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pochipop · 5 months ago

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＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — DWELLING, ROTTING, SURVIVING (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — speaking isn't the only way to understand, and he's oh so gentle .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical dark content + setting .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — hi, i posted, please stop bullying me in my inbox :(( - all jokes aside, thank you guys for all the nice messages and compliments! & happy pride to my lgbt followers! funnily enough, don't think i've ever "come out" on this blog, but if it's not obvious, i'm bisexual lol so there's that!

You found yourself pressed against a cold, damp wall in what you could only assume was a room close to the belly of this labyrinth-like building. Breaths came in shallow, frightened gasps as the lights overhead flickered ominously, like they were trying to warn you of impending danger. . . Danger that you felt sting your chest like needles poking through your skin. The oppressive silence surrounding you was broken only by your intakes of air and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of something —or someone— (or maybe a mixture of the two, in this God-forsaken place) nearby.

Squinting into the gloom, a familiar shape emerged from the dark hallway, slipping into the room with you and pausing in the doorway. You felt relief take hold of you.

Mr Crawling. . .

That, of course, likely wasn’t his real name, but you didn’t speak in the language of clicks, noises, and chirp-like sounds that he did, and he didn’t speak with your tongue either. It was for that reason in particular that you’d bludgeoned his head with a crowbar not long ago, to which he sulked in a corner, bleeding and whining, and you were left to feel terrible for hurting the first entity that had tried to go out of his way to show you true empathy in a way you understood.

Apologizing didn’t even begin to feel like enough. Probably because you were at least ninety percent sure he didn’t understand what you were saying anyway. Helping him with the wound perhaps made it slightly better. . . But also not really, because even now as he skims across the ground to where you are, there’s a sense of guilt that weighs heavy on your heart.

Pale, grey-skinned and moving like any non-human mammal of sorts, his face is mostly obscured by the long, stringy black hair that falls in vine-like, clumped strands all the way to the floor from his hunched position. There’s an unsettling, animalistic grace to the way he approaches, but you don’t flinch this time when he puts the flat of his cold palm against the crown of your head, as if trying to soothe your breathing. All of that initial fear has been replaced by a strange comfort of sorts, and you look up at him, thankful for his presence now more than ever.

He tilts his head, as if listening for something, and you watch him warily with the same crowbar clutched in your fist. A part of you felt bad carrying it around like that with his blood still smeared on it, but here, you knew it was foolish to venture around without a weapon of some sort. Not protecting yourself for the sake of his feelings was, unfortunately, not an option as far as you were concerned, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Mr Crawling,” you whisper softly, reaching out to take his hand into your own.

He seemed to really respond to physical touch, and if language was always going to get in the way, you figured it was best to bridge the gap in another manner. This was the next best thing you could think of.

His head raises, and you suppose he’s trying to meet your gaze, though you can’t see his eyes through the mess of his hair.

“I need to understand you,” you say.

Ironically, that’s a bit of a hopeless endeavor in this sort of environment. It’s not like you have all the time in the world to pick up a new, completely unrelated language to yours while fighting for your life. Still. . . Gesturing had been helpful previously, especially for directions. The hooded figure you ran into first was quick to point around, that severed hand that had guided you for a bit was just as poignant in that area, and the silver-haired entity with a blindfold over his eyes had also tried to communicate with you in that sense as well. So why couldn’t you do it vice-versa?

“Me,” you point to yourself, “you,” you point to him.

He stared blankly for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. His had retracted from your head to point at himself, then to you, a clicking noise coming from the back of his throat. You smile. It was a small victory amongst a series of devastating losses, but you were keen on taking it and running with it as far as you could stretch it.

“Okay,” you breathe, talking more to yourself than to him. “Let’s try this then. . .”

Feeling a surge of determination, you touch your stomach and then mime eating.

“Hungry. Eat.”

At this point, you were still too anxious to have an appetite, but you knew you’d need food eventually. You were hoping he’d be able to help you with that somehow. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen any evidence of there being food around here, —no containers, boxes, or wrappings, but he seemed to understand your gestures and mimicked you; sitting back on his knees to rub his stomach through his filthy t-shirt, then nibbling on an imaginary item.

He looks back to you, as if seeking approval. You smile, hoping he understands that to be a sign of good will, then nod your head to drive home the association. Beneath his swath of hair, he smiles too, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the curtain of black strands; dark and thoughtful.

“Good,” you murmur, feeling slightly relieved.

If nothing else, this was progress. You spend a while longer trying to communicate basic needs and warnings: things like yes, no, stop, come, drinking, sleeping, and a thank you in the way of patting his head. You’re not sure he understood the depth of it by any means, but he did seem to enjoy it. . . Like a puppy. The thought made you smile genuinely and absentmindedly, if only for a moment. The clicks and chirps he makes are mostly lost on you, but the noises are comforting nonetheless. This rudimentary bridge of understanding soothes you just a little, and you find yourself feeling very thankful that he’s here in the first place.

He has your face cupped in his hands now, as if he’s inspecting you. . . Or perhaps admiring? That is, until you feel his body tense and all his little sounds abruptly come to a halt. A small growl reverberates from the back of his throat and his wide smile droops into a frown. Suddenly, he’s roughly dragging you along, tugging urgently on your arms, to which you comply and follow along with him, scooting across the floor until you reach a shadowed alcove. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but he seems to know his way around this place like the back of his cold, grey hand.

He covers your mouth for a moment, then shakes his head. You cover your mouth, take your hand away, then shake your head no, just to ensure to him that you’ve understood. He pats your head then crouches in front of you, using his own body as a makeshift shield for yours. His long, spindly arms cage you against the wall. Fear rises inside you once again, though not because of him and his actions. Rather, the faint, rhythmic thuds of footsteps have begun reverberating through the hall just outside, and you recognize the harrowing pattern they click in.

Mr Scarletella.

You encountered him once before and felt every hair on your body stand on end. The way he moved through the halls with a menacing flow that sounded almost eerily melodic, and the strange, unsettling red glow that seemed to exude off him that nearly drew you in like a moth to a flame. The steps echoed off the walls of the building and your heart began to hammer against your ribs. Mr Crawling moved closer as he came into view through the doorway that lacked any actual door to close, his long, black hair tickling your nose ever so softly. Dressed in scarlet and carrying his ever-present umbrella, you decide quite readily that you’ve seen enough, closing your eyes and focusing on the cool feel of Mr Crawling’s skin, on his musky scent (like mildew and a bit of rot, which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’s not like he can really help it down here.)

Though you’re no longer watching, the entity dripping in scarlet moves with an unsettling, almost predatory grace, glancing about the corridors as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

Once again, Mr Crawling presses closer to you. Now, you’re able to feel the way his body trembles with fear, and you realize that he’s just as terrified as you are, though you can’t tell if that fear is for himself, for you, or for both of you at once. And it’s not like you can ask. Still, you open your eyes just long enough to look up at him, Mr Scarletella in your peripheral as you force a smile and touch the crown of Mr Crawling’s head, offering what little comfort you can. He still quivers, but seems to appreciate the gesture, though he doesn’t risk a happy chirp.

The danger passes as the man in scarlet disappears down the hallway, then turns the corner. You let out a silent sigh of relief and Mr Crawling relaxes after several moments of continued tension, finally going limp and releasing you from against the wall. He slumps onto his knees, which seems to be his most comfortable position, and he looks at you clearly through the darkness. In that moment, it feels like you’ve understood one another perfectly.

“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely, though you know he can’t really understand you.

You’re just hoping the gratitude comes across somehow, but at the risk that it won’t, you touch your chest over top of where your heart’s still beating like a drum, then touch his chest in the same place. It dawns on you that you don’t feel a heartbeat at all, and you almost pull your hand away. . . But something stops you. Something that says even if you’re right and he’s something less (or more) than human, —it doesn’t matter as much as the kindness he’s shown you. So your hand lingers until you softly pull away.

He grabs your cheeks again and holds them delicately.

#homicipher #mr crawling #homicipher x reader #homicipher chapter one #homicipher chapter 1 #mr crawling x reader #mr scarletella #mr hood #mr silver hair #mr silver-hair #mr gap #mr chopped head #homicipher game #mr crawling reader insert #homicipher reader insert #mr crawling homicpher #homicipher fanfic #homicipher fanfiction

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sh1-n0bu · 9 months ago

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𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 31: dressed up/in costume with everyone from hsr and genshin impact

warnings: dressed up/in costume, lingerie, maid costume, slight exhibitionism, cock/strap traditions, creampie, overstimulation, degrading, praise, hair pulling, oral, fingering, belly bulge, dacryphilia, brat taming, collaring, usage of toys, master kink, size/reverse size kink, tentacles, roleplay on some, slapping, squirting, bondage — shit is messy and a lot so enjoy it my fellow hornies. i sold my soul for this

notes: some characters has been left out due to uncertainty of their ages. i included characters that i think have been canonically proven as an adult and of age!! dainty chain divider belongs to @/cafekitsune

laid over the table, spread out with the maid dress in a mess, your sweet darling couldn’t handle it further as they come into your mouth again. shaking thighs coming around your head in a vice grip, slurred words and sobs of “p-please! mashter, can’t take more…! unghhh… guhcck♡︎” coming out of their mouth as they shake their head. sweet little maid of yours, can’t even hold their arousal back.

it was such a cute dress too! reaching their knees, frilly at the ends, soft and comfortable fabric. without a panties to cover their dripping arousal as it rolls down their thighs of course. too bad your maid was so incompetent and couldn’t hold themselves back.

it didn’t help that the vibrator inside them was buzzing away at the highest setting. sitting snuggly deep inside them as they try to fulfill their new role of being your maid. it didn’t last long when the vibrator hit their sensitive spot — that one spongy spot inside them that caused them to let out an uncharacteristic squeal, dropping the cup of coffee on the carpet as their hand goes down to push the maid dress’ skirt between their legs. legs shaking, thighs rubbing together, you knew that reaction.

reaching a hand out, you pull their chin up to force them to look at you. what a cute look on their face. all flush and red, biting their lips, eyes tearing up at their own oversensitivity. unable to hold themselves back any longer, your maid clutches at the edge of the table tightly as they come into the insides of the dress with a debouched moan.

that’s what led to this. being ate out as they lay spread on your table. gods, the vibrator was still deep inside them, flush against that one spongy spot. they really can’t handle more stimulation, their poor mind would shatter and their body would break! they already were with their hands flying everywhere, trying to grasp something to stabilize themselves as tears just continue to roll down their pretty red cheeks. jaw slack open in a silent scream as they come into your eagerly awaiting mouth again.

“mAS—! masterehhh…♡︎♡︎ p-please… no moowwhree!! can’t— ♡︎♡︎ can’t!” they cry out again, slurred gibberish continuing to fall out of their drool covered lips as they squirt into your mouth. not good. you really have to teach your poor maid a lessen on discipline.

wriothesley, capitano, jean, ganyu, diluc, childe, yun jin, kazuha, sucrose, aether, xiao, layla, kaveh, kirara, furina, thoma, albedo, baizhu, charlotte, ayato, navia, blade, dan heng, himeko, luocha, sushang, gepard, bronya rand, caelus, argenti, hanya, march, natasha, topaz, tingyun

“n-no no, please wait—! t-too much, i just aaahng—! just came♡︎♡︎!!” your lover let out a squeal, kicking their legs weakly against your hips, hands smacking against your shoulders to try and slow you down just a bit so they can get their mess of a mind back in place. the large bell attached to the front of their collar jingles at each movement, your sweet pet keening as they feel the familiar warmth of your cum being fucked deeper into their insides.

it was their fault to begin with. acting so high and mighty, being bratty and even downright refusing to acknowledge your presence. so, it would only be understandable to dress them up in their appropriate clothes according to their attitude and teach them a lesson right? by clothes you meant nothing except for the cute fake cat ears atop their head and the collar around their neck with a large bell attached to the front.

so what was their problem now? it was them who started this little game with acting high and mighty in the first place to see who would show themselves to be in charge of the relationship, as they put it.

“stupid kitty. i told you to keep your voice low, didn’t i?” you hiss in anger, stopping your thrust completely with your cock sitting snug inside their warm walls. crying about it being too much and yet going ahead and daring to whine in loss at the feeling of your movements stopping. what a demanding pet you had.

with a click of your teeth, you pull out a small ball gag from the nightstand at the side before putting the gag into their mouth and fastening the buckle. they tried to say something, probably something to deny your words or the muzzle, but you make no effort to let them continue their bratty behavior.

pulling out completely, you watch quietly as the large amount of cum you fucked inside their pretty hole comes gushing out. white, transparent colored fluid dripping out of their sensitive, puffy hole, dripping down onto the bed sheets as your lover shifts and squirms on the bed. they felt so exposed under your scrutinizing gaze.

with a light smack to their thigh that got them whining, you prop their legs open further as you watch the cum seep out of their hole. how fucking delicious. slowly easing your tip back in, your gaze shifts to their facial expression. red in the face and ears, drool and tears slipping down their face and onto the pillow. they looked so pathetic as their glossy eyes try to focus on you.

“quiet kitty. learn your lesson” you remind them before thrusting the rest of the strap inside. immediately, they throw their head back, toes curling as they scream into the ball gag. ah, they came from just that too.

jing yuan, sampo, kafka, fu xuan, silver wolf, dr ratio, seele, aventurine, black swan, serval, qingque, faruzan, heizou, wanderer, venti, kaeya, alhaitham, cyno, lisa, ayato, furina, hu tao, yelan, eula, lyney, xianyun, albedo, itto, kaveh, childe, dottore, pantalone

going out for a halloween party wasn’t exactly the most brightest idea, you realized. especially with your lover who — for some reason — decided to wear a fluffy skirt witch dress. accompanied by the iconic witch broom and a pointy tipped hat sitting atop their head. but there was a problem. your lover was feeling a bit mischievous today it seems as any moment of privacy or when the two of you meet eyes over the room and the blaring song, they would wink and slowly slip their skirt up until showing you that they were wearing a laced underwear.

at first, your reaction was like any other lovers’. flushing cheeks, looking around to make sure no one else saw and giving them a flustered smile accompanied by a thumbs up or so. until it got old real fast as they keep making sexual gestures. so, who’s to blame you when you finally had enough and drag your lover off to some random empty room of the place, lock the doors and shove your lover onto the bed, sexually frustrated and ready to fuck them stupid.

happy that their request was being accepted and their secret plans working, they tried to play the role of ‘damsel in distress’. moaning about how cruel you are for shoving them down, mean for tearing off their panties and how you were acting like a hungry wolf. to which you only rolled your eyes at and pushed a finger inside their already — not so surprisingly — lubed and spread open hole.

“shh, darling. there are other people in the room next door” you whisper, quietly chuckling as your lover only nods dumbly, mouth full of your fingers, suckling on them to keep their shrill moans quiet as your cock continues to split them open. too many rounds, too much pleasure and the cute ring of white around your strap was a nice reminder of how easily they got fucked dumb.

angling your hips, you thrust inside their still tight hole again, this time successfully hitting their sensitive spot. immediately, they twitched and kicked their legs before wrapping it around your waist, pushing your tip deeper inside to kiss that spongy muscle again and again as they cream around your cock once more.

jing yuan, tingyun, hanya, dan heng, dan heng il, argenti, asta, guinaifen, kafka, luka, march, sampo, serval, topaz, stelle, gallagher, yukong, acheron, dr. ratio, albedo, alhaitham, itto, beidou, dehya, eula, hu tao, kaeya, lisa, lyney, heizou, childe, scaramouche, tighnari, venti, yae miko, yanfei, yelan, sandrone, capitano

“a-anhh… you sure about this, darling?” your lover asks with stuttered breath, naked, back on the bed with their legs spread out as a few slimy tentacles slowly curl around their legs, starting from their ankles as they slowly and tentatively make their way up their bare skin. you hum comfortingly, their head on your lap as you squeeze their hand gently as a way of reminding them there’s nothing to be hesitant of.

recently, you went to the sex shop you visit to see what was new there. the shop owner — having already become acquainted with you and your lover due to your frequent visits — offered you a new “toy”. tentacles, in a small square box. they said something about it being a prototype and gave you a mini book about guides, how to use it, what and where the creature was made from etc etc. after a careful amount of research and preparation, you decided to buy it. and now here you were, having talked with your lover about the new “toy” you brought and wondering if they would be okay with trying it out with you.

of course, if anything were to go slightly bit wrong, you wouldn’t hesitate to take over and put the slimy thing back into its box.

“i’m sure it’ll be fine, love. after all, we read through the user guide enough times and even contacted the shop owner. now just relax” you comfort them, one of your hands running through their hair to soothe them. tilting their chin up, you lean down to place a soft kiss on their lips just as they let out a startled whine.

looking down, you could see that the tentacles were now gently prodding at their slicked hole. you had already prepared them beforehand just in case the prototype would be too harsh. seeming to have felt that they were loose, the tentacle slowly pushes itself in. more and more as the long, girthy thing disappears into their hole as your lover stutters of it feeling a bit odd.

“should i take it out then?” you ask, a hand over their belly where a cute little bulge was made due to the sheer size of the thing pushed inside. your lover only shakes their head, a drawn out moan following when you gently push on the bulge. gods, it was a big one.

“n-no… no need. it just feels… new and unfo—eeeck!!” their voice is cut off by a shriek when the tentacle starts to pump itself in and out, seemingly hitting their little bundle of nerves inside them. judging by how much your lover was thrashing their legs, trying to close them, you could guess how deep the tentacle was reaching.

“tsk tsk. darlin’ if you wanna feel good, you gotta keep your legs open, y’know?” you click your teeth, about to reach over before stopping. curious, you watch as the tentacle seemed to double or triple as two other emerge, pushing their legs apart. huh, there was no warning of the creature being able to duplicate itself.

taken aback by how relentless the creature was in fucking into their spongy spot, your lover keens. shaky hands going down to try and push them away before you pry their hands off softly. feeling betrayed, they let out a whine. turning to look at you with tears brimming in their eyes.

“[n-name]! th-they gcck! they’re b-bullying meeeehh♡︎♡︎ t-these aaanh gyuck!! things a-are bullying me♡︎♡︎” they sputter out, tripping over their words as fat globs of tears fall down their cheeks. not long after, their legs shake and twitch, back arching off of the bed so prettily as they squirt on the bedsheets. even then, the tentacle doesn’t stop. instead, it only seems to speed up its movements with renewed vigor as if wanting to make your lover squirt more.

“aaAAGH—! c-can’t!! [name] make it sto—aanh aangk♡︎♡︎ j-just came… s-sensitiiivvee♡︎” your lover drawls out, mind already starting to blank out as their hands tug on yours to ground themselves. you simply shush their loud mewls with a kiss, hearing the filthy squelching noise of the tentacle fucking your lover as you simply let the “toy” continue. this was a good purchase.

gallagher, caelus, dan heng, ruan mei, yingxing, asta, fu xuan, himeko, luka, natasha, welt, zhongli, yanfei, xiao, lumine, tighnari, childe, kokomi, nilou, neuvillette, mona, lynette, kuki shinobu, sara, keqing, ganyu, kaveh, diluc

lately, work has been becoming more and more exhausting. it was just simply too much. too much pressure, too much workload, too much stress. and your lover seemed to have noticed it. i mean, who wouldn’t? with the way you’re constantly slouched over, dragging your feet as you trip over your words. and those dark eyebags too.

so, they simply thought of a nice way to help you destress. to help you take your mind off of work for at least the night.

putting on one of the few lingeries they own — more specifically, the one you bought for them on one of their birthdays — they quietly make their way into the room that works as an office whenever you decide to work from home. scattered papers, broken pens and pencils lying about with you yourself looking like a corpse sitting amongst them, your lover felt their heart ache.

you were nearly falling asleep on your seat when a hand was gently placed on your shoulder, jumping slightly in your seat as you turn to look at the owner. ah, your darling. wearing a beautiful lingerie as they smile at you softly. but even their smile couldn’t hide the concern in their eyes.

“oh? what’s the occasion, my love? did i accidentally saw the date wrong and missed a special day?” you ask softly, rubbing your eyes as they shuffle to sit on your lap. hands running through your hair, smoothing them out as they pepper your face with soft kisses.

“hmm no. just wanted to surprise you” they hum soothingly, draping against you so that their chest was against yours. you could almost hear your synchronized heartbeats in the silence of the room.

“don’t you think it’s about time for you to get some break from work? and i don’t mean just a five minute break, i mean a whole vacation type of break” they mumble against the crown of your head, placing your hand over their chest and letting you squeeze them. they always knew you had love for simply just touching them. a healing factor, you once teased them when they asked you why you always smush yourself against their chest. they may or may not have beat you up for that.

“mmh.. i suppose so. once this cursed documents are finished, i will definitely take a vacation type of break” you hum softly, one hand on their, massaging the soft flesh as your other draws shapes on the skin of their hips. feeling the texture of their skin on your fingers was exactly the type of grounding sensation you needed. how could you ever stop being so grateful to be theirs.

feather light touches trail from their hips to their inner thighs, making them shudder in excitement as they roll their hips to indicate they wanted your fingers already. taking their gesture with a chuckle, you push the underwear of their lingerie aside. softly rolling the tips of your forefinger over their puckering hole, you give a little experimental push inside. only to find yourself surprised at how wet they were.

“aww have you been touching yourself, love? have i been so neglectful you opted to pleasuring yourself?” you grin mischievously, grinning at the soft pink on their cheeks. they only huff and lightly swat at your shoulder, warning you not to get too cocky. you laugh in response, finding their embarrassment endearing as you slip a finger inside. not too much after, second finger follows before a third is pushed in at how loose they were.

“aaaannh.. love your fingers. they’re so much better than my own” your lover sighs out softly, quiet moans slipping past their lips that they didn’t even bother to muffle as their hips roll over your fingers. attempting to ride your three fingers inside them as their moans and whimpers grow louder in volume. you could use a de-stressing action like this more in the future.

kafka, blade, dan feng, jingliu, yukong, natasha, ruan mei, hanya, gepard, al haitham, baizhu, beidou, ningguang, chevreuse, cyno, dehya, jean, kaeya, lisa, mona, rosaria, shenhe, thoma, lumine, dainsleif, yae miko, arlecchino, columbina

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tbaluver · 3 months ago

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Hi ,may I request LaDs boys headcanons with rope/handcuffs, etc.?

Using Handcuffs- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: 18+, suggestive content, MDNI, filthy filthy smut, smut with no plot i think a/n: hi anonnie i hope this was okay ! i added some smut after the head canons bc i've been busy with school but ill have some more content out for you guys later this week ! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Would use handcuffs for roleplay because him a uniform is kind of hot. The handcuffs would be from the Linkon police station so both of you have to do your best to not leave any evidence of what y'all did with the handcuffs.

He would be worried at first if the handcuffs were hurting you so you two would create a safe word just in case.

Would take his time with you, listening very carefully to the reactions he does to your body. He'll press wet hot kisses and trail his tongue all over your body. Makes sure to appreciate every part and inch. He might even tease you by pinching or rubbing swirls with his tongue on your hardened nipples while making eye contact with you.

── .✦

“You’re under arrest.”

He pulls away from the heated kiss, securing your other wrist and pinning you firmly against the bed. He gazes down at your body, one finger tracing your shapes and curve. His evol police uniform was a mess, his hair disheveled and nearly every button was undone.

He removes his belt with ease, eagerly trying to release his throbbing cock from his work pants. As he takes off his uniform, his toned chest and muscles are fully revealed, while he leans down towards you. He sucks and swirls his tongue around your hard bud and lavishes the other with the shared attention with your other breast.

He lets one free hand slide between your legs, carefully exploring your soft lips before easing his shaft into you. You wish you could hold onto him for support but instead you can only grasp the metal restraints on your wrists.

He places open wet kisses along your neck, as he slowly eased in and out of you, pulling out with soft moans. You clench around his cock as your legs wrap around his waist, providing the only support you can manage while your wrists remain restrained.

“Xa-Xavier, please.” You begged, and he shoves himself deeper inside of you until your bellies meet. It felt as if the air in your lungs pushed out as you fought the wave of pleasure that was pounding into you.

“Sorry criminals don’t deserve rewards.”

You tried to keep yourself together but you knew you were closer to falling apart beneath him. His back muscles flexed as he thrusted sharp and fast into you. Small clips of words and pants slipped out of your lips as your legs shake around him. You were a whimpering mess below him as both of you met your sweet release. His thrusts got shallow and erratic as his breath was hot against your skin. He rested his head on your shoulders as he let out a soft sigh.

He slowly looked up at you and smiled softly. The lust and arousal in his eyes are gone, and he leans down to kiss you passionately, as if it’s been weeks since he last did. He pulls away, his fingers softly curve around your cheek.

“Xavier what did I do to become a criminal?”

“For stealing my heart.”

Zayne:

If you were being a brat or stubborn he would use handcuffs to mainly teach you a lesson. Would leave you a whimpering and babbling mess until you admit what you did was wrong.

Although he is trying to teach you a lesson, he'll always make sure to make you finish first, no matter how overstimulated you are, and he'll finish right after you. He'll start off using his fingers or using a vibrator before he fully puts his cock inside you.

Does not like to use rope because he worries that it might give you rope burn so he prefers using handcuffs to easily get you out of it.

Likes to play with your hardened nipples with his slender fingers or his tongue or at the same time. He finds it amusing to know it's that easy to get them hard.

── .✦

It didn’t have to come to this. The point of having to use restraints on you for not following his instructions. It seems you continue to be stubborn. He had to teach you a lesson or two or more.

You had no idea how long it has been since you’ve been tied to this bed. You lost count on how many rounds he has done. Taking and taking, until there is nothing left of you but only a mess he has created.

Your legs were spread wide open as he held the vibrator to your clit again. “ngh- pl-please Zayne..no more need you.” you pleaded as you fidget your arms and the metal of handcuffs clang against the bedframe of the bed.

He scoffed, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “I’ll release you, but only on one condition.” The bed shifts and you can feel him hovering over you. Leaning in, he whispers into your ear, “No touching.” You bite your lip, nodding frantically as he frees your wrists from the handcuffs.

He pumps his cock a couple times before he enters inside of you. The sight of him and his aching red tip somehow produce more juices out of you. Whimpering at the stretch of his girth, your fingers grip the bed sheets to the point your knuckles are turning white. He trails reassuring lips to your jaw and to your neck so you can relax as he continues to fully go inside you. He holds onto your thighs for support so he can hit the exact spot that you love. He rocks his hips, his pace starts off slowly. Once he feels you squeeze him, he picks up the pace, the drag of his cock against your sweet spot leaving you in a trance.

He pounds into you, making your tits bounce. You latch your arms around his back to find some support and hold on for the ride. With every thrust, you're getting closer and closer to your sweet release. His name falling out of your mouth, gasping in between the words, as he fucks you through your high.

Keeping a tight grip on his back, you finally let go, meeting the wave of euphoria that passes through your system and erupts out of your body. You slowly ease your arms off his back, only to feel him grasp one of your hands and secure it back onto the bed frame of the bed.

“Looks like you still haven’t learned your lesson.”

You were in for quite a long night.

Rafayel:

He likes using the handcuffs from time to time. He gets hard off watching you struggle to desperately touch him. He likes watching the puddle of mess your pussy makes all just for him.

He'll like to tease or overstimulate you by edging or putting a vibrator in you til you have you're begging him to touch you.

However if you were the one to tie him up, oh boy, this man would be a whimpering and babbling mess under or over you, depending on the position you have him in. If you wanted to be a little tease, you can blindfold him so he doesn't get to see you. It wouldn't take him long for him to be begging you to let him go so he can touch and see you.

── .✦

He had you tied up to the bed as he slipped a bullet vibrator in you. He steps away from the bed, leaving it feeling empty as he stands fully upright in front of you. He takes in your half naked appearance that’s restrained in handcuffs and he smirks in amusement. Pointing the remote at you, he turns it on, and you feel a slow, pulsing buzz begin.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t finish without me, kay?” He tilts his head with a mischievous grin and he waves the remote playfully before stepping out of the bedroom.

You bite your bottom lip, the sensation swirling around you, pulsing and making you crave his tasty cock. You let out moans and pants as he switches the modes that remind you of him. Your cunt practically fluttering around the vibrator and you struggle to not rock into it.

You're practically yelling and begging for him as the vibrations would go in a pattern of highs and lows that left you aching and stimulated without any direct touches. With your eyes tightly shut, you didn’t even notice him leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his lips, as he fiddled with the vibrators settings. He’s been watching you now for quite some time, clearly amused by the mess you made of yourself.

“Geez cutie, all this for me? I’m flattered.” He teases, kneeling between your legs, spreading your pussy lips with his fingers to take a closer look at your soaking pussy.

“I’m feeling generous from your performance earlier.” He says as he removes the vibrator and replaces it by massaging your clit in gentle circles. You roll your hips to match his pace as much as you can. He slides a finger into your pussy, massaging the insides of your walls, leaving you whining and desperate for more. His fingers speed up, filling the room with lewd sounds of his pretty fingers pumping in and out of your slick cunt.

He couldn’t help it. He’d grip your thighs as he replaces his fingers with his tongue. You can hear the sounds of him tasting you, soft lapping and little pleased whimpers from the back of his throat make your toes curl and hips jump for more. Oh how you desperately want to run your fingers through his hair and hold his head down against your pussy until he makes you cum again and again.

He latches onto your clit, sucking gently in between harsh presses with the tip of his tongue. Your cunt clenched tightly and your body finally gave in. You gasp, hips jolting towards his pretty mouth when you cum, your clit throbbing against his tongue. His chin glistened from your juices. He climbs on top of you, locking eyes with a playful grin. Tilting his head, he asks with a mischievous smile,

“How about an encore, cutie?”

Sylus:

Will use it for roleplay or for brat taming you. Sometimes he can be a sub and he'll let you tie him up. He doesn't mind if it were handcuffs or rope. He finds it arousing that you were the one dominating him. However if you do test his patience too much, don't expect him to go easy on you next time.

If he were to use rope, he doesn't tie them that tight. He would have your wrists and legs tied depending on the position.

If it were doggy, he'd have your wrists tied up and you'd use your elbows for support while he pounds into you from the behind. Sometimes he'll smack your ass.

Sometimes he'll do penetration so you can feel his cock deeper inside of you.

── .✦

“This is how you keep your prey sweetie.”

You never should doubt your lover for his way of things. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been easily restrained to your shared bed in a blink of an eye. He stands over the bed, amused at your naked form.

Sylus has taught you many things- how to handle a gun better, the art of sparring, and how to keep your prey engaged. It’s been a while since you had him restrained at the bed while searching for the brooch, only to realize he could have easily escaped the restraints. You silently cursed yourself for your oversight and for trusting the twins.

“The more you struggle, the more I plan to keep you there.” He chuckles, watching you struggling to get the restraints loose.

He steps closer to you and leans over. “Tell me, how do you plan on escaping?”

You shift under him trying to use your legs to attack but he was able to push your legs down with ease. He presses over your restrained wrists before interlocking them with his own hands. He hovers over you with a smile as if he was taunting you. You lean up and kiss him on his lips, only to leave him laughing deeply.

“That doesn’t work so easily on me this time sweetie.” He smirks, resting his weight beside you in bed.

His slender fingers poke around your entrance. His ring and index finger slid in with ease due to your soaking cunt. He started to curl his fingers around until he found your sweet spot. He knows he found it when your back arches off the mattress and you let out a moan. He rubs the same spot over and over again before he plants his skilled wet tongue over your clit to push you right over the edge. Your walls clench and pulsate around his fingers as your legs start to shake on either side of his head. You threw your head back into the soft pillows, soft pants and his name spilling out of your mouth as the orgasm rocks through your system.

He looks up at you, his red eyes mixed with determination and arousal.

“I’m not done with you princess, just a little more.”

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belovedivies · 2 months ago

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along the wind (bodyguard!peter x f!reader)

・゜・summary: Peter has made his way to the top by defying the odds his whole life; barely anything fazes him at this point. Yet when a glimpse of normalcy comes into his life in the form of a girl whose presence he initially apathizes, the crack in the Apostle’s stoicism starts to show.゜・* ・゜・tags: reader-insert, pre-canon, pre-rejuvenated peter, slice of life, fluff, slow burn, eventual romance, (my poor) attempt at humor, friends to lovers, typical-canon violence (mostly referenced cuz i suck at writing fight scenes)゜・* ・゜・notes: this work has multiple chapters! also cross-posted on my ao3 <3 title is from a song called "fly away" by jang yoon ju.゜・*

chapter 1: white strawberry and mint. ・゜・chapter content: bashing/washing, brief mention of drug. ・゜・word count: 1,268 ♡masterlist♡

“Tch, stop squirming so much will you?”

"That's easy for you to say, you took my last xanax!"

Peter, very much irritated, decides to ignore those words as he drags the washcloth down your spine. You really thought Glory's greatest asset would want to be stuck here babysitting a grown-ass woman in her early 20s, huh? You'd better fucking think again; with how bizarre this unconventional live-in assignment has been and is still going, Peter's mental gymnastics constantly blow hot and cold between wanting to protect you and wanting to strangle you. Anything to make your perpetual complaining go away, honestly. But as nice as the thought of making you shut up for good, the Cathedral's order to keep you safe is final, and he is but loyal to the organization that made him the powerful man he is today.

So the Apostle sucks it up, a sigh leaving his lips as one big hand closes a little tighter around your waist.

"You're recovering," Peter continues, the authority colors his tone even as his touch on your soaked back is undeniably gentle, "and the last thing I need is another headache of you OD'ing over off-label pills."

You let out a sound that falls somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. "I'm not an addict, ok?" That half-assed excuse almost has Peter rolling his eyes in pure frustration, his displeasure threatening to bubble over when you flounder on his lap like a fish out of water. "They're just my sleeping aid-"

“Aid or not ,” he cuts you off mid-sentence, “it doesn’t change the fact that you pop three xans per meal and barely function without them.” The last of his impatient reprimand is accompanied by foam-covered linen spreading the Olay body wash over the skin of your belly. Peter’s nose crinkles slightly at the sickening sugary scents of white strawberry and mint that assault his nostrils, but the man decides to keep his mouth shut.

And much to his surprise, so do you.

He’s relieved at your lack of resistance, or at least no more bitter remark. A huff leaves your lips, then nothing. Good, the Apostle is sure if this goes on, he’ll be scrubbing your wrinkly skin raw. Peter sets the washcloth aside and grabs the shower head, aiming the lukewarm stream of water at your body and clearing away the bubbles and remaining grime.

The water sloshes underneath your body as you draw up your legs; the tub isn’t small by any means, but Peter is aware of his size and how his large stature might be a little suffocating to you in terms of space. His grasp on your waist loosens, wanting to speed things up so you both can get out of here quicker. Yet the second the soap on your skin is washed away, the guy can't help but let his eyes linger on the scar on your lower thigh.

"What?" Peter hears you huff again, sounding uncomfortable despite your nonchalant expression. One of your hands moves down to conceal the healing wound, even if through the little cracks between your fingers, he can still make out the pinkish scar tissue.

"How are you feeling?" It's a genuine concern on his part.

"Um," your hesitation doesn't escape his notice, even palpably so when you start shifting awkwardly between his legs. Peter just wants to make sure, but he has no problem with dropping the topic if it irks you. That is what he thinks, but you finish the sentence, "better?"

So it doesn't hurt anymore, at least not as badly as it used to. The man lets out a low hum, then turns his head to hang the showerhead into its wall-mount bracket.

"No hair wash?" Are you serious right now? Peter rolls his eyes for real—an act he's very much acquainted with in the past six weeks living here—before facing you.

"No hair wash," there you go again with that annoying pout. Really makes him wonder how the hell you two are the same age, "I won't have you lazing around in here for more than 30 minutes."

Sensing an upcoming brainless argument, the raven-haired assassin stands up and walks out of the bath, taking you with him. He promptly ignores the way you yelp when one right hand grazes a ticklish spot on your nape to keep you still, instead reaching for two towels sitting on the sink. Peter wraps one of them around his waist and focuses on patting you dry with the other. There's a bored look on his face while you just stand there, grumbling under your breath about how you can do this on your own. Brat.

"Put this on." He draps the towel over your shoulders and hands you a fresh set of clothes for the night. Only when you take them does he start putting on his own; a moment of silence follows, save for the rustling of fabric. It’s oddly calming, and even though he has used to going through days without a wink of sleep, Peter feels his eyes getting droopy as he puts on his grey hoodie; the day’s exhaustion finally catching up.

You let out a yawn, putting your hand on his shoulder for support while you slip on a pair of cotton slippers. Now he just has to wait for you to finish up.

“Hey, Peter…”

“Hm?”

The guy looks over his shoulder when you call out his name. This time, you don’t meet his gaze, instead staring down on the floor as you scrawl with one foot.

”Sorry for my mini tantrum earlier.” You gulp, and was that shame he just heard? ”You were just trying to do your job…”

Peter cocks an eyebrow. He isn’t mad at you, per se—the smirk on his lips giving away his rare playfulness—more like the usual light-hearted annoyance (that makes him want to choke you due to how stubborn you are sometimes, but that’s out of the question). You’re still 97% better than most people the Apostle had encountered in his line of work, and that is to say out of the other 3% he didn’t fumble (or kill), you’re the girl who happens to fit the closest to society’s definition of normal.

Not that he cares about what people think, anyway.

“A-And I acted out like a child…” He’s half-expecting another sorry, but you keep your head down in silence. You must be waiting for his answer then, so the guy decides to give you an easy way out; the further teasing comment that is about to leave his mouth can be saved for another time.

”Aside from the occasional migraines you gave me,” Peter smiles, putting a hand on your head as he starts ruffling your hair. "you're not too bad yourself. Apology accepted."

You mirror his mirth, though only for a brief second. Schooling your expression into a mask of faux frustration, you huff and try to pry his hand off. “Right right, now stop would ya? You’re gonna mess up my hair!”

Again, sleep comes first. As fun as it is to taunt you, Peter needs to get you to bed. Tuck you in… is that what it is called? The Apostle mentally cringes at the term; Father Gabriel really did land him into babysitting his niece.

“Right… let’s go.” He settles for giving your head one last pat before motioning you to walk towards the door connected to your bedroom. The distance is short, but Peter knows you’ll be there when he turns around.

Tomorrow will just be another day.

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penvisions · 8 months ago

Text

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 3}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: With the overnight patrol behind you, it's now time for your annual leave from the roster altogether. But Joel doesn't know that and you're hesitant to tell him, feeling like it would be the best for you two to get some distance. But as with all things involving the man, it was hard to keep the distance.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, slight angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, two (2} instances of joel miller gently touching reader, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, talk of pregnancy, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, sexual content, masturbation (f and m), yearning, protective joel, tommy is a scheming lil brother and we love him for it, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: i'm not really back in wake of some bad comments and confrontational haters, but love y'all ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A knock on your door the next morning caught you bundled up and out in the backyard, the sound echoing throughout your empty house. It was small: a simple one with a larger than average kitchen, a living room, one bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, and a laundry / mudroom with a deep utility sink and a few cabinets of storage. It’s where you kept the tools for the garden, where you washed and prepped everything you managed to grow before moving it into the kitchen space. But you were on the modest back porch, a cup of steaming coffee cooling in the early morning air as you looked out at the trees that took up a good chunk of the large area.

Dragging your eyes from the one that looked like it was about at the end of its life, a large crack running down through the trunk, you heeded the knock at the early hour. Knowing it could only be one of four people.

“Was worried I woke you for a moment, you sleep okay?” Maria greeted you as she waddled past you and moved into the kitchen. She spied the other cups worth of contents in the coffee maker and sighed in longing. The scent of it heavy in the air, mixed with cinnamon you were apt to put in with the grounds before brewing. But her sigh turned into a delighted hum as she shifted her attention to the cooling pan atop the stove and moved closer to inspect the baked goods settled on it.

“Probably not much better than you, momma. How you feelin’?” You slid a plate to her as she began to pick pieces off from one of the flaky breakfast hand pies you had made. She placed the one she had begun eating along with another before following you to the large table that ran through the middle of the room. Setting it down and pulling out the chair for her, you helped her to lower into it. With a caressing touch to her swollen belly, permission given from her months ago, you began to set up a kettle for some tea.

“Big.” She stuffed a large bite into her mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste of the filling. Crumbs of the flaky crust sticking to the front of her shirt, jacket having been shrugged off. “Olive, these are fantastic. Is there anything in here I shouldn’t be eating?”

“I wouldn’t have let ya get your hands on it if that were the case. Just bacon and onion jam, eggs, a little bit of milk, and a whole bunch of thyme. Nothing too bad.”

“Nothing too bad, my ass. You should totally make these for the mess hall on your next shift.”

Another knock on the front door stole the words from your mouth and you looked to the woman who all of a sudden had great interest in picking the crumbs from where they had fallen.

“Maria, what is this?”

“Can’t I call on a fellow morning bird without ulterior motives?”

“You could, but you didn’t this time around. I don’t get many visitors so I wonder who you- Oh! Good mor-morning, Joel.” Surprise overtook you as you were suddenly face to face with the man over the threshold of your front door. He was bundled up as well, though his hair was wet, slicked back and shining in the early morning sun peeking over the mountains.

“I just figured we could all chat about the Teton route.” Maria’s voice carried from the kitchen. But it didn’t break the stare you could feel as Joel’s eyes took in the apron you had thrown on earlier.

“Mornin’.” He rumbled, a hand reaching out from within his jacket pocket to swipe at your cheek. His touch burned, but you were frozen in place at such a forward action so early in the day. Lips parting as you tried to pull in a breath but you were sure all you managed to do was huff out what air was already in your lungs. “You got a lil flour or somethin’.”

“O-oh, um, thank you.” His hand lingered, the back of his knuckle dragged down your cheek and then the finger curled around the neckline, tugging slightly. Nerves sparkling as you felt the warmth from his hand so close to your neck, you could only swallow as his eyes finally met yours with a playful grin displaying that damned, endearing dimple normally hidden in his scruff.

“Never seen you so homey before, it’s a good look on you.” His voice was tipped low, just for you and you felt your stomach lurch. When you didn’t say anything, just continued to stand there caught like a fly in his trap, he chuckled and asked if you were going to let him inside. It was then you realized he had inched closer, crowding you in the doorway, with his hand still around the strap of fabric over your neck.

“Oh! Of cour-course, I’m so sorry. It must be the early hour taking my manners.” But you knew he wouldn’t believe that for a second, he knew you were a morning person. Something you had revealed to him on patrol. Just like he had revealed to you that he took any opportunity to sleep in, apt to hit snooze an embarrassing about of times if the sound even reached him. You had both laughed at the polarizing tendencies, ribbing each other about it throughout the day. It had been a good one, free of the underlying…tension of whatever had shifted when you had pressed your lips to his injuries. Something you would take back if it meant cutting the undercurrent of whatever had befallen your interactions.

“There’s, um, breakfast hand pies and one last serving of coffee,” You spoke as you turned your back on him and went to retrieve your own mug from the porch.

After the shuffle of greetings, of ushering Joel to take a seat at the table. You plated up two of the hand pies and poured the last of the coffee for him, setting it down in front of him with a small smile before fetching the whistling kettle and preparing a cup of tea for Maria who was already a bite into her second pastry.

“Now, the horse you two lost.”

Joel made a surprised sound, mouth biting into one of the pastries on his plate.

“It was my fault.” You rushed out before Joel could even respond around his mouthful. His eyes flicked to you across the table where you had finally taken a seat, watching as you willingly took the blame for the unfortunate event. “I wasn’t quick enough taking down the Infected that were coming at us. Two of them had set their sights on her, with all the noise she was making while another went after Joel on the ground.”

“And there was no use of anything other than the shotgun?”

“That’s correct.”

“Joel, do you agree with her synopsis?”

“Yes. She acted fast, but there was no way Kiana was gonna make it back, she had been freaking out the second they came outta the tree line, most likely would’ve run off.”

“She always was easy to spook, that’s why she was designated as your horse, calmed her down and got her to focus.” It made sense, Joel was a very level headed person, capable of gently focusing someone should their minds or attention wander.

“I wish every incident discussion was this lovely. No arguing, good food, people who don’t want to go around in circles. You two are truly one of the best pairs we have on the roster.” Maria stirred in a bit more honey into her tea, taking a sip as she looked you both over.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from you as you dug into your own pastry, unaware of them sharing a look.

“This is amazing,” Joel offered, reaching for the kitchen towel folded atop the table to clean his hands off. “You should make these your next shift at the mess hall.”

“I just told her that, imagine the buzz they would cause.”

“They’re not all that special.” You muttered, shoulders rising as you felt rather put on the spot.

“This filling, these onions? It had to have taken a lot of concentration to reduce them down so soft but not mushy. Take the credit where it’s due.” Joel hummed his agreement as he reached for his mug.

“You’re off patrol this week and next, to do your annual thing.” Tommy announced as he sat beside you, his tray thudding against the top of the table, laden down with food from this mornings offerings.

“I can still patrol and get what I have to done.” You didn’t look up from the notebook you were writing in, trying to map out the way you were going to turn the harvest of the olive trees in your backyard into. If you were being honest, patrol twice a week wasn’t so bad with the added allure of Joel Miller. But it would be hard to juggle it paired with the time of year. Every autumn you took out your dirtiest, most ratty pair of overalls and got to work picking the fruit from the trees. Taking your time to sort them, wash them, turn them into oil and pickle some of the others. It was just you, hands aching at the end of the day from spending it all at your kitchen table with various tools. But you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The kitchen was your happy place. Even after the end of the world. Or maybe in spite of it.

But this year, you didn’t want to miss out on patrol, normally taking the two weeks off to sort everything out and give all your attention to the gift of fruiting trees. Even if…you felt like it would be good for you to get some space from the man you felt in every other thought. The past two weeks had yielded quiet patrols, just the passing of a thermos between hands. You were sure you had overstepped a line by pressing your lips to his face, lost in the moment of adrenaline and want after those Infected had tried to turn you both.

His eyes were heavy on you when he thought you weren’t looking, but searching for what you didn’t have the faintest clue. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to bring it up and let you down gently. Tell you that he hadn’t appreciated your affections that way. Whatever went on behind that handsome, rugged face you hadn’t a clue.

“We both know that’s a mighty lie,” He stuffed an overfull spoon of grits into his mouth, humming around it as he pointed the utensil at you. “Didn’t you say this would be the last year for one of them?”

Sighing, you set the pencil you had been writing with down. Trading it for the cup of coffee in front of you.

“Unfortunately, the trunk spilt when we had those winds come through in February. I’m surprised it bloomed any fruit to be honest.”

“It’s a fighter, like it’s caretaker.”

“Oh hush, tryna flatter me.”

“Don’t you know it.” He winked, cheeky smile growing wider underneath his mustache as his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder. You were about to turn to see what had him so delighted when a pair of hands placed a tray right next to you. The burly form of Joel huffed as he settled into the seat beside you.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, placing plate of toast in front of you, his hand momentarily brushing against yours before he dug into his own food. You felt heat bloom up your neck and across your cheeks as Tommy feigned a cough to cover up a snicker. Joel leveled an unimpressed stare at the man, an eyebrow cocked and a warning in his eyes. You pretended not to see it, busy slathering a piece of the gifted toast with some butter left out on the tables for the breakfast service.

“Good mornin’, brother.” Tommy lilted, face lit up with something you were hesitant of. Scheming, the man was scheming, up to absolutely no good. And you had a hunch it involved not only you but the man beside you. Taking a bite of the toast, you noticed the way his face twitched before he started whatever he was up to. “How are you today?”

“Fuck off, Tommy.” The older man didn’t even look up from his plate, knowing from years of experience that his brother was aiming a mischievous look his way. “I gotta list a mile long of stuff to do this week and next, don’t have time for whatever else you’ve taken on.”

“That’s a shame,” He took another heaping bite, chewing it thoughtfully as he looked between you both, taking in the way neither of you were willing to look at the other. “Sorry, Olive. Looks like you’ve gotta fell that tree on your own.”

“That’s okay. I’m a big girl, did it the year before last and I’ll do it again this time around.” You downed the last two gulps of your coffee. Gathering up your notebook, you shoved out of your chair and stood, preparing to walk away. But he scrambled, quick on his feet and determined. Joel glanced at you, a parting nod the only indication from him.

“Well, seeing as you’ll be off patrol the next two weeks, that should give you enough time to take care of it.”

“Tommy!” You whirled around on your heel, eyes wide. You hadn’t wanted Joel find out this way, from his trouble making little brother with you right beside him.

“What’s he talkin’ about?” Joel turned with a loaded fork halfway to his mouth. Forgotten in wake of the sudden news. He looked taken off guard, shock coloring his features as he looked to you for answers.

“Didn’t she tell you, brother?” Tommy set his own fork down, tray nearly empty now. “Olive always takes this time of year off to tend to the trees. Harvest and make that lovely oil you see everywhere around town.”

“That’s yours?” His eyes danced around the mess hall, taking in the incriminating glass jars atop every other table. The light green contents revealing the literal fruits of your labor. The hours you would spend hunched over your own kitchen table working away on ensuring everything was perfect. He looked down to the warm plate of food in front of him, the roasted potato hash and scrambled eggs. “You’re the reason the town has cooking oil?”

“Yes, it is.” Feeling pleasure flutter at his impressed tone, you knew your voice had taken on a breathy quality. If Tommy’s growing grin was any indication, his teeth sparkling as he watched the two of you across from him. Joel had turned completely in his chair to face you, while you had pivoted your body in his direction. Both of you undoubtedly drawn to each other even in the most casual of ways.

“What are you gonna do with the wood? Didn’t you burn it and mix the ashes into the soil last time?”

“Yes, I did.” You gripped the notebook tight, fingers aching from the pressure. “It helped to reduce the acidity of the soil and ward off slugs from targeting the blooms once spring came around.”

“Well, uh, I can come by and lend a hand. If you needed it, but I don’t want to intrude if you’ve got it all under control.” Joel ran a wide palm over the back of his head, fingers brushing through the curls as he offered his help in a round about way. Something you suspected Tommy had anticipated. It took you a second to process his words, remembering the feel of his hair tangled around your own fingers. It had been soft despite a days’ worth of travel and an overnight stint atop a dusty mattress. You wondered how he cared for it, what it looked like slicked back fresh from the shower, water dripping from the ends of it and-

“Oh, that’s okay!” You shuffled on your feet, shaking the rather intrusive thoughts and not wanting to burden the man with another task. “You just said you’ve got a lot to do, don’t want to add to it.”

“I could shuffle a few things around, clear up an afternoon to come help ya out.” He insisted, something smoldering in his dark eyes. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he regarded you carefully, as if he had noticed the lingering gaze on his movement. He shifted to pull that damned little note pad of his own from his back pocket and flipped it open. Looking over the long list penciled on the page.

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You don’t have to do that, Joel.” You waved your own notebook at him, hoping he realized you kind of wanted the space from him. Kind of needed it, actually. To get the image of his softened face out of your head and the ability to look at him without feeling a jolt of desire strike through your body. Space would probably be good, would allow you to reign everything in and be better equipped to ride alongside him once again. The lines had begun to blur and they needed to be defined.

“It’s no problem, I can-“

“It’s really okay, I can handle it. But uh- th-thanks for the offer.” You scurried away before he could add your name to the list among his other tasks. “More important stuff to tend to than a me-measly tree.”

“I really don’t’-“

“I’ve got it.” You called over your shoulder, leaving the two men to their breakfast.

The second you were walking through the door, Joel rounded on the younger man. The shit-eating smirk was securely in place among his brother’s features across the table. Irking Joel further.

“Shut up.”

“Oh brother, you got it bad.”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“C’mon, she could really use the help. It’s just her.”

“No one offers to pitch in? The other women with personal gardens all help each other out.”

“It’s the age gap. Olive’s about a decade or so younger than them.”

Joel contemplated his brother’s words, thinking back on the thinly veiled disdain Marsha had voiced to him the last time he had been tending to the woman’s home. He knew you were younger, but he hadn’t anticipated it causing any problems with the rest of the settlements occupants just how it wasn’t the cause of any between you and him. At least, not any real problems. Age was just a number nowadays, if you were alive, you were alive. If you weren’t well, you weren’t. Friendships and connections blooming between people regardless of age and backgrounds in abundance as people clung to what they could in order to survive.

“Does anybody ever…talk about her to you?”

Shifting from annoying little brother to something more serious, Tommy looked over his brother as he chewed the bite he had just taken.

“What do you mean?”

“Marsha seemed to insinuate that Olive is common topic of discussion.”

“Marsha doesn’t like Olive. Never has.” Tommy scowled, stabbing at a chunk of potato rather harshly.

“Does it have to do with the patrol you won’t tell me about?”

“…yeah.” Tommy was suddenly very interested in the rest of his food, ignoring the look he could feel Joel pinning him with from across the table.

“Tommy.”

“Her old patrol partner was someone she showed up with, when we first brought her here. He and Marsha’s daughter got on quickly, were engaged within a year and planning on havin’ a kid or two.”

Joel was silent as he picked at his food. Marsha’s daughter, Millie, didn’t have any kids or a husband that he knew of. The two women sharing a home close to his.

“They blame her for what happened.”

“What did happen?”

“Joel, you’ve gotta ask your girl that. It’s not my place to give details.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“But you want her to be, c’mon, I can see it plain as day.”

“We are not talking about this.”

“I think she likes you back. But it’s hard to tell since she doesn’t get a lot of interaction around town aside from when she’s trading or cookin’.”

“She don’t like me like that. We’re just…friendly.”

It wasn’t friendly the way Joel took advantage of any reason to touch you. From soothing minor injuries, to brushing his fingers over yours as he passed you something, to brushing things you tended to smear along your cheek. Just to hear the hitch of your breath and to witness the way your eyes widened. It wasn’t friendly the way you were the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of when he woke up. It wasn’t friendly the way his gaze lingered on you while out on patrol or when he caught sight of you around town.

It wasn’t friendly the way he spent hours in his workspace sketching out designs and carving into wood in the hopes that you would enjoy what he was creating.

It wasn’t friendly the way he didn’t engage with you for worry of making you nervous, like he noticed he had begun to do. Stuttering every other word around him and others in a habit he couldn’t figure out was his fault or something you were just prone to do. It wasn’t friendly how he wanted to see if it was just him that caused it, wanted to see how quickly words would fail you completely if he were to focus his attention on you in a more than friendly way…

But his brother didn’t know anything about that.

Never one to miss out on the chance for a slow morning, you allowed yourself to wake up naturally.

The sun was just beginning its descent from the highest point in the sky, peeking in through the drawn blinds of your bedroom.

Your body was warm underneath the covers, sleep making your mind take the sensation and let it influence your dreams.

A large body hovered over you, looming like the mountains around the settlement. Protective, a sight to behold at any time of day, as steady as the day turns to night. But the body was so much closer, pressing your back down into the mattress, making your head spin with the heady feel of it.

Thump, thump, thump.

Heart beating hard as pleasure coursed through your veins, brought to life by the feeling of fingers smoothing over your skin. Trailing down over your belly button and through course hair to find your slick folds. Delving between them, parting them, caressing over your fluttering core and then in, producing an obscene sound as they filled you up. Another set of fingers gentle nudging that little bundle of nerves to light your body up even further, heat encompassing you, suffocating you as they quickened their pace.

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was harsh in your ears, roaring loud and with a jolt, you realized it wasn’t your heart. It was the sound of someone knocking on your front door.

Eyes flying open, the phantom sensations of being pinned down, of thick fingers caressing the most intimate parts of your body, of the rasped-out nickname in a voice that wasn’t real were ripped from you. You were alone in your bed, your hands the only ones bringing you pleasure.

“Olive?” The faint call of that deep voice your mind had tried to convince you was whispering sweet nothings in your ear was down the hall and on the other side of your front door.

What was Joel Miller doing calling on you in the middle of the day, effectively splashing a bucket of cold water over you as you realized you had been fantasizing about him as you touched yourself.

Embarrassment and guilt squashed the pleasure that had been consuming you, lingering tingles making it hard to clear the fog of your sleep hazed mind. Throwing on the robe hanging on the back of your bedroom door, you took a deep breath to steady yourself before approaching the door he knocked on again.

He must’ve been preparing to walk off when you swung your door open, his back to you and a hand on rubbing on the back of his neck. He turned back at the sound, eyes taking in the disheveled form you were sure you made in your doorway. It was the afternoon, and here you were in a robe and hardly anything else, being pulled from your bed.

“Oh, hey- you were sleeping.” His eyes quickly averted, a hand waving at you as a blush crept up along the apples of his cheeks. You wondered what had him so flustered, his hands clenching and unclenching just below the sleeves of his jacket.

“I should’ve been up already, it’s okay.” You said quietly, taking in the bulk of him on your small stoop. It was a little disorienting, mind imagining him and now being faced with him so close. “D-did you need-“

“Was coming by to see if you needed any help with taking down that tree Tommy mentioned.”

You fell silent at the way he cut you off, his words low like your own, as if he was frustrated.

“Cause if you did all you had to do was ask.”

“I-I didn’t want to add to your list, that little notepad is always so full of-“

“I offered too and you said no. But you’re not even doing what you took the time off for.”

“Excuse me?” You leaned back from him, worry and your own annoyance flaring. Just because you took one morning to yourself didn’t mean you were shirking your responsibilities. His words hitting too close to the wound that everyone else’s had dug close to your heart.

“You take the time off every year, which you didn’t tell me about. Tommy blurted it out to get some sort of satisfaction out of your miscommunication and you’re not even taking care of the trees.”

“Joel-“

“You know what, just, never mind. I’m heading around back to take care of it for you. Go back to bed.”

And then he was stomping down the steps and rounding the side of your house. The gate creaking open to signal his entrance to your backyard.

“Well, excuse the fuck outta me, Mr. Miller.” You mumbled as you shut the front door and moved back to the bedroom. Dressing in a ratty pair of jeans and a long-stained t-shirt in a rush. Putting up your hair as you walked into the back room to retrieve the axe he would need for the work he took it upon himself to do.

It was hard not to stare, your eyes glued to the man as he expertly wielded the axe and chopped down the damaged olive tree. He had shrugged off his flannel after trimming it of the few branches that stretched from the trunk, leaving him in just the t-shirt he donned underneath. A crisp white that displayed the sweat on the small of his back and between his broad shoulders. A crisp white that displayed the bulge of his biceps as he worked. A crisp white that fell just over his waist and billowed up to catch on the spiral top of his notepad peeking out from his back pocket. A crip white that now displayed his rather toned backside to you free from obstruction…

Shaking your head, you continued to pick the fruit from the others. There were three rows of about ten trees, the one you were worried about in the middle of it all. Your movements made you feel like you were slowly circling around him, honing in on the man taking out whatever frustrations he had on the plant. Until everything was gathered, and you retired back inside as the sun beat down what little warmth it still had this late in the season.

The fruit was already washed in the utility sink, resting in strainers set over ratty towels to dry atop the long table in the middle of the room. A record played in the living room, soft guitar and brass filling the space.

Sighing, you poured yourself a few fingers of whisky and then a few into a second glass as you heard the thud of the axe being set against the wall in the back room and steps heading your way.

“Joel, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.” You offered one of the glasses to him, taking in the way he swiped at his sweating forehead with the back of his arm.

“I know…I’m-I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I’m sorry too.” His fingers brushed yours as he took the peace offering. But he didn’t drink until you lifted your own glass and clinked it to his. “Just…wanted there to be a reason why you weren’t by my side for a little bit.”

Stepping forward to run a hand down from his shoulder to elbow in a comforting move, you motioned him to follow you.

Through the hours of the afternoon and into the evening, you explained the difference between the colors of the fruit. The flavor profiles of each, of how you always sorted even portions of the harvest out for oil, for pickling, for the raw fruit to be shared with the town. You walked him through the process of turning a small batch into a paste, straining it over and over again to produce the oil. Two pairs of hands slick with it as he helped you after he had asked how you managed to do it.

He had asked of your knowledge, prompting you to admit that it was all learned since arriving here and being assigned to the house with the trees in the backyard. That it hadn’t been something you carried with you beforehand. You asked after his woodworking, how it had turned into crafting small figurines.

And he answered much the same as you. Learned skills to help deal with and adapt to the slower way of life Jackson allowed you both to lead.

“You left one on the table.” His voice was right behind you, having followed you into the backroom. You turned to look at him over your shoulder before going back to placing the jars in your hand into a battered plastic crate. One was for the pickled and general olives, while another was for the oil you would make once the distraction of Joel Miller was gone from your kitchen. The only evidence of such from today’s activities in his hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you.”

“I couldn’t, you need it for trade. Everythin’ helps.”

“I insist, it’ll be good to have in your kitchen.”

“It’s just gonna sit there on the counter beside the stove.”

“Well, take it. Just in case.” You whispered. Noticing how close he had gotten in an attempt to hand the jar to you. He was close enough to smell the way the olive leaves had permeated his clothing. The perfume of the freshly chopped wood stained his skin in a heady way. You felt the counter dig into your hips, having unconsciously backed into it beside the deep sink.

“In case of what, sweetheart?” He lowered his voice to a raspy whisper, tongue peeking between his lips as he took in the way you had a smudge of dirt under your eye in the warm light of your kitchen bleeding into the backroom. His gaze snapped to his hand as you bravely tangled your fingers with his own. Feeling your lips curl into a playful smile, you leaned up and whispered into his ear.

“The food critic decides to play personal chef.”

Oh, he liked that. If the widening of his pupils was any indication, the way his breath caught in his throat and he swallowed as he pulled back a little to look over your face.

He leaned in to press a cautious kiss to your cheek, knowing there was no bruise or cut to disguise his move as anything other than the blatant want for it. The soft scratch of his mustache lighting you up.

Your breath fanned out across his face, skin prickling along his body at the warmth of it bouncing back to you. A small huff the only noise coming from you. His eyes flicked up to capture yours, and you felt your heart lurch. He was so handsome, his lips looked so plush and pink this close. There was no way he could’ve missed the way you had glanced down at them, how you were thinking of feeling them pressed to your skin in other places, of the way you pulled your own bottom one between your teeth at the thought.

He leaned in, sharing breath with you, his nose brushing against yours before-

The needle of the record player scratching across vinyl startled you both, jolting in response to the harsh noise breaking the bubble of tension surrounding you both. Your hands had flown up to grip his shoulders tight while his arms had wrapped around your back and pulled you to him. Heart thundering for a completely different reason now, you cast your eyes over his shoulder toward to the record player.

With nervous laughter you stepped away from the man and set about lifting it from the still spinning record. His eyes are on you as you replace the record with another, setting it up to play and then turning back around to him. Your heart still thumping in your chest as you watch him hold tight to the jar in his hand and dip his head to you in a departing bow.

He made sure it was well into the evening before enlisting Tommy’s help. The forlorn way you had looked at the pieces of the tree once it was no longer standing proud among the others had stirred an idea in his mind. He was going to take the thickest part of the trunk, because he wasn’t stealing it away. No. He was going to return it to you once he had cut it into slabs and let it dry. He was going to return it to you in the form of a cutting board, crafted from the beloved trees in your care and in honor of the namesake you’d adapted.

But it had to be perfect. He would practice on other planks and cuts of wood until he was able to craft one that would be good enough for you. Setting his mind and heart on the endeavor.

Once he was back home with the trunk set in room set up as his workspace, stepping out of the shower and collapsing into the bed, he let a lazy smile overtake him.

He may be tired, exhausted beyond his limits. But he wouldn’t have traded his afternoon with you for all the restful sleep in the world.

He couldn’t get the feeling of your lips against his skin out of his mind. The gentle pressure of them grazing over his injuries, the gentle pressure against the patch in his beard he had never been fond of until that moment.

“Fuck,” He groaned out, palm tight around his aching cock. He had woken up thinking of your lips on more of his body, trailing over his skin in sucking kisses, tongue laving at every inch. He had been leaking and hard, his hand around himself before he had even come to complete consciousness.

The very real image of you stood in your doorway clad in nothing but your robe, the way the swell of your breasts was visible with the way you must’ve thrown it on to answer his knocking. The way your eyes were cloudy, slowly clearing and your face slightly flushed, as if you had just been- he groaned deep from within his chest. It had looked like you had just been deep in the throes of pleasure, body overwhelmed with it and torn away by his calling on you. Hair mused and breath a little too quick, he wondered what you sounded like. Would you whimper softly or moan out loudly, would you be shy and cover your face with your arms or would you scramble for any purchase as it raced through your body, swelling up to consume you.

He pumped his hand slowly now, reveling in the feeling stirring low in his gut. The strikes of pleasure moving through him as he recalled the way you had felt against him as you both rode back on your horse.

The way your hip had felt in his hands as he had tried to steady himself. His mind taking the thought and running with it, the imagining the way he would grip you from behind. You down on your hands and knees, legs parted to make room for him to fit between them, thrust against you as deep as he could, your keening-

He choked on his own breath as the sheer force of his release hit him, sudden and overwhelming. Spurts of pearlescent cum coating his hand and dripping over his knuckles.

Euphoria filling him up with satisfaction, his body humming with it until the guilt slammed into him.

He just fucked his fist to the thought of you. His patrol partner. His…friend. The woman he couldn’t get out of his mind even if his life depended on it.

Catching his breath, he looked out the window across from his bed. Stars glittering at him through the curtains as if they know all the dirty things that had just run through his mind, sharing in his secrets.

The only small blessing of his complete lack of self-control and oversight is that he doesn’t have to ride alongside you today on patrol.

“I’ve got the first batch of the season,” You announced as you walked through the doors of the small makeshift market. It was right along the main street, a few fronts down from the mess hall and the Tipsy Bison.

“Oh, lovely!” The man at the back counter praised, clearing a space atop it for you to put down the delivery.

“Marsha.” You nodded toward her in greeting, uncomfortable with the way her eyes had followed you through the few aisles after letting the man go over the contents of the crate. Another nod to her daughter, standing right beside her with a small wicker basket full of root vegetables. “I’ve got a jar in there for you, with the garlic you managed to salvage from the garden.”

She didn’t say anything, looking for all the world like her voice had been stolen from her. A small nudge from her daughter jostled her and she seemed to find it.

“Thank you, Olive. That was…very sweet of you to think of me.”

“Of course, anything to be of help.”

“Yes, of course.” She repeated your words, trailing off as she noticed a figure across the street. Her eyes tracked their movement but when you turned to see what had caught her attention there was no one there. Suddenly she was speaking your actual name and it roused your nerves to life. “You…do so much for the town, I just wanted you to know that we all appreciate the time you take each year to handle the harvest.”

“O-oh, well, um, thank you, Marsha. That’s very k-kind of you to say.”

“Momma,” Millie whispered, taking ahold of the older woman’s arm. Something in her voice you couldn’t quite get a read on. Taking that as your queue to cut off the rather awkward interaction, you waved at them and began to head back up to the counter to collect the items you had requested in exchange for the crate of jars. Your ears were strained, trying to catch the hushed words the women shared behind your back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I realized how…unfairly we speak about her. Someone convinced me to apologize to her.”

“She doesn’t deserve apologies, she’s the reason-“

“Millie, we need to work on moving past that. It’s been five years now. We can all live alongside each other with the understanding of what happened.”

“No, momma, you may be ready to forgive her but I’m not. She got my Aiden and I’m not going to let her drag down Joel too.”

“He was the one who told me to be nicer to her, just trying to appease the lovely man.”

Any good feelings of a successful harvest and two weeks of working countless hours to jar, pickle, and transform the fruit from your trees vanished. The awkward yet positive sentiment from one of your more…complicated social connections going down with it at Millie’s angered words. You tried to muster up a smile for the man at the counter, taking the crate back from him with the trade items but you weren’t sure if you were able to. Not turning to look at the women, you exited the shop and made your way straight back home despite the list of errands in your pocket.

Of course Joel had caught wind of the way people spoke of you.

Heard it from Marsha herself, the source of all your troubles despite having done everything in your power to counteract the bad you had brought down on the town with your incompetence. He had put his own reputation at stake by sticking up for you and you only hoped it didn’t affect the way he was received. He was so important to the town, achieving far more than you in what he provided and brought in his skill set.

You didn’t want him to feel even a fraction of what you did as you navigated life here in the settlement. The pitying looks cast your way, the whispered words of what people felt entitled enough to voice, the way you seemed to only be good for one thing and it was the crop in the backyard of the house you had been assigned by pure circumstance.

The crate thudded atop the table where you thrust it harshly, frustration controlling your movements as you moved through the small house back to your room. Shucking off and resisting the urge to hurl your boots toward the closet you sighed as you felt tears prickle your eyes. They rolled hot down your cheeks as you curled up in the covers and gave up on what was supposed to be a good day.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

taglist: @merz-8 @morning-star-joy @joelsgreys @orcasoul @sawymredfox @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag @pascalpvnk @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @idontknowyou-12345 @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @fluff-lover @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom@communism-bitches @formulafun @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

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nevadancitizen · 8 months ago

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-> TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY (I KNOW I NEVER WILL)

synopsis: you've always known that you're a throwaway -- another friendly kill. but when you're brought to ghost's world, you discover that there's so much more to life than defending democracy.

word count: 5.1k

characters: player! simon "ghost" riley, self-aware helldiver! reader

trigger warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, reader is obsessed with and idolizes ghost, nudity (but not in a sexual/suggestive context)

notes: wanted to try my hand at a reverse version of the self-aware cod au. also if you're not aquantinced with helldivers 2, it's okay! it has easy-to-understand lore but i recommend watching this lore video (it's just under twelve minutes and gives a pretty good run-down on what's going on). also inspired by "to liberty and beyond" by jt music, which is inspired by helldivers 2 in turn (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*

You always knew something was… off.

Numerous ads and training modules state that every Helldiver is valuable to the continued reign of Managed Democracy and Super Earth. And yes, you’ve seen more than enough shock soldiers die for the cause – mostly freshly eighteen-year-olds that didn’t read the fine print that states that the minimum enlistment for a Helldiver is ten years.

But that’s the thing. They died. You watched their bodies be ripped apart by bullets or torn to shreds by terminids.

You never… died. Not really, anyway.

It was always a split second of hot-white, searing pain, then a moment of darkness, then you were strapped into a hellpod, being sent down for another wave. Mentions of gods or other types of divine beings weren’t really heard of or taught about, so you didn’t know who to thank – or to blame – for this phenomenon.

(You tried to mention this to your assigned Democracy Officer, but she just dismissed it with a threat of being sent to a Reeducation Camp.)

So you kept it to yourself. You have a habit of taking your helmet off and bowing your head (In prayer? You’re not so sure) and just breathing, taking in the cool thrum of your heart. You never thought you’d relate to the fascism-fueled automatons, but you only feel the warmth of… your God? your savior? when in the heat of battle.

You always think like this in between being sent down – wandering thoughts while wandering the halls of the ship. There’s not a lot of this type of time, so you make sure to savor it.

You’re in this position right now, looking down at your helmet and thumbing over the imperfections picked up from battle. The void-black visor shows a reflection of you, warped and stretched-out. Above the visor is a skull etched into the titanium – the lines are all jagged edges and uneven depths. You don’t remember doing this, but it’s there anyway. You don’t remember a lot, actually, but you’re, once again, told by your Democracy Officer not to worry about that.

You pick yourself up from that train of thought before you go too far. Instead, you put your helmet back on and start to walk the halls of the ship.

Once you’re past the armory and terminal, you start down the steps to the sleeping quarters. (Because yes, despite being supersoldiers, Helldivers need their rest, too.)

But then, you snipe something out of the corner of your eye. There’s… a door. A door you don’t remember being there. Light seeps through the small gap where the bottom of the door and the floor don’t meet. The sight causes the ashes in your belly that have gone cold to stir once more.

Your boots clunk on the ground as you walk over to it. It creaks open, as if inviting you. Again, you never remember having wooden doors that creak on the ship – they’re all automatic sliding metal doors, and open with faint hisses.

You push it open the rest of the way and die.

It’s that all-consuming pain that feels worse than any other time you’ve died – like your skin is being torn off the same time you’re being tarred and feathered. The black isn’t just a flash this time, but a few seconds you can actually count – twelve seconds. Twelve whole seconds.

Twelve seconds doesn’t sound like a lot, but for you, it was fucking terrifying.

You thought you actually died. It was almost laughable – you’ve survived automatons and terminids and being in cryo, but you couldn’t survive some mystery door? And all that effort without meeting your… you don’t even know what to call it. Guardian angel? Tormentor?

You wake up and, for the first time, aren’t in a hellpod – instead, you’re in a bed. You can move your arms and legs freely, but they feel… numb. Disconnected.

When you start to look around, you notice everything is white and sterile. There’s a distinct sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, contrasting the musky gun oil and sweat that you know well.

(You haven’t ever been in a real hospital – the closest is a small supply closet on-ship that was converted into a first aid station – but you’re pretty sure this is an actual hospital, like the ones back home on Super Earth.)

Your uniform is set on a chair nearby, your black-and-yellow cape draped over the back of it. Your helmet is on the cushion of the seat, facing you. Every piece is… oddly clean. There’s no dark brown dried bloodstains or sickly green bug oil.

With shaky hands (which have never trembled before – at least, not to this degree) you rip out the IV and brace yourself on the railing of the bed before standing. Your legs wobble a bit, but straighten themselves out after a moment.

You take off the paper hospital gown and dress yourself in proper clothing. All the metal parts of your uniform click into place, and your under-armor fits like it always does – perfectly flush to your skin.

Just as you’re about to push open the door, a man opens it. You’re stunned for a second before taking him in. He’s tall with a beard that looks like walrus tusks, and is wearing military fatigues you’ve seen in history modules.

Looking at him causes a dull thrum in your chest, like your heart is picking up again. But it’s not him – he’s not your savior.

“Civilian,” you greet before pushing past him. You wave over your shoulder politely. “Praise be Democracy.”

The man makes a stunned noise before grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. He opens his mouth to talk, but you interrupt him by holding a hand up.

“Please, no touching the armor, civilian,” you say. “This is the property of the Ministry of Defense, as am I. If you wish to enlist, don’t talk to me, but the nearest Democracy Officer available.”

The man pauses for a moment before barking, “What in the bloody fuck are you on about, muppet?”

You huff out a laugh and lean closer to him. He’s tall, but with your armor, you’re taller.

“Okay, civilian.” You smile underneath your helmet and speak in a lower tone. “I understand that you don’t see a lot of us, so if you want a signature, just ask, okay? I can make it out to your kid who wants to be a Helldiver, or whatever. Tell them to put that M2016 Constitution bolt-action rifle to good use.”

The man stares at you as if you’ve just admitted to secretly being an automaton and are planning to undermine Democracy to institute socialism. He slowly brings his hand away from your shoulder and walks past you.

“Come with me,” he says simply.

You follow him after a moment of contemplation. He causes a faint mimic of the warmth, so that’s good, right? And he can’t be dangerous. Maybe a danger to others, but not to you – not with all the armor you’ve got. You keep your hands clasped behind your back to keep from fidgeting as you walk.

“Firstly.” The man holds up a hand, his index finger raised. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at you. “I am not a civilian. I’m a captain – Captain John Price of the SAS.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “A captain should always be wearing their armor. A Helldiver is always ready to fight for Democracy.”

You walk a little faster so that you’re not walking behind him, but next to him instead. “And besides, what is the SAS? I’ve never heard of that division, or that ship – whatever it is. I reside on the Dawn of Destruction.”

Price looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s the Special Air Service. And I’ve never heard of these… Helldivers you’ve been going on about.”

“Good Liberty, that’s nonsense again!” You look over at Price, your eyes trained on him instead of in front of you. “Helldivers are all over the news, the radio sets, the televisions… surely you’re not that shut off? Every colony has some way to communicate with Super Earth.”

“Super Earth?” Price repeats back to you. He then holds up his hand and stops walking. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.”

He gestures to the door he’s stopped in front of. “Go on.”

You glance at Price before opening the door. It’s an interrogation room, like the ones you’ve seen in old-timey movies.

“Oh, I get it.” You look over your shoulder at Price. “This is like one of those war reenactments, right? You’ve recreated a military base from the original Earth… very impressive!”

Price shoves you into the room (with a surprising amount of strength), leaving you stumbling. You quickly correct yourself and spin around to confront him, but by the time you’re able to do that, he’s closed and locked the door.

“Ah…” you sigh as you look around the room. It’s all concrete grey with a steel table and two steel chairs in the middle. There’s a mirror taking up the majority of one wall, one which you know is double-sided.

You walk up to it and try to talk to the people on the other side – you know there’s got to be someone there. “This is fun! Which training module is this? I thought I completed every one… is it new? Because I’ve never heard of something like this.”

After half a minute, there’s no response. You wander over to one of the chairs at the table and sit in it. You laugh a little as you rest your hands in the handcuffs chained to the steel.

“I am ready for interrogation!” you announce. “I sure hope no filthy fascist comes in and tries to cleanse me of the beauty of freedom! Because I surely won’t give them a cup of Liber-tea, and I of course won’t deliver it with my fist…!”

You tap your fingers on the table for a minute before slumping back in the chair. This is boring. Most training modules are the type where you’re run-and-gun-ing throughout the whole thing, but interrogation is boring.

You’re sat like that for a good half hour before you hear the lock click. Your eyes dart to the door as it opens, revealing a man.

He’s dressed in all black, with a balaclava covering his face. His russet-brown eyes meet yours through your helmet and it’s like you’ve died all over again.

Heat explodes your chest like you’ve just got a shotgun slug blasted through your belly. The ashes have been blown away, and in its place, a raging bonfire! It roars like a dragon, and it reeks of reverence and prayer.

The man closes the door behind him and someone locks it from the outside. He barely makes it two steps before you stand from the chair, the legs shrieking against the floor.

“My God,” you say softly.

“Helldiver,” the man greets.

“No, I…” You make your way around the table and stand as close as you can be without feeling like you’re about to catch fire. “Are you…?”

The man nods. “Ghost.”

“That’s it, that’s what you are!” you exclaim. You take a step forward and feel sweat drip down your back. “You’re the… the Ghost. The…”

The one who kept you from experiencing a permanent death? The one who kept you alive just to torment you? The guardian angel who watches your every move? The devil who prods at your ass with a pitchfork? You’re not sure what to say.

You settle on reaching out to him and saying, “You’re my savior.”

Ghost takes a step back. “Savior? I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, but – you are!” You breathe out a laugh and step forward, mirroring his actions. You bend at the knee and the back to make yourself shorter, as if trying to be smaller than him. “I am… I’m a throwaway. Another friendly kill. But you kept me alive! You brought me back after death, I remember dying so many times – y-you don’t get it, you’re my God!”

You strike, quick as a viper, and take his hand. Even though both your gloves and his act as barriers, it feels like your entire arm is engulfed in flame. Still, you keep holding on.

“You chose me, right? You chose me to fight!” You clutch his hand tighter. “You chose me to spread Democracy, to smite the fascists and… I – I was taught that we are Democracy, not individuals, but you proved me wrong, because you chose me.

“God chose me.”

A silence engulfs the interrogation room. You’re both frozen in time, living, breathing statues. It’s too hot. Every bone in your hand, wrist, and arm are turning to charcoal. It’s burning. It’s euphoric.

Ghost starts to pull his hand away, but you bring your free hand to hold it in place, holding yours. “No, please.”

Ghost forcefully yanks his hand away. He drags you forward with the force, and you fall to your knees. The metal kneepads on your legs clang loudly against the concrete floor.

You can do nothing but look up at Ghost from where you’re kneeling. There’s nothing sexual about it – it’s more like a believer kneeling at the feet of a statue of Christ. Ghost is your God, after all.

There’s another minute of silence before you bow your head and reach up with shaky hands to remove your helmet. It clanks loudly against the floor as you drop it.

You can feel Ghost staring at you. The fire burns hotter – the bonfire caught wind and is reaching up into the trees. The branches above are catching, aching to burn.

Tears rim your eyes as you bring your head up to look at him. His stare hardens.

It’s a sight you’ve seen in the mirror many times before. Your face is a mess of unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple, with the exception of your eyes and the surrounding skin. But seeing yourself through Ghost’s eyes…

It’s Rapture. It’s only you and him. A God and his only believer.

“Ghost, please.” A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried before. It’s cool against your too-hot, burning skin. “Let me stay. I want to stay in Heaven, stay with you.”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Ghost says coldly. “And I’m not God.”

“But you are!” you snap. “This is peace and this is comfort and this is you. Don’t send me back to Malevelon Creek, don’t send me back to those godforsaken ion storms and automatons.”

Your voice grows quieter as tears run down your face and drip off your chin. “Don’t send me back to Hell.”

Ghost sighs and casts his gaze to the side. He’s thinking, and it’s plain on the parts of his face you can see.

You bow your head and wipe your tears away to give him some semblance of privacy.

“Fine,” he finally decides. “But stop calling me God. You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”

Your head snaps up and you fight back a fresh wave of tears as you nod. “Yes! I’ll – I’ll call you Ghost. No more God-talk, I promise.”

You huff out a wet laugh as you pick up your helmet and fasten it back on your head. “I mean, I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

And so it’s like that for a month. Ghost explains the concept of video games (and how you’re from one – but you figured out that much already), introduces you to his team (and forces you to apologize to Price for calling him a civvy), and gives you his blessing to be his guard (even though he doesn’t need one).

He allows you to tail him around when he’s in a good mood. When he’s not up for it, you sit outside his door like the good soldier you are.

You’re not allowed to have weapons, on account of being… well. Your entire being. The flying spark that could cause a wildfire. The free radical that could split an atom. It’s just better to give you the bare minimum and keep you there.

And you’re more than happy with the bare minimum. You survive on scraps from the mess hall and the moments when Ghost can tolerate you being a little too close.

But the week-long missions are nothing but pain for you. And yet, every time you meet him on the tarmac, he greets you with a pat on the side of your bicep and asks how you were while he was gone. Maybe he’s doing it to be polite, maybe he actually cares – you don’t know, and you’re willing to keep it that way.

(In this instance, you’re blissful with your ignorance. Revel in it, actually.)

There’s a faint part of you that thinks that he views you as an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road that just followed him home. You’re okay with that if it means you can keep being close to him and keep getting away with everything you’ve done so far.

So you wait, ever so patient, outside his door. You don’t lean against the wall next to it – you’re always standing at attention, even when your back starts to ache from standing so rigid. You don’t know what to do with your hands (on account of having no rifle to hold) so you let them idly hang at your sides, fighting the reflex to fidget.

There’s a knock from the other side of the door. A sign from Ghost, telling you that you’re welcome to come in.

You knock back with a soft, “Ghost?”

After a few seconds, there’s no response, but you can hear the lock click and unlock.

You wait for a minute before you open the door and make sure to duck as you enter. (These doors are shorter than the ones back on your ship – they’re not built to accommodate someone wearing Helldiver armor.)

You shut the door behind you and take in Ghost’s room. It’s bare, like yours. Just a desk with a chair, a bed with military-issued bedding, and a closet with a dresser and clothes rod.

As if on instinct, you take your helmet off, leaving yourself vulnerable yet safe. As your time passed here, your skin has become less black-and-purple and more like a normal skin tone – like the color around your eyes has started to seep into the surrounding area. So far, it’s taken over your face and the column of your throat, just barely brushing past your collarbone.

Ghost moves away from where he’s facing his desk in his swivel chair. He takes you in. Takes your new skin in.

You’ve kept your armor clean, just how you both like it. But the upkeep of yourself, as a person, your new hair and new skin, your new nose and lips and beauty marks and imperfections…

Ghost points at you. “Your hair is greasy as hell.”

You comb a hand through your hair and your glove comes away with a bit of grease, just like he mentioned.

“It is.” You look up from your glove to meet his gaze. “What should I do about it?”

“Fucking hell.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “You’re asking me what you should do about it? Take a shower, knobhead.”

“Ah.” You look down at your boots.

“Have you seriously not been bathing?” Ghost asks.

“It, um…” You glance up at him, then back down at the floor. “It never occurred to me. Usually I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been here for a bloody month and you haven’t showered once?” he scoffs.

You shrink into yourself, an embarrassed blush creeping across your face.

“Christ…” Ghost mumbles. He stands from his chair and points you up-and-down. “Get out of your armor.”

“Excuse me?” A hand flies to the middle of your breastplate, as if cradling it to you like it’s the only thing keeping you decent.

“You heard me.” Ghost moves over to the door to his bathroom and opens it, then glances over his shoulder at you. “I’m drawing a bath. And you’re going in it.”

You look down at your glove, at the thin sheen of grease covering it. “I… okay.”

Ghost goes into the bathroom to give you some semblance of privacy. You take a breath to calm yourself and exhale with a soft “Sweet Liberty…”

You carefully lay out your metal armor on Ghost’s bed, leaving yourself in just your under-armor. It’s durable but thin, causing you to shiver as the air conditioning kicks on.

With light steps, you make your way over to the bathroom. Ghost is hunched over the side of the tub, his hands ungloved and sleeves bunched up to his elbows. One of his hands is under the running water, checking the temperature.

You lean into the doorway and call his name softly. You only lean in a bit, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, then nods at the tub. “Come on. Haven’t got all day.”

You slowly make your way in the bathroom and close the door behind you. It’s a small space, and it just makes everything all the more awkward.

“Well?” Ghost prompts. “Will you be good by yourself?”

“I mean…” You look down at the tile. “I guess.”

Ghost shuts off the faucet, then stands and wipes his hand off on a towel hanging by the bathtub. “I’m off, then.”

“But – wait,” you say softly. “How am I supposed to bathe? It’s not full yet.”

“It’s not meant to be full up,” Ghost says. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken a bath before.”

You shift on your feet, your almost-bare soles making a soft sound against the tile. Your silence tells Ghost all he needs to know.

“Come on then.” He sighs and leans back against the counter, his hands on the lip of the sink. “Strip.”

You shuffle out of your under-armor, fold it neatly, and put it on the counter. You’re nearly shaking from embarrassment, but at least it isn’t as awkward as it would be if your body wasn’t just unloaded textures. Your body below your collarbone is built well, but it’s more like a jacked doll that a kid scribbled a black and purple checkerboard on than an actual human soldier.

Your eyes meet Ghost’s before you duck your head away in shame.

“Come on,” he repeats. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”

You keep your gaze low as you tentatively dip a few fingers in the water. It’s warm, but not too hot. You slowly hook a leg over the edge of the tub and step in. It feels good – not that you have any prior bathing experiences to compare it to.

Your knees practically buckle as you lower yourself into the water. You sit with your knees pressed up against your chest, not wanting to take up too much space even though the tub isn’t all that small.

“Good?” Ghost asks.

“Good,” you parrot back.

Ghost kneels by the side of the tub. “How’s it feel? Too hot?”

“Okay.” You raise your eyes to meet his. “Feels like… when I’m near you.”

He just hums, monotone, in response. He shifts to sit more comfortably, then pats the surface of the water, sending ripples. “Lean forward.”

You do as he asks, bowing your head so that your face is close to the water. “This good?”

“Yes. I’m gonna get some water on you now.”

You nod. Ghost cups his hand and dips it in the water before running it down your back. You gasp softly at the feeling – it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s like Ghost’s molten touch is seeping into your skin, but instead of fire, it’s a pleasant version of sunburn.

Maybe it feels duller and better because you’ve been so exposed to Ghost over the past month that you’ve gotten used to it, like exposure therapy? And the feeling when you first touched him was just too much, too fast…

You quickly divert your thoughts away from the theoretical and into the now. Because right now, Ghost is doting on you unlike any other.

Water runs through your hair, and Ghost threads his fingers through the strands to make sure it gets properly wet. Droplets run down your forehead and drip off your nose.

You turn your head just a little and look up at Ghost sideways. “Is this it?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “There’s shampoo, then conditioner. Then you gotta wash your actual body.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where the only sound is Ghost gathering a bit of shampoo in his hands and rubbing them together to create a lather. He scrubs it into your hair for about a half minute before washing it out.

You break the silence as he starts to work the conditioner into your hair. “I never got to ask – the engraving on my helmet… what’s that about? I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hm?” Ghost hums. “The skull? Dead daft, ain’t you?”

“I’m… I could only parse parts of that sentence,” you say softly. “But I can tell you’re calling me an idiot.”

“Yes. I am. You’re learning.” Ghost huffs out another laugh. “Go on, guess.”

“If I have to…” You close your eyes and lean into Ghost’s touch. “It’s a representation of your control over me? As a player, I mean. Not in… anything else.”

You let out a nervous laugh and hope Ghost doesn’t pick up on your double meaning. But of course he does – you can tell in the way his hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He’s too observant for his own good.

With an awkward ahem, you continue. “But that’s the same reason my callsign is Deathshead, right? Because you’re Ghost. You – you gave me your insignia.”

(You had to stop yourself from saying ‘Blessed me with your insignia’, because you promised you’d stop with the God-talk.)

“Dead on.” Ghost turns and rubs a bar of soap on a sponge, then hands it to you. “Scrub yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

“Where?” you ask. “Like, all over?”

Ghost washes the conditioner from his hands in the bathwater and nods. “Mhm.”

You carefully scrub yourself from top to bottom. The sponge is a bit abrasive, but nice.

(You’d much rather have Ghost wash you up, to cause the fire you’ve contained in a little wooden stove to flare out of the firebox and through the grill… but you keep that to yourself.)

Once you’re done, you wring the sponge out under the bathwater, then above water. You set it on the side of the tub and look up at Ghost, waiting for instructions.

He meets your gaze and shifts where he’s sitting on the toilet lid. “Just relax, Helldiver.”

“Not used to this.” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Not used to having… downtime. I was always being sent down, or preparing to be sent down. Democracy was always my guide, but…”

You tilt your head towards Ghost, and he understands.

“You are, now,” you voice the unsaid thought.

“That’s concerning.” Ghost rests his hands on his knees and leans back against the tank.

“I know.” You look down at the bathwater and the bubbles floating on the surface. “It’s just… I’ve never felt the peace that we preach. I’ve only known fighting, only violence and blood.”

You look up and meet his eyes. “Have you ever had your legs blown apart by an Eagle Cluster Bomb? Ever been burned alive by friendly napalm? Because I have. I’ve felt my spine split because of an Orbital Railcannon Strike. I’ve been mowed down by friendly Gatling Sentries.

“But the worst thing I’ve experienced here is name-calling and weird looks,” you say. “I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry once or twice, but then I remember you’re a soldier, just like me. You’re trained, and you’re okay, and you’ll return fine.

“I am…” You lean your head back against the tile wall and close your eyes. “I’m at peace here.”

“I get that,” Ghost says. His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it. “How long were you deployed?”

“As long as I can remember,” you say.

“Bloody long time, then, yeah?” Ghost says.

“Yes.” You bring your hand up and rub your collarbone, where skin meets undefined polygons. “But you’re making me human. Less Helldiver, less of an expendable piece of resurrected meat. You’re making me softer. More civilian.”

You open your eyes and look up at Ghost. The expression on his face is… conflicted. Like he didn’t know he could bring this out in someone.

“They always said that when united under the beautiful Liberty flag of Super Earth, nothing will be able to stop or split its glorious peoples,” you say. “But you showed me that it’s better out here. That it’s… fascism, is what it is. But that’s a secret we keep from ourselves.”

You reach your hand out and lay it over where his lays on his knee. You just barely brush your fingertips over the back of his hand before grabbing it.

(Another log has been added to the fire, and it’s covered in lichen and dried mosses. It crackles and pops, but you make sure to keep it still contained.)

“Would you believe me if I said that I hate Managed Democracy?” You laugh breathlessly. Even saying it causes a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ll be found out and promptly dismissed. (Read: put up against a wall and executed via firing squad.)

“Yes.” Ghost glances down at where your hand lays on top of his. “A lot of people hate the government, all ‘cross the world. Don’t you know that?”

“And they’re… allowed to?” You bite the inside of your bottom lip to subdue a smile. “Like, openly?”

Ghost laughs. “Yes.”

“This really is Heaven.” You sigh out the words, an unbelieving smile crossing your face.

“Not Heaven,” Ghost says. “Just Earth.”

He moves his hand slightly, and you take it as a cue to move away. You bring your hand back, dipping it back in the bathwater.

“Well,” you say softly. “I think I like just Earth.”

“On just Earth, we bathe regularly.” Ghost dips a hand in the water and splashes your knees. “Now, come on. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

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astralnymphh · 11 months ago

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Would anyone agree with me when I say abby looks like someone who would learn French and then just uses it to make her girls knees weak (cause let's face it that's what foreign languages have power for) [I also feel like she would totally read some classic literature in French cause "it's just better that way" but thats besides the point]

i can actually see that, hear that, feel that in my itty bitty bones, and im not even an abby girl at heart. fucking try to prove me otherwise— but abby procuring a week long sabbatical to the heart of france, paris, for the both of you is so fucking canon. at random too, dude. out of the deep, deep blue her blonde ass would crawl over your dream–absorbed, cooped up body with both her splayed hands shifting weight on either side of you— like a goddamn dog, n' voila your eyelids are creaking open to the wet press of tepid lips and a caramelly thick whisper lacing lines across your neck, "who said you could sleep in past noon'?" so soft and tilting a smoky tone— springs you right out of that groggy state. n' the moment ur' rolling upon your back to garner a blurred look at those gloomy aegean sea eyes that has your heartstrings aswoon and fluttering, she lifts her torso up and away, sat between your thighs— spilling the news, "we're goin' to paris." just straight up. no good morning. no 'hello how was your dream?'. deadass just chucks you right into befuddlement. "wha—?" you curl n' plait your brows confused, the face abby never fails to chuckle at openly, "hmhm, want me to explain over breakfast? or, maybe.." her palm glides a soft pressure over your stomach, tucking fingers underneath the blankets and peeling them slow, "n' bed, de rigueur— as usual?" yet, her legs are already creeping over the stripped blanket and slumping to your side, draping that hunky arm of hers, biceps snug to your reposed waist, hand cradling your belly and lips so dear to the rim of your ear— ready to elaborate and.. twiddle your brain with some french~, "mon amour?"

i just know her french rings out thick and fluid, her voice is just perfect idk. fs will whisper it in your ear at every rise of first light ♡♡ definitely during romantic sex like no denial she'll start chanting that shit like a spell in ur' ear. although it probably is a spell because the tune is just so entrancing. wow, aestra writes 4 abby now?? i never do, so idk how ooey gooey good this is. complimentary gif, tho

#abby anderson #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson blurb #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fanfic #abby x you #abby the last of us #abby tlou #tlou abby #abby anderson concept #abby anderson headcanons

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mondayblues-s · 10 months ago

Text

♡︎Alex Walter x Girly F!Reader♡︎

}ok so this is just some fun head canons about how Alex would be like if his gf was super girly!

TW: Some NSFW! Towards the bottom!

It will be labeled before anything happens! But overall really cute fluff!

NSFW:♥︎ it will be labeled with a heart!

❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎

• Alex would definitely not mind you being so girly. He loves it!

•He loves holding your hand when you guys are out! You’re so cute! So he has to make sure people know you’re taken.

•when you kiss his face. He loves when you’re lipgloss is all over his face. Sometimes he purposely leaves it on when he’s at his house. :)

• You love wearing such cute floral little skirts, and Alex goes absolutely feral for it. He loves how cute you look in them!

• he does get a little sad when you can’t ride his horse:( because you’re skirt just gets in the way:(

•He loves being in your room! It’s so cute and he loves that you have so many plushies on you’re bed (most of them are plushies he bought you!)

•your room smells so good and it’s definitely a change of scenery since he lives with so many brothers.

•Alex loves watching you do your makeup! He thinks you don’t need it, but he still loves how excited you get when you get to try a new lipgloss!

•He loves how sweet and caring you are. He definitely calls you Bunny as a cute nickname.

•This boy is so scared that someone will take you away. You’re so pretty and nice :( who wouldn’t want to be you’re bf.

•You always reassure him that he’s the one you want. Ends up with you two cuddling and kissing :)

•you love sitting on his lap :( it’s like you’re own personal chair.

•He always has his arm around you’re waist. He especially loves it when you wear a crop top. He loves touching you’re soft belly. :(

•he always gives you his flannel jacket when you’re cold. You don’t even care if it doesn’t go with you’re outfit. You just love his jacket. It’s warm and smells like him.

• He loves when you wear you’re cute brandy Melville pajamas. That cute set with shorts.

:♥︎ He’ll definitely eat you out when he sees you wearing them. He can’t hold back. You just look so cute :( he loves especially when you moan his name out “mm Alex-“ and him cutting you off by giving you’re clit more attention :(

•he definitely reads to you. He loves how relaxed you are when he reads to you <3

❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎❤��︎❤︎︎❤︎︎

That’s all! I hope you enjoyed! <3

I accept requests!

For:

•Rafe Cameron

•Alex Walter

•Ajax Petrepolous (I hope I spelt that right!)

And that’s it for now!<3

#alex walter x reader #alex walter #coquette #my life with the walter boys #f!reader #just girly things #bimbo reader #fluff #headcanon #girlblogging #i’m just a girl

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banquetwriter · 8 months ago

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I saw you were taking requests for Carl grimes so maybe a fluff with Carl and reader who has ADHD and they’re in Alexandria but she’s like hella overstimulated and overwhelmed because everybody and everything’s new and like “better” and she genuinely just does not know what to do with herself. You don’t have to do this btw! Have a wonderful day/night!

୨୧ Breathing ୨୧

pairing: Carl Grimes ♡︎ Fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ crying, some angst, one mention of sex (incredibly mild) small mentions of canonical violence, reader has panic attack

summary: ʚ after being overwhelmed your favorite grime’s comforts you ɞ

Words: 1374

AN: RAAAHHH thank you sm for the request, i tried to focus on how i personally feel when i get overwhelmed and overstimulated. i didn’t make her very bubbly or stereo typically “adhd” however i tried to model it after mine lol

You hated everything about the apocalypse. You hated never feeling safe, never having enough food, and never being clean ever. You hated being on the run always. You fucking hated it.

But still, you found yourself anxious. A nice woman named Deanna sat you down and Interviewed you. Your heart was racing, it had been for a long time. It was the same feeling you felt being adopted by Glenn and Maggie, the unofficial daughter of the couple.

Feeling like you might start crying but you can't pinpoint your feelings. Being so light-headed the air feels like it is made out of cotton candy. You had stayed quiet to avoid any meltdowns in front of anybody.

You had been assigned one big house. Michonne and Rick take one room, Daryl another, and you bunker with Judith. You found her little coos and cries comforting sometimes. They grounded you when you felt clueless.

Judith and most importantly her brother Carl were what got you through everything. Glenn’s death, a man who was your father. Carl had since you got to the prison. It was hard not to fall in love with him. Even if it wasn't the right time or place. You couldn't help it.

It's how you accepted the prison. It's how you accepted what happened at Terminus, and it was going to be how you accepted this new world you found yourself in. Carl got his own room. You weren't upset by it.

He needed his space. He had been through too much. It was after dinner. You were sitting on the stairs. It was all too much. It was going to go away at some point…

You knew it. Nothing was safe forever. You knew that, you weren't some stupid child. The feeling was back of unintelligible panic. The feeling of horror creeping up your throat. The dizziness, and now you couldn't help but cry.

The cool air of the nighttime clung to your skin. You were sweating even though the night was cold. Hot tears streamed down your face. How could you help these people? How could you possibly help? Hell, you were fear-stricken over being someplace new.

You let out a sob you had been holding in for weeks. Everyone was in the house either cleaning up or windowing down for bed. You told them you needed to go on a walk before bed.

‘You were too restless’ that's what you told them. But here you were sitting down on the steps. A full belly, sobbing your eyes out. Carl had noticed of course he had.

You heard the door close behind you. You stood up, the hot tears still streaming down your face. “Hey, woah,” Carl said, clicking the door shut and walking up to you. You couldn't say anything, fear holding your heart.

You speedily tried to wipe the tears away from your face. His hands come down to your shoulders. His fingertips ghost your skin and shirt. “I-I'm sorry,” you mumble out before the tears start spilling from your eyes again.

“Hey hey hey,” he whispers, pulling you into his chest. His strong hand finds its way to the back of your head, the other snaking around your torso. There it was again. His heartbeat thumped through his chest reaching your ears.

“I'm scared,” you whispered. He pulls away from you keeping his hands secured on you. “I-I know you are y/n. I am too. But it's going to be ok, trust me.” he said, his hand coming up to your chin and holding it up. “How do you know we are going to be ok?” you ask, shaking my head.

“I just know,” he said, his voice soft and comforting. “Because I am here. Because you're here with me.

Judith is here, so is my dad, Michonnee, and Daryl…” he said. “We are all here with you. I know how scared you are because-” he started. He shifted his weight on his feet.

You looked up at him. Your eyes are full of tears. The sight alone broke his heart. He promised himself he would always protect you. After you got separated from the prison. He was never ever letting you out of his sight again.

“Because I'm scared too. This place could fall, or not be safe. I'm scared too.” he says leaning much closer to you. “That's not it. It's all so new. Everything is better. I don't even know what to do. I don't remember how not to be so broken.” you whispered.

Your words hit like a confession to a preacher. “Y-Your not broken,” he said trying to comfort you. “No Carl I am. I think we all are. And I don't know how I'm going to do this.” I said, feeling the tears start to slip out.

“You don't have to do this alone, or even right now. Taking it one day at a time would be a good place to start,” he said, trying to wipe your tears away. “Ok.” is all you said, the heat radiating off of him calming your rapid and hyper thoughts.

“Tonight, how about you sleep with me? In my room?” he asks. “Really? What about Judith, what would your dad and Michonne say?” you ask, pressing your body against his. Time seemed to stop. His blue eyes shine into your soul.

“We can keep Judith in there too. Two people watching her is safer anyway. And don't worry about my dad ok? I will talk to him.” he says, moving both of his hands to your cheeks. Placing a small kiss on your forehead.

You swore you could feel your heart soar high above all the clouds and skies. You silently nod your head, “Go and get ready for bed and meet me in my room ok?” he says nodding towards the house. You smiled walking in.

The group looked as you rushed past them. Carl followed suit walking into the house. His hands were on his hips. “Y/n is going to stay with me tonight. In my room.” Carl said, looking at his dad.

Michonne’s eyebrow shot up. She looked at Judith with a smirk and turned around leaving the boys to discuss. “Carl-” Rick says in his stern voice. “It's not like that Dad,” he says, putting his hand out. Rick’s head turned to the side.

“She is scared, Dad. And I made a promise to protect her. She doesn't trust this place yet. I'm not gonna let her go.” Carl says, his face staying stern. He wasn't going to take ‘no’ for an answer. You were all that mattered to him right now.

Rick rubbed his chin, “Look alright. She can stay in your room as long as you take Judith with you.” he said, walking up to his face. Rick used his pointer finger and used it to tap his son's chest. “If I hear any funny business-” he says in full seriousness.

“Ew. Gross dad.” Carl says, rolling his eyes. Walking past him and running up the stairs to the bathroom. He gave a small knock on it. He heard your voice waver out a Small “Yes?” he smiled.

“It's me, Carl. You ready for bed?” he asked you. “A-Almost. Got distracted again,” you shouted from the bathroom. Carl felt his smile grow wider. “I'm gonna put Judith down now ok? Join me when you're ready,” he says, starting to walk away.

“Ok! Thank you!” you shout from the bathroom, continuing to get ready to sleep. Carl brought his baby sister and a crib into his room. Making it all nice for her. That's when you walked in. You were so beautiful.

In a plain new outfit. Eyes red and puffy from crying. You still were the prettiest thing he had ever seen. You silently sat on the bed. Carl smiled at you, something you returned. He took his hat off, placing it on the bedside table. He crawled on the bed and behind you. Beckoning you to join him under the covers.

Something you did with ease. The comforting smell of Carl Grimes fills your nose. As his hands snake around your torso to hug you. His nose gently rubs against your neck.

“I love you.”

#carl grimes headcannon #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead carl

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badbatchsprincess · 7 months ago

Text

Heated ~ pt.5

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake.

Warnings: Skinny dipping, Wolffe's massive D, some minor agression/violence, possessive behaviors, general Crosshair assholery, Hunter's an idiot

Bruh we finally gonna get through this slow burn I promise. Bear with me. Anyways...get intoit I guess

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

"Again… or Lula gets it." Crosshair aimed his pistol at the stuffed bunny sitting on top of one of the crates.

Both you and Wrecker screamed, demanding Lula’s immediate liberation, but he just fired a warning shot, barely missing her ear.

"Alright!" You screamed under duress. You turned back to Hunter, who was waiting for you to strike. "Kriffing dictator," you mumbled, making Hunter snort.

"Lock in, Pip," Hunter rasped. "One pin and you can go eat lunch."

You huffed, knowing this was going to be a challenge. The past week had been tough on all of you. You had been enlisted in joining the other medics in caring for the injured regs, which, after the first few days, you realized the campaign in liberating Kashyyyk from separatist and Trandoshan occupation was going to take much longer than anyone had anticipated. The problem seemed to be worse than the Jedi Council had thought.

The boys had become relentless in your training. The second you’d be off shift, they’d be lording your food overhead in exchange for a few hours of combat training. You complied, desperate for something to fill your belly. You noticed you were starting to get stronger, your body was getting a little more hardened, and you were starting to actually like it, though you’d never tell them that, or else they’d just keep you at it until you collapsed.

Your little training sessions even started to get the attention of the 104th boys. They’d gather in small groups, trying to watch you like a sporting event. You were confused at first, but Tech informed you they were staring because they’ve never seen an omega fight before. It was unnatural, to Crosshair's point.

But even the grumpy sniper came around; he realized being with them, a special forces group, put you in a uniquely vulnerable position compared to an average medic. (It definitely wasn’t because Hunter beat him over the head with the idea until he agreed.) That's when he started threatening Lula’s life to coerce you into playing their games.

"Get him, omega!" A couple of Wolf Pack boys barked from the trees. You were pretty sure they were the same clones you had treated that morning.

You glared at them and then dropped your fists, looking to Hunter with soft eyes, begging him to stop. He relaxed, recognizing you were uncomfortable, deciding to end your training early. The 104th boys groaned disappointed, making Hunter shrug. Even Crosshair sighed annoyingly, lowering his blaster.

When you were in close enough proximity to your unsuspecting Sergeant, you quickly snaked your boot out, just like he showed you, and flipped him to the ground. You saw a brief moment of surprise when he hit the moss-covered floor before his eyes focused in. Just when you were about to jump on top of him to make the pin, he rolled both of you and shoved you off.

You briefly heard the Wolf Pack cheering when you recovered and swung your leg out, taking him down to the ground again. This time you were ready and rolled into his side, grabbing his arm, wrenching it back. He curled in, wrapping his legs around your torso, trying to pry you off. Just when he nearly had you in a pin, you jabbed your two fingers into a nerve point in his thigh, making him yelp and release you. That gave you just enough time to slam your body on top of him and hold him for the pin.

"Damn," Wolffe crossed his arms, walking up to the two of you from the clearing, impressed with what he was seeing.

"Good job," Hunter stood up, helping you with him. "You’re getting better, Pip."

"Can I go eat now?" You asked pleadingly, hearing your stomach growl.

He just nodded and let you go. You smiled and ran off with Wrecker, starving for Echo’s cooking.

Wolffe stood there watching you disappear back into the Marauder with his good eye. "Why are you training her?"

Hunter crossed his arms. "She’s been in some tough situations. She doesn’t have the same protections she would have with the 501st when working with us."

Wolffe nodded. "I heard about the incident on Crait. General Plo is concerned with the implications."

Hunter nodded solemnly. It was still a bit of a sore topic if he was being honest. He prided himself on being a good Sergeant who cared deeply for his unit and tried his best to keep them safe even in the most dangerous scenarios.

"Have you heard anything else?" Wolffe asked.

Hunter just shook his head. "Nothing beyond what we experienced. Though I’m sure the council has it under control."

Wolffe just nodded and turned to look at the war camp in the distance. Campfires billowed in the distance while his men gathered, making their meals.

"So…" He noticed Hunter side-eye him. "She yours or what?"

Hunter narrowed his glare. "Commander?" He felt his heart rate increase and a possessive tightness in his chest.

"Did you mate her on Crait?" Wolffe pressed.

Hunter faced him square on.

"Y/N is her own person," Hunter corrected, trying to keep his calm despite his growing hatred for the scarred alpha in front of him. "Besides almost killing her, no, no one has laid a hand on her."

Wolffe just rolled his eyes. "You don’t have to pretend with me, Sergeant. No alpha can resist that."

Hunter bit his tongue, wanting nothing more than to punch that smug look off of Wolffe’s face. Hunter was all too aware of how you made the regs turn their heads when you graced them with your presence. He knew his men were guilty of it as well. Y/N was a perfect omega. Every alpha's scents seemed to spike in your presence; he was shocked you couldn’t smell it. They were all praying you’d give them a little attention or a gentle touch. It was driving him crazy.

"Relax," Wolffe looked at Hunter's flexing fists. "I won’t do anything to your little medic… unless she asks." His smile was devilish. Hunter watched the Commander return back to his men, who were getting rowdy in the field up ahead.

Hunter took a deep breath, trying to force his racing heartbeat to calm. Crosshair came prowling up behind him silently like a loth-cat. "What was that all about?"

Hunter grunted and looked at his brother. "He asked if she was my mate."

Crosshair put a new toothpick up to his lips. "He’s been after her since Coruscant." Crosshair’s tone was nonchalant. "He’ll lose interest eventually."

Hunter shook his head annoyed; he doubted that. He returned back to the Marauder with Crosshair for their lunch before Wrecker elected to eat their portions too.

Hunter was going to be keeping an eye on Wolffe from here on out… that was final.

It was about the fifth week into the battle of Kashyyyk when you noticed the change. The boys seemed to have altered their behavior around you drastically.

At first, it seemed harmless, just alphas being alphas. They’d walk at least five paces behind you everywhere, even when you’d be called into a shift in the triage tent. They’d wait outside, talking, until it was time for you to clock out and return back with them for more training.

Then it turned into something… different.

It first started with Crosshair when he had decided he wanted to teach you how to start shooting more long-range. He had arranged you how he liked on the ground around firepuncher. When he wasn’t happy with your grip, he knelt down next to you, keeping his hands on yours a little longer than usual. Then came your positioning. He suddenly decided he didn’t like that either, so he kneeled down, using his own knees to part your legs and push your left into a more bent position. You felt your face heat up as your ass pressed against his firm thighs. He acted like nothing was amiss, but you were struggling more than usual trying to hit the target in front of you.

Then there was Tech. He had asked for a bit of assistance when fiddling with some panels under the ship’s console. You laid down next to him, helping hold some wires while he soldered carefully, and instead of asking you to pass him the needle-nose pliers, he just reached over you, pressing you into the ground with his weight. You struggled to breathe calmly as his face nearly pressed into your neck while he reached for the tools. He had done this a few more times, making you absolutely squirm next to him.

Wrecker had been a little more needy the past few weeks, asking you to look at small cuts and bruises. You think it was just because you had always babied him a little more than the others, but now he was becoming insistent that you look at every single injury and giving you a pout if you denied him. You were suspecting he was causing these little injuries just to get your attention.

Lastly was Hunter. While he was a bit more discreet, he definitely didn’t miss an opportunity to brush up against you or place a hand on your back as he passed by. One particular night you had been bent over the bathroom sink rinsing toothpaste from your mouth when he suddenly needed to shimmy by you to grab his razor from the shower caddy. You had shot up, and he apologized with a tap to your hip before leaving with his things. You just stood there in shock, trying to figure out if you were just imagining things.

This morning, Tech accompanied you when you had to clock in for rotations at the medic’s tent. You gave him a little wave before disappearing through the canvas curtains. You walked up to the 104th medic in charge and handed him your charge card. He punched you into the system and let you go on your way.

"Hey Y/N!" Your new friend, Tanan, called out to you. He was an omega in the GAR civilian medic program too and he has been stationed with the 104th since the beginning of their campaign.

"Hi Tanan." You smiled, setting down your canteen and snack sack.

"Got a lot coming in today," he said, looking around at all of the regs lying in cots. He flipped back his blonde hair, trying to tie it behind his head to keep it out of his brown eyes.

"What happened?" You noticed all of their field bandages.

"Shrapnel," he replied, sanitizing his laser suture.

"Bomb?" You looked around at the charring on their armor, letting you know it was some kind of incendiary.

"Most likely," he said, handing you a pair of gloves. You grabbed a pair of sterile tweezers and walked up to the first trooper who was sitting on the edge of his cot.

"Hello, trooper," you smiled and softly approached him.

He looked at you with wide eyes. "Are you the medic?" he asked.

You nodded and knelt down next to him, setting your things next to him on the cot.

"Mhmm. I’m Y/N."

"I’m CT- 3678, but my vod call me Tack."

"Nice to meet you, Tack." You reached out, tilting his face to the side. There was a tattoo running along the side of his neck all the way under the collar of his blacks.

"What happened?" You asked, picking up the tweezers and starting to pluck little shards of metal out of his cheek.

"Clankers set off a big one," he said, looking up at you, "never seen something like that before."

"It was guerrilla Trandoshan made," a clone behind Tack chimed in.

You just scrunched your nose disapprovingly and concentrated on your work. The alpha in front of you relaxed the more you plucked from him. You were certain it was uncomfortable. A lot of shrapnel patients have been coming in the past few days, but today seemed to be the worst. The metal was strange, shimmering green, nothing like you’d ever seen before.

"I don’t recognize your clothes," Tack said, looking at your green pants, "Are you GAR?"

"Oh yeah," you smiled, "My uniform got messed up a few weeks ago after the first wave so I had to resort to the civvies." The white GAR uniform didn’t stand a chance out here on the front lines. Instead, you opted for your darks and your identifying badge.

"Ahh," he said, nodding.

"I’m not usually out of base for this long so I wasn’t really prepared."

"You’re not with the 104th?" He asked. He must be a shiny.

"No." You tilted his head back and forth, looking for any missed pieces, "I’m with the 99’s."

"The 99’s?" The other clone asked from over Tack’s shoulder, "The commandos?"

You nodded. "Alright, I think I got it all. Let me get some bacta, and you’ll be cleared." You grabbed an applicator and began dotting it over the cuts.

"Wait, are you the omega Commander’s always talking about?"

"What?" You looked at the other clone, giving Tack a tap on the shoulder, letting him stand.

"Yeah, he’s always going on about the omega running with the 99’s!" He smiled, "Told us about the attack on Crait."

You paled. In the background, a clone trooper screamed in pain, making you focus back on your work.

"What’s your name?" You asked, moving on to him, grabbing your scanner.

"Grim."

"I’m Y/N, and yeah, I guess I’m that omega." You shook your head and started scanning the clone. You noticed the way he clutched his arm, and your scans confirmed it was dislocated.

"Sweet." He looked at you with playful eyes. You raised a brow at him, "You got something to say, trooper?"

He smiled, "Commander said you were pretty…"

You took his arm and looked him in the eyes before aggressively resetting the limb. He let out a pained gasp, not expecting you to do that so suddenly and mercilessly.

"He was right." He gritted out, clutching the arm.

"What’s your position?" You asked, walking over to the supply bin to get a fresh sling. You ripped open the plastic baggie and walked back over to him.

"Sniper," he groused, starting to feel the dull pain in his shoulder.

You laughed, "Oh, you’d like one of my alphas then…"

He quirked a brow, "One of?”

You felt your cheeks redden. "Sorry, they're pack. I meant, we have an enhanced sniper. His name is Crosshair. He hates everyone though... except firepuncher."

Grim chuckled. "Oh yes, my little lady is my favorite girl as well." He gestured to the rifle leaned up against his cot. You just smiled and sent him on his way.

What is it with snipers and their guns?

The day continued like this. Tech only came to bother you when Echo had lunch ready, but by the time the sun was setting, you were exhausted and covered in blood and various gross fluids. With a sigh, you cracked your back and stretched your arms, eager to eat some chow and get to bed, but first, you wanted to wash up.

The Marauder’s water supply had been recycled too many times to be considered usable, so your squad had resorted to hiking down to the river to wash up and do laundry. You had begged Tech to fly the Marauder closer to the lake to drain the reserves and refill with fresh water, but he didn’t want to waste any fuel before they could return to Coruscant. You pouted but knew he was right in the end.

"Ready?" Crosshair asked, meeting you outside the medic center.

You just nodded and followed after him as he walked you through the camp. You passed groups of men you’d "kind of" come to know over the past few weeks, along with Wookiee leaders and warriors. Once you passed through the camp, the hike back to the Marauder was mostly in the dark. All you could see was the campfire in the distance, with Echo tending to whatever meat Wrecker and Hunter had tracked down that day.

"I’m going to wash up first." You gestured to your ruined outfit. He just nodded and detoured to the fire while you rifled through your things, looking for the soap packets and a fresh pair of clothes.

"I’ll be back!" You called out to the boys before starting your trek through the darkening woods. Passing all the familiar trail markers, you could hear the river rushing up ahead. You grabbed your little solar lantern and flicked it on, setting it down on your favorite rock. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, you began stripping down to nothing, throwing your dirty clothes in the wash basket you had woven with Tech’s instruction on the second week on Kashyyyk.

You took a deep breath before toeing into the freezing cold water. You let out a little squeal as you sank in, fully submerging yourself in the lazy water. This was the moment where you always began to miss the heated showers on the Marauder. The water was chilling, it made your muscles start to lock up if you took too long.

Moving quickly, you reached up to the rock, grabbing a packet of hair wash and tearing open the brown paper, pouring the contents into your hand. You rubbed your hands together, causing the powder to rehydrate, and then you lathered it everywhere. Scrubbing your scalp aggressively, you were determined to get every little bit of sweat and blood out of your locks. Once satisfied, you sunk under the water, letting the current rinse out the suds.

When you resurfaced, you heard the telltale sound of someone approaching through the woods. You lowered yourself below the currents and silently huddled closer to the rock, feeling your heart start to race.

"Nah, Corporal said tomorrow we have a new mission objective—" One of the men said. You peeked around from your hiding spot to see a trooper chucking his shirt over his head and throwing it onto a rock, reaching down for his waistband.

You bit your lip and moved back around the rock, determined to finish up and get out without being seen. You reached up and turned off your lantern and grabbed your body detergent. You quickly got to work, taking your scrub brush to your nails, trying to get as much crusted blood out of them while the men bathed, unaware of your presence.

You heard them continue to talk about Corporal Comet as they stripped down and jumped into the water, yelling and making all types of noise.

It was time to scrub your dirtied clothes after giving them some time to soak. You reached around the rock, grabbing the loose weave basket and bringing it in front of you. In the process, you knocked over a round rock, hearing it plonk into the river.

"Hey! What was that?" One of the men said, and your heart jumped.

"Kriff," you whispered, throwing your unwashed clothes up onto the shore and crawled out, grabbing your towel. You quickly wrapped it around you and squatted down to finish your washing. You heard them coming and knew you had no other option but to just stay there and pretend like you didn’t hear them.

"Warthog, is that you?" You heard one of them yell.

"Tryna cop a peek?" They laughed from over the stones.

"You're a freak," one of them chastised.

You just tucked the towel a little tighter around yourself as one of them climbed around one rock, stopping in their tracks.

"Oh shit!" He immediately realized his mistake. "S-sorry…"

"What are you looking at, trooper?..."

Then you were met with one grey, scarred eye that made your throat instantly tighten up.

Up above, Wolffe and one of his troopers stared down at you in all their naked glory. You coughed and quickly shot your eyes upward, trying to avoid looking at their bodies. Clone standards apparently didn’t apply to the Commander. He was well-endowed, and you instantly felt your face redden at the realization.

Only the trooper had the humility to be self-conscious, covering himself and shrinking back down the rock and into the water. Meanwhile, the commander in front of you didn’t seem phased in the slightest; he carried himself with so much confidence standing there.

He let out a low whistle. "Sorry, mesh’la," he smirked. "Didn’t know you were over here."

"I’m just finishing up," you fidgeted, tightening your towel and praying for him to go back to his washing.

"No need to rush on our account," he flashed you a charming smile, showing off his white teeth as he folded his arms across his broad, muscular chest, puffing out slightly. He had a couple of scars littering his pecs along with a wolf tattoo on his ribs. He was clearly enjoying your mortification.

"I, uh... I…" You went to step back, but a loose rock wobbled under your bare foot, causing you to lose your balance. Wolffe reached forward to catch you, but when he grabbed your arm, you both went tumbling into the water. You screamed as you were totally submerged in the freezing water; all you heard was his disgruntled grunt before being swept under.

The undercurrents suddenly made it difficult to surface as you felt yourself being dragged downstream, ripping your towel from your body as you passed over bedrocks. You paddled weakly, but you weren’t a skilled swimmer, and the water was much stronger this far out.

You suddenly felt a warm arm wrap around your midsection, and the force of the water as Wolffe dragged you up to the surface, clutching you close to his front. You pawed wildly at the water, sputtering and coughing like a drowned tooka as he swam with the two of you.

"I got you," he said, finding his footing and lifting the two of you into the shallows again. "Relax!"

You went limp under his arm, letting him rescue the two of you. His broad hand wrapped securely around your rib cage, holding you firm against his large body as he trudged closer to shore. When he finally could keep the two of your heads above water, you tried wriggling free again, suddenly hyper-aware of your nakedness.

"Omega. Stop," he growled, trying to keep his grip. He leaned forward, grabbing onto a smooth rock and hauling you out of the path of the currents. You panted, trying to calm your racing heart. You weren’t sure if it was from the fear of drowning or the fact that Wolffe’s deliciously strong and warm naked body was pleasantly pressed against your back right now. You wanted to rub yourself further into him; your entire body was freezing except for the warmth radiating off of him, it was sinful.

"Wolffe," you cleared your throat, coughing up the last of the water.

He slowly let go of you, keeping you on the shallower side of the riverbank. You wrapped your arms around your chest, covering yourself before turning to face him. "Thanks," you sighed, shoving your soaked hair back out of your eyes and letting yourself catch your panicked breath.

"Any time, mesh’la," he said, fighting to catch his breath, letting his chest heave. "Your boys always keeping you out of trouble, huh?"

You laughed quietly, starting to shiver. "Pretty much."

"Come here," he said, offering you his hand. You hesitantly took it and let him pull you into him so he could warm you. Keeping one hand sturdy on the rock, he used the other to hold you close and warm your chilled skin. You shuddered, pressing further into his plush chest. His scent was delicious, spiced and salty. You couldn’t help but take a deep breath in, letting it dance along your scent receptors; your omega was thrilled.

"Can you swim?" he asked softly.

You shook your head. "I was born and raised on Coruscant. I’ve never swum before or even really seen so much water before." You remembered what Rex had told you about Tapoca City and how the entire civilization was surrounded by water. The clones probably had plenty of swimming experience.

"Cyra’ika, you gotta be more careful," he shook his head, rubbing your back soothingly.

"I know," you agreed. "I didn’t really anticipate this happening." You felt his rough hands rub slow circles into your back, and you sighed, finally starting to warm up again.

“I lost my towel,” you groaned, realizing you had absolutely nothing to dry yourself off with or keep you covered in any way.

“I’ll get you mine,” he said, standing up straight and looking over your shoulder. “Stay here.”

You nodded and sat down on the smooth rock, keeping your chest covered as he crawled out of the river and began walking back to where his men were.

“What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head. Echo’s going to eat this up, you already knew.

Wolffe returned quickly, sporting a pair of black briefs when he handed you his towel. You took it from him, keeping your back turned as you wrapped yourself in it. It smelled like him, warmed spice, and you fought back a little purr bubbling up in your chest.

“Here,” he handed you his hand again. “Let’s get you back.”

To your pack. You hesitated, making him furrow his brow. You took his hand, but you knew this was going to cause a ruckus. He helped pull you up the slippery rock as you used the other hand to hold his towel closed, trying to keep a shred of your dignity together.

You could already hear the lecture Hunter was going to give you. Spending time alone with the Commander, nonetheless naked. Ugh. You should have told Wolffe to let you drown. But the view as the Commander’s tight ass was certainly was making it worth it. His back was rippled with muscles along with his sturdy thighs. You wanted to lean forward and sink your teeth into him. You had to take a deep breath before things got out of control and he noticed arousal scenting from you.

When Wolffe finally got you back to where you had left your things, you quickly realized, in your fall, the splash had soaked your clothes too.

“Kriff,” you bent down, holding up your little sleep t-shirt. The grey fabric was soaked through along with your fresh panties and sleep pants.

Wolffe just snickered and turned his back, letting you change in peace. Well, at least he’s honorable, you thought to yourself when you brought the soggy shirt over your head. You slid your panties up, cringing at the coldness, and then finally the sleep pants.

“This is awful,” you mumbled, picking up your other things. Wolffe laughed and left to get changed too, yelling something to his unit about returning to camp. They hollered at him when he returned to find you standing there with your wet laundry and dirty clothes in hand.

He took the lantern and let you lead the way through the now-dark forest. When you started to smell whatever food Echo had doctored up, your stomach growled, desperate for a hot meal.

“You should go,” you turned to take the solar lantern in your hands.

“Why?” he smirked. “Afraid your pack won’t approve?”

“I know they won’t,” you jested. “They’re protective.”

He gave an amused huff. “Well, thanks for the thrill, omega,” he smiled, turning on his heel back towards the river, giving you a good view of that ass.

“My name is Y/N!” you called after him.

“I know,” he winked at you.

You bit your lip, watching him fully disappear into the darkness before you trudged the last trail back to the Marauder. Your head was spinning. You thanked the maker you had your suppressor implant; without it, you knew you’d be acting like a pathetic horny teenager. Being rescued by a hot, rugged alpha had to be top-tier omega fantasy material. You giggled, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. You bit your lip thinking about how solid he felt against your back and wondered how solid other parts of him were too…

When you rounded the corner of the Marauder, you found your pack carrying on with their little evening tasks.

“Y/N, you’re back,” Tech acknowledged you before squinting his eyes, scrutinizing your attire. “Why are you wet?”

You looked down, realizing how pathetic you looked. “I, uh… I fell into the currents and almost drowned,” Wrecker spun around, looking at you in shock.

“Are you okay?” he asked, standing up and putting his dinner bowl down. Hunter looked at you from his bowl too. You thought it was strange he didn’t immediately ask as well. He looked almost… angry?

“Yeah, I’m just cold,” you set your things down and wrung out your hair, shivering.

Crosshair suddenly appeared from the darkness of the direction of the 104th war camp. You didn’t even notice him walk up on you.

One second you were standing next to the fire, and the next you were being thrown up against the side of the Marauder with Crosshair's arm being shoved across your chest with a rough thud. You yelped when your back connected with the hard durasteel.

“Crosshair!” Wrecker yelled in shock. “What the fuck?”

You looked at him wildly, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He gave you a nasty look. “I can smell him from their camp,” he snarled, pushing you a little harder with a deep, menacing growl.

You let out a pained whine as he pushed you harder against the ship. You desperately looked to Hunter to intervene, but he just sat there, fisting his spork.

Crosshair bared his teeth at you. “You fuck him, huh Y/N? That kriffing reg!”

Feeling yourself panic, your instincts took over, and you bared your neck to him in submission, praying it would appease him. “Alpha, please… it hurts.” Your voice was pathetic, but you’d never had any of your packmates ever corner you like this. It was terrifying.

He snapped down to you slightly, letting up on you just a little. The use of his designation seemed to soften him slightly.

Then in a flash, a blur of dark grey came from the left, and Crosshair was suddenly thrown from your chest. You collapsed down to your knees, clutching your damp chest, heaving. When you looked over to the right, you saw Wolffe and Crosshair throwing punches at one another in a flurry on the ground.

You let out a horrified scream that echoed throughout the forest, causing Hunter to wince.

“Get your fucking hands off of her,” Wolffe landed a particularly hard punch to Crosshair’s jaw. “She’s your pack!”

Crosshair returned his fist in kind to his solar plexus, making the Commander lunge forward and throw the sniper into the side of the ship just next to you. You cried out and ran towards Wrecker for safety while the two Alphas got into it. The big clone wrapped his arms around you protectively, keeping you out of the way of harm and swinging fists.

“Keep your fucking hands off her, reg!” Crosshair growled.

“What the hell is going on up here?” A few regs from the camp started making their way over, hearing the commotion. Hunter put his bowl down and walked over to the two fighting and grabbed Wolffe by the shirt, wrenching him up off of his brother.

You took a breath, thinking Hunter was going to break up the fight. Instead, you watched your Sergeant wind his fist back and throw a sharp punch to Wolffe’s cheek. It connected with a snap, and you were certain you saw blood.

Then it was madness. Wolffe’s men jumped into the fight, forcing Echo and Tech to run in as backup, their brothers. It was nothing but a whirlwind of fists and boots and raging alphas. The other regs and some Wookiees stood on the sides, yelling at the brawl.

“Stop, please!” You screamed and begged, feeling the tears slide down your cheeks. “Alpha, please!”

No one was listening. The fight only seemed to get more violent. You cried and turned back to Wrecker, refusing to watch the brutality. He just maneuvered you two out of the way and kept his hand on the back of your wet head, trying to console you, even though it was killing him he couldn’t leave to help his brothers.

“Alright, enough!” A booming voice shook the camp. Master Plo stood before the group, using a deep commanding voice and the force.

The fighting seized immediately. The regs froze in place, fists raised and bloody. Wolffe threw Crosshair off of him, and he walked over to you, raising your chin to make sure your alpha hadn’t hurt you ignoring Wrecker’s warning glare.

The general crossed his arms, looking at the absolute disaster his commander was directly involved in. Then he looked to you and extended an arm in your direction. “Are you alright, little Y/N? Are you hurt?” He used the same tone he had used with Ahsoka when they were together. Plo’s fatherly concern made you cry more.

You shook your head. “I’m alright, General,” the tears still poured down your face. Wrecker gave your back a little rub.

Plo nodded and looked back to the panting alphas.

“Back to your bunks,” he ordered, forcing all of the regs to leave, wiping the blood from their lips.

That left you with the general, Wrecker, and Wolffe.

Wolffe just looked at you, despite the blood dripping from his brow and chin. His eyes were searching for something.

“This ends now,” General Plo pointed down towards the ground with emphasis. “We have a war to focus on.”

“Yes, General,” they all replied, including your unit.

When Plo Koon turned on his heel and stalked back to camp, you felt Wolffe’s hand press up against your arm. “There’s always room for you with us,” he looked over his shoulder. “If you want.” He was giving you an out.

The alpha was making an official offer to adopt you into his pack. Your heart started beating fast the longer you gazed up into his eyes. It was a big offer. Clearly, Wolffe didn’t trust the others to play nice.

Crosshair had to put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder before the Sergeant started another fight. Seeing his hands on you was making him feral.

You just nodded and thanked him for saving you one last time before watching him follow his General through the dark grass. When you turned back to the others, your face turned into a snarl. You couldn’t even speak to them. You shoved Wrecker’s hands off of you and you marched up the stairs of the ship before locking yourself in your bunk.

~~~

You kept your back turned on Tech when he finally returned to the bunks. He was smart not to say anything, tasting your anger in the air. When you finally heard all of them settle in for the night and their grumbling hushed down, you got up to confirm your theory and stepped out into the galley. All of their doors were closed, and you walked down to Wrecker’s bunk, hitting the access panel to let the door slide open.

He lifted his head, staring at your form in the doorway.

“Pip?” he asked, squinting his eyes to see you in the dark. “What are you doing?”

“Can I stay with you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah. Sure!” He tried his best to shimmy over to give you what little room he could on his comically small bunk.

You lifted the blanket and slid in next to him, letting out an angry huff. He didn’t ask because he already knew what was wrong. He just let you maneuver however you wanted before you settled into his side. He clutched Lula to his chest and let out a big yawn before quickly falling into a deep sleep. You only wished you could fall asleep as easily as Wrecker; the giant snoozed peacefully while you lay awake.

You breathed in his comforting scent and stared at his door, knowing Hunter was just across the hall, probably nursing his wounds. Good, you thought. He should be hurting for letting Crosshair do what he did.

You were seething.

He let Crosshair manhandle you like a fucking animal without even intervening. He just sat there, looking pissed behind his stupid bowl of rations. He probably had heard you and Wolffe and that's why he didn’t step in… stupid territorial fuck head alphas.

Even Tech, sweet Tech, of all the brothers you thought would come to your aid… nope. He just sat there watching it unfold.

You’re giving Echo a hall pass because he was busy making the food and definitely didn’t have enough time to react before Wolffe stepped in. Plus, you knew you’d need someone to talk to.

You shivered, thinking about that murderous look in the commander’s eyes. He must have heard from the woods and came running to your aid. Twice in one night, the alpha came to your rescue.

Then he offered you a place in his pack… You rubbed your exhausted eyes, rolling over onto your back. Wrecker grumbled something in his sleep before reaching an arm over and wrapping it around your middle, snuggling you closer like you were Lula. You decided this was a problem for tomorrow, but right now you wanted to go to sleep. The day had finally caught up to you, and you felt yourself slipping.

You relaxed into Wrecker’s warmth and let sleep take you.

~~~

“It’s been a week,” Hunter grizzled, watching you leave for your morning shift. Echo was the only one you’d allow to accompany you on your little journeys into the growing war camp. Other than that, you haven’t even looked at your unit, letting them stew in your silence.

Tech shifted uncomfortably, “I believe she’s waiting for us to apologize.”

Crosshair grunted, “For what?”

“Well, you did force her to submit under your threatening behavior,” Tech looked to his little brother, “Most omegas don’t take too kindly to that.”

“What do you know about omegas?” Crosshair narrowed his eyes.

Tech just bristled and continued staring at the breakfast grains.

“She can’t keep this up much longer,” Hunter sighed.

“I hate it!” Wrecker sobbed, “You better say you're sorry!” Wrecker missed you. You hadn’t been talking to anyone, and that included him. He just watched you in silence when you came back to the ship to sleep and change your clothes. He tried so many times to bribe you into giving him attention, but you just smiled and nodded instead.

“She’s most likely going to take up Wolffe’s offer if either of you don’t say something,” Tech looked at Hunter, who just soured over his breakfast, “I’m seldomly wrong.”

“He can have her if she prefers those regs,” Crosshair snapped.

Wrecker just groaned and threw his head back dramatically.

“Fine,” Hunter stood up, “I’ll go and apologize. Hopefully, she’s willing to listen.”

“A little groveling may be beneficial,” Tech pushed his goggles up his nose, “and she usually enjoys being fed snacks. That may be a good bribe.”

Hunter brushed off his pants and began his walk into camp, “Thanks for the recommendation.” Hunter felt like ripping out his own nails might be more pleasurable than facing the brewing wrath of his tiny little medic.

Hunter was approaching the ridge when he heard a strange buzzing. Looking around, he didn’t see anything but instead grabbed his com, “Hey, does anyone else hear that?”

“Negative, Sarge,” Wrecker responded.

Hunter then looked to his left and noticed a formation of strange-looking LAAT/c ships approaching. They slowed on approach to the camp, and Hunter noticed that they were empty inside. Where were the infantry? He reached for his scopes to get a better look.

Then something unexpected happened. The gunships halted their advance, and Hunter noticed multiple battle droids appear inside the main cabins.

“Oh shit,” he started running towards the camp, “Battle droids on approach!” He yelled into the com, hoping anyone would hear him, “Commander Wolffe come in!”

Then the camp suddenly turned into madness. The battle droids pushed out red-looking torpedoes from the side openings, watching them plummet directly into the war camp below. With a massive explosion, plumes of crimson powder billowed over the entire camp like a fog. Hunter froze in place, staring in horror as the smoke began to spread rapidly among the 104th.

“Oh no,” Tech caught up to Hunter, coming to the same halt, “Is that-”

Hunter’s attention immediately went to the triage center, “Y/N…”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Dunndundun...

Next chapter gonna be a doozie... sryntsry the slow burn's turning into a wild fire next update.

Taglist: @substantial-exposure @rains-on-kamino @minimissmoo

#abo #crosshair #hunter #wrecker #tech #echo #badbatch #bad batch #omega #heat #smut #wookie #starwars #clonewars #wolffe

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