#screwed up the rifle a bit

[artwins]

oh, btw, we are huge tf2 fans

[salemoleander]

"My teeth hurt," Martyn says.

He and Scott are on the deck, enjoying the morning sun before it has the chance to get humid; Scott is busy crafting sugarcane into paper while Martyn is (ostensibly) trying to carve a bowl.

"What, like- cavities? We've only been here for a few days, and I know you're eating the same fish and dried kelp as me." Scott pauses, holding a fresh sheaf of paper. "-and if you're not, and you've been holding sweets out on me, I'll be pissed."

Martyn huffs a laugh, then grimaces when pain shoots up through his sinuses. Ambling over to the table, he half-sits, half-leans on the back of one of their deck chairs.

"Nah, same food as you. Man, I don't know what I did. TNT to the face carry over, d'you reckon?"

He grins, and Scott blanches. Well, shit.

"Alright, what's wrong with my mouth?" Martyn asks, stress rising when Scott doesn't answer. "I've still got teeth, right?"

Scott nods sharply. He wavers on an answer for a moment before sighing. "Yeah. You've just got some new ones, seems like."

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------

The hard part of suddenly having shark teeth, Martyn quickly discovers, is that they are not particularly designed for beings with lips, and certainly not ones that talk.

He tells Scott this, nursing several sore spots on his lips and tongue.

"Have you considered talking less?"

"Oh, screw you."

Scott rolls his eyes, and they go back to sorting through chests in companionable silence. Waves gently lap against the edge of their island, while bamboo canes creak and shift. After a few minutes Scott says, "In the- last time. I remember being relieved, a bit, that even though Cleo and I chose each other-"

"Exactly the conversation I wanted to have," Martyn deadpans.

"Would you shut up? Honestly." Scott smiles, but his jaw flexes as he does and Martyn resolves to shut up and let him say this, whatever it is. At least for the next ten or fifteen seconds. Probably.

"Anyways. I was a tiny bit relieved that I was paired with Pearl, because she was human. And I'd seen how it was for BigB getting canine features and Joel getting whatever the hell from Etho, and you, y'know..."

"Rotting?"

"Eugh. Yeah." Scott looks through their fence-lattice walls and out to the water. "But Pearl didn't stay human."

Martyn raises an eyebrow. (For effect. If Scott is doing a dramatic monologue towards the ocean, Martyn at least gets to make faces, whether or not Scott sees him. Them's the rules.)

"She got kind of... wolf-y? Or more accurately, the game made her wolfy. Not like Ren, not nearly that elegant a combination."

Scott's voice is bitter, an edge to it that Martyn associates with fireworks going off too-close by. "I woke up one morning and my teeth were sharp and there were too many for my mouth. And it hurt, and the worst part was knowing this wouldn't be happening if we'd just done what the game wanted."

Blinking, Martyn says, "Oh." Brilliant. Nailed the response, there.

"I just wanted to tell you. That it might- those might be my fault, because it seems like whatever runs this game doesn't like me very much. There's a reason I set up alone out here."

Martyn- ignoring the ache from his jaw and the kernel of self-interest that tells him to get while the getting is good- scoffs. "None of that, thank you! I don't care if bloody Herobrine has it out for you, we're sticking together."

Relief washes over Scott's face. Martyn adds, "If whoever runs this circus thinks unlimited knives for teeth is a punishment, they're mad."

"Clearly! You were already enough of a menace." Released from whatever tension kept him still, Scott reaches over to flip another chest lid up and starts rifling through. "It's like trying to annoy Joel by giving him too many TNT minecarts."

Martyn snorts. "Right! Once my mouth gets the memo about where everything is now I'll be doing fine- probably better than I was before! A supernatural entity trying to tell me who I can be friends with? C'mon, nothing that stupid is busting the Mean Gills up."

He almost believes it.

[the-californicationist]

Troubleshooting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He did, replying with a sly smile,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There,” she sighed, “good as new.”

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

“What was the problem, Smithy?”

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

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

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

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

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

“...that such an experienced…”

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

“...intelligent…”

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

“...diligent soldier…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AO3 Link

[prentissluvr]

too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body. 

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds. 

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.” 

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?” 

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief. 

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.” 

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel. 

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off. 

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot. 

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

,

part two here !!

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

You're Different

Crosshair x Reader

Summary- Ever since Crosshair made a snide comment about leaving a team member to die, you've had a lingering thought. Even though you knew he loved you, doubts rose.

A/N- Crosshair is my favorite clone, but also hard to write. Apologies if he's OOC! Feel free to LMK how I can improve XoXo

Word Count- 995

"Well I think you're letting your personal feelings get involved. You're just guilty because you left Echo at the Citatdel. Oh, I don't blame you. I'd have left him for dead too..."

The words sent chills down your spine. You couldn't pinpoint why. Crosshair says rash things all the time. He's always cold and negative, secretly you love it about him. But, leaving a team member- a brother for dead? Just because?

Well... he'd never do that to you, right? Crosshair loves you, you know that. But what was he capable of doing when he put his 'personal feelings' aside?

You came back to reality when Hunter instructed everyone to scout the area, look for a better way up the mountain into the tower.

You hurried in your step to walk next to Crosshair, something he preferred to keep you safer. His hands tightly gripped his rifle, a subtle way, you noticed, to release his anger.

He kept a keen eye for any kind of disturbance, more on edge than usual. You noticed, but was at a loss for how to bring it up. Your doubts clouded you.

'I'd have left him for dead too...' You brought a hand up to tug at your glove nervously. You couldn't even focus on the mission, 'Well I think you're letting your personal feelings get involved.' You had to clear your head, he wasn't talking about you. He would never.

Your head shot up at the yell of your name, followed by- 'Crosshair, scout the East terrain, we will go West." Hunter commanded.

"Yes, sir." You responded instinctively, Crosshair nodding and turning.

You didn't even notice that Crosshair stopped and waited for you to catch up. You squinted your eyes behind your helmet and pushed back any thoughts.

Everything went smooth for a minute, silence consuming the air. Just the gentle sound of rocks crunching under your feet. It helped you shift your focus back to your surroundings, eyes searching for any intruders or a possible entrance to the tower.

While it was usually a calm and comfortable silence between you two, this was not. The air was thick, and needed cutting. You wondered if he noticed it as well.

"What's wrong with you?" His gravel voice started. He did notice it...

You snapped in his direction, you could practically see his scowl through his helmet.

"Nothing. I'm fine." You continued to walk.

"Stop that, we don't do the whole 'lie' thing." He was right, he always seemed to be. You could hear him fiddling with his rifle, but you didn't turn to look at him.

"Lets just focus on the mission, I wouldn't want my 'personal feelings' to get in the way." You said, picking up your step. You hated the way you jumped to conclusions. Sarcasm drips from your words. Passive aggressiveness was something you and Crosshair shared with many people, but rarely each other.

"Cut the shit." He said, grabbing your forearm. This took you by surprise, but it shouldn't have. He made sure to glance around the area, then took off his helmet.

"What Cross?" You were sour, having been lost in your thoughts.

You took off your helmet as well, then crossed your arms. You challenged him with a look in the eyes.

"It doesn't take my defect to know something is bothering you. We can't let it affect the mission. What is it?" He says fiercely. While he did seem pretty rude and demanding, it was more care then he'd show anyone else.

"So it's just about this mission?" Damn it, why would you say that. Especially after Crosshair was actually trying to find out what was wrong.

He scoffs and leans against a large rock. "Fine, screw up the mission for all I care." He puts a pick in between his teeth, then cocks his rifle. You don't flinch a bit when he shoots a small surveillance droid behind your left shoulder. You keep your eyes trained on his.

"I wouldn't leave you." He says, chewing on the pick, and lowering the rifle.

"Wha-"

"I know when something is bothering you."

"Yeah but, how-" He cuts you off again, stepping close to you. inches away.

"I'm always watching." He says, a smirk present.

You give him a playful smack on the arm, he just laughs. With a sigh the situation becomes serious again.

"Really?" You looked up at him,

"I was just trying to get under Rex skin. You know we don't leave brothers behind." You smiled, bigger than you had all day.

"What if I was a reg?" You say, now pulling at his arm so he was closer.

"But you're not, you're different." He points out, flicking his pick to the ground.

He deeply inhaled through his nose, pressing his forehead down onto yours. You were silent and still after closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

Suddenly you heard a third parties movement. You dropped into a squat, Crosshair bringing his rifle to balance on your shoulder plate. The two of you worked in perfect unison.

It was just Wrecker.

"What are you two doing?" He asks, dumbfounded on what he walked upon.

"Uhm, nothing. This side's clear." You said, slowly turning around.

Crosshairs rifle was still cocked and ready with his finger on the trigger. Even in the heat of the moment, he was able to defend.

You swallowed, thinking about how attractive he was in that second.

"Hunter needs us back at the cliff. They found a way in." Wrecker says before heading off.

"We're coming." Crosshair says, annoyed.

You turn and smile at him before putting your helmet back on.

He does the same and follows closely behind you.

"Hey," He starts, grabbing your attention. "You can pull that with anyone you want, but next time just tell me. It goes a lot faster that way." Crosshair was sweet and gentle in his own way. He was saying 'I love you.'

"I love you too, Cross."

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I'm not super proud of this one, I think I rushed it. I love Crosshair sm, but I have no idea how to write him.

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[circe69]

I Wanna Hear You Say Something

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

summary: ghost really likes your accent, and you really like his.

cw: fluff galore.

A/N: I have ideas for a part two. Lemme know if you want it sooner than anything else.

Edit: Part two is here:)

——————————————————————————-

Tonight, was your first mission ever. You were terrified, seeing as though the only people surrounding you were huge, loud, and dangerous men. They had been in this field forever, and you had only shot maybe a few targets on the head. You weren't met for this type of work, but your new general said you had a knack for sniping.

It was pouring rain, perfect, you thought. You pulled together some sort of outfit, grabbing a pair of heavy cargo pants that just hung off your hips, and a turtleneck t-shirt. They didn't offer much else.

All the sudden, you heard consistent honking outside your dorm. It was the boss, and the rest of your new companions in a large truck. You quickly grabbed your rifle, water, put on your combat boots and ran outside.

The rain kept getting in your eyes, making it hard to see, and you almost ran into the car door. Opening it with force, you jumped in the truck and landed on your hands and knees.

Wonderful. What a nice entry! is all you could think.

The man in the front seat turned around, trying to ignore your faceplant, and said, "Boys, welcome Y/N. She's a sharpshooter. Treat her like one of your own."

You stood up, face red, and dusted off the mud on your pants. You smiled at the general, silently thanking him for the introduction. As you took a seat in between men twice your size, you quietly said,

"Hello."

A few snickers from across the truck caught your attention, and the man sitting to your right said with his booming voice, "Oh great, we've got a clumsy sniper." He looked at you, and met your eyes with such sarcasm, all you wanted to do was roll your eyes, but his mask drew your attention away from your brewing anger.

A skull? Ah, so this must be the infamous Ghost.

You stared for a little bit, then dropped your head to your lap and started fiddling with your hands.

Your anxiety was probably visible from miles away. You never wanted to mess up, but you definitely didn't want to screw up in front of a bunch of men who already are skeptical of you. Men are terrifying.

Army men are even more so.

You started to mess with the gold ring on your middle finger, sliding it on and off, until a large hand abruptly grabbed it from you.

What is his proble-?

"Is it real?" Ghost leaned down and whispered in your ear. His voice. It was too sexy for his own good.

He messed around with it in the palm of his hand, being sure not to drop it. You said back, "No, but don't tell anyone." You winked as he looked up into your eyes.

"Ahh. I see", he whispered once again. You couldn't help but keep eye contact, even when softly grabbed your hand and slid the ring back on your middle finger.

Might as well exchange vows already, you smiled to yourself, and he noticed.

"You wanna know somethin'?" He said gruffly.

You hummed in response, awaiting his fun fact.

"I really like your accent."

Something about that made your heart jump. It jumped even higher when he rested his gloved palm on your knee.

"And you're gonna be fine. Tonight, I mean."

He spoke with such sincerity, it almost seemed natural to him, but he would probably cringe if you said that to him.

His fingers didn't move from your leg, in fact, if anything they were almost impossible to move. You smiled at him and put your hand over his, when suddenly the truck rolled to a stop, and you had arrived at your destination.

A few of the men had jumped out before you, including Ghost. As you neared the car door, Ghost grabbed your hips and pulled you out of the car. You gasped as he carefully let you down, and he yelled to be heard over the rain, "I didn't want you to fall again." You slapped his arm playfully and kept walking in front of him. He belly laughed behind you, and it made your stomach flood with butterflies.

You started jogging to take cover, and get a break from the rain, and followed close behind you. You had come across an old shack, the windows were busted, and doors unhinged, but it was enough to keep you dry.

Ghost took a seat on the floor behind you, resting his head on the wall.

"I'm tired of running in the rain, Y/N", he said sighing.

You giggled and nodded in agreement.

"I wanna hear you say something," he whispered in a low voice. He was a little out of breath, and you could physically see his chest rise and fall.

You took a few steps closer and kneeled down in front of him. You decided to tease him a little bit, so you covered your mouth with your hands and shook your head no.

He reached out and pulled your hands away from your mouth. He started spinning your ring around your finger as he gestured you to come closer.

"Please."

You were now straddling him, sitting directly on his lap and your hands were still enclosed in his, dropped down to his sides.

"What should I say?" you whispered, tauntingly.

He scoffed in annoyance. Right when he was about to say something, you snuck your hands up his torso, chest, and finally lifted his mask just enough for you to see his jawline.

You kissed his jaw lightly on one side, then breathed on his skin, "Oh, I know what to say." You kissed the other side of his jawline, and whispered, "I really really like your accent."

He grabbed your waist and started tickling you while laughing himself. He pulled you underneath him, so your back was on the wet floor, and he was caging you in.

"Good, well I'm glad we're on the same page."

[leclsrc]

happy 3k mother! "quick speaking" and "animated" for dad!charles? thank you!

first words – cl16

Your daughter says her first word, but you’re the only one that seems to think so.

“Omygod omygod omygooood!”

The squeal from down the hall gradually grows louder as you bound into the living room, facing a roomful of your friends. You wave your phone around, where you’ve just hung up on your daughter’s babysitter, hopping up and down. “You guys, you’re not going to believe this. Felicite’s babysitter put her on the phone, and while I was saying goodnight, she said her first word!”

The game of Monopoly (you all wish you were cool enough for poker) ceases and Lily and Isa sit straighter, excitement drawn bright all over their faces. The seat directly in front of you shakes with how quick Charles gets up, smiling dopily. “Are you serious?!”

“Oh, yes! It was—oh, you guys, it was so cute.” You’re speaking so quick you can barely register what you’re saying.

“Okay, okay—ooh, okay, what’d she say?” Isa asks, clapping her hands together and gesturing for you to get to the point faster. 

“She said bloviate!” You exclaim with a flourish of your hands, smiling widely.

The room visibly deflates and the game picks back up instantly. Charles even sits back down.

You frown, mouth hung open in disdain instead of excitement now, huffing quietly as your friends express amusement over your fit of unwarranted thrill. You pout, tapping several times on your fiance’s shoulder. He moves his Monopoly piece out of jail before turning to you.

“Hel-lo? Isn’t that exciting?” You emphasize, humming.

He smiles. “Oui, it’s great, honey.” He turns back to examine his money.

You pat again. “Uh? You don’t sound excited!”

“Oh, I am. I am!” He stands, disengaging himself from the game and turning to you. He places both hands on either side of your waist. “But sweetie, bloviate is not a word.”

“What?” You place your hands around his neck and scoff, laughing. “Um, yes it is?”

“Okay,” he tests slowly, “then what does it mean?”

“I don’t know—hey, you don’t even speak full English, mister.” You roll your eyes. “I’m telling you, Charles, it’s a word.”

“I love you. But it isn’t.” Alex calls for Charles to roll his dice. “Count me out of this round, guys.”

“Sure, we’ll bloviate your money,” Carlos says casually, sipping a beer.

You sputter, wrestling out of Charles’ arms and pointing at Carlos with animated excitement. “See! He just said it! Carlos just said it, it’s a word! Say it again.”

He sips again, inhales a bit. Then smiles. “I was kidding. That word doesn’t exist.”

You groan, flipping him off and turning back to your fiance’s amused, fond face. He presses a sure kiss to the corner of your lip. “It’s so cute, honey, but it really is not a word. M’kay?” He kisses you again for good measure and leaves you standing idly as he resumes his turn.

You nearly can’t believe it—you had all taken this trip with friends to spend a weekend off, and not only do you physically miss Felicite’s first word, but nobody seems to believe it’s a word at all. You huff again. “I’m looking it up, Charles.”

“Honey—”

“Up, up, up!” You silence him. “This is the real deal, guy. You’re about to be proven so wrong. You’re going to wish you stayed on the call a few seconds longer.” You type, frenetic, for a definition on Google and start hollering once you’re given a result. Your verdict is right—it’s a word.

“A-ha!” Charles stands up again, stationing himself beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses your forehead, smiling and shutting his eyes with how adoring he is not only of his daughter, miles away, but of you, giddy over a word that sounded like total gibberish to him just a few seconds ago. Screw it if he’s a bit jealous. Your happiness makes up for it.

“What’s it mean?” Lily asks, rifling through her stack of cash.

“Um, let’s see…” You pause, clearing your throat to read. “‘To speak a lot in an annoying way as if you are very important.’”

Everyone hums and nods, a light round of cheers and applause at the confirmation of Felicite’s first word. You smile up at Charles, slotting your mouths together in a chaste kiss.

“Can we babysit Feli next week?” Alex chimes in. “By the looks of it, you’re leaving her with Max a bit too often.”

[meownotgood]

equalizer. / gun fiend!aki x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, csm spoilers, gun play, fear play, blood play, monster fucking, mirror sex, dubcon, stomach bulge, aki has a metal dick

Once the Gun Devil has infected the mind of a human vessel, they can no longer think for themselves. Can't take control, can't rationalize anything coherent. Fiends hold on to some of their humanity. But in this state, the only thing they can perceive are their most carnal desires. 

He doesn't care that he's pushed you so roughly your head is left spinning when it hits the wall, he isn't thinking about how he's gripping your side so hard your skin might bruise. The only thing Aki — or is it the fiend who's possessing Aki? — can think of as he backs you into a corner, keeps you steady with his rifle under your chin, then leans in and starts nipping at your pulse with sharp canines is how badly he needs to get his cock inside of you.

It's some sort of impulse. Something you could only describe as animalistic, something neither you, nor any of the devil hunters back at Public Safety could ever begin to quite put their finger on, you're betting. Definitely something much more devilish than human.

You figure you should have studied the behavior of devils and fiends enough to predict this, but what's happening to you right now is far from anything you've encountered before. You're normally composed in these kind of situations. But when the most feared, most dangerous devil in all of Japan is right in front of you, and when he already has you wrapped right around his trigger finger, how could you possibly stay calm?

Even without his chapped lips scraping your neck, you know your pulse is thrumming and thrumming and thrumming, your heart is pounding in your chest — and he can sense it, can feel it. Your heartbeat is insistent on his mouth, your fear and anticipation radiates from you and runs deep in his veins. His head is heavy, he's stronger, even more sure of what he wants compared to when he first came here. You've got his one-track mind focused enough to doom you even worse than you already are. 

When he manages to bite down hard enough to break the skin, droplets of blood pooling in his mouth, that's when you're really screwed. Or maybe you knew you were from the very beginning.

The moment you opened the door and saw the devil standing there, back hunched and posture rigid. Hair all a mess, the same suit jacket you ironed two days before draping from his shoulders, muttering something to himself that sounds like the syllables of your own name, you were done for. You gave yourself no means of escape the moment you made the connection between Aki and this fiend in your brain. 

You're okay with that. You're okay with it because it's Aki. You were fine with letting him inside and you didn't panic even when he cornered you. But that was when you didn't know his intentions.

Now, now he's dragging his tongue over the length of your neck, warm and wet and messy, now he's lapping at your salty sweat and your delicious blood — It's good, a metallic pang hits his throat and he's breathing harder, his dick is throbbing in his pants. Fuck, he needs you; he's losing the last shreds of sanity he had left. He's gotten a taste of what he wants, but surely he won't be satisfied with just a taste.

You can tell he needs more when as he's still sucking on your neck, your fresh wound stinging from the flick of his tongue, at the same time he's shifting his rifle between your legs; your whole body tenses on instinct and tries to shrink further into the wall behind you, and he's huffing an amused, bone-chilling chuckle. The sound sends a cold shiver down your spine. 

Your plight is just something he finds amusing. Thrilling, even. You should give up.

Your heart beats against your ribs a little bit faster, he pulls away and you get a closer look at his face for the first time. Messy hair obscuring a thick twist of veins and marrow around his face, teeth stained crimson when his lips upturn in another playful smirk. Your gaze meets the end of a wide pistol, you think this all might end for a fraction of a second, but everything melts away as icy cold lips press fast against your own. 

Tugging you backward along with him, free hand clenched on the front of your shirt, the gun sticking out of his forehead forces Aki to tilt his head at an uncomfortable angle in order to kiss you. He's quick to explore your mouth, to suck on your tongue. He's pulling you closer and as he stumbles, your feet get caught out right from under you. Your hands reach up in an attempt to grab onto something, and your fingers run through thick, matted hair. He smells like charcoal and tastes just the same, bitter and rich with a sharp tang of blood. 

You've kissed Aki before. You can still remember what it's like to feel his soft lips on yours, his bangs tickling your skin, his hands on your waist. Doesn't matter how long ago it was, or how drunk the two of you were, or how many times the two of you swore you'd try to forget. You could never forget.

But this kiss burns harder than anything you're used to, this kiss is all-consuming, breathless. It steals the air from your lungs and leaves you yielding to his — to a devil's — touch. It's how you've wanted Aki to kiss you for so, so long now. Hasty and impatient, he groans into you, a deep and familiar noise, and everything turns into less of a kiss and more of a clumsy mess of lips and open mouths.

Clumsy. That's how you would describe every move the devil piloting Aki's body makes, from the way he trips forwards and falls to the floor with you pinned underneath him, to how his lips don't quite meet yours, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip, drool dripping down your chin until your mouth is messy with his spit. He's uncoordinated and God is he inexperienced, running on pure instinct and nothing else.

His hand is fumbling to undo your clothes like it's something he's never done before. He's kissing you through it, placing wet kisses on the corner of your mouth, breathing hot air onto your cheek and biting at your ear. He's learning as he goes too, but he still tears them off without regard for rips in the fabric or buttons popping off to roll across the floor. It's unceremonious in the fact that he stays clothed, but he strips you from just enough clothing to let him have you how he likes: shirt disheveled and simply tugged all the way up, everything else tossed aside. 

A line of saliva trails from his mouth to yours as he finally pulls away, and his rough palm glides from your chest to your hips to your thighs; he wastes no time tugging them harshly apart. His tie rests on your chest, the sleeve of his suit jacket is rough on your bare skin. And you like this, don't you? 

At every opportunity you've had to push him away, you haven't. He gives you another sloppy kiss and against all odds, you're gripping his tie to tug him in closer. He smiles into your mouth and shifts his rifle between your thighs, and to his wild amusement, you're spreading them wider. Your arms are shaking when the rifle cocks, ready to fire. But even so, he's pressing his lap into you, he lets you feel how hard he's gotten because of this, and you're arching your body into him, all on your own. 

You want to get fucked like this, right? How long have you gone without Aki, without anything?

You're so good for him too, so obedient. The muzzle is heating up, and you're starting to squirm, but all it takes is a firm press of his pistol to your temple to get you listening. He can't deny he likes how you shiver, how you're delicate enough to break. And all he needed was to run the steel tip of his rifle over your waiting cunt to get you soaking wet. 

He rubs his thumb over your lips and parts them to shove the digit inside your mouth; you're gasping and sucking and he's pressing the end of the rifle in, in, in until your pussy is stretching and you're taking it. Just like that, so damn easy. Aki fucks you with his gun in short little spurs, rough movements that have you clenching and writhing underneath him — eyes glazed over, wet drool coating his fingers when he shoves more of them in, index and ring along with his thumb. The metal barrel glistens from your slick arousal, it's intense and it drags against your walls in a way that hurts just enough to spark your senses alight, to feel like heaven. 

A sense of heaven from a devil who surely came from hell. He's disgusting for this, sure, but you're the one who's enjoying it. 

He pumps the rifle in and out, works you up to a steady rhythm as a small mercy before he really starts fucking it deep. Deep enough to feel the end nudging at your cervix: a mix of dull hurt and overwhelming pleasure. He drags it out, tilts his head down and spits a thick glob of saliva onto the end of it to make it easier, then shoves it right back in.

He's starting to pant, he grips your waist to keep you still and smears your own wet saliva over your skin. His arm is steady, but the rest of his body shakes just as much as yours. He focuses on your face, on the flutter of your lashes, he watches the addicting way your pussy takes his gun. He's rolling his hips, grinding against your thigh now, perhaps without even realizing it, breathing hard and searching for any bit of friction on his aching cock he can possibly receive.

You're close already, chest heaving and hands clenched where your arms are sprawled out above your head. You can tell he's thick from his bulge on your thigh alone, you know how hard he is, how badly the devil wants to put his cock in you, and the thought gets you even higher. He hits that perfect sweet spot and as you're falling to pieces, he's right behind you, cumming in his pants with sloppy humps of his lap into your thigh.

The feeling of pleasure hardly materializes for him. It isn't enough. He doesn't want to cum like this, he wouldn't have done so if he had more self-control — any self-control. No, he needs to have his cum in you. 

You're still catching your breath when you hear the clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of clothing. His cock is cold on your stomach, slick and sticky with his spend, even colder when he rubs the slit right at your entrance and lets it drip, drip, not yet giving you the satisfaction of sinking inside. It's only when you gasp a desperate, sweet please that he holds your waist, pulling you up with ease and deciding to settle you into his lap. 

Everything happens before you have a second to think. He's thick, freezing cold and impossibly hard, leaking with arousal; it's a tight fit, a stretch when he gets the tip in, but when he's pulling you and bucking his hips out of impatience, leaving you no choice but to sink down onto him, he slides in nice and easy, you take all of him perfectly. You swear you hear him give a sigh of approval the moment the devil is all the way inside you.

Aki Hayakawa is gentle. Aki takes things slow, he's careful with every one of his touches and thoughtful with all of his words. 

And this is Aki. This is his body, his broad shoulders that you grip to steady yourself, it's the same familiar lilt of his voice when he grunts out your name. Your name, because even now, even like this, he still remembers how to say it. Your own name is the only thing he remembers. You're the only thing he cares about.

And it's his calloused hand when he caresses your skin and digs his nails into your thigh, hard enough to leave marks. The glint of his circular earrings is just as you've always known each time he tilts his head and they catch the dying light. The way his hair falls over his face is the same as you remember, save for the barrel wedged right in the middle of his skull. 

Perhaps Aki is the one who's motivating the devil to act like this, to want you so badly. All of his pent up emotions, all the times he's wanted to have you but couldn't, when he's dreamed about taking you over his bed and touched himself to the thought — This is the culmination of everything. He just needed an excuse to act. 

But even so, this isn't the same. Aki isn't like this, Aki doesn't feel like this. The Gun Fiend is very, very different, because the Gun Fiend fucks rough. 

Each buck of his hips into you forces him deeper inside. He keeps an unrelenting grip on your side, he's smirking as he drags you down and then up again, guiding you to bounce on his cock. His dick throbs with every noise you make for him. You're so tight, you're dripping, you're getting his pelvis slick and smeared with your arousal and fuck, it feels so good to be buried deep inside your warm cunt, he never wants to pull out. 

And he doesn't. You let the Gun Devil fuck you how he pleases, use you like a toy. Your thighs hurt, and when you're slowing down, when he wants to get in deeper, he's wrapping an arm around you and pinning you to the ground again, this time on your stomach, ass backed up against him.

He sinks back inside in one smooth movement with a deep-sounding groan, he presses his hand to the back of your head and shoves your cheek into the hardwood floor. His tie tickles your back and his fingers clench tightly in your hair and — Oh, you can feel the ridges of his cock so, so much better. 

From the beginning, you reasoned his heart is colder than before, but you started to assume his body must not be entirely human, either. He feels too different. Once again, like more of a devil.

And now, when you're feeling him like this, close and inside, you're sure. Aki places his hand under your stomach, he lifts your hips and fucks into you hard, hips deft to your ass, and you feel the solid steel again, the indents in the shaft and the solid metal rings right around the head. 

In the end, it's no different to getting fucked on his gun. 

And as filthy as you are for admitting it, he feels so good. He fucks you with hard thrusts of his hips, his breath is scorching hot on your skin when he kisses your jaw. The end of his gun brushes the back of your skull and he mumbles a satisfied hum when you promptly get louder for him. 

You love when he fucks you like this, sloppy cunt squelching around him as he pistons his cock in and out. A layer of sweat coats your skin. You're kept pinned down by his weight on your back. 

When he angles his hips and drags you in closer, you're clenching on him — You're hit with waves of ecstasy as you cum for him again, and he isn't stopping, he moans and grips you tighter but he keeps fucking into you at the same desperate pace. The echo of skin slapping skin fills the room, Aki breathes your name against your ear in a pleased-sounding tone and his voice sounds so much like him you feel like you could cum once more. 

All your nerves feel light and fluttery, you're dizzy, the room is spinning. You're given a few moments to compose yourself when he buries himself deep inside and stops moving, tugging his tie from his collar to give himself more breathing room and relishing in how you pulse around him. 

At that moment, you're able to make yourself more comfortable by shifting your head to the side, and your eyes catch on the wall, on a pretty full-length mirror you bought for your apartment a few days prior. In the reflection, Aki's large figure is positioned above you, his body bent over your own, caging you in. Large rifle sprouting from his arm, barrel in his skull. His slacks are slipping down his thighs, his dress shirt's come loose from his waistband. 

He pulls out half-way, slowly this time, shaft shiny and slick, distinctly silver. His bottom lip quivers, still grinning in amusement. You watch as he grips your waist and shoves his cock all the way inside you, deep enough and large enough to put a round bulge in your stomach. 

God. 

Aki works back up to his previous pace, and your vision grows misty through tears, but your gaze stays glued to the sight. His grunts in your ear grow louder as he fucks you 'til he's close. He bites carelessly at your shoulder, presses his tongue to your neck and tries to taste more blood from where he bit you earlier. His dick slips out from his clumsiness and how messy you are; he rubs it against your clit, spreads slick on the inside of your thighs, grips your ass and shoves it back in. 

He's reaching for your hand as his breath picks up. There's a startling juxtaposition between how he grips the back of your hand tightly, running his thumb over your knuckles as a simple idle movement while fucking you so rough. Like he's not a horrifying devil, like it's Aki. The silhouette you see in the mirror almost crushes that illusion.

His hips get sloppier, his voice and his weight and his smell like a breath of charcoal are all you can perceive; he grits his teeth, and he gasps out your name softer than you expected. 

Then, he's letting go — He's moaning and pumping you full of his cum, warm globs of sticky white that drip from your cunt and onto the floor as he keeps thrusting in. Your body goes limp underneath him, you're twitching from the aftershocks of another high and he takes advantage, shoving in as deep as he can go, balls pressed to your skin, filling you with everything he has. Making you his. 

All his, finally. The Gun Fiend starts to feel a bit of relief for himself when he's empty, pulled out and collapsed on top of you. Breathing slow and heavy, he's still for the first time. 

He's nicer than you take him for, has a bit more of Aki in him than you anticipated, that much is true. He'll let you regain some clarity. But he hasn't bred you enough yet. He's nowhere near done with you. 

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

10,000 Leagues Under Fontaine

Synopsis: The life of a guard of the Fortress of Meropide is mostly dull and structured, until a chance encounter with an otherworldly beast gives you a reason to smile again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Angst Warnings: Mentions of drowning, acid, burning, very slight mentions of blood

~ * ~ The Fortress of Meropide is always cold. Cold, but never quiet; the underwater complex is unmistakably alive despite being made of metal sheets and grates, the sound of machinery weaving with the chatter of both inmates and guards, sharing their days and gossiping here and there as good citizens of Fontaine always do- rumors spread fast in the Fortress, and there’s not a moment that isn’t exciting or entertaining in some way. Or so you like to imagine. Being one of the top guards of Meropide has its benefits- getting to choose your days off, occasional trips to the surface, even the Duke’s personal trust in your abilities. But with trust comes difficult, often tedious tasks, ones that Administrator Wriothesley only assigns to the most capable workers, and so you find yourself patrolling the space between the main prison and the ocean gates. The room is an odd mixture of metal and screws and a gradual incline towards the sea floor, a shallow puddle transitioning into a passage filled with water that someone could swim in. You keep wondering when Wriothesley will properly fix the gate at the end, and he simply responds that he’ll get around to it at some point. For now, keep watch- it’s almost a straight shot to the ocean, and we wouldn’t want inmates attempting to escape, now would we? And you just nodded, expression steady as stone and twice as unmoving; no prisoners would sneak in on your watch.

Not that they often do. Life at the Fortress is a new start for many and even a step up in comfort for most. Besides, the passage is much too long for anyone without a Vision to swim through without the danger of drowning- you’ve had to haul a few corpses out in the past, and that was enough to dissuade most of the other prisoners, it seems. Good for security, but boring for you, as there’s little else to do but watch water drip from the ceiling and skirt around the jagged bits and edges of metal left on the walls and floor. Occasionally a gardemek going through its initial testing will join you, and you’ll idly teach it to play rock paper scissors- so far, you’ve kept up a 50% win rate against the robotic soldiers- but nothing more. At least it smells of rain here instead of smoke and fire. You’re alone on the day that the noises begin, sitting on a crate and mistaking them for distant ocean waves and the clanging of hammers against metal. They’re simple at first- vague splashes and a faint scratching sound- but as you listen they morph into something else, like echoing cries, or perhaps a song through the sea. Something beautiful, for once, one corner of your mouth twitching up ever so slightly- what few friends you have call this expression your “almost-smile”, and know it’s as pleased as you’ll get. Something close.

Your almost-smile vanishes as your ears pick up the distinct sound of something swimming through water, the water that flows through this small passage, scrambling to your feet and snatching your weapon from its spot on the floor as whatever-it-is turns the corner, the water’s surface rippling. You really should’ve taken up on His Grace’s offer to get you a rifle. You’re expecting the aquatic thing to burst forth from the sea, attacking you first and asking questions once you’re dead, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of two crimson horns poking out into the air, the water stilling if not for slight movements. Slowly, steadily, your gaze follows the horns down as a head rises out of the water, a single crystalline eye blinking curiously and settling on your form. There’s a moment of silence, and then the creature chirps. You can only freeze in place, brows furrowed in deep confusion as the beast- Archons, it’s big- hauls itself onto shore, tilting its head this way and that as it cautiously approaches. The hand holding your weapon tightens, your heartbeat almost painful, and the monster’s eye widens as it pauses, glancing nervously from you to your weapon and back again.

With slow, deliberate movements, you watch as the beast lowers its head to your height, letting out a soft trill. It almost sounds apologetic, hunching its shoulders inward shamefully, and something in your heart, the one you molded and fixed into being cold and quiet, cracks. You lower your weapon, eyes narrowed, and you swear you hear the creature purr. Legacy is its name, his name- Foul Legacy, a monster from beneath your world. But he’s a monster only in appearance, you’ve learned, navigating the ocean with boundless curiosity and a demeanor sweeter than any Fontainian dessert or cake that you’ve ever eaten. Tell me everything, he begs, scratching his claws through the dirt in a language you only vaguely remember from an old book. Tell me anything and everything- about this world, about here, about there, about you. He likes you, you’re kind and caring and gentle, so unlike the countless stars he’s seen before. You try to protest. You’re not caring, or gentle, or kind- you’re a guard of Fontaine’s prison, someone who was stabbed through your spine and constructed walls around your fragile heart, watching the Fortress to make sure that no one could ever be hurt like that again. You’re not soft or loving, you’re not. But Foul Legacy merely chitters, fluttering those sparkling wings that you swore used to be fins and staring at you so sincerely that you’d think he adored you.

And he does adore you, loves you, even. Ah, if only he spoke your language, the language of mortals that his tongue can’t seem to wrap around, if only he could say three simple words and hug you close, showering you in affection. But he can’t touch you. The last time he tried you had clamped your teeth down on your tongue, a drop of blood falling from your mouth as your skin burned like acid, a sickly heat creeping up before you had jolted away, gasping for air. Legacy whined in concern, trying to nudge your seemingly-unblemished hand, but you’d simply shaken your head and stepped away, slightly feverish. Every person in Fontaine is born with sin. No matter how the Nation of Justice holds trial after trial, this sin cannot be absolved. He didn’t touch you after that, merely curling his body carefully around yours during your visits, hanging on to your every rambling word and always parting with the same question- Tomorrow? Yes. You’d return tomorrow, despite your chilly expression and flat words and tone. You always return tomorrow.

The Fortress has been buzzing with energy- not that it isn’t always- but the arrival of a certain golden Traveler has kept everyone on their toes, the dread and anticipation of something happening seeping into your bones, because it’s always something whenever that Traveler and their tiny, floating companion are around. You almost prefer your monotonous routine from before, but a small smile blooms slowly on your face when you watch Foul Legacy happily splash around in the water, shaking his head and cooing as the droplets rain down around him. He chirps at you curiously, your quiet, fond expression reflected back in his sapphire eye, and you just let out a small laugh and wave your hand as he stares at this new facet of you in awe. With a soft plink, a bead of water falls and lands on your cheek, a hiss of annoyance escaping you as you quickly swipe it away, settling between your nail and finger. It burns, and your throat closes up in horror. Not a minute later, Wriothesley’s voice rings out through the building. “All residents, evacuate immediately.” There’s a crackling pop and a split second of silence, before the alarm blares and your ears ring with pain. Until one day, the water levels in Fontaine will rise, and the sinful people will slowly be drowned.

Your hands slam against the barred door, tearing desperately at the metal that mercilessly rips into your fingers and closes off the room you always guard so carefully from the rest of the Fortress- they forgot you. They forgot you. They forgot you and left you here to drown and rot, and your eyes burn with repressed tears, fear enveloping your senses like a sticky, jagged web. No no no- you swore you’d never be this afraid again, that you’d never surrender so easily again, that you’d never cry ever ever again. A soft, concerned whimper snaps your head around, Foul Legacy standing behind you. His wings droop at your damp eyes, claws twitching and curling from the urge to hold and hug and comfort you as is right and proper, banish the panic away because it scares him to see you, normally so composed and quiet, this terrified; instead he shakes his head and trills, hastily beckoning for you to follow him, boots splashing in the water stretching into a long passage. Out. It leads out. It leads out to the sea and the surface, where you can breathe and cry and admire the sun, and your feet move forward before you can even think. You want to live- yes, finally you want to live. You want to live and be able to smile and laugh again, keeping the warmth that this strange, otherworldly monster brought to your life and never let go.

With a deep breath, you plunge into the water, kicking your feet and pushing yourself in the general direction of the path. Foul Legacy guides you with his chirps, now turned to eerie, song-like notes under the waves. His tail and fins- weren’t those just wings?- propel him faster than you could ever dream, yet still he slows his pace and stays behind with you, and your heart feels like it's joining in on his melody. The water swirls around you like oil, lungs burning as a few stray bubbles trickle out of your mouth and you taste salt on your lips. What little you can see in your murky vision flickers black, and Legacy lets out a sudden, terrified shriek. In the end, the people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the Hydro Archon will remain, weeping on her throne.

It’s just salt in your mouth now, the taste coating your tongue in a horridly thick layer. Your fingers twitch as they burn, pushing through the water with arms heavy as lead. Foul Legacy whimpers and sobs in despair, grasping his claws around your wrist to try to pull you out, get you to the surface away from this sickened water only for the ocean itself to sink its teeth in and hold fast. What’re you trying to do, again? You’re having trouble remembering where you are, what you are, who you are, scrubbing your eyes again and again and swallowing gulps of salty seawater. This is where you’re supposed to be. This feels safe, comforting- you’re going home after all this time, see, somewhere less confining and fleeting. Finally, you’ll be where you belong, free from the bindings that hold all of Fontaine in their grasp. There’s a vague sense that someone has wrapped their arms around you, faint, anguished wails echoing through the depths, and when you finally open your eyes again you see stars dancing across ripples and tides. You return to the Primordial Sea, and Foul Legacy’s talons close on only foam and bubbles. Only then will the sins of the people of Fontaine be washed away.

[paranormalactivity5]

you were right in front of me.

༺♡༻

Bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem!reader      

Notes: looked it up and apparently there is a member of hellfire named doug so he’s in this, y/n has an aunt. The confession is based of a tiktok i saw. As always constructive criticism and feedback is welcomed!

Summary: Eddie realizes hes in love with his best trend and a freudian slip occurs.

WC: 1.2k

Everyone was sitting at the Hawkins High lunch table in their assigned but, not assigned seats chatting along as usual, but when Eddie sat down he immediately noticed something was wrong. “Wheres y/n?” “oh she's helping her aunt move today, she didn't tell you?” Steve said confused, the two told each other everything. “No….” he replied confused himself, they did tell each other everything; why didn't she tell him? And this was such a small thing, why was it bothering him?

Gareth arrived at the table, sitting down making an upset “oomph” sound when he hit the chair “What up with you?” Robin asked “Bethany totally shot him down when he tried to ask her out.'' Jeff remarked “Yup, I saw it, he barely got past one word, crashed and burned” Doug said making a fake missile fall and explode with his hand for extra salt in the wound. “You love this too much! I mean you're basking in my humiliation!”. Everyone laughed  and then Robin interjected “Hey don't laugh at him, I'm just as bad, I mean Vicky doesn't know I like her and I can barely get a word in.” She continues to pick at the carrots on her plate. Everyone continues ranting about their relationships or, lack thereof when Dustin butts in “you know you've been awfully quiet over there Eddie?”

“What?” he asks confused “surprised he havent started wailing on about y/n.” Gareth says with a chuckle but quickly shuts up when eddie gives him a glare “Seriously what the hell are you guys talking about?” “how you’re so hopelessly in love with her but she dosent seen to notice?” robin states like its obvious, he dosent notice the smirk on her face when she says the last part. the whole table nods “she's so pretty, her style is so cool!” Jeff remarks quoting eddie “she's so smart!” lucas adds, this continues on until eddie relalizes, holy shit are they right? Is he in denial? I mean yeah he’ll admit that what he feels for her is a bit more then friendship but, is he in love?

Youve been helping your aunt move all day and were exhausted but now it was time to get ready for your weekly hangout with eddie and knowing you were going to see him gave you just enough energy to get there, eat some pizza, and watch a movie. As you were getting ready you were overthinking as you always did before you saw him; Should you wear a skirt? Or would that make it to obvious you were trying to impress him? You landed on just some black ripped jean shorts, some spiderweb tights and a metallica shirt with some combat boots. A simple outfit, a little over the top for movie and pizza but, maybe just enough for eddie to finally get the hint

When you arrived at eddies you hugged him like you usually do but he seemed stiff, which was odd because he would always welcome you into a big bear hug, sometimes even picking you up off the ground! He seemed so uncomfortable throughout all of “little shop of horrors” until you finally made the suggestion that you should smoke a joint and order pizza, maybe it would loosen him up and he would say what was so obviously bothering him

He began to rifle through the drawer next to his bed where he kept his own personal stash and pulled out all the things needed and began to grind up a small nug. Most of this happened silently, whatever was bothering him must be really bad, usually he would be talking up a storm.

He was feaking out, the second he saw her smile and felt him hug her he knew he was screwed. Hes definetly in love. As he was preparing the joint he decided he cant keep acting all weird she might catch on. Hopefully a joint can helf him lossen up.

About 10 minutes of smoking later and Eddie and defineitly chilled out some. Just as you were about to ask him what had him so worked up in the first Place the doorbell rang, Eddie got up to get it quite quickly, “That must be the pizza, ill go get it.” guess he was still a little nervous. In Eddie's head he was once again freaking out. Your eyes were heavy, your voice and body relaxed, you looked so pretty…..you always did, but since the realization he loved you it became increasingly hard to not throw himself into you, hopefully you didnt notice.

By the time he had paid the guy, gotten you both a slice and some beer you had picked up and began flipping through it. “You ever think about your wedding?” you asked “sometimes, why?” “there were some wedding dresses in this magazine…..i bet yours would be like, lord of the rings themed or something.” you snarked while chuckling “i meannnn…” he looks at you with a knowing look in his eye. “No you’re right that would be cool as fuck” you admit “expensive as hell tho.” you nod in agreement. “Well who would i be like your best- maid of- best woman..is that a thing?” or i could be the bride, you think to yourself. “Yeah i think thats a thing”

“Shit I mean you could be the bride who knows” he says laughing. Holy shit holy shit does he even realize what he just said? It seems he does when he looks up and you're staring at him “What?”  “you know like.. it's a possibility…like with all the roles you could possibly take its…in the realm. Not like I want you to be the bride” he lets out a small laugh. He's messing with his hands and touching his hair, which he always does when he lies. Hes lying. “You’re lying” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Huh?” “you’re playing with your hands and your hair while looking down, you always do that when you're lying….You like me?”  “I love yo-” he begins to admit nervously, but before he can get another word out your lips are on his, youre not sure what caused such confidence to come over you, maybe years of pinning. You could tell he wasn't expecting it but he soon melted into the kiss, years of what was thought to be unrequited love being poured in from both sides. 

Once you pulled apart you spent a moment just staring into each other's eyes. You're the first to speak “Why didn't you tell me?” the answer would've made you fall to your knees if you weren't already half straddling him “Baby I can barely hear my own thoughts when I'm with you.” you smile and giggle, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, he does the same. “Robins gunna freak.” you point out with a laugh and his head slightly turns to look at you quizzically. “She's been trying to set us up forever” you state. He thinks back to the conversation from later today…. he's going to have to thank her.

[nebulousbrainsoup]

Hard hours, you say? 😈

I am usually not so bold with requests. And it's quite early. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ But they got me acting up with this comeback. Specifically, Mr. Song Mingi. Just so damn disrespectful. I can't even function. 🫨

Anywhoooo. Pretty please, may I request crossing paths with sharp shooter Mingi at a bar?

You're the best and I hope all goes smoothly with your health appointments. *hugs* 🫰🏿⛰️💜

no YOU'RE the best noona 🥺 💛 the health appointments are health appointmenting in true us healthcare fashion 🤪 but I just got the first scan scheduled so there's progress!! hugs 🫂 🫰🏼sorry this took forever, my body decided it needed more than 4 hours of sleep lmaO

ANYWAY mingi has also been wrecking the absolute HELL out of me too, and he knows what he's doing to us. all the outfits??? the energy his bringing??? and i've been having so so many thoughts about the body roll in the mv like. sir that was FOUL. got me thinkin about those hips 😵‍💫 plus the "You could be my doll" line in Dune????? hello????? let's add him to the EVOLVEverse crew, shall we?

lil bit of crack at the end sorry i HAD to

masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee? | divs from @cafekitsune

smut & warnings below the cut, 18+ enjoy & minors don't touch :)

tags/warnings: fem!reader, outlaw!mingi, sharpshooter!mingi, ft. 2ho, pwp, no use of y/n, language as always, mild alcohol use, gun (singular), i know he's our soft boy but he's quite ominous, use of pet names (doll, baby, slut), slight dom!mingi, i'm on my big dick mingi agenda, semi-public sex (empty bar), oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight overstim, unprotected sex (crowd booing), lil bit of objectification & degradation, unedited

The first thing that caught your eye was whatever was spray painted over the WANTED posters outside; some amalgamation of an 'X' and a 'Z' covering the faces of Night City's infamous rebels. You scoffed, shaking your head softly. They'd be fixed in the morning, so why waste the paint?

The second thing that set you on edge was the music. Usually, on a Friday night, your favorite bar was packed to the brim with people, catching end of week drinks with coworkers, meeting with dates they'd never see again, or partying with friends. The music was barely audible inside on the slowest of weekends, much less outside the main doors. Anxiety roiled in your gut, but you continued on your path, cautiously pushing past them.

Only one man stood in the otherwise empty tavern, his eyes snapping up from the drink he was making to zero in on you, and your heart leapt into your throat. There was something dangerous about his gaze and that familiar silhouette, and you froze in place as your brain scrambled to piece the puzzle together. His lips twitched up in a smirk and, once he had put the finishing touches on his drink, he shifted to the side, revealing the WANTED poster hanging behind the bar and the rifle strapped to his back.

Fuck. You were so screwed. You took a step backward, ready to turn on your heel and bolt, forgetting you ever saw Song Mingi or knew the location of this little bar. He turned back to you, seemingly sensing your want to flee, and narrowed his eyes.

"I wouldn't," he muttered, and your feet rooted to the spot.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you stared back at him, the silence stretching to an uncomfortable level, until you finally found your voice to break it.

"W-What did you do to them?"

He tilted his head. "To who?"

"The..." you trailed off motioning around the empty bar. "Everyone. There had to be people here."

He nodded, sipping his cocktail, completely unbothered. "There were." You blinked at him, annoyance building, and gestured for him to continue. He sighed, slinging the rifle off of his back and setting it on the bartop. "When you bring one of these into a packed place like this, folks tend to scatter."

"And you let them?" He nodded. "Aren't they going to call the cops on you or something?"

Mingi snorted a laugh, downing his drink before making his way around the bar to stand in front of you. "Do I look worried to you, doll?"

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "C-Can I go too, then?"

He took a step back, eyes raking over you, and you felt heat flush through your body. "You could always stay for a drink. That's what you came for, isn't it?" Despite your mind's protests, you nodded. "Then have a drink with me, and tell me what a pretty thing like you is doing frequenting a place like this."

---

This was wrong, so unbelievably wrong. You should have never come in here. But you had, and now here you were, the hand of a wanted criminal resting on your thigh as your eyes darting frantically between his own and his lips. Maybe you could blame your impressive lack of restraint on the adrenaline drop you were facing, or the fact that none of this really felt real, anyway. Whether he sensed or saw your internal struggle, you weren't sure, but Mingi's hand shifted off of your thigh, catching your chin between his fingers.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You didn't know what came over you, but in an instant, you had tugged him in, slotting his lips against your own. He groaned lowly, tongue quickly swiping over your lower lip and slotting against your own as you let out a sigh. He stood from his stool and dragged you up with him, pressing your back against the bar so he could slot one of his thick thighs between your own. You whined, letting your head roll back, and once your lips parted, he let out a soft chuckle.

"Well, that's not what I was expecting, but I can't say I'm complaining."

Immediately, you wanted to wipe the proud grin off of his face, but before you could snap back at him, his lips were on yours once more.

---

Your moans echoed off of the vaulted ceilings, the music once again barely audible underneath them. Mingi was on his knees in front of you, his tongue working magic over your core and two of his thick fingers pumping in and out of you, the slick sounds adding to the symphony echoing around you. You tugged at his hair, the unending pleasure beginning to become too much as you neared your second climax, halfway between tugging him closer and pushing him away.

"M-Mingi," you whimpered, and he groaned against you, eyes blinking open slowly. "I can't, 's too quick, ha!" You jolted, grasping at the bar under you as he sucked at your clit again, another of his fingers prodding at your hole.

"One more for me, doll," he purred, slowing his pace to press inside of you. "Gotta make sure you can take my cock.

"'S too much, Mingi," you muttered halfheartedly, his name turning into a needy moan as his mouth returned to you, tongue soothing the sting of the stretch his fingers brought.

He allowed you a moment to adjust, his lips pressing a kiss to your clit and pulling a quiet sigh from you. This was a sight he could get used to, he thought, your blissed out face above him and your thighs tossed over his shoulders. His cock twitched in his too tight pants, and he groaned against you, the sensation sending your hips bucking toward him, and within moments he had picked back up his relentless pace.

---

The bliss when he finally pressed his thick cock into you was like nothing you'd ever experienced. Your lips were parted in a silent scream, only stilted, broken noises of pleasure leaving you. He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling through his chest and felt through your back as he leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. The bar had proven slightly too high for even his tall stature, so he'd spun you around, bending you over a nearby table. Initially, you had protested, offering to brace yourself where you had already been standing if it meant getting his dick in you sooner, but as quickly as your thighs had begun shaking, you were glad he had taken the lead.

"S-So much," you gasped out, melting underneath him.

"Now you see why I needed to prep you so much? I don't like breaking my toys on the first use, baby." The whine that left you as he pressed in further, his words amplifying your pleasure, pulled another chuckle from him, and he ran a soothing hand over your spine. "Think about how full you're gonna feel here in a minute."

You squirmed, hips canting back toward his own, and the hand on your back shoved you into the table. "Mingi, need more. Need all of you."

"You sure you can take it, doll? You're only a little over halfway there."

You let out a frustrated groan and wiggled your hips again, twisting as well as you could to face him. "Yes, dammit. Split me open if you have to, just give me your cock."

He sneered, the hand on your back snapping up to your shoulder, clamping down to yank you back on his cock as he slammed his hips into your own. A scream ripped from your throat and you grasped at the edge of the table, your breath coming in ragged bursts and your vision going white for a moment. When it cleared again, he was running his thumb soothingly over the nape of your neck, shushing you quietly.

"See why I wanted you to be patient, baby? Hurts when you're not ready for it, huh?"

You groaned, body going lax against the table. "Hurts s' good, Min. Wanna... More," you babbled, eyes slipping shut. "Ruin me."

He clicked his tongue, smile audible. "Cock drunk for me already, huh? What a good little slut. Take what I give you nicely then, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, and at your confirmation, he set into a brutal pace. You clawed at the table frantically for anything to ground yourself against as he bent over you, lips pressed to your ear. Every grunt and growl had shivers lighting down your spine, your walls fluttering around him as heat coiled in your gut.

He had brought you to two climaxes already, watched you beg and moan for him, and from the moment he was sheathed in your tight heat, Mingi knew he wouldn't last long. He told you as much when he braced himself over you, breathing the words into your ear as he nipped at the lobe. You whimpered, shifting under him to reach for your swollen clit and letting him drape one of your knees over his arm for better access. The shift in angle had you crying out as his cockhead began to drag over your sweet spot, your pleasure amplifying tenfold.

He had no warning before you were clamping down on him hard, your orgasm triggering his own, his hips stilling with how tightly your walls gripped him. A broken groan fell from his lips as your cunt milked him for all he was worth, your own whimpers melding with it, body going limp and eyes sliding shut. When you both came back into your bodies, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and slowly pulled out of you. You bit back a pitiful noise at the loss of his warmth, slowly propping yourself up on your forearms as he reached for something to clean you both with.

For the second time that night, your heart jumped into your throat as your eyes fell on the two men standing by the doors, still rattling shut behind them. Just beyond it, you could see the familiar outline of a car, its roof topped with a light bar. The taller of them had an unimpressed look focused on your companion, while the shorter of the two was staring, wide-eyed, at you spread out on the table, his ears flushing and eyes turning to the floor the moment you caught him looking. Scrambling to put yourself back together, you opened your mouth to speak, but the taller one beat you to it, clearing his throat. Mingi spun, eyes wide for a moment as he took in the two cops, before he broke out into a grin.

"Perfect timing. Yunho, Jongho, this is... Shit, what did you say your name was?"

Your eyes went wide as the two newcomers groaned, rolling their eyes heartily. "Seriously? You're the worst," the younger one sighed, pushing the doors open and making his way back out to the car. Shaking his head, the other one quickly followed.

"See? No need to worry about the cops."

You blinked, glancing rapidly between Mingi and the door. "What the fuck?"

© June 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my work.

[hina-hina]

Omg could u write headcanons of how alejandro takes care of an injured reader during battle/a mission?

Just him being so worried and reader trying to calm him down even though they're literally bleeding out?

Thanks in advance, if not, thanks for ur time tho!! Have a lovely day/night :))

This was such a cute request, I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting!! o(^▽^)o

Thanks to everyone for understanding about not uploading yesterday and for anyone that cares to know, I have passed all my finals/classes! I wish all of those the best of luck with their exams and to enjoy their time off! Love you all ❤

Also, big thanks for 300 followers! I'm so thankful you all like what I write and thank you for all your support!

|| Alejandro With an Injured Reader ||

Warnings: Some gore and blood, a little angst, non-graphic dipictions of injuries

Gender-Neutral!Reader // Romantic

For this request, I imagine your a relatively new member to Los Vaqueros

He was quite hard on you but that was because he actually did find you very attractive but he didn't want a situation like with Valeria to happen again

So he was often very cold and distant with you but that was just because he didn't want to get attached

So, when the two of you get seperated from the other Vaqueros, he knows he's completely screwed

The two of you duck into an old, abandoned house to hide from the enemy troops closing in

He was quickly trying to get back into contact with the rest of your team when he noticed your slow, sluggish movements and hand wrapped tightly around your middle

He knows the two of you are infinitely more fucked

"Are you hurt? Show me."

He is immediately at your side, supporting your weight as he lowers you down to lean against a nearby wall

With his urging, you pull your bloody hand away from the gunshot wound in your abdomen

"Shit..."

You glance down at the wound then back up at Alejandro, muttering with half-lidded eyes, "Colonel, you need to go and find the others before they find us."

"No," he says it immediately, pressing his hand onto the bleeding wound and trying to ignore your pained hiss, "No one gets left behind, vaquera/vaquero."

He quickly rifles through his vest, pulling out a stim shot

The voices of the enemy troops was getting louder and he knew they didn't have much time left

He drops his voice to a whisper, "This is going to hurt like a bitch, but you need to keep quiet. Here-"

He offers up his gloved hand, encouraging you to bite down before he gives you the stim shot

He uses a bit of cloth to pack into the wound and hauls you up off the ground

After the stim shot, your much more awake and aware, helping him take out enemy troops when he can

Eventually you make it back to the others, him immediately shouting out to them that you needed a medic

Others on your team began swarming you, pulling you away and he can't help the way his hands linger on your injured form

He watches as your helped into the helo to get further medical assistance from the medics

Rudy comes up and clasped a comforting hand onto Alejandro's shoulder, "They're going to be ok, amigo."

All he can do is nod as his gaze lingers on you while he loads into the helo as well

When they get back to base, he is immediately going to the medical ward to see you

Your sitting in one of the beds, rid of your tactical gear and in civvies

He tries to keep it professional, he really does

He strolls into the room, hands clasped politely behind his back as he watches the medic finish up bandaging your stitches

You perk up when you notice him standing by the door, "Colonel."

For once in his life, he doesn't know what to say as his eyes fixate on your bandaged wound

He settles for a respectful nod

The medic, noticing the obvious tension, looks between the two of you before excusing themselves

The two of you sit in awkward silence for a moment before you motion to the empty space on the bed, "You could... Sit? If you wanted..."

It frightens him how he doesn't think he would refuse anything you asked of him in that moment

He sits after a moment, quietly admitting, "I'm glad your ok."

"Thank you," You stare at him for a moment before biting your lip, slowly grabbing his hand in yours, "Thank you for not leaving me behind."

He is shocked

He doesn't understand because he had been so awful to you before

He likes it nonetheless

He looks at you and the two of you make eye contact

and he just doesn't care anymore

All the things that had been holding him back before crumble as he moves in slowly, one large hand coming up to rest against your cheek as he give you plenty of time to stop him

You don't, leaning up to meet him halfway as the two of you kiss softly

It was a small kiss but when he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours and admits quietly to being scared of losing you

The two of you sit like that for a while before you eventually have to seperate

He promises to take you on an actual date and woo the fuck outta you when you feeling better =￣ω￣=

[whumpasaurus101]

Chapter Ten

Ohhhh the whump in this- there is quite a lot teehee. Enjoy me rising from my hybernation of 2 months!

---

The chair let out a quiet groan as Cass readjusted himself in his seat, eyes staring plainly at the table which Martyn sat opposite him. They had stayed like this for a while. Not a single sound. Cass wasn't going to give Martyn  shit. He tried to keep his mind quiet. Keeping himself away from the situation away from his head. His team was going to look at him for what they should do next. But he didn't know. What they could do.

His eyes desperately scanned the room, searching for something- anything he could use as a weapon. Oh, who was he kidding?? They were doomed.

“So, tell me, Cass, why did you lot decide to come in and ruin my soiree?”

Cass clenched his jaw, his eyes still moving. He looked to the guard who stood at the door, rifle in hand held across his chest. Maybe if he caused a distraction he could snatch it and-

Cass yelped out as Martyn slammed his fist against the metal table, the loud sound echoing through the room, cutting crisp through his thoughts, “I asked a goddamn question. All your team has given me silence and I’m really getting tired of this, sweetheart.”

Cass grimaced at the name, shifting once more in his chair as he cautiously studied the man before him. The top half of hair that wasn’t buzzed was swept up neatly into a ponytail.

“Do you use gel in your hair?”

Martyn had to do a double take, his face slightly screwed up in confusion, “I beg your pardon?”

“Your hair, does it have gel in it?” 

“My- I- you what?”

“You said all you was getting was silence, I’m filling that silence.”

Martyn huffed out a sigh of disapproval, “It’s ‘were’, darling, ‘all you were getting’.”

Cass couldn't help but crack a smile, letting out a slight laugh, “I’m tied down to a fucking chair in a goddamn interrogation, I think my grammar is the last of my worries.”

Martyn held back a smile, readjusting his tie as he cleared his throat, “I like my things to be perfect-”

“Yeah yeah, hold up, I am not one of your.. things..” Cass spat in disgust. Martyn hummed in amusement, “Cute of you to think you can make decisions now. I’ve got you, Cass Brady.”

Cass tensed, “H-how- I-”

“I have my sources,” Martyn grinned, crossing his arms with a smirk, “Luckily, before you tried your pathetic attempt to save dear Niko, you gave my men and I just about enough time to go do some… research.”

Cass could feel his stomach drop to the ground. What the hell happened? All the years it had taken Cass to remove everyone's identity from any records so they were untraceable. Welp, apparently not.

“The Outlanders,” Martyn hummed, “A bit… whats the word…. Cliche, no?”

Cass set his jaw, glaring at the captor before him, “I was fifteen when I came up with it.”

“No need to get so defensive!” Martyn smirked, “It's quite cute actually.”

Cass’ fists clenched behind his chair, knotted in a rough rope as he felt anger bubble and burn in his chest, “What do you want?” He demanded.

“I want answers, Cass.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Cass spat, his eyes hardening, “I'm not telling you shit.”

Martyn folded his arms with a hum as he leaned back in his chair, “Oh really? Well, Mr Brady, I have something that just might change your mind.”

Cass’ blood turned cold as he saw the scene unravel before him. The door of the room opened and in walked a guard, dragging in a bloodied and bruised figure. Cass had to swallow down his own bile as he saw the face of the person, Cass.

“You see, in my research, I thought my men had made a mistake mistake with the matching last names- but as we dug deeper I knew a little,,, persuasion from your brother might do the trick!”

“D-d’nt te-tell hi-” Niko rasped, a mixture of blood and sweat dripping from his hair as his head hung low. He didn't have enough energy to lift it. God, if he had learnt one thing, it was that those guards were not as weak as they may seem.

“Let him go!” Casss roared, suddenly thrashing against the restraints.

“There we go, a bit of fire! Now, do tell me, why did you come uninvited to my party?”

“We-we honestly were just plus ones who-”

Cass was cut off by the gut wrenching sound of a fist colliding with skin. He watched in horror as his own brother collapsed to the ground with a cry.

Anger took over Cass, “Let him go.” His voice slightly shook but he didn't give a damn, he blinked furiously as he tried to hold back tears.

You know what you need to do in order to save him.”

“Bullshit!” Cass growled but that only drew another punch towards Niko. “I’m going to murder you, you son of a bitch!” Cass roared.

Martyn stalked closer in a few strides, snatching Cass by the jaw and yanking him so they were face to face, “Listen here you bitch-lipped son of a whore-” Cass flinched, his heart freezing in utter shock as he stared at Martyn- “Every single word that comes out of your mouth that isn't what I want, gets your brother one step further to his own fucking death.”

Cass stared up at Martyn in horror, his mouth slightly opened as his chest heaved with pants. What kind of leader was he- yelling and cursing? The first thing he told his gang was to never make things personal and always remain calm. God- god his brother, he had brought Niko into this goddamn life.

“I-”

Cass took a sharp inhale before letting the breath out, he watched as Martyn lifted a hand, getting the guard to halt.

“There was… a target at your party… a target that we- well… we’ve been looking for for a while now…” Martyn’s eyebrow raised as he crossed his arms, “And this…target, it doesn't happen to be me, no?”

Cass’s eyes blow wide, “No! No not at all! I don't even know who you are!”

A shiver ran up his spine as the room filled with Martyn’s chuckle filled the room- then it dropped to utter silence and his smile fell. In a matter of seconds a hand wrapped around his throat.

“Let me get something clear, Cassius, I really don't like liars. So if someone lies to my face-” His hand tightened and Cass swore he saw stars- “Somebody gets hurt.”

Cass tried to scream as he heard the cry of his brother. Martyn forced his head to look at his brother being beaten relentlessly. But he couldn't make a noise, he couldn't move, He couldn't save his brother. So what use was he to his own team? ---

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[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Hii, I have a request for the bad batch! Could you please write them comforting a reader who is a warrior bit has breathing problems and has been feeling useless as of late? Thank you

Hi anon! Thanks for this request, sorry it took me a little while to get to it.

I hope this is okay 😊

Take a Breath

Most of the time you can keep up with your boys, but sometimes those old breathing problems come back to bite you. Thankfully, you no longer need to deal with them on your own.

Pairing: All Batch x gn!reader (platonic, but squint and could be romantic-ish. Set pre-Echo).

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: reader has breathing difficulties, mentions of stress and anxiety, it's good to talk, supportive Batch.

Butt hitting the ground with a light thud, you lean back against the tree trunk, letting out a shaky exhale as your eyes screwed shut.

“In and out. Nice and slow.” Hunter instructs, crouched down in front of you. He tilts his head to the side, helmet turned towards Tech, and the genius crouches down, too.

“These episodes are becoming more frequent.” Tech comments, prying a medisensor from his pack. “It is concerning.” He lifts the scanner closer to you, but you bat it away, cracking open your eyes.

“Nothing I haven’t handled before. I’m fine.” You insist, the tightness in your chest easing now you’ve heeded Hunter’s advice. The air is cool and crisp, filling your lungs as you try to steady your racing heartbeat. You’d all been running back to the ship before the explosives Wrecker had planted on a Separatist stronghold could go off, but as you’d rounded the corner into a clearing and spotted the Marauder, your chest had felt like it had been slammed in a vice.

“Don’t lie. You’re not fine.” Crosshair comments, his back to you and his brothers as he keeps his eyes on the treeline, rifle at the ready.

Before you can fire back a retort, Hunter’s helping you to your feet. “We can discuss this once we’re in hyperspace. We need to move.” He states, all but dragging you across the clearing, the other boys in tow.

You find comfort in a jump seat as Tech fires up the engines, and before long, you’ve left the backwater planet behind and are in the safety of hyperspace, another successful mission under your belt. 

The familiar hum of the ship’s hyperdrive surrounds you as you take deep breaths to calm your nerves. The adrenaline from the mission slowly starts to ebb away, replaced by a dull ache in your chest.

Hunter leans against the cockpit doorframe and crosses his arms. “We need to address this.” He says with a firm tone. “These episodes are putting missions at risk.”

You nod, knowing he’s right but reluctant to delve into it now. You don’t mean to cause issues for them, and guilt churns in your gut. They hadn’t been thrilled when they’d found out a civilian had been assigned to them as a liaison officer, and ever since that first day, you’ve been pushing yourself, wanting to prove that you weren’t useless and getting in their way. But it feels as of late that’s all you’re doing.

Tech finally looks up from his datapad. “I’ve compiled some data on your recent episodes. Your breathing difficulties appear to coincide with increased stress and heightened anxiety.”

Crosshair, always observant, glances over his shoulder. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.” He comments.

You lean back in your seat, acknowledging the truth in his words. The constant battles, close calls, and the war have taken their toll. You weren’t made for this, hadn’t trained for this. “I can handle it.” you assert, but the wavering tone in your voice betrays your uncertainty.

Hunter crouches in front of you again, this time without his helmet to obscure his features, and one of his hands rests on your knee. “We’re a team, and that includes taking care of each other. We can’t afford to have you incapacitated during a mission. Talk to us.”

You take a deep breath, meeting Hunter’s steady gaze. His concern is evident, and you can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the bond that’s formed between you all. Swallowing your pride, you decide it’s time to open up.

“I didn’t sign up for all of this.” You admit, your voice carrying the weight of your unspoken struggles. “I wanted to contribute, to help, but I never expected it to be so... intense. None of this was in the job description - it was sold as a desk job. I feel like I’m constantly on edge, and these episodes are just getting worse. I always struggled with breathing issues as a kid, but I could manage it. It’s a bit different now. Now, I just feel useless.”

Hunter squeezes your knee reassuringly. “We understand it’s not easy. War changes people, and admitting it’s affecting you is okay. And you’re not useless, not at all. We just need to find a way to better manage it.”

Tech chimes in, his analytical mind already processing possible solutions. “I can modify your schedule and integrate more downtime and calming activities. Perhaps a more structured routine will help manage your anxiety levels.”

Crosshair remains silent, but his expression softens. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s invested in your wellbeing.

You nod appreciatively at Tech’s suggestion, grateful for the practical approach. “I’m willing to try anything. I just don’t want to be a liability.”

Hunter leans in, his voice low and comforting. “You’re not a liability. We look out for each other. We need you at your best, both for yourself and for the success of our missions.”

“And we don’t want ya passin’ out on us during a mission. I mean, I’ll carry ya, but it ain’t good for anyone.” Wrecker adds.

Snorting in amusement, you offer the four of them an appreciative smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”

Hunter gives you a small smile in return. “No need to apologise. We’re in this together. Now, let’s figure out a plan to make things more manageable for you. We’ll make adjustments, ensure you have time for self-care, and maybe even find a few ways to lighten the mood around here.”

Tech, always practical, pulls out his datapad again. “I’ll create a detailed schedule incorporating mission-related tasks and designated relaxation periods. It’s essential to strike a balance. I shall also look into creating a monitoring device to keep track of your heart rate, blood oxygen levels, and other vitals. That way, we may be warned before you experience an episode and can act accordingly.”

The boys set to work, each using their unique skills to devise a plan that addresses your needs. Tech busies himself with the schedule and monitoring device, Crosshair takes charge of scouting suitable downtime locations on planets you visit, Wrecker suggests incorporating more recreational activities, and Hunter ensures that mission objectives are still met but in such a way as to minimise stress.

As days pass, the changes begin to make a noticeable difference. The new routine allows you to anticipate and manage your symptoms better, and the support of the boys makes the burden easier to bear.

During downtime on a lush, green planet, Crosshair leads you all to a serene lake surrounded by tall trees. You sit by the water’s edge, feeling the cool breeze and enjoying a rare moment of tranquillity. Wrecker, ever the enthusiast, suggests a dip, and soon, laughter echoes through the clearing as he tosses Hunter and Crosshair into the water.

Before he can be thrown into the lake, too, Tech discreetly hands you the monitoring device he’s finished. “This should provide us with valuable data. We shall continue refining it, but it is a step towards better understanding and managing your condition.” He explains, watching as your hands smooth over the metal bracelet before you slide it onto your wrist. It’s a little tight, but he’d designed it to enable a more precise reading of your vitals.

He doesn’t have time to double-check the calibration before he’s hauled up, thrown over Wrecker’s shoulder, and dumped unceremoniously into the water. Spluttering as he comes up for air, the ring of your laughter makes it all worth it.

As the sun sets and the boys emerge from the lake, a warm glow falls over the landscape. Hunter moves to sit beside you, having towelled off. “How you feeling?” He asks, genuine concern etched across his face.

“I’m doing better, thanks to all of you.” You reply with a sincere smile, fingers finding the bracelet.

Hunter nods, glad to hear that you’re making progress. In all honesty, the changes implemented were good for them all. They could all do with some extra downtime and a chance to feel like regular people.

The camaraderie among the squad deepens, and you find yourself supported and genuinely embraced by your unconventional family. The monitoring device becomes a constant companion, a reminder that you’re not alone in this journey.

Tech continues to fine-tune it, utilising his genius to enhance its capabilities. With his sharp eyes, Crosshair becomes adept at reading your subtle cues, knowing when to check in with you or offer a silent, comforting presence. Wrecker becomes your self-appointed protector during missions, always keeping a watchful eye on you. And Hunter ensures that the balance between duty and self-care is maintained.

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks into months, you notice a significant improvement in your physical and mental wellbeing. The once daunting missions become more manageable, and the weight on your chest lightens. You truly feel at home. The makeshift family you’ve found has become your anchor in the vast sea of uncertainty. The galaxy may be at war, but within the confines of the Marauder, you’ve found a sanctuary.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

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[whumperhive]

Companion De Trop

Package

Content: Morally dubious caretaker, Mentions of stalking, Chronically ill caretaker, Pet whump, BBU universe, it/its used to dehumanise.

Word Count: 1.9k

Oh, what the fuck.

No, no, like — what the actual fuck.

Avery was shell-shocked, standing in the rain, clothes becoming soaking as he stared wide-eyed at the wooden box in front of him. His breath fogged as he approached, hand grazing over the smoothed surface and feeling the dips and crevices of the burnt-on symbol. It wasn’t uncommon for WRU boxes to be on campus, though usually they were cardboard boxes; things for peoples’ pets that they already had before attending the college. Items and commodities that were given as some sort of monthly subscription or a bonus for giving the company good rep or something.

Not a wooden box settled right on his doorstep, though not alien to him, it was… unheard of people getting a pet during college. Responsibility and all that.

Especially since he hadn’t even ordered a pet, much less thought of getting one while he’s still taking classes for his Biomedical Engineering major. He was already staying up late some nights studying, he certainly didn’t have enough time to pay attention to a pet.

…Still, it’s cold out here. And his joints are starting to scream at him.

Heaving a sigh, the college student stepped around the box, taking out his keys with a jingling tune. Pushing the door open, he turned to the box, finally taking notice of the plastic-covered set of papers on top. At least they thought about the weather beforehand.

Man, he’s gonna hurt after dragging this in. Lamenting about his later pain, he clutched the two corners and began pulling, grinding down on his teeth in his strain to at least get it past the doorway. He was never the strongest person, and with his chronic illness, it made it all the more tough on him. His hands slipped, and he landed with a heavy thud on his back, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment of contemplating his life, he sat back up, carding his hand through hair swirling with several shades of reds and browns. Alright, he’s gotten it inside.

Using the box as a brace, he stood, growling under his breath at the sharp shooting of pain from his left leg up into his lower back. He closed the door against the increasing winds, locking it behind him as he turned to the box and hovered over the paperwork.

…Well, it wasn’t a mistake; this box was clearly addressed to him. Full name and all. He hummed confusedly, tearing the package from the top and scanning it over before he took it out of the plastic. It seemed to be all up-to-date, the box was shipped out three days ago, express shipping and all paid for, not a penny taken from him. He let out a sigh, shoulders sagging and dropping the plastic bag and paperwork on the floor beside the box.

“Alright, guess I gotta go get my box…” He mumbled to himself, turning on his heel to walk to his room. It took a moment of rifling through his desk before he uncovered the suitcase-like toolset. And in a second-moment thought, he turned towards his kitchen, opening the fridge. He’s heard of boxies being dehydrated, and he didn’t want to neglect the poor thing.

The box remained the same as he left it when he returned, setting down the water and toolset as he slowly got onto folded knees. As his knee braces pressed into the carpet, he winced at the aching in his knees as he crouched over the box in order to look over the screws — looks like they were Phillip's-head. It took a few minutes of attempting to get the correctly-sized attachment before he could unscrew the top. Once again he winced as he stood, placing the screwdriver to the side and sliding the top off with a thud.

Within the box was a pet curled up, wearing a thin pair of shorts and a white tank top. Its black hair looked to be unwashed and a bit matted, its pale skin having a few scars; likely from its time during training. Avery hummed worriedly, he had always worried about how pets were treated when they were training or being refurbished. He knew that pain was one of the ways they learned but, well, still. It made him feel bad.

It took him for a moment before he realized the pet hadn’t moved, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, uh, shoot. You can sit up, do it slowly though, I don’t want you to get dizzy.” He ordered, watching as the pet slowly sat up, its hazel-green eyes meeting his own making his blood turn to ice.

“...No.” He recoiled, slowly standing up. “No, no, no this has — this can’t be real.” He muttered. The pet’s — no, Kaine’s eyes widened both in fear and confusion. He hadn’t seen this asshole in, what, months? But, well, it made sense. He’d suddenly disappeared quite a few months back, and it usually took a long time to train pets, but…

“God, this has to be some kind of sick joke.” Avery practically spit, continuing to back up. This guy had stalked him for, what, almost a year? He thought he had gotten rid of him when he disappeared, but, well, here was the reason he was gone. He was given to WRU and then given to him as a pet. Who would do such a thing? Why?

Avery suddenly felt hot, unbalanced and dizzy, leaning against the wall as his vision fuzzed. He wasn’t unused to his stress-induced syncopes, but usually he would be sitting down if he felt his heart speeding up. He struggled to find his grip for a moment before leaning on the wall and gently sliding down to the floor. Good, okay, he wouldn’t hurt himself this way. He allowed his head to drop onto his knees as his consciousness gave out, the world draining to black.

Black and numb, nothing to bother him. No pain, no staring eyes, no judgement… Just… darkness.

…When he came-to, something cool was on his head, and he was laying on the floor. Staring at the ceiling, he gathered himself, clearing his throat. How did he get here? Hadn’t he fainted against the wall? Reaching up, the coolness on his forehead revealed to be a wet washrag. He sat up slowly, looking around.

The pet — god, he’s a pet now — was kneeling next to him now, head touching the ground. There wasn’t anyone else around… had he — it? — done this? Why did he position him on the floor? Was this some sort of punishment for him or Kaine? God, there were so many questions he had, and too little answers. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he resisted a shiver as he watched the pet stay stock still. He glanced behind it and noticed the water bottle had gone untouched, and took in a breath.

“Um, you can… you can sit up.” He said, watching as the other followed as he ordered. He looked fairly different since Avery last saw him, but he’d recognize the eyes that stared at him from afar for months on end anywhere, not to mention the scar under his eye matched the one he had gotten when Lych had socked him.

Sure, he was so much thinner than he was before, and there were several new scars across his skin, his eyes slightly sunken in and cheeks hollow from dehydration and likely starvation. His eyes showed no recognition, just obedience, reverence and… the slightest look of fear. Even despite this, Avery couldn’t help the sickly feeling in his stomach that settled there as he looked at the other. Taking in a breath, he sighed. This… wasn’t ideal, but Kaine wasn’t, well, Kaine now. Sure, he still felt uncomfortable around him, but he likely didn’t remember what he did. He’d heard of the “Drip”, a drug cocktail they made to have the pets forget their pasts as humans, and, well, the other’s eyes didn’t hold a drop of recognition.

“Stay here.” Slowly, Avery stood, making sure he didn’t swim with dizziness again. Thankfully, he didn’t, walking past the pet and grabbing the water bottle he had gotten. It was still cold, so he likely wasn’t out for long. That was good.

He returned to the pet, opening the bottle and looking up at it.

“Do you think you could drink this by yourself?” He asked, to which it gave a timid nod. Passing the water to the pet, he watched as it carefully drank. Once the plastic bottle was empty, he held his hand out for the bottle and then capped it, sitting in front of the pet cross-legged.

“Can you speak?”

The pet worked its mouth slowly, clearing its throat before speaking.

“Y-Yes, Master… this pet can speak.” Avery ignored the way his skin crawled at the label, gripping the legs of his pants for a moment before relaxing. It’s just what they have the pets call humans, it’s no big deal, it’s no big deal…

“Cool.” Taking a deep breath, he sighed, looking the pet over. “What’s your number?”

The pet’s spine straightened, holding out its wrist for Avery to see.

“637826, Designated Combination Domestic and Companion.” Avery nodded as it responded, glancing over the barcode tattooed on his wrist. Subconsciously, his shoulders slumped, thank fucking god it wasn’t a Romantic. He wouldn’t be sure what to do with it if it was.

“Okay, well, for now, until we find you a name that suits you, we’ll call you ‘826’ for now. That okay?” Avery asked, to which 826 nodded. Good, maybe this would go better than he thought. In another thought, he spoke again. “And — uh, don't call me Master,” It was weird to him to be called that by someone who used to practically obsess over him. Made his skin crawl. “call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Sir Avery’. Got that?”

There was a flicker of confusion, 826 slightly tilted its head before straightening back up. Avery watched its throat work as it swallowed nervously, likely thinking that the questioning movement would be seen as disobedience. The pet nodded, taking in a slow, shuddering breath.

“Yes, M —” A flinch. “S-Sir.”

“You're fine.” He reassured it, shifting about on his place on the floor before looking at the pet; he's a pet now, not a person. It'd take a while for that to sink in, honestly… “Think you could help me up?”

“Yes, Sir.” It responded, following the outstretched arm with a breath of hesitancy before the action seemed to click in the pet's mind. Crouching down, it let his arm rest on its shoulders as he moved to rest on his knees. Slowly, surely, he brought his feet beneath him, and came to a stand. His joints still ached, so he nudged his head towards the well-worn couch in the center of the living space.

“Set me down over there.” His voice was dredged in tiredness, the kind he felt down in his bones. What he wouldn’t do for this day to start over, so he could avoid this happening. How would he have avoided this? …He isn’t exactly sure, but, well. Here he was.

He sighed heavily as he settled into the couch, shifting about to get into an awkward position that helped ease the pain off his knees. He leaned against the arm of the couch, legs bent and just barely stretched all the way out. He flicked his hand at the bag of papers he cast aside.

“Grab those for me.”

—

@whumpinthepot wanted to be tagged! Here you are! I actually plan on turning this into another series so <:3c

[tgmsunmontue]

Come on baby light my fire… 2/2 (or 7/7?)

Hangster. 3k. Explicit. Apartment fire alarm at 1am featuring Jake in his underwear and Bradley with kittens.

All six potential endings are included in one post below. If you'd rather read them as separate chapters you can check out AO3 where I posted it first for once.

PART ONE (on Tumblr)

OPTION A

                Jake looks down at the sleeping man, so tempted to curl up back in bed with him. But he’s got to go and figure out how to get back into his own apartment. Most importantly though is he wants Bradley’s number, and he knows his own. He grabs Bradley’s phone, carefully grabs his hand and presses his finger to the fingerprint reader and sure enough it unlocks. There’s a photo of a couple as the background but he’s more interested in adding himself as a contact. He does so quickly, his name followed by a little flame, night cityscape, cat emoji, then an eggplant and some droplets because he’s hilarious and he’s pretty sure Bradley will think he’s funny.

                He sends himself a couple of messages, basically with all the details of where he’s gone and that he has no plans for the rest of the day and will come back to the apartment if he can’t locate Javy at the gym, or message him as soon as he’s in his apartment and has access to his phone again. He rifles through Bradley’s bag, a little perturbed by the number of Hawaiian shirts he finds, but pulls out a very worn US Navy t-shirt that has a very retro feel. None of it is what he’d usually wear, but all of it is better than being naked. It’s bad enough that he’s going to have to be barefoot and he wonders whether he could really chance taking what look like Bradley’s only pair of shoes. Screw it. He’ll be back soon enough.

                He laces up, the shoes a bit too big, then jogs the two blocks to where Javy prefers to go to the gym, glad it’s not further. It’s still at least another fifteen minutes before he usually starts, but Jake can’t risk him being early and missing him. But he is a man borne of military routine and walks up about a minute before Jake expected him.

                “Javy! Hey!”

                “Man! What are you wearing?!”

                “It’s a long story, well, actually, it’s not that long. My apartment building had a fire alarm, I left without my keys but I was only wearing my underwear. Hooked up with this guy who is fucking scorching hot –”

                “But has terrible taste in clothes.”

                “He’d make this work, trust me. Anyway, I need you to get my spare key.”

                “I’m not skipping my workout for you…”

                “Yes you are, in gratitude for me not waking you at two in the morning in my underwear to give me my spare…”

                “And I’m sure you were really suffering with the scorching hot guy. Your story is truly heart wrenching.”

                “Come on!”

                “Fine, here, take my keys, go and grab yours, then you can return your spare and my keys back to me. Deal?”

                “Yeah, good plan. I probably shouldn’t have both sets on me.”

                “You think?” Javy says dryly and Jake gives him the finger.

                After agreeing to take Jake’s car to make it all much faster he gets through the logistics of getting to Javy’s, grabbing his spare keys and then back to his apartment. Lets himself in with a sigh of relief and immediately goes to his phone, ignores all the other messages and clicks on the new messages and clicks Add Contact. He enters in Bradley, following it with a cat emoji and then three little flames. He’s not going to forget who Bradley is in a hurry. He doesn’t bother changing, needs to return Javy’s car and keys and then come back again. As he’s walking back he sends a message, nerves fluttering in his stomach.

>>I have keys, my phone and am heading back to my apartment. 5A. Want to come over?

>>On my way.

OPTION B

                Jake rolls his eyes, of course Bradley’s phone is dead. Ah well, he can go old school. There’s a pen and paper on the bench and he quickly writes down his name and number, along with his apartment number and a hope to see you soon. Leaves the piece of the paper smack center in the middle of the kitchen counter where it can’t be missed. He pulls on his underwear, then rifles through Bradley’s clothes and pulls out some sweat pants and a t-shirt. Okay, this is going to be a mortifying experience however slightly less mortifying than if he went out in just his underwear. Also less likely to result in any indecency charges.

…            …            …

                Bradley looks at the little pieces of paper and his heart sinks. He’s pretty sure that it’s a note, now ripped to shreds and missing pieces, the kittens having wrecked havoc on the little piece of paper, now scattered around like soggy confetti. He picks up one of the pieces and it’s definitely got a number on it. What number, he has no idea, it could be an apartment number for all he knows. He freezes, realizing that he’s not going to be thwarted by two baby cats. He knows Jake’s name and that he lives in this apartment building. Eight floors, six apartments on each floor. That’s forty-eight handwritten notes, minus six because he doesn’t need to do one for Hilary’s apartment or any of her neighbors, because surely Jake would have mentioned if he’d been on the same floor. That’s something you’d mention right?

                He finds some paper, making sure it’s a decent size because the last thing he wants is for Jake to somehow miss his note in return, that just makes him look like an inept love interest in a romcom. He’s in charge of this. His hand starts cramping around the thirtieth message but he keeps on, then pulls on some clothes, not caring what he’s wearing. He takes the stairs down to the lobby, eyes up all the little mail slots and then just starts posting a handwritten note in each one. Stands back and looks. Right. Now all he has to do is wait for Jake to contact him.

                The entire day goes by and he refuses to panic. Not everyone checks their mail everyday, he might even have to wait a couple of days, although Hilary is returning tomorrow and he’s meant to be going and staying with Nat for a couple of nights before his next deployment. But Jake will still get his number. He just has to want to use it.

…            …            …

                He should have gotten Bradley’s number.

                It’s been hours and Bradley hasn’t sent him a single message.

                Would it be weird to go and knock on his door?

                Yes. That just seems a shade too desperate. He can act cool.

…            …            …

                Jake frowns at the piece of paper, the only thing in his mail slot and he’s only check it because he’s walking past. A note. A handwritten note.

                Hi, I’m looking for Jake. This is Bradley. Please contact me.

                And then a phone number and he grins at it, because he’s going to get some answer now, multiple answers he suspects, because his number of questions has just doubled. He enters the number into his phone as he walks, presses call and holds the phone to his ear.

                “Hello, Bradley here.”

                “Hi. It’s Jake.”

                “You called! Hi…”

                “Hi… any particular reason you’re leaving me a handwritten note and not just using the technology available to us?”

                “Because I didn’t have your number. The cats, they ripped it to shreds and I just… had to figure out a way of contacting you.”

                “Smart and good looking. If you knew which apartment was mine why didn’t you just come knock on my door. I would have let you in.”

                “Ah… I put a note in every apartments mail slot.”

                “Of course you did…”

                “Well, sitting around outside waiting for you to enter or exit the building seemed a little stalkerish.”

                “Yes. So… not playing hard to get.”

                “Definitely not.”

                “Good. So I can assume you’ll say yes if I ask you out to dinner?”

                “Why don’t you go ahead and ask.”

OPTION C

                He knocks on the door, a little disappointed that Bradley hasn’t sent him a message, is surprised because he’d kind of thought they’d connected on a level that was maybe, hopefully, more than just sexual. The door opens and it’s not Bradley answering, but a woman his age, looking very comfortable in too-big sweats and hoodie. His stomach starts souring, twisting into unpleasant tightness.

                “Hi. Uh…”

                “Are you looking for Bradley?”

                “Ah, yeah. Sorry to have bothered you. He just helped me out the other night,” he flushes, hopes whoever this woman is doesn’t read too much into the helped me out aspect of the sentence, because he hadn’t meant it as an innuendo.

                “Oh, yeah, he was just kitten sitting for me while I was out of town. Do you want his number?”

                He sucks in a sharp breath, the relief sharp and instant.

                “Do you have it?”

                “Of course I do, he’s a college friend. And I’m assuming you’re the hot neighbor who he was annoyed at me about not warning him about?”

                “Jake. My name’s Jake.”

                “Nice to meet you Jake. I expect an invite to the wedding…”

                “Well, he didn’t message me, so maybe don’t plan on that…”

                “Oh, yeah, I found little shreds of paper, so if you tried leaving a note that was a no-go…”

                “What?”

                “Orea and Cracker. They shred paper. I think I found a couple of pieces. Floated my theory past a very forlorn Brad Brad and he said it was maybe a possibility. Here, take his number and go put your man out of his misery…”

OPTION D (Version I – fits within TGM events)

                Pete frowns, because he hasn’t seen that shirt in years. Maybe literal decades, and now that’s a scary thought for other reasons. But he’d swear that that man is wearing Goose’s old Navy shirt, old sauce stain down the front and everything. Bradley had taken it when he’d left, had always used it as a pyjama top and it had always made Pete smile to see, the memories still bittersweet of the dinner shared with friends. He needs to know.

                “Ah, excuse me. This is going to be an odd question, but I just need to ask. Where did you get that shirt?”

                “This one? Ah, funny story actually… I ended up locked out of my apartment in the middle of the night due to a fire alarm and this guy helped me out. Said I could borrow anything, cause did I mention I was only in my underwear? Anyway, I left before he woke, and I’ve never been able to return it to him…”

                “You couldn’t go and knock on his door?” Pete asks, because something isn’t adding up.

                “Well, I almost did, but then I saw this woman leaving and decided it was maybe best not to rock any boats.”

                “Oh. Hmm. Well, I’m pretty sure he’d like that top back. It belonged to his father. He usually sleeps in it…”

                “You know him?”

                “Bradley? Yes. You want his number?”

                “I… sure.”

                “Okay. You just can’t ever tell him who gave it to you, okay?”

OPTION D (Version II – only ending where Mav and Bradley have a relationship)

                There’s a guy staring at him and it’s starting to annoy him a little. It’s even starting to border on a little creepy and he gives him the side eye. Instead of it putting the guy off it has the opposite effect and he’s now walking over, about to make fucking conversation of all things while Jake is just trying to work out.

                “Where did you get that t-shirt?”

                Okay, that wasn’t quite what Jake was expecting. Maybe a sly comment on his form, or body… not the almost threadbare shirt he borrowed from Bradley and has never been able to return. Also this guy is old enough to be his father, he’s not familiar enough with the brass on base to not give this man the potential respect he deserves.

                “Sir?”

                “Where did you get that t-shirt?” he repeats.

                “Uh…” Jake looks down at the shirt, and it’s the one he’d taken a couple of weeks ago from his night with Bradley. “From a guy.”

                “A guy.”

                “Yes sir.”

                “Sorry, I’m Captain Mitchell. I… Wait… your middle-of-the-night fire-alarm underwear-guy!”

                “Excuse me sir?”

                “I believe we have someone in common, and he’s going to want that t-shirt back. It belonged to his father.”

                “You know Bradley? I went looking for him, but there was this woman at the apartment.”

                “His friend Hilary, yes. He stays at her apartment whenever she’s out of town to look after her cats.”

                “Oreo and Cracker.”

                “Yes. Who I believe are to blame for shredding the note you left.”

                “What?”

                “They found tiny pieces, some of it chewed up. Not enough to make anything out of it. Trust me, I’ve heard this lamented to me far too many times in the last couple of weeks to not be very familiar with it all. Your first name is Jake isn’t it?”

                “Yes sir. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”

                “Of course you are. I’m picking he has no idea you’re navy, because this would have gone a lot faster if he’d mentioned that.”

                “No sir, we didn’t exactly swap life stories.”

                That gets him a raised eyebrow and smirk and Jake flushes, not really sure who Captain Mitchell is to Bradley, but if what he says is true, then Bradley does want to see him again. That’s a swoop of positive feelings after a couple of weeks of feeling rejected.

                “Right. Stand just there. I’m going to take a picture and send it to Bradley, tell him I found his shirt… he was just as sad about the shirt as he was about you.”

                Jake blinks, the guy is taking his picture before he can even say anything, Jake doesn’t even know if he was smiling, probably looked like a stunned rabbit. He glances over the shoulder and the man, this Captain Mitchell, is cropping his face out of the picture completely, thumbing out I found something that I believe belongs to you, and pressing send before Jake has time to even think of asking for Bradley’s number.

                “Can I get his number?”

                “How about you come home with me and you ask him for yourself, hmm?”

OPTION E

                Jake wakes slower than usual, warmer, and he stetches and then freezes when something grabs his foot. His brain registers then, kitten and he smiles into the darkness, memories coming back and yeah… this is definitely a preferable way of waking up.

                “Mornin’…” Jake says, sliding his body over Bradley’s, naked skin sliding against his and he’s glad they’re both naked.

                “Mmm… Hi. Why are you waking me up so early?”

                “Well, I realized one of the few ways of getting my spare keys is to hunt down my friend who has them. And he goes to the gym early.”

                “Ugh. This early? Is there any way we can get your friend’s number which does not involve us getting up right now and doing a manhunt across the city?”

                “It’s not exactly the city, just two blocks.”

                “Is he listed anywhere as your emergency contact that we can ring and ask for it?”

                Jake opens his mouth and immediately shuts it. There is someplace he can ring which would maybe give him Javy’s number, or at the minimum pass a message on.

                “Actually, yeah. Well, they might not give me the number but they’d pass a message on for me.”

                “And can we ring them later?”

                “Yeah, we can definitely do that later…”

                Worst case, he can always try catching Javy at the gym tomorrow instead.

…            …            …

                Later, after another heavy make out session in bed, messy and leaving Jake wanting more, he takes Bradley’s offered phone and thumbs open the keypad. He’s going to ring the HR line for military service people, because there are surely people in worse positions than him that call up asking for weirder and wackier things than an emergency contact number. Even if Javy isn’t exactly his emergency contact, they can ring him and give him Bradley’s number. As he enters in the number he sees various contacts pop up and then;

                “Why is the number for the Military HR service line programmed into your phone?”

                “Because I'm a commissioned officer.”

                “Oh shit! Me too. Lieutenant Jake Seresin.”

                “Ha. Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Wait… Bradley Bradshaw. You know Javy. Coyote. He flew with you.”

                “Coyote is your emergency contact?”

                “Well, he’s the guy that has my spare keys…”

                “Well, I already have his number. I was planning on meeting up with him later actually.”

                “Of course you were. Bradshaw. He was right.”

                “What?”

                “You are exactly my type.”