#telling them you're packing up their things

[aothotties]

Telling Suguru you want a baby

You laid in bed with your boyfriend watching a movie with him as this was the first night in weeks you’ve spent together. Work was kicking both of your asses and you barely had time to relax so you took advantage of this moment.

The movie showed a cute family with an adorable little girl and you looked over at Suguru 

“Awe we should have a baby” you said jokingly 

He turned his head and looked at you 

“Seriously?” he asked

“No haha im just kidding” you responded 

You both continued to watch the movie in silence until it was over but little did you know, you little “joke” rang in his head all night 

The thing about Suguru is he loves kids and if it was up to him you’d already have one. He spent the rest of the night thinking about starting a family with you 

The next day he walked up to you while you were getting ready for work and stood next to you looking at you in the mirror 

“What? You asked while trying to hide a smile 

“Throw your birth control  away” he said plainly 

You had no words as you were completely shocked. You didn't even know how to respond to him

“Suguru what-”

He cut you off 

“You heard me, throw it away. I'm ready to have a baby” he said 

“Are you forreal?” you responded 

“Yes,” he said “i've been thinking about what you said last night and honestly it's not a joke to me, i want a baby”

You just stared at him, confused and shocked. You had thought about having kids with him but never though he was ready which is why you were on birth control in the first place 

“Um..okay then” you said as you reached for the medicine cabinet.

You pulled out the pack of pills and tossed them in the trash can. You looked up and saw Suguru with a smile on his face. He kissed you and let you finish getting ready for work.

You spent the whole day at work with the conversation on your mind and you couldn't decide if you were scared or excited. You decided you were going to talk more about it when you got home.

As you pulled in the driveway you let out a big sigh and headed in the house 

When you walked in all the lights were out, which was odd but figured he may just be asleep. You headed toward your bedroom but you noticed flower petals on the floor.

You followed the petals all the way into the bedroom and opened the door to a surprise. The room and bed were covered in flower petals, there were candles lit and a bottle of champagne and two glasses on the bed. You looked all over for Suguru but couldn't find him 

You saw a note on the bed that said 

“Take a bath and put on the new lingerie I got you that's in the bathroom. I love you, see you soon”

You smiled and headed to the bathroom to wash up. After the hot bath you slipped on the red lingerie that laid on the counter and admired your body for a minute then you walked back out into the bedroom to see him lying on the bed in a pair of red silk boxers that matched the lingerie you had on.

“Glad you're off work, Hun” he said in a low tone as he patted the spot on the bed next to him

“Sugu, what's all of this” you asked as you crawled next to him 

“Oh nothing” he said “just wanted tonight to be special”

“For what” you asked 

“I'm going to get you pregnant tonight”

You almost choked on your spit

“Suguru..i mean i only missed today's dose i probably can't get pregnant now it might take a while for the medicine to leave my system i-”

He lifted his hand in the air to stop your rant 

“ i'm going to try today, tomorrow, and everyday after that until you're carrying my baby”

You were stunned and had nothing to say in response. You were so caught off guard but you knew he meant every word 

You looked over at him and he pulled out a little box

“Marry me, Y/N. and have all my babies and spend the rest of forever with me” he said as he pulled the ring out  

Tears welled up in your eyes as he slipped the ring on your finger. You leaned over to give him a kiss 

“Of course i'll marry you, Suguru” you said as you tried to pull away 

He grabbed the back of you neck and pulled you back in. he deepened the kiss and slipped his tongue in your mouth

As you kissed you crawled over on top of him as he laid back on the bed.

You began grinding on top of him feeling him harden in the silk boxers he was wearing 

He groaned into your mouth from the sensation and you moaned from the small friction on your cunt. You continued to rock your hips on top of him and his hands made their way to your plump ass giving them a squeeze

He flipped you over so that he was now on top and continued kissing you passionately. His hands roamed over your body and you felt yourself get hot from the excitement 

His thumbs hooked under the lace thong you had and and he slid them down your thighs. He positioned his face right in front of you now throbbing cunt 

He dipped his head down and placed a soft kiss on your swollen bud. You hands made their way to his long hair

“Sugu-mm” you whined 

He started sucking on your clit and your back arched off the bed. He began lapping at your cunt, wet squelching noise ringing like music to his ears 

“Tastes so good, sweetheart” he said as he continued lapping at your cunt 

You felt that familiar feeling pooling in your gut. The way he was licking and sucking on you had you on a high, you gripped his hair and closed your eyes as your hips bucked against his face 

He slipped a finger inside you and started rubbing at your g-spot 

Your legs shook and your orgasm broke causing you to squirt on his face. He licked up every drop and came back up to kiss you again

You tasted your own sweetness on his tongue and moaned. You unclipped your bra, fully exposing yourself to your now fiance.

“It's like looking at a goddess,” he said as his eyes scanned your whole body.

He stood up and removed his boxers. He crawled in between your legs and lined himself up to your soaked hole. He used his tip to slide up and down your folds before sliding just the tip in 

He threw his head back from how good it felt and sunk himself inside you. His hips started moving back and forth causing him to slide in and out rubbing on that sensitive g-spot 

He took his time with you, enjoying every inch of your gummy walls squeezing around him.

“You're perfect for me, princess” he said as his tip brushed your cervix.

You tried to say something in response but all you could do was moan his name over and over. You started to beg him to speed up but he refused wanting to enjoy your body all night 

Sweat formed on his forehead as he continued rocking his hips into you. You felt another orgasm forming and gripped onto his back leaving marks. He was groaning in your ear saying your name and whimpering from how good it felt to be inside you 

He was in heaven, tears started forming in his eyes from how good this felt 

You wrapped your legs around his torso trapping him in. he continued fucking you slowly with sweat and tears running down his face 

“This feels so good baby. I love you” he said 

“I love you too Suguru” you whined in response 

He took your legs and put them on his shoulders the new angle causing him to reach deeper 

You were over the edge and you orgasm spilled out and you felt his grip your thighs from how hard you were spasming around his dick 

He pulled out for a second to catch his breath but before you could whine from the loss of pleasure he sunk into you again still fucking you at a slow pace 

This went on for hours, Suguru never sped up and continued to fuck you slowly 

You were whining and crying under him from your multiple orgasms 

You felt his dick twitch inside you and he groaned 

“Gonna cum inside princess, gonna -fuck- give you a baby” he groaned 

And after a few more pumps you felt your womb fill with his seed

He didn't pull out and stayed inside until he was empty. He was covered in sweat and his cheeks were red 

He finally slipped out and laid next to you. You looked over at him with a smile on your face 

“ i'm so ready to do this with you” you said 

“I know baby, me too” he responded

6 months later

You were in a room surrounded by your friends and family as they got you ready for your wedding

Your mom helped you slip on your white dress. You were so nervous your palms were sweaty 

You walked over to the mirror to see how you looked and cried once you saw yourself. You were worried if you'd look bad being 4 months pregnant in a wedding dress but were stunned at how beautiful you looked 

“y/n oh my god- you're gorgeous” you heard your best friend say behind you 

“Really” you said in response 

“Really. Suguru is so lucky to be marrying you and have you carrying his son” he said as she walked over to pull you into a hug 

You finished getting ready then went to stand at the doors, ready to marry the man you loved and start a life with him and your new baby 

Rachel

[forbebeandjam]

Without You | Bada Lee/BEBE x Fem Reader | MINI SERIES

Summary: Ready to go to your dance competition there is a sudden outbreak and you are left in a difficult situation…

Word count: 843

A/N: sorry for taking so long on this. I like to plan out my stories. Hope you enjoy and this is of your liking🩵

•THE OUTBREAK•

It was a cloudy day in the city of Seoul. BEBE was getting ready for competitions. 

"Why are Bada and Y/N late again? We only have two hours to practice," Kyma said as she threw her back in frustration. 

"You know how they are. Always looking for a place to make out," Lusher answered causing Cheche to roll her eyes. After a few minutes, the rain started pouring down when you and Bada came through the door laughing with damp clothes. 

"We're here!" you shouted. 

"Finally! Why are you guys wet?" Tatter said as she handed you her jacket. 

"Yeah, what place did you guys decide to make out today?" Lusher said with a tilted head. 

"Under the weeping willow tree," Bada said earning a hit from your fist. 

"What!?"

"You're not supposed to tell them that!" 

"Oh, please! They already know!" 

"One day the teachers will catch you and you will be in huge trouble," 

"You two are just stupid and nasty!"

"Okay! that's enough. Let's practice," Kyma said breaking you all apart and starting practice. 

-

"We need to be on the bus at three. For the love of all good things, do not be late!" Tatter said as she waved at you and Bada. 

They walked into Bada's house and looked through clothes and outfits for the competition. you were all packed up and watched your girlfriend run around as she threw clothes into a duffle bag.

"What would I do without you?" you asked making Bada come to a halt. 

"Babe, you're fine. I promised I would look out for you and I will. Always," she said as she placed a kiss on your forehead. 

You now lived with her and her parents After your parents died in a car crash. Bada's parents were usually not home but they were close to your parents so they didn't have a problem with you living with them and caring for you.

"Come here," You said as you pulled her on top of you. She lowered herself to kiss your lips and that was when the make-out session began. 

"Wait... what time is it?" she said when the realization hit her. 

"Shit! We're going to be late again," you said as you saw the time on your phone. So you both stood up and walked to the school. 

"Wow! They are early!" Sowoen said as she ran to hug Bada. 

"It's truly a miracle. Let's go on the bus. The driver went to use the bathroom and he will be right back," Kyma said and you all nodded. 

Bada got situated next to you, resting her head on your shoulder and the girls talked with usual chatter. You looked out of the window and saw how the kids were getting out of school but something was odd. 

"Guys... why aren't there many people walking out?" you asked making everyone turn. 

"Oh, many of them got picked up and went home. Like... a lot of them. It was actually kinda scary how the parents were all panicked and screaming at the teachers," Cheche said as she scrolled through her phone. 

"What do you think is going on?" Lusher asked. 

"I have no clue. I'll ask one of my friends to see," Cheche replied. 

And they waited. Hours passed by with no response. They made it to the competition locations but to their surprise, the was a very small amount of people. 

Bada started growing worried so she approached one of the judges. 

"Do you have any idea of what is going on? Why are there so many people missing?" Bada said. 

"We haven't gotten a clear answer since this morning but apparently there is a virus going around. We have been crazy busy planning all of this but I think it's best if we cancel and you girls should go back home," he said. 

Bada was in awe. She couldn't believe she didn't know of this sooner and she put her girls in danger. 

"Grab your things. We are leaving," Bada said as she rushed to you and grabbed your bags. 

"What? Why?" Lusher said. 

"Yeah, unnie. We struggled to make it in and now you want to leave?" Cheche added in annoyance. 

"Listen, the judges are canceling the competition. We have to go now," Bada said. 

"But that's not fair! What are we going to-"

"Cheche stop it! There are bigger things going on and I have to look out for all of you. Now, let's go," Bada shouted losing her cool. 

"What do you mean?" Tatter said. 

"Apparently there is a virus going around and let's be real. If it wasn't that bad, people wouldn't be running around like crazy. Now, please let's get back home where we can be safe. Please?" the girls didn't say anything but you could see worry painted all over their faces," especially Sowoen and Cheche. 

"Okay. Let's go," Minah said and started walking toward the exit but the bus was long gone. 

"Shit... now what?" Bada gripped her head. 

"HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!" 

⋆.˚✮TBC✮˚.⋆

[thegoldenavenger]

You heard of Shen Yuan fingering Liu Qingge's gills for 3k, now introducing Shen Jiu fisting Liu Qingge's gills for 7k. I'm not even sorry. It was not supposed to go there. Unbetad as always.

Cw: sexually explicit, dom/sub overtones, underdiscussed uhhh everything. Bad fantasy medical practices, what can be interpreted as aelf harm I guess. Also bugs and parasites. The whole thing is bugs and parasites. And gill play.

"You insipid little clownfish," Shen Qingqiu hisses between his fangs, "I knew you were acting suspicious."

Liu Qingge shuts his operculum down tight, suppressing his wince. He should have been far enough away from the main reef to avoid this confrontation, shadowed in a protective cup of coral and sunken debris to avoid prying eyes. Importantly, he'd swam this far away from Cang Qiong territory specifically to avoid other mers of his school.

"It's none of your business." He twists to face Shen Qingqiu properly, squaring his body to him. He debates on whether to drop the kelp in his hands or not: Shen Qingqiu has already seen so it's useless anyways, but having his inflamed gills showing under Shen Qingqiu's sharp gaze is not ideal.

"Yes," Shen Qingqiu gives a condescending laugh, "And what shall I tell Yue Qingyuan when he comes back to the reef to find a school full of sick, infected—"

"I'm isolating well enough I wouldn't—" Liu Qingge's fins flare on instinct and he snarls flashing his teeth when Shen Qingqiu is suddenly in his space, his serpentine body eating the distance between them in a burst of power.

"Wouldn't what?" The frilled fins around Shen Qingqiu's face are spread wide and angry, the inky cloud of his hair floats in the ambient current of the waters like a dark halo. Shen Qingqiu's tail is nearly twice as long as Liu Qingge is himself and it's coiled threateningly underneath them both.

His long, sinuous body is built for punishing ambush speeds and power. Being this close and compromised itches at Liu Qingge and he can't help the wary glare he throws across Shen Qingqiu's form. He doesn't move though, even if Shen Qingqiu grew a spine enough to attack him face to face, Liu Qingge can defeat him. Liu Qingge has never lost a fight with Shen Qingqiu, even when the eel does ambush him in the dark waters of the reef's night.

"Would never host a breeding pair of—" here Shen Qingqiu's cold eyes rake over the flushed edges of Liu Qingge's gill covers, "—flathead gill worms?"

"There's not a breeding pair!" Liu Qingge defends himself. For all his pride, he'd rather swim off the edge of the trench and sink into the black depths before opening his school up to such a risky situation. He'd managed to claw the other one out before the pair had burrowed deep enough into his gills that he couldn't get a good enough angle, and he'd delighted in shredding the thing. "I already removed one."

"Then you got the wrong one! This inflamed I should think the thing has already laid it's insidious spawn and you're just an ink sack waiting to burst on all of us."

Liu Qingge hisses again, under Shen Qingqiu's furious face, but he can't help the twist of shame in his gut pinning his fins against the edges of his face. "It's not that—I have been taking care of it!" Shen Qingqiu scoffs in disbelief and Liu Qingge raises his voice. "I have! I've been packing my gills to suffocate it out. That's why they're irritated."

When Shen Qingqiu doesn't reply he forces himself to take a cycle of water through the gills at his neck. Small as they are, it's not very satisfying and the drag of water puts a pressure on them they weren't necessarily built to handle on their own, but the worm had settled in his fourth gill, so this is what he has to work with.

"If it weren't gone by the time Yue Qingyuan returned I would have gone to Mu Qingfang."

Shen Qingqiu lashes his tail at that, angrily churning the water beneath them. He turns with it, swimming a short distance away before coming back in an agitated circle of movement. "How did you even pick them up, they're only in—"

Shen Qingqiu falls silent and Liu Qingge represses the urge to laugh. He bares his teeth in a half smile, half snarl instead. "The western ship wreck?" He says, like he's offering the information Shen Qingqiu might have forgotten. As if Shen Qingqiu had forgotten exactly where he'd assigned Liu Qingge to patrol the moment Yue Qingyuan and his entourage had left Cang Qiong's reef boundary.

If Liu Qingge had been able to go with the traditional three-pod team one of the others might have been able to spot the danger in Liu Qingge's blind spot while he'd been focused on fighting off the juvenile colossal squid. If not that, they'd have been able to grab the offending little worms before they'd gotten all the way under his operculum. Shen Qingqiu had held back no theatrics when he pressed that the school was just so short finned with Yue Qingyuan away.

"I truly have erred," Liu Qingge says, lofty. "Thanking Shen Qingqiu for correcting me, I should have reported to Mu Qingfang immediately. With Shen Qingqiu's permission I will correct that now."

He doesn't actually make a move, though the way Shen Qingqiu's tail twitches as if to block his way makes him grin, fangs glinting. Shen Qingqiu glares and pulls back from his threatening curl; message well enough recieved. If Liu Qingge had gone to Mu Qingfang, Mu Qingfang would have asked what Liu Qingge was doing in the shipwreck alone and Shen Qingqiu's abuse of power would have gotten back to Yue Qingyuan.

Yue Qingyuan wouldn't do anything drastic about it, of course, nothing more than a scolding at least. But Shen Qingqiu's thin face could barely handle that, it seemed.

"What are you using?" Shen Qingqiu asks, breaking the tense quiet between them.

"Salt." The thick kind from the dead basin, the saltwater so dense there you could cup it in your palm, so toxic that fish who swam unthinking through it fell dead before reaching a tail length in. It burns the delicate edges of skin around his claws let alone his gills, but diluted enough he would live through it and the worm wouldn't.

Shen Qingqiu moves in again, sharp, and Liu Qingge does jerk back this time, swirling a burst of bubbles between them with the fast movement of his tail.

"Let me look. Leaving salt burns is just as bad." He glares at Liu Qingge, his dark hair framing his face making the jet chips of his eyes seem bigger. The little shining crown of shells and scales he wears glitters.

"Hah," Liu Qingge scoffs, then pauses under Shen Qingqiu's sustained glare. "As if I'd let you so near!" he says, his arm automatically moving to shield his gills.

"Mm," Shen Qingqiu's eyes go half-lidded, condescending in their relaxation. "Of course, if the War God is afraid of this scholar I will be more than happy to let you rot here by yourself."

The worm takes that moment to wriggle, the hard edges of its segmented body clipping the thin filaments of his gills. He makes a face that must be interesting because Shen Qingqiu loses his perpetual sneer in favor of a calculating focus. Shen Qingqiu sweeps the coil of his dark tail behind Liu Qingge, the movement buffering them closer with the water displacement.

"Let me look." Shen Qingqiu demands again, voice even and cool.

He doesn't look concerned, nothing like the professional consideration Mu Qingfang displays when Liu Qingge swims up to him with another injury, and nothing at all like the gentle empathy Yue Qingyuan sometimes casts his way when he decides debriefing is more important than visiting the healing beds. But he also doesn't have the sneaky, scummy cast to his face that normally rests there.

Shen Qingqiu looks even keeled, composed. The model of a senior who can be turned to when someone more specialized isn't available. Shen Qingqiu has never been someone Liu Qingge particularly trusts, is not even at the bottom of his list of people he would let close to him for help, but Shen Qingqiu is part of Cang Qiong's school.

He lifts his arm away from his gills.

Shen Qingqiu comes closer slowly, the stalking movement not at all helping Liu Qingge's nerves, but he can at least acknowledge that something quicker would be worse. Shen Qingqiu first rests the pad of his fingers against the inflamed edge of Liu Qingge's gill flap, making a face at the grit of the salt sticking to them.  His fingers are cold against Liu Qingge's skin, even more so than the ambient temperature of the ocean.

It could be just Shen Qingqiu's nature, he does run cooler than most of the other reef mers, but Liu Qingge has traded enough wrestling blows with him to catch the difference. Liu Qingge is running hotter than normal, his innate defense against illnesses jacking up his core temperature. He hadn't noticed.

"Messy," Shen Qingqiu chides under his breath as he brushes the clinging granules of salt away from his gills. "Open up, let me see."

Liu Qingge swallows before relaxing his tense muscles, letting his gills open and cycle fresh water. The cloud of denser salt water he'd been holding in seeps out and falls between the two of them.  Shen Qingqiu makes a noise just this side of neutral.

He lets himself drift lower, Liu Qingge guesses to get a better look, sinking in a parallel to the salt water. Liu Qingge tracks his slow descent.

Shen Qingqiu stares, his tail coiled around them both, his hand framing the open gill slit. His hair billows in the water, the loose tie it is bound with doing nothing to keep it contained. The silky black cloud of hair obscures Liu Qingge's view, his eyes catching on the sparkling, vain crown decorating Shen Qingqiu's head, following the delicate waving hair, glancing along the dark patterned coils of Shen Qingqiu's tail.

He feels warmer, noticing these things. Not for the first time, but the first time in a long, long while. Since Yue Qingyuan first brought the eel to Cang Qiong, probably. Before Shen Qingqiu opened his mouth and spit venom enough to distract from his long, shiny hair and his smooth flank.

It'd been so easy, at first, to understand Yue Qingyuan's bias. Shen Qingqiu had hovered at Yue Qingyuan's side, a portrait of striking contrast, a study of shell white and ink black and jade. His fins had been—still are, where they are covered by layers of diaphanous billowing material—tattered but far from weak the angle he'd held them at fanned the frayed edges like a crown themselves.

A threat, an invitation.

Too bad his temperament turned out to be so rotten, then, lashing out at even Yue Qingyuan. Spitting vitriol against any percieved slight and clawing desperately in even the most benign of spars.

Shen Qingqiu taps his finger idly as he observes.

Liu Qingge can't see, but his hand must be covering most of his side; Shen Qingqiu's finger is so close to his third gill which carries the reminder of what letting Shen Qingqiu under his guard can do. 

"You've burned yourself already." Shen Qingqiu finally says. "You'll recover but less so the longer you keep filling yourself with this concentration of salt."

Liu Qingge huffs. "Any less and it won't work."

"It's almost as if salt baths aren't the recommended procedure any more for a reason."

"Do you want me to go to Mu Qingfang or not."

The grip on Liu Qingge's side tightens as Shen Qingqiu looks up and glares at him. There's the lightest of sneers on his face, annoyance at the question. The lift of his lip shows a wicked curved fang. His mouth is only a few handspans away from Liu Qingge's gills.

Likely, Shen Qingqiu won't bite him.

Liu Qingge has been bitten by those teeth before, the long, needle like fangs sharp and piercing. They're meant for gripping onto wriggling prey as he slinks back into hiding, afterall. Nothing at all like Liu Qingge's own set of teeth, knife like, for wounding and tearing.

Shen Qingqiu has even drawn blood from Liu Qingge's gills before, getting his venomous claws under his third gill flap and tearing. He can feel it like a phantom now: the cruel edge of nail slicing through the flesh at his side.

Shen Qingqiu tilts his head at whatever he sees in Liu Qingge's face, furrowing his brow by the smallest of degrees. Liu Qingge blinks.

"Brute." Shen Qingqiu spits, rolling his eyes. He sways away from Liu Qingge, that intimate hand span opening up between them.

Liu Qingge bristles, but without knowing what he'd done this time to set Shen Qingqiu off, refrains from returning the insult.

"Well?" He demands instead. "What has looking got you?" His tail lashes at the water and he crosses his arms. The cool water replacing Shen Qingqiu's body sends a shiver through him that he resolutely ignores. Shen Qingqiu needs to offer a solution or go away and let Liu Qingge take care of it. At this rate, Liu Qingge is going to be quarantined for an entire moon cycle, riding through the parasite shed and his budding fever.

Shen Qingqiu sways in the water, the disconetent mou on his face shading towards disgusted as he observes Liu Qingge. He wants to bristle under the weight of that stare; he knows that Shen Qingqiu is looking at him and dissatisfied with what he sees.

He isn't self conscious, nor particularly vain, but he supposes it's easy to be that way when everyone around finds you handsome enough. All the mer in the reef eyeing the length and shine of his tail don't affect him as much as Shen Qingqiu deliberately scanning him head to fluke and then finding him wanting.

Him!

As if Shen Qingqiu has anything to brag about! His hair is long and smooth, waving like kelp in the loosely bound style he prefers to make himself look larger, but that's because the vain man spends half his day preening and grooming like a flirting lionfish! The long, muscled form of his tail he keeps curled up unless threatened, the dappled patterned fading away into the reef's shadows. He distracts from his scars and torn fins with layers of gauzy material, woven and beaded netting, prized scales from trophy hunts, like he's ashamed of the proof of his survival.

Liu Qingge tilts his chin up, his facial fins spreading arrogantly, and meets Shen Qingqiu's gaze with his own glare.

Shen Qingqiu turns calculating.

"I'll remove it."

Liu Qingge's fins flare up all at once, his tail even curling in warning. "Hah?" The exclamation is more out of disbelief than anything else.

"Are you a guppy now? Do you need me to rephrase for your jellyfish brain?"

"If it's that bad I will just go to Mu Qingfang!" Mu Qingfang has only ever snapped his teeth in warning, never actually bitten Liu Qingge. Looking was one thing, Shen Qingqiu can't actually think Liu Qingge would let him—

"I'm sure Mu Qingfang will love you showing up with salt burns and a parasite days after you should have. Forget the healing beds, he'll seal you up in the sea dragon cave himself. At least I'll have some peace and quiet then."

Liu Qingge should call Shen Qingqiu's bluff.

Liu Qingge should have bent his head and gone to Mu Qingfang first thing, but getting caught unaware by worms of all things... well. He'd thought he could take care of it on his own, the puckering little scratches the squid had left on him more than enough to distract anyone from noticing anything else. Whatever embarrassment he'd felt then is compacted doubly so now,

Being sealed up in the Sea Dragon cave for quarantine and spiritual healing this late into everything meant he'd still be shut away when Yue Qingyuan returned. Shen Qingqiu shouldn't have withheld a proper pod formation from Liu Qingge, but the blame for this would rest squarely on Liu Qingge regardless. First of all, there's little guarantee he'd have even taken a pod in the first place. He likes patrolling alone. Second, it was his decision to hide his affliction and try to take care of it himself.

There's always the possibility the worms had a chance to spawn and he's a been a potential swimming vector for infection for as long as he's been back at the reef.

Shen Qingqiu hums, a patronizing little sound as Liu Qingge wilts under the guilt.

"You aren't going back to the reef until it's gone." Shen Qingqiu declares. "Either let me take it out now or wait for me to send Mu Qingfang here."

Liu Qingge's fins twitches. "Did it spawn?"

Shen Qingqiu draws out the silence before he responds, probably enjoying Liu Qingge's blanching face. He finally clicks his tongue. "I didn't see anything like that. Still, the risk is too high without being sure."

Liu Qingge fights his instinct to curl and instead straightens out the length of his body. "Fine." He grits out, turning his head to glare into the distance.

"Fine, what?"

He hisses and clenches his fist in affront. Like Shen Qingqiu doesn't know!

"Really, Liu Qingge expects me to assume and then get accused later of malicious intent?" Shen Qingqiu pitches his voice higher than normal, like he's explaining a complex problem to one of the fry he teaches. "I won't go near you unless you ask."

It's Liu Qingge's turn to flick his tail and vent his irritation by swimming in tight circle. Shen Qingqiu watches him cooly as he laps around again, and again. It doesn't do anything but make his gills itch more at the exertion.

He finally slows in front of Shen Qingqiu, who raises a thin eyebrow in an expectant arch.

"Fine! Shen Qingqiu! Help me get it out!" He demands in a burst of bubbles.

"Of course," Shen Qingqiu says, magnanimous. He stays still, though, and it's a long, awkward moment before Liu Qingge realises that he's waiting for Liu Qingge.

"You! I already said to help! Come here!" His face feels far too warm for this and he closes his eyes to block Shen Qingqiu's smug face from his vision.

With his eyes closed he feels it more keenly as Shen Qingqiu draws closer, the currents shifting with the bulk of his body. He tries bearing it for as long as he can, but flicks his eyes open when Shen Qingqiu gets within a tail length.

"Move," Shen Qingqiu abandons his wordier inclination when he finally gets close enough to touch. He bats at Liu Qingge's arm so that he lifts it away from his gills before holding his hand out lengthwise against Liu Qingge's side.

"What..." he says before trailing off, because with the dark flash of Shen Qingqiu's eyes Liu Qingge suddenly understands.

Measuring.

Shen Qingqiu's hands are not a significantly different size than Liu Qingge's own. In fact, they're more slender, the joints in them fine and well shaped. But held against him like this they look twice their actual size. When Shen Qingqiu stretches out his fingers, Liu Qingge's muscle flinches where they graze against his skin.

"Hold still," Shen Qingqiu orders, "And hold these wider." Liu Qingge does, struck with the thought of the spur at Shen Qingqiu's wrist catching on the lip of his operculum. He stretches the barrel of his chest, flexing open his gills to their limit, but furrows his brows as he watches the black claws of Shen Qingqiu's hand.

"Your venom," the words fall out of his mouth softer than he intends them to be.

"Mm." Shen Qingqiu looks at his claws.

It's his spurs that are venomous, not his claws or his fangs, but Shen Qingqiu habitually spreads the viscous oil along his nails and lips. It's an irritant at that level more than dangerous, but Liu Qingge isn't keen to have any more of Shen Qingqiu inside him than necessary.

Shen Qingqiu delicately brings his claws to his mouth and laps around the hardened black tips of them. Liu Qingge's own mouth drops open as Shen Qingqiu licks the venom from his nails, wiping them clean with flashes of surprisingly pink tongue. He watches as Shen Qingqiu swallows and studies his hand before he looks back up.

His sneer resettles when he sees Liu Qingge's face. "This? Really?" He asks, condescension dripping through his words.

"What." Liu Qingge bites back. He jerks his head, "Stop—" showing off? Liu Qingge ignores the buzzing heat under his skin, the fever no doubt clouding his brain, "Just get on with it."

"You were the one so concerned," Shen Qingqiu says, but he does slip his hand back to Liu Qingge's side. He sinks down so that he's eye level with Liu Qingge's open gill flaps, studying them with the same intensity as before. His splays one hand underneath Liu Qingge's bottom most gill, the other hand against his side, thumb resting against his third gill.

His hair again wafts around him, veiling Shen Qingqiu's sharp expression from Liu Qingge. He looks up and away, at the dancing lights up at surface.

"Hmm, what's this?" Shen Qingqiu's thumb has found the edge of the scar there, the one that should have healed clean but clotted because of Shen Qingqiu's poison. It is slim enough to be nearly invisible from an appropriate distance. Shen Qingqiu is not at an appropriate distance. Liu Qingge feels him slot the tip of his claw at the edge of the scar, feels him follow it down its path across Liu Qingge's skin to where it slips inside him.

"Shen Qingqiu!" He forces out between his grit teeth. He's holding himself so tense now that his tail is twitching with it. His hands flex where he has them raised, hovering over Shen Qingqiu's head. Shen Qingqiu doesn't even acknowledge him, just hooks his thumb under Liu Qingge's gill flap without preamble, making the same tugging motion he'd done to make the damn scar in the first place.

"Shen—" his words break off into a warning hiss as he jerks backwards. He pushes Shen Qingqiu automatically, one hand knocking at his face and the other at his shoulder to create distance.

"Don't move!" Shen Qingqiu orders, his tail curling ominous behind Liu Qingge's back, boxing him in, and his other hand digging in to hold on. His claws aren't especially gentle with it, five points pricking into Liu Qingge's skin enough to draw a bead of blood each. The thumb hooked under his gill flattens enough to avoid tearing at least, and Liu Qingge steadies himself.

As soon as he stops pushing Shen Qingqiu backs away, contrary as always. His lips are pulled back in a snarl and he fusses at the mess Liu Qingge had made of his hair.

"Brute," he condemns.

"Don't just stick your hand in!" Liu Qingge cries, full of offense.

"And how am I supposed to get that worm out without sticking my hand in?" Shen Qingqiu blows a frustrated stream of bubbles, a shockingly childish move for him.

Liu Qingge forces a cycle of water through his gills to calm down. This time able to draw in water from his neck and pass it down to flush out at his sides. He can feel the foreign parasite sway inside him with the water's movement. It scuttles. Liu Qingge bites his lip.

"I— Try again." He demands. "I won't move this time."

Shen Qingqiu scoffs and tosses his hair. "You're not worth this much trouble. Getting Mu Qingfang involved would be less tiresome."

That doesn’t—Liu Qingge does not feel any way about that. His stomach does not swoop. It's nothing different then Shen Qingqiu's usual shameless critiques, his hypocritical insults. Just because Liu Qingge is feverish and had let Shen Qingqiu get under his guard—

"You already said you'd help!" He works on not curling in on himself, instead shifting uncomfortably as his gills flex. The flathead gill worm—if that's what it was—seems to spread out as his gills relax to a natural position. Without its partner and with the repeated dosing of salt it's been acting more agitated, writhing through his gill structure in increasingly distracting ways.

"I said I wouldn't be accused of something malicious later. I'm not letting Yue Qingyuan or Mu Qingfang accuse me of ambushing you just because you can't stay still and get clawed up!"

"I'll tell them—"

"That I was only helping? You'd get us both checked for brain worms. You'd be better off letting them believe whatever they came up with, like you usually do."

He clenches his jaw as Shen Qingqiu's tail curls over itself, agitated and jumpy. Shen Qingqiu isn't wrong, if Liu Qingge jumped to his defense the entire reef would think he was posessed. In his defense, Shen Qingqiu is usually in the wrong and with Yue Qingyuan unwilling to put any pressure on him, Liu Qingge was one of the only ones who would call him out, for whatever little good that did.

"I won't move." He repeats instead.

"Tch." Shen Qingqiu turns his back.

But he stays, so be doesn't really want to leave Liu Qingge to Mu Qingfang's care. Or at least, he doesn't want to deal with the messy fallout that would cause more than he doesn't want to deal with Liu Qingge. Does he want to be coaxed? Liu Qingge is bad at negotiating.

He swims in a crescent around Shen Qingqiu so they face each other again. He can't think of anything to say except to repeat himself so he does again.

"Yes, you clearly did so well the first time."

"Then what do you want me to do?" He asks. "You'd just startled me. I won't be caught unprepared again."

"I'm not letting your hands anywhere near me." Shen Qingqiu says. Hippocritical, considering that Liu Qingge wasnt the one to scratch anyone, but this means Shen Qingqiu will try again. So Liu Qingge nods.

He raises his hands, but Shen Qingqiu shakes his head sharply. "No, behind your back."

"Fine." He hesitates though, before folding his dorsal fin down and clasping his arms behind him. Without the large fin catching the current he sinks in the water. His small anterior fins flap, useless in trying to tread the waters.

Before he can give up and break position to rebalance himself or sink much further, Shen Qingqiu curls his tail under Liu Qingge, stopping him.

"Better," Shen Qingqiu says, curling around him. Liu Qingge follows his movements as far as he can, before Shen Qingqiu slips behind him.

"Hey—"

"This is a better angle," Shen Qingqiu says, "And I don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself. Stay still."

Liu Qingge subsides as Shen Qingqiu hooks his chin over his shoulder. His tail loops around Liu Qingge, curling tight in a way uniquely suited to his eel body. The thick flex of muscle stabilizes him, but it also makes his heart beat faster, the threat of letting an ambush predator so close, to sneak up behind him, hanging palpable in the water.

Then Shen Qingqiu wraps his arms around Liu Qingge's sides, his fingers encouraging the gill flap to lift open more, holding it out just a bit further than it's supposed to go.

"Ah—" he cuts himself off, unsure of what he was going to say. Stop? Of course not, he needs that worm out even by Shen Qingqiu's hand. Be careful? Shen Qingqiu would either be careful or not, any platitude Liu Qingge gives is less than useless and more likely to turn Shen Qingqiu sharp.

"Quiet," Shen Qingqiu says anyways, "Don't distract me."

Liu Qingge focuses on being still and not the cool fan of water against his skin where Shen Qingqiu's gills work.

There's a pause and then, "Brace yourself, if you must." Before clever fingers slip under his inflamed operculum and slide two, three knuckles inside with a smooth motion. He flinches, reflex, but throttles any further motion. His hands clench into fists behind his back, something Shen Qingqiu can surely feel, plastered to him as he is.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't give Liu Qingge any more mercy than that first brief warning. He stretches his fingers, feeling the structure of the gills settled inside Liu Qingge, curling them to get a feel for the space. They're cold against the heated flush of his skin. He crooks his fingers through the fine filaments of Liu Qingge's gill structure and he itches, the prodding of Shen Qingqiu's fingers leaving a trail of hypersensitive tingling.

He twitches, his gill flaps trying to flinch closed. It's almost ticklish, the way Shen Qingqiu combs his claws through the thin strings of his gills. The hand Shen Qingqiu is using to hold him open pinches at him, and Shen Qingqiu makes a warning noise in his throat.

It vibrates through the water and settles somewhere in Liu Qingge's spine, and he stills.

"Sorry," he breathes and forces himself to pull his shoulders back. It draws him like a bow, arching so that his gills are forced to flare open a bit more. "I'm staying still."

At this, Shen Qingqiu stops his own movements, going eerily quiet and still behind him.

Liu Qingge belatedly remembers he'd been ask to be quiet and frowns. A questioning noise slips out from the back of his throat before he cuts himself off. When Shen Qingqiu still doesn't restart, he casts a  strained look out of the corner of his eye.

He can't see much, just his own chest and Shen Qingqiu's pale arms against him, and the ink black of Shen Qingqiu's hair unfurling around them.

He resists squirming.

Is he still doing something wrong? He can't be, Shen Qingqiu delights in correcting him with the most venomous of words at the smallest provocation. He wouldn't just let Liu Qingge flounder when he could instead verbally flay into him. He bites his lip, just to bleed off the unusual anxious energy and instead let's himself sink into his body the way he does before hunts.

He knows what he needs to do: stay still, be quiet. He's already let Shen Qingqiu this far, questioning it at this point is a little too late for use.

It's the correct choice because Shen Qingqiu starts moving again. He doesn't acknowledge Liu Qingge, which is right of him. He is focusing on something.

Shen Qingqiu pushes his hand deeper into Liu Qingge, until his fingers are fully sheathed in Liu Qingge's gill cavity. The meat of his palm stretches the mouth around it, and he knocks into the gill arches when he moves.  He isn't particularly gentle about it, caring little about Liu Qingge's comfort as he flexes and reaches further.

He spreads his fingers out, pushing the curved back of his claws into the inflamed walls of Liu Qingge's irritated cavity. It burns, both the stretch at Shen Qingqiu's palm and the insistent prod of his fingers. Liu Qingge draws water in, flushing it through his gills trying to cool the heated flesh. Instead the water streams around Shen Qingqiu's fingers, whirling into little eddies, curling back through his gills and tangling his filaments.

"Do that again," Shen Qingqiu says, voice cold. "Keep up a steady flow; it will encourage the worm out."

He does, gulping the water and pushing it through in repeated cycles, each new rush rippling inside of him, dashing off Shen Qingqiu's hand and tearing through the sensitive, fevered and salt burned flesh. His throat clicks with it, the feeling of churning inside him, like a basin being worn deeper with every tide. Shen Qingqiu grunts by his ear, an annoyed noise as he sharply jerks his fingers but catches nothing.

He pulls out in a swift long motion, leaving Liu Qingge feeling hollowed, scooped out in the wake of Shen Qingqiu's hand. He makes an involuntary noise as his gill flap tries to close. Shen Qingqiu keeps it held open, peeling it back even more.

"Ah—Shen—" he starts but Shen Qingqiu cuts him off.

"Brace, Liu Qingge. I need to reach deeper." His voice is still passive, aloof even. Liu Qingge feels almost dizzy, the influx of oxygen from the rapid cycling through his gills making him heady. He can feel, in a distant kind of way, the flathead worm curling inside him.  The lip of his gill feels puffy and tight, still burning from the salt water treatment and where it rubbed tight against Shen Qingqiu's hand.

Deeper? There couldn't be much room left in the space inside him.

Shen Qingqiu plunges his hand back between the splayed lips of Liu Qingge's gill slit catching again at the thickest part of his palm. It feels like he tries to flatten his hand out to narrow it, but his fingers knock hard into the gill arches inside, jostling straight through Liu Qingge, shuddering up his spine and sending a prickling tingle through his scalp.

His breath catches and he clacks his teeth, choking on a noise. He doesn't quite choke up on the full body flinch, jolting Shen Qingqiu against him again. The fat stretch of Shen Qingqiu's palm at his gill, Shen Qingqiu's fingers twitching in surprise at his sudden movement, the uncomfortable sway of the worm deeper inside him, Liu Qingge jerks, caught on the hook of Shen Qingqiu's hand.

His body slips out of his control, wriggling to pull away, the overwhelming glut of sensation inside him shoving him out of his senses. He thinks he's making noise—embarrassing to be be whining so close to Shen Qingqiu—but he's barely cognizant of it as he flicks his tail and tries to spread his fins.

Weight envelops him, almost suffocating, as he writhes and jerks. He'd closed his eyes at some point in his tossing, trying to cut off at least one overwhelmed sense.  Gradually the weight increases and he becomes aware of his heaving gills, struggling to keep up with his breath. He swallows, deliberately slows his breathing, let's his awareness rise back up.

The weight is Shen Qingqiu bearing down on him in all ways: his arms locked tight, his tail coiled in several loops, his chin digging into Liu Qingge's shoulder. His hand is curled into a tight fist, stretching Liu Qingge's gill painfully. But his claws are tucked neatly away from Liu Qingge's delicate viscera.

His heart still pounds but he can hear a rattling growl over it. Beside him. The deep rumble from Shen Qingqiu's chest is mostly vibration in the water, with just enough sibilant hiss to prick at Liu Qingge's skin.

"You'll stay still, will you?"

Something plunges to the pit of Liu Qingge's stomach at Shen Qingqiu's tone. "I—"

"You can't stay quiet, either?" Liu Qinnge snaps his jaw shut hard enough the clack is audible in the water.

Liu Qingge isn't a fresh faced fry, to quail under Shen Qingqiu's disappointment, but it chokes him anyway. Shen Qingqiu's fist tight against his opening and the suffocating press of his tail coiled around him have Liu Qingge desperate. What for he isn't quite sure but it has him biting his tongue.

He leans back in Shen Qingqiu's grip, displaying the long line of his neck by dropping his head against Shen Qingqiu's shoulder. It's to accomodate the backwards arch he needs to flex open his gills just that bit more, lacking the privilege to use his hands to pry himself open more effectively. Failing to stay still or keep quiet, the least he can offer is stretching himself out and open for Shen Qingqiu. To make it easy for him.

He strains as he tenses his operculum, holding it splayed and curled open. He leverages himself against the loop of Shen Qingqiu's tail, even, to push the barrel of his torso up into Shen Qingqiu's hand.

He stays resolutely quiet.

Shen Qingqiu stops growling at least.

He turns his face towards the column of Liu Qingge's throat, nose brushing against his facial fin. It's an awkward position, but Liu Qingge tries shifting it out of Shen Qingqiu's way, holding it pinned back and lifted.

There's absolutely no reason to give Shen Qingqiu this much leave, this close to his neck. The worm won't migrate to the smaller gill cavity there and letting Shen Qingqiu so close is an actively bad idea.

Liu Qingge tilts his head anyways.

If Shen Qingqiu bites it's the least admonishment he'd deserve.

Shen Qingqiu clicks his tongue, hooking his chin back over Liu Qingge's shoulder.  He uncurls the fist he'd made, pressing inexorably forward. Then he rocks his hand back, letting Liu Qingge's gill tug with the motion. He keeps his fingers lax and his wrist stiff as he pushes and pulls his hand like waves lapping at the shoreline. With each withdrawal Liu Qingge feels his gill stretching a little more, and with each press in, Shen Qingqiu's hand advances.

Liu Qingge bows back more, trying to help, trying to ease the pressure of Shen Qingqiu plugging him so full, when finally something gives and Shen Qingqiu's hand slips past the ring of Liu Qingge's gill, burying itself fully inside Liu Qingge's thoracic cage.

Liu Qingge gasps.

Each breath feels shorted now, trying to work past the mass of Shen Qingqiu's hand. He recalls Shen Qingqiu telling him to brace. Deeper? Still? Any deeper and Shen Qingqiu will be reaching into his throat. Any deeper and he will be holding Liu Qingge's rapidly beating heart in his palm.

His hand is so big. And cool: a block of ice inside him, right at his core. His hand is intrusive, making the gill arches bend to accomdate it's heavy presence. His nails are so sharp, Liu Qingge can almost feel them tickling at the individual lamellae lining each filament. Evened bent as far back as he is, his operculum half shutters, tensing against Shen Qingqiu's blessedly slim wrist. It reminds him of the spur there, at the joint.

Sharp and actually dangerous, in the real way Shen Qingqiu's threat displays often lack, the venomous spine at his wrist rubs at Liu Qingge's skin. Shen Qingqiu really can't go any further or he'll tear Liu Qingge on the way out.

"What now?" Shen Qingqiu asks, and Liu Qingge realises he's made a noise so indescribable he is just going to forget that it came out of him.

He doubts Shen Qingqiu actually wants an answer, and even if he does, Liu Qingge is not going to attempt to articulate the thoughts swimming in his head. He doesn't even understand fully himself. It's just the cool threat of Shen Qingqiu, his teeth so close to his neck, the venom so close to his gills, the long coil of his tail wrapped tight around him.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't push for an answer. No longer needing to hold Liu Qingge open, his free hand hooks around Liu Qingge's collar. Some tension eases out of Liu Qingge. Shen Qingqiu can pull him back, now, if he untenses from his bowed posture.

"Cycle again," Shen Qingqiu commands.

Liu Qingge does so, switching from passively letting water through his gills to sucking it down and forcing it through his system. It feels like breathing around a rock. He does it again.

Shen Qingqiu hums lightly as the water buffets against his hand. It is settled in the open cavity of Liu Qingge's gills like it's made a home there. Like Shen Qingqiu has remolded the very shape of Liu Qingge to fit inside of him. Shen Qingqiu doesn't move his hand, not even a twitch, and at once Liu Qingge is grateful and longing.

If Shen Qingqiu had kept rocking his hand in that rhythmic undulation he'd used to get inside, surely Liu Qingge wouldn't have been able to withstand it. Even the water rushing through his gills teeters on the edge of too much. It would surely feels as though Shen Qingqiu were punching through him. But his tail tenses and relaxes in an echo of that same rhythm, held tight as it is by Shen Qingqiu.

It presses his scales against the smoothe hide of Shen Qingqiu's porous skin. It is almost the same motion as breathing, an imitation of the swelling waves. A heartbeat, between them.

"If you come," Shen Qingqiu says, startling Liu Qingge, "Do not come on me."

His voice is as cool and distant as ever, the perpetual shade of disgust veneering it. Liu Qingge lifts his head to glance down, sees Shen Qingqiu buried to his wrist inside him, and groans, closing his eyes. Shen Qingqiu scoffs at him.

His arm slides away from Liu Qingge's neck, slipping down the length of his body, past his chest, past his gills, down below—

Liu Qingge opens his eyes and jerks his head down sharply.  His claspers are embarrassingly engorged, standing out of the hollow channel they usually rest in. Even the v-shaped slit between his pelvic fins has slid open, winking as he trembles.

Shen Qingqiu's free hand slides right over his slit, his palm catching on its lip enough to make Liu Qingge groan, strangled. Shen Qingqiu grabs the elegantly tapered columns of Liu Qingge's claspers and folds them back along Liu Qingge's body into the hollow they belong. The pressure and slide as Shen Qingqiu tries to fit them flat back against his body has Liu Qingge's vision hazing and his mouth dropping open. He manages a weak twist before Shen Qingqiu's teeth snap at his facial fin.

"No," he says, simply, and Liu Qingge stops again.

Shen Qingqiu holds Liu Qingge's claspers back down and slides the coils of his tail up in a sinuous motion. He slips his hand away, but Liu Qingge is held bound tightly by Shen Qingqiu's thickly muscled tail.

Liu Qingge thinks, if he comes like this there is no way he isn't getting it on Shen Qingqiu.

Liu Qingge focuses on staying as still as he can, but he can feel Shen Qingqiu's pulse through the soft skin of his tail against his own throbbing arousal. Shen Qingqiu keeps shifting as well: a soft flutter of his body length fins to keep them steady, the clench of his muscles to keep his tail wrapped securely around Liu Qingge. It's a different kind of pulsing rhythm, one much more familiar to Liu Qingge's body. It makes his teeth ache.

He wants so much.

He flushes a new cycle of water forcefully through his gill system. Shen Qingqiu had not told him to stop.

Then Shen Qingqiu moves so sharply it really does feel like Liu Qingge is being speared straight through. It punches the voice out of him, leaving him warbling a long, wrecked note as Shen Qingqiu thrusts his hand what can't be more than a knuckles length but feels like the entirety of his arm.

He feels a flood of thick liquid inside of him, a sudden burst of molten heat against the sensitive lining of his gills. Shen Qingqiu's hand is fisted again, grasped tightly around something.

"Ah—" Liu Qingge tries clamping his mouth shut, but the noises escape even through his teeth. Shen Qingqiu has certainly speared something on his sharp claws, but the parasite's writhing death throws only twist itself against Liu Qingge's gills, jolting him with each frantic roll.

"Ah— uhn—" each little noise gets dragged out of him as it's rough carapace catches inside of him. He can't even tell if it's tearing at him, he's so tensed and stretched tight. He eyes sting with heat, the second lid shut tight as he convulsed, scaling up the tiny dying movements inside of him.

"Not a flathead," Shen Qingqiu observes as its twitching gentles. "Lucky. I don't think you could hold still for me to pull it from you slow enough that it didn't break."

There's a moment that Liu Qingge is actually there, with a flathead worm wrapped around Shen Qingqiu's fingers, being drawn segment by segment, achingly slow, from between Liu Qingge's gills. Flatheads tangled themselves in the filaments as well, each fingerwidth hard-won with the tearing pain of separating the worm from his viscera. Trembling to keep holding still, to keep from clamping down tight and snapping the worm. Having to do it all again, the fingers, the stretch, the fist, if he failed.

The very visceral feeling of Shen Qingqiu pulling his hand out of Liu Qingge's gill mouth snaps his attention back. He watches as Shen Qingqiu's wrist withdraws, his fist catching again at the lip of his gill. He can't possibly pull out like that, Liu Qingge thinks, not with how much it took to get it in there. But Shen Qingqiu can't let1 go of the worm either—

Shen Qingqiu's fist tugs at the raw edge of Liu Qingge's gill, stuck and pulling. Tighter and tighter it draws at Liu Qingge, until it feels like Shen Qingqiu is trying to remove his entire thoracic cage with the worm. It so much, pressure, pain, over sensitive fleshed being rubbed, that he's about to make a protest when Shen Qingqiu's needle sharp teeth ghost along his neck.

He gasps, hoarse and raw, and his gill opens just enough with the surprise that Shen Qingqiu's fist pops out. A flood of red murky water follows, presumably from the limp segmented worm in Shen Qingqiu's grip.

It looks, in almost every possible way, like Shen Qingqiu gutted him.

"It's just a rainbow feathered worm." Shen Qingqiu says, holding the long thin body in front of them. Not a gill parasite then, no danger at all to the reef just Liu Qingge's gills.

Liu Qingge watches, dazed, as Shen Qingqiu snaps it between his teeth with an audible crunch.

[loveandplanet]

Miss Americana - Chapter 5

Now Playing: Who's Afraid Of Little Old Me?

A/N: Thanks to my moots for holding me accountable so that I finally got this done.

CWs: cursing, arguing, fist fights, mentioned abuse, sexism, inaccurate military knowledge (im a nursing major, no time to learn this shit), Evelyne is a bitch in disguise, faking death certificates, faking a funeral, lots of illegal happening here, Graves is a piece of shit, sexual harassment basically. The symbol: *, in front of sentences in italics depicts Norwegian.

Summary: Evelyne's 18th birthday brought her long set plan to life. When she becomes the legal guardian of her sisters, Evelyne enlists for the British Army. What happens when she's mistreated by an different unit? When she takes years of anger out on the bastard of solider? The General shows up, of course, to defend his golden boy.

April, 2015

"You don't get to tell me about sad,"

"Happy Birthday, Evie!"

Evelyne wakes with a start, body tense until she sees that it's only Nellian, holding a piece of paper in the air.

"Why thank you, Nel."

"Read it, you have to read it Ev!"

"Where's Claire?"

"She's with Mam, now open it Evie please!"

The older girl sighs, opening the handmade card, a silly stick figure drawing of her, Nellie, Claire, and Andrew inside. Except Andrew has been scribbled over in green crayon. Probably Claire's doing.

"Thank you, Nel, I love it."

Nellian beams at her, jumping on top of Evelyne for a hug. She sighs, pulling Nel high up on her torso so she can get up. Of course the one weekend she gets to go home is her birthday. She hears her mothers voice as she reaches the top of the steps, Marshall's booming growl following the manipulative sway of Alice.

"Go brush your teeth, I'll make you breakfast."

Nellian nods and happily skips down the hall to the one bathroom they share.

"If you wanted me dead, you should've just said."

"*I'm just saying, the last thing we need is some military snob in our home."

Alice hums, ignoring Claire trying to get her help opening a bottle of juice. Evelyne walks into the tiny kitchen, plucking the small bottle form Claires hands and opening the lid with ease, handing it back to her sister.

"*You're still here?"

Evelyne ignores the venom in her mothers tone, "I'm off until Monday,"

Alice scoffs, muttering under her breath. Marshall's eyes narrow at her, but he chooses to not make a stupid ass comment. Smart.

"*I'm going into to town today, what do you need."

"*I need my medication picked up."

"*No you don't, you still have a full bottle from last month. Nice try, though. I'll be bringing the twins to their friends house for a playdate, don't burn the house down."

Evelyne doesn't give her parents enough time to respond, ushering Claire up the steps to get ready for the day. And perhaps pack a few bags.

Evelyne's hand doesn't shake as she dials 999, her voice doesn't hesitate as she files an anonymous abuse and neglect report against her parents, she just pulls her military uniform on afterward, gathers Andrews death certificate along with the lease for her new apartment, and heads back to her house.

"Nothing makes me feel more alive,"

There are 3 police cars in her driveway when she arrives, Nellian and Claire being escorted out by a female officer, and her parents receiving a rough treatment from the officers arresting them.

"Can I help you?"

Evelyne turns around to face the officer, "yes, actually. I live here, those are my parents being arrested."

The officer sighs, rubbing his temple. "What's your name and date of birth,"

"*You bitch! You won't get away with this!"

"*Those are my girls! I didn't do anything, it was all him!"

She ignores the screeches of her parents, holding Nellian and Claire close to her body, shielding them from the wrath of Alice and Marshall. She ushers them into the policewoman's car, promising them she'd be at their new home soon.

"You have a place to take them? Are you their next of kin?"

Evelyne nods, "I am. Our older brother died last year, and our family back in Norway are too old to take care of them. I have an apartment in Manchester."

She hands the officer the folder in her backpack. He looks through it, going back to his patrol car to confirm it was real.

"Crash the party like record scratch as I scream,"

Office Brown returns, handing the folder back to Evelyne. "They'll have to go down to the station just to answer some questions since they were the minors in their care. Do you wish to go with them?"

"I'll go to my apartment, get some of their stuff there so they'll be comfortable."

She bids her goodbye, moving over to where Alice and Marshall were still screeching in resistance. Alice seethes when she sees her eldest daughter, while Marshall continues to curse in his mother tongue.

"Resisting will just gain you an extra charge, I highly suggest you start cooperating."

"You're insane!" Alice tries to turn to the officer behind her, "she's insane, can you not see! I raised her, gave her the life I never had-"

"Who's afraid of little old me?"

The cop drags her to his car, attempting to get her in the backseat. As she turns back to her father, she finds him already staring at her, eyes trained on the patch sitting on her sternum.

"*Karma's a bitch, father."

Evelyne leaves, getting back into her car. It was over. Her sisters were safe. Her parents were arrested. She won this battle.

"You should be."

September, 2017

"Corporal, this is Commander Phillip Graves, founder of Shadow Company. You and your team will be assisting him in this operation."

Evelyne shakes the older mans outstretched hand, eyes narrowing when he smiles widely at her, eyes dark.

"Nice ta meet ya, dar'in."

"Likewise, Commander."

"I like that, a pretty lady callin' me commander? Very nice."

"Is it a wonder I broke,"

Evelyne's CO laughs nervously, trying to change the subject. Of course, of fucking course, this bastard doesn't take the hint.

"You'd look great in my uniform, doll. Should join the Shadows, we'll keep ya satisfied."

"No thanks, I quite like green. Compliments my eyes."

She turns and walks away, seething when she hears the stupid fucking drawl of Graves calling after her.

"Let's hear one more joke, and then we can all laugh until I cry,"

"The Commander giving you a hard time?"

She turns to her fellow Corporal, sighing into the night air and taking the cigarette he offers.

"You could say that, hate being the only fucking woman in a 10 mile radius."

She hands it back to him, a common practice they had gotten in to while they were just cadets. The smell of smoke churns her stomach, her mind bringing memories of her father in his armchair, smoking like a chimney and beckoning her to get on his lap.

"Don't pay him any mind, else he keeps harassing ya."

Evelyne opens her mouth to respond, but the man of the hour beats her to it. She glares in his direction, lip curled up in a sneer.

"Can't help but feel like you're avoiding me, sug."

"So you can take hints, you just choose to ignore them."

"I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean."

"I can do a lot of things, 'specially in bed."

The wink he shoots her ignites a fire in her, but not the kind Graves wants. He learns that when her right fist connects with his stupid face, a sickening crunch filling the silence. The first thing she feels is the skin of her knuckles breaking. The first thing she smells is the copper scent of blood. The first thing she hears is Graves screaming. Someone pulls her arms behind her back, dragging her away from the injured commander.

"Don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth,"

Evelyne's leg bounces as she sits in the metal chair in an interrogation room, awaiting an officer to come and tell her the charges against her. What she doesn't expect, is for a fucking general to walk through the door. General Herschel Shepherd sits down across from her, an older blond woman coming to stand by the wall behind him.

"I assure you know why you're here."

She nods, to which Shepherd narrows his eyes.

"You have assaulted my commander, who now needs to recover before we can finish this operation. From what I have heard, you are being charged with Aggravated Assault upon a Commanding Officer, as of now, you are dishonorably discharged from the British Army."

Evelyne bites the inside of her cheek, blood tainting her mouth. She has a feeling where this is going.

"However," Shepherd leans forward, "it would a damn shame to waste a talent like yours, Corporal."

Okay, yeah, that did not go where she thought.

"Talent, sir?"

"Graves has a concussion from a single right hook. That ain't easy to do."

You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me You caged me and then you called me crazy

Evelyne's eyes widen, glancing at the woman behind him, she sees her typing away on a tablet. Her attention is brought back to the general when he begins speaking once more.

"Now, we can let that talent go to waste, or we can transfer you to the CIA, that will be decided by how you act from now on."

"What about my sisters, what happens to them if I do transfer?"

The blonde speaks up for the first time since stepping into the room, "they'll be placed in military housing near the base you're stationed at. We'll make necessary changes from there."

Evelyne nods, to which the general claps his hands together.

"Great, good to know you are capable of following orders."

"Then say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did? I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me

Evelyne tightens the laces on her boots, standing up and smoothing down her hair. The helo ramp lowers, and she holds her head up high, arms at her sides, and spine straight. There's a line of people standing on the tarmac, Kate Laswell among the group. There's a giant of a man standing next to her, body the size of a ram with a mop of brown hair and slight stubble on his cheeks and jaw. Another man is on Kate's right, with brown hair and the stupidest mustache Evelyne has ever seen.

"Welcome to the Special Operations Group, Evelyne Gray.

I am what I am 'cause you trained me So who's afraid of me?

[femmespoiled]

I hate how tonight I'm forced to think about the weird dynamic it is when for most of your life the only person who ever cared about you is also the person who traumatized you the most

[shirtlessradfahrer]

universe give me the strength to mentally and physically survive the next four and half weeks without strangling my co-workers so I still have a way to pay off my vacation when I get back

[mildmayfoxe]

my boss subscribes to my patreon (gag) (i appreciate the support but also leave me alone) (why are you inserting yourself into my personal life) (she also joined my patreon discord last week (double gag)) and the other day when i brought her in her stickers she was like "you're so organized!!" (no shit) (compared to her) "you actually send rewards out every month!!" (of course i do. that's my job) "so many people i back on patreon don't even manage to send out their rewards, haha" (what the fuck. no wonder you're so lackadaisical with the store patreon) "you're like patreon goals!!!" (condescending) (are you for real. maybe you should follow my lead with your own business. imo.) (i could give you feedback if you were will CAPABLE of hearing feedback and not flipping out if anyone tells you anything remotely negative) (but you dont pay me for that and you dont ask and its not my job)

[inkskinned]

how odd, to watch the creative writing exercises of angry men in the comments of instagram. you noticed it first in the comments of conventionally attractive women - but then it started appearing everywhere else, too.

a young man talks about what lunch he's packing his wife. there is a little story under it, with 300 likes, fabricated from nothing. "this is pointless. if you treat her like this, she will take the lunch to her office and fuck her boss and divorce him and take all his money."

you scroll. a young woman talks about what lunch she's packing for her husband. it is always uglier when the subject of the video is a woman, you've noticed. "you sit on camera and you smile and you are cheating with the neighbor and then you're going to lie about being sexually assaulted by your husband and -"

you stop reading. it has 567 likes.

where did this even become a thing? people making up stories in their head, disgusting long-winded assumptions about intention and sexual disgrace. the evil twin of fanfiction.

like - it's just a lie. it's a lie that they are telling, baldfaced and assumptive. the undercurrent is of course misogyny, but the trouble is that they're so fucking certain. that's what makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. there is this pervasive, inventive desire for them to be right. that they must be right. all women are cheating, lying, gold-digging bitches. no exceptions.

in the reverse, when women say i'd rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man - men funnel in from the sides. they defend each other with a vibrance and capacity for empathy you wish applied to like, the other half of the population. a man could be saying i absolutely did kill her and these creatures in the comments would rise up with king shit. she made it happen. they love each other to the point of this sick strange self-gaslighting, a fervent and unhinged cognitive distortion. all men are good, wonderful people. all women are terrible, conniving, seditious, annoying.

and when did it become okay to just, like... say that kind of a thing? at one point, you find yourself typing out a witty and snappy retort. why are you spending so much time fantasizing about other people babe. but as you stare at the screen, some part of you pictures this man in public, saying these things to your face. his soapbox, high and mighty. his mirrored sunglasses and his empty life: tired and lonely.

what a sad and horrible loop he's locked in. he is terrible to women, so women don't talk to him, which he uses as an excuse to act more terribly. he blames this "failure" on women, rather than on his behavior. it cannot be that he is the problem (that the solution is to just put his ego down and accept women as equals) - he begins to invent a sculpture to replace the flesh frame of each person he sees.

it isn't just a woman posing on the beach. it is now a slut with a desperate need for each person to crave her body. it isn't just a woman yelping with surprise during something upsetting. it is a hysterical, unhelpful cretin who will probably make things worse instead of better. it isn't a person.

someone's very sweet wedding vows get moderate attention on instagram. in the comments, a man says good fucking luck you'll waste your life providing while behind your back she's absolutely fucking the best man. this will be so cringe in 2 months when she walks out on you.

you think - is that what you need to be true? is that what you need to happen, for the world to make sense to you?

[groguspicklejar]

141!mafia au reverse harem where price keeps reader in his office as his only, telling the reader that he's going to make sure she's treated better than her scumbag husband. she gets released back to their shitty nyc apartment and finds the boys packing her stuff up, saying price bought out a better one in the upper west side. the only thing is that there must be a "meeting" once a week to "check up" on her because they "feel bad" wink wink

so... much... dick... forgive me, for i have sinned... again

"everybody stop touching my stuff and put everything down!"

you're surprised when they actually listen to your command and do as you say with wide eyes. Gaz, Soap and Ghost each carefully put their box on the ground. perhaps it's the furious expression on your face that compelled them to do so but you don't care. you just want them to put your things back where they found them.

so you turned to their leader; Price.

"what do you mean you sold my apartment?" you asked. "where do you expect me to go?"

this was the only place you could afford. with the divorce proceedings draining the majority of your funds (because your husband, soon-to-be ex, is a fucking prick and a selfish bastard), you've managed to keep this place and keep it in good enough shape.

it's not as big or as modern and sleek like your husband's house. just a two bedroom apartment with a cramped living room, bathroom and a small kitchen. a far downgrade from your lush lifestyle, but it's not much different from what you've had to grow up in, so the cosiness is somewhat comforting.

so for that to be taken away from right under your nose too, well...

you don't know if you're going to cry out of rage or despair. you've just come back after being temporarily relocated to one of Price's safehouses. you didn't expect to find your house sold. just another wrench in the already rusted cogwheels of your life.

"to your new place." Price holds up a bundle of keys with a smile. "a better one. much safer than this one, at least."

you only took the keys because the landlord was right outside, waiting for everything to be moved out and you had nowhere else to go. you held back the tears during the ride and wouldn't let any of the boys touch you. you wouldn't even talk to Gaz, who you favoured the most out of all of them.

"i was just following orders, love." you shift away from him when he offers you the tall cup of strawberry milkshake in his hand, ignoring the sadness in his eyes. "i didn't set out to hurt you."

you don't look at him at all. you couldn't bear his sad brown eyes but you also had to remind yourself that if Price gave the order, he'd probably kill you in your sleep.

your new house wasn't so bad. like Price said, it was better; you liked that you had a bigger, more lavish bathroom (one that had a hot tub, no less), as well as a study. at least, you have a nice place to work from home now. and just like he said, it's safer. you were slightly impressed by the electric fence and gate.

slightly. you still can't over the fact that they sold your old place without at least giving you a warning first. despite that, you settled in fairly quickly. though, you were surprised when you got a visit from Ghost within the first week.

"just a precaution, love." he said, pushing past you at the door.

"is this to make sure that i'm not plotting revenge on you guys?" he snorts at that and rolls his eyes.

you were a bit on edge with the visits. they came to see you at random days of the day but the sequence was the same. first, it was Ghost. he stayed for an hour, checking if everything in your apartment was in working order and bugging your house for extra security but he doesn't tell you that part.

Soap followed the next week. he was a tad bit more enthusiastic than Ghost, which you found endearing, even if you snubbed him the whole time. he pouted when you gave him one-word or dry answers but he kept eating all of your cereal because you banned him from touching the stove after he nearly burned the house down while trying to make noodles.

Price was next. he drove you to work and took you back home. you came to discover that he has less patience than he leads on because he threatened to throw you over the shoulder in front of your coworkers when you refused to get in the car.

Gaz was last and you think that was intentional because he brought flowers and a box of chocolates. you gave him the most sour expression as you let him in. he gave you your space, but he made it known that he doesn't like living with the knowledge that you're upset with him.

you were rightfully pissed at all four of them for uprooting your life when you had just began to pick up the pieces.

the cycle continues. Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz. in that exact order. eventually, you got used to it. you got used to having their presence in your new home at different hours of the day. they offered to help you with anything you needed because they felt guilty for disrupting your life so much even though, in Price's words "you're far better off here than you were with that muppet of yours anyway" and it's hard not to disagree with that sentiment.

but it's just that even if they do somehow make your life easier, they make it ten times as difficult at the same time.

because ever since that day in your soon-to-be ex-husband's office, you can't remember the last time you scratched the growing ache between your thighs. none of them bring up that day and you're too embarrassed to ask them to give back your sex toys.

so you're stuck having to deal with four of the most attractive men you've ever met walking around your place, cooking for you, fixing your wobbly chair, your water heater and coffee machine. helping you get from work and home safely. bringing you cute little gifts to apologize. playing guard dog from unwanted attention-seeking men.

it was hard to endure, especially when you were ovulating.

and unbeknownst to you, it was difficult on them too. you don't think they had a hard time watching you walk around in nothing but an oversized shirt and panties, or a flimsy nightgown whenever they came to visit at odd hours of the day they did that on purpose but it was to their detriment? you don't think their mouths watered when they watched you doing nothing but lay down on a sofa and read a book? god, what they wouldn't do to spread you open and make you read out loud while they had their way with you.

Soap, of course, could barely contain his urges but after three months of this, he caved and had you cornered in your bathroom while you were doing your nightly routine.

"just the tip." he pleads softly, kneading your breasts. your thighs clench as you feel his mouth on your shoulder. "please, bonnie, ye cannae make you watch ye being all sexy and not expect me tae do anything about it."

you watch him through the bathroom mirror, your own eyes wide and pupils blown. your belly tingles with desire just thinking about him taking you here. "j-just the tip?"

he hummed into your neck, already forgetting the statement, already unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down.

"won't take long but i'll make ye feel good just like last time. remember?" he wrapped a hand around your waist and you felt his cock gliding between your wet folds. your hands grip the sink so tightly, you think you might break it. "when i took ye on the desk in front of yet scumbag of a husband?"

your eyes widen and you look away from the mirror, heat blazing your cheeks. it's the first time any of them ever acknowledged that day. Soap grips your jaw and makes you face forward again and you catch his wicked smile.

"ah, ye do remember." you bite your lip as he rolls his hips, his cock moving slowly through your folds, catching against your swollen clit. "i think about it every day." he confesses, watching your expression twist in pleasure. the head of his cock catches at your slit, slowly pushing in. "made myself cum all over my hand just thinking about the way ye made a right mess of Gaz's mouth while i played with these pretty tits."

he makes an emphasis on those last words by pulling at the front of your robe to expose your breasts and then proceeds to fondle them. you feel more of his length pushing inside your cunt before pulling away. he does it again, sliding a little more each time.

"th-this is not just the t-" your words cut off into a long moan when suddenly, he thrusts deep. the stretch felt so good, it drowned every protest you had lined up.

"should i stop?" he whispers, pressing more into you.

you moaned, head tipping back on your shoulder. "no."

you mewled at the salacious noises rising as he fucked you against the sink and made you watch as you cum. he groaned in your ear as your orgasm triggered his and he spilled deep inside your pussy.

after Soap, all hell broke loose. you went from dealing with a near-four month dry spell to getting stuffed with a cock almost every day of the week.

Ghost took you on the couch the next week. he drilled you into the cushions while muttering something about making him suffer as you walked around in practically nothing and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. not your fault he was stuck having to watch you.

you told the same thing to Price the following week when he had you in the garden. you were terrified that someone might hear you but he told you that "you don't have neighbours, darling." he had far too much fun making you squirt all over his cock after he laid you down on your poor flower bush.

Gaz used the excuse of helping you bake till you found yourself gasping for air and bent over the kitchen counter. there was flour caked all over both of you but he couldn't care less about his expensive suit when he had you tightening around his cock as you begged for more until he was sure he was forgiven. he really did give the best apologies.

living in your new place didn't seem so bad anymore. you hardly had to worry about a thing, so you could definitely get used to this.

banners by @cafekitsune mafia!141 masterlist offer a note in the picklejar

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.” 

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.” 

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?” 

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.” 

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago. 

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink. 

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her. 

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting. 

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care. 

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long. 

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic. 

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not. 

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack. 

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week. 

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head. 

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath. 

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-” 

“Classified?” You finish for her. 

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...” 

The less there is to make you a target. 

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time. 

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.” 

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal. 

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military. 

That, and the excuse for violence. 

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented. 

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you. 

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together. 

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face. 

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.” 

You look nervous. 

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly. 

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega. 

His omega. 

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy. 

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand. 

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly. 

He doesn’t even want to think about that. 

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy. 

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand. 

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed. 

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.” 

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side. 

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents. 

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit. 

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about. 

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?” 

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.” 

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went. 

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.” 

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks. 

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.” 

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right. 

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.” 

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega. 

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says. 

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.” 

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” 

He hasn’t failed her yet. 

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked. 

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags. 

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment. 

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent. 

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk. 

One more to go. 

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk. 

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible. 

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane. 

“Coming, Si?” 

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared. 

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute. 

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent. 

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack? 

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door. 

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly. 

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says. 

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no. 

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back. 

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.” 

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression. 

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?” 

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.” 

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it. 

You can hold power over them. 

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to. 

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile. 

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell. 

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already. 

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in. 

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha. 

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”  

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs. 

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?” 

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.” 

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer. 

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“You lived on base?” He asks. 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.” 

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it. 

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say. 

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well. 

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.” 

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent. 

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.” 

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks. 

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.” 

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks. 

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.” 

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks. 

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance. 

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.” 

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails. 

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.” 

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either. 

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.” 

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting. 

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach. 

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell? 

What if they don’t like the way you smell? 

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you. 

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier. 

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.” 

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible. 

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen. 

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack. 

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs. 

“Ready?” 

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin. 

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland. 

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others. 

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you. 

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours. 

He’s testing you. 

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl. 

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting. 

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached. 

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place. 

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?” 

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head. 

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.” 

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland. 

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you. 

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze. 

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this. 

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him. 

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat. 

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper. 

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek. 

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze. 

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them. 

They could if they wanted to. 

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you. 

“You hungry, pup?” 

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work. 

Pup. Price called you Pup. 

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you. 

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment. 

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again. 

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.” 

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.” 

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out. 

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear. 

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes. 

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear. 

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing. 

He’s proving his ability as a provider. 

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can. 

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you. 

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks. 

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost. 

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult. 

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[tgirlwithreverb]

I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:

1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)

2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area

3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.

4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)

7) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered

5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.

6) water is free, go into the bathroom of any gas station or grocery store in America(offer not valid in most big cities or on the west coast, but in that case just go to the library) and fill up your water bottle

8) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)

9) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo

Gear world:

Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20° rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)

Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching

[erwinsvow]

random but i can see rafe giving shy!reader like a large amount of “pocket money” and she’ll always wait until she’s fully broke and runs out (if she doesn’t have a job), she’d be so nervous to ask him for more.

at first you're so shy around rafe you can't even find it in you to question what the money is for—you just assume it's some sort of test. you keep the cash in your pretty pink wallet until it's so full it won't fit in your purse.

rafe has no reason to be giving you money—you've got your own, your parents', that is. and suddenly you start to question everything, start overthinking like normal. does rafe think you're reliant on him for money? if so, is he mad at you because of it?

one day when he comes over to your place for once, claiming he wanted to get away from his noisy house to the serenity and peace of your bedroom, you dig out the wallet from under your bed and drop it next to him. he's laying on the mattress, sprawled out playing chess with a robot. the wallet lands with a thud.

like always, you let him speak first.

"what the hell's this?" he asks, lifting the thoroughly packed leather.

"i'm giving it back," you state, trying to remain a little firm. it's so hard around him though.

"jesus, kid," he comments, flicking through the cash. "did y'spend any of it? huh?"

"n-no," you stammer, suddenly nervous. "i kept it safe for you, like you wanted." you look at him with big, confused eyes and he looks back at you in disbelief.

"s'not for that, baby. it's for spending. for nice things, y'know, all the crap you like."

"crap?" you question back.

"stuff. books and records and ice cream when m'not around. y'know, pocket money."

"but i already have that," you reply. "did you think i didn't? did i ask for it?" suddenly confused, you wonder how you gave rafe this implication. "sorry, rafe."

"why are you apologizin'?" you perch yourself next to him.

"i guess because i didn't spend it.."

"well, stop. just use it for somethin' nice. for yourself, not me." he clarifies because he knows you—knows you'll go find him a new polo or golf glove if he didn't tell you otherwise.

and the way he says it—you comply, pressing a kiss to his cheek, mind floating to all the ways you could use it—a new beach read, a new bikini for boat days, ice cream nights with wheezie and a big tip for the nice girls who worked at the parlor.

you were used to spending your dad's money, now you were spending daddy's money. it wasn't that big of a change after all.

and it's really not.. until you run out.

you never had to ask your parents twice for anything, but rafe gives you cash and you don't question why, but now that you're used to getting things from rafe's money, you don't want to revert back. in all honestly, it felt nice when someone asked you where you got something from and you could tell them your favorite words.

"my boyfriend got it for me!"

credit cards are unlimited, but cash runs out. and asking rafe for more seems like the absolute worst thing in the world, especially when you were so hesitant to even start using it.

approaching the door to rafe's bedroom, you pace infront of it for a moment, thinking of the right words to say. ward walks by and smiles at you, though he's confused at what you're doing. panicked, you run in, standing in front of your boyfriend while he's looking at something on his desk. rafe glances up when you walk in.

"hey, kid."

"hi." it even comes out nervous. rafe shuts his laptop at the sound of your voice.

"what is it?" he asks, and you blink back in response.

"what's.. what?"

"y'think i can't tell when you're off? c'mon, start talkin'." you give in immediately.

"well... it's just, um, this cash. your cash. i ran out. and, um, this book i wanted releases out tomorrow. and i told wheezie i'd take her to the movies because that book we both like is a movie now, and it comes out this weekend, and y'know she's a child so-"

"yeah. m'aware."

"sorry," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. "sorry." he gets up from the desk, and you wonder if you really messed up by demanding so much.

"what'd i tell ya? stop apologizin'." when he gets close, rafe does what he always does, lifting your chin up so you're looking at him, his fingers resting on your jaw. "what'd you think? i'm gonna say no to you?"

"maybe. i'm being kinda greedy."

"nah, kid. be as greedy as you want." when you smile, he laughs at you, at how nervous you still get, how worried you are that you're doing something wrong. "besides, i got some ideas on how y'can make it up to me."

sounds like a win-win for you.

[shotmrmiller]

simon's many things. a retired fighter, for one. he hung his mma gloves a few of years ago with the excuse of getting older. he still sticks around, though— sitting in the front, so close to the hexagonal cage that his knees can touch the steel, occasionally gesturing price over to hand him a crinkled wad of cash.

gambling's illegal, you know.

thought you were a medic not a cop, pet.

a veterinarian.

good thing we're all dogs here, then.

he's also a bit unhinged, or so price says. you had pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep from asking him if the hits simon's taken to the side of the head knocked a few things loose or if he was simply born that way. you'd be thoroughly unsurprised by the latter.

seen 'em take a man out with one ferocious hit— dislocated his jaw and retired him all in one second— all over cigarettes.

what, did they guy like steal them or something?

no. the prize for the winner of their fight was that pack of smokes.

incredible. (that's insane.)

he's also unrepentantly forward and a bit of a pervert, to boot. no explanation is needed.

lemme take ya out, love—

don't call me that.

and wear a pretty dress with heels. bet you'd look real good in—

stop talking, simon.

and now, you're about to find out that he's also, apparently, magnanimous.

a friday night's hustle and bustle has come and gone, as has the crowd that was in there earlier to watch a fight. the air smells of cheap alcohol and even cheaper cologne. the lighting inside is dim, casting a dull, almost sickly glow over wooden stands and the bloodied arena. the floor, once dry concrete, was now mud-slicked; drinks, urine, and spilled blood staining the surface. betting slips stick to your sneakers as you walk. (trudge, more like.)

with your worn medical supply bag around your shoulder, you tiredly head towards price's office whose metal door is being held open by an old barstool, and gently rap your knuckles on the frame. "i'm leaving, john."

he looks up at you, soft blue eyes crinkling over his glasses as he smiles. "sounds good, love. see ya later. want me to walk you out?"

always the gentleman. "no, i'm alright. i'm sure simon's out there waiting for me any—"

the metal entrance door slams open then, causing you to jump at the startling noise. you whip your head around and a resigned groan escapes your lips. it's simon and he's got bruised company. very bruised.

there's never any rest for the wicked.

"who's that?" john calls from behind you. "he lost?"

the guy whose arm is slung around simon's shoulders looks relatively young. thick, straight eyebrows, a swollen broken nose, and thin blood-crusted lips. the last time you saw a mohawk on someone, it'd been in the early 00s.

"somewhat but it's a good thing i found 'em," simon grunts. his eyes flash over to you. "can ya patch him up f'me, love? i'll go on tha' date you've been beggin' me for."

you ignore simon as you approach them both and tip the guy's head up with your fingers under his chin. searching in your front pocket, you tell him to look at you. "open your eyes as best you can, alright?"

his eyes are like sparkling blue gems— bright like the sky on a clear summer's day. he winces at the blinding white light emitting from the flashlight. "tha' necessary, lass? ah'm not seein' double, if tha's what ye lookin' fer."

he gives a pained grunt before simon tells him to stand still. "my girl here's the medic and what she says goes. clear?"

"crystal, sir." purple bruises are blooming like dark flowers around his left eye and right cheekbone, and the blood that oozed from his split lip long coagulated. his nose, however, continues to languidly drip crimson.

"not the worst break i've seen," you mutter.

the pair shuffle behind you quietly as you head toward the dedicated medical room. the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic wafts through the air as the door swings open.

"sit, please," you gesture to the well-worn chair in the corner.

black latex gloves squeak in protest as you slide them on. "wanna tell me what's going on, simon? i'm not gonna fix the nose of a wanted murderer, am i?"

simon chuckles under his breath. "no. unlucky bloke chose to mug the wrong person. johnny here is real good at fightin', though, for someone with no real proper trainin'. figured i could give him a way to earn his money instead of stealin' it off of hard-workin' folk."

you hum and press your thumbs as gently as you can where the nasal fracture is. johnny hisses sharply and grips your wrist tightly. "easy. i barely touched it." you quickly tap the back of his hand with your knuckles. "let go, please. last thing i need is you tensing and breaking my arm."

he slackens his fingers and sits on both of his hands. "sorry, lass. ah'd never hurt a bonnie lass like ye. say, how'd ye even end up in the bowels of the city?"

his talking re-opened the cut on his upper lip, blood streaking his teeth pink. "i'm a charity case, just like you, i reckon."

johnny means to continue the conversation, but you take advantage of his distracted mind and push to the left, the sickening crunch of cartilage follows the adjustment. he curls in on himself and lets out a guttural noise that bounces off the white walls. "i'd be sorry but..." you trail off with a casual shrug.

pulling a clean rag from a basket nearby, you order johnny to sit up straight. "look up for me." he leans his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "hold this there," he squeezes his eyes shut when you firmly press the rag under his nose, "you'll stop bleeding soon enough."

you swivel on your stool, turning your attention to simon who's been silently watching you work by the door. "any injuries on you?"

he pulls his balaclava up, revealing a blonde stubble and scarred lips. "i got an injury right," he points at his mouth, "here tha' you can kiss—"

"stop talking, simon."

johnny's laughter emerges from behind the crimson-stained cloth.

--

this is the first time you've ever seen simon in the ring.

simon, even while 'retired', fights with a viciousness that borders on primal. his snarl— a ravenous wolf's— bare crooked teeth that hunger for victory, for dominance.

even when he's merely teaching johnny how to survive in this subterranean battleground.

"there's no room for mercy, soap!" he bellows. his eyes are sharp as blades, holding an edge of madness. he charges forward with fists like sledgehammers, delivering blow after punishing blow; johnny's body paying the price for his mistakes.

pain is the currency in that pit of despair, laswell had once said.

simon is a beast in human skin, ferocity incarnate...and you don't remember the last time you were this aroused by such a brute display. if this is what he looks like now, after years of being the spectator and not the spectacle, you can only imagine him in the zenith of his strength, his power.

heat licks up your cheeks at the mere thought.

he looks like he was born and bred to fight. his crib must've been the stained mat he's dancing on, his lullabies the sound of fists making contact, forcing flesh to yield. his broad back bears the weight of history— jagged flesh that stretches taut with each swing.

"fight smart! rules dissolve once tha' bell tolls, mate. many come here for glory, others come for an escape but some--" simon ducks the undisciplined punch johnny throws and gives him a ruthless jab to the ribs once then another to the side of his cut jaw.

johnny falls like a tree that's been cut at the trunk, the sound his body makes on impact with the canvas echoing in the empty basement. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, sweat and trickles of blood mingling on his face. simon kneels next to him, grunting as he goes down. "some are only here for their next meal and those are the most dangerous."

he is in his element, all bruised flesh and bloodied nose.

oh no. johnny's nose is bleeding too. "simon!" his head snaps to you when you scream, eyes wide and unfettered. "i just fixed his nose, you dolt!" his expression softens then— furrowed brows and taut lips relax.

"he'll be alrigh'. even my nose whistles when i breathe," he remarks.

simpleton. nothing but fighting and gambling in that big head of his. "that doesn't mean that it's okay to break bones i mended a few days ago." you keep your eyes fixed on johnny, ignoring the way the heat that's radiating from simon's sweat-slick body seeps into your chilled skin. "why he call you soap, anyway? good at cleaning dishes?"

he slurs a little, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "'cuz ah'm a shlippery bashtard."

you bite on your tongue, hoping that his slurring is because he's still mildly dazed from the punch and not something worse.

"wha' about me, love? i've got a beaten face too, y'know." you look at him then, narrowing your eyes as you take his bare face in. the bridge of his nose is pretty swollen, and you can see the onset of bruising already happening. it's also freely dribbling blood.

"shit, let me go get my medbag."

he hooks his fingers around the loops of your jeans, keeping you in place. "'fraid of a little blood, are ya? i think you'd look real good with me on you."

a jolt of arousal shoots up your spine unbidden, blooming desire, focus wavering. your breath catches and pupils dilate as they lock with his rich, brown ones.

"oi, get a room, aye?" johnny's hoarse voice snaps you back to the present, your thunderous heartbeat ebbing away like a tide from shore.

"whenever you want, sweetheart," simon purred. the lump lodged in your throat makes it hard to respond. "get the bag 'fore i bleed out. price will have my head if i drop dead on his mat."

you blink and scramble away on shaky legs and weak knees.

[riality-check]

The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

[bountydroid]

Jealousy

Request: Can I please request a Cooper x Fem reader comfort angst romance where the sweet reader is infatuated with Cooper (she has a thing for older men)The sweet reader is always doing unnecessary favors for him, like secretly giving him discounts on rad away and supplies, taking care of dog meat, and getting him information on bounties. Until he brings along Lucy, misunderstanding the whole situation, the reader’s heart breaks thinking the worst and slowly stops trying and acting cold and distant, making Cooper notice that the only tolerable person he has ever known in this god forsaken world is ignoring him. (Feel free to add or change anything just pls feed into my delusions😭 I just want some hardcore romance with our cowboy) Also can u pls add that the reader also has a cute southern accent?

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader

Description: As a wandering trader, you've made a lot of strange friends. Among them, Ghouls, but there is one in particular that is your favorite.

Notes: I hope I did this justice for you anon!

The Wasteland was brutal, and even you knew it was a bad idea to trek it alone, but you had a job to do. However, as you found yourself in front of your old friend Roger's home you felt like the Wastelands weren't all that bad.

"My name.. is Roger." You heard him repeating between snarls.

You stopped in your tracks outside the door. "He's turning," You thought to yourself as you rummaged through your pack looking for any vials of Radaway. You were all out. Sighing, you put your hand on your holster before slowly making your way inside to check on your friend.

"Rog?" You ask as you round the corner to find him sitting in the dirt.

"Oh hey," he said relieved. "My savior. Do you have any vials"

"I don't have any, Rog." You replied sadly.

"Oh." He whispered. "You should probably get out of here then. It's not safe for little girls like you to be in the Wastelands alone." He said sadly, leaving out the bit you both knew, you weren't safe with HIM alone. 

Before you could respond, you heard quiet footsteps down the corridor. "Who else is here?" You thought to yourself as your hand went back to your holster. Peaking your head around the corner you find none other than Cooper Howard and... a vaultie? You did very little to hide the confusion on your face as you looked between the two.

"Hey, you." You said to Cooper. "What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing, sweetheart." He responds, pushing the vaultie through the doorway and making his way to Roger.

"Hey Rog," Cooper greets him.

"Hey. Hey." Rogers laughs, relieved to see his friend. "Fancy seeing you here. You out for that bounty, too, huh?"

"Yep," Cooper responds as he knelt in front of his friend.

You all stand there in silence for a bit, listening to Roger snarl and whip his head around. 

"Oh, shit," Roger says between wails.

"How you feeling?" Cooper asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Oh.. you know," Roger replied. "It's hard out here. Dang smoothies can be so unkind. I see you got a smoothie of your own." He says as he looks over at the vaultie.

You also turn to look at the vaultie, a look of displeasure on your face. "A smoothie of your own." Repeating over and over in your head. You wanted to be his smoothie. You and Cooper never really started a relationship, but you thought you were heading in that direction. You gave him a generous discount on Radaway since you developed a little crush on him, and he would always spend more time than necessary with you whenever you crossed paths. He was always fussing after you and was always telling you how you were too reckless. In his eyes, everything was too dangerous for you. He knew how you felt about him, and you THOUGHT you knew how he felt about you, but this vaultie threw a wrench in everything. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he doesn't like me." You thought to yourself while eyeing her up. You were so lost in thought that you could barely hear Roger snarling next to you. 

"You're turning," Cooper says reluctantly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah maybe, maybe." Roger says on the verge of tears, "Maybe. Hey, you don't happen to have any vials, do you? Y/n is all out."

Cooper's eyes met yours as you nodded your head sadly.

"Just one little puff and I'll be back on my feet. You know I'm good for it." Roger pleaded.

"I'm sorry Roger I am all out," Cooper says, looking back toward his friend.

"That's okay. That's okay." Roger mumbles. "Though, um, you and y/n and your smooth-faced friend, you um... you might want to clear out before things get ugly."

You flinch as you hear Roger snarl again, each time he was getting louder and louder. You look down at your feet with tears in your eyes.

"I did okay. 28 years since I first started showing," Roger said looking between you and Cooper, before snarling again. "Oh, hell! Not as long as you though." He pointed proudly at Cooper, "You've outlasted us all. How long since you first started Wastelanding?"

"A long time," Cooper responds while shaking his head.

"That's a lot of vials," Roger said quietly.

"Well I've always been good at making money, Roger." Cooper exhales as he stands up. "Say, you remember how good food used to taste?"

"Yeah, BlamCo Mac and Cheese!" Roger says excitedly.

"Ice Cream and Apple Pie." Cooper countered.

Roger laughed, a real laugh. He was happy. "Apple Pie is not nearly as sweet as young Y/n's southern accent though." He says smiling up at you. "You know, my mom used to -"

Before you knew what happened, Roger's brains were all over the wall. You looked up at Cooper with tears in your eyes. You knew it had to be done. You knew it was mercy, but it still hurt. 

"Why did you do that?" The vaultie asked. "He was sick."

"He wasn't gonna get better." You responded dryly.

"You usually don't go all the way out here sweetheart, not on your own. What are you up to?" Cooper asks you as he picks up Roger's body and places it in a position where he easily access what he needs.

You don't respond. Between the jealousy brewing in your stomach at the vaultie next to you and the sadness about Roger, you couldn't find the words you wanted to say. 

"Stop. Stop Stop." The vaultie pleaded, "Please, I know it's hard out here but you don't, you don't have, you don't have to resort to... to..."

Before he could respond you quickly made your way out of the building for some fresh air. You could hear their voices inside, but you decided to drown them out by humming to yourself. You didn't need to see him take apart Roger, and you definitely couldn't stand the sound of her voice any longer. You knew you should get walking, you were low on supplies and they would be leaving the building soon. You didn't want to face them again, but it felt like there were bricks in your boots. As exhaustion hit you, you sat down in the sand and closed your eyes, losing track of time.

"Hey," You hear Cooper say as he puts his hand on your shoulder. "You good, sweetheart?"

'Fine." You mumbled out. "You and your smoothie should get going." The venom in your voice was loud and clear, but you didn't care.

"That's what got ya panties in a bunch?" Cooper laughed. 

You glared up at him in response. "Don't laugh at me, Cooper."

"I am taking her to SuperDuperMart. Not keepin’ her as a pet.” Cooper smiles as he offers you his hand. 

"Oh," You responded quietly, feeling stupid.

"What is SuperDuperMart?" You heard the vaultie ask, but the two of you completely ignored her.

"No one could ever replace you, sweetheart," Cooper says as he cups your face. 

You couldn't help the smile that graced your face at his words, and the blush that creeped up your neck.

He smiled when he noticed the way your eyes flickered towards his lips. 

"When I get my hands on some Radaway, I'll show you just how much you mean to me." You whispered.

"Lookin' forward to it." He whispered back.

The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn't even notice the look of pure disgust on the vaultie's face as she watched your interaction. Some people may never understand why you like Cooper so much, but honestly? You couldn't give a damn.

Tag list: @sitkafay