched him leave.

"Okay, seriously, Y/N. I'm aware you get scared by the smallest thing. But him?" she nodded back towards the door, "What's he scared of?"

That's when you saw it, "Ah! There!"

Vanessa couldn't believe her eyes. The most horrific and terrifying and scary looking... bug? It crawled out from a different set of shelves, causing Vanessa to step back and simply look at it.

"This thing?" she pointed towards the bug.

"Yes!"

"THIS thing?" she put more emphasis on it, "THIS BUG?"

"YES."

Vanessa simply grabbed a nearby cup from the shelf, she bent down and placed it over the bug and then stood back up straight. She simply looked at you in silence. You looked at her in returned silence.

Clearing your throat, you hopped down from the chair, smoothing down your clothes, "Wow... that was... so scary huh?" a nervous laugh escaped you.

"You are so lucky I love you, Y/N," she couldn't stop herself from smiling, "Don't worry. Your knight in shining armour is here to save you."

You folded your arms and pouted.

Vanessa's smile widened as she stepped closer, "Don't be mad. It's cute," she teased, her arms coming up to pull you into a hug, "I'm sure that bug was very scary."

You tried to stay mad, but Vanessa always managed to pull you out of it. The blonde placed a soft kiss against your cheek, causing your face to heat up.

"Come on, Y/N," she continued to place even more kisses, "Can't stay mad at me forever."

Finally, a smile crept up on to your own face, "Nessy..." you groaned, "Stop!" you tried to push her away.

Vanessa finally captured your lips with hers, you finally unfolded your arms to wrap them around her instead.

A smug smile was on Vanessa's face when she pulled away, "I'll be here to save you from all the scary bugs."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

The pair of you finally managed to find the mops and other cleaning supplies, getting ready to clean up whatever extra mess the animatronics have caused whilst you two were gone.

As long as there weren't any bugs around, you were sure you would be fine.

(BONUS/Alternate Scene)

That's when you saw it, "Ah! There!"

Vanessa couldn't believe her eyes. The most horrific and terrifying and scary looking... bug? BUG?!

"MOVE!" Vanessa exclaimed, hopping up onto the chair.

"H-Hey!" you said, trying not to fall off the chair as you clung to Vanessa's arms, "Nessy!"

"That is the biggest bug I've ever seen!"

You gulped, "What do we do? We can't stay here forever!"

"I don't know! Look for something to hit it with!"

"I can't reach the shelves from here!"

The two of you remained on that chair for the rest of the night... And the rest of the following day...

Eventually, the sound of echoing footsteps filled both yours and Vanessa's ears.

"What the hell happened in here, Freddy? Why is there so much glass?!" you heard a voice, "Don't look at me like that... I want this mess cleaned up now."

The door to the storage room opened, and there stood Mike. He froze upon seeing both you and Vanessa standing on a chair.

"Heyyyy, Mike..." you started.

"Am I interrupting something?" he said, extremely confused.

Vanessa smiled, "Nope. Nothing at all."

"Then whyyy are you on the chair?"

"Erm..." you gulped.

The blonde then suddenly gasped, "Mike! Behind you!"

Mike turned around and saw nothing at first, his eyes slowly drifted downwards. His heartrate picked up before he turned and sprinted towards you and Vanessa, "MOVE!" he shouted, jumping onto the already crowded chair.

"Mike!" you exclaimed, now having to hold on to both Vanessa and him in order not to fall, "You were supposed to be our last hope!"

"Someone else can deal with that!" he shook his head.

Vanessa almost slipped, "Find your own chair, you idiot!"

Lets just say, the three of them spent a long time bickering on that chair. Their only salvation was when Chica came in and fell over the sheet Freddy had dropped earlier, accidentally landing on top of the bug... Not without knocking over a lot of shelves in the process though.

Taglist: @marvelwomen-simp

#fnaf gif #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf x reader #fnaf vanessa #fnaf vanessa x reader #vanessa x reader #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #vanessa monroe

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 1 year

Text

Mommy!May: Essence

A siren rescues you from the plunder of a shipwreck, you're grateful for his mercy in letting you live.

But at what cost?

Content Includes: Siren!Mommy Seonghwa x sub!fem reader, DUB-CON & DARK THEMES, it's why I included the ominous blurb in the beginning, scent play, spit kink, aphrodisiacs, scratching, biting, rough sex, kissing, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, body worship, mating kink.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Disclaimer: 18 + only. I don't endorse these themes, this is pure fantasy.

Please heed the warnings, this is the darkest fic I have written thus far.

If you still feel 'called' haha to read this, enjoy :)

The waves crashed and battered against you as you called out for help, your hands and feet kicking and clawing at the ocean that was ravenous and against your favour.

‘Help! Someone help me!’

The words baffled and frothed against your mouth, you felt your lungs were drowning and your body weakening.

The imminent drag to the bottom of the ocean is close to being the untimely death of your demise.

The night sky was bright, the moonlight an ominous globe that silhouetted the hidden creatures in the water and the shrieking screams of fear heard from any direction of sight.

The ship was creaking, the fire illuminating the darkness and the smell of smoke and salt filled your nostrils.

A piece of wood peeked out of the corner of your eye, it wasn’t there before…why would it be there now?

You were too focused on surviving to care, lunging towards the wood and gripping it with what little strength you have left, hands shaking and trembling white as you gripped onto the edge and heaved your torso up onto the plank.

Coughs and gargles were filling the air as you churned up all the excessive water over the wood, your head resting against the rough material as you closed your eyes for a few moments of peace.

Just a few seconds, just give a few seconds, a few seconds of freedom, a few seconds to feel grateful for the extended life the Universe has so kindly placed upon you.

A swishing noise was heard around you, soft and mild, barely enough to wake you from your slumber, your lashes fluttered as you attempted to close your eyes and let the ocean take you away.

Until the flicker of scales shone under the water, peeking out in your periphery.

‘Wow, that’s so pretty’ You murmured in a groggy daze, unaware of the presence hovering over you, watching you, contemplating where his song would lure you.

To the ocean to feed?

His mouth filled with saliva, his body ready to pounce and the tail swished around him in a defensive stance.

Until moonlight hit the side of your cheek, glittering and gleaming against the wetness and soft droplets forming on the tips of your lashes.

Like the stars.

So precious and fragile, little human, so beautiful and weak.

A precious, little star.

His precious, little star.

A low hum filled your senses and a shiver ran down your frozen body, the melody encapsulating and the tension easing from your chest.

You followed the noise to the man floating in the water, his skin wet and droplets riveting across his bare chest and shoulders.

The illusion was too easy to believe in your breathless state, his tail deliberately hidden underneath him, gills flat behind his ears, his mouth closed and hiding his sharp and deadly fangs.

‘Please…’ You whimpered out in a croaky, gargled voice.

‘Help me’.

He swam over to you, though not using his arms, it was like he was gliding across the water, the soft hum becoming louder and making your mind foggy and head feel heavy.

A gentle stroke to your hair, a webbed finger softly prying your mouth open and a warm, sweet type of wetness was felt upon your tongue, a soft thumb wiping the excess away from the corner of your lip.

‘Shhhh, don’t be scared…I’ll look after you’ He cooed, something he mimicked from watching mothers speak to their children upon the shore.

‘Ssssssleep’ He purred, his words almost snake-like and his webbed hand stroking your back, watching your eyes flutter close and your body almost go limp against the wood.

‘Thank you’ You mumbled out before darkness took over you, the silence and the heaviness more comforting than the need to survive, to kick against the current and thrive.

The man you thought was your saviour, heart filled with gratitude and appreciation for the one thing that might make you live another day.

Was not even a man.

Was not going to save you.

He was going to be your next nightmare.

…

‘Precious…’

The droplets of water on your forehead and a cold hand running along your calf brings you to the present.

‘Wake….up’

The sound of rain pitter-pattering caused your lashes to flutter and your nose to scrunch up as your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cave you were in.

A soft whimper left your throat at the realisation that you were here, yet again in the rain and the dimly lit cave with nothing but your bare clothes and your sanity hanging on by an ocean’s thread.

‘Come on…there there…open those pretty eyes’.

A soft voice cooed in your ear as you felt a hand move up from your calves to your naval, stroking over the thin fabric of your shirt, motioning in smooth circles.

The touch was so gentle against the roughness and fear of the dark sky and rain, it felt familiar, nurturing almost as the unlocked fear and anxiety pushed past the confines of your lungs and chest.

‘Mommy??’

You whined, your vision becoming more clear as you reached out with grabby hands to latch onto whatever the soft touch and gentle voice came from.

‘Look at me precious…can’t you see? Mommy’s here’.

The slightest tilt to your head and a shudder of breath made your body cold and skin prickle in goosebumps at where the voice was coming from.

Seonghwa’s cheekbones and jawline were covered in silver, chrome coloured scales that ran down his neck and collarbones, his skin so luminescent it looked metallic against the moonlight beaming upon him.

His wavy, jet black hair fell just under his ears, hiding the gills that reverberated the hymn he was using to help make you lucid, pliable and compliant.

Webbed and inky-streaked fingers with sharp, pointed nails were followed by shades of silver speckled across his bare chest and torso, seamlessly transitioning from man to creature as his tail floated behind him.

His lower half was submerged in the pool of water as he perched over you on the flat rock and sticky seaweed he carefully placed underneath you, wanting to form a makeshift bed for your comfort.

The silver iris of his eyes were uncanny, bright and reflective, you could see a clean image of yourself in them.

‘It’s…feeding time…Mommy feeds you’

His speech was stunted and broken, he was obviously speaking in a tongue not of his native language but he had heard the laughs and drunken banters of humans before they turned into screeches of pain and cowardly fear.

So, he knew a little bit.

Enough to speak to you.

‘You eat…’ He spoke again, his eyes glancing from your neck up to your chin, the ends of his nails digging into the flesh of your skin as he firmly pulled down your chin, opening your mouth for him.

‘Eat precious…then…Mommy…play’

Darkness glinted in his eyes as his other hand exposed the chunks of raw fish that he had been saving for this moment, the flesh and sinew of it nudging your bottom lip before being pushed gently into your mouth.

You might have gagged at the metallic-taste if you weren’t starved enough to care, lapping your tongue around Seonghwa’s fingers, too focused on feeling sated to notice the glow of his skin.

‘Thirsty’ You croaked in a parched voice as you limply reached out to avert the attention to the pool of water.

‘Thirsty?’ Seonghwa mimicked, his gills flaring up as he looked over to the small rock pool, thoughts pondered in his head as he looked back at you.

‘Water bad…Mommy make it clean’.

His head slowly lowered into the water and his tail swished as it doused you in water, causing your clothes to be soaked even more.

His mind wandered as he swam quickly and with a need to hit his goal with hastiness.

Seonghwa needed you alive and well.

He much preferred to play with living prey after all.

You were his to play with the moment he swam up to the flat bank of rock outside the cave and leveraged you on it with his tail, picking up seaweed so you could be comfortable during your ‘long-term’ stay.

And as he stared down at your sleeping form, his tail wrapping possessively around you that he heard a slight cry leave your mouth.

‘Mommy’ You whimpered before you fell back into a state of exhaustion.

Mommy…

An endearment of trust.

Only to humans though,

To a siren, however.

Oh, the taunting was too tempting to deny.

‘There…there…Mommy’s here'.

The sound of Seonghwa’s movements in the water gave you a sigh of relief as a large abalone shell scraped across the rock with a taloned finger.

The droplets of water glitter across his scaled figure had you frozen in beauty.

He was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time, too human for a creature and too much of a creature to be human.

‘Mommy…clean water..to drink’.

Seonghwa heaved his body over the ledge so half his figure was on land, his legs and tail still submerged in water.

Your eyes widened as he brought the abalone shell towards his mouth, it seemed like he was going to swallow the contents of it.

‘No..what are you doing? I need that’

You weakly pushed yourself up on your elbows and swatted at Seonghwa to fight for the abalone shell.

‘Stop!’ He hissed out, bottom lip lined with a sticky substance, his skin now SHINY and glowing with sweat.

‘Mommy clean water’.

You watched weakly as he drank the water, a few drops of it sparkling against his skin as he crawled forward to hover over you, his tail and fins dampening the bottom of your thighs and calves.

His face was inches from you, a series of quiet chirps and clicks emanating from his throat and his call relaxed you slightly.

Seonghwa spat the water from his mouth into yours, his tongue…LONG tongue swiping the inside of your palette and you felt a pinch on your bottom lip.

He finished the messy kiss by pulling away slightly, his kindness turned to roughness when his hands gripped your jaw and made your mouth as wide as possible.

Seonghwa pursed his mouth and a long, thick and viscous string of his saliva landed on the centre of your tongue.

‘It tastes sweet’

The final thought before your head became foggy and satiated.

Heat ran through your body as a mindless sense of arousal and euphoria rushed over you, letting out little huffs and whimpers as your legs started to grind together.

Seonghwa’s silver eyes brightened with lust as his eyes fixed upon the buds of your nipples aroused and swollen, peeking through the translucent, wet shirt.

Low clicks and chirps of desire were heard throughout the cave, his saliva and the siren hymn making you feel euphoric, dazed and needy.

Seonghwa’s tongue swiped around the bud of your nipple, causing your back to arch and whine as he sucked around the fabric, scraping the bud slightly with his fang before repeating the process on the other one.

‘Mommy’ You panted out breathlessly.

‘Mommy play…play with you’ He spoke firmly, webbed fingers pushing the shirt up and over your breasts, watching you stare back at him with glazed eyes.

The saliva was working, the aphrodisiac qualities making you feel needy, pliable, horny and submissive.

Seonghwa’s hand wandered down to your covered mound, feeling the heat of it under your fingertips and the smell of your arousal filling the air.

It’s Mommy’s playtime now.

‘So little’

With one strong and lithe hand, your pants were torn in the middle and the fabric gathered around your calves and knees.

He watched your body twitch and he was hard, saliva and venom pooling in his mouth at how beautiful your cunt looked and how wet…WET you were from his saliva, staring at your wetness dripping down near the crevice of your thighs.

Seonghwa spread your thighs open roughly, a warning growl leaving his mouth and fangs bare when he heard your discomfort.

A curious lick of your slick on his tongue and he moaned, the scent of your arousal seeping into his skin before laving his tongue over you again and again.

Loud chirps, clicks and guttural moans were heard from your core as Seonghwa messily slid his tongue up your folds, sucked your clit, placed wet open-mouthed kisses against your core and licked you clean.

‘More…more’

You whined out, your body feeling limp and eyelids heavy, satiated in a daze of pleasure and being relieved of touch starvation to understand the depravity of how trapped you were by the one thing that was keeping you on that rock.

Seonghwa sucked more and more, the talons of his fingers scratching your thighs and eyes slitted, the veins on his arms shining silver and his skin glowing.

Thoughts of a different language repeated over in his mind as he sucked and licked the wetness out of your cunt,

What would taste better?

The life force he was consuming from you?

Or the softness of your skin between his teeth?

A flash of red sparked through his eyes and he pulled his tongue out to bite into the plushness of your inner thigh, not enough to bleed but enough to feel the puncture of his fangs.

Seonghwa grabbed your hips and pulled himself back up towards your face, leaving bite marks and wet trails of his saliva all over your bare skin, the aphrodisiac seeping into your skin and the pain subsiding into numbness, into lucidity.

‘Mate’

He spoke out to you with certainty, demanding and with authority.

‘Mate. My mate’

Your mouth was red, swollen and wet with a line of drool coming out from the corner of your mouth from how good the pleasure was and how far gone your mind was.

Seonghwa puckered your lips with his fingers and his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, your cum mixing with his saliva and your mouth opened freely, the taste of his spit and your essence filling your nostrils and making you squirm with desire for more.

He grinded his scaled hips over your core as he felt himself unsheath his appendage, much like a human male but thick, with a rougher texture.

‘Stay…mate you.’

With one hand on your waist and the other supporting himself up, he pressed himself against your entrance, watching your hips jolt and brow furrow.

‘Mommy’ You whined out as you gripped the seaweed below, jaw clenched from the overbearing pressure you felt between your legs.

‘Shhh’ He cooed softly, running his hands in comfort up your side as he attempted to push in further but the resistance was rough and he could feel your muscles tensing under the broadness of his hands.

He stayed still as he gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes shifting to a normal human lens as he gently tilted your head up.

A glob of his spit landed on your tongue and you could feel it trail down your throat, it was sweet, like honey and immediately your body became sensitive.

A rock of your hips languidly and your lips trailing his was enough for Seonghwa to move again, lust and desire overwhelming both of you as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling every ridge of him in the inside of your core.

‘Precious’

His tongue licked over your cheek, savouring the salt and sheen of your skin as his scales grazed over your thighs, your body sensitive and fragile like an exposed wire underneath him.

‘Star’

Seonghwa’s voice was husky, raw as he panted above you, his free hand running down the front of your body in appreciation and worship.

‘Keep…Mate…Care…Love’

He lovingly spoke to you with each thrust, his hands tangled in your hair and his spit, essence and saliva was felt on your tongue, on your lips, down your throat and in your skin.

He may be your nightmare but you were his dream.

Your body, your voice, your vulnerability, your isolation.

Did he lure you or did you lure him?

Your life was spared, your freedom? Maybe not.

‘Mate’.

He whimpered out for the final time as his hips quickened, his scales glistening and shining brighter, the low-light of silver dimmed underneath the sheen of his skin, soft eyes and wet mouth.

‘You’re Mommy’s mate’.

Author's Commentary:

If you did choose to read this fic, thank you for giving it a chance.

This did not write how I was expecting it too.

This took me weeks to write because I wanted to incorporate spit play into one of my fics after reading the kink used in a vampire!idol fic.

I am personally not into spit play myself but I've always wanted to write a siren!idol piece and it just fits perfectly.

Thank you to @byuntrash101 for beta-reading this for me and giving me the motivation to turn try something different and write a dark fic.

Hey *shrugs*, at least I tried.

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @stardragongalaxy @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @sensitiveandhungry @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @lemonhongjoong @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @aris-ink @hwalysm

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my-writings-and-musings · 1 year

Text

Transformers ROTB

Mirage x Reader

(Hurt/Comfort)

It's a billion degrees here so thinking is hard and I've been imagining cold... This fic of Mirage keeper reader warm after a snowy rescue was born. As the last fic proves, I just love writing Mirage cuddles, and can you blame me?

Look at him. Absolute cuddlebug. Has to be.

---

Everything was cold and aching when you came to, but considering you'd expected not to wake up at all, you could tentatively call that a win. Too exhausted and pained to shiver, you cracked your eyes open as sounds finally drifted into focus. A blue figure moved through the darkness with curses of frantic frustration, their inhumanly large frame bent over a pile of damp wood they were having no luck lighting. Recognizing their familiar shade of blue in the brief flashes of light from their attempted fire, you perked up despite your exhaustion.

"Mirage?"

The mech snapped his helm around, optics wider than you'd ever seen them as he looked at you in total disbelief.

"Hey, you're not dead!" he gushed as he crawled across the cave, looking so overjoyed he must not have believed you'd ever speak again. Too worn out and stiff to chuckle, you managed to crack a smile as the mech leaned over you, seemingly drinking in your presence as if he hadn't seen you in ages. Not having the slightest clue how you'd gotten here, you found your head free of worry despite your injuries, and you couldn't resist the urge to crack a joke.

"Should I be?"

"No, definitely not! Don't you go getting any ideas!" Mirage replied, his tone a solid mix of playful admonishment and serious warning. Adjusting a small emergency blanket that you'd been loosely swaddled in, he fretted long enough for you to pick up on his worry despite the continued jokes. "I've busted my aft keeping you alive this long, you don't get to put all my hard work to waste."

"What happened?" you asked as you tried to hug the blanket closer, numb fingers making it nearly impossible. Confused but able to recall a blurry series of events, the lack of other Autobots stuck out to you, especially when you remembered the whole group had been together in battle the last time you'd seen them. Not seeing a single other being in the cave activated your worry. "Where's-?"

"Shhh, questions take stamina you can't spare. I'll do the talking for both of us." Mirage interrupted gently, still teasing but sounding much softer as he encouraged you to lie back. The warmth of his servo and the comfort of his much larger frame beside yours allowed you to relax and listen, but as you did so It became apparent you were still quite exhausted, and you had to fight the urge to sleep. A fascinating narrative made consciousness stick around despite your heavy eyelids. "It took some expert tracking, but Bee was able to find two sets of tracks; a big ugly bot and the human he was tearing after. Unfortunately enough for him, we found him first."

Now you could remember how you'd gotten into this mess; running from a Decepticon and trying to lose them in the dense, frozen forest... The last thing you'd seen of Mirage had been the main battle, and you couldn't even begin to recall how long you'd been out in the cold, but it was good to know everything had more or less worked out. If only you weren't so terribly cold...

"I don't know how you outran him, but you were sorta... asleep and awake when we found you, so cold you weren't even shivering. We called Noah, and he's arranging to meet Optimus somewhere "clandestine" and escort a medic this way. They're gonna look you over and then pretend they didn't see us." Mirage continued. Nodding in incomplete understanding, you tried to keep your eyes open, and would have yawned if you'd had the strength. You knew what was being said meant a lot to you, and that a doctor was very much in order, but it all felt so far away. Aching body going increasingly numb, you barely found the strength to reply.

"Thank you..." you croaked, so terribly tired you couldn't convince yourself that staying awake was worth it. Mirage reacted swiftly, cupping his hand behind your head and looking into your eyes. The fear in his optics made you yearn for the energy to comfort him, but as it was you couldn't even understand why he was so upset.

"Don't thank me, just stay awake, yeah?" he encouraged, positive facade crumbling as he scooped you up in a panic. Feeling his chest, which radiated a reduced but still appreciable amount of warmth, you sighed and leaned into his embrace. The speedster held you tightly against him, digits patting your cheek as he tried to get you to focus on him. "Talk to me, Y/N, tell me what I can do."

"Cold..." was all you could say, exhaustion all but dragging you down into unconsciousness. Only your desire not to upset him kept you awake, but you knew there was precious little fight left in you. Mirage frantically reached back to the damp wood he'd been attempting to dry and ignite with his blaster.

"Okay, okay... I can... Scrap, I can't get this to light!" he cried in briefly hopeless frustration, his servo transforming back into a limb so he could hold you close to share what little warmth he had to spare. The pain in his expression compelled you to comfort him, but you didn't have the strength to do anything but lay your hand on the glowing center of his chest. You only wanted him to know it was alright, but the mech took much more from the gesture, his optics widening before his brows furrowed in determination. "Plan B then; come here."

Snapping open his chest panels and revealing the beautiful yet surprisingly soft glow of his spark, he pulled you close, allowing you to practically snuggle against the heat generating essence of his being.

"Sorry if this is weird... but it's warm, right?" he said quickly, aware of the awkward intimacy even if the situation was desperate. Being held so close allowed you to finally thaw after hours of exposure, and the feeling of life returning to your limbs was soothing enough to compel you to sigh. Cradling you tightly against his spark, Mirage sat back against the cave wall and relaxed at your increasingly less pallid complexion, returning to a more playful tone filled with affection. "My spark always runs hot, part of being an Outlier. I'll keep you close until the doc gets here. Least I can do for my little space heater."

Smiling back at the joke, you sighed once more and touched your hand to his spark, able to feel the soft hum soothing your aching body. As much as you still yearned for sleep, being so close gave you the strength to stay awake a little longer, the growing ease in his frame compelling you to keep going for both your sakes. A tender cupping of your face helped make you all the more certain that everything was going to be alright.

Mirage continued to encourage you, the devotion in his spark more than warm enough to keep the dark, frigid cold of the cave at bay. "You just keep getting nice and toasty. I've got you..."

#transformers #maccadam #tf #mirage x reader #tf mirage #rotb mirage #transformers rotb #tf rotb #rotb #transformers: rise of the beasts #rise of the beasts #human reader #self insert #transformers x reader #x reader #hurt/comfort #fluff

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generalsdiary · 2 months

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remember this message from aventurine?

yeah, so I wrote that scene.

To Aventurine's luck, he was rescued from the Nihility, the end, by a knight of Beauty. How lucky… He lives to see another day. Another assignment, another project, another trip which will all get blurred in a haze, memories merging together like melted crayons his mind too blurry if he ever even tried to recall.

A single drop of water slithered down his back under his satin shirt. His face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, trembling, hands shaking with terror mirrored in his wide open eyes. The hill of his throat bopping as he gasps for air. The sheets felt too heavy, too warm, too suffocating. Another night he woke up drenched in sweat. Another nightmare where the air left his lungs, he was alone, they weren’t there, no peace of death, no calm embrace of sins forgiven and a new life beginning. The air scratched against his throat, rose thorns dragging along the sides of his windpipe poisoning his vocal cords, his words dying there before they could be vocalized in yelps, wails, or even pleadings. His chest rises and falls down in weak attempts to make his heart calm down, to stop it from jumping out of his chest and making him less of a human than he already thinks he is. Red crescent moons scattered inside his palms are sending aching pain to his nerve’s ends, he stares forward, he doesn’t pay them much mind- he cannot, the pain could ground him but he is too out of it. out of his mind, out of his body, desperately clutching onto the sheets, the branches of this existence, of this reality. Palms sweaty with the ending of the nightmare still trapped in his tense hands, the bitter taste on his tongue the flavor of nihility. The eyes that glow in the dark, that he would’ve sold in his past if it got him something… money? freedom? If such a thing even exists. Those same eyes like boiling water overflowing and, with salt and regret fall down the hills of his cheeks. He cannot control them, the tears, it is his body’s weak attempt at regulating his emotions. He has been running, every gamble, every manipulation, every flashy smile… it is him running from his past and back to it. his legs would give out underneath him if he was standing, knees too weak, feet too swollen, burning him up from inside. Settling more in the now, he feels the guilt dripping off his teeth, snake toxin that colors each of his smiles and paints his every pretty praise… did he truly do it just to see his family once more? throwing it all away for that… what would they think of him provoking an emanator, throwing this precious life away for the ones who have passed on? anger. White, hot anger, he regrets it. they wouldn’t- he never should’ve done it. they would want their little boy to persevere. to continue on. to stop gambling his own life. what is he worth if he won’t wager that of which has little matter to him? what blatant lies… the one who does not care for his life doesn’t clutch his chips in his hand for dear life. sadness. The ends of his hair stick to the back of his neck like ropes and chains that once bound him. or perhaps strings with which he is controlled. No one controls him. or perhaps this… glamourous, extravagant persona of Aventurine does. He needs to make a change. Cut the strings, control his own body, his choices, he can do better, he will do better… maybe he will dare to want to do better… in regards to himself. the various nightmares that keep his nights restless and his body frail keep coming, he exhales a heavy breath hoping, praying, that this is the last one. that this never-ending torment will end. Now his back aches from sitting up like so, or is it the weight of his job and his curse the ones which make it bend so? He has betrayed himself every day. putting the flamboyant clothes on and wearing it like a clown suit, parading around… except if someone gets close enough and sees the little Kakavasha hidden deep, far inside.

Sheets rustle behind him, grounding him even more in the present, anchoring him further in his body and out of the darkness of his dreams. “another one?” the baritone voice quietly asks, strong arms embracing his torso and his hand clutched onto them for… dear life. a hand presses against his damp forehead, seemingly checking his temperature. The thick, swallowing, dooming silence now cut with breathing of another that came to his awareness. Another set of ribs expanding and contracting against his own. A heart beating, pumping blood in rhythm with his. “I will draw us a bath.” The arms threaten to move away, and Aventurine grips them tightly refusing to let go, he turns back facing the man his eyes pleading, begging him to not go. “Veritas…” the man’s eyelashes flutter a few times before the indigo hair moves with a nod. “I’m here, Kakavasha. Right here. We will go together.”

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politemagic · 2 months

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Strip Club Owner!Vessel x Reader

feat. Bartender!III, Manager!II, and Bouncer!IV

attempted sexual assault, eepy boys to the rescue, comfort with Vessel, non-descript reader outside of wearing eyeliner and simply having hair (though no specified length), author has never been to a strip club

a/n: this is mostly unedited so I apologize in advance for any errors, I simply needed this to stop haunting my drafts. it was intended to be a blurb but... uh.... I might have gotten a little carried away.

2.4k words

No one's ever seen the owner of the Pink Pony Club, there's a name listed on their business certificate and an owner's office tucked away in the corner, and the light is on six nights a week. Some of the regulars have caught a glimpse of his shadowed figure slipping out the back door, but they'd never know for sure it was even him. Most business in the club was conducted through the general manager, II. He hired the dancers and the staff, running final decisions through the mysterious owner, Vessel. Every night II keeps a watchful eye on the floor of the club, reporting back to Vessel throughout the night.

On this particular night though it was the bartender, III, who caught the commotion at the far end of the bar. The pristine white suit jacket caught III's eye instantly, the only customer to come in wearing such a bright white was some Wall Street scumbag who was already on his second strike at the club. He watched a streak of white as the asshole reached out to grab onto one of the dancer's arms as they walked by, yanking them back to stand in front of him.

III clocked the startled look in their eyes, the panic in their eyes was accentuated by their heavy eyeliner, giving them a similar look of a deer caught in the headlights. It was only their second week at the club, and he could tell by their reaction that this was the first time they'd encountered a more aggressive customer. III grabbed the walkie talkie from behind the bar, radioing for II to come to the bar, but got no response.

Shit. He's probably on his smoke break. III thought to himself.

He glanced back over, seeing the man's hands running along their waist, fingertips digging into their sides in a tight grip, evidenced by the wince on their face as he pulled them closer, their nose crinkling at his rancid breath. III tried calling II one more time, eyes trained on the pair at the end of the bar as he watched their attempts to wriggle from the man's hold. When he saw the anger in the man's eyes, he knew he couldn't sit around and wait for II's response.

III quickly signaled to the other bartender to watch the end of the bar while he slipped out, his long strides carrying him to the back office in seconds, knocking rapidly.

The door cracked open, a chain keeping the office door from opening all the way, when Vessel saw his best bartender bouncing on his heels at the door he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Fucking Kingpin's back." He explained. It was a nickname Vessel himself had coined after the main villain in the Daredevil comics, known for his pristine white suit.

"II?" Vessel asked.

"Not answering."

"What's he doing this time?"

"Got his hands on Y/N." He stated quickly.

A dark cloud passed over Vessel's eyes. If there was one thing about Vessel, it was that he genuinely cared about his employees. He knew they exposed themselves to a certain amount of risk by working at the Pink Pony, and he would stop at nothing to make sure they were safe under his supervision. It was why they'd hired on a new bouncer not too long ago after business started picking up. IV was a retired rugby player, and had no issues literally tossing drunk assholes out onto the street.

"Where." It was more of a growl than a question. He'd approved their paperwork only a few weeks ago, remembering how II described them.

"End of the bar."

The door slammed shut, and III heard the chain sliding out of place before Vessel's looming from appeared in the doorway, brushing past III as he made his way to the bar. He watched as Kingpin's head dipped into the crook of their neck as they tried pushing him away again, and he was seeing red.

"Hey!" He barked, stalking closer to the two at the end of the bar, Y/N's face melting into one of relief at the owner's appearance. When Kingpin didn't move, his lips grazing the skin of their throat as they tried to squirm away, Vessel closed the distance in three easy steps, his hand forcefully yanking his shoulder back and effectively separating at least his mouth from the newest dancer.

"There an problem here?" Kingpin slurred, clearly not registering the pure ire on Vessel's face.

"Yeah. There's a fucking problem. Get your hands off my dancer." He growled, eyes flicking to where the man's hands still gripped Y/N's body, dangerously close to their ass.

"D'worry, I'm good to pay." He said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"Afraid you're looking for services we don't offer here." Vessel sneered, his grip tightening on the man's shoulder, a flicker of pain flashing across his face.

"I'm willing to pay extra for this one..." The predatory grin on Kingpin's face had Vessel setting aside his good business sense and shoving the man from the stool, releasing his grip on Y/N in the process.

In an instant, IV appeared behind Vessel. Vessel glanced over his shoulder at the bouncer before just giving a simple nod of his head. Iv wasted no time in leaning down, grabbing the man by the lapels of his jacket and hoisting him to his feet. He yanked him forward before stepping behind him, a firm hand on his collar as he ushered him to the exit.

Vessel could hear Kingpin's protests, but one glance at IV proved that the situation was handled as he forcibly shoved him out the door, landing flat on his face against the sidewalk. If he'd been paying closer attention, he probably would have seen the way that IV spat at (not on, he was a professional after all, but that didn't mean he didn't have a distaste for drunk sleaze balls) him before slamming the door shut.

But Vessel's attention was on Y/N in an instant, checking them over for any visible injuries. His stomach lurched at the sight of the red mark against their collarbone, and he reached out a hand, which they hesitantly accepted before Vessel led them back to his office. As he passed the bar, he gave III a thankful nod before stepping aside to let Y/N into the solace of his office.

When the door closed behind him, the thumping music of the club faded to the background, and Y/N couldn't help the tears that sprang in their eyes.

"Are you alright?" Vessel asked in a surprisingly gentle tone, given the events that had just transpired. They nodded their head weakly, not wanting the owner to think they couldn't handle the job. But as a rebellious tear slipped down their cheek, Vessel slowly took a step forward to tentatively reach a hand out to cup their cheek, his thumb wiping the tear away.

"Are you alright?" Vessel repeated, voice barely above a whisper as they observed the dancer's delicate state. He remembered the way II described them, how upon meeting them he was unsure because of their gentle demeanor, yet watching them on stage he had seen a completely different person. They'd said this would be their first official dancing job, and imagined they'd yet to face some of the harsher realities of their position.

When they shook their head, he slid his hand along the side of their face to cup the back of their head, bringing them forward into a tight, comforting embrace. Their face fell into his shoulder, and he could feel their hot tears seeping through the material of his shirt as he stroked their hair gently.

After a moment they tugged their face away, and he let his arms fall to his sides as they stepped back, wiping the smudged eye makeup from underneath their eyes.

"Sorry, I'm just... He caught me off guard. That's all. I'm fine." They said, though the slight waver to their voice told Vessel differently.

"Are you sure?" He asked gently, tilting his head as he took in their quivering appearance.

"Y-yeah. Fine. Promise." They said quickly and Vessel just shook his head.

"You don't look fine to me, sweetheart." He didn't miss the slight panic in their eyes as he passed them to open his desk drawer.

I'm getting fired. He doesn't think I can handle this and he's going to fire me.

"Let me take you home." He said, and they shook their head furiously as he produced a set of car keys from the drawer.

"No, really. I'm fine. I got this." They said, trying to reassure him despite the new tears threatening to spill down their cheeks. Vessel sighed, setting the keys down on the desk to stand in front of them once more. He slowly reached his hands out to grasp their bicep, giving them time to flinch away, but when they didn't he squeezed them comfortingly.

"Sweetheart, it's okay. It's an unfortunate aspect of the business, it's happened to everyone," he says with a deep sigh. "It's okay to be scared, uncomfortable, whatever you're feeling. What isn't okay is you trying to pretend it didn't bother you. No one will think any less of you for wanting to go home, least of all me. It's part of my job to look after you, and that's what I'm doing." Vessel finished, looking deep into their eyes as they slowly nodded their head.

"I can't, I can't afford to-"

"That wasn't my question," Vessel interrupted. "Now, do you want me to take you home?" he repeated and his heart squeezed as he watched them bite down on their bottom lip, nodding their head shyly. A small smile crossed his lips, pleased that they were willing to accept his offer.

"Alright. Go get changed, pack up your stuff, I'll meet you by the back entrance." He said, his hands sliding down their arms to squeeze their hands encouragingly.

He'd spotted II back on the floor and gave him a quick rundown of the situation, explaining that he'd be back in a little bit. About fifteen minutes later the back door swung open, Y/N standing in their comfortable change of clothes and, as promised, Vessel was standing right outside the entrance. He leaned against the wall, scrolling through his phone until he heard the familiar squeak of the hinges.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, a gentle hand on the small of their back as he guided them to his black sedan parked in the alley. He opened the passenger door, ushering them inside before closing it and jogging around to the driver side.

He had them type their address into his phone, driving in silence save for the classic rock radio station playing softly through the car's speakers, street lights illuminating Y/N's face as they leaned their head back against the headrest, fidgeting with their fingers.

"If it's any consolation, you're not the first dancer I've driven home after an incident like that." Vessel said quietly as the traffic light turned green.

"Really?" Y/N asked meekly.

"Really."

"So... You don't think I'm completely pathetic?"

"Of course not," Vessel stated firmly, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye, hesitating before continuing. "I know what it feels like."

Y/N couldn't hide their surprise at his revelation. "You do?" they asked, Vessel nodding his head.

"Why do you think I want to take such good care of my dancers? I was not so lucky, the first time anyone ever grabbed me like that... The owner just told me to suck it up because it's part of the job. But I don't believe that."

"I had no idea that you used to dance."

"It was something that wasn't a pleasant experience for me, because of the place I worked in. Customers could get away with just about anything for the right price. When I bought the Pink Pony, I wanted the experience to be different."

"Wow..." They mumbled, looking at him closely now. They'd obviously noticed how attractive the owner was in their brief meeting, but they hadn't considered the fact that he had ever been something other than just a businessman.

"So, really. It's okay to need to go home. I wish I had been given the same offer."

"I'm so sorry. I... Thank you." they said sincerely, and that small smile reappeared on his face.

"Of course. It won't be reflected on your paycheck, either. I don't want you feeling like you have to suffer just to make ends meet."

Fresh tears sprung up in their eyes, their heart melting for the man across from them. How could someone be so kind and generous, yet work in such a sleazy business? His heart was too pure for what he'd been through, he didn't deserve to be put through that kind of suffering. They reached a hand out to lay atop of his hand resting on the gear stick, squeezing gently.

"Thank you, Vessel." They said softly, and he turned his hand over, squeezing back.

"It's never a problem, Y/N."

The rest of the ride was quiet until they pulled in front of Y/N's apartment complex, Vessel shifting the car into park and turning to look at them.

"D'you want me to walk you to your door?" He asked, and they really thought the fondness in their heart for him couldn't grow any stronger.

"No, no it's alright. I can do this part by myself." they said. They smiled sweetly at him before gathering their bag into their lap, hesitating for a moment before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Vessel froze, the simple gesture unexpected but not unwelcome. They didn't give him a chance to say anything else, popping the passenger door open and clamoring out of the sedan. They leaned down, resting their weight against the door.

"Good night, Vessel. Thank you again, I feel very lucky to have someone like you looking out for me."

"Always." he replied, watching carefully as they shut the door, walking quickly to the front door of their complex and unlocking the door. Just before they stepped inside, they turned, smiling to see that he was still watching and offered a small wave. He waved back, waiting until they had disappeared into the elevator to shift back into drive, getting ready to return to the club.

The next day, Y/N couldn't hide their surprise as they found a small bouquet of flowers sitting at their normal spot in the dressing room. They asked the other dancers, who said that they'd already been there when they arrived. When they looked closely, though, they found a small notecard reading simply

We're lucky to have you, too.

#yes i named the strip club pink pony club. yes i was listening to pink pony club when i came up with this idea. what about it?#also yes vessel might own a strip club but he's a giant fucking nerd still. it is inseparable from his character.#i don't know if we'll be rocking with this one gang but i'm putting it out there anyways do it scared or whatever #sleep token fanfiction #vessel x reader #sleep token vessel x reader #em's stcu

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frvnkcastles · 9 months

Note

Hello love! I know you’re probably still in recovery, so feel free to table this request as long as you like (or permanently if it doesn’t vibe with you!) but it came to mind and I immediately thought of you.

I thought, maybe something happens to the reader as a consequence of Frank’s life. Maybe they’re kidnapped or tortured or otherwise hurt, and it’s really not that bad - Frank gets to you in time, and you’re not too terribly hurt. But it sets off the readers cPTSD, which they weren’t ready to share with Frank yet. And he thinks they’re haunted and traumatized by the event, and you don’t know how to tell him it’s not what he thinks. And Franks doing his whole guilt spiral but you can’t explain that it’s not his fault, that these cuts and bruises are nothing. That you’re not scared of those men. That it’s something else you’re scared of

WILL YOU STILL LOVE WHO I AM ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’re kidnapped and Frank comes to your rescue, but the ordeal triggers your CPTSD and you just want to make Frank feel less guilty.

Warnings: Knives, guns, mild torture, childhood abuse, hurt/comfort

Word count: 1.8k

Author’s note: I hope I did your idea justice!! I don’t feel like this is my best work but it’s a very heavy topic to write about and I really wanted to be respectful and careful with it. Sending you lots of love <33 (Also, I’m realizing I am NOT good at ending fics lmaooo.)

It was supposed to be a fun night out with your girlfriends. And you could have sworn you hadn’t taken your eyes off of your glass, but somewhere between laughing at your friend and reapplying your lipgloss you must have lost focus and that was when they had struck. The dancefloor was full, anyway, so you shouldn’t have been surprised that no one paid attention to a stranger dragging you away, and yet, you wished so dearly that someone would have.

That, you figured, was how you ended up in that warehouse, tied to a chair with your head heavy and groggy, just like your eyelids. You couldn’t tell how long it had been, but you were tired and scared and all you wanted was to go home.

You came to when one of your captors roughly grabbed your chin and tilted your head up. ”Smile. It’s for your boyfriend”, the man grinned in satisfaction, and as he squished your face and snapped a photo of you, you squinted at the flash. It was over quickly but the burn on your jaw remained, and it made you groan as you tried to look around you and process your surroundings.

”What do you say we make you all pretty for when he arrives?” the man spoke up in front of you, and when you turned to look at him, you saw the gleaming knife in his hands. You inhaled sharply and your whole body tensed at the implications, but with your wrists and ankles tied, there was nowhere for you to go.

He traced the knife across your stomach, not enough to draw blood but enough to remind you he could. He then fisted the material of your dress in one hand and, with his other one, drove the blade through the fabric, creating wide tears over your chest and thighs. He laughed mockingly, and as he trailed the knife past your revealed chest, tears welled up in your eyes.

”You’re going to regret this”, you mustered, but the shakiness in your voice didn’t make a very convincing case. Still, the attempt was enough to piss him off, and before you could do or say anything else, he had cut you right across your collarbone.

”Don’t talk back to me”, he warned you, and despite the tears running down your face, you stared back at him defiantly.

”You’re pathetic”, you spat at him, and within seconds, he had swung his hand across your face, making the warehouse echo with the smack. You cried out, and in an instant, you were back in your childhood home — at the hands of your parents, slapped around like you weren’t worth anything else.

You supposed that dissociating from the situation was how you got through the next hour. You were far too busy stuck in a flashback to fully process the cuts you received at the hands of your captor, but you heard every word he whispered in your ear.

You’re worthless. You deserve this. No one’s coming to save you.

It was all too familiar to you. But you had survived then, and you were determined to survive now — you knew Frank was coming to your rescue. Even if you had barely started dating, he wouldn’t let an innocent person get killed by his enemies, and that was exactly why you had faith that it was only a matter of time.

And, indeed, eventually you heard gunshots from behind the heavy door closing you alone with the man. He flinched, and when you both heard Frank roar out his name, you knew it was time. He reacted by circling behind you and holding the knife to your throat, so tight you barely dared to breathe.

Then the door opened, and Frank looked absolutely feral as he pointed the gun at the man behind you. ”Let her go”, he demanded with his gravelly voice, and the man only laughed.

”You stupid—”, he began, but Frank didn’t waste more time — he pulled the trigger, and your captor dropped dead, the knife clattering against the floor as he did.

You exhaled heavily, and immediately, Frank was rushing to your side. ”I gotchu, sweetheart. ’M here now. I’mma take you home, okay?” he rasped, using his own knife to free you from your binds. Your body slumped forward and he caught you with ease, supporting you against his chest as he gathered your limbs and heaved you up into his arms.

”I got you”, he repeated in a quiet whisper, before carrying you out to his truck and taking you home.

Soon enough, you were seated on the edge of your bathtub with an ice pack against your bruising eye and Frank’s hand ghosting over your body to assess all the damage. In hindsight, it really wasn’t as bad as it could have been — minor, shallow cuts littered your skin but they didn’t even need stitches, and the drugs were wearing off. Frank still made sure to disinfect the cuts and apply band-aids where it was necessary, but for the most part, there was nothing to do about the physical aspect.

He helped you out of your torn dress and into one of his sweaters, and the whole time, you could tell how tense he was, like he was a ticking timebomb about to go off.

”You saved me”, you voiced your thoughts out loud, after not having said a word since he had found you. Your words got his eyes to meet yours, and you gave him a weak smile. ”You found me and I’m okay”, you added, and with a wry scoff, Frank looked down at your conjoined hands as you stood in the middle of your bedroom.

”You’re not okay”, he grunted, his voice dripping with guilt and blame, all of it directed at himself. ”I never shoulda let this happen”, he continued as he let go of your hands and started pulling off his skull-adorned vest, only now finding the time to take care of himself.

”It wasn’t your fault”, you argued with a frown, and with his back turned to you, Frank shrugged.

”Wouldn’t have happened to you if you weren’t involved with me”, he pointed out, and from the fragile tone, you felt like he was on the verge of tears. It made you sick to your stomach, and in a sick twist, you started to feel guilty, for causing him distress.

You weren’t used to someone looking after you, either. And his care-taking seemed to only emphasize the voice in your head that your parents had instilled in. You didn’t deserve it. You would have been better off dead.

Swallowing, you gave Frank’s back a caress before dropping your hand. ”Let’s just get some sleep, okay?” you proposed, ready to put this night behind you, and with a small nod, Frank agreed.

It was 4 AM when you jolted awake from a nightmare. You cried out as you flinched up, and reacting to the potential danger, Frank snapped out of his slumber, ready to attack. When he saw you sitting next to him, on the edge of hyperventilating, he ran a hand across his face and reached for your arm.

”Sweetheart”, he called for you, and startled out of your haze, you turned to look at him. You let your shoulders drop and with a sigh, you buried your face in your hands, all the while Frank climbed out of bed and began pacing back and forth in the room.

”This is my fault, shit, I never should have let you go. I never should have gotten you involved in the first place”, he rambled away, ”I fucked up, I did, and now you’re sufferin’ ’cause of me.”

Shaking your head, you tried to open your mouth and tell him. You wanted to. But a part of you was nervous. You hadn’t told him about all your trauma yet, hadn’t disclosed the effects your childhood still had on you, and you didn’t know how to get the ball rolling.

”Frank”, you croaked out, but he didn’t stop pacing. ”Frank, listen to me. It’s not your fault”, you insisted, and finally, he gave you a weary look, like he was catching you in a lie. But it wasn’t a lie — your nightmare hadn’t been about the man with the knife, it hadn’t been about the cuts or the bruises, it hadn’t been about any of it. It was like any other nightmare you had on a regular basis, and if anyone was to be blamed, it was your parents.

”Look… I didn’t want to tell you like this, but it’s not the first or the worst time I’ve been hurt”, you started, and finally, Frank paused and sat on the edge of the bed to be closer to you.

”Whaddya mean?” he wondered, curiosity and concern in his voice as he looked at you intently.

”My parents”, you shrugged with an unamused chuckle. ”I guess all of this is reminding me of the way they treated me. They put me down, physically and verbally, and no one’s ever looked after me the way you do”, you explained, and instantly, something shifted in Frank’s eyes.

”Shit”, he breathed out, ”baby, I’m sorry. You realize you deserve to be looked after, right?”

You licked your lips in thought. ”I don’t know”, you answered truthfully, and that was what got Frank to snap out of his guilt. He sat closer to you and took your hands in his, peppering your knuckles with kisses.

”I mean it. I’m real sorry no one’s shown you that before. But lemme tell you, I was going outta my mind tonight. I was wonderin’ if I’d ever see ya again. And that’s a feeling I never wanna deal with again. I want you in my life, and I fuckin’ wish it wasn’t so dangerous”, he ranted, and pursing your lips together in a faint smile, you nodded.

”It really wasn’t that bad. I’m okay. You came to get me”, you assured, before adding, ”and you’re worth it.”

Chuckling, Frank ducked his head before leaning in to kiss your forehead. ”You’re worth everythin’. I adore you, y’know? There ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you”, he emphasized, holding you close to him.

”Thank you for saying that. I might need some support for the next few days. I think I can manage it for the most part but after getting triggered things suck a little extra for a while”, you spoke shyly, worried that you were putting too much pressure on him, or revealing too much of yourself. This thing with him was still so fresh, and that was why you had avoided telling him about your past before — it was too much too soon. But now, you supposed, you both had baggage and it was just a part of who you were.

”Hey, you got it. Anything else you need right now?” Frank tilted his head at you, and quickly, you nodded.

”Yes. For you to stop blaming yourself and to get in bed with me”, you decided, and with a chuckle, Frank nodded.

”Aight. I’ll try my best. C’mere, sweetheart.” And with that, he wrapped you into his embrace and helped you fall back asleep, satisfied that you were still in one piece and home with him.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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jpitha · 1 year

Text

It's just a walk for you?

Here's my entry for this week's @flashfictionfridayofficial

I'll always hire humans on my crew, I'll tell you why.

A couple of cycles back, we were out past the Heights and the reactor failed. Some kind of overload, the engineers were chattering about it worried and finally pulled the lever and ejected it. It stopped us from being destroyed outright, but we had minimal power. Only what we could collect with our solar collectors, really. Lights, minimal environmental, things like that.

As luck would have it, we were stranded in a system with a "habitable" planet. It was much too heavy and chilly for most every sapient that I knew. Our human navigator loved it. Said it looked a lot like home. He also pointed out that it had a Community climate beacon on the surface, and that we could probably sent out a distress call from it.

Let me tell you, without a reactor, an atmospheric landing is not something you want to attempt. Still, we made it to the surface alive and mostly intact. The issue was we were still 150 kilometers from the beacon. We had no ground vehicle and it seemed like we were going to perish so close to rescue.

After lamenting our plight the human looked up in surprise. "Why are you so sad? It's only 150km. How much food and water do we have?"

"Only 4 days!"

"Oh? That's easy then. We'll just walk to it."

I looked at him like he had five heads. Nobody can walk 150km in 4 days. Still, he seemed determined to give it a try, and I had no other ideas. I told him that he could kill himself however he wanted and if he wanted to die of exposure on a strange planet it far be it from me to stop him.

He got up and rummaged around in the cargo hold and after about two demi-cycles came out with a repulse-litter and some kind of harness he made out of cargo straps. "Come on, it's big enough for everyone." and he gestured to the litter. He had even set up cushions!

By now, the crew had followed me to the cargo hold. "You can't pull this, its too big" were the majority of comments.

"Nah, it'll be fine, I've got the repulse-jets dialed in just right. It will be like wearing a light backpack. Come on, do you want to die for sure here or have a chance of survival? Look how far we've come! All we have to do is go 150 kilometers more and we can be saved!"

I put it to a vote. Of the 8 of us, 6 including the human decided to let him try and drag us to safety.

Early the next morning - ships time - we all climbed aboard. I have to say, he put the effort in. It really was comfortable to sit on the litter.

We set off.

Friends, I want to impress upon you how... easy he made it looked. demi-cycle after demi-cycle he pulled us, walking with that easy lope that all humans use when they're under gravity close to what they evolved under. He even started singing! Nobody knew the words - he said it was an old language that wasn't in the translators - but he was enjoying himself.

It was a sight to see. It really was like he was out for a fun walk around.

After the second day, someone finally got up the courage to ask him why he could do it.

"Do what, the walk? Oh, walking is not hard for humans. We evolved as persistence hunters. Our ancient ancestors would pick an animal and just jog after it until it died."

"What? What if you got tired?"

He grinned and showed his teeth. "The animal would tire first. As long as we kept the jog light and easy-" he gestured "-like we're doing it now, a human can keep it up a long time."

On the third day he kept it up. We'd pass him water and a ration bar when he asked, and occasionally he'd stop to nap for a few demi-cycles but honestly not that much. Most of the crew slept while he hauled to conserve energy. The planet was a good deal colder than what we preferred. He didn't mind though, wore a light jacket. He said that the exercise kept him warm.

Sure enough, on the morning of the 4th day, we made it to the climate beacon and our engineer was able to send out a distress call. We were picked up not even one day later, all thanks to our human navigator who hauled us all to safety.

So yeah, I will always hire a human on my crew.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #flash fiction friday #humans are space oddities #humans are space capybaras #sci fi writing #humans are persistence hunters #writing #scifi writing #humans and aliens

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gumnut-logic · 2 months

Text

“I’ve got you. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Virgil tried to answer but his throat was too dry. A familiar blue-gloved hand wrapped around fingers frozen by desperation.

He had been clinging to the side of the building for what seemed like hours, his suit jacket and his strength his only protection against a fall that not even a Thunderbird could recover from.

Scott’s jetpack hissed against the wind.

“C’mon, Virgil, you can let go now.”

He didn’t think he could.

“Gordon has you secure. You’re not going to fall.”

Far above him, standing in the remains of the window Virgil had smashed through, Gordon peered down, hands holding the safety line that was, no doubt, secured to the building’s core. Worry emanated through his little brother’s helmet, even through his professional façade.

Emotion bounced off the glass of the skyscraper.

Virgil’s feet dangled into nothing.

He couldn’t let go.

Scott had his body wrapped around him, the grapple packs in his baldric pressing into Virgil’s spine.

“You can let go.” It was like the whisper that had haunted him through those apparent hours that couldn’t have been hours because International Rescue did not take that long to respond.

But it was only one hand that had stopped their fall. One wrist, one set of extensors, one brachioradialis, one set of biceps, triceps, deltoids…his medical knowledge listed off the possible damage. The height, the impact, the strain…he struggled in a breath. “I…can’t…”

His brother’s arms tightened around him. The rescue harness clinked and for the barest of moments Virgil thought he had dropped the little boy.

But Jeffrey was safe. Virgil’s brothers had seen to that, moments after securing the both of them.

Virgil had held him so tight.

That arm lay limp, draped over his brother’s blue bicep.

Blood dripped into infinity.

“I’ve got you.” That voice had saved him so many times.

Those blue-gloved fingers ever so gently prodded at his grip on the flimsy flag pole that had saved two lives by its simple existence.

Pain.

For a moment, he automatically gripped tighter, but that hurt even more and his body spasmed in response.

And Virgil finally let go with a gasp of both fear and relief.

Those arms immediately tightened around him, catching him before he could drop even a millimetre. “I’ve got you. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

All the breath in his belly rushed out between his teeth as the broken muscles in his arm attempted to contract…and couldn’t.

But then he was moving. Wrapped in brother, he shot up, past the windows that had flashed in the opposite direction earlier, the remains of the sun still glinting sharp sparks.

And then there were more brother hands. “God, Virg, you know how to play the hero.”

Virgil grunted as Scott and Gordon ever so gently lowered him onto a hoverstretcher.

Virgil found his eyes closed.

He forced them open. “Jeffrey?”

Gordon answered. “He’s safe with his mom and the paramedics. More a fright than anything else. A few scratches and one hell of a tale to tell.” A sigh of exasperation as Gordon began strapping up his arm, ever so gentle. “You do know that you don’t have actual wings, right? You’re not actually the embodiment of Thunderbird Two, despite all the heavy lifting.”

That only deserved a grunt, so that’s what it got.

Scott had taken a pair of scissors to Virgil’s expensive suit. Probably to get to the cut in his shoulder.

A hand brushed back his hair from his forehead and he found himself looking up at Gordon again.

There was something in his eyes.

Virgil would have reached up a hand to reassure his little brother, but both were currently unavailable.

A flicker of a smile danced across Gordon’s face and he went back to securing Virgil’s arm.

Virgil turned his head just enough to see Scott.

All business. Lips thinned in determination and concentration.

Virgil watched him work.

“How is he?” Kayo startled him as she always did, appearing out of nowhere.

That, at least, explained the lack of a crowd in the room.

It had been such a good party, too. Art, charity, good company. He smiled.

“He’s alive.” A touch to his cheek. “Virgil, talk to me.” The worry in Scott’s eyes hurt.

Virgil swallowed and sobered immediately. “He fell through the broken window.”

“And you jumped after him.”

“He’s her son!”

Scott stared at him a moment. “As if that mattered.” And his brother was moving.

The hoverstretcher rose with him and Virgil closed his eyes in sudden dizziness. “I had to.”

A hand was in his hair again, but this one was bigger. “I know.”

They were hit with a wall of sound and light, forcing Virgil to close his eyes tight, as his other senses tangled in the energy in the room.

Kayo’s sharp words and the movements of IR security backed off the calamity somewhat, but the shouts of ‘Hero!’, ‘Thank you, International Rescue!” and “We love you!” still bounced around Virgil’s head.

A sharp command from Scott and the ‘stretcher moved into quiet surrounds and elevator machinery was lifting his belly off the planet.

“Two’s on the roof.” Gordon made it sound like a haven as well as a threat since his little brother was the reason she was there and not at the London GDF base where Virgil had left her.

The evening air was far too familiar.

He forced his eyes open, looking for his girl, but instead One drifted sharply into his eyesight.

He stared. The speed in those massive engines was likely the only reason he and Jeffrey weren’t smears on the pavement far below.

He wouldn’t have been able to hold on. He had been slipping that very moment his brother had streaked into the sky. His arms had caught Virgil and Jeffrey before they could fall.

“Thank you.”

The hand in his hair was stroking softly.

Quietly determined and reassuring all at once. “Anytime, little brother.”

An exhaled breath.

“Anytime.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #nuttyfic reblog

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capseycartwright · 1 year

Note

If the prompt sparks joy: buddie and where does it hurt?

thank you amy my dear! some vague finale spec because i couldn't help myself

“Where does it hurt?” Buck’s mouth was twisted into a hard line, his brow furrowed as he crouched in front of Eddie. They were waiting for another ambulance – other people were more seriously injured than Eddie, and so he had to wait his turn: that was how it worked at major incidents. Eddie was fine with it, really – Bobby was in an ambulance on his way to LA General, Chimney not far behind, and so he’d patiently wait his turn.

“You know where,” Eddie chided gently. “I told you – I broke a few ribs.”

Buck glared up at him. “When did you get your medical degree?” he snarked.

“When did you?” Eddie couldn’t help but bite back. It had been a long – and terrifying – day and so he couldn’t help it – he was tired, and as much as he appreciated Buck’s fussing, he was in pain, and Buck’s gentle prodding wasn’t helping.

He took one look at Buck’s forlorn face, and immediately felt bad. “Give me a once over,” he offered, and though Buck hesitated, the relief he clearly felt at having been given permission was clear. “See for yourself,” Eddie nudged, and Buck didn’t need more encouragement than that.

Eddie’s turnout coat had long since been discarded, the heavy material weighing down on his already tender body, so Buck didn’t have too many layers to bypass to get to Eddie’s ribs. Gently – so gently, Eddie noted, Buck’s hands feather-light as they skimmed the hem of his t-shirt, gently moving it upwards to give a better view of Eddie’s ribs.

“Definitely broken,” Buck sighed, and Eddie swallowed his ‘I told you so’ – it wasn’t the time. “Where is that ambulance? You could – you could be bleeding internally, you need to get to a hospital.”

“Buck,” Eddie tried, Buck’s attention firmly fixed on Eddie’s ribs. “Buck,” he repeated, his voice gentle, pleading, almost. “Can you look at me please?”

Buck didn’t move.

“Please?” Eddie repeated, and Buck finally moved, lifting his head to look at Eddie, his eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “I’m okay,” he reassured, reaching out with his good arm, his left holding tight to his side in the hopes of holding his broken ribs together. With shaking fingers, Eddie pushed Buck’s matted hair back off his forehead, stomach churning as he realised Buck’s hair was matted with more than just sweat: blood and dust lingering as a reminder of the altogether too close a call they’d just experienced.

“You almost weren’t,” Buck’s lip wobbled, the other man biting the corner of his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from crying. Eddie had never seen Buck like this – not at a scene, at least. Buck was an emotional person, but he was usually stoic until they got in the doors of the hospital, but not today. Today, despite the fact they were surrounded by police, and rescue teams, and far too many people craning to see what disaster was unfolding – staring, as though Eddie’s family hadn’t just faced death all over again and barely survived it.

“But I am,” Eddie rubbed his thumb against Buck’s cheekbone, wishing he had the strength to just pull him closer. He needed Buck close. He’d been far too close to being pancaked in that van, the weight of a fridge crushing against his back. Eddie had wondered if this was it, for a second – that despite how many insane things he’d survived in his thirty-something years on the planet, he’d go getting crushed by a fridge in a bridge collapse – and then Buck was there, sweat pouring down his face as he’d moved the fridge, determined as he and Hen had dragged Eddie free of the van, right before it had been crushed into nothingness.

“I can’t keep almost losing you,” Buck admitted, his voice quiet – as though he didn’t want anyone else to overhear. Eddie understood that – he didn’t want anyone else to overhear either. Ideally, he supposed, this would happen in a private moment – in Eddie’s apartment, maybe, or in a secluded corner of the station – but it was happening now.

That was okay too.

Eddie didn’t mind.

“I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again,” Eddie admitted – because he wasn’t going to lie to Buck, was he? They were past that – past lying to each other, no secrets left between them anymore, not when Buck’s admission hung heavy in the air. “But I’ll always fight to come home to you.”

Buck let out a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against Eddie’s, the gesture a promise of what was to come later – later, after an ambulance ride, and a hospital visit, and a quiet car journey home. “You can’t leave me,” Buck said, eyes squeezed shut. “I wouldn’t survive losing you.”

“You have me,” Eddie promised – because it was the truth of it, really. Buck had always had him – even before Eddie had realised it, even before he had been ready to admit it, Buck had him.

Buck looked at him, eyes shining with words neither of them had said yet. They would come, though. Eddie knew that. “I’m going to find you an ambulance,” he said, pressing a brief kiss to Eddie’s cheek, the gesture feeling juvenile, almost, in light of the seismic shift that had just happened in their relationship.

Or maybe it wasn’t seismic after all, Eddie realised – it was inevitable, actually, their friendship trundling toward love long before either of them had realised the path they had set themselves on.

Eddie watched, as Buck wandered toward the incident commander, his face set back to serious, ‘I’m working’ Buck, determined as he went about finding an ambulance for Eddie.

No.

It wasn’t seismic at all.

It was the sort of inevitability that Eddie hadn’t realised he craved – and maybe he didn’t crave it, and he just craved Buck, and the steady love he so willingly gave Eddie every day.

send me a concern for others prompt

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #prompt fill #mellaithwen

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devildom-moss · 1 year

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Punishment (Lucifer)

What has Lucifer done wrong, and how will MC try to punish him?

(Lucifer x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (sub!Lucifer / dom!MC) (plot-heavy) (NSFW tags: degradation for Lucifer, "puppy/pet/good boy" used with varying descriptors, puppy/pet play, bondage, tail butt plug, use of aphrodisiacs, jealousy, mild cuckholding, neglect, leg humping)

Word Count: +2,900

It had been a long day. On top of your classes, you had just spent four hours reviewing for an exam with Satan in the library. Sure, you were prepared to do well when the test came around in a few days, and it was worth it to have the weekend free so you could relax, but the effort was draining. The last thing you wanted to deal with was one of the brothers’ stupid antics. Yet, you rushed to Mammon’s room the second you heard his blood-curdling scream just as you stepped foot in the entrance.

“Mammon! I’m coming into your room!” you shouted through the door before entering. His only reply was an agitated wail.

When you got in, Mammon was strung up from his ceiling, struggling and sobbing. He wouldn’t even acknowledge you. Instead, he muttered weakly, “go away. Make it stop, please. Please, stop it.”

The tears were flowing down – or rather, up – Mammon’s face, dropping onto the glass top table below. He looked so miserable and pitiful that you would have expected the entire house to be ablaze in order to justify this punishment. You dragged the table out of the way before throwing every pillow from the couch and all of Mammon’s bedding onto the floor below him.

“Mammon, can you hear me? I’m going to get you down with magic. I can’t reach the rope from here. Relax, don’t thrash around too much, and you’ll be fine,” you yelled up at him. He still ignored you, crying even harder in response. You felt a few tears hit your arm. What could he have done this time?

You released the rope from the ceiling and Mammon came crashing down – almost safely, barring a few bruises. Still, Mammon was sobbing and begging for some invisible threat to leave him alone. If he had appeared less horrified, you might have assumed he was telling you to go away, but Mammon wouldn’t look at you and had never seemed so afraid of you before. Something was horribly wrong. From this distance, you could sense a curse concentrated in that rope. Luckily, when you tried to untie him, no harm came to you.

The second the rope hit the floor and was removed from around Mammon’s body, he seemed to awaken from his previous state. Tears were still coating his face, but he was finally staring directly at you. With a few more seconds to process, Mammon wiped his face and jumped into your arms.

“Ya saved me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! That jerk, Lucifer, put a curse on me and everything I saw was right out of a horror movie. I was up there for three hours, MC. Why didn’t you come to my rescue sooner?”

Lucifer had strung Mammon up and cursed him with horror movie hallucinations for something as small as ditching one class – which was practically insignificant as far as Mammon’s antics are typically concerned. That was the last straw.

Admittedly, Lucifer had been acting like a little bitch all week. He was snippy and moody – an unrelenting and unforgiving presence that added to your stress instead of alleviating it as he often attempted to do. Maybe he would behave of his own accord, and you could have a relaxing weekend for once, but you weren’t chancing it. You headed to his room to squash the problem at its roots.

“Lucifer, are you in there?” you shouted through his door after a few harsh knocks. “Open up. I don’t want to kick your door in.”

Lucifer opened his door, flustered to see you. His brows were scrunched in confusion, “the door was unlocked, you know.”

“I,” you started. Fuck. “Well, I’m not in the habit of opening other people’s doors without permission.”

“My brothers are resistant to retraining,” Lucifer sighed and stepped aside for you to come in. No, fuck off, you do that too, asshole, you thought. However, that wasn’t your point of argument this time, so you decided to drop it.

“So, what the fuck is wrong with you?” you questioned him.

“What?”

“You’ve been so bitchy all week, and this stunt with Mammon – seriously? He ditched one class, and you’re torturing him for it. That was way too far. He’s been pretty normal all week. What kind of bullshit are you taking out on him? He’s not your punching bag.”

“That’s none of your business,” he retorted, failing to look at you. “Stay out of it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me with that?” You stepped forward. Now his eyes were on you – cautious and unblinking like some wary animal. “I live with you all. Every one of you drags me into your shit. How was I supposed to stay out of it? I had to heat up a pack of Mammon’s favorite noodles and hold him until he stopped crying. How is that an appropriate punishment?”

“I’ll repeat myself,” he adjusted his gaze and straightened his posture, “stay out of it.”

“That’s all you have to say?” It was as if his pride had blinded him to the pain he inflicted on others. His lack of explanation only cemented his wrongdoings. He knew he was in the wrong, and instead of apologizing and correcting himself, he dug his heels excruciatingly, irritatingly deeper. You grabbed the collar of his uniform roughly, inching yourself closer instead of pulling him in. Summoning all your annoyance, you spoke: “what the fuck? You come to me with so much, and now that I ask you directly when something is clearly wrong, you keep that mouth shut? For what? So you can cause me more trouble?”

No one else could pull those terrified doe eyes out of Lucifer like you could. When you glanced down at his offensively silent mouth, his lips were slightly parted, and his lower lip trembled ever so subtly that it appeared to be a trick of the eye. He shrank in the face of your anger – crumbled at your justice.

“I didn’t. . .” Lucifer trailed off as he averted his gaze – his voice lost in the short oblivion between your lips and his.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to take it all out on him.” Lucifer admitted, slowly suffocating his pride.

“Why did you?”

“He was texting you when he ditched.”

“And?”

“I wanted to be the only one you paid attention to – not just then, but all week.”

“You were being a little bitch all week because you were jealous?” you scoffed at him. That was a poor excuse.

“And pent up. I keep touching myself to the thought of you – but it’s not the same.” Lucifer took one of the hands grasping at his collar and lowered it to the bulge in his pants. He lowered his gaze to the floor, face flushed pink, and muttered, “see?”

You only left your hand there long enough to feel how hard he had gotten in your presence before pulling back. “That’s a sorry excuse. I’d rather you just be sorry. I think a punishment is in order for you.”

“Me?” Lucifer hesitated, but the glint of hatred in your eyes – the kind of hatred that exists temporarily in moments of extreme annoyance that seems indistinguishable to participating parties – terrified him. He nodded cautiously. “Okay.”

You guided him to the foot of his bed and commanded him with a firm “sit and stay.” Lucifer obeyed while you left briefly to find a rope that Solomon had enchanted and gifted to you (don’t ask). You tied his hands together and instructed him to try and break free. He failed, much to his visible irritation.

“Solomon really is a talented man,” you chuckled. Lucifer let out a low growl in frustration.

You untied his hands, and he rubbed the mild rope burn from his escape attempt. Now that you had confirmed the strength of the enchantment, you could tie him up properly. With no display of lust of affection for him, you stripped Lucifer until he sat bare at the foot of his bed. You tied his hands behind his back prettily and transition that tie into a harness around his torso before securing the end of the rope to his bedframe with about 4 feet of slack for him to utilize. He couldn’t move far, but he could move.

“Isn’t this suitable: you sitting at the foot of the bed like a dog on a leash?” He looked so pretty with the deep red rope digging gently into his skin and his face flushed pink up to his ears, but Lucifer didn’t deserve to hear how gorgeous he was. “I already know you’re a thirsty little bitch, so I brought you something.”

When you left to retrieve the rope, you brought a few other items of interest, including a shallow bowl and a pastel pink moon milk with an aphrodisiac in it. Asmo had been gifted several cases of it and gave one to you with the (inevitably crushed) hope that it would work on humans. It would, however, work to toy with Lucifer a bit more. You placed the bowl in front of Lucifer and poured the milk in. Lucifer stared at you with the disbelief of someone who knows they are in no position to deny a request: frantic and submissive.

“Must I?” Lucifer questioned you.

“I’ll put a record on for you while you enjoy your drink.”

Lucifer crawled back towards the bed on his knees, so when he bent forward, he was face to face with the bowl. It was as if the tint in his cheeks was reflected in the soft pink surface of the milk. He felt humiliated and had no idea how to proceed and best please you. When Lucifer looked up at you for guidance, your back was turned to him as you perused his cursed album collection in search of the right one. He self-consciously tested lapping at the milk like a kitten before attempting to sip from the flat surface and accidentally dipping his nose in it. Neither was an ideal course of action, but he didn’t know what else to do.

You found what you had been looking for: the album with a deep crimson apple on the cover. Every time that album played, Lucifer became incredibly, uncontrollably horny. You both figured that somewhere along the cloudy history of the album, the magic imbued in the record had turned romance into lust and now served as an audible aphrodisiac. As the first few notes played, Lucifer became aware of what you were planning. He hesitated in his messy drinking, anticipating the overstimulation you would subject him to.

“Ass up,” you commanded as you grabbed the last item of interest. He obeyed, arching his back for you. With no other warning, you placed a pre-lubricated tail plug up his ass. He whimpered and looked over his shoulder to give you a half-angry look, as if reprimanding you for not giving him more notice. “Perfect, a little bitch with his tail between his legs. That went in so easily.”

“I told you I was pent up,” Lucifer remarked with the rough, matter-of-fact edge of a brat.

“Did you?” You teased. “Well, that’s that for now. I have to get ready. I have a date with Solomon planned, and after dealing with you, I only have 20 minutes left.”

“What?” Lucifer shot up. His eyes were wide and pleading, “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not rescheduling for your sake – especially not after the stunts you’ve pulled this week. I should be back at 9pm. That’s two hours from now. You’ll be fine.” You started towards the door.

Lucifer’s jealousy intensified and he tried to break himself free. He crawled towards you until the rope between him and his bed was pulled taut. The rope dug into his skin harshly, but any pain he felt was overshadowed on his face by a pitiful combination of despair and lust. “Please, don’t go. Not to him.”

“Be a good boy while I’m gone.” You ignored his pleas and reached out to pet his head. He savored the feeling of your touch, knowing that it would come to an immediate end. You heard a sniffle and a low groan – simultaneously pained and pleasured – before you shut the door behind you.

Cruelly (at least as far as Lucifer was concerned), you dragged your date with Solomon out so that by the time you entered the House of Lamentation, it was already half-past 9pm. You knew that Lucifer would have kept a keen eye on the clock regardless of how the aphrodisiacs and his innate lust ravaged his senses and control. When you walked into Lucifer’s room, you were pleased with the results of your punishment.

Lucifer looked up at you, his tear-stained face pressed against the floor next to his bowl. Pitiful moans escaped his mouth, low and strained as if they had been fighting their way back down his throat. He didn’t want you to see him like this: desperately grinding against the small bump he had managed to create in the area rug after well over an hour of repeated thrusting against it. His precum dripped and stained the rug, with some of it even dried into his tail plug, but he had failed to get enough friction for release. Despite the dejected look in his eyes and his ragged panting, he mustered up a cutting tone to tell you, “You’re late.”

What he meant was that he missed you, craving your touch in every second that he awaited your return like some despondent pet abandoned at the peak of its need for attention. If he was honest, he’d thank you for coming back and ask you to bring his punishment to an end, but he wasn’t, so you had no problem teasing him a bit further.

“Solomon held me up. That man can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“What?” He had intended to say it harshly, but the single word trembled out of his mouth – more of a whimper than a question. His hips halted their rhythm, his tail slowing from a mild rocking to still. A low growl escaped Lucifer from some deep, enraged pit in his chest whose emptiness you prodded mercilessly. Despite that rabid noise, fresh tears washed down his face along the dried trails as if they wished to make a pristine mess of him. “Why are you being so cruel? I’d rather you whip me all night than break my heart.”

You clicked your tongue at him before walking over. “Up.”

Lucifer followed your command with the lethargy of a defeated man, but you let the speed of his obedience go. He rose to his knees, still as hard as when you’d walked in on him. You wiped the tears off his cheek with a gentle touch, as if he were something fragile, and at that moment, he was – but not so fragile that he couldn’t take a bit more. He shuddered under that miniscule touch, leaning into it affectionately. You licked the tear from your finger and spoke in a honey-sweet voice that underscored your disapproval of him: “you really are so pathetic, Lucifer.”

“I know.”

“Good. Then, I suppose I can untie you, can’t I, my pretty little puppy?” Lucifer gasped softly at the nickname and nodded, slow and uncertain. “Stay perfectly still.”

Lucifer followed your command as you untied him. Even when he was finally free, Lucifer refused to move until you gave him permission. You leaned down towards his neck and before he could question your intentions, you sunk your teeth into his shoulder, biting down until an erotic groan filled the room. When you pulled back, deep marks were indented into his skin that glistened with saliva. You kissed over the mark sweetly, causing Lucifer’s face to turn pink up to his ears. He reacted so well to the smallest sign of affection.

“Now you’ve been marked as my slutty little puppy,” you cooed. “Would you like to cum, pet?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you should do something fitting a puppy. I’ll permit you to hump my leg. Will that be enough?”

“Yes, I think so.” It was pleasant to see him be so uncertain.

You sat at the edge of the bed and beckoned him to your side. Lucifer waited for a reassuring nod before touching you. He thrust himself against your leg slowly, rolling his hips deliberately and moaning like a bitch for you. Every inch of your skin that he could rub himself against was savored, but he still wanted more.

“Could you pet me?” Lucifer asked, uncharacteristically timid, as if you would continue to deny him.

“Greedy boy – marking your scent all over me and still asking for more.” You chastised him, but your hand still wandered down to his head so you could run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp affectionately. The small show of adoration intensified his pleasure. Lucifer picked up his pace slightly and the sound of ragged panting weaved into his delicious moans. You could feel him twitching against your leg, and you moved your hand from his hair to under his chin. “Look at me, my pretty little puppy.”

You caught those dark red eyes, softened by pleasure and love and clouded with lust – dangerously beautiful, just seconds before he came. Admittedly, the comfort of staring at your face combined with your touch had pushed him over the edge more than the few thrusts that preceded his cum leaking down your leg.

Lucifer sighed a quiet “thank you” before sinking into a sitting position and resting his head on your knee. You felt a few tears drip onto you, so you stroked his hair and hushed him.

“There’s my good boy,” you hummed. When the tears stopped, you could take a nice, warm shower together, but for now, you just needed to be there and let Lucifer cry. He just needed you to love him again.

Punishment (others)

Belphegor | Barbatos | Asmodeus

A/N: I feel like I went a little feral on this one. I just want to make Lucifer cry and suffer. I'm still sick, and I still have one more fic to do this month, so... really misspelling trial because I'm putting the try in trial. Forgive me if the proofreading isn’t great on this one.

#lucifer #gn!mc #spice tier #obey me #obey me luficer #obey me smut #lucifer smut #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader

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disastercyborgecho · 23 days

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The End.

These are my final prompts for @summer-of-bad-batch

Excerpt:

'The era of the clone trooper was dying a quiet death.

I used this last piece to try and explore, from the perspective of my favorite character, much of my own struggles, which is part of the reason I became so attached to him in the first place. The Bad Batch are essentially Echo's second chance at life, but more importantly, they keep giving him more chances. They are such a perfect example of how important finding joy within struggle is, and they remind me why I love Star Wars so much in the first place. Because really, in the end, the point of Star Wars is to have hope. In the face of everything, hope is our greatest weapon.

Anyway I hope you enjoy, this piece is very dear to my heart

---

Prompt: “Stop touching me!” // “I’m not touching you!”

Prompt: Crashing Hard

Prompt: Light in the Darkness

***

I did my job, I paid my dues, Love is for fools (Because nobody gives a F*ck)

---

Echo never realized how much he was terrified of change until he found himself on a beach on Pabu watching the waves crash over the sand near his mechanical feet, Rex leaning a heavy shoulder onto his own. They had not spoken for several minutes now, and the silence was heavy in Echo’s throat.

It had all started when Rex had suggested they take a break from the endless violence and suffocating despair of their tiny freedom movement for their brothers. Echo had fallen asleep over his datapad again, trying to figure out a way to save just a little more of their kin because it felt like they would never catch up to the endless death, the endless decommissioning of their brothers as though they were just reactive pets. It was a spiral that repeated in Echo’s head every moment he had to think.

Rex had shaken him awake, the ship smoothly falling out of hyperspace as Echo had startled and flinched back into reality. His dreams were stained red now, and he always felt exhausted when he woke up.

“How much time?” He asked Rex.

Rex shifted a little, his hand still on Echo’s shoulder, and he glanced out at the stars and the approaching planet, where they were attempting to pick up more of their brothers abandoned with little to no resources, starving slowly for a New Empire.

“Few more minutes before landfall,” Rex said. He sounded just as tired as Echo.

The mission went on without a hitch. It still hurt.

Physically, Echo was slower now, he knew it. His body broke down faster and faster, the mechanics popping and clicking at the joins and his already unsteady immune system cracking further and further. Even the slow and steady process of loading up cargo from the base they were quietly dismantling made Echo sweat heavily through his layers of clothing and armor. But he never minded pushing past chronic pain and rasping breath when it mattered. No, what really weighed down the ex-ARC was the hollow faces of their newest rescues.

The boys didn’t put up a fight. They rarely did anymore. Early on in the clone rebellion, many of their brothers still believed in the rhetoric of the Empire and the Cause. Were ready to die for it. But now, they had all been abandoned. It was cheaper for the Empire, lacking the Kaminoan facilities to actively decommission large amounts of clone troopers (and whose fault was that), to simply post clone troopers at far-away bases and planets that were barely in the grasp of the Empire, and then simply forgetting about them. If the clones were lucky, rations would be sent every other month or so, but as time dragged on, more and more of them were not. There was less battle now, less blood and violence, for Rex and his rebellion to rescue their brothers. Now it was just fighting the passing of time. Every new face Echo saw was empty from loneliness and starvation and the general emptiness of someone who’s had their purpose stripped away from them with no explanation or warning. He could only imagine the thousands more that would never find a new community within the family Rex was doing his best to collect.

The era of the clone trooper was dying a quiet death.

Now, on the beach, Echo thinks that he might have been dying a quiet death too. A somber march towards the end full of rusting metal and clammy skin in solidarity with every single brother who would die in an empty base with an empty stomach and an empty heart. Echo thinks that Rex might have been able to see it, in the bags under his eyes that matched Rex’s own. In the names of those they couldn’t quite save, carefully scratched into the back of Echo’s datapad. Numbers for those that they never learned the names of. For those who never even got a name in the first place.

Echo fisted the sand in his hand aggressively and looked away from his brother and once, a long time ago, his commanding officer. He didn’t deserve this. Not with so much to still do. So many to still save. Rex laid a hand on his shoulder. It was calloused from holding a blaster and starting to wrinkle and stain from sun damage. It was familiar. Echo leaned into it despite the anger boiling in his stomach.

Because Rex had asked him to leave.

He had taken Echo to Pabu with a suggestion of a break, and then sitting him down on the beach while Omega dragged Hunter and Wrecker further down the shoreline to search for shells, he had turned to look at his younger brother, and in a soft voice, suggested that he stay on Pabu. Permanently.

“We’re getting old, Echo. The work will never be done. But after all of this, after everything you’ve done, don’t you think you deserve the rest? You have a family here. People who love and miss you. People to grow old alongside of.”

Echo wanted to tell Rex that he was his family, but a familiar feeling of being sliced right down the middle choked him up. It felt like the moment where he had stood at the entrance of the Havoc Marauder for the first time, staring out at a group of people he would die for, had died for, knowing that he could never go back to them. That his place was with these strangers who had shown more acceptance of his new body than those he shared a face with. Than those he had shared everything with. Echo didn’t say anything.

Rex took it as disagreement because he knew Echo so well, and he shook his head.

“Look vod’ika, this isn’t any easier for me than it must be for you. I just, I want better for you. You deserve better. You deserve to find a life, even for just a few more years, outside of, of this.” Rex gestured at himself, at his battered armor, and the dark lines under his eyes, and Echo wanted to punch him. Because Rex was everything, and the work they did together was everything, and couldn’t Rex see that underneath it all, Echo was nothing?

And Echo was terrified that underneath it all, he really was nothing.

“There’s, there’s more to do, Rex,” he answered instead. “There’s always more to do.”

He tried to pretend that he didn’t sound defeated as he said it.

He tried to pretend that he didn’t already know how this was going to go.

That for the second time in his life, he was going to have to split his heart in two, standing in a doorway of somewhere that was strange and unfamiliar, watching his family leave him behind because for the second time in his life, he wasn’t enough.

Echo didn’t know if there were any parts of his heart left to pick apart. So he stayed silent, and refused to look at Rex, and tried not to cry. It felt wrong in a place as beautiful as this, the sunset starting fires on the palm fronds and the water in bright oranges and reds, dancing along the horizon in a joyful celebration of another day gone.

“Please, vod’ika,” Rex whispered, his hand still on Echo’s shoulder. “Please look at me, please say something.”

Echo could only watch the sun slip away and gasp around his lungs turning to stone.

Empty.

“Breath, ori’vod,” Crosshair unceremoniously dropped into the sand on Echo’s other side. He had been sitting a ways away with a book, watching Omega, Hunter, and Wrecker, but Echo hadn’t even noticed him move. He didn’t touch Echo, didn’t worm his way into the spaces Echo had carved out and left empty in case someone needed a place to rest. That wasn’t their way, it never had been. Echo appreciated it. It was just as familiar as the callouses on Rex’s hands, but right now, it felt safer. He took a deep breath.

“I…” He stopped. Took another breath. Started again. “I don’t have anything left.”

Leaning back, Echo let the last little moments of sun warm his face, closing his eyes to the onslaught of emotions tangled up inside him. His brothers were silent, letting him untangle the knots one by one. Out of anyone, Rex and Crosshair both knew how much it took to tug on those strings, not knowing what would happen when they were straightened out. What would be left. Echo continued.

“I know that it’s time to let go. I get it. I’m slowing down, I’m not as… as useful. But do I really deserve this? There’s still so many brothers left behind, and how can I–How can I call them my brothers if I give up on them? If I stay here, and, and what? Retire? I’m drowning on dry land and it feels like no one in the entire galaxy cares about us, about anyone else at all, and what am I supposed to do about it? There’s so much death and we know exactly who’s responsible, but all we can do is just sit here and be angry, and I have been angry for so long now. I don’t know how much longer I can do it. But if that’s the only thing I can do? Then what right do I have to stop? What right do I have to rest?”

It was Rex’s turn to stay silent. Echo swiped away the tears that were running down his cheeks, cold against the sunburnt skin. He didn’t expect an answer. But Crosshair had never been great about keeping his mouth shut.

“I spent a long time being angry.” Crosshair began. He was running his fingers along the spine of his cracked novel, something about romance that he wouldn’t admit to enjoying.

“I spent so much time being angry, that I forgot why it was important that I was at all. I spent so much time hating you all, hating that I had been left behind, that I forgot why it was important that I was angry in the first place.”

“Why was that?” Echo asked, softly.

Crosshair finally looked at him, smile lines only just starting to form around his eyes and mouth. His eyes were burning, staring straight at Echo, as if he was trying to silently whisper ‘I see you, I see you, I see you’ with every second.

“Because I loved you. You’re my family.”

And in a heartbeat, Echo got it.

Down the shore, Omega squealed as she was lifted up by Wrecker as he cackled. He tossed her into the air and she lifted her arms up, curls whipping in the breeze as she looked as though she was flying, if just for a moment, before landing safely back in Wrecker’s arms. Squirming away as he began to tickle her, laughter bounced down the beach and Hunter joined in the playful teasing.

“Stop! Haha, stop!” Omega cackled. “Stop touching me!”

The whole time she was wiggling in joy, which kind of ruined the admonishment, a grin plastered on her face. Hunter and Wrecker’s expressions mirrored her, and Wrecker scooped her up again.

“I’m not touching you!” And he tossed her into the air once again.

Omega’s excited howl was heard easily by the three other men on the beach, and none of them could resist cracking a smile at her exuberance.

“Sometimes,” Rex said, “The hardest thing we can do in the face of tyranny, is to laugh.”

Crosshair nodded, and he turned to Echo one more time, finding his eyes one more time to make sure his brother truly understood.

“You are allowed to enjoy this. You are allowed to experience happiness, when it is something that they have tried so hard to keep from us.”

Finally, he leaned into Echo, Rex taking up his other side, holding their brother securely between them. And Echo collapsed. His body shook from the terror and the rage that had been coiled up in him for so long with nowhere to go. He mourned the loss of countless of his family, thousands that he never got to know. He mourned his own body, and what time had taken from him that he would never get back. But he also shook from the sheer unadulterated hope that flooded through him. Because he was still here, and he had a family who loved him unconditionally, and none of them had ever thought that this was a future any of them would ever see.

Crosshair pulled him into a keldabe and held him there firmly. Rex had his hand on Echo’s back, the other gripping the back of his neck. Omega's laughter danced with Hunter’s and Wrecker’s as they chased each other along the sands of their home.

“You’re allowed to live, Echo,” Crosshair whispered. “We all are.”

***

AO3

I can't believe I managed to finish every single prompt. It was often a challenge, but I'm actually really proud of the work I've done for this. If you'll allow me to be sappy for a moment, this was really my first foray into this community, and I am so glad that I'm here. It has been the most accepting, creative, and kind group of people that I've ever had the pleasure of talking to.

Thank you.

The song 'Lithonia' is paired with this because I found it held the two themes in this well. When you listen at first, it is the anger at loss and apathy and the meaninglessness in life. But as you read, perhaps listen to it again. Perhaps this time, it can be the freedom of knowing that it doesn't matter. And because it doesn't matter, you are free to exist in any way that brings you joy and peace.

#star wars #clone wars #clone troopers #bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch #arc trooper echo #echo #ct 1409 #cryptids writing #summerofbadbatch2024 #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #clone trooper rex #commander rex #captain rex #Spotify

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mandos-mind-trick · 1 year

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The Phantom of Pabu - Part 1

Summary: After being rescued from the Empire, Crosshair spends his days miserably existing on Pabu. Haunted by the past, he's slowly drowning in his thoughts, until he spots you. You pique his interest from the start, a person who might just be more broken than he is.

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, suicide attempt, alcohol abuse, nightmares, sleep deprivation and its side effects, stalking-like behaviors, depression, descriptions of war and its aftermath, sleepwalking, brief mention of slavery, brief allusion to trafficking, trauma bonding, possessive and protective Crosshair, a bit of a savior complex

A/N: This is so different from anything I've written before, in a different style than I usually write. It evolved into something way more than it was supposed to be, and honestly I'm a little scared to share it. It's a testament of where my mind has been these last few weeks and really just a lot of feelings and emotions pouring out onto the page. Please heed the warnings as this is a pretty heavy story, especially this part in particular.

Next > | MASTERLIST

(Gif found on Google since Tumblr's gif search sucks)

At least they managed to settle somewhere warm.

Crosshair is grateful for that one thing as he reclines on a bench, shielded from the unrelenting sun by a tree. The island is hot today, drawing his brothers to the beach in an attempt to stay cool. As uncomfortable as it is, it is much preferable to somewhere cold.

He hates the cold.

The beach bustles with the sound of the inhabitants of the island, all of them seeking the cool water in relief from the heat of the day. It’s loud, sights and sounds threatening to overwhelm him. He hasn’t been here long, not long enough to feel comfortable with the freedom he’s been allotted.

No one knows.

No one cares.

He knows. He cares. He can’t forget.

He might have left, he might have suffered in the heat in favor of somewhere quiet had he not had somewhere to focus his attention. A distraction from the screaming of children, the endless movement of the crowd on the beach.

It hadn’t taken him long to spot his distraction, the grounding scene to keep him from losing his mind. You’re seated in the sand, as far from the crowd as you can be. Your shoes are off, placed neatly beside you. Your legs are pulled against your chest, your arms wrapped around them as you stare out at the cerulean water.

You haven’t been on Pabu long. He’d glimpsed you during your arrival with a few others, quickly lost in the crowd he was trying to avoid. Hunter had dragged him along, repeating the endless mantra that socialization is good for him.

Crosshair disagrees.

Hunter was persistent in forcing him into social situations, knowing well Crosshair would simply observe and refuse to participate. He preferred watching from a distance, becoming nothing more than a figure in the shadows. He knows the corners of Pabu well; that was where he made himself at home.

You have made this outing less unbearable, at least.

You’ve hardly moved since he spotted you, shifting only slightly to alleviate an ache in your joints. You don’t seem bothered by the sun or the heat, your skin glowing under the bright radiance from above.

Crosshair wonders what you’re thinking about. He rolls his toothpick between his lips, mind wandering as he considers you. He refuses to believe your head is empty as you stare out at the horizon. You’re far too fascinating to be reduced to a brainless shell. He had never been one to consider the thoughts of others, but staring at you has made him curious.

Not curious enough to approach, not curious enough to ask.

Curious enough to disregard the crowd and its maddening dissonance. He’s always alert, always ready, but your mysterious presence is enough to quiet the ruckus to a bearable level.

He gazes at you as the sun tracks a path across the sky, the crowd beginning to thin as evening settles in, turning the sky shades of orange and pink. You remain sitting there, still as a statue, when Hunter calls his name. He’s almost hesitant to leave, hesitant to walk away before you do. For a moment, the absurd idea passes through his mind that you might actually be a statue, but he knows that’s not true. He’d seen the small movements as you adjusted yourself, the small flinch as two children got too close to you while playing.

You’re still there as he rises, turning his back to you as he leaves his bench. His curiosity has been piqued.

Perhaps this place isn’t so unbearable after all.

***

You’ve invaded his thoughts, controlling his mind even as he sits alone in his room. He’d memorized every small detail of your being that day; you’ve been plaguing him since. He doesn’t know your name, he doesn’t know where you live. He doesn’t know a single thing about you, other than when you’d arrived on this island refuge, disappearing into the crowd of welcoming inhabitants like a phantom.

He’s become existential in his thoughts. Are you even real? Are you a figment of his imagination as he fights the guilt and shame threatening to devour him every time he gets even just a brief moment of reprieve?

He needs to see you again, even if just to prove you’re more than a figment of his imagination.

A ghost sent to haunt him for his sins.

Maybe Hunter is right. Maybe he has been alone for too long.

He can’t stand the considerate, generous, welcoming inhabitants of the island. He doesn’t deserve such kindness, such compassion after the things he’s done. If they knew the blood that stained his hands, the oppression he’d doled out simply because that’s what good soldiers do, they wouldn’t be so amiable.

He’s become almost nocturnal to avoid them.

Sleep evades him, and when exhaustion overcomes him, the nightmares begin. His brothers are gracious enough not to mention it, but he can see it. The worry, the concern in their gazes as he blearily stumbles out the door, choking on smoke and frigid air and rain. Endless rain.

Muscles tense and tight from the frozen air, clothes soaked through, half delirious from the cold and hunger. He’s weak, barely able to get his legs under him as he races for the door, desperate to escape, desperate to forget.

He walks in the warm air, when the sky is black and dotted with stars, when the world is quiet and asleep. No one around to try and engage him in conversation, no one to give him pity-filled looks as he passes. No one to ask after him, the disgusting shine of sympathy in their gaze. The few who pass on rare occasions don’t look at him, avoiding his gaze fearfully as if he’s some wraith slinking through the blackness ready to feast on the unfortunate soul who looks him in the eye.

A ghost haunting the island, lost and wandering for all eternity until the ocean washes away the last remains of the rock where the city stands.

His hands are still trembling, clenched into fists at his sides when you appear out of the darkness like a phantom. You’re ahead of him, far enough you haven’t noticed him yet. Even his enhanced vision has trouble making you out, but it’s you unmistakably.

Dressed in black, whether it’s on purpose or simply chance, you blend into the shadows of the night, slipping in and out of the light at each doorstep. You truly appear like a ghost, steps slow enough to make you seem as if you’re floating. You’re barefoot, nearly silent as you slip through the darkness.

Crosshair follows, encaptured by your mysterious presence. His mind draws forth the stories Omega had heard from Phee and recounted to them. Stories of seafarers seeing ghosts in the waves on stormy nights, sailors hearing the voices of women calling out to them, drawing them into the waves to be lost forever.

You walk the streets, nearly making one full circle around the island before you stop, freezing in the spot between lights. Crosshair blinks as he comes to a stop, as if he’s suddenly waking from a dream. He’s closer than he wanted to be, three houses separating the space between you.

You suddenly turn, his body stilling in the darkness. Can you see him? Had he made a sound in his distraction and alerted you to his presence?

There’s fear in your eyes. Your shoulders lift, squaring as you tense, almost like you’re preparing for a fight. Hands balled into fists, your chest heaves as you glance around, almost as if you don’t realize where you are. You take half a step back, eyes glancing over him but there’s no sign of recognition, no realization that he’s there.

You’re running. He’s half tempted to follow, half tempted to finally learn where you live, if only so he can remind himself you are, in fact, real. He stays planted where he is, watching your retreating form meld into the darkness until you’ve disappeared from his sight.

He stays where he is, playing over the scene in his mind. Did you notice him somehow? If he had been the cause of your fearful reaction, you hadn’t confronted him. Perhaps you felt his stare, some primal instinct recognizing something was behind you, something was following you in the dark.

Whatever had happened, it startled you. He likens you to a wild animal, feeling a bit like the predator that had been stalking his prey. You were easy prey.

It would have been so effortless.

He’s shaking by the time he returns to the house, the stars beginning to disappear as morning arrives. He slips into bed, drawing the covers over his head as though he can hide from his very thoughts.

***

The next time he sees you, it’s during the day.

You had been absent from his nightly walks, his eyes tracing every inch of the darkness he could see, waiting for your form to appear like a ghostly apparition. You had been missing, however. Perhaps he startled you more than he first imagined.

You appear at one of Shep’s parties, towed in behind Phee rather reluctantly. He’s in his corner, surveying the party from a distance like he preferred. Most left him alone, having learned he was a bore in conversation and those who hadn’t realized it had felt the bite of his words. Hunter had scolded him like a naughty child, but if it kept them away, he would face the reprimanding of his abrasive nature.

His interest is piqued when you appear, looking like the phantom he pictured you as. The glow that your skin had radiated under the sun is gone. You’re pallored and gaunt, even in the orange glow of the setting sun, looking every bit like the ghouls in the stories Omega enjoyed so much. The wispy blue dress that hung from your form was no help, limp strands of hair rustling in the breeze off the sea. Your eyes are swollen and dark as they pass over the party, eventually meeting his.

He should draw his gaze away and pretend he was simply doing the same, observing the milling party-goers. Yet he can’t seem to draw his gaze from you, locked in under your stare. There’s no recognition there, no sign you had seen him that night, no threat you were going to make a scene, expose him for following you for an hour as you wandered around in the middle of the night.

You break first, drawn away as Phee introduces you to Tech. You look displeased to be forced into conversation, Tech oblivious to your dismay as he prattles off some senseless facts about something Phee had said. At least with Tech, you could avoid having to partake in the conversation. He could talk enough for everyone involved.

He continues to watch you through dinner. You’re seated across the table and two seats down from him. The tenseness in your body speaking to your discomfort has not lessened any. You’re still again, aside from the slow lift and lower of the fork in your hand. You avoid everyone’s gaze, as if trying to ward away any attention that may be brought upon you.

You luck out, most of the guests seem to forget you’re even there. Crosshair doesn’t; his gaze is coaxed back to you constantly throughout the evening. He can’t look away, feeling as if he’s watching a tragedy unfold in front of him.

He’s witnessed enough of those.

None have affected him like this.

You disappear before dark, slipping away without a sound. No one seems to notice. No one but Crosshair. He casts a glance over the throng before he slips away, catching up to you. He stays a good distance behind you, not wanting to reveal himself yet. He’s reminded of that night he followed you, except he doesn’t have darkness to use to his advantage.

You look no less like a phantom in the red light of sunset. If anything, it makes you look more like a ghost. A ghoul painted in bloody light, a visage of pain and suffering.

He’s lost in his thoughts once more as he follows you, distracted by your haunting image. His heel drags across the stone, loud in the quiet peacefulness of the evening. You pause upon hearing the sound, shoulders squaring once more.

He moves instinctually, dipping behind a wall as you turn on your heel, eyes scanning the street behind you. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to be following you at this hour, even if they only happened to be going the same direction as you. Yet, your reaction says differently. Had you been lost in your thoughts as well, distracted by whatever raced through your mind?

“I know you’re there.” You say, voice low and soft. He’s never heard you speak before. Your voice is just as haunting as he imagined. There’s no accusation in your tone. It’s not a shout to draw attention. “You’ve been following me.”

He stays behind the wall, fighting the war within himself. He should stay hidden, he should keep himself at a distance. If he reveals himself, you may realize he had been there that night. What answer would he give if you asked why? He hadn’t meant to follow you, at least not for so long. You had lured him behind you like a fish caught on a line.

Would you run again if he spoke the truth? Despite his dislike of practically everyone, you’ve caught his attention in a way he’s not sure he wants to lose. It frightens him, and it worries him all at once. He needs no one. He’s happy in solitude.

That’s not true, is it.

He slowly steps out from behind the wall, keeping a safe distance from you. Your eyes widen a bit, as if you had been doubting yourself, as if it would be the same as the night he followed you. Had you thought you were going mad?

You shift your weight as he reveals himself, the tenseness of your shoulders not easing any. Why should it? He’s a stranger to you. You’ve never spoken before now. He’s not even sure if you’ve seen him before tonight. You had caught him staring upon your arrival. Would you assume he’s been the culprit the entire time?

“You left the party early.” He says, trying to come up with an explanation before you can ask. You may not take to the truth as openly as he could hope.

You shift again, hands curling around the wispy edges of your dress. “I don’t like parties.” You say it with such bluntness he can’t help the smirk that lifts his lips.

“I don’t either.” He says. “Too many people.”

“Too much noise.” You say, nodding in agreement. “You’re...one of Tech’s brothers.” He gives you a questioning glance. You seem to know of him, despite this being the first time you’ve spoken. “Phee likes to talk about Tech.” You quickly explain.

Of course. You had arrived at the party with Phee, meaning she had likely invaded your life as much as she invaded his brothers’. She and Tech were very much infatuated. While he’s not heartless enough not to feel happy for his brother, Phee’s personality was grating to his introverted nature. Omega likes her too, and so she spends ample time with them.

It appears she has gotten to you as well.

“The name’s Crosshair.” He says, slipping a toothpick into his mouth.

You tell him your name, his mind replaying it over and over to commit it to memory. It wasn’t likely he’d forget, but he doesn’t want to run the risk.

“Are you going the same way?” You ask, taking half a step backwards. You’re anxious to get home. He can tell by your body language. You want to get there before others start leaving the party. “You could walk with me. I promise I won’t talk your ear off. I could not talk at all, if that’s what you prefer.”

“I’m not one for talking.” He says, his body already moving forward. He’s not entirely sure if you’re even going in the same direction he is, but he’s not going to complain.

A smile tugs at your lips as you fall in step beside him. “I was raised in a culture where you don’t speak unless you have something meaningful to say.”

“Sounds like an ideal place.” He says.

“It was, until it was wiped out by the war.” You respond.

So that was it. The war had been what ultimately led you here. He doesn’t press any further. He can tell you don’t want to speak more on the subject. Instead he falls into silence as he walks with you, letting you lead the way to your tiny hovel.

It’s not far from where you stopped that night he followed you.

“This is me.” You say, stepping up onto the small porch. “Thank you for walking with me. Solitude is nice, but sometimes silent company is better.”

Wise words. You may be right in that regard. He didn’t hate walking with you, and he certainly didn’t regret his decision. The silence had felt natural, not forced like the time he spent with those who believed conversation was necessary and silence was some form of disease.

Perhaps he was capable of enjoying others' company after all.

***

Despite your formal introduction, Crosshair finds little time to interact with you alone. The next time he sees you after the party is in passing.

Phee is the one that draws the attention to you, having spotted you leaving the beach as they were arriving. You don’t seem to have settled well into your new life. The dark, puffy circles under your eyes have worsened, and it seems you only continue to liken the ghost he once thought you were.

You were doing more than sitting this time. Your pants are damp almost to the knees, sand sticking to the fabric. Despite your time in the sun, there’s still a pallor to your skin, making you seem almost sickly in the bright sunlight.

He’s not the only one who’s noticed.

“Are you feeling alright, sweetcheeks?” Phee asks, pressing a hand to your forehead.

He watches the squaring of your shoulders, the subtle twitch of your muscles as her hand makes contact with your skin. You’re ready to flinch away, bracing yourself for whatever horrid thought passed through your mind as her hand lifted towards you. Perhaps you may have even tried to duck, had social convention not frowned upon such extreme reactions. It would have brought up questions, questions he knows you are desperately trying to avoid.

Instead you freeze, staying far too still as Phee feels your forehead. Reacting strangely would only heighten her concern. Brushing her off will save you at least this time, though she will be paying closer attention to you now. Perhaps the more extreme reaction would have been the better choice.

“I’m still trying to settle into a new place. That’s always been hard for me.” You speak slowly, and though it might only be a half truth, he can tell it’s worked.

Phee lets her hand drop back to her side. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I mean it. Anything at all.”

You nod slowly, something flashing across your gaze too fast for even him to decipher it. “Right. I-I will.” You begin to step away slowly, almost as if you were waiting for someone to stop you. “I’m going to go rest now.”

You turn without waiting for a reply, hastily retreating up the path from the beach back onto the streets of Pabu. Crosshair is half tempted to follow you, to slip away from the others, but Omega takes hold of his hand, leading him out into the sand. He allows it, having more patience for the kid than anyone else.

The increase in interactions with you has only heightened his curiosity. Even now that he’s heard you speak and knows your name, you’re still a phantom in his mind. You appear so hollow, so empty and yet he knows the depths inside your soul are so vast the entire ocean could fill them and still not reach the top. You seem to float past those around you, even the very air seeming to cut right through you.

You appear so fragile, and yet the walls around you are so steep, even the most experienced climber would shake their head in prospect of climbing them.

Curiosity would not be enough for him to wish to climb those walls, to see what devastation lies on the other side. Curiosity is not a strong enough word to drive him to seek you out, to yearn for your voice, your story, your very being.

He wants to see the devastation inside you because he knows it is a mirror of his own.

Only you could understand him in the way he yearns for. His brothers try, but they can’t know, they can’t possibly understand him. Not in the way he needs. No amount of sympathetic looks and words could possibly begin to chip away at the thick walls that protect him.

He wants to tear down your walls, he wants to see your ugly insides, if only to vindicate the ugliness that resides behind his carefully crafted exterior. You are not so good at hiding it, at least not to those who know. Crosshair knows you will shatter eventually, just as he did.

He’d had his brothers to catch him.

Who do you have?

***

Crosshair sees little of you over the next few weeks. He catches glimpses in passing, often being herded somewhere by Hunter or Omega. You simply seem to exist, floating past the crowd, or sitting on your porch with a cup of caf. You don’t look any better than you had before, still pallored and gaunt, all the life seeming to have been sapped from your body.

He finds himself pausing his nightly walks in front of your small house. He hasn’t seen you walking since that night, but occasionally he spots movement in the windows of your hovel, shadows moving in the light through the curtains.

The most he sees of you is in passing on the landing pad on their way to do a supply run. You were speaking with Phee, pushing a bag of credits into her hands. He could see the desperation in your eyes, practically pleading with her.

Whatever it is you wanted, you were desperate to get it.

It plagued his mind the entire trip. What could you be so desperate to get? A relic from your home world? Something from your past to bring back fond memories before war stole everything from you? Or perhaps something else. It could be anything.

It could be anyone.

The thought stirs something inside of him, something that makes him feel sick. It burns through his veins, heating his skin. He pushes the thought aside, hating how it makes him feel.

You disappear once more after your discussion with Phee, fulfilling your role as the ghost in his life. He continues his walks, pausing in front of your home but you never grace him with your presence, even unknowingly.

It’s a week later when he finally sees you once more.

It’s late. The moon is full, bathing the island in cool light. There’s not many places to hide tonight, not many shadows to conceal him, yet he hadn’t been able to shake the need to walk. His mind had been restless, and the images behind his eyes when he closed them were too much to bear so he slipped from the house, stalking along the quiet streets.

He passes your house, pausing in his usual spot. His brow furrows as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Your front door is wide open, the lights on inside. He pauses there for a moment, waiting for any sign you may be moving around in there, but it’s quiet. Still. Your shoes are on the porch, haphazardly laying with the toes facing the street, like you had left with them on, then decided against it and tossed them back onto the porch.

Either that, or you had left in a hurry. He scans the area but there’s no sign of you, his stomach twisting nervously. He’s not sure why. The scene in front of him has put him on edge. For someone so closed off, leaving your door open was not what he would have expected. Even if you had ventured for a short walk, leaving your private space wide open for anyone to see was out of character.

He continues his walk, more alert than he had been. He moves slowly, waiting for a sound, a sign, anything that may lead him to you.

It doesn’t take him long.

He spots you first, stumbling lazily down the street. He can hear you mumbling as he gets closer, cursing with slurred words. There’s a bottle in your hand, glowing faint blue in the light of the moon.

You’re drunk, a nearly empty bottle of spotchka clutched in your hand. So that was what you had sent Phee after.

He wonders if that’s the only bottle you’ve had tonight.

He debates the best course of action. You may react if he startles you, possibly waking the neighbors. He does not want to have to face them, to try and explain. He knows it’ll only bring more unwanted attention to you as well. They’ll want to help, they’ll check on you, they’ll worry about you.

You’d hate him forever.

You freeze in your stumbling walk, his body stopping as well. He’s pulled into the memories of that first night he followed you. There’s nowhere to hide tonight, though if you spot him on your own perhaps your reaction will be more desirable. You slowly turn, swaying a bit on your feet like you’re trying to stand in a stiff breeze. You squint at him, mouth hanging open as you take him in. He wonders what it is you see. Can you even recognize him in this state? Or is he a shadow, a ghostly figure your alcohol-riddled mind is trying to piece together.

He says your name quietly, your eyes widening as they focus on him. He steps closer, moving slowly, carefully. You’re unpredictable in this state. He pauses just past an arm distance away, worried about getting too close. You might run again.

“Crosshair!” You shout, bringing the bottle to your lips, draining the rest. “What’re ya doin out so late?”

He can smell the alcohol on you at this proximity, the scent burning his nose. You look a mess, beyond just your drunken demeanor. Dark, swollen circles rim your red eyes, your clothes wrinkled and worn like you haven’t changed them in a few days. Strands of hair stick to your sweaty forehead, your face looking sunken and gaunt. Your feet are bare again, though whether that was a conscious choice or a consequence of your inebriation, he’s unsure. The haphazardly placed shoes suddenly make sense.

“You’re drunk.” He says, looking you over. You don’t seem hurt, not physically at least.

You sniffle, staring at the empty bottle in your hand. “Guess I am.”

You throw the bottle with a force he didn’t know you were capable of, the glass shattering loudly on the stone street. You stumble backwards from the force of your throw.

“It’s fucking stupid.” You say, wheeling away from him. “Those motherfuckers took everything from me!” You brace your hands on the wall overhanging the cliff. You push yourself up, kneeling on the edge. It’s a long drop to the houses below. The fall might kill you, if you landed wrong.

He suddenly feels nervous. Would you jump? He wouldn’t have pitted you for someone who would do such a thing sober. You’re not sober, though. You’re not in your right mind.

“They’re coming back.” You whisper, staring down at the moonlit city below.

“Who’s coming back?” He asks, watching you carefully. He can’t imagine anyone on the island so much as threatening you, much less attempting anything uncouth.

“They’re coming. They’re coming.” You’re starting to get frantic. Whatever it is you think you’re seeing, it’s driving you mad. “We have to go before they get here. We have to go!”

He moves purely on instinct. His years of training have saved many lives before, but none of them felt like this.

His arm is around your middle before your knees leave the ledge, body falling forward into his arm. He uses his weight to pull you backwards, turning mid-fall so he takes the brunt of it, his back hitting the stone street. You fall on top of him, stunned long enough for him to secure his hold around you.

His heart is pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. He holds you tightly, half to keep you restrained and half for his brain to process that he did catch you, he did make it in time. You’re still here, you’re secure in his arms.

He hasn’t felt this way in a while.

He hasn’t felt this way since Barton IV, since the avalanche, since he had to keep Mayday and himself alive through a blizzard only to watch him die. He had lost Mayday after trying everything he could to save him. He feels like he didn’t do enough. He feels responsible.

He won’t let the same thing happen to you.

You scream, the sound muffled by his shirt as he forces your face against his chest. You try to fight him, but all the strength with which you threw the bottle is gone. You’re no match for him. Not in this state. He sits himself up, keeping you restrained against his body.

“They’re coming back.” You sob against his chest, beginning to hyperventilate. “They’re coming back, we have to go!” You continue to struggle, but your fight is waning, getting weaker and weaker. “We have to go before they come back!”

“Stop.” He grabs your face, pulling you away from his chest enough that you can see him. Tears and snot slide down your skin, wetting his fingers. You’re sobbing, breaths hitching as your body tries to regulate itself. “Stop.” He shakes you, nothing more than an attempt to snap you out of this delusion. “No one is coming.”

You stare up at him with those haunted eyes, the moonlight making the dark circles under them seem more intense. “I can’t sleep.” You whisper, shockingly alert compared to what he had just seen. He can feel you folding, your body getting heavier until it’s only his grip on you holding you up. “Maybe if I get drunk enough, I’ll pass out before I remember.”

He lets you fall limp against his chest, keeping his arms locked around you to prevent you from trying something stupid again. His heart is still racing, the adrenaline making his hands shake. He had been designed for extreme stress. He had been designed to run straight into battle and not bat an eye.

The thought of losing you so easily has rattled him.

He needs to get you back home, somewhere he can keep a closer eye on you until you inevitably pass out from the alcohol in your system. He shifts you in his arms, pushing himself to stand. You’re light, far too light. He wonders if you’ve been eating, or if your sleep deprivation has taken over your entire life. Tech had spewed the detriments of sleep deprivation several times during the course of the war. They were designed to go without sleep for extended periods, but even they were not immune. They would begin to degrade to the point of delusion, and death would follow soon after.

He wonders how long it’s been, how long you’ve suffered without sleep.

You truly are a ghost.

It’s a surprise the inhabitants of the nearby houses haven’t been roused by the commotion. Or perhaps it’s just luck. The last thing he needed was someone else making this worse in an attempt to help. He has you under control now. If someone were to intervene, he’s unsure of how you would react.

He carries you back to your house, the door still open and the lights still on. It feels strange, invading your space. He feels as if he’s breaking some unspoken rule, infringing upon a sacred space as he steps in the door.

It’s a mess. Clothes and blankets are strewn around the small living area. Dirty dishes sit like landmines, half eaten food spread across the stone floor. How long it’s been there, he’s not sure he wants to know. He follows the trail into the bedroom, that space not much better off. Clothes everywhere, full and empty bottles of alcohol on the floor, the bed stripped completely of sheets and blankets.

He can’t let you stay here like this.

He finds the ‘fresher, stepping inside. It’s at least cleaner than he expected, damp clothes and towels piled on the floor, used containers of shampoo and soap littering the sink. He clears a spot, swiping the containers onto the floor. He sits you on the counter, your eyes closed. For a moment he thinks you might have passed out, but you crack your eyes open, staring at him.

He leans you back against the mirror, making sure you’re steady as he digs to find a clean rag. He finds a semi-clean one, running it under the cold water before gently wiping down your face. He cleans every inch of exposed skin, checking the bottoms of your feet. Dirty, but thankfully uninjured.

He can’t leave you here. It’s too risky. Not that he’d want to leave you in this mess anyway. He sighs through his nose, staring at your half asleep form. You’ll hate him, but he has no other choice. He can’t risk it.

He can’t risk you.

He picks you back up, carrying you out of the ‘fresher. Something shatters under his boot as he crosses the living room, but he’s too focused to care. He leaves your house, grabbing your shoes before making the short journey back up the hill to his own home.

It’s dark and quiet inside, just as he’d left it. His steps are near silent as he heads back to his room, his own small sacred space. He lays you on the bed, your body curling in on itself as soon as it hits the mattress, as if you’re trying to revert to some early form, back when the world was safe, when you were unable to comprehend the horrors that were soon to cross your path.

You’re asleep, or past the point of being able to control your own body as you take little notice of anything around you. He tucks the blanket around your shoulders. The stench of alcohol is going to sink into his sheets, permeate the air in his room. He can wash them later.

He settles himself on the floor at the end of the bed, leaning against the door. You’d have to move him to get out. Even with the exhaustion settling into his mind, the likelihood of you slipping out unnoticed is very small. Hunter already knows someone else is in the house, and if by some chance he doesn’t, he’d know as soon as he heard your footsteps.

The likelihood you’ll remember any of the events from tonight are slim. You’re far too drunk. He’ll have to come up with something, a reason for bringing you here.

He’ll worry about that when the time comes.

You’re going to be angry when you wake, but if it keeps you safe, he’ll face your wrath happily.

***

Crosshair’s pulled from sleep, straightening up from where he’d been leaning to the side as you groan quietly. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, stretching out his legs. His joints pop uncomfortably, forced into one position for too long. He glances at the bed, watching the lump under the blankets shift. Your arm lifts above the blanket, rubbing across your forehead as you groan once more. He can imagine the severity of the hangover pulsing behind your eyes.

He pushes himself to stand, approaching the bed slowly. You blink blearily up at him, squinting slightly as if you’re trying to see him better. Your sleep-addled brain is still trying to focus, trying to process everything you’re seeing. The chronometer on the wall tells him you haven’t been asleep longer than a couple hours, and it’s entirely likely you’re still a bit drunk.

You slowly push yourself up to sit, glancing around the room, looking anywhere but at him. He can practically see the shame burning on your face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Your voice is rough with sleep or drink, or perhaps both. “It was stupid of me to think alcohol would solve my problems.” Your gaze drops to your hands like a guilty child waiting to be reprimanded. “You shouldn’t have had to go out of your way to help me.”

So you do remember. It takes him by surprise. Some parts, perhaps, he thought you might remember, hazily at most.

“I don’t want to die.” You say, taking his silence as an invitation to continue. “But can you really call this living?”

He narrows his eyes at your words. You are right. He can see the suffering in your very existence. The exhaustion that plagues you endlessly, that makes you the phantom he sees you as.

“I-I should get home.” You swing your legs over the bed but he grabs your arm before you can move too far.

You feel so frail under his touch, and he’s afraid you’ll crumble like a stone statue if he squeezes too hard. “Don’t.” He says, your body pinned in place by the harshness of his gaze. He releases your arm, turning to grab clean clothes from his dresser. He tosses them to you, your body barely reacting in time to catch them. “Clean yourself up, then have something to eat before you go.”

You blink at him for a moment, hand clutching the clothes he’d tossed at you to your chest where you’d caught them. Your head turns slightly towards the door as the sound of the others moving around in the kitchen draws your attention. You had been introduced to them by Phee, so they weren’t entirely unknown to you. They knew very little about you, though, and certainly wouldn’t be expecting you to be here.

“‘Fresher’s down the hall.” He says.

You stand on shaky legs, your eyes pinching shut as your hangover makes itself known once more. He’s worried for half a moment you may collapse, his body ready to catch you. You let out a long breath before you’re moving, stepping out the door. He waits until you’re gone before he’s changing, ridding himself of his alcohol-saturated clothes. He leaves his room, stepping into the living area.

All eyes are focused on him instantly. He’s immune to it now after years, and there’s no desire for him to react, not in this safe space. Not when it’s his squad. His brothers. They’re all wondering, they all want to know. Phee rarely spent the night here. Tech was more likely to be absent from their morning routine than to have it disrupted by the appearance of someone from the outside. For him to have brought someone in, have them here in the morning...he’s the one breaking routine.

Crosshair pours himself a cup of caf, Hunter staring at him from across the kitchen. Crosshair meets his gaze unwaveringly, giving him a telling look. He’ll explain later. He doesn’t want them to know while you’re still here. The last thing you need is for them to make a deal of it, to cause a scene, to give you those ridiculous pitiful looks, to shower you in sympathy. He knows the wrong kind of attention could drive you back to the place you were last night.

He can’t risk that.

You emerge from the ‘fresher nearly half an hour later. Crosshair knows much of that time had to be you working up the bravery to come out and face his brothers. Your hair is damp, cleaner than he’s seen it in a while. You’re swimming in his clothes, making you seem even more fragile than you already appeared.

They’re all staring at you, and he can see the heistance, the nervousness of having all the attention on you. You step up next to him, standing close enough you could duck behind him if you felt the need. He’s surprised you aren’t hiding behind him, facing his brothers bravely.

Omega is the first to greet you, breaking the silence. She greets you by name, despite the limited interactions she’s had with you. She’s always so perceptive, remembering names and details from conversations and interactions that even Crosshair missed.

"You're welcome to stay for breakfast." Hunter says. "If you'd like."

"That would be nice, thank you." You say, Crosshair noticing the waver in your voice. Hunter likely did as well, but he draws no attention to it.

Not that he would.

"Come on, you can watch holovids with me while we wait." Omega says, taking your hand to pull you to the couch.

And so their normal morning routine was back to normal. Wrecker joins you and Omega on the couch, Echo going back to working on breakfast. Hunter steps closer to Crosshair, giving him a look.

"She needed help last night." Crosshair says quietly, reading the question on his brother’s face. "It wasn't safe for her to be alone."

Hunter nods slowly in understanding. He'll get the full story later, but for now that's appeased him. He only worried about the safety of his family, not that you posed much of a threat.

Crosshair sits you next to him at the table as they eat, partially for a sense of comfort and security on your part and also so he could make sure you actually ate something. He doesn’t have to worry much, though. You seem perfectly happy to eat.

Conversation flows as it usually does around the table. You don’t partake much, not that he really expected you to, but he can tell you’re listening intently. So observant, so aware. Wrecker’s bellowing laugh makes you jump, but Crosshair is the only one that notices.

“How did you get here?” Omega asks, turning to you as she changes the subject.

The table falls silent, suddenly all eyes on you. You pause in your chewing, hand closing around your fork just a little tighter. He can practically see your thoughts racing, the nervous tension beginning to square your shoulders once more.

“Omega.” Hunter scolds, casting a sideways glance at the girl before turning back to you. “You don’t have to answer that.”

You swallow the food you had been chewing, obviously not expecting to be given the option. Most people wanted to know, and they asked without hesitation, without considering what they’re asking the other person to relive.

Crosshair can’t help but be a bit curious too. He’s not a nosy person. He doesn't care about others enough to bother knowing their secrets. The only people he cares about are his brothers, and he’s spent his entire life with them. There wasn’t room for many secrets among them, not even after his return. They knew about his excursions, and they were perceptive enough to decipher his curiosity towards you. Bringing you here likely only answered the question of just how close he’s gotten to you, even if they weren’t aware of the full story.

They would be. He would tell them. Not to earn you more pity, but in hopes they will share his desire to look after you.

You, however, he wants to know. He wants to peel back the layers like the skin of a fruit. He wants to know. He wants the answers to why you’re so broken.

Why you’re so like him.

He would never force you to share. He knows the pain of having to relive those moments. It’s enough having to see them every time you close your eyes. Having to speak them aloud only feels like a threat, like you may breathe life into them once more. Like they may happen to you all over again.

“No, that’s alright.” You say, putting your fork down. “No one’s really asked me before. Not that they’ve really had a chance to.” You shrug, the corner of your lips almost lifting into a smile but it drops from your face as quickly as it appears. “I, uh, I was from Devoth.”

Wrecker gasps dramatically, Hunter’s face falling in understanding. Crosshair’s chest clenches, things beginning to fall into place. So that was it. Devoth had been one of the worst battles in the last year of the war, no, the entirety of the war. They hadn’t been part of it, but he remembered hearing of it.

“What does that mean?” Omega asks, looking around at the sullen faces at the table.

“Devoth was a planet in the Muno system located in the inner rim.” Tech says. “It was a mostly peaceful planet under the Republic government. It was used as a mining colony for centuries due to the deposits of rare minerals under the planet’s surface.”

“During the last year of the war, there was a Separatist invasion.” Hunter says, cutting off Tech’s ramble of facts about your home planet. “The battle that took place there was one of the most severe in terms of losses. The Republic won the battle, but it came at the expense of most of the battalion and the planet.”

Omega looks at you, a horrified look on her face. You’re staring down at your plate, eyelashes fluttering like you’re trying not to cry. Your hand’s closed in a fist where it rests on the table, your entire body wound tightly.

“Most of the planet’s surface was destroyed.” You finally say, voice wavering just slightly. “I was home alone when it happened, when the Separatists invaded. My parents had gone to the city center that morning. We had no warning. It was just a normal day then suddenly there’s a droid army marching through our neighborhood. They pulled us all out of our homes. Marched us through the streets with blasters at our backs. They were trying to gather us all in one place.” You shrug. “I couldn’t tell you what they were planning to do, but it couldn’t have been worse than what happened.”

“What happened?” Omega asks, everyone at the table leaning closer subconsciously. They had only heard the stories from those few who survived, those who fought. They’d never heard it from the side of someone on the surface. Someone entirely neutral to the war.

You turn your gaze to Hunter, almost as if you’re asking permission to share the horror of what happened with a child. You won’t give all the details, he knows already. That’s far too intimate for your first real conversation with them. Perhaps you were trying to save Omega from experiencing the same trauma you had.

“The Republic arrived not long after the Separatists did.” You continue. “As soon as the gunships entered the atmosphere the droids started shooting at the gunships and at civilians. I think they were trying to get the Republic to call off the invasion by executing innocent civilians, but there was so much confusion, it didn’t work.”

“How did you survive?” Omega asks.

“Someone grabbed my hand in the confusion.” You say. “I don’t know who she was, but we ran for it. There were underground shelters built out of old mining tunnels all over the city. Devoth was known for sudden, intense storms during the rainy season, so they were built to offer shelter when the storms blew through the city. We made it into one of the shelters with a few others.” You shake your head. “I couldn’t even recognize where we were when we finally came out a couple days later. Everything was gone. It was like a storm blew in and wiped the entire planet clean. There weren’t even bodies left.” You hastily wipe the tear that falls, sniffling. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry you lost your home and your family.” Omega says, speaking with such compassion it stirs even Crosshair. “I’m glad you made it. You can be part of our family now.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you. I am lucky that I made it out.”

Hunter quickly changes the topic of conversation, sensing your distress. He won’t push you to continue, won’t push for more details. They’re capable of understanding the loss that comes with war, and the desire to leave it in the past. Crosshair knows there’s more to the story, however.

The rest of breakfast passes quickly, and despite Omega’s insistence that you stay longer, Crosshair knows you’re tired and overwhelmed. He escorts you from the house, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as soon as you’re outside. The streets are busy and bustling already, but you don’t seem as tense walking beside him.

You almost seem human.

“That wasn’t the end of the story.” He says as you approach your house, slowing his pace. The Battle of Devoth had happened well over a year ago. A lot can happen in a year.

“No. It wasn’t.” You say, slowing your pace as well.

Silence reigns between you until you reach your porch, sinking down onto the steps. He stays standing, hovering over you. He stares at the top of your head as you look out into the street, past the inhabitants milling about their day and out into the distant cerulean ocean.

“We were in that shelter for almost three days.” You say, tugging at the cuffed hem of your borrowed pants. “The battle happened fast, but we were scared of what we would find above. We had no clue what had happened, who had won. When we finally got out, the planet was unrecognizable. We looked for anything we could find, but it had all been reduced to dust and rubble. There were a few other survivors, others that were lucky and made it into other shelters.”

He stays quiet, not wanting to give you any reason to stop. He wants to know. He needs to know. It’s like a sick fascination, a need to know just how broken you are.

“We tried to contact someone, anyone, but none of the comms were working. We all thought we would die there, but the pirates arrived not long after. They were looking for anything they could pilfer but there was nothing but us.” You finally look up at him, tears still sliding down your cheeks. “We didn’t have any choice. What else could we do? Stay there and starve or hope the Republic showed back up to look for survivors? We willingly walked ourselves into slavery.” You sniffle, wiping the tears from your face.

There’s a pain in his stomach that has grown as he listens to your story. He had never stopped to think of the horrors that the civilians, the citizens of the planets they fought on, faced too. It wasn’t their job. Their job was to fight and try to survive to the next battle. They didn’t think about the homes they destroyed or the lives they upended trying to prevent the droid army from accomplishing the same end.

He’d done horrible things under the Empire. Worse things. He remembers it all, even when he hadn’t been the one in control. He’d destroyed lives, enslaved others, killed innocent people. All for what?

“Don’t make me tell you what happened after.” You shake your head, the tears still falling despite your best efforts to wipe them away.

He doesn’t need to know. He knows enough about the galaxy to be able to guess what happened to you. He’s curious how you made it here, but he won’t push you further than you have been today. You’ve been dragged through enough in the last few hours. He doesn’t want to risk pushing you to repeat what happened last night.

“That’s why I can’t sleep.” You say, staring off out the window. “I can still hear them marching down the street. I close my eyes and they’re kicking in the door, dragging me out into the chaos. I can still hear the ships, the blasters, the bombs. Sometimes I don’t make it. Sometimes I can see my parents. Sometimes I’m back with the pirates. Sometimes I never escaped at all.”

Understanding washes over him like a wave from the sea. You’re beginning to make sense now. The rapid decline you had been steadily sliding down since your arrival here. Your struggle sleeping, the nightmares both awake and asleep. Crosshair feels the bite of loneliness in his house full of his brothers and Omega, but he’s never truly alone.

You’re entirely alone.

You had been alone when your life was destroyed, when everything changed. It was lucky that you survived at all. No matter how many times you were assured you were safe here, you were alone. Being alone was not safe for you. Being alone left you vulnerable to the horrors of your past, left you vulnerable to the horrors that may come through your door when you’re least expecting them.

He begins to formulate an idea, a plan taking shape in his mind. He won’t leave you to suffer alone. You had already proven you wouldn’t survive that. You don’t have to be alone here, but he’s well aware you won’t willingly accept help. You’re too stubborn for that, too ashamed of your own brokenness.

He’s not going to give up on you, leave you to suffer a cruel fate that could be avoided. You were so much like him, even if your experiences were different. He understands you, and you have the capacity to understand him. He can help you. He desires to help you.

Little do you know, you are capable of helping him as well.

Taglist:

@rosechi @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @wolffegirlsunite @jedi-hawkins @sinfulsalutations @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @clio3kantarella @eris-k @thorsterstrudle @idontgetanysleep @anxiouspineapple99 @clonemedickix @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @blueink-bluesoul @starrylothcat @523rdrebel

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #x reader

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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I'm patient but I'm not but I'm patient but I'm not are we going to pee in this elevator and is Joe going to hear us go pssssss I'M PATIENT BUT I'M NOT please pretty please part three soon? 🥺 🥺 🥺

so, ive learned that apparently peeing in front of a stranger is literal nightmare fuel for some of you and i wasnt aware and im very sorry for exposing you to this fear without having put a proper trigger warning in place... but, um, here's part three :) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Between Floors and Feelings

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“They say this station’s haunted, you know?”

It had been forty minutes. Forty-five, maybe, of being stuck in a lift with a stranger, and all you wanted to do was sleep.

Just… have a cheeky little nap. Some good quality shut-eye.

If you would’ve been by yourself, you’d have laid down already, no doubt about it. Would’ve dozed off until firefighters or whoever else knew how to save people from lifts would come to rescue you.

If you’d have been alone you also would’ve definitely pissed yourself, but you thought that maybe the dress would hide it well enough. You could easily pretend the lift already smelled like urine when you stepped inside just before it had gotten stuck. Before you’d gotten trapped inside with a handsome man in an expensive suit who had introduced himself as Joe.

Joe, who was now trying to distract you with some spooky shit you didn’t believe in.

“Actor William Terriss, murdered in 1890-something. There used to be a bakery here,”

You were far too tired to really interact with him, but Joe didn’t mind. He just talked, and you just listened. You also didn’t really care for what he was telling you, but the fact that Joe was trying to make casual conversation in an attempt to distract from the stupid and increasingly annoying static from the intercom was sweet.

“And now they say he stalks the corridors, looking for bread. Tall guy, apparently. I’ve been told some tube workers were so scared of him, they requested to be transferred to a less haunted tube station,”

“Less haunted,” you repeated, “Not not haunted. Just, less.” that tickled you.

“A little haunting is fine, a touch of spook keeps you on your toes. But a tall actor looking for bread?” Joe looked at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows raised, and then jokingly answered his own question, “That’s too much.”

You just smiled, eyes heavy-lidded. A silence fell and your mind wandered a second. If you thought about it, almost every tube station could easily have scary spooky ghost stories. They were all underground with groaning tunnels and echoing passages, if you believed in the paranormal, any noise could be coming from the other side. Especially when a little more deserted, every single tube station could give you the creeps.

But you'd never seen a ghost, and were planning on keeping it that way.

If you could just… slump sideways and rest your head a little. Close your eyes a second. Let the ghost of the bread-actor roam freely and do his thing without bothering him... if you could just sleep. Doze off, just for a little while.

Joe pressed the emergency button for what felt like the three hundred and eighty-third time.

Pressing the emergency button no longer made anyone ask you any questions. It was just static now. Static that would last about 20 seconds before it died again, and every time it did, Joe would just press the button once more.

He’d been assigned the button-pressing task, which was good work, because you felt busy enough focusing on staying awake and working your pelvic floor muscles.

You were uncomfortable, and grew a little more uneasy when you felt eyes on you. You turned your head to see Joe give you a wary once over.

“You all right?”

How deep was this pit of concern this man held within him? You tutted and slumped your head forwards by ways of answering.

“I’m so close to my bed, I can practically hear it call my name,” you whined.

“If you’re an easy sleeper, I don’t mind if you close your eyes a second,”

Too kind.

“I can’t, I’ll piss myself,” you deadpanned and hissed straight after, because mentioning it made you feel it more. You tried to relief the pressure by pressing both hands firmly into the floor and leaning heavily into your stretched arms. It did nothing.

“That’s OK, I’ll pretend I don’t see,”

You gave Joe a stare, one that said, ha ha, very funny, even though you had to work to hide your smile.

The static died.

Joe pressed the button again.

“So, you live close then?”

You nodded. “Bow street, just down the road,”

Joe blinked, then let out an impressed whistle that sliced through the air with a sharp, clear tone.

“My God, I didn’t know I was in the proximity of an actual billionaire.”

You were hardly a billionaire, but you’d be lying if you said you had never used your postal code to impress people.

“It’s a tiny studio above a Pizza Express, it’s not that glamorous,” you argued.

“Oh, so… millionaire, then,”

Had you not been so tired, had you not needed the loo so badly, you’d have reacted more to it. Joe was funny. Sweet. All you could give was a slight smile before a grimace overtook your face once more.

“Should’ve gotten off at Leicester Square,” you muttered.

Because you did all the time. Especially in rush hours. But you hadn’t wanted to walk the extra few minutes. Minutes that, in hindsight, would’ve passed anyway. Minutes that would’ve meant you could’ve been home right now.

“Nah,” Joe reasoned, having a sip of his own water before continuing, “You probably would’ve gotten your dress stuck in the escalator, making the whole system tear it off, and that group of drunk guys likely wouldn’t have gone easy on you,”

Joe had seen and heard those guys too.

“To be honest,” you started, eyes closed and entirely focused on the strength needed to keep every single drop of urine inside your body. “I’d take the humiliation if that meant I would’ve been home right now.”

And you meant it.

Fuck, if you just kept thinking about it, you would only feel it more. You needed something to make you forget about the building pressure in your lower stomach all together, but it wasn’t as if there were ample options of entertainment.

There was just Joe.

“Do you live close? Or do you still have a whole trek home once we get out?” it was the easiest way of asking if you were potentially stuck in a small metal box with a neighbour.

“Quite the footslog for me still, yea,” so not a neighbour then.

You assumed he must have had plans. Maybe Joe was meeting friends in a bar somewhere, or maybe he’d been on his way to meet his girlfriend - you knew nothing about him, and didn’t know what to assume.

“Maybe we can convince the ambulance to drop you off at your place later,” you tried your hand at a joke.

“Ambulance?”

“For my ruptured bladder,” it came out all constrained, and instead of a goofy laugh, you received a concerned glance from Joe that then turned into something more determined.

“Yea, all right, hang on, I’m gonna…” Joe trailed off, and twisted to cap off of his water bottle again before he drank whatever was left inside. Just, chugged it all down.

“No, don’t– there’ll be two full bladders inside this lift, and–”

“One.” Joe said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand before he got up onto his feet. Then, he held a hand out to you, and without much thinking you took it. Joe helped you stand, and then gave you the empty plastic bottle.

“What?”

“I promise I won’t look… or listen, I won’t, you just– you’re risking a bladder infection, and you’re clearly in pain, so–”

“Oh my God, you think I’m going to pee into this water bottle?”

“I don’t think, I know, I’ll just… here, look, I’ll squeeze myself into the corner with my back turned,” Joe demonstrated, turning with his face pressed into the corner before he covered both ears with his palms.

“You’re joking. We could be in here for hours, I don’t–”

“Exactly.” Joe looked over his shoulder. “So, please, go ahead. If you gotta go, you gotta go. I’ll give you as much privacy as I can.”

He turned back, and you just blinked at his backside.

What the fuck was this guy on?

You looked at the water bottle in your hands and for a split second actually contemplated doing it. But then, how the fuck was this ever going to work?!

“I’ve not got the aim for this,” you said. “I barely got it all into an open handbag earlier, this is never– hey!”

“You what?” Joe turned around, hands lowering from his ears, giving you a sort of panicked, definitely confused look.

“You have remarkably good hearing for someone who was very actively not listening to me peeing,”

Joe's throat stuttered as he quickly turned back, hands back over his ears. To really sell that he wasn’t listening, he started singing, “That’s me in the corner… that’s me in the, spot, light, losing my religion,”

He wiggled his hips a little to the words as he sang way off pace, far too quick, and you thought to yourself that if you were going to have to be stuck in a lift with a stranger, it was good that you’d gotten stuck with this one. This light-hearted, big goof of a man, who seemed to not have a single judgmental bone in his body. Or, a musical one for that matter.

Feeling no judgment was very refreshing after heavily judging every single aspect of yourself from the moment you’d walked out of your office.

“Joe,” you said, clearly not going ahead and even attempting to use the empty water bottle as a toilet. But Joe was definitely going to think twice about turning around after that comment you'd made.

“Joe,” you tried again, louder.

But that just prompted Joe to raise his voice as well, “Oh no I’ve said too much,” Joe dragged out his words to keep the silences in between to a minimum. “I haven’t said enough– I thought that I heard you– ow,”

Joe turned and saw that the bounce he'd felt on the back of his head came from the soft plastic of the water bottle you were now holding by the cap in your fist, like a weapon.

“Thank you, but, I think I'd rather die,” than pee in front of you into a water bottle that would then just be full of your yellow piss. You shudderd at the thought of it.

“Okay, well then,” Joe swiftly took the bottle from your hands and stepped around you. You turned and saw how Joe placed the bottle right side up in the corner furthest away from the intercom.

“It'll be here for when you need it,”

“I won't need it,” you said, sliding down the lift doors opposite to sit back down.

“Hmh, debatable,” Joe scrunched up the side of his face, making him wink as he did so as he moved to go sit down next to you.

“I won't use it,” you rectified.

“Then it'll just be there,” Joe bickered, gesturing towards the plastic bottle with one arm.

“For no reason,” you honestly weren't going to fucking use it. You'd probably end up pissing all over your own hands, and Joe just drank the last bit of water that you could've used to wash them after. Although, working with just the one container, that wouldn't have worked anyway.

“It'll be there because I like to keep my empty water bottles in corners of lifts. Feng Shoe and that.”

Joe had one of those faces where he joked a bunch without showing it much, expression all serious, or all annoyed, but then he'd crack straight after. Would press his lips together to hide the smile that he couldn't escape as his eyes found yours.

“Um, it's Feng Shui,” you corrected, and the giggles Joe was trying to repress came out in a snort.

Sat next to each other now, you felt a lot more comfortable because there weren't constant eyes on you. Both you and Joe had the same view: your own legs, feet, the empty lift, the water bottle in the corner across from you near the opposite doors...

You let your head fall back against the door and closed your eyes a second.

That whole ordeal had woken you up a little, but you were still tired. Resting your eyes was still very welcome.

“So... I have um, I've got some questions,” Joe started after a short silence.

You kept your eyes shut, but stopped breathing for a second.

“If they're about pissing into a bag, no you don't,” you said, and you heard a small disappointed hum escape Joe's throat.

“So, um, I have no questions,”

That made you laugh.

Still didn't feel great. You still had to pee, but you were determined now. Your body was going to have figure out a way to just... reabsorb it all back into your system.

You laugh turned into a frown and an extended groan.

“All right,” you sat up a little, ready to get into it. You were going to tell the full story, whether Joe actually wanted to hear it or not.

“No, please, you don't have to,” Joe laughed as he backtracked.

“I've already said too much,” you sighed.

“I could wonder for the rest of my life,” Joe was sweet. Didn't want to pressure you into sharing anything you didn't originally want to share.

“It'll be like therapy,” but you were already talking yourself into sharing everything that had happened to you that evening, all the things that lead up to you getting onto the tube looking like you did.

It didn't feel right to just let this guy think you were crazy.

Which, maybe you were crazy, but, at least you could make him understand.

Right?

So you told Joe about the annual costume party at the office. This year the theme was the letter B. You went with bride. Your boyfriend - fuck, ex-boyfriend - dressed up as a business man which meant that he could just wear his own office attire. You had joked that you were going to tell people he dressed up as 'boring'. You had given him so many alternative ideas; batman, bra salesman, Bob Ross, a banana, Baby Spice, a blue man group member, Buzz Lightyear... you had more up your sleeve, but he'd insisted on business man. Would just be easier.

Yea.

Easier, and also more boring. But it was whatever. Showing up in a wedding dress with him wearing a suit was kind of cute, you thought.

And the party had been fun! Everyone had looked amazing, really amazing. Most people had gone all out with their outfits and it made you feel less silly for walking around in a big puffy white cupcakey wedding dress. Someone had dressed up as big foot, the full costume, and you'd had to figure out who hiding inside that costume by process of elimination.

But then, when you were hunched over the table that held all the drinks with two of your colleagues, mixing stupid shit together to make awful brown-looking drinks, it all went wrong.

You looked up, searched for him with your eyes, because you had a gross drink to give to him, and saw him across the room, talking to Derek whose desk was three seats over from yours.

You saw how he excused himself. Saw him say he was going to go for a quick toilet break.

But then he walked the opposite way. Derek hadn't even noticed.

And you were dumb.

Thought he just didn't know where the toilets were.

So with two drinks in hand, you rushed after him. Had a sip that spilled down the sides of your mouth because you weren't being careful, and you'd grimaced and laughed at how nasty it was.

Then you saw him step into your boss's office, and you slowed down. Why was he going in there? Surely he knew, could see, that wasn't where the men's room was.

You were about to call out for him, were about to go, “Babe, are you lost?” with a laugh stuck at the back of your throat that was ready to slip out when you'd see him all confused and all alone in your boss's office.

But then, when you stepped into the doorway, he wasn't all confused. And he wasn't all alone.

His face was stuck to your boss's face, and you could see actual tongue. You saw her fingers work to loosen his tie. You saw his fingers pressed into her waist. She was dressed as a bunny, the Playboy kind, because of course she was.

You didn't think they'd even seen you. Not that you spent a very long time looking at them. You'd instantly turned on your heel and marched back to where the party was still in full swing.

Two colleagues saw your ashen complexion, saw the shock and the panic and the hurried shaky steps you were taking and cornered you. Said things like, “I'm sorry you had to find out this way,” and “We would've said something sooner, but, you know, she's our boss,” and “I'm sure you understand, don't you?” because they'd all known. And apparently for fucking ages, too.

Your face had been streaming down with tears once they were done talking to you. Once they'd advised you to go home, you had mascara all the way down your neck and two empty glasses in your hands. The godawful cocktails that held nothing but strong liquors mixed together had been a godsend.

You'd hitched, “Tell her I quit with immediate effect.” without wanting to look anyone in the eye.

Everyone could go and fuck themselves.

And then, just before you walked out, you saw her handbag. You knew it held her planner, her cigarettes, maybe even her phone, and you thought, I've got to pour something in.

The table that held all drinks was too far back into the office. People would notice. Maybe you could go hold it open under a tap. Place it in the sink in the toilets and just.... fill it up.

That's when you had felt your lower stomach pinch.

“Listen,” you said to Joe, regrettably in tears once again.

God, what a pathetic evening.

“I'm not proud of what I've done. But I did exactly what you think I did and I only stopped because I heard footsteps.”

Joe had just listened to you without interrupting besides the hand he'd placed around your wrist when he saw your eyes well up as you spoke.

He very slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth, but didn't say anything. It felt like the most appropriate way to comfort you. He was used to hugging strangers, but that didn't mean that you were, and he had to actively work against the instinct to curl an arm around you.

The hand on your arm felt nice.

The thumb rubbing felt nicer.

“So, I left her bag there, on the floor, and just hauled myself out of there... and, against my better judgement, decided to get the tube home instead of a taxi.”

You rubbed at the underside of your nose, and then at a cheek. Maybe these tears actually cleared your face of all the make-up remnants. There was going to have to be a point where it'd all just... wash off, right?

You were expecting Joe to say something like, I'm sorry, or, that's awful. But then he softly said,

“Should've shat in it,”

And the laugh it erupted from you was embarrassingly loud. Came right from your core. Made Joe laugh too as he bent forward a little to find your eyes with his. Made your tears suddenly become tears of joy once more. Made you grab onto Joe's arm with the one that he wasn't holding onto. Made you suddenly sit up in an attempt to not wet yourself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. No, fuck.

“Bottle!” you cried, moving your feet underneath you as you tried to stand up. "Quick, bottle, bottle, bottle!" you reached with hands you knew wouldn't reach far enough.

Luckily, Joe shot into action, almost seemed excited to do so. Jumped up, took the bottle, turned back to you as you were still trying to get up.

“I can't– help,” you squirmed, feet and bum on the floor still, both arms outstretched, waiting for Joe to pull you up.

You felt like you would sometimes feel when you really needed the toilet and you were right outside your flat, fumbling with the keys as you tried to hurry which only made things take so much longer.

Joe helped you stand, and the gave you the bottle before he slapped the emergency button. The static would help drown out the noise, you know, besides the loud singing Joe was about to do.

He stepped around you to go hide in his little corner again, hands already moving up to cover his ears, but you said, “Wait,” and used both hands to work you dress up, to get the bottle under the skirt.

Joe did wait, looking at you with big, rounded, expecting eyes. And you couldn't believe what you were about to say, but right now, everything was about survival and survival only.

“You're going to have to hold me.”

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @freckledjoes @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @tlclick73

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #between floors and feelings #part 3

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