#Dutch Schaefer imagine

[gxbbyhoneybadger]

Imagine if Dutch Schaefer (Predator 1987) and John Rambo (Rambo movie series) had to work together to hunt down feral Yautjas and Xenomorphs. Like Bro!!

[martinshep]

Intro post!!

󠁗󠁨󠁯󠀠󠁵󠁰󠀠󠁷󠁵󠁮󠁧󠁬󠁩󠁮󠁧󠀠󠁴󠁨󠁥󠁹󠀠󠁨󠁯󠁧󠁻󠁷󠁵󠁮󠁧󠁬󠁥󠀠󠁴󠁥󠁸󠁴󠀠󠁥󠁮󠁤󠁳󠀠󠁨󠁥󠁲󠁥󠁽Hi I go by Martin, Shep, or Riley (they/them, but it/its to friends) I'm 21 and from Australia.

Autistic with ADHD, huge nerd. Agender anthro dog therian!

I make art on @martinshepart

Make sure to check out my alterhuman dictionary project here!

All my posts or reblogs where I say something are tagged #martin originals

More details under the cut!

Martin Schäfer

★★★★☆ Reviews (4)

★★★☆☆ arrived with no issues but item is kinda mid

★☆☆☆☆ would not shut up about languages

★★★★★ would not shut up about languages

★★★★★ very good dog arrived in good condition

Item condition:

Slightly damaged, still working

I'm autistic and ADHD and still struggling with executive dysfunction. Still learning how to recover from being a former gifted kid and never learning how to socialise. If I'm being annoying or obnoxious please tell me!

Agender because I do not understand gender, although unsure if it's just the human concept of gender I don't understand.

Therian and transpecies! Specifically an anthro german shepherd mix border collie, possibly with some other herding dogs in there. I also identify a lot with becoming a virtual/uploaded consciousness? Not sure what to call that. Also I'm thesean. If you don't know what that is here's my post about it.

Demisexual and platoniromantic/flectic. Not exact labels but the closest I can get without using an encyclopaedia worth of text to describe myself.

I'm an artist and I'm open for commissions! Check out the pinned post on @martinshepart for details!

Tags

#martin originals - all my posts where I say/ask a thing #poked beast - asks answered by me #martinshep's art - my visual art #martinshep's music - my auditory art #martinshep's languages - my languages related art

Other blogs

@martinshepart - my art blog, I put all my art there @martin-schaefer - my alt nsfw blog that I'll probably rarely use

Current special interests and hobbies:

(Note my knowledge of any of these is not as exhaustive as most people's)

Illustrated art

Cartography

History (esp cultural and economic)

Linguistics (esp lexicography and orthography)

Semiotics

Cosmology

Quantum mechanics and general relativity

The most horrid music you can imagine (breakcore, mashcore, shoegaze, dariacore, noise pop/noise rock)

3D modelling

Fursuit making

Kandi bracelets

Learning Spanish (just starting out)

Learning Dutch (Also just starting out)

Game design/dev (once I get my shit together and learn C#)

Music making (once I get my DAW working)

Furgonomics

Cooking/food prep

4D games

Languages I know, am learning, or am planning to learn:

If you speak one of the languages I'm learning and are willing to help me out please let me know :D

English - I'm a native speaker and specifically speak australian english

Auslan - Taking classes on it and soon will be taking a tafe course on it.

Toki pona - mi kama sona, kepeken tenpo suli. mi pilin e ni: sona toki pona mi lon meso. (I'm learning, slowly. I think I'm at an intermediate level.)

Hindi/हिंदी - मैं बुनियादी हिंदी वाकयों बोला सका। मैं कोश में शब्द मिलना बहुत अक्सर। (I can say simple sentences. I have to look up words in the dictionary very often.)

German/Deutch - Ich kennen en bisschen deutch, aber jetzt ich lernen nicht. (I know some german, but I'm no longer learning it.)

Dutch/Nederlands - Ik spreek een beetje nederlands. Dezelfde als duits echter. (I speak some dutch. Same as german though.)

Spanish/Español - Estudiaba español. Sé mucho poco. (I'm learning spanish. I know very little.)

Croatian/Hrvatska - Still getting around to learning the basics.

I also want to learn arabic and mandarin at some point but I'm waiting until I'm learning fewer languages.

Me↓ (art by snowflake-sage)

Me↑ (art by snowflake-sage)

Feel free to message me if you want to hang out in vrchat, infodump to me, get help with art or 3d modelling, lust over my fursona, or just chat! I'm an attention whore so don't think you're bothering me!

I also have a discord server:

I like to listen to fucked up horrible awful music

Here's a google doc (currently under renovation) with a bunch of recommendations that's still a work in progress, I plan to add more to it as time goes on too

I'm like a year late to make this but whatever

[one-boring-person]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write more for Dutch from Predator? Lol it's me btw! I was wondering if it could be a hate to love relationship, where Dutch, being the hardass he is, can't live down his pride, and the reader (preferably female), is a strong independent woman who is actually Poncho's little sister, learning from the best. To add on, can the reader be short as Arnie is so tall, and because I am only 5'2" irl?

I kind of combined this with the enemies-to-lovers prompt request, I hope that's ok! I hope you like this!😊💛

Old Habits Die Hard.

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer (Predator 1987) x reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, mention of violence, alcohol consumption

Masterlist

"This round's on me, what does everyone want?" Mac announces as we go to sit down at the table, the mercenary remaining standing.

"A beer sounds good." Poncho says, looking at the rest of us.

We give words of agreement, taking our respective places at the table as Mac goes to leave the room and go to the bar.

"Don't forget a soda, I don't think they sell alcohol to underage people here." Dutch chips in, flashing a pointed look in my direction.

"Very funny." I roll my eyes, forcing a smile as the others chuckle, "A beer is fine, Mac. Thanks."

He nods, ducking from the room we rented out for the evening, leaving the five of us alone.

"So what's all this about, Dutch? Got us another job?" Blain questions, the gruff man leaning back in his chair, jaw working languidly at the gunk in his mouth.

"Yeah, but this one's a bit different." The major replies, taking a cigar from his pocket and lighting it.

"Different? How?" Hawkins frowns, cokcing his head to the side.

Dutch takes a deep breath of smoke from the cigar, sitting back in his seat.

"An old friend from the army got in touch. Says he needs us for a rescue op."

"Friend from the army? Who?" I inquire, lifting an eyebrow.

"Old commander of mine." Dutch replies dismissively, barely sparing me a glance.

"Ok, where is the job?" Poncho asks, my brother shooting me a knowing look, his eyes flicking up as Mac walks in again, seven beers cradled in his arms.

"What job?" He asks as he places the bottles down on the table, looking round at us all.

"Dutch got us another op." Blain grunts, reaching out to take his beer, spitting the contents of his mouth out into the ashtray on the table. Hawkins, Poncho and I pull faces at that, but don't say anything.

"Another one? We only just got back!" Mac exclaims, taking a seat across from Hawkins, taking a sip from his beer.

"Perks of the job." Dutch shrugs, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Will you at least tell us what it is?" I can't keep the impatience from my voice, finding his vagueness irritating.

"I'm getting to it, (Y/n), calm down." He rolls his eyes, "It's in central America, somewhere in the jungle. Phillips was cagey about where exactly, but he said it's got something to do with guerrillas and hostages. We're supposed to get the hostages out of there."

"Sounds simple enough." Billy muses, rubbing his chin.

"When is it?" Poncho chips in, watching the major closely.

Dutch is quiet for a minute, his eyes flicking over us all, before he finally responds.

"It's tomorrow."

I nearly choke on my beer, spluttering as I sit upright in my chair.

"Tomorrow? Are you insane?!" I burst out, annoyed, "We got back from Afghanistan at the ass-crack of dawn today, and you want us to fly off to the jungle at the same time tomorrow? You trying to kill us or what?"

The others nod in agreement, murmuring their own complaints, only to shut up when Dutch turns a venomous glare on me.

"You know, if you spent half the energy you do on complaining on growing, you wouldn't look like a damn child anymore, (Y/n). Would make taking jobs a lot easier - means I don't have to explain why we've only got six and half mercs with us." He snaps, voice laced with anger, "I'm not insane, just practical. We all need more money, and the work is low at the moment. You'd know that if you weren't off lounging at home all day, letting us do the hard planning and prep work."

Silence descends on us all, my jaw dropping at the vehemence behind his words. No one speaks, letting the two of us stare at each other in hatred, my expression swiftly creasing into fury, every muscle in my body going tense.

Another moment passes, before I suddenly stand from the table, slamming my bottle on the table as I stalk past, heading straight out the door. Poncho tries to stop me, calling out to me, but I ignore him, practically seething as I leave the bar and stride to the car my brother and I came in. Unlocking it, I climb in and slam the door, buckling myself into the driver's seat as I throw the car into drive, pulling out onto the road. 

Furious, I drive way over the speed limit, weaving in and out of the traffic with no regard for my own safety as I careen down the highway. Screeching horns and tyres follow me as I go, but I ignore them, focusing instead on getting home, filled with anger now as Dutch's words play over and over in my head. 

It doesn't take long for me to pull up in the drive of my house, the car skidding on the loose gravel as I harshly jerk the handbrake into place, unbuckling myself before I climb out, making my way over to the door. Opening it, I go in and head straight to the bathroom, intending to take a shower to cool me down, knowing I need to calm down. I strip down quickly, quickly getting under the cold water with my fists clenched at my sides for a while, until I start to massage myself with my fingers, working out the knots in my muscles. It's pleasant, but I can still feel the anger burning in my system, so I swiftly leave again, wrapping myself in a towel. 

As I leave the bathroom, I hear a car pull up in the drive, the tyres crunching loudly on the gravel, announcing the newcomer's arrival. I dismiss it, chalking it up to it being Poncho, come to check up on me as the door downstairs opens, then closes, footsteps sounding in the hall as the person checks for me. The sounds are heavier than I thought they would be, and the identity of the person soon dawns on me.

Immediately, I feel the anger start racing through me again, my face creasing into a scowl until I force myself to calm down, at which point I turn and storm up to my bedroom. Going in, I start to rummage through my wardrobe, looking for some new clothes, trying to bite back the irritation rising in me as I hear the footsteps getting closer, the heavy boots not even halting as they reach the door. Within seconds, the wooden structure has been flung open, an angry mercenary standing in the space behind it.

"Ever learn to knock?" I snap at him as soon as I turn around, glaring at Dutch as he looms in the doorway, "Nevermind, you never learned manners period."

"Says the person who just stormed out of a bar." He scoffs, sneering at me as he steps into the room, "Talk about table manners."

"And whose fault is it I stormed out in the first place?" I glower at him, holding my towel in place as he continues forward, the glint in his eyes sparking a blazing heat inside me.

"Oh, so now it's my fault you can't take a joke?" Dutch jabs his finger at his chest before pointing it at me, brow furrowed in anger.

"You have a pretty poor idea of a joke, asshole." I spit back, lifting my finger up in his face as we step closer together, less than a foot away from each other now.

"You're the only one who thinks so, short-ass." He glares down at me, making me all too aware of how he towers over me.

Swallowing tightly, I shift uncomfortably.

"Sure about that? I can't be the only one who thinks your height jokes are getting old." I reply venomously, jabbing my finger at his chest.

He laughs humorlessly.

"Oh, but we both remember a time when you used to love playing into your shortness." His voice drops an octave, eyes boring into me, "I had you on your knees more than once with only standing over you. Remember?"

A flare of lust goes through me at the reminder, flashes of him looming over me as he pounded his cock harder and harder into my waiting mouth coming, unbidden, to mind. I'd always liked the sight of his muscular body above mine, as well as the feelings of his large hands wrapped around me, even if it was simply to hold my head still whilst he fucked it. 

"That was months ago." I hiss back at him, barely able to look up at him - if I do, it'll be too much like the memories in my head and I'll give in to the urges of my body. Already I can feel arousal pooling in my panties, my cheeks flushing as I realise this.

"Old habits die hard." Dutch growls, before swiftly reaching out to tear the towel away, exposing me to him. Before I can protest, however, he's taken hold of me and lifted me against the wall, pinning me roughly in place with his body, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His lips crash into mine, a mess of teeth and tongues ensuing as we kiss like we used to, wet sounds filling the air as we press closer and closer together. Soft sounds of need escape me, but they're swallowed by the ravenous major above me, who licks and nips at my lips, a few grunts leaving him as he does so. 

Moving to pull him closer, I moan loudly as Dutch jerks his hips into mine, using them to hold me in place, his arousal pressing at my clit through his trousers. I have to bite back whines at the feeling of the rough fabric against my unprotected clit, my slick soon covering the crotch of his jeans as he rolls his hips into me. One of his hands moves to palm roughly at my breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between two calloused fingers, his other hand grasping my ass, which he squeezes tightly. Whimpering into his mouth, I take my nails down his back, grinding my sensitive clit down onto him, enjoying the waves of pleasure emanating from the stimulation. 

Months and months of pent up lust pour through the kiss, only breaking as Dutch pulls back to yank his shirt off, revealing his muscular yet scarred torso to me. Instantly, I go to lick and kiss at the toned muscles, only to yelp indignantly as he takes hold of my hair and jerks my head back, growling as he fastens our lips together again. He presses closer, crushing me against the wall with his huge body, grinding his arousal into me with vigour, only to suddenly pull away, keeping me in his arms. In seconds, Dutch has thrown me on the bed, standing at the end with his hands on his belt. 

Biting my lip, I eagerly move to help him, but he pushes me back down roughly, wasting no time in pulling his trousers and underwear down, revealing his leaking cock to the air. I moan at the familiar sight of it, eyeing up the veined length keenly, following it from the base to the reddened tip, watching as precum beads there. 

Dutch doesn't give me long to admire him, climbing over me and pressing himself against me as soon as he's exposed, his lips moving to my neck. He leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake, biting at sensitive points as he goes, licking over them briefly each time to soothe them, every movement extracting a needy whine from me. One of his hands moves down to his cock, which he takes hold of and runs through my slick folds, coating the tip generously as he supplies pleasure to me. With every pass over my clit, I moan and rock up into him, clutching at his back. 

"Fuck me, Dutch. Show me how much bigger you are." I moan out, wrapping my legs around his waist.

As he hears my words, however, Dutch growls, leaning back, making my legs fall from where they were. I whine at the lack of contact until he rolls me onto my front, grabbing hold of my ass to knead and grope. 

"I'll show you alright." He practically snarls in my ear as he bends back over me, moulding his huge body to my smaller frame, hands jerking my ass into his hips. He grinds himself into me for a moment, building my pleasure further as he bites at the back of my neck, sending bolts of electricity through me, which I respond to by rocking back onto him. 

With a final grunt, Dutch lines himself up with my hole, surging forwards into me in one stroke, stretching me out as he goes. A half-scream leaves my throat as I feel his cock slide over every sensitive spot inside me, my walls clenching deliciously around him, every vein rubbing against me. He gives me no time to adjust, pulling out entirely before slamming back into me, setting a hard, fast pace that has me seeing stars in no time. Ecstasy races through me, a knot tightening swiftly in my abdomen at the feeling of his thick cock pounding into me. 

Dutch straightens after a moment, taking my hip in one hand whilst he presses my face into the bed with the other, using me as leverage to shove his cock as far into me as he can go, grunting and groaning behind me in pleasure and need. Under his grip, I feel totally immobile, but the thought of him using me to work out his anger sends me reeling, my walls clenching tightly around him, tearing a moan from his lips. His name falls from my own, almost like a mantra as he slams into me, sending bolts of pleasure through me, bringing me closer and closer to what I really want. 

"So close, Dutch...keep going, oh fuck, you're so good…" I moan out, my words muffled slightly by the bed, though they are audible enough for him.

A whine of displeasure echoes from my chest as he suddenly pulls out, my pussy throbbing at the loss. He doesn't wait long, though, rolling me back onto my back before he hikes my legs up onto his shoulders, thrusting roughly back into me. With the new angle, whole other waves of pleasure ripple through me, his cock hitting the very spot that brings me crashing towards an orgasm. The sound of skin slapping together fills the room, along with obscenely wet noises and moans from the two of us, both too caught up in the moment to care about what comes after.

"You're getting tighter, (Y/n)...gonna cum for me, are you?" Dutch groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as my pleasure rapidly builds, "Come on, (Y/n), cum for me!"

With a final scream of ecstasy, the tension inside me snaps and I cum, hard, my walls clenching like a vice around him. White light blinds me, everything disappearing around me as the pleasure floods through me in a great torrent, rendering me incapable of moving momentarily. 

Vaguely, I feel Dutch pound into me a few more times before he pulls out and cums over my stomach, letting out a roar of satisfaction at the sensation, his hand wrapped around himself, jerking his cock desperately. Breathing heavily, he milks himself dry before he slumps over me, smearing the sticky substance between us, the two of us left breathless in the throes of our pleasure. 

"Still as good as I remember." He hums, rolling off of me to lie beside me.

"Could say the same thing." I sigh, trailing a finger through his cooling cum, grimacing at the sight of it.

Groaning, I heave myself up, taking the towel up from the floor.

"Where are you going?" Dutch asks, still lounging on the bed.

"Shower. You should, too." I inform him, moving to leave, only to stop still as the door swings open.

"(Y/n)? Who are you- oh." Poncho blushes a deep red, grimacing as he swiftly ducks back out of the room. 

"Oh shit…" I groan, putting my head in my hands, unable to bite back a small smile.

With just grins, leaning back on his hands.

"Oops."

-

Tag list: @nightime-luna-fairy

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Sexual Tyrannosaurus

A few months back, i reviewed one of my all-time favorite films; Alien. I absolutely adore Alien. Horror films don’t really work on me, at all, but Alien pulled that sh*t off effortlessly. That flick was the first movie to ever really scare me. The performances, the direction, the atmosphere, the aesthetic; It was all incredible. A few months later, i stumbled upon a film called Predator in my Grandpa’s Beta Max collection. I was curious and checked it out as he took a nap. My mind was blown. This movie was everything that Alien was not, and i loved ever second of it. How was that a thing? How can something be the opposite of what i adore, and i still adore it? I wanted to revisit that flick, like i did Alien, and see if my adoration for this movie has held up over these past few decades.

The Great

Out the box, i have to commend the dialogue in this flick, man. It’s outstanding. It’s full of those great, 80s action, one-liners that you can’t hep but love. “I ain’t got time to bleed” and “You are one, ugly, motherf*cker” are just classics. Absolute classics.

Arnold Schwarzenegger as Alan "Dutch" Schaefer is the archetype for 80s action star. You can keep all of your Commandos and Cobras and Rambos. Give me Dutch Schaefer and we are good. This was my first experience with Schwarzenegger and made me an instant fan.

Jessie Ventura was f*cking hilarious as Blain Cooper. Dude was always great on the mic, you can tell just by looking at his time in wrestling, so this character fit him perfectly. All of that macho bravado and casually sexist rhetoric is hilarious. I imagine cats nowadays would fined that character problematic, most likely this entire movie come to think about it, but I'm too old to be offended by every little thing. This movie and this character is a product of it’s time an that needs to be taken into account when giving it a viewing.

I want to give a shout out to the late, great, Kevin Peter Hall. This gentle giant plays the actual Yautja, the Jungle Hunter, and he does it without uttering a word. Every move of this beast was so animalistic, so alien, that it strikes a deep chord with the audience. I bought that this massive, reptilian, monstrosity was from another wold and so much of that has to do with Hall’s brilliant physical performance.

The rest of the cast was pretty dope, too. Sonny Landham, Bill Duke, Elpidia Carrillo, Carl Weathers, and Shane black all turn in great supporting performances. I particularly like Weathers, landham, and Duke but i need to make specific mention of Peter Cullen. That’s right, Optimus Prime, himself, is the voice you hear, when the Predator does his shrieking. That sh*t is awesome!

While we’re on the subject of vocalizations, i have to tip my hat to the sound design in this flick. My, goodness, is it great! I mean, the Predator shrieks and hisses are ridiculous but the eerie ambiance of the jungle sets the mood perfectly. The little clicks, the overlapping rampage shootings, the epic score; All of it it adds as much to this film as Schwarzenegger or Hall. This movie would not be the same without the sound effects to help carry that emotion.

Speaking of effects, this movie has some of the best. I grew up on 80s films so practical sh*t will always hold a special place in my heart. Matte paintings, miniatures, in-camera optical effects, and suits will always take precedent over computer imagery for me and The Predator has two of the best examples of this tactile film making; The cloaked Yautja and the Yautja suit, itself. Stan Winston built this thing on the fly, after scrapping the original design. The f*cker is amazing in every aspect, and very uncanny valley, which lends itself to the extraterrestrial nature of the film.

The action in this thing is some of the best the 80s have to offer. It’s over-the-top, absolutely ridiculous, and delightfully tongue-in-cheek. I love how everything is just slathered in a thick, pungent, sticky, Masculinity as toxic as it is vibrant. It’s sweaty, filthy, muscly, goodness that is unapologetic about it’s violence. Predator is absolutely reptile brain viewing, for sure. That sh*t is rare nowadays but quite prevalent way back when. I miss this type of movie sometimes.

It takes a steady hand to manage all of these egos and effects and still coalesce al of that chaotic energy into one, digestible, film. The director of this flick had to have the patience of a saint to take on such a challenge but John McTiernan nailed that sh*t. Dude has a number of hits under his belt, Die Hard and The Hunt For Red October for example, but those came after Predator. It was never a question of talent but more ability. McTiernan delivers both in spades, gifting the art form, arguably one of it’s best examples in action, ever.

The Verdict

I still love this movie. It’s absolute, 80s testosterone, He-Man, nonsense. There is no subtlety to be found in this movie whatsoever. It’s full on, Rambo-esque chaos and it’s glorious to see. Where Alien is this tight, atmospheric, exercise in panic, Predator is this garish, wide-open, deceptively horrifying, action extravaganza. The script is tight, the pacing is brisk, and the direction is focused. There isn’t much of a story to tell, it’s basically the bones of a narrative used to string together ridiculous set-pieces, but it’s one of the best, brainless, explosion riddled, blockbusters out there. The dialogue is outstanding, the one-liners come fast and furious, which is testament to the writing but the real gem here are the performances given by the main cast. These Beefaroni ass f*ckers are great, Schwarzenegger in particular.

This role is what made me pay attention to him. This role is what lead me to Terminator and Conan and Total Recall and True Lies. Even with all of that awesome under his belt, it was his Dutch that made me a fan. Predator is not a great movie but it is a fun ass time with outstanding performances, saturated in this macabre camp that infects every aspect of this production. It’s Bayhem at it’s best, vapid action overlord, executed by a director who is competent in his craft, not lost in his ego. If you’ve never seen it, definitely check it out. It’s totally worth a watch. Keep in mind, though, if you’re triggered easily, this might set you off. It’s completely 80s in tone and sensibilities. If you can’t separate that, definitely give this one a pass.

[theentiregdtime]

dennis buys a boat.

PHILADELPHIA, PA 5:00 ON A FRIDAY

"Look, Mac, I don't- I can't even comprehend what you're saying right now. How can you possibly not be excited about this? Are- Are you even human?"

"It's not that it's not cool, dude! I just- When you called me down here and said you were gonna blow my mind, I- How did this even happen?"

"It happened because I'm a genius, goddamn it, now are you going to get in or should I call Charlie instead?"

"No, I'm sorry, man! Look, don't call Charlie, I'll get in the boat."

Dennis is a visionary and Mac is a fool. Dennis is the king of the Delaware and Mac is a Hessian cretin. Dennis is... he's fucking Poseidon and Mac is but a lowly fish.

Mac could have come down here to the marina, chanted about how 'awesome' this was (he calls everything awesome!), and been goddamn Nerites. Not that he would have allowed him to take the reigns of this supercharged chariot, but still! Alas, he doesn't get the boat, not like Dennis does, so now he's just a fish.

Still, though, it feels good.

Dennis is stood aboard a 2007 Sea-Doo Challenger, of which he is now the proud owner, perched with his hands on his hips like a navy-clad demigod. The warm sun is shining down on his back, the speakers are blaring Steve Winwood's The Finer Things, and Dennis Reynolds is on top of the world, baby!

"So like," Mac says tentatively as he steps in, "where did you even get this? Last night you told me we couldn't afford two orders of fried rice."

A self-satisfied smirk twists  Dennis' mouth.

"How does anyone get anything, Mac?" he responds, dipping his sunglasses down to flash his eyes. "The world's not about money. It's about charm."

"That makes absolutely no sense, dude."

He's not certain why he expected someone like Mac to understand. He hadn't exactly grown up with the same... entitlements as Dennis had. His idea of recreation as a child was poking dead things with a stick and throwing rocks. As a matter of fact, he had probably thrown rocks at boats! The savage.

But Charlie would have gotten sewage and toothpaste and cheese and other mystery stains all over the vinyl, and Dee would have ripped a hole in the seat with her goddamn jagged bird arms.

Mac was the obvious choice. He was usually such a fantastic hype-man, and Dennis would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm here.

"That's because you don't have any charm, Mac," he retorts as he sidles into the captain's chair, curving his fingers around the steering wheel. "You tumble into rooms and knock things over and spit when you yell like the damned Tasmanian Devil."

"Be that as in May," -that's not the phrase, but Dennis doesn't interject- "I get stuff through the power of intimidation."

Mac plops himself down, rather gracelessly, in the passenger seat.

"When has that ever happened? And don't say the time you 'intimidated' that man at the mall into giving you a free massage, because I hate to break it to ya', but that's not what that was, buddy."

He pouts so overdramatically that his frown reaches his chin.

"Hey. I'm tough, Dennis," he persists, and per usual, appears to genuinely believe it. "But don't worry, that doesn't overshadow your charm thing!" Mac's smile perks back up and he reaches out to brush his knuckles against Dennis' shirt. "Like, you look way better in sweaters than I do, man."

It's not so much a sweater as it is a nautical polyester zip-up pullover, but hey, he does look good in it- so he'll let that slide.

"Okay, okay, just... shut up and hold onto something, all right?" Dennis rolls his eyes, but there's an excited sneer forming on the edges of his lips.

He screws the safety key around his wrist onto the slot until it clicks into place. Mac would say something along the lines of 'safety is for bozos' before surely setting himself on fire or plummeting off of a rooftop, but Dennis will not be murdered by his own boat like some sort of seafaring Cronus.

He gives a quick wink to- well, not so much Mac, more to the boat- before adjusting the trim and wrapping a hand around the throttle.

"Prepare to have your mind blown."

Before Mac can ruin the moment, Dennis sends the throttle forward. The dock is relatively clear, so he's out on the water doing 45 in no time. He leans back in his seat to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror (shame it's so small) just as the song tells him about the golden things life could be, and yeah, he looks pretty damn cool. Obviously, Mac must think so, too. Not that he cares.

He darts his eyes over to see if Mac is looking at him.

And oh man, is Mac looking at him.

But not like he's admiring how 'awesome' he is or thinking about how he wishes he could be so goddamn glorious- not like that at all. It's like he's just happy to be out here with him for no other reason than to be here. He's got this stupid little grin on his face... The nerve!

Dennis focuses his gaze back on the river.

Well, if anyone with half a brain is watching him, they will certainly admire how cool he is.

After a half-hour or so of going near-60 (perhaps to show off, perhaps not...), Dennis kicks it back down for a while, and they coast along the river maintaining a comfortable speed over which they can actually hear each other speak. Dennis can hear the music again, too, Wouldn't It Be Nice bamp-bamp-bamping through its last chorus.

Part of him regrets it, because Mac immediately shifts in his seat and starts babbling, like he's just been wriggling anxiously, waiting for an opportunity to speak. He gets that way, after they haven't talked in a while- a day, an hour, fifteen minutes- like he has to tell Dennis every single thought that's gone through his head in the meantime.

"Hey, what do you think fish think about?" he asks.

Dennis' eyebrows tense. He rolls his teeth over his lip. "What?"

Mac seems offended, as if the question were self-explanatory. "You know, fish," he reiterates.

"That isn't the part I was confused about."

That answer doesn't satisfy him, and Dennis can feel his stare burning a hole into the side of his head without even having to look. He's like a child.

Rick Astley is pumping through the speakers now, and Mac is totally ruining it.

"I don't know, Mac, what do you think about all day?" he deadpans.

The connection to Mac having the brain of a common herring flies right up the windshield and over his head. "Oh, uh-" he starts excitedly, "like, the bar, ideas for stunts, who would win in a fight between Dutch Schaefer and John McClane, you, french fries, whether or not I could put a bear in a headlock, which I think I could if I got a running start-"

"You've made your point!" Dennis has to stop him, because he already knows all of this, and Dutch would obviously win because John is more stealth than muscle and Dutch clearly has experience with stealth. "I don't think fish think about fast food, which they have no access to, or whether or not you could fight a bear, because they don't know you and you cannot, or..."

Or me, Dennis just now registers. Did he really say that?

He shakes his head and dismisses it.

"I think they think about absolutely nothing! Some part of their tiny, gelatinous brain reminds them to move and to swallow smaller fish, but I can tell you with great confidence that there is nothing else. There is not some- some tangled, Desperate Housewives-esque drama playing itself out down there, damn it!"

Mac whistles through his teeth. "But, like... can you prove that? Can we be sure? Because science has only come so far-"

"Oh, I will not have this debate with you again!" Dennis inches his speed up just a bit in an effort to drown Mac out. "Are you determined to ruin fish for yourself by... by subscribing to the notion that they are capable of complex thought? You know how much fish we eat, Mac!"

"That's why I'm asking, dude!"

Dennis nudges the throttle up further, keeping his eyes trained on the water passing underneath them like sheets of polished glass.

"If they've got stuff going on up here," -he imagines Mac is pointing to his head, where quite clearly nothing is going on- "then maybe we should switch to duck or something, man!"

"Why- You- You think a duck thinks less than a fish?!" Dennis sputters.

He's almost up to 60 now.

"I'm not saying that for sure!" Mac transitions into shouting over the engine, the goddamn lunatic. "I'm just saying, flying back and forth every year seems like a waste of time!"

"Are you criticizing the migration of waterfowl?!"

"Well, why don't they just stay in the city, Dennis?! There's always food there!"

There's a rattling sound now, and Dennis assumes at first that it's a migraine forming from his teeth scraping together, but it's so loud and-

Ah, shit, it's the boat.

The needle on the speedometer starts creeping down despite the throttle being all the way up. Dennis adjusts it, as well as the trim, but the grinding only seems to intensify and the boat only gets slower. He checks to make sure the safety lanyard is still connected- which it is- and everything on the dash seems normal...

He can hear the music clearly once more. God, I wish I was sailing again, Jimmy Buffett mocks him.

"Uh, how much smoke is too much smoke for a boat?" Mac asks hesitantly. For once, it's actually a relevant question, and not some sort of riddle or existential crisis.

Dennis turns to look over his shoulder as the gauge creeps towards 20 and, yep, delightful, that's smoke.

"Did you suck something up?" he inquires rather stupidly.

"Yes, I absolutely did, and I did it on purpose," Dennis spits as he unhooks the lanyard and pulls the levers back down, "and you know what? I hope it was a fish, Mac, I hope it was the biggest, smartest fish in this entire goddamn river," -he hops up and paces towards the back, his heavy footsteps echoing off the sides of the boat- "with hopes and dreams and aspirations, a thousand times more superior than any duck! And I've just crushed it with the impeller like meat in a blender!"

"Why would you put meat in a...?"

Dennis rips the sunglasses from his face and tosses them to the floor. He doesn't know what else to take out his anger on.

"Is that the takeaway, Mac?!" he squawks, spinning back around to look at his idiotic fish face. This is why Poseidon is so engulfed with wrath all of the time! "Is that the one thing you choose to pick out of this entire situation?!"

Suddenly, Mac is on his feet and closing the distance between them. He has that pitying, holier-than-thou expression on his face, and for a moment, Dennis thinks he's going to pick a fight with him (and he would lose just like he'd lose to a bear!), until he feels steady hands clamp down on his shoulders.

"Den, listen to me," Mac says softly, lifting two fingers to point them back and forth between their eyes, "I'm with you. I'm on your side, man. Fish are stupid and they suck and we're gonna keep eating them, okay?" He lifts his palms to press them against Dennis' jaw. "But I need you to stay calm so we can figure this out."

Dennis should feel patronized and belittled, but he doesn't- he's simply stunned in place. His breathing is starting to steady, and he thinks he's nodding. Whatever Mac says or does next, he has a feeling he's going to believe him- even if he claims trout are capable of high-order thinking.

"Okay," is all he manages.

Mac parrots back, "Okay."

He gives Dennis a double-pat on the cheek before passing him to peer over the stern. There is utterly no chance he has any idea what he's looking at, but that doesn't stop him.

"Well, I don't see anything."

Ordinarily, Dennis would ask him what he expected to see- some sort of hook hand hanging off of the boat? Instead, he merely shrugs his shoulders.

He's oddly at peace with this. Jet-boating is kind of boring, anyways. It's nothing like a yacht, there are not nearly as many bachelorette parties waving to him as he'd envisioned, and there's next to nothing to see out here. There's a reason John McTiernan does not direct movies about flat water.

"I'm so sorry, Dennis," Mac apologizes, for some reason.

Now that they're floating sans engine, the smoke has died down, and there are no more ear-splitting scraping noises. Dennis would rather spend the night on this thing than hear that sound again- it's going to give him an even worse headache if he does.

"Just- open that up." Dennis gestures to one of the storage compartments.

Mac nods dutifully and does as requested, looking like he thinks it might lead to something he can repair. When it opens to a mound of ice and Coronas, he raises a surprised- but not displeased- eyebrow.

"Oh. All right."

Not two minutes later, they're sitting on the back row of the boat, beers in hand, having given up trying to remedy the situation. I'd Really Love To See You Tonight (absolute classic) is playing just as the sun is starting to set. They'll call for a tow once it gets dark- Dennis doesn't have the energy to think about it right now.

Mac's got his arm on the back of the seat, around Dennis, but not really touching him. There's much more space they could be utilizing, but this is fine. It makes it easier for Mac to open Dennis' beers for him, anyways.

"I think you should start paying for boats with money instead of charm, Den."

Dennis scoffs. He leans back onto Mac's arm as he takes another swig.

"I don't know..." he mutters, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. You see, it really doesn't matter much to me, the speakers remind him. "This isn't so bad."

Mac chuckles through his nose. He doesn't object.

It's quiet for a while as Seals and Coley harmonize and Dennis polishes off the last of his drink. He discards the empty bottle, letting it roll until it meets up with his shattered sunglasses.

"You want me to get you another one?" Mac offers.

"No," he half-whispers and scoots a little closer- just to get comfortable. There's no sense in being uncomfortable.

Mac's hand rests on Dennis' shoulder, drawing him in gently.

"Okay," he whispers back.

He passes Dennis his own, half-empty beer. Without taking his eyes off of the sunset, Dennis takes a sip, then hands it back to Mac, who immediately does the same. They trade it back and forth a few times. Dennis hums I'm not talkin' 'bout moving in...

"Dennis?" Mac mumbles in his ear.

"... Yes?"

He could ask him anything in the world right now, and Dennis thinks he might give him a real, honest answer. He imagines the answer to a lot of those questions would be 'yes, I do, I'm just so scared to tell you'. He would really love to tell him tonight.

"How many pennies do think there are... in the river?"

Dennis takes another drink. He's too tired to argue. It's warm, the sky is amber-peach, the boat is rocking gently, Mac's arm is around him, there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out, and I'd really love to see you tonight.

Dennis sighs.

"Just pennies," he replies, passing the beer back, "or are we talking all change?"

[geek-gem]

My favorite joke about Yautja

This is basically some what a stereotype joke. Listen I don't like stereotyping and all that. Even if this is a fictional alien race. Including the Yautja race are interesting.

The joke is this.

When in actuality, the Yautja(from the Predator films) if we mainly go from the first four films counting the AVP films or even the first two Predator films. The Yautja are a very honorable race similar to samurai. With rules of the hunt and other things. Such as not hunting in someone else's hunting space and the case of no Yautja can hunt Dutch Schaefer (From the original film) because he is seen as some sort of warrior they have considering their equal. While yes a brutal race, but they have rules especially for the young ones.

Whenever I think of when some member of a species kills a number of people, or they are classified as worthy prey. All the Yautja go fucking crazy(especially the Young Blood's) and just chant and shit. Basically they go bonkers and when conflict happens in a part of the universe especially Earth.

It's the idea of imagine children the moment something allows they are allow to do what they want. The stereotype is Yautja get fucking excited and again go crazy like a child on Christmas morning when someone is deemed worthy prey and it's almost every Yautja for themselves as they hunt the worthy prey.

But it's also basically the idea I talked about they would praise the Gem race from Steven Universe because of the species itself and what they can do. To the point they think it's an honor getting killed by a gem. It's almost like I'm sorry to say a sexual drive. But they are so bonkers of hunting worthy prey they just swarm on that prey like kids in a candy store.

Or what I've been thinking Black Friday.

It's weird trying to describe this but I've wanted to talk about this for a long time.

Okay tags done but for that picture imagine it's a bunch of Yautja young and old just chanting HUNT HUNT HUNT TROPHIES TROPHIES TROPHIES as they swarm on unexpected prey such as humans. Or if they never had a rule to not hunt Dutch after he killed Diablo in the original film. Basically he's fair game.

I mean that's what I heard no Yautja can hunt Dutch because he's deemed worthy or some shit. Also I'm sorry if I didn't make this clear enough, but I hope people get the joke.

[smokeybrand]

Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Sexual Tyrannosaurus

A few months back, i reviewed one of my all-time favorite films; Alien. I absolutely adore Alien. Horror films don’t really work on me, at all, but Alien pulled that sh*t off effortlessly. That flick was the first movie to ever really scare me. The performances, the direction, the atmosphere, the aesthetic; It was all incredible. A few months later, i stumbled upon a film called Predator in my Grandpa’s Beta Max collection. I was curious and checked it out as he took a nap. My mind was blown. This movie was everything that Alien was not, and i loved ever second of it. How was that a thing? How can something be the opposite of what i adore, and i still adore it? I wanted to revisit that flick, like i did Alien, and see if my adoration for this movie has held up over these past few decades.

The Great

Out the box, i have to commend the dialogue in this flick, man. It’s outstanding. It’s full of those great, 80s action, one-liners that you can’t hep but love. “I ain’t got time to bleed” and “You are one, ugly, motherf*cker” are just classics. Absolute classics.

Arnold Schwarzenegger as Alan "Dutch" Schaefer is the archetype for 80s action star. You can keep all of your Commandos and Cobras and Rambos. Give me Dutch Schaefer and we are good. This was my first experience with Schwarzenegger and made me an instant fan.

Jessie Ventura was f*cking hilarious as Blain Cooper. Dude was always great on the mic, you can tell just by looking at his time in wrestling, so this character fit him perfectly. All of that macho bravado and casually sexist rhetoric is hilarious. I imagine cats nowadays would fined that character problematic, most likely this entire movie come to think about it, but I'm too old to be offended by every little thing. This movie and this character is a product of it’s time an that needs to be taken into account when giving it a viewing.

I want to give a shout out to the late, great, Kevin Peter Hall. This gentle giant plays the actual Yautja, the Jungle Hunter, and he does it without uttering a word. Every move of this beast was so animalistic, so alien, that it strikes a deep chord with the audience. I bought that this massive, reptilian, monstrosity was from another wold and so much of that has to do with Hall’s brilliant physical performance.

The rest of the cast was pretty dope, too. Sonny Landham, Bill Duke, Elpidia Carrillo, Carl Weathers, and Shane black all turn in great supporting performances. I particularly like Weathers, landham, and Duke but i need to make specific mention of Peter Cullen. That’s right, Optimus Prime, himself, is the voice you hear, when the Predator does his shrieking. That sh*t is awesome!

While we’re on the subject of vocalizations, i have to tip my hat to the sound design in this flick. My, goodness, is it great! I mean, the Predator shrieks and hisses are ridiculous but the eerie ambiance of the jungle sets the mood perfectly. The little clicks, the overlapping rampage shootings, the epic score; All of it it adds as much to this film as Schwarzenegger or Hall. This movie would not be the same without the sound effects to help carry that emotion.

Speaking of effects, this movie has some of the best. I grew up on 80s films so practical sh*t will always hold a special place in my heart. Matte paintings, miniatures, in-camera optical effects, and suits will always take precedent over computer imagery for me and The Predator has two of the best examples of this tactile film making; The cloaked Yautja and the Yautja suit, itself. Stan Winston built this thing on the fly, after scrapping the original design. The f*cker is amazing in every aspect, and very uncanny valley, which lends itself to the extraterrestrial nature of the film.

The action in this thing is some of the best the 80s have to offer. It’s over-the-top, absolutely ridiculous, and delightfully tongue-in-cheek. I love how everything is just slathered in a thick, pungent, sticky, Masculinity as toxic as it is vibrant. It’s sweaty, filthy, muscly, goodness that is unapologetic about it’s violence. Predator is absolutely reptile brain viewing, for sure. That sh*t is rare nowadays but quite prevalent way back when. I miss this type of movie sometimes.

It takes a steady hand to manage all of these egos and effects and still coalesce al of that chaotic energy into one, digestible, film. The director of this flick had to have the patience of a saint to take on such a challenge but John McTiernan nailed that sh*t. Dude has a number of hits under his belt, Die Hard and The Hunt For Red October for example, but those came after Predator. It was never a question of talent but more ability. McTiernan delivers both in spades, gifting the art form, arguably one of it’s best examples in action, ever.

The Verdict

I still love this movie. It’s absolute, 80s testosterone, He-Man, nonsense. There is no subtlety to be found in this movie whatsoever. It’s full on, Rambo-esque chaos and it’s glorious to see. Where Alien is this tight, atmospheric, exercise in panic, Predator is this garish, wide-open, deceptively horrifying, action extravaganza. The script is tight, the pacing is brisk, and the direction is focused. There isn’t much of a story to tell, it’s basically the bones of a narrative used to string together ridiculous set-pieces, but it’s one of the best, brainless, explosion riddled, blockbusters out there. The dialogue is outstanding, the one-liners come fast and furious, which is testament to the writing but the real gem here are the performances given by the main cast. These Beefaroni ass f*ckers are great, Schwarzenegger in particular.

This role is what made me pay attention to him. This role is what lead me to Terminator and Conan and Total Recall and True Lies. Even with all of that awesome under his belt, it was his Dutch that made me a fan. Predator is not a great movie but it is a fun ass time with outstanding performances, saturated in this macabre camp that infects every aspect of this production. It’s Bayhem at it’s best, vapid action overlord, executed by a director who is competent in his craft, not lost in his ego. If you’ve never seen it, definitely check it out. It’s totally worth a watch. Keep in mind, though, if you’re triggered easily, this might set you off. It’s completely 80s in tone and sensibilities. If you can’t separate that, definitely give this one a pass.

[one-boring-person]

Alrighty! I know I’m late but to make up I’m going to send a B U N C H of requests! You don’t have to do all of em but I think they’re going to be fun!

Ok first off how bout a Dutch x Reader where they got separated in the jungle and meet up in the chopper, but Dutch was sure she died and it’s a nice little reunion!

I cannot wait to write all of these! I'm so excited!😅 I think I may have gone a bit overboard with this first one, but the idea has been going round my head ever since I read the request, so I hope you like it!

We're Alive!

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer x reader (Platonic)

Warnings: death, spoilers, injury, blood, gun use

Masterlist

"(Y/N)! GO!" Dutch bellows at me as he scrambles to get up again, his arm bleeding profusely from his newly acquired wound, the major's voice laced with pain and urgency.

"No!" I snap back, taking up my gun and firing off into the trees, aiming for the origin of the blast from before, going in a wild arc as the automatic pelts the surroundings with a volley of bullets.

"(Y/n), get to the chopper, now!" He tries again, climbing to his feet, his own gun clenched in hand as he backs himself with me, the two of us staring out at the area.

"N-" I go to respond, only to be cut off by another flash of energy coming between us, the heat of it burning away the skin and fabric covering my leg, a surprised cry of agony escaping me as I instinctively buckle under the intensity. 

Dutch is quick to grab me, forcing me to duck down slightly as we take off into the underbrush, the veteran pulling me along with speed. Vines and branches whip past my face, welts appearing on my grimy skin as I do my best to hobble after the broad-shouldered man ahead of me, his physical size easily parting the jungle for him. Behind us, I can hear the pounding footsteps and eerie clicking of whatever the hell is chasing us, my pulse pounding in my ears as my panic fuels my adrenaline, allowing me to ignore the searing pain in my leg. Each breath is harsh and fast, my legs pumping quickly to cover as much ground as possible. 

All of a sudden, Dutch's foot goes out from under him, his massive body falling into the sharp slope to the side of us. A shout of panic tears itself from his throat as he tumbles out of sight, leaving me alone on our original trail, our ruthless pursuer hot on my heels. 

"DUTCH!" I scream after him, briefly considering going after him, unsure of how well I'll fare without him.

A low growl behind me makes the decision for me, my instincts kicking in as I ignore my heart and push on, limping on into the dense jungle, eyes widening as I realise exactly how close the killer is. My heart jumps in my chest as I suddenly feel the quick brush of air as it swipes at me, blades just catching the back of my neck before I've gotten out of the way, my legs carrying me faster as fear takes over. Completely oblivious to any pain now, I thunder through the undergrowth, slapping wildly at vines, leaping over fallen branches and logs, heartbeat racing faster and faster with each step. There's a taste of iron on my tongue, blood from a bitten lip dripping down my face now, coating my chin in a thin layer of the stuff. 

And then my feet are no longer touching the ground.

Crying out in surprise, I throw my hands out in front of me to catch myself, my palms smacking harshly into hard rock as I smash into the boulder below me. Pain explodes in my chest as it collides with the solid surface, winding me even as my knees crack loudly as they bounce off of it. 

For a moment, I lie still, trying to regain my breath, before I roll onto my back, staring up at the slight cliff I fell off, expecting to be met with the sight of three red dots on my chest. Surprisingly, I see nothing, the forest around me mostly silent, except for the rushing of water, which I quickly deduce is from the river nearby. Groaning, I let myself relax, closing my eyes as I finally register the full extent of the pain coursing through my body, my newly bruised torso not helping at all with the stinging from my leg, blood now pouring down the limb in great streams, staining my skin crimson. 

Steeling myself, I push myself upright and take in my surroundings, glad to find myself at the river where there are many boulders I can use as cover, the ground much easier to move over here, meaning I can make a quick getaway if I need to. Somewhat relieved, I force myself to get up and go to the river, knowing I need to clean my wounds or they'll get infected, not that it makes much difference: I'll probably be dead by the end of the day. 

I shake these thoughts from my head, focusing on getting to the river as I limp over the uneven surface, coming to kneel beside it with a wince. Swiftly, I peel back my frayed trouser leg and manoeuvre myself so that the appendage lies in the water, the cool sensation bringing tears to my eyes from the harsh sting. It is somewhat soothing, but mostly painful, the blood washing away quickly, only to be replaced by more as the open wound continues to bleed, the inflicted area being large, not deep thankfully. Biting my lip, I run a hand over it, cleaning it slightly before finally pulling it out, swiftly tearing off my sleeve and wrapping it around my leg as a makeshift bandage.

Having done so, I hobble back to one of the boulders,  sitting at its base as I think over my options. 

My first instinct is to find Dutch, wherever he may be, but the cynical part of my brain tells me there's no real point. If the killer stopped chasing me, it's because it thought Dutch was the better prey, and if the fall didn't kill him, he'll be too beaten up from it to really be able to do anything against the creature hunting him. Then again, Dutch is a tough one to subdue, let alone kill, so he may well be alive and kicking, but I have no way of telling whether this is the case. 

Hopelessness floods me as I think through this, my head dropping to my chest, completely unsure of what the best course of action is. Naturally, I'd go find the pick-up point, but again, I have no idea where I am, and so would struggle greatly to find the allocated place, meaning I'm totally stranded here, alone with a killer stalking around. Lifting my head, I check over my body to see which weapons I still have, glad to find my knife still attached to my hip, though I curse colourfully when I realize I dropped my gun in my haste to escape the predator at my heels, leaving me defenceless, unless it comes into close-quarters, which I would rather it didn't. Chewing my lip, I toy with my knife a bit, before deciding to try and locate the pick-up point, think over the possibility of retracing my steps. I would've left a trail through the jungle from my panic, so it shouldn't be too hard to follow it back to where Poncho was killed. 

At the reminder of this, my heart twists painfully, my chest tightening from the realisation that all of my closest friends, possibly bar one, are dead at the hands of this otherworldly killer, all because of some mission Dillon managed to get us mixed up in. When Dutch had first told us about it, I'd been sceptical, not quite believing that our team was needed for it, rather than another military branch, but I'd gone along with it in the end after a particularly snide comment from Dillon himself, finding myself with the need to prove him wrong. A bitter chuckle escapes my lips at the thought, reflecting on where his antics eventually got us, and him, though I scold myself for being unfair; it's not his fault there's a predator trying to kill us.

Climbing to my feet, I push aside the idle thoughts, ignoring the pang in my heart at my own callousness, limping stiffly back to the small cliff I fell off, glancing up at it to determine how I should get back up. Deeming it appropriate, I slide the knife back into its sheath and find myself a hand hold on the hard rock, beginning the tough climb up. Agony shoots through my battered body, but I simply grit my teeth and push past it, forcing my body to haul itself higher and higher, fingers scrabbling at the tough stone, leaving them raw and grazed, the skin chafing away with each movement. My muscles scream at me in protest, grimaces contorting my face with each pull, relief flooding me as I reach the top of the cliff. Dragging myself up onto it, I hastily scramble to my feet and observe my surroundings, wary of what might be hiding in the trees, my body tense and ready for action.

By now, darkness has fallen on the jungle, a bright moon shining down onto me from above, lighting up the trees before me slightly, casting them in a ghostly light. The dreary appearance puts me on edge, knowing that the new shadows provide all sorts of effective cover for any predator, especially the cruel one hunting me down. Breathing deeply, I start off into the dense shrubbery.

The going is slow, my leg now hurting me badly as I drag my body through the jungle, doing my best to head in what I think is a familiar direction. My eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see in minimal clarity where I'm going, making the navigation somewhat faster than it could be, though I'm still painfully aware of how disadvantaged I am in this current state. Every sound and noise around me makes me freeze in place, terror stiffening my joints every few seconds, my hand reaching for my knife with each rustle of the leaves. Mentally, I know that if the creature was anywhere nearby, it would've killed me by now, but the weapon at my hip gives me some reassurance in any case.

Something heavy drops from the canopy to land in front of me, branches snapping under the weight, the sudden sound drawing a gasp of fear from me. Stopping still, I stare at the misshapen form on the floor, already dreading going closer, though my curiosity gets the better of me. Unfortunately, I regret this decision as soon as I look over what I now know to be a body. 

Before I can stop it, a cry of horror tears itself from my throat, the outburst horribly loud to me as I fight the urge to hurl, quickly looking away from the mangled body at my feet.

And then I hear it.

Clicking.

Whirling on my heels, I draw my knife and look around me, adrenaline pumping through me, my hand shaking uncontrollably as my wide eyes take in the surroundings.

The clicking continues, seemingly all around me.

Terrified, I jerk my head around, unsure of where it might be, breathing ragged now as I struggle to focus.

Suddenly, the knife goes flying from my grip, my wrist snapping painfully as it is twisted back against my arm, a surprised scream of pain leaving my parted lips as I can only watch the limb become disfigured, the invisible blow dealt to it having a lot more force than I expected. Taking a step back, I feel my heart pound in my chest, still unable to see where my attacker is, as well as who it might be. 

Agony explodes around my jaw as a camouflaged fist connects with it, blood filling my mouth from the strength of the punch, knocking me to the floor. Catching myself, I scramble in the dirt for my knife, ignoring the tears that have sprung to my eyes, spitting out mouthful of blood with each breath, my face aching badly. I don't get a chance to recover properly, before I've been thrown into a nearby tree, an invisible hand clamped tightly around my neck, holding me a good foot or two off the ground. Gasping, I grasp at whatever is holding me, feeling dark spots take over my vision, but not before I catch sight of what exactly is holding me captive. 

Eyes widening, I bat at the metal mask, hoping to knock it off guard before it can choke me to death, but I can feel my throat beginning to constrict, air struggling to flow through it as it used to. My pulse races, body now aware of its dying state, my arms weakly slapping at the huge creature holding me, darkness flooding my vision. Dizzy and light-headed, I feel my conscience starting to leave me, allowing me to fall into the blackness I so desperately want to give in to. 

Vaguely, I register the predator's head snap round, clearly distracted by something, before I finally succumb to the darkness.

*

A low beating sound draws me from the fog in my brain, my conscience coming back to me slowly. Blinking, I push myself upright, yelping in pain as my body aches and throbs, my neck feeling completely useless as the bruising agony there kicks in. Everything rushes back to me, confusion flooding my mind as I recall the predator choking me to death, explaining the pain in my neck, though it does not explain why I'm still alive. 

Frowning, I glance upwards, realising that the beating sound I can hear is the steady whir of helicopter rotors, my heart soaring as I recognise that I may still have a chance of getting out of here alive. Ignoring the agony in my body, I throw myself to my feet and start limping as quickly as possible in the direction of the familiar sound, elated at the thought of getting out of here, though I feel my heart twist at the thought of it only being me. Hope gives me some speed, allowing me to charge relatively quickly through the undergrowth, all thoughts of the predator forgotten as the sound gets louder, the aircrafts now visible in the sky from where I am, though only in the distance. 

A deafening explosion somewhere to my left jerks me from my feet, a shockwave from the blast easily throwing me to the ground. Covering my head with my hands, I instinctively keep myself small, knowing full well how to stay somewhat safe in the midst of an explosion, though I can feel my hope slowly draining away. What if the blast took out the chopper?

Minutes pass before I climb to my feet again, taking note of the thick smoke now shrouding the jungle, making it harder to see where I'm going. I decide to go towards the sound, knowing that the explosion will have drawn the pilot's attention, meaning it'll be much easier to see me if they fly over to explore it. As I thought, the beating of the rotors gets steadily louder as I delve deeper, glad to find that it is much more cacophonous here. 

Bursting out from behind a tree, I feel my spirit soar as I see the smoke in this area being whipped up and away from the clearing, allowing me to see in a large radius around the lowering aircraft. With it, however, I notice that the rotors have revealed something else. 

Immediately, my heart skips a beat.

Clumsily, I stumble forwards, tears coming to my eyes as I recognise the figure standing a little way away, the muscular man turning to me in surprise.

"(Y/n)?!" He exclaims, shock and relief lacing his accented voice as he sees me.

"Dutch!" I call back, running towards him even as he runs towards me, his arms outstretched towards me, the filthy major bloodied and beaten, but still alive. 

Upon reaching each other, Dutch wraps me into a tight embrace, crushing me into his muscular body even as I bury myself into him, clutching at his waist, leaping into his arms. Picking me up, he presses his face into my hair, muttering things to me, voice breaking in emotion, his grip tight around me, knees buckling out from underneath him as it overwhelms him. Tears fall freely from my eyes, my face pressing into his bare chest, ignoring the blood and mud, relishing the feeling of his body against mine, my hands pulling him closer to me as he falls to the floor, my form still wrapped around his. One of his hands comes up to press me head into the crook of his neck, allowing me to inhale his familiar scent, the smell comforting me and reassuring me as I sob in joy. Reluctantly, he pulls his head back so he can look down at me, his grey eyes meeting mine, their surfaces wet with tears.

"I-i thought...I thought you died…" He stammers out, voice breaking with emotion, his cheeks stained with his tears, my heart throbbing for him as the usually stoic man holds me close to him.

"I'm here, Dutch, I'm here." I reassure him, before continuing, "I thought it got you, too…"

I have to fight through the choking emotion, but I manage to get it out, laughing in giddy relief as he pulls me back into him, crushing me into him, his arms locking me in place.

Dutch keeps his arms around me even as we climb into the chopper, the veteran pulling me so that I lie against his chest in my seat, his hand resting on my back as if to keep himself grounded. I stare up at him, unwilling to look out at the jungle even as he stares at it, face blank as the grief and exhaustion finally catches up to him. Anna sits across from us, the guerrilla girl thankfully still alive, glad to see us in a similar state. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're still alive...I don't know what I would've done if…" Dutch murmurs to me, the man rambling a little as the emotions assault him, his grip tightening with every word.

"We're alive, Dutch, and I'm so, so happy we are." I respond, nuzzling into his chest, uncaring of the fact it is covered in a layer of mud.

Exhausted, the two of us drift off, sleep finally catching up to us as the trauma of the past few days sets in, our consciences unable to keep going after so long of simply running on survival instinct.

[one-boring-person]

When It's All Over.

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer (Predator 1987) x reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of injury, mention of death, blood, mention of gun violence, MILD SPOILERS

Context: The reader is a part of Dutch's group, and is one of the only survivors left behind. This takes place during their preparation for the final fight.

A/N: This is my first time officially writing Predator stuff, so please don't get angry if it's a bit out of character, but I really wanted to write something! Dutch is an absolute favourite of mine, and I want to write more for him in the future 😅

Masterlist

"That's the last of the traps I can rig." My voice startles the filthy major as I climb up beside him onto the raised area he's selected for his makeshift workshop. His hand instantly reaches for the nasty-looking knife at his belt, grey eyes widening slightly as they fix on me. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." I apologise, holding up my hands as he breathes out and relaxes again.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just...on edge." Dutch reassures me, his gruff voice somehow calming my own nerves slightly. 

"For good reason, I guess." I muse quietly, sitting down opposite him, watching as he continues what he's doing, "What're you making?"

"Explosive arrows. They'll throw that bastard off, and will hurt it, too." He clarifies, gesturing to the opened shells lying beside him, the powder inside just visible.

I nod appreciatively, knowing that his expertise far outreaches mine, the veteran having had a lot more experience than it looks like I ever will. Silently, I watch him work, enraptured by the deft movements of his hands, his bare muscles bulging with every twist, his grimy skin somehow still showing through under the layer of dirt that hasn't quite rubbed off yet. We'll re-paint ourselves with the stuff soon, but for now we're simply preparing in the reprieve we've been gifted by the ruthless killer that is hunting us down. My hand instinctively goes to the wound on my upper arm, the hastily-bandaged injury still throbbing with every movement, though I've long since learnt to deal with pain. With the reminder comes a flashback of something Blain said to me before he met his end, back in the guerrilla camp.

"I ain't got time to bleed."

At the time, I'd laughed it off, finding his callous yet brotherly antics reassuring after the chaos of the attack on the camp. I miss him already, just as I miss the rest of them, the tight-knit group having become my family in the years I've been part of it. A bitter laugh escapes me again as I think over how bad my luck with families is.

"What?" Dutch's question snaps me from whatever trance I was in, his hands having slowed again as he watches me closely, head tilted to the side.

"Huh? Oh, I just remembered something Blain said to me." I reveal, sitting back against the tree trunk behind me, making eye contact with the major.

He chuckles, going back to what he was doing.

"That's quite general, (Y/n). He says- said, a lot of things." He corrects himself, grimacing at the reminder of what happened to his friend.

"I guess so." 

Falling back into silence, I take out my knife and check the blade, waiting for Dutch to finish up with his job, making sure the weapon is sharp enough for me to use.

"What do you think it's doing right now?" I mutter, glancing up at Dutch curiously.

Shrugging, he places down the arrow he was working on, taking up the longbow he's fashioned out of a branch and fibre from a vine.

"Honestly, I'd rather not think about it. We've just got to be ready for when it comes back." The veteran confesses, plucking at the string of the bow experimentally, smiling triumphantly when it makes a satisfying twanging sound.

"Fair enough." I nod, replacing my knife in my belt and standing, stretching out my sore muscles. 

After a moment, he also climbs upright, leaving the bow where it is as he comes to stand beside me, looking out over the clearing. Absentmindedly, I allow my eyes to roam over the particular spots where I know there are traps hidden, each one of them hidden precisely, the action having taken me most of the time we've had in this sudden lull of the hunt. A pit of dread had managed to work it's way into me, my mind slowly convincing itself that we may as well be dead already, our little show of traps and bravado probably not going to help us much. Swallowing, I turn my gaze down to my feet, clenching my fists at my sides, trying to fight off the feeling. 

Silent beside me, Dutch seems to notice my body language and turns to face me, watching me as I keep my gaze averted.

"I'm scared, Dutch." I finally reveal to him, ashamed of this as I feel a blush come to my cheeks. I am confident that I can tell him this, but I still feel stupid admitting it, as if I'm giving in to what the creature wants.

"I know." He murmurs, placing an hand on my shoulder, "And so am I, but we can do this together. We'll beat that bastard into the ground." 

Looking up at him, I allow a small smile to cross my face, before I find myself enveloped in his muscular arms, my smaller figure pulled into his massive body. Grateful, I wrap my own arms around him, inhaling the mix of scents that shroud him deeply, the smell reassuring me even as his tight grip does, the feeling of his corded body under my hands grounding me. Neither of us care if we are covered in mud and gore, only caring that we have this last moment together before all hell breaks loose, my heart throbbing as he presses my head into his chest with a hand, burying his face into my hair. 

"I'm glad that I don't have to do this on my own, (Y/n)." Dutch murmurs into my scalp, rubbing my back gently with his one hand, the other playing with my hair.

"Me too, Dutch." I mumble in response, my voice muffled by his chest.

Pulling away, the major presses one kiss to my forehead, smiling down at me as we part, bodies aching to be back with each other again, still feeling the residual heat from each other. He takes my hand in his briefly, before we split off and start caking ourselves in mud, doing so in companionable silence. We coat ourselves thoroughly, making sure to cover every inch of our bodies, knowing this may well be what gives us the upper hand against our opponent. Finishing, we come together one last time.

"You ready?" The veteran asks me softly, taking up the currently unlit torch from the floor.

"No, but I'll do my very best." I respond, watching as he shoulders his bow, admiring the movements of his bulging muscles.

He smirks, gesturing for me to go.

"Get into position. I'll see you when it's all over." He commands me, brushing some of my filthy hair from my face.

"Yes sir." I salute him, grinning as I scramble to get into position, climbing down the rocks into a small alcove we found nearby, crouching down behind a conveniently placed boulder. From my position, I can just about see Dutch stride out to the centre of his walkway, halting at the end with the torch held aloft, an orange flame blazing at its tip.

Shooting one last look my way, Dutch releases a powerful roar, the sound clearly a war cry, or challenge to the predator hunting us, the force behind it making it resonate around the clearing, his grief and anger giving it strength. Throwing down his torch, the veteran moves back to solid ground, taking hold of a vine and swinging to the opposite end of the clearing, having grabbed his bow and arrows at the same time. Once he is in position, I recover the last shotgun we have left from under the nearby leaves, cocking it as I kneel down in the mud, holding myself stock still. 

Silence falls as we wait for our attacker to arrive.

[one-boring-person]

Call Me Dutch. (Part 2/2)

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer (Predator) x reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, gun use.

Context: Things get hot ;)

Masterlist

Silence haunts us, as it has done since we left the cave this morning, neither of us saying more than a few necessary words to each other the entire time. Tension has quickly settled, an unspoken need between us developing very quickly as we make our way through the humid jungle, quick glances being thrown at each other every now and then. Neither of us is entirely focused, the lust from this morning having stayed with us all day, much to our displeasure, with the only satisfaction from this being each other, though we are both too hesitant to admit that. 

A cool layer of sweat has formed on my hands, the shotgun I'm carrying slipping in my grasp slightly. Adjusting my grip, I curse as a loose round suddenly falls from the bandolier around my chest, dropping into the mulch at my feet soundlessly. Without a second thought, I bend to pick it up, forgetting that Dutch is behind me, and now has a perfect view of my ass, grabbing the shell and reinserting it into the correct holder, carrying on with the walk. In doing so, I just miss the sharp intake of breath from the man behind me, his pupils darkening considerably. In the dimming afternoon light, however, it is not quite so noticeable.

"Where shall we make camp tonight?" I ask, suddenly, looking back at him over my shoulder.

"Use the next clearing we come to." Dutch growls back, adjusting himself again as he feels his body starting to react to my behaviour.

"Roger that." I respond, turning back around and continuing on.

This routine of walking during the day and camping at night has been a habit of three days now, the fourth night only a few hours off, the mission this time a little more exhausting than usual. When we were first dropped in, we were given a general idea of where we might find the hostages we've been tasked to retrieve, but the one problem was that each of the people we needed to rescue had been kept in a different place. Of course, this meant that we'd need to cover a lot more ground, so we split up into smaller groups, Dutch picking them for us to avoid any conflicts, planning to meet up again at a certain point after six days. Knowing Dutch's general success and experience, we agreed with this and split up, each going separate directions. To my surprise, our leader had picked me to go with him, over some of the stronger characters of the group.

"This will do." The veteran suddenly speaks up, gesturing to the clearing we've stepped into.

"Ok." I agree, stopping and dropping my heavy bags onto the floor, as well as the bandolier around my chest, instantly bending to grab some materials to make camp. In doing so, I yet again miss the tense stare on Dutch's face as he watches me straighten and go to make a fire, eyes lingering on my ass as I accidentally wave it in his direction.

It takes me a few minutes, but eventually I have a small fire going, at which point I grab some rope and my knife, before walking to the perimeter of the clearing. Once I've gone a little way out, I get to work setting traps, hiding a good few around the circumference of the camp which are well-concealed, some aimed at catching animals, others at approaching enemies, the whole process taking up twenty minutes at least. 

Having done that, I head back to the clearing, stretching slightly as my muscles start to cramp, only to suddenly find myself pinned to a nearby tree, a hand wrapped loosely around my neck. Eyes wide, I grab at the hand until my wrist is taken and pinned behind me with my other, a hard, muscular body pressing against me to stop me moving. Making eye contact with my attacker, I blink a few times as I see who it is.

"M-major? What- what are you doing?" I stutter out, trying to ignore the lust that has come to life within me, this proximity fueling my previous need for him.

"You've been teasing me all day, (Y/n)." The man growls into my ear, his deep voice sending bolts of desire straight through me, a shiver running down my spine.

"What do you m-mean?" I try not to whimper as he suddenly pushes himself closer to me.

"Walking around with your ass in front of me all day, bending over so that I get a good look at what I can't have? Is that what you were doing?" He challenges, staring me down, "Well, I'm gonna take what I want, and show you exactly what I can and can't have."

Without another word, he crashes his lips into mine, kissing me hard as his tongue instantly dips into my open mouth, exploring every part it can reach, swallowing the noises escaping me. The hand around my throat tightens minutely and he lifts my head up slightly to allow for easier access, the hand pinning my wrists releasing me so that he can grab my hip, pulling me into him. Immediately, I move my hands to wrap around his neck, pulling lightly at the strands of hair there, arching my body into his. Dutch lets out a pleased growl at this, the sound resonating through me as I smooth my palms over the muscles of his shoulders, feeling them over through the loose fabric of his shirt.

Breaking away from the kiss, Dutch starts nibbling along my jaw, licking a stripe up to my ear, the action drawing a whine of pleasure from me, a low chuckle accompanying his roaming mouth as it goes lower. Gasps tear from my throat as he leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin, his tongue flicking against my pulse point every now and then, the veteran sucking and biting marks onto the heated expanse. At my hip, his hand begins to pull at my shirt, untucking it from my trousers and flattening his palm on my back, pressing me closer into his muscular body, using the new hold on me to grind his hips into mine. His erection is incredibly evident through his trousers, each movement of his making it even more obvious to me. 

A surprised gasp erupts from me as he suddenly grabs my ass, his large hand kneading the soft flesh gently as his other comes down to do the same.

"Jump." He commands in my ear, his accent much more pronounced now, the tone sending a bolt of need through me again.

Obediently, I do so, wrapping my legs around his waist as his hands move to my thighs, his grip tight now that he can press closer to my core, his hips rocking into me faster. Small grunts leave him, even as louder sounds escape me, the new position adding a lot more friction to where I need him most, the veteran pulling me ever closer as his lips move to my exposed collarbone, biting down gently so that he can leave a mark.

"Ah...Major…" I moan out, tilting my head back to give him more access.

A strangled groan breaks past his teeth and he suddenly pulls me away from the tree, manhandling me onto the floor, where he pins my wrists down with one hand again. Squeaking in surprise, I jerk my hips up as his fingers suddenly brush over my clothed core, Dutch swallowing my moans with another wet kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth once more. Arching my back, I try to break free from his grip, only to feel his hand tighten around my wrists, the fingers at my core rubbing over me more insistently as pleasure starts to build in my lower abdomen. Briefly, he removes his hand, a whine of disappointment threatening to escape me until I feel his fingers nimbly undoing my trousers, pulling them down enough so that he can dip the digits into my panties. A high-pitched moan tears itself from me at the much-needed contact, the callused fingers rubbing over my clit lightly, my hips bucking up into the touch.

"You're so wet for me, (Y/n). How long have you wanted this, hm? How long have you fantasized about me?" Dutch purrs into my ear, relishing in the shiver that runs down my spine, his words making me whimper in pleasure.

He punctuates each word with a more insistent stroke of his fingers, each movement illiciting a moan from me as my pussy throbs in need, my legs closing around his hand.

"Ah, ah, keep those open for me." He commands again, smirking as he pulls his hand away from me to move my legs apart again. Mewling from the loss, I stare up at him, pleadingly, bucking my hips up to entice him. In response, he chuckles and releases my wrists, smoothing his hands down my body as he moves to lie between my legs, removing my trousers and panties swiftly, palms pressed to my thighs.

"I want nothing more than to strip you down completely and kiss every inch of your body, but I can't have you running around the jungle naked, so this will have to do." Dutch groans into the skin of my bare thighs, kissing his way up to where I need him most.

As his lips make contact with me, I release a long, strangled moan, my hands flying to his hair as he kisses my clit, licking it a few times before sucking it into his mouth, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud ever so gently. He flattens his tongue against me, dragging it in an upwards movement against my most sensitive parts, his fingers moving to circle my opening, collecting my slick on each digit. Maintaining eye contact, Dutch slowly pushes one finger into me, rubbing against my walls as moans and whimpers of pure pleasure escape my throat, my head falling back onto the hard ground beneath as he starts to move his hand in tandem with his tongue. Bucking my hips into his touch, I whine loudly as he stops his movements briefly.

"Look at me, (Y/n)." He growls into my clit, the vibrations dragging yet more sounds from me as I shakily lift my head to look at him again, "Good girl."

I whimper at the praise, fighting to keep my eyes open as he slips his finger back into my pussy, adding another into the fray as he thrusts his hand again, clearly enjoying the sounds he's drawing from me. The veteran scissors his fingers suddenly, my body jerking from the sensation, a cry of pleasure falling from my lips, the sound petering off into needy whines as he curls them into me, rubbing at my walls, his tongue moving much faster now. A fire has long since built in my abdomen, but now I can feel it building, the pleasure soon becoming too much.

"I'm… ah...close, Major." I manage to say, biting my lip tightly.

"Good." He hums into me, speeding up his movements as my sounds become more and more desperate, "Cum for me, (Y/n)."

Dutch's words, combined with his husky voice and the vibrations it causes on my clit, trigger something inside me, and I feel my orgasm tear through me, a long moan being drawn past my teeth as I throw my head back and rock my hips into his face without abandon. White-hot pleasure floods my veins, my hands gripping his hair tightly, pulling him into me as he continues to lick at me, cleaning me as much as he can, a low chuckle leaving him at the blissed-out state I'm in.

"Look at you. So beautiful, so hot." He smirks, moving back up to kiss at my neck.

Still reeling, I barely hear as a breathy sigh escapes me in response, my body already heating up again from his ministrations, his hips rocking down onto mine, his bulge pressing against me. 

"Can you keep going, Schatz, or do you want me to stop?" Dutch questions me, pulling back to look me in the eye, halting all of his movements.

Reaching up, I wrap my arms around his muscular neck and play slightly with the hairs at the base of his neck, heat pooling in my core again from the dark gaze he has trained on me, his lip pulling between his teeth as he tries not to grind down on me.

"I can keep going, Major. Please keep going." I plead, squeaking as his lips crash into mine again, his hips bucking into mine insistently.

His hands move to my ass again, grasping it and using the grip to help me move with him, the veteran letting out a guttural groan as he pulls away from the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine, eyes squeezed shut. Breathing heavily, I allow one of my hands to run down his muscular chest to his crotch, where I hesitantly let my fingers brush over the bulging tent in his trousers. Instantly, he moans and rocks into my touch, his grip on me tightening as I start palming him, dragging the heel of my hand over him as I enjoy the pleasurable sounds that escape the usually stoic man above me. Dutch growls and presses harder against me, kissing at my neck once again as he basks in the pleasure I'm supplying to him, his own hand coming around to grab my wrist briefly, halting my movements.

I look at him in surprise, only to understand the reason for this action when he starts undoing his flies, hastily yanking his trousers and briefs down to reveal his member to me. My eyes widen at the sight of the length and girth of it, the tip of his cock already leaking precum out onto the reddened skin, the thick vein on its underside incredibly prominent in its current state. As he leans back, I feel a soft moan of anticipation leave me, need and desire flooding me with more ferocity as I watch him drag a hand up and down the length, the major sitting back on his heels to look me over. His eyes are dark, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, the lust in his body almost palpable in the air around him. Dutch keeps one hand on my hip, gently caressing the skin as he prepares himself to push into me, situating himself comfortable between my legs before speaking one last time.

"You're sure about this, (Y/n)?" The veteran groans out, making eye contact with me.

Needily, I jerk my hips towards him, moaning out a series of agreements and pleas, craving the feeling of his cock inside me after so long of fantasizing about it. Tensing his muscles, Dutch takes his dick in hand and aims it at my throbbing hole, the blunt tip nudging against my clit accidentally as he does so, drawing a strangled sound from me. Biting his lip, he then slowly pushes in, stretching my pussy out carefully as he tries not to thrust into me immediately, groans and grunts falling from behind his teeth, animalistic sounds of pure pleasure and desire escaping me with each movement. Whining, I throw my head back onto the ground behind me, my hands scratching at the mulch as I scramble to find something to hold onto, the feeling of his thick cock sliding into me throwing me even further into the pool of lust I've long since succumbed to.

"Fuck...you're so tight...feel so good…" Dutch moans out, leaning his own head back as I inadvertently tighten around him from his lurid words.

Moving his hands to my waist, he continues to push into me until he's bottomed out, nerves inside me that have never been touched before screaming in pleasure from the contact, my breathing heavy and uneven. He stays still for a moment, allowing me to adjust to him before he slowly pulls out of me until just his tip is left inside me, his hips suddenly snapping back into me with force. The power behind the thrust pushes me backwards slightly, a yelp erupting from my throat, similar noises escaping me as he repeats this action again, his hands roaming down to my ass again, which he grasps tightly and lifts to meet each thrust. Lifting my hips with each thrust, I try to grind back onto him, but he only growls and tightens his grip on me, fucking into me harder, each stroke brushing against sensitive nerves inside me.

"Ah...Major! So good...more, please!" I moan out, reaching down to play with my clit.

"You want...more? I can give you more." He growls, batting my hand away and thrusting into me much faster.

This new rhythm is much quicker, each stroke of his cock inside me causing his pelvic bone to connect with my clit, my voice raising now at the sudden increase of pleasure. Moaning brokenly, I arch my chest up into him, in the hopes that he will press his body against me. My wish is not granted, though he does decide a change in position is necessary. 

Grabbing my thighs, Dutch pushes my knees up to my chest, slowing his thrusts enough so that he's going much deeper, darkened eyes straying down to watch his cock burying itself inside my hot pussy. A broken scream tears itself from my throat as he suddenly hits a certain spot, somewhere inside me, that had never been hit before, his gaze snapping back up to me curiously.

"Right there, hm? You like that? You like the feel of my cock stretching you out, hitting all of those little sensitive spots, hm? I never knew you were so dirty." He purrs to me, his final degrading words somehow only serving to turn me on more, the insinuation behind them making me rock my hips up into him again. Pounding into that spot, he relishes in the shrieks and whines of total ecstasy that accompany every thrust, my climax quickly building again. 

"I'm close, Major, so close…" I force out, closing my eyes at the fast-approaching orgasm.

"Me too, (Y/n), me too." He groans out, releasing my legs and leaning over my body, kissing me roughly on the lips as his thrusts become more and more erratic.

Kissing back, I allow him to swallow my needy noises as he sticks his tongue into my mouth again, only for him to pull away and kiss down my neck again. Licking over his previous marks, Dutch groans gutturally once more, before speaking to me.

"Cum for me, (Y/n)." He commands, his deep voice resounding in my ears as he bites down on my neck once more. This, combined with another particularly hard thrust, finally tips me over the edge and I orgasm, screaming in ecstasy at the sensation. Moaning, Dutch rocks his hips a few more times and pulls out, releasing onto my thighs and lower abdomen with a strangled growl.

With a pleased sigh, he collapses onto me, only just catching his weight on his forearms as his head falls into the crook of my neck, his heavy breaths fanning hotly over my heated skin. Rolling off of me, he presses a kiss to my cheek, before standing and going to our bags a little way away, grabbing a cloth and returning to me, using said cloth to wipe my thighs and stomach clean of his semen, carefully going between my legs as I lay there and watch, already missing his embrace. Cleaning off his dick, Dutch pulls on his trousers and briefs again, leaning down to help me into my own, scooping me into his arms and going to one of the sleeping mats we've laid out by the fire. Laying me back down, he goes to lie on his own, only to be stopped by my hand on his leg, silently pleading with him to stay with me.

Surprised, he obliges, settling down beside me as I curl into his muscular frame, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around my smaller body. Resting my head on his chest, I smile up at him as he pulls a thin blanket over us, his grip tightening around me comfortingly.

"That was amazing, (Y/n). I'm sorry for jumping you, but you've got no idea how long I've wanted to do that." He admits, brushing some hair from my forehead.

"Probably not half as long as I've spent wishing you would jump me." I chuckle in response, glad that the darkness that has descended on us conceals the blush dusting my cheeks.

"Really?" Dutch sounds surprised, as if he wasn't expecting me to be happy with what just happened.

"Yeah, I've had feelings for you for the longest time." I confess shyly, hiding my face in his chest.

"Why didn't you say something? I feel the same way!"

"You do?" I lift my head to look at him, squeaking when he suddenly pulls me in for a passionate kiss, his lips smoothing over mine lovingly.

"Of course I do, (Y/n)." He clarifies as he pulls away again, relaxing back onto the mat.

"You don't know how happy that makes me!" 

"You'll just have to show me." He teases, lightly tapping my ass, "And just for the record, call me Dutch."

-

Tag List:

@80s4life @nightime-luna-fairy

[one-boring-person]

Call Me Dutch. (Part 1/2)

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer (Predator) x reader

Warnings: NSFW (ish), swearing, mention of violence, mention of gun usage

Context: The reader and Dutch are holed up in a cave somewhere, and the major is a little bit handsy in his sleep.

A/n: this has been on my ao3 account for ages, so I thought I'd upload it here whilst I have no time to write anything new 😅

Masterlist

As I finally wake up after a dreamless, tense sleep, I notice one thing about my new position: there's arms around me. 

My eyes crack open tentatively, my body going taut as I register the large hands flattened against my abdomen, the hugely muscular arms holding me loosely against a similarly built chest. Hot, heavy breaths fan out across my neck, goosebumps forming on my chilled skin from the somehow intimate heat of them, the lips that are mere inches from touching the same area brushing against me every now and then as my own shoulders rise and fall. A quick glance at the thick wrist at my stomach tells me exactly who is holding me like this - my current companion and superior, Dutch Schaefer.

I frown at this, my previous experiences with him having been far from affectionate, despite our decent friendship, his nature tending to lean more to the callous, rough side, rather than the sweet, caring side. The dynamics of our relationship are sparse, based mostly on the playful insults and sometimes rough messing about, the taller man having taken it upon himself to teach me how to behave more like my male compatriots and therefore fit in better with the others in the group, despite my constant reminding him that I don't need the help. The most physical contact we have is generally if he claps me on the back after a particularly successful mission, though he has always been incredibly protective of me, as if he needs to keep me safe, even though our profession means I'm almost never completely out of danger.

This new behaviour, however, is not entirely unwelcome, as a slightly unfortunate side effect of our friendship has led to me developing a crush on him, which now borders on having feelings for him. Many times, I've dreamt of having him wrap himself around me like this, but I never thought it would actually happen; I've always been certain that he would never have eyes for me. 

Still uncertain, I try to relax again, enjoying the feeling of his muscular arms around me, the sensation of being held within that circle of personal space reassuring and comforting. His natural warmth radiates off of him, the musty smell that clouds him strong in my nostrils as I go to close my eyes again, choosing to try and get more sleep before we have to brave another long day of trudging through thick jungle, trying not to think too much about the full scale of this mission. Unconsciously, his grip around me tightens, and I'm pulled further into his embrace, my back now pressed firmly against his chest, his legs resting just below mine. A blush rises to my cheeks as I realise exactly what position my ass is now in, and just exactly how this has affected the hardened veteran.

Low noises start to escape his throat as his hips suddenly jerk into mine, his bulge now very evident against my ass as he grinds himself into me, his breathing becoming heavier. Unexpected heat rushes to my core, but I ignore it, attempting to wriggle out of his hold so that he doesn't do anything he might regret, only for his hands to move and hold me tighter. They run up and down my body, each one going in different directions as his right hand comes to rest on my breast, and the other just over my crotch, his fingers brushing against the cloth over my core. Squeaking quietly, I feel my cheeks heat up, my hips fighting not to move into his hand, the sensation of his erection grinding against my ass starting to drive me over the edge.

Dutch's lips make contact with the back of my neck, the sleeping man mumbling something into my skin, a gasp escaping my lips as they move over the sensitive area, his hands closing down on my body. This time, I can't help the noise of pleasure that falls from my lips, my body jerking inadvertently into his grip as his fingers start to massage my core gently, the other hand squeezing my breast firmly. Behind me, the veteran tries to move closer to me, only for him to push me onto my front so that he is now laying half on-top of me, his weight on my back nearly crushing my smaller frame. In this new position, he has more leverage, and so moves his body much faster, his hips rocking much more erratically from the new stimulation. Desire pools at my core, my arms struggling to keep my body up as I fight to get out of this pleasurable embrace, knowing that he will hate himself if he finds out what he's doing now.

"...(Y/n)...so...good...ah...yes…" Grunts of pleasure leave Dutch, the words finally intelligible as a shot of disbelief goes through me; he's dreaming about me?

Swallowing tightly, I try to ignore the sudden surge of need that explodes in my stomach, biting back a moan as he kisses my neck properly, the hand at my crotch moving faster as his fingers probe closer to me, trying to find my sensitive spots. His deep voice resonates in my ears, his accent much stronger now as I whimper from the sound of it, always having wondered what it would be like when he got intimate.

"Ah…(Y/n)...more…" He groans into my neck, punctuating each word with a squeeze of my breast, his grip tight but still careful.

"Major, you...ah...need to wake up!" I force out from behind gritted teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as the heel of his hand presses into the spot right above my clit, a bolt of pleasure shooting through me, "Come on, please! You have to wake up!"

When nothing happens, I go to grab at his arms, pulling on them in the hopes of at least drawing them away from my body.

"Major! You have to stop!" I plead with him, writhing in his grip in an attempt to get away, the movements futile thanks to his ridiculously strong hold on me, "Come on, Dutch, please!"

"What...what's going...on?" He finally murmurs, voice husky, words slightly slurred from lack of orientation.

As usual, however, he is quick to wake properly, his body going tense as he realises what position we're in, his breath hitching sharply at the realisation. Swiftly, he moves his hands and climbs off of me, retreating to his own part of the cave we camped out in, expression guilt-stricken and worried.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, (Y/n), I had no idea! I apologise if I made you uncomfortable, i didn't mean to...It's just been a long while since…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." The veteran rambles, before standing up and going outside, most likely to check whether any of our traps have been sprung or not, though it is also highly likely that he's trying to avoid an awkward conversation. As he walks, he adjusts himself, trying to avoid eye contact with me.

Sighing, I shake my head and go to get up, stretching out my sore muscles as I ignore the aching need still coursing through my body.

Part of me had hoped he'd finish the job.

-

Tag list:

@80s4life @nightime-luna-fairy

[one-boring-person]

Ok I got one more group one for you! From predator, the reader and the team goofing off on leave. No mission, no stress just everyone having a good time. Obviously before the movie

I hope you like this!😊💛

Don't Let Him Hear.

Dutch's team x reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption (moderate)

Masterlist

The sun shines brightly down onto the patio, lighting up the back garden pleasantly as the gentle warmth chases away the usual mountainous chill, leaving us all relaxed and cheerful. Drinks glitter slightly in the soft light, beads of condensation appearing on bottle necks and glasses, casting shadows onto the table top they've been placed on as the boys look out over the impressive view. As usual, the valley below is kept in a light shadow, the town nestled there appearing incredibly small from this height, even the usually looming church spires that rise out from the crowded buildings.

"Damn, why haven't you let us come over before?" Poncho comments as soon as I emerge from the inside of the holiday home, a tray of snacks in my hands.

I shrug before replying, proudly looking over the view myself - there's nothing quite like being in the Bavarian Alps, especially not at this time of year.

"Never really thought about it. You guys are usually more ones for bars and pubs." I explain, taking a seat beside Dutch and Hawkins.

"True, true. It's very impressive, though." Poncho acknowledges, gesturing with one hand to the scenery.

"I didn't even know this place existed." Blain remarks, taking a deep drink from his beer as he looks over at me.

"That's because your geography is limited, Blain." Mac teases, ducking when Blain throws a bottlecap at him, both men grinning, "Hey, I'm only telling the truth."

"Like hell you are. My geography's as good as it damn well needs to be." Blain huffs, scowling at us as we laugh at the muscular man.

"Yeah, sure it is." Dutch chuckles, exhaling a mouthful of cigar smoke as he continues, pointing at his comrade with said cigar, "Last week you told me Russia and Ukraine were the same place."

The rest of us snicker in amusement, finding Blain's flustered composure funny as he struggles to come back with a quip, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

"Wait, you can't actually be serious!" Hawkins chips in, watching Blain in vague surprise.

"I'm deadly serious." Dutch confirms, replacing his cigar back in his mouth after taking a sip from his beer, still smirking around it.

"Yeah, well I'm better at other things. Billy does the map reading, not me." Blain grumbles, jerking his head towards the dark-haired man beside him.

"Yeah, thank God." Mac mutters into his own bottle, just loud enough for the rest of us to hear.

"Hmph." Blain huffs again, standing up and placing his beer on the table, "I'm gonna use the restroom."

Nodding, we watch him go, still smirking after our previous conversation, knowing we got under his skin. We all turn back to the view again, sitting quietly for a brief moment, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

"For such a big guy, he sure can be sensitive." Poncho finally says, his comment drawing a laugh from Billy.

"He's just a softie, really." He agrees, running a hand through his hair, grinning at the thought.

"Don't let him hear you say that." I warn him, jokingly, lifting my eyebrows knowingly at him as he tips his bottle in my direction.

"Absolutely not." He chuckles, the others chiming in with agreements.

"Billy, you're the biggest softie I know." Hawkins points out, pushing his glasses up his nose with the top of the bottle in his hands.

"Coming from you, buddy. If anyone's a softie, it's you." I nudge Hawkins' arm, leaning out of the way as he reaches out to lightly push my shoulder, chuckling lightly.

"Hey, I'm not a softie!" He protests, looking to the others to help, only for them to shrug and grin at him.

At this moment, Blain emerges from inside the small house, holding something in his hands, a conspiratorial smirk on his face. Taking his seat, he grabs his beer and continues looking down at the object in his lap, laughing to himself as he does so, drawing our attention to him.

"What've you got there?" Poncho asks, curiously, straining to see it. My own eyes widen as I catch sight of it.

"Oh, hell no! Give that back!" I climb to my feet and grab for what I know to be a picture frame, only for Blain to laugh out loud and stand up, holding it over his head.

"Aw, come on, it's funny." He grins, watching as I reach for it, whining slightly as I fall short, his hands just out of reach.

"Give it here, quick!" Mac chimes in, reaching over my head and taking the picture frame from Blain, turning away from me to look at it. 

He practically gasps in amusement, the photo in the frame not entirely one I'd want them all to see. As I twist and go to take it from him, Blain wraps his arms around me, holding me still in his grip, chuckling as I write in his grasp.

"Hey, let us see it!" Hawkins complains, the others now going to stand around Mac, ignoring my pleas and half-hearted attempts to stop them.

As soon as they see it, their eyes snap up to me, clearly surprised but finding it highly amusing, Dutch lifting an eyebrow as he takes a drag on his cigar, Billy, letting out one of his deep-throated laughs as Hawkins and Poncho just smirk and take the photo off Mac, whispering something to each other.

"How old are you in that?" Billy asks me, watching as I finally break free from Blain and snatch the frame from the two men holding it.

"I don't know, six maybe?" I mutter, blushing a deep shade of red, eyes trained on the ground, hiding my sheepish smile.

"And what exactly were you doing?" Dutch inquires, folding his arms over his chest in mock interrogation.

"Can't remember." I lie quickly, holding the frame to my chest. I do remember. I remember very well.

"Aw come on, tell us!" Blain encourages, clapping me on the back.

"I'm telling you, I can't remember!" I assure them, knowing they see straight through me but unable to bring myself to tell them what is actually taking place in the photograph. I should've remembered to move all the old family photos out of sight, especially given my parent's love of displaying the worst ones in our old family holiday home.

"So, you won't mind if we have a look at the others?" Blain continues, smirking at me with a pointed look.

"What? No, I-" I go to protests, only for Hawkins to cut me off.

"There's more?!"

"Yeah, they're all in the hallway." Blain nods, gesturing towards the house.

"No, they're not! There's nothing there!" I try to disencourage them, unsuccessfully as they all just look at me with mischievous looks on their faces, "Oh, no…"

"Oh, yes!" Poncho grins, leading the others as they rush inside, leaving Dutch and I standing alone on the patio.

I turn to him, giving him my most pleading look.

"Help me here, please?" 

He just chuckles, taking his cigar from his mouth.

"What can I do? They won't listen." The major points out, "And anyhow, the only reason I'm not with them is because of this."

He points at his cigar, grinning at my despairing look. 

It's only a matter of seconds before the first guffaws sound from inside the house.

"Oh, god!" I sigh, knowing I'll be teased for all eternity.