cluelessatthispoint

[cluelessatthispoint]

Hi! I was wondering if you were open to do the mercs x gn reader with chronic pain?

<3 remember to drink some water and stretch

- 🐻 anon

Of course! I apologize for the extremely long wait!

A Much Needed Comfort

(warnings: none)

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It started months ago. Months go when you woke up, as far as you can recall. There was no warning, no sign, no tell for anything as you felt the worst pain imaginable blossom across your back. The first time you felt it, you cried. The feeling of hot, bitter tears streaking down your face and clinging to your eyelashes made you nauseated. That was the first time it happened. The doctor's appointments never came up with any conclusive evidence for any underlying causes of the pain. Even at times when you fought with the notion of calling the paramedics to get you out of your own bed. Too hurt to move and too afraid to move more for fear of more pain. It was a never-ending cycle.

Even now, with your new job and a stable supply of medication at the call, it made you uneasy. Every time you felt a shift of the temperature, every time you felt that you set your foot down wrong. It made anxiety twist in the pit of your stomach. 'What would happen now?' you often wondered. 'Is the pain going to come back? Will it get worse?' Some days, it felt like even the smallest step you took made you want to scream. To cry out and to sob. The pain never offered you a reprieve on those long, grueling days. Even with the knowledge that Medic's office was now right down the hall from your room. The German having expressed more than once to do a thorough examination to find and get rid of the problem. Incredulously he didn't even have the gall to say that he would 'diagnose' you but vehemently expressed that he would 'get rid of the problem' all together.

On one hand it was rather touching. And the thought has crossed your mind to take up on his extremely generous offer. Even if he was doing it out of morbid curiosity of the human anatomy rather than the good will of his heart. But, as much as you liked the older man. The idea of waking up without a spine was enough to keep you away from going to him.

Moving slowly, your stiff shoulders shout in protest as you shift from one foot to the other. Shifting your weight from side to side, you walked slowly from your room on base to Medic's office. The Ibuprofen and Tylenol you knew he had stashed in his desk drawer were singing out your name. Medic never cared if you helped yourself to what you needed, all that he asked in return was a list of your symptoms, written down of course so that he could prepare items necessary for your comfort. Wincing at a flare of pain, you pause. The air momentarily knocked from your lungs as you close your eyes. The sound of Medic's office door being pushed open catches your attention, however briefly.

"Ah, You are here to see Medic, Da?" Not even bothering to answer verbally, the stiff nod of your head seems to appease the large Russian.

"It is the pain again, come. Heavy will help." Gently, you can feel how he moves around you. How he moves and positions his large hands to support you by your arm and upper shoulder in case if you were to lose your footing and fall. Normally, Heavy would stay silent. Speaking only when necessary. But he's seen you like this more than enough times to know that when you're in this much pain, sometimes it helps to have a distraction. The last time, you remember as he walked you carefully to Medic's office. He spoke about the time when he slaughtered three grizzly's in the span of a week. This time, you wonder if he will continue with that particular one or if he will tell another. Regardless, you find yourself sitting reclining on one of the foldable cots that Medic stashes away for rainy days.

"Mein freund, it is gut to see you." Creaking open your eyes, the sight of Medic leaning against his desk offers you some comfort.

"Hello Doc." You nearly choke on your saliva from the returned greeting.

"Ah, ah, I was wondering when the next bad day would happen. You are lucky, very glucklich that I prepared for you."

The furrow in your creased brows does little to deter Medic from rummaging around in his desk. The sounds of papers shifting and baubles being clinked together made for an odd lull. Closing your eyes, you don't know when you fell asleep or for how long. But it appears to have been for long enough judging by the flowers next to your cot. Placed in a plastic cup the sunflowers and small weeds you could tell were from Scout. A small cup of juice standing just a few inches next to it with a few capsules of Tylenol laying in a neat stack. Somedays the pain hurts like hell, but it feels great knowing that your friends have your back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WOOO! this was wonderful to write. I did a little research on chronic pain. Not much! but I hope you enjoyed this fic.

[cluelessatthispoint]

Omg more TF2 smut needs to be written… Anywho!

Reader giving scout a reach around handjob as he tries to keep quiet[ but failing miserably ] ;)

Sure thing anon! I hope you enjoy.

A Quiet Challenge

(warnings: handjob, nsfw etc etc.. enjoy)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scout was absolutely boneless in your hands. His warm sun kissed skin was already twinged with dustings of red along his shoulders and neck from the harsh sun. Even the blush painting his lightly freckled face could be mistaken for sunburn. The weight of his body leaning back against your stomach made a burning heat bubble in your lower abdomen. It wasn't often that the famed speedster would let himself be pampered like this. More often than not Scout would ask if you were up for a romantic night in, featuring you, him, a nice meal consisting of take out, and sex in the secluded confines of his room.

It was sweet. Sweet, but boring.

After the nth 'romantic night' in, you deemed yourself up for the challenge of trying to convince Scout to do something new. Something the two of you had never tried in another setting before. With all the talking before had, making plans and doing some prep work to get the other mercs away from the central hub of the base for a while. Everything fell into place. Heavy stayed within the small library portion of Spy's room, with the charming espionage's permission. Sweet Dell was busy in the garage tinkering away at one of his doohickeys. Already you knew the Texan would be staying inside for days on end- there would be no chance for him to intrude on the two of you at all. Even if the base was burning to the ground, he could work through just about anything. Sniper being Sniper, he didn't even need to be told to stay away. It's just how he is. As for the rest, Soldier, Demo, Pyro and Medic were busy on a two-day trip for 'groceries' as the good doctor called it. Hell knows why the other joined him.

So, it just left you and Scout exactly where you both wanted to be.

"hnaah~" The sweet sound of his shaky moan made your thighs clench together.

The weight of his head leaning back against your shoulder as you worked your right hand methodically up and down his length one spot at a time. His straining flesh feeling warm and velvety against the skin of your palm. His face scrunched up just right as you circled your middle finger just on the outside of his leaking slit. Darting your eyes downwards to watch, the sight of him leaking pre from just your hand alone has you feeling wet.

"Hush now, don't want you being too loud now. We don't want to bother Heavy now do we?~" The feeling of Scout turning his head to press his nose to the side of your face has your breath stuttering.

"Don't be hiding that pretty face. Let me see you." The sound of your gentle coaxing does nothing but prompt Scout to hide his face further against your neck. The tip of his nose nuzzling against your ear, smushes lightly against your scalp when his hips jut. A high whine leaves his throat as he floats his hands from reaching back to grasp any part of you, to gliding along his exposed flesh. Feeling him twitch in your hand, it felt natural to lean in and nip at the warm skin of your partner's neck. You know instinctively that no matter how good he feels to you within your mouth, he feels better being on the receiving end. His neck being one of his most sensitive spots aside from the hard dick you're fondling. Closing your eyes, your arms hug him tighter to your front as you pick up the pace. Stroking faster and faster, little by little. The constant bucking of his lean hips spurs you on. The breathy whines and soft hisses leaving his chapped lips signals to you better than anything else that his edge was just on the horizon. All he needed now was a final push.

Nipping at the spot on his neck, teasing it with the barest edges of your teeth, you finally close your lips around the small portion of his skin and give a hard suck. The tip of your tongue languidly lapping at the bunched flesh as his eyes widen in surprise. The long moan that tumbles from his lips patters off as he fucks your hand with a rabid desperation to cum. Warmth, Heat, Sweat, the wetness between your legs matches the wetness that paints your fingers as Scout finally orgasms. His shaky breaths and little giggles tell you all you need to know for future 'romantic nights' in.

"Toots..when we doin this again?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here it is! I finally did it! I had to re-write this twice because Tumblr lost my first one.

[cluelessatthispoint]

platonic yandere heavy x reader perhaps?

Sure thing Anon.

Familiar Snowfall

platonic Heavy x gn reader (warnings: none)

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To Mischa, it always felt like the snow would last. That the white blankets of fluffy snow would linger and stay throughout the year. How its shining luster of white had sprinkles of the rainbow hidden away in each unique snowflake. Traveling from one base to the other had its quirks. Tuefort would always be jarring right after a stint at the Snowfall base. The rapid change from the familiar cold to the blistering heat of the badlands was excruciating. The sun always beat down without mercy, the breeze carried warm air which offered no reprieve from the heat. And the desert. That vast expanse of what he would have preferred as snow and ice was instead dust and rocks.

"Mmm." His quiet rumble broke the silence as he stood gazing from the doorway.

One of many doorways that lead to the snowy grounds around the base. The once pristine, crisp virginal white snow was now all battered and muddied up with footprints dirt, and blood spatter. It remined him of home- in a way.

"What's got you so down Heavy?" The sound of your voice barely startles him. The way his icey-blue eyes focus in even harder on the landscape makes you shiver. As if he could feel within the very depths of his bones that an enemy spy could be cloaked and waiting within the frigid shadows. His gaze doesn't even flicker over to you as you approach.

"Маленький, nothing is wrong." Those words hang heavy in the still air as the wind gently blows by. Your eyes, inexplicably drawn to the small swirls in the air as loose powdery snow is picked up and twirled as if by magic.

"Huh? I don't spea-...You sure big guy?" Hearing your voice, the edges of his lips quirk into a barely perceivable smile. The cold against his face felt like the same cold he grew up with. It nurtured him and guided him to be the best man he could possibly become for his family. Finally, after seconds of silence that stretched into what felt like minutes of agonizing stillness. His eyes found yours.

"да." How much his heart ached as he peered into your concerned gaze. That inkling of familiarity that sparkled in your eyes reminded him of his sisters back home. Of his mother. Of how cold the winters are, and how unforgiving the icy winds could be. His gaze narrowed as a chill ran up your spine, seeing the way your nose was already starting to turn red prompted him to action. Turning with a firm motion. The cold winds whispered once more as if to bid him a fond farewell as he closed the door. The lock already clicking into place with an ease most practiced.

The moment the door was shut, the room felt a few degrees warmer. The slight redness on your face from the cold made him think of frostbite.

"Маленький, you are cold. Come, Heavy will make borscht for tonight." The small smile on your lips spoke volumes of your unfamiliarity with the soup. But that didn't bother him. All that mattered now was that you were away from the cold and warm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

I know it's a little short. But I thought that this was a nice peek into Heavy's mind and his relationship with the cold. I hope that you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Маленький - little one

да - yes

(I used google translate for the Russian. I apologize if anything is incorrect.)

[cluelessatthispoint]

How would the 141 react if reader tried to run away?

Not good. Very much not good at all.

Lets hope nothing bad happens. As I'm sure the reader will find the next few chapters draining.

[cluelessatthispoint]

What if something managed to attack kid reader and actually hurt them how would the hoard?

tsk tsk tsk.

I wouldn't want to spoil the next few chapters. But let's say that it wouldn't end well for anyone.

[cluelessatthispoint]

In your 141 dragón x child reader, part one Price calls himself “papa”. Is that going to come up again?

YES!

you know it!

[cluelessatthispoint]

Hi! I love ur Dragon hoard series:)

How would the boys react if little reader got sick or injured?

Thank you THANK YOU!

I'm so happy to be getting such kind asks and wonderful comments. I'm truly thankful and quite overjoyed as to how much love this fic is receiving.

As for your question, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the next few chapters.

;)

[cluelessatthispoint]

Regarding the hybrid series, i feel like reader might be a little touch starved after so long on their own, might Even start to seek out the guys for comfort. Would the guys be surprised by this shift or would they have expected it?

OHHHH! YES!

Yes anon, they would. After all the abrasiveness that the reader exudes day in and day out with the each of them. The one small moment of seeking out comfort, no matter how small would be the 141's cherished memory. If the reader sought out one hybrid in particular, whether for warmth, or dare I say insight. The others would be terribly jealous. Especially Price, as he is a dragon hybrid.

[cluelessatthispoint]

You may be alive but are you fulfilled in your daily routine? Does life and existence bring you small joys that you actively take a moment to appreciate? Are you curious and feeding that curiosity appropriately or have you lost your curiousity in the effort to grow up?

Ah, yes. Very good question my dear Anon.

To be truthful, it's a bit of both. Sometimes there is no room to be inquisitive about the world around myself as I go about my daily routine and schedule. But I must say that even the smallest of joys can really set the tone for my day. Setting the kettle to boil water for tea, the feeling of the morning sun on my skin. Its lovely.

I hope that you take the time to appreciate the little things in life as well.

Thank you :)

[cluelessatthispoint]

Howdy everyone!

So, I was thinking of a good fic idea, and I was wondering if anyone was interested in the idea of a story revolving around Date Everything. The new dating game where you the player can date literally everything.

Regardless of interest or lack thereof, I'll probably still write it ;)

(Can you tell that I have a new fixation?)

[cluelessatthispoint]

Hiii! So I have a request for how the mercs would react to fem reader who just sleeps in and chills around in her panties and oversized shirt? she doesn’t see any issue with it, I mean, guys get to take their shirt off, whats the problem?🥱

*rolls up sleeves and sets tea kettle to a boil*

Alrighty, let's do this. :)

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What

Scout’s mood could be described as many things. Usually, happy—damn near ecstatic on most days—and sometimes, quiet. But the quiet days happened rarely, and today was not one of those days. Not by a long shot.

Straight after running errands with Soldier and Pyro, Scout barged back into the base, heavy bags laden with groceries left to be dealt with by the others. His excuse was that the lighter bags didn't damage his biceps as they were perfect enough already. Still buzzing from the simple rush of being out and about. The usual chaotic energy was normal. But, as soon as his eyes landed on you, something inside him short-circuited.

There you were: all soft skin and scantily clad, lounging like the queen of casual rebellion. A loose t-shirt covering your torso and red underwear that fit more like boxers, they almost glowed under the fluorescent base lights. Scout’s smile faltered, and the lighter bags slipped through his fingers, thudding onto the floor. The eggs cracked from within the carton. No doubt a gooey mess now.

“Wha—uh—hey, I ain’t complainin’ or nothin’, but you tryna give a guy a heart attack here?!” Scout stammered, trying desperately to act nonchalantly but failing. His eyes darted like a cartoon character’s, huge, and wild, his mind spun at seeing you dressed in such a way.

His mouth suddenly went dry, but his brain begged him to keep talking—anything to avoid the awkward silence growing between you two.

Before he could open his mouth again, the pounding stomp of boots echoed through the hallway, breaking the tension like a hammer on glass.

“UNACCEPTABLE BATTLE ATTIRE! WHERE IS YOUR UNIFORM?!” Soldier burst in, eyes blazing with indignation.

You rolled your eyes, stretching lazily as if the entire military base were your personal lounge. One arm thrown over your head, the other resting casually at your side, you looked the picture of nonchalant defiance. So very soft and comfortable.

Soldier screamed as if you’d burst into flames. “You’re a civilian! You need to cover up on a base!” With that, he dumped his groceries to the floor and grabbed the nearest carpet, draping it over you like a makeshift blanket.

He clearly didn’t understand casual comfort—and he definitely didn’t see the irony in the dozens of times he went shirtless or full-on nude around the base.

Pyro padded into the room next, humming happily, carrying his own groceries. “Mmmph!~” He didn’t care what you were wearing. You could have been wrapped in bubble wrap, and he’d still offer you a lollipop and a sparkler.

Seeing you looking a little uncomfortable beneath Soldier’s carpet blanket, Pyro nestled beside you on the couch, sighing contentedly as he sank into the cushions.

Then came Demoman, drawn by the sound of the grocery bags hitting the floor. He stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

“Och, lass... ye’re brave, walkin’ ‘round like that with all these lunatics,” he chuckled, amusement and concern mixed in his voice. Not for your attire, but for the wild bunch you’d somehow chosen to live with.

He gave you a gentlemanly wink, clearly enjoying the chaos. The scrumpy in his hands seemed far more appealing than the state of your attire.

Heavy lumbered in next, his reaction almost Zen-like. The times he's seen his sisters doing the same back home. He learned to not ask and just accept that being comfortable takes many forms.

“You are comfortable. This is good,” he rumbled in his deep voice, eyes kind but serious. “Just do not catch cold.”

He was the least reactive, respecting your choice without a hint of judgment. But if anyone else dared to ogle you for too long, Heavy would quietly stand behind them until they reconsidered their life decisions. Having sisters, you figure that he must be used to this.

Engineer strolled in last from the door, tool belt still strapped on, wiping grease from his hands. He raised an eyebrow, mildly flustered but mostly respectful.

“Well now, darlin’, I ain’t judgin’, but you might give poor Scout a stroke walkin’ ‘round like that.”

He grinned, a little nervous but not fazed. Probably the kind of guy who’d offer you a blanket if the AC kicked in, quietly admiring your confidence with Southern gentleman charm.

Medic who was sitting silently by the table across the room finally popped his head up from his notes. Most likely looking for a sale on organs. Curiosity flickering in his eyes like a scientist discovering a new species. Striding over, ignoring Pyro in the process, the way he leans down and in has you furrowing your brows.

“Hah! Fascinating confidence... Would you say this habit began in childhood? Or post-puberty?” His tone was clinical, like a doctor running an experiment, not a judgmental question.

He began poking at your shirt absentmindedly, mumbling about “body heat regulation” and “thermal dynamics.” You couldn’t tell if he found you endearing or just medically interesting.

Sniper who just wanted a cup of coffee and a bagel, groaned. Quietly observing the scene with a polite, strained smile. He visibly tried not to stare but failed miserably, quickly ducking his gaze into a nearby mug.

“...Y’re comfortable. Doc, don't bug em."

He was trying hard to be respectful but was clearly thrown off balance. You made his usually cool demeanor wobble, and he’d probably spend the next few days hiding in his van.

And then there was Spy.

Leaning against a wall, already in a robe and casually sipping wine, he smiled with amused sophistication.

“Ah, finally, someone ‘ere who understands the concept of effortless seduction,” he said with a wink. "You are not my type, but I applaud you."

Spy thought you were playing a game, a dance of confidence and mystery. He flirted, sure—but it was more about admiring your control and comfort than being predatory.

You sighed, pulling the carpet tighter around your waist, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Alright, alright,” you said, voice teasing. “I get it. No more ‘lounging’ on base.”

Scout deflated instantly. “wait, what? no! come on guys! cut her some slack. She's pretty! But not that way- not like I'd like that, but come on."

Scowling as much as he could, Spy slaps Scout upside the head. Ignoring Scout's pained shout, he smiles.

"Relax cher, Scout is an imbécile. We all are family here. Should you not also relax as we would?"

You nodded, looking around at the bizarre, lovable family you’d found.

“Yeah,” you said softly.

You laughed, feeling the buzz of belonging, the chaos and comfort tangled together in one big, messy family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[cluelessatthispoint]

Dragon's Hoard pt. 12

(inspired by Bluegiragi and Docdudo)

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You woke to the crackle of dying embers and the soft, heavy breathing of creatures too large for silence. But the two most likely strongest were gone.

There was no gentle grumbling of Price's timbre voice. No silent support from Ghost- Simon. To be found. According to Gaz as he draped a large feathery wing around your shoulders, they have gone hunting. Ghost and Price had left with the rising of the dawn, and the cave was emptier for it. Not quieter— as Soap and Gaz remained—but emptier, like something had been pulled out by the root and the hole it left behind gaped wide, like an awaiting maw.

Soap was the first to speak. He always was. With the way sleep wore off of him, it made him seem almost human. The grogginess of his features and the contentedness of which his tail wagged. your lips twitched with disdain as he looked like he had a good night's sleep.

“Morning,” he said, awkwardly gentle, like he was afraid of scaring you again. “Brought you water. And some meat. Caught fresh.”

You didn’t answer. You barely looked at him. Envy curled in your tummy. Either it was envy for how Soap could sleep so well, or the sight of freshly hunted meat.

His ears dipped. “I... also still have that doll. If you want it.”

As if that could placate you.

From where he sat crouched beside you, Gaz watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. Half-wrapped in one wing, with the other draped lazily about your tiny shoulders, he looked more bird of prey than man. A bird protecting his baby chick.

"Leave the chickadee alone Soap, can't you see our chick is still scared?"

Soap's ears drooped, but reluctantly agreeing, he sourly crawled over to Gaz and with a dramatic sigh his head found weary solace against the meat of his thigh.

"Where's...Price..and Ghost?" You find yourself asking. Your lips betraying your desire to stay as close to the "safest" hybrids as possible.

The hurt on Gaz's features was better concealed then Soap's. But he made no move to address it.

"Hunting, they're out hunting my little chick." Gaz's soothing response made guilt twist uncomfortably hot in your tummy.

The hours passed like tar. Soap tried to draw you out with fumbling jokes, small gifts, stories. As did Gaz, his gentle crooning and now much softer preening trying to make you more comfortable. Sometimes he spoke to Soap in low, short phrases, their tones curling and twisting with something intimately private—something that had nothing to do with you. When Soap leaned closer, hand brushing Gaz’s feathers, his cheek still squished against Gaz's quad. In that moment, you saw something unspoken pass between them. Gaz didn’t pull away.

They were distracted.

And they stayed distracted.

Long enough.

You reached the mouth of the cave long before you stepped through it. Fear making your legs come to a standstill.

"They better not be out there..." You whisper to yourself, referring to Ghost and Price. If they even see you near the entrance to the cave unaccompanied, the consequences would be serious.

For a long moment, you only stood there—half-wrapped in the thin dark of the tunnel’s stone throat, blinking into the pale, gray-filtered light beyond. Dusk...the crisp air whisps and curls. Invading your lungs like a shockwave as for the past few weeks you've been in the near suffocating warmth of the cave. The trees outside swayed like the slow-breathing ancient giants of stories, skeletal limbs clawing at the colorless sky. It smelled like damp bark and loam and the ghosts of things long rotted..and freedom.

Cold wind slipped in through the opening and wrapped around your ankles like fingers, beckoning you onwards.

Hesitating, you look on.

"I got this." The sound of your voice almost startles you. as it sounds so foreign when not being echoed by the cave walls.

You moved when the air was thick and heavy with complacency. When the sound of Gaz and Soap's amorous laughter became soft, distant—an echo within the cavern walls.

Your bare toes curled over the uneven stone. The time spent with the hybrids has made your skin softer with how they tried to clean and groom you in accordance with their instincts and culture. The cave behind you stretched like a throat you were crawling out of. And something in you twisted at the thought of truly leaving it.

It should have been easy. You should’ve run the moment their backs turned.

But there was something about the threshold—this place between—that made you pause. Because it wasn’t just leaving them. It was leaving whatever safety came with them. The fire. The food. The weight of eyes always watching, always knowing where you were. Monsters or not, they never let the woods swallow you.

Now? You didn’t know what the woods would do.

You stared out past the treeline, at the pale spindled shapes of trees that grew too close together. They looked like ribs. Like a forest long starved.

You took a breath that didn’t quite reach your lungs.

Then, with one hand trailing the stone wall like a tether, you stepped out.

The cave mouth yawned behind you, silent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The forest groaned beneath the wind as the chill of dusk crept in—long shadows tangling through the trees like a vial of spilled ink. It was the hour when the woods began to rot into silence, when the birds quieted and the nocturnal predators roamed.

Ghost moved without sound, a sliver of shadow slipping between the underbrush. melding from one shadow to the other with surgical precision. His bone white mask caught no light. No puffs of breath clouded the air. Just the twitch of a clawed finger here, the tilt of his head there. He was not a man walking—he was stalking.

Price followed at a distance, his one wing pulled tight against his back, horns brushing low branches. His body was too large to vanish like Ghost, but he knew how to move like something meant to be feared. Where Ghost was absence, Price was presence—heat, weight, and thunder held back by an ancient, unwavering patience.

They had tracked the scent for over an hour now. A buck, if they were lucky maybe two. Fresh trails. Muddied tracks pressed into damp earth, sap licked clean from broken bark. Every so often, Ghost would tilt his head toward the canopy, as if listening for something only he could hear.

Still, neither spoke.

They rarely did while hunting. Words only got in the way.

But then, Price let out a low rumble—not a growl, not a warning, just a thought made sound.

“They’re still shaken.”

Ghost didn’t answer immediately. Immediately knowing whom the subject matter was. His skull mask turned just slightly, a glint of reflection off one hollow socket.

“Still?” Price pressed, quieter. “You’ve been watching, haven’t you?”

A slow nod from the wraith.

“You think they’ll settle?”

Ghost crouched beside a patch of trampled bramble, fingers grazing the torn leaves. He didn’t look at Price as he answered, voice low enough to be mistaken for wind.

“Eventually.”

Price huffed through his nose. “It’s Soap’s fault they’re still this rattled. He’s too rough. Doesn’t know when to stop.”

Ghost stood again, shadows reforming to a solid form from the darkness. “He means well.”

“He means,” Price growled, “but he doesn’t understand.” There was heat there. Not just anger—worry. “the hatchling is not one of us. Not made of scale, or fang, or sinew.”

Ghost tilted his head again. “They are now.”

That made Price pause.

He stepped around a splintered tree, wings brushing the edge of the path. There was tension in his frame that hadn’t been there earlier, like something pulling taut behind his ribs.

“Maybe.”

Ghost didn’t respond.

The shadows deepened. As if they were themselves alive and twisting in accordance with Ghost's mood. Far above, mournful crows cried out, sounding like decrepit old souls. The scent of blood drifted faintly on the wind—old, animal, not human. Something worse.

Still, Price’s gold eyes narrowed, scanning the woods not for prey now—but for something else. Someone else.

“...Do you feel that?” he asked suddenly.

Ghost stopped. His head lifted, the bones of his mask tilted toward the air.

Something was wrong. But not close. Not yet.

Price turned slightly, the anxious flick of his tail lashing against the tall grass. That was the one of many tells that Simon could understand and label. Price was nervous. Not many things usually made him nervous.

“We should head back after this,” the dragon muttered. “Sooner than usual.”

Ghost nodded once, slowly. "Trouble?"

Ghost didn't need to hear the answer as the look Price gave was more than enough to clue him in.

"Bloodsucker." Price spat.

Silently stalking back home, ghost under the cover of darkness and Price trailing not too far behind. Their minds in unison, as they think of how comfortable it would be to sink back into the safety and protection of the nest-their little one cozy at the heart of it all.

Unbeknownst to them, you've left.

The small, soft weight they’d called theirs was already slipping into the dark woods, leaving footprints behind them like quiet apologies.

Had the left to return ten minutes earlier, they would have seen you passing by.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

oh no...how horrible. Darn kids always are up to something when no one is looking ;) Hopefully the Hoard won't be too upset when they find you.

Enjoy pt 12.

[cluelessatthispoint]

You're alive?

Last I checked, I still had a pulse...

[cluelessatthispoint]

Hullo!! I just recently watched Emesis Blue and a I was scrolling through the tag came across your fics!! They’re so cool, and give off the same spine-chilling energy the film itself had!

If you’re still taking requests, perhaps an Emesis Blue Soilder, Demo, and Reader just trying to survive the slaughterhouse?

Heck yeah anon! I do my best! especially when writing fics based on such a great work of art. I am not a survivalist by any means, but I hope that this works.

warnings: blood, gore, dark themes, injury to reader.

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Survival of Three

The rusted door slammed shut behind you with a clang that echoed down the blood-slick corridor. It stank of rot and decay. The smell mixed with the damp of the air made it so that you could taste it on your tongue. Scowling, you press on. It's not some place that a civilian needs to be. Nor should they be here at all. Demo clearly expressed that notion when you all teamed up. The sight of his one good eye widening made you sick to your stomach. You're not particularly strong or fast, not agile to evade most attacks, most of the time your fight or flight response would have you freeze in place. At those points, Soldier or Demo had to shove you to get going.

"I'd rather be at work....or at home...I miss my bed." You find yourself muttering. A coping mechanism is what it was. If your group mates found it distracting, they hid it well.

Soldier’s heavy boots stomped a few paces ahead, his confident demeanor, a beacon of hope in this hell hole. As long as you figured that he was confident, then maybe there was a chance. A small chance, but a chance that you would take if it meant getting out alive. The dark blood on his helmet looked so mark darker in the shadows. "They locked us in? Then we'll break out!" he barked, voice sharp and flinty like a blade dragged on pavement, but it sounded sure.

Behind you, Demo limped along, one hand braced against the wall, blood soaking through his coat. “The way it sealed… tha wasn’t for keepin’ things out.” He spat on the floor, then winced. “They wanted us in.”

"For what?" you find yourself asking. The worlds spilling from your chapped lips as easy as a breath.

The look Demo gave in response was all you needed. Swallowing the building saliva that in your mouth, the pang of thirst made itself known voraciously.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed like flies, some flickering. One burst outright in a shower of sparks. You flinched, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

You kept your back to the wall. Eyes watching every rust-colored stain. Every dark crevice. Something moved back there once. It might move again.

“I-I think I saw someone,” you mutter quietly. “Something. It wasn’t right.”

Soldier turned, staring at you like you’d just confirmed what he already knew. “Nothing's right in this place."

Demo laughed low, a dry rasp from his throat. “You don’t know the half of it mate."

You moved together, like a well-oiled machine. Moving in a group, one looked ahead, one looked back, and the other watched the sides. Trespassing past old meat hooks and chains that still swayed, as if something had brushed them seconds before. You didn’t ask what kind of meat they used to hold. It was obvious enough, even without the bodies dangling.

Then came the sound. A gurgling, wet breath. As if someone were chocking on their own life's blood.

Soldier’s pistol was up in a heartbeat. Demo readied his as well. You grabbed a crowbar, your only weapon, hands slick with your own sweat.

Down the corridor ahead, something scraped the concrete. Something heavy. Something alive.

Your breath hitched. Demo laid a hand on your shoulder, steadying, grounding.

“You don’t run ‘til I say,” he whispered. “Understand?”

Then a scream split the hallway—a horrible, wrenching sound, like someone being born and dying all at once.

“MOVE!” Soldier yelled, and you did.

You ran blind, your heart hammering in your chest and blood rushing in your ears. Heavy hiking boots hammering against metal grates, past machines that looked like they had once belonged in a torture room and now hungered for anything warm. The thing behind you followed, its steps uneven, grossly wet.

Slamming your shoulder against a locked service door, the sickening pop of your shoulder dislocating from its socket jars you. But it opened. A miracle. Panting, sweat drips down your face as in your panicked haze you start to see blurred doubles. Without wasting a chance, you dart inside.

Only to be met with silence.

A cold, dark office. Maps pinned to the wall. A half-eaten meal. Blood soaked into the carpet. Someone had been here… long enough to hope.

You shut the door and leaned against it, chest heaving.

Soldier paced. “We regroup. Retaliate. Set booby traps. Improvised explosives. Kill or be killed.”

Demo shook his head. “You’ll get us all ripped to shreds.”

Ignoring the duo, you slump to sit on the floor, gripping your knees, listening for the thing outside. It didn’t bang. It didn’t scream. It waited. It waited...and your shoulder burned.

“What is that thing?” you asked, pain lacing your tone as you speak with a pained hiss.

Demo looked at the map. “That ain’t RED. Ain’t BLU. That’s what happens when they twist men too far.”

Soldier cocked his head. “Too far? That's a goddamned understatement."

There was nowhere safe. Nowhere real.

Then a hand on your shoulder. Heavy. Calloused. Solid. At your flinch, the hand retracted.

“Hey,” Demo said, crouching in front of you. “Look at me. Breathe with me now. In… and out. That’s it.”

You blinked past the haze. His face was bruised, bleeding—but steady. Kind, somehow, even here.

“We’re not leavin’ you behind,” he murmured. “You’re with us. You hear me?”

Soldier knelt beside him, unslinging his helmet. His expression was oddly soft without it—creased with dirt and worry, too tired for rage.

“You are not a soldier,” he said plainly. “But you’re here. That means something.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your hands. “I don’t know how to fight. I’m just… I shouldn’t be here."

“None of us should,” Demo said. “But we are.”

Soldier gave a small nod. “We’ll protect you. That’s an order.”

And somehow, that absurd line—the blunt weight of it—made your throat tighten. You bit back a sob. You weren’t okay. But you weren’t alone.

Outside, something still waited. Everyone knew it.

But inside this room, between the two men who had seen too much and kept moving anyway, you found the smallest ember of calm.

They would get you out. Or die trying.

And right now… that was enough.

You flinched when he touched your arm again. Soldier’s hands were big, scarred, and unshaking. The warmth of his palm grounded you, but the pressure made you bite down hard on your lip.

He noticed.

“I’m going to fix it,” he said, his voice gentler than usual—though still stamped with command. “You won’t like it. But you’ll use it again.”

You tried to nod, breath hitching. “Its gonna hurt...I-..fine. O-Okay. Okay. Just—do it.”

He reached into one of his pockets, pulled out a half-empty, dirty bandage roll. “Bite this.”

You obeyed without question. Half regretting not asking demo for a swig from the flask he had. The cotton tasted like dust and old antiseptic. Gross.

Soldier moved behind you. One arm braced across your chest; the other gripped your wrist.

“This will hurt,” he said near your ear. “But I’ve done worse. To myself. You’re tougher than you think.”

Then, before you could brace— A sharp jerk. A pop.

White hot pain seared through you, and you screamed into the bandage. Everything went black for a second, then snapped into place. Hot tears blurring your vision, as you inhaled through your nose.

It was over.

Watching you, Soldier smiled, the littlest spark of positive human emotion that possibly existed in this place. All inhabitants covered in blood and grime.

“You did good,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you anon! This was lovely to write, and I hope that this was to your liking.

[cluelessatthispoint]

I don’t know if your still taking Emesis Blue requests, but would love to see a story with that Mutated Scout thing. Maybe like a Yandere one where it’s stalking the reader while there exploring the slaughter house. Something spooky idk 😋

Sure thing Anon! Sorry about the really long, long, loooonnng wait.

warnings: mild gore, swearing.

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Only One Left

The slaughterhouse greets you with silence—dense, oppressive, the kind that hums in your bones. Each step falls heavy, sneakers tapping against stained concrete, a sharp contrast to the stillness. Only your breath and the occasional groan of warped steel accompany you.

You can’t recall how the trail led here. Only that a letter—plain, forgettable—slid under your door that morning. A promise whispered between its lines: answers. Fool’s bait. And now, this place. A ruin reeking of iron and old death. Blood hangs in the air like fog, sweet and rot-thick.

Your grip tightens around the flashlight. Its beam barely pierces the dark, but it’s all you’ve got. The door behind you creaks—then slams shut. A shiver races up your spine.

Alone. At least, that’s what you pretend.

“This is bullshit,” slips from your lips, too soft to be brave.

That’s the lie you wrap around yourself like a coat.

You press forward through a corridor of rusted meat hooks and shattered tile, their surfaces slick with things you don’t name. Then—movement. Skittering. Not small. Not distant. Sharp and fast like claws on tile.

A cry cuts through the dark. Nasal. Grating. Wounded. Human—but not quite.

You hesitate, and the silence rushes back in like water filling a grave. No breeze. No light, except that sickly cone of yellow in your hand. Walls slick with ancient blood breathe around you. The floor squelches underfoot. The walls weep something dark. You try not to look too closely.

You're not meant to be here. But something called you anyway.

A story, maybe. A whisper passed between frightened lips: They went in. None came out. And now—here you are, walking their bones.

Hooks swing lazily on dead air. One locker door yawns open nearby, streaked with something brown and flaking. A mirror inside—shattered—offers back a warped reflection: a face drawn tight with dread. Tired. Pale. Not quite yours anymore.

You don’t linger.

Past another hallway, words scrawled across peeling paint: "YoU LOVEd ME" The letters drip, their meaning crawling under your skin. The words twitch at the edges of your mind. You try to place them, but they slip from your grasp like dreams on waking.

Someone’s eyes are on you. You feel them. You spin—nothing. But it’s colder now. The dark feels heavier.

You quicken your pace.

Then— A voice.

Thick and wrong, warped like sound dragged through water. It seeps from the vents, low and intimate, like something exhaling against your ear.

“I watched you sleep… You smiled once. At me... I think.” “They screamed. You didn’t. You saw me.” “That’s why you’re mine.”

A broken laugh trails the words, sharp with glee. Something scrapes along

Then the voice returns, closer now. Slow and sticky.

“I remember how you smelled when you were scared.”

Pause.

“You looked at me like you knew me. Maybe you did.”

Instinct overrides reason. Muscles scream as you sprint, breath ripping from your throat. Thoughts stutter—fragment before they form.

Just move. Run.

A door—corroded, half-eaten by rust—appears in your path. You slam it shut, throw the lock, and press your back to it as your lungs claw for air.

Silence.

Then... the scrape returns. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

You step back.

Something presses from the other side. Metal bends inward. A claw—blackened, twitching—sneaks through the seam, trembling with glee. Hungry.

Memory fractures like glass behind your eyes. Not memories that belong to you—but ones that wear your face.

A heavy door appears at the corridor’s end. You throw yourself through, slam it shut, and twist the lock. Your hands shake. Your throat burns.

BANG. The frame jumps.

BANG. The hinges scream.

Then— The door gives way.

Something presses from the other side. Metal bends inward. A claw—blackened, twitching—sneaks through the seam, trembling with glee. Hungry.

Memory fractures like glass behind your eyes. Not memories that belong to you—but ones that wear your face.

And he enters.

Its shadow trembles, showing that it’s excited to be near you again.

Tall. Bent. A thing once shaped like a man. Now too much—too stretched. Skin peels in thin sheets from muscle that twitches in anticipation. Teeth too numerous. Eyes too bright. His grin spreads far enough to hurt.

A crooked figure spills through—limbs too long, twitching in spasms. Flesh sloughs from bone, revealing muscle slick and twitching beneath. His grin—jagged, forced—cuts deep into cheeks. The eyes, pale and glossy, fixate on you with childlike wonder. And something else. Possession.

His ribs stretch against thin skin like prison bars barely holding something in.

He steps closer. His voice comes softly. Almost gentle.

“I saved this place for us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know that the monster Scout can't talk. But I felt that I needed to add something to make him easier story wise to write. I hope that's okay!

[cluelessatthispoint]

Which character should I add to be an antagonist in my Dragon's Hoard fic?

If anyone has any ideas or information on vampires, or other types of blood suckers. Please feel free to voice them in the comments. :)

[cluelessatthispoint]

Dragon's Hoard: pt 10

(inspired by docdudo and bluegiragi)

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The next day dragged on like a snail’s crawl. The heavy silence that had settled overnight was felt by all—but none dared to break it. The look that lingered on your face said it all. Ghost could see all too well the weariness that lingered behind those sad eyes of yours. A tiredness that stemmed from fear. A long lasting, anxious type of fear.

The damp morning air hung thick, the taste of fresh spring lingering on Ghost’s tongue. The morning dawned gray and damp. Mist clung to the mouth of the cave like breath held too long, almost anticipatory in nature. The glistening drops of morning dew lay on the blades of grass like a sea of shinning emeralds. As fair as the morning is, Ghost felt the need to let his eyes linger on you.

You stayed near the small fire that Price had made in the early hours of the dawn. Still wrapped in the strange quiet that had followed your exchange with Dragon hybrid. The stone amethyst he'd given you still felt heavy and warm in your pocket, like it belonged there now.

Ghost felt that the mornings should be peaceful. A relaxing start to a new day. A chance for new discoveries with their newest addition.

Soap, of course, had other ideas.

He dropped down in front of you with a grin that showed far too many teeth. His maw far too wide to be human. In his large hands, fiddling almost anxiously as his energy to play skyrocketed with the dawning of a new day. The battered pelt-ball he'd crafted from old leathers—only today, in the better light of morning, you noticed the strange texture of it. Too thin for animal hide. Almost... human.

"Oi, pup," he said, bouncing the ball sharply on the stone floor. The sound echoes off the walls. "Game?"

You hesitated. Unsure of what to say as sleep still clung to your tired eyes.

He didn't wait for a yes.

In a blur of motion, he tossed the ball toward you. The sudden object hurled at your face shook you to your core. Dodging it just in time, it bounced clumsily, and you reached out on instinct, catching it just before it rolled into the firepit.

Soap whooped. His tail wagging happily. “Look at that! Got claws in ya yet, pup.”

You didn’t laugh. Not in the mood for Soap's antics, you glared.

But he didn’t seem to notice. He crouched low, coiled like a spring. Playful, but watchful too. That tilt to his head again—the same one Gaz wore when he didn’t understand your fear.

“C’mon, let’s play. Just a bit. Loosen you up, eh?”

Before you could say no, he pounced.

You flinched.

Pausing right up close to your face, he frowned. crouching low, arms open wide. His bright baby blue eyes shimmering with concern and mirth.

“C’mon, wee pup—thought we were playing hide and seek?”

You blinked at him, heart ticking faster.

You blinked rapidly, heart thudding in your chest. “I wasn’t playing,” you mumbled, blinking away the sting of unshed tears.

He froze—only for a moment. His tail flicked once behind him. His grin didn’t leave, but it changed. Smaller now. More careful.

“Aww, pup. Didn’t mean to spook ya. Just thought you might need a bit of fun.”

He ruffled your hair before you could dodge, claws gentle but still too much. Always too much.

“Y’know, when I was your age, I used to chase rabbits through the heather. Could outrun half my pack, too. Real fast.”

He crouched beside you, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes softened.

“But you—you don’t run right?”

You stiffened, the weight in your stomach turning turbulent. “What?”

Soap’s head tilted, studying you. Not cruel. Just… honest.

“Not sayin’ you're weak, pup. You’re smart. Quiet. Clever. But you don’t run. Not the way little ones are supposed to.” His voice is calm now, still. The tone makes you pause. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t mean to stop. You wanted to run. Wanted your legs to move. But when people shouted, or reached, or laughed too loud—you just stop. Like a rabbit in the jaws of a trap, too scared to twitch.

“I'm human...I don’t like being chased,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Soap’s face shifted. His grin was gone now, replaced by something deeper. Older.

He leaned in, voice low:

“Aye..human....But...No one does, no one likes being chased pup. Not when they’ve been hunted before.”

You looked up at him—really looked.

And you knew that he knew. Somehow, he knew what it felt like. Being chased. Hunted...That twist in your belly when something big moved too fast. That ache in your legs when you had to run and couldn’t.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, quieter now. “Just… sometimes I forget. I was born in a pack. Raised with play fights and tumbles. Bitin’ was how we learned each other’s names.”

He offered a slow, toothy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His nostrils flaring as he took a whiff of your panicked scent.

“You're only human....I forget that sometimes.”

turning away, you can feel hot tears running down your cheeks. Your throat ached.

Soap didn’t make a move to touch you again.

But before he left, he said one last thing—whisper soft.

“You're not fast enough, pup. Not yet. But I’ll teach you. I’ll make sure next time you can run.”

You weren’t sure if that was a promise or a threat.

The others were hunting or busy. Or pretending to be busy. As Soap wandered away leaving you to your own devices. You scowl down at the ball he left behind. That gross, misshapen thing that he made...looks too familiar to be just animal skins.

You didn’t realize Ghost was watching until he moved. By the look of it as you turned to face him, it seems that he watched the whole ordeal.

Moving quietly, he lowered himself to a crouch beside you, slowly, like a shadow folding into shape. No words at first. Just silence, until he spoke.

“You’ve been quiet.”

saying nothing, you wipe at your eyes. The shock of Soap's words and actions still embedded in your mind as fresh as the morning dew itself.

He didn’t seem to mind.

“Saw what happened earlier,” he said. “With Soap.”

You tensed out of reflex. Whether he noticed or not he said nothing.

Ghost glanced sideways at you—eyes unreadable behind the mask, but voice low, careful, and deliberate.

“He doesn’t mean harm, y’know. Not in his head.”

Swallowing down your tears, your eyes landed down on your hands. “I know.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

Pausing, you still as you glance back up. You gaze searching his own as he stares from beneath his mask.

“You ever watch wolves play?”

The silence stretched on as you felt no words to say.

“It looks like chaos. Teeth and growls and tumbling. But it’s never random. There are rules. Signals. A way of saying I could hurt you—but I won’t. That’s how Soap loves. Loud. With teeth. And he doesn’t always know how to stop.”

You swallowed hard. Over the course of the time you've known the pack, the Hoard. You saw their ins and outs. How they interacted with each other and with you. It was scary and unusual...but anything new is scary and unusual at first. Not wanting to be rude the words spill out from your trembling lips. “He’s not like the things out there in the forest.”

Ghost nodded slowly. His voice steady and calm. “No. But he’s still built like them.”

He slowly so as to not startle you he moved. Tapping a gloved finger to his temple.

“Instinct doesn’t go away because you smile. Doesn’t die just because you want to be kind. And Soap… he wants to be loved so badly, sometimes he forgets how small you are.”

You looked down again, fingernails digging into your sleeves. The memory of being chased, even playfully, still burned behind your ribs. His laughter. The heavy pressure. The claws that almost caught you, but didn't.

Ghost leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his knees.

“He’d protect you. Kill for you, even. No question about that.”

His voice dropped an octave as Soap turned his head to smile at you and Soap before stalking away to another part of the cave.

“They don’t always notice when they’re the ones you need protecting from.”

You didn’t speak.

Ghost didn’t press.

He stood a moment later, rising with that same soundless ease, and left you with one last burning truth.

“Just ‘cause someone means well… doesn’t mean they won’t break you.”

Standing silently, he watched as Soap's form retreated back into the depths of the cave. Standing like a silent Sentinel his shadows wisped and curled.

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Here's chapter 10!!!!!!!! Its more dialogue heavy than I'm used to. So, if there are any mistakes, feel free to let me know in the comments. I'd really appreciate it. And thank you to everyone who commented on chapter 9! It made my day! <3