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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

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141 gossiping about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley for roughly 3,000 words idk titles are hard

Price was the first to notice. Priding himself on being incredibly observant, especially when it came to his boys.

He noticed that whenever they had a break from trainings or meetings, he’d somehow always find the two of you in a room together. Never close enough to give him reason to say anything. You scribbling notes on a patient report at one table, Ghost at another, his chair angled just enough so that he could watch you from the corner of his eye.

Noticed the way Ghost’s hand rested on the small of your back for a heartbeat when you entered a doorway before him. Just a brush of his massive hand on you, quick enough to be mistaken for an accidental touch.

Noticed how Ghost’s eyes seemed to always flick to you from across the mess hall. Not often, but enough for Price to casually turn his head and see that same nurse Ghost seemed to have a preference for.

At first, Price thought he could help by being a wingman of sorts. When Ghost took damage on a mission, Price would escort him to medbay and watch as he dismissed nurse after nurse until you were finally available to treat him. Price lingered as long as he could before you inevitably waved him away, cheekily reminding him you always took good care of his team and that you’d have ‘Lieutenant Riley’ back in no time. The only thing he could catch was the way Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s breadth when you drew the curtain shut behind you.

He tried again during a meeting with his boys. Suggesting they bring a medic on a mission with them. Said something about how it would be better to have the option of a patch-up readily available. Keep his team fighting fit in real time instead of having to wait until they came back to base. Price saw the way Ghost tensed slightly in his seat, the muscles in his jaw twitching under his balaclava.

The notion was quickly vetoed. Ghost grumbling something about not wanting to babysit any more than he already does. How it’s ultimately more paperwork he doesn’t want to have to deal with.

He tried once more, going to Ghost’s office one evening. Almost turning tail once he realized how ridiculous it was to be this insistent on figuring out if his Lieutenant had some boyish crush on the sweet nurse he always seemed to be lingering around. But ultimately decided that it was good practice to know more about his team personally. Better bonding meant better interaction on the field, right?

He asked Ghost to redo some paperwork. Add a ‘next of kin’ to his file in the event that something happened and they needed to alert someone. Ghost looked a little suspicious, shrugging off the request.

“Left it off for a reason, Captain.”

He said gruffly, waving a hand. Barely looking up from his desk.

Price pursed his lips, shifting his weight slightly.

“You sure, Simon? Haven’t got anyone that’d be interested to know what happened to you?”

Ghost rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the conversation was more trouble than it was worth, before shrugging once more. Finally looking up from his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You planning on shipping me off somewhere and not picking me back up?”

A small chuckle from Price. A shake of his head.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Cheers, then. Leave it off.”

This quelled Price’s curiosity for a while, unable to dream up any other reason to try and force Ghost to indulge him. It no doubt hurt his ego a bit, thinking about how his Lieutenant and one of his closest friends was so dead set on keeping his personal life so closely guarded. He’d push the feelings aside, chalk it up to being jaded by his work. Over-involved in the lives of Soap and Gaz. It was probably good for Simon to have something sacred.

Soap wasn’t as easily deterred once he caught on. Not as immediately perceptive as the others, but he knew Ghost well enough to know his tells.

It was after a long mission. Months long. Grueling, shitty, exhausting work. They got back in the early evening, mercifully spared from a debrief until the following day. Soap somehow ended up dragging Ghost to a dive bar a few blocks from base. Trying to sound persuasive when he mentioned that it was a Friday night and they deserved a few drinks and some female attention after all this time going without.

And they did get attention. Two good looking military men sitting at the bar were bound to. Soap knew that Ghost wasn’t one to play the field, but this was a bit frigid even for him. Ignoring girls who came up and tried to strike conversation. Rolling his eyes, or huffing a sigh like it was a chore to even dismiss them, drumming his fingers on the wall of his glass like he’s bored. It was baffling.

What was even more baffling was the way that Ghost’s knee bounced slightly against the stool. An infinitesimally small movement, but the way it caught Johnny’s eye made it seem like Ghost was all but jumping up and down. He looked almost anxious. Itching to get up and leave.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ghost’s head jerked toward Johnny, cold eyes narrowing in a way that would have been terrifying years ago- before he’d gotten used to it.

“Come again?”

“Got somewhere to be, have you?”

He sounds almost indignant. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ghost is stand-offish by nature, but this is a caliber he hasn’t yet encountered. Almost enough to be offensive. To make him question the quality of his company.

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

Ghost grumbled, killing the contents of his glass with a final mouthful. Setting it back on the counter and moving to drum his fingers on the bar.

“Been out of the country for months and you expect me to believe you’ve got plans tonight?”

This earned a sigh, low enough to pass as a growl.

“You keeping my social calendar now, then?”

He stood, digging through his wallet for a moment before slapping some cash down on the table next to his empty glass. Not giving Johnny an opportunity to lodge any further complaints against him. Before he nodded his goodnight and slipped out of the bar. Mumbling something about needing to get back to his flat and check on some things.

Soap couldn’t get his mind around it. Ghost was elusive, sure, but again; something seemed off. He was calm, cool, and collected. Wouldn’t be caught dead manifesting his impatience physically. The fidgeting and twitching in his seat. The first place Soap’s mind went was maybe Ghost was dying? That’d be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior. But even then, it seemed a bit extreme.

The next day after the debrief, which was nearly as brutal as the deployment itself, Soap was still so in his head about Ghost’s behavior he almost didn’t notice the pretty nurse who seemed to be waiting for someone at the end of the hall. In fact, he was so stuck in his own mind, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s back rounding the corner with the nurse at his side. Hushed conversation disappearing with them. A softer, much more pleasant voice than Simon’s.

He debated whether or not to follow them, maybe answer the questions that’d been plaguing his mind. Ultimately, he decided in favor of it. Padding down the hall behind the duo who seemed to be headed back to Simon’s office. They weren’t walking closely enough to touch, but Soap immediately picked up on the tension between them. Like the distance was serving some sort of purpose.

Soap lingered in the hallway for a few minutes after the two disappeared into Ghost’s office, trying to sort the pieces of the puzzle he’d barely began collecting. He ultimately decided to go the route he was most comfortable with. Not one for sneaking about, he simply strode up to the office door and swung it open.

You were sat at one of the chairs in front of Simon’s desk, him standing with his arms folded over his chest next to you. Not compromising enough for Johnny’s taste, but he still put on a wide grin and nodded to you.

“Forget how to knock?”

Ghost’s voice was calm enough, but his eyes were shooting daggers straight through Johnny. You looked stiff as a board, chewing the inside of your lip through the tight smile you were giving him.

“Sorry, L.T. Needed to know if you’re still on for trainings this afternoon.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to Ghost, communicating something that he couldn’t quite decipher wordlessly before you began studying your nails in your lap.

Ghost cleared his throat, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Growling something obscene under his breath. The agitation rolling off of him in waves.

“No. Got another assignment.”

And with that, Soap was all but thrown from the office. Querying about this ‘new assignment’ the whole way. Simon crowding him to the door until he finally snapped it shut on his nose.

He heard later that day Ghost was seen in medbay with a toolkit swearing at an X-Ray machine that had been giving you trouble for a month. After that, Soap was on the two of you like a fly on shit. Never missing an opportunity to bring you up to Ghost or vise versa. Mock-innocently saying something to Ghost in passing at dinner about you. Asking if he fancied you. When he said no, Johnny shrugged and nodded. Saying he was glad because he had plans to ask you out the next time he was injured.

That comment landed Soap in the bay sooner than expected. Escorting him to a different nurse’s exam area and standing guard the entire time his black eye was being iced. Berating him for not being able to block a few punches when they had sparred after dinner.

And Gaz, sweet boy that he is, was always more emotionally in-tune. Observant about the little things. Able to pick up on queues Soap and Price may have missed over the years. He was keen as he was quiet, keeping all his little discoveries to himself. Over the years, he’d created a small arsenal of moments he wasn’t sure were significant enough to bring up. Things he could have talked himself into imagining if he thought about them hard enough. Not wanting to jump to conclusions about anything.

But he noticed the incredibly subtle tan line on Ghost’s left hand. Noticed the way he tapped his foot impatiently when the debrief after a long deployment ran long. Noticed the way you always seemed to be around the yard when they touched down after a mission. The way your shoulders dropped when you saw all four of them had returned home. Like you had just been relieved the duty of holding up the sky.

He didn’t immediately connect the dots. Initially thinking that you’d just taken a special liking to the task force. They were some of your most frequent visitors, after all. Price had all but claimed you as their own. Specially requesting that you were the only one to patch their wounds, claiming the other nurses couldn’t hold a flame to your skill.

He didn’t mind. Came to enjoy the little chats the two of you had when the curtains around the cot were drawn. The little kikis you had where you chatted about anything and everything. Complaining about your jobs, irritating patients, botched missions, the morsels of gossip from around base.

One day, after a particularly nasty skirmish on a mission, all four of the men had gnarly wounds. You looked a bit more tired than usual. A bit more on-edge. Your answers were a bit more flat than they usually were. So the first part of the assessment was left mostly silent spare for a few soft “thank you’s” on his part.

It was only when you were bandaging a wound on his thigh did he notice the shape of a ring on your left hand under your glove. A thin band that wrapped neatly around your finger.

“Didn’t know you were married, doc.”

It was a passing comment, more just to spare him the agony of trying to hide his soft groans of pain in the thick silence.

You hummed your acknowledgment, focused more on working sutures through his skin neatly than anything else.

“Lucky bloke. Hope he’s good to you.”

It wasn’t flirty or predatory, like so many of the soldiers could be. A genuine thought. He’d always thought you were sweet. Easy to chat with, always offering him a smile and a chirped greeting when the two of you passed in the hall. Thought you deserved someone to share in your kindness.

You smiled, brow still furrowed slightly in your focus while tying off the stitches.

“He does alright.”

You chuckled softly, straightening on your stool and rolling back just slightly so you could meet his eye.

“All these years and you never mentioned. I’m hurt.”

He words came with a practiced ease, slipping back into your usual playful chatter without missing a beat. Flashing a coy grin as he carefully flexed and relaxed his leg. Getting a feel for the newly patched wound.

You rolled the gloves off your hands and tossed them into the bin. Standing from your stool to scribble a few notes on his chart.

“Not something that ever came up.”

“Now it has. He have a name? How long you been together?”

You chuckled once more, looking over your shoulder at him with an arched brow. A little skeptical of his curiosity.

“A good while.”

He noticed the way you evaded his former question, like you’d done it before. It only fueled his curiosity.

“You worried I’ll know him? Or are you embarrassed? Not much of a looker?”

This earned an amused snort from you, turning away from the chart you’d been working on.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep my personal life personal, is there?”

You winked at him, pushing open the curtain that divided the small exam area from the rest of the bay.

He made a small sound of protest, making no move to stand from the cot just yet.

“Alright, forget it. Didn’t even want to know anyway.”

He sounded like a child being denied a sweet. Even playing up the act with a small pout on his mouth.

You tutted softly, conjuring up the best mock-sympathetic look you could before motioning for him to stand.

“We’ll talk later. Captain’ll have my hide if I keep you away a moment longer than is necessary.”

Another sound of protest, followed by a throaty groan as he finally pushed up off the bed. Unsure if he was being dramatic or if the aftermath of the mission had truly gotten to him that bad. Always a flare for the dramatics, him.

He muttered his thanks, cupping your shoulder in his hand as he trudged out. Making you promise to have a proper chat with him later.

He lingered in the bay, allowing himself a few moments peace before getting back to work. Just as he finally turned to leave, he saw Ghost moving stiffly- like he was trying to downplay a limp- toward your little exam area. Though for some reason, the scene looked a bit strange to him. He couldn’t help but peek in.

He caught the way you watched him lumber over with big, worried eyes. The way your nails dug into your palms until he was finally within arms reach. The way you quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention before your hands flew to his neck, fingers slipping expertly under the hem of his mask and yanking it up over his nose. Not rough or angry, but with the kind of urgency that suggested you may die if you didn’t see a sliver of his skin. Make absolutely certain he was truly there with you.

The most jarring part- Ghost actually allowing you to touch the mask. Allowing your little hands to breach his personal space. Hands that would have easily been dwarfed by his own, swallowed up and twisted or shoved away like he had seen happen so many times in sparring matches with prospect soldiers. But Ghost just let it happen.

It was a flurry of movement, so fast that Gaz was certain he could have blinked and missed it. Frozen watching the two of you from just behind another exam area. Feeling like he was intruding without even meaning to.

And then he saw the way Ghost’s big arms snaked around your waist, drawing you flush to his front. You leaning up onto your toes to bring your face closer to the Lieutenant’s. A fervid kiss. You flinging your arms around his neck. The way your shoulders shook. A small, choked sob that Gaz was all but certain he imagined. Drowned out for everyone else by the sounds of the bay.

He was almost shocked that the world continued to move after that. Shocked that something that seemed so monumental could happen tucked away into your barely private exam area. Shocked that your reunion hadn’t halted time and space for everyone else like it had for the two of you.

He felt dirty. Like he should go up and apologize for lingering and seeing what he saw. But he stayed rooted to the spot, finding it impossible to move.

Truly the most damning part was when he caught the quickest glimpse of your badge just before the curtain was tugged shut. The badge you kept carefully pinned to your uniform face-down for a reason he couldn’t fathom until now. Twisted free for just a moment and finally connecting the snippets of information he’d collected over the years.

(Y/N Riley)

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ceilidho · 27 days ago

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fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 3 masterlist

You don’t know exactly what you’re waiting for, but it doesn’t happen.

The man doesn’t appear again. No one knocks on any windows or appears on any scans though you run another one not twelve hours later. It’s not enough to convince you that it was all in your head, but it’s enough for you to start the process of putting it out of mind.

You just can’t shake the unease following you, a shadow extending out from your feet. Your skin feels tight against your face, clinging to the muscle and bone; months under artificial light will do that to a person, sap them of something essential that can’t be replenished with just vitamins capsules and supplement injections. The human body isn’t meant for space travel. It longs for the sun and the earth under its feet.

And now you have something new to worry about.

Much to your relief, Hadir doesn’t bring up your earlier encounter at dinner. Though part of you wonders whether he mentioned it to anyone else, he doesn’t outwardly treat you any differently. Amiable as ever. It goes a long way towards assuring you that he must have put your earlier encounter out of his mind already. You should too.

It’s just that—

You’re the person the crew goes to when they need fixing. Abrasions, lesions, migraines, broken bones, aches and pains. Though your training is in emergency medicine and space physiology, years of clinical rotations and field research have equipped you with an extensive medical background. Not the least of which includes psychological and neurological health. You’re the de facto psychologist on board should any of the crew suffer a mental health crisis.

And if there’s something wrong with you, who’s going to fix it?

You sit with that thought for entirely too long, but then one day passes into the next and nothing happens. When you look out the window, you only see the throughline of the universe, its heart tipped over and the milk spilling out. The ambient light in the station keeps you from seeing it as clearly as you’d like, but it’s there when you look out the window, ever-present.

Still, you can’t help thinking about an astronaut somewhere out there, slipping into the darkness like a cold lake dragging a body down into its depths and holding it tight to its breast.

You shake off the thought. Scrub a hand down your face.

When your stomach rumbles, you ping the crew to let them know you won’t be in the medbay should they need you and head out to grab a bite to eat. Nikolai is already eating at the counter in the galley when you come in to make yourself supper.

No crew dinner tonight. Though you eat together for the most part, there are days where work tasks keep everyone’s schedules from lining up. You know from the morning briefing that Alex and Graves will be busy until well into the evening working on celestial navigation and dead reckoning.

He looks up from where he stands hunched over the steel tray of food in front of him, a mix of rehydrated rajma, rice, and raita, and waves his fork in a silent greeting.

“Is that what’s on the menu tonight?” you ask.

The big man nods, pointing towards the pantry with his fork. “New week. No more Hamburger Helper,” he says with no small amount of derision towards the aforementioned meal.

You smile. “Looks good.”

Though the new ownership thankfully didn’t skimp on food rations, most of the crew’s daily meals were determined months ago, long before the ship’s departure back on Earth. There’s a laminated week by week menu tucked away at the back of the pantry listing each day’s repast from departure until arrival, but you haven’t given it so much as a glance since you boarded. Better to have something to look forward to every day.

The food packet from the pantry goes into the rehydrator for the requisite amount of time and then into the crisper to add the texture back to it. Space food is never quite as satisfying as the food back on Earth, but you’ve grown fond of it in recent years, even enough to crave it back home. No matter the dish, you can always taste the faint peppery, slightly bitter undertaste, like fresh watercress.

You’d been planning on eating by yourself back in your quarters or at a table in the mess, but you feel weird just leaving Nikolai to his own devices after exchanging a few pleasant words, so you join him at the island counter.

“Did you have a lot on your plate today?”

“My plate?” Nikolai asks, looking down at his food. “Нет, not so much—I had big lunch at around four o’clock.”

You bite your lip to suppress your smile. “No, I meant, did you have a lot of work?”

“Ah, why didn’t you just say that? Yes, lots done today, lots more to do tomorrow. Farah and I are still working on finding the root cause for the issue with the cruise control.”

“It’s a tricky fix?”

“Yes. Complex,” he grunts, talking around the food in his mouth. After weeks of eating with him and longer working around cut open bodies and exposed organs, you’ve long learned to suppress any sign of disgust on your face. “The pilot augmentation system isn’t controlled by this ship’s AI, so it’s not an easy software fix. We thought it was component degradation from the asteroid the other day at first, but Farah had a look at it today and all seems good, so not so sure now. Maybe gyroscope malfunction. Maybe GPS receiver is having issues. Hard to say. Lots of work still to do.”

You nod as if you understand. Most of it goes over your head apart from the obvious frustration in his voice.

“Would be easier problem to fix if we had specialist, but—” Nikolai shrugs, a rueful look on his face “—little budget, small crew. Better we have doctor for wrist sprain than specialist to fix pilot augmentation system.”

Though his tone isn’t necessarily bitter, you can’t help but prickle at the light sarcasm. Your impulse is to go on the defense. It isn’t your fault medics are mandatory. Certainly not your fault that the original twelve crew member allowance was slashed to only six.

“Farah and you make a good team,” you say instead, ever the diplomat. Magnanimous despite the way your teeth ache in your gums.

“Smart girl, that one. Would clone her if I could.”

His praise makes you look away only because you wish it could be aimed at you. You crave it these days. Not necessarily from Nikolai, but from anyone. The downside of these longhaul missions is that you go months without interacting with family or friends; it’s why space crews bond so strongly with one another, the only reprieve from the claustrophobic sense of isolation out in space. It’s also why you’ve felt as lonely as you have these past few months, emotionally out of sync with this crew.

“Let me know if there’s any way I can out,” you offer as he finishes up the last of his supper, putting his tray away into the dishwasher.

Nikolai nods. Hums. “Could do with another pair of hands.”

You smile, relieved.

He starts heading towards the door, throwing a hand up behind him to wave goodbye. “Will let you know when I find some way you can be useful.”

The smile slips off your face. The doors slide shut behind him, silence filling the room.

You don’t have it in you to eat much more. Most of your meal goes straight into the compost, along with the empty packet, and then you leave the galley as well. The last couple of hours of your day are spent sitting aimlessly at your desk in the medical unit until it’s time to head back to your quarters to shower and sleep.

And then to bed you go.

In the middle of the night—though the meaning of ‘night’ seems boundless out in space, like a word without a cognate—a deep sense of unease throbs in your chest.

Sleep sloughs off you gradually and then all at once. One minute you’re twisting in the web of a nightmare and the next, your eyes are open, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

You sit up in bed with the dull ache in your chest growing worse. The duvet slips off you and piles around your waist, the sheets under you damp with sweat. It hurts like heartburn.

It’s too early for breakfast and you don’t have to pee. You’re not entirely sure what woke you up actually, your last dream already fading away, the threads of it unraveling when you reach out to try and pull it back in. It’s too far away to recall any of it. Propping yourself up on one arm, you twist to the side, hoping to let the sight of the stars guide you back to sleep.

Out of your window, like a lone buoy in the middle of the ocean, an astronaut floats in the middle of space.

For a moment, it doesn’t register. Likely just a dream that you haven’t woken up from yet. It’s remarkably vivid for a dream though. Your room is a cool dark blue, the band of dim artificial lights encircling the window beside your cot giving your quarters the distinct feel of a night back home on Earth. It’s only when you pinch your bare thigh and wince from the sharp, accompanying sting that you grasp that you’re awake.

You are awake and there is a man floating away from the ship.

The light from the ship glints off his suit, illuminating the shape of him. You stare out at him with increasing concern and dread. Not consciously grasping the gravity of the situation, but aware that you need to do something. He’s farther away this time, so distant that though his white spacesuit is stark against the dark field behind him, the visor of his helmet is impenetrable. Dark as obsidian.

He drifts aimlessly in space, his body so still that you wonder if he’s even alive. With a jolt, you wonder if, in your haste to find help the other day, he did run out of oxygen and simply floated away. Occam's razor. You did not imagine a man speaking to you from outside the ship only for him to vanish from existence; he simply passed out while you were gone and drifted off before you could save him.

“Oh shit,” you hiss, scrambling out of bed, nearly getting tangled in your sheets on the way out. You don’t even bother changing into more appropriate clothes, slamming the button to your door and squeezing through the gap between the door and the wall as soon as it opens for you.

The corridor outside your room runs from stern to bridge, and is dimly lit at this time of night. The ship oscillates through Earth-tethered day and night cycles, the lights only at their brightest at a certain point aligning with morning back on Earth to simulate the distant sun. A slight chill to the air as well, to mirror night. Artificial photic and nonphotic zeitgebers to ensure the body maintains its circadian rhythm. Necessary to prevent sleep deprivation and keep the crew from going mad.

Now though, it makes you feel prey-like. Small. Darting from your room to the cockpit like a mouse scurrying across the savanna under the cloak of darkness and moonlight.

Your bare feet smack against the metal floor as you run, the sound following you down the main corridor towards the cockpit. You pass another porthole but don’t bother glancing out of it, too intent on reaching the main viewing deck. You’ve got to—

Get the body help him save him I’m so sorry I left you out there—

Alex and Graves’s heads snap up as you barge into the cockpit panting and drenched in sweat. You don’t bother to explain yourself, heading straight for the flight deck window instead and leaning over the dashboard. The edge of the panel digs into your pelvis as you lean into the window.

You crane your neck to look left and right, scanning as far as your eye can see. The astronaut you saw off in the distance from your bedroom window is gone. Only stars and dust shine from lightyears away.

It doesn’t make sense. You saw him with your own two eyes drifting out there. You couldn’t have mistook him for anything else—not with the shape of his body, the helmet obelisk black. But there’s nothing out there. Nothing at all.

“Doctor?” Alex asks tentatively from behind you, standing up from his chair.

When you glance over your shoulder at him, wide-eyed, reality finally begins to seep back into you. The two of them stare at you from the other side of the cockpit, their concern and wariness evident in the tension in their shoulders.

“Um—sorry. I…”

You don’t really know what to say. There’s no excuse that seems appropriate, no way of explaining the state of you, panicked and out of breath. For all intents and purposes, it’s the middle of the night. No reason for you to be out of your quarters and so disheveled. Panting like something chased you out of bed.

You wonder what they would see if they cut you open; if they’d find your intercostal muscles bruised from the heavy beat of your heart.

“Somethin’ you wanna share with us, doctor?” Graves asks. His tone is far less charitable, verging on suspicious.

You swallow on a dry throat. “No, I’m—…it was nothing. I just…I had a bad dream.”

From the way they look at you, you can tell that neither of them believe you. It's flimsy, as far as excuses go. But there’s little else they can do but take you at your word. The rules are different out here, more tolerated than back on Earth. Everyone goes a little stir crazy; you just have to know how to manage it.

“I should go back to my room,” you whisper when neither says anything.

You move towards the door on cautious feet, suddenly aware of how cold it is in the cockpit. Goosebumps ripple down your arms and legs, nipples beading under your shirt. Alex politely averts his eyes when he notices. If you were less distressed, you’d be humiliated.

“Get some sleep,” Graves says, eyes following you until the doors close behind you.

You walk back to your quarters slowly, pausing to glance out one of the portholes just to confirm that you haven’t made a huge mistake.

A minute or an hour goes by. You see nothing out in the distance.

Back in your room, you shut off the automatic light that comes on when you enter and collapse into bed. You avoid looking out the window for your own sanity, instead turning over onto your side. Wide awake now. Nothing to do but wait for sleep to sneak up on you again, if you haven’t scared it off entirely. All you can do is think about the look on Alex and Graves’ faces and cringe, pulling the blanket up over your head.

Sleep almost finds you again when something knocks twice on the wall beside your head.

Your breath catches in your throat. Fear scuttles across the floor beneath your bed. Just don’t look. Don’t look at it. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for it to go away.

Whatever it is knocks again. The window this time.

It takes an age to work up the nerve to roll back over. When you look up at the window, a face stares back at you, so close now that you can make out dimples and thick lips turned up at the corners. A close-shaved beard.

He smiles down at you, heedless of the horrified look on your face. “Hello again, love. Care to let me in now?”

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader

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littlesparklight · 10 months ago

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You stand above your brother in his bed, occupied now by more than just pillows and blankets, for the woman at his back is fair and terrifying, even in sleep. You look between them, and you stand above your brother and think -

Is it too late to kill him now?

There are no ships on the horizon - yet - and if you present a body along with the stolen wife when the husband turns up, will that break the omen your mother dreamed?

Is it too late to kill him now?

You drop your hand down - perhaps to close around his throat, another already clutching one of those many, many pillows, and in the dark it'd be easy, wouldn't it? All you do is caress his cheek, your fingers digging stiffly into the pillow. He exhales, a tender shallow ease of breath, and there is this little smile on his lips.

You stand above your brother in his bed, there are ships on the shore, and you have cursed him for a plague, a bane, a cruelty raised by the Olympian to bring your house down, and -

it's too late to kill him now.

It'd be easy to do it, however. You carry a dagger at your belt even now, having left your own bed. Or you could perhaps stir up one of your other brothers, the city, some of your father's council. The baby was almost killed once, after all; what would it matter if it was realized now? Kin-blood believed to have been spilled is surely no less polluting than it being done in reality. The attempt might only have been in the handing over of a fragile infant into another's hands, handed over into the bosom of a mountain, wild and no place for such a tender little being.

But the mountain had been merciful, and nurtured instead of torn asunder, and now you're standing above your brother in his bed.

It's too late to kill him now, but would anyone blame you, blame anyone at all they might suspect, as much as they hate him, a hatred unsaid? Simmering. You don't know how he walks through the palace, the city, his life and not cower from the knowledge; he can't not know.

Your brother - pretty, soft, laughing, shining - doomed and dooming all of you from the start. What does an infant know of causing death? Your father tried to kill an innocent. Some of your brothers attempted it next, an innocent only wishing to reclaim what he thought belonged to him and them not knowing who the slave they felt so insulted by was.

Perhaps it's only fair he will kill you all, merely by existing, by batting those ridiculous lashes to lure the woman still sleeping at his back out of her home, her marriage, her life, and into yours.

You stand above your brother in his bed, and brush your knuckles down his cheek.

It's too late to kill him now, and no matter that you've cursed him and wished him dead - to his face, to your parents' faces, but never to anyone else's - with every angry word to spit at him there's always this echo of the wide, wide eyes, the trembling hand in yours as you help him up from kneeling next to the altar in your head.

Your little brother, that you failed to protect when he was born. And what are you if you don't protect? It's too late to kill him now, anyway. Was always too late.

You meet the gleaming whites of Helen's gaze in the darkness, watching her smooth her grip on your brother's arm into a stroke. Both of you can feel the relief staining the air as you turn away, pretending like she wasn't ready to help you.

You leave your brother in his bed.

#hector of troy #paris of troy #helen of sparta #trojan war #lightart

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writersdrug · 2 months ago

Text

The Good Friend

Chapter 1. A New Hobby

Summary: Johnny regularly checks up on Ghost after he sustained a bullet to the hip on their most recent deployment. It's already too late for him to escape, once he sees what's kept his beloved lieutenant so occupied over the past few days.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, implied violence, restraining, psychotic behavior, blood, forced to help in kidnapping, obsessive behavior. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS. By clicking "Keep Reading" you are consenting to be responsible for the media you consume.

A/N: The people have spoken

Simon on medical leave: a disaster and a headache for the rest of the 141.

There's a daily text along the lines of "Let me know when we get shipped out next." It never mattered how many times Price responded with "You're not joining us for a while. Find a hobby, Simon." He was persistent in coming back to work as soon as possible - shattered hip be damned.

Price had given Soap the job of checking up on the poor brute. "Maybe he misses the usual company." He'd say. "Go see 'im, check in with the muppet."

Soap was a good friend, but there was only so much grumbling he could stomach from Simon. Those "check-ins" would turn into a pity party, with Simon saying "I should be out there, helpin' you lot. Only wastin' away in 'ere. Losin' my head." And it was true - every time Johnny visited, there was an open can of beer on the coffee table, or a glass of whiskey in his hand. The bottle of prescription, opioid pain killers on the kitchen table. Some ill-advised coping mechanism within arm's reach.

It hurt Johnny to see it, it really did. He cared about Simon, missed him, would do anything to get his beloved L.T. back on the team. But he knew the man needed rest and recovery, despite how much it was sending Simon into a spiral. Johnny offered to help clean up his place, but Simon angrily denied the offer. "Don't need a bloody caretaker." He spat.

Just tryin' to be a good friend, Soap wanted to say, but instead he answered with a slam of Simon's front door and a hushed "feckin' bastard."

Johnny was tired of it. When the fuck was this medical leave supposed to end? Apparently, in two weeks ("thank the feckin' lord") -

But, Soap soon discovered, Simon had requested more time off.

Price stated he'd said something about "still not feeling right", which immediately had Soap confused. That old bawbag would've been back in the game the second the bullet was out of his hip, if it wasn't for regulations. It festered in the back of his mind all day: why would Simon do that? What could possibly hold his attention more than the task force? More than Johnny?

There was only one way to find out.

Soap stands in front of Simon's door, knocking loudly against the dark wood. An unexpected visit, which Simon might be frustrated by - but Soap is dying to see what's got his lieutenant so preoccupied. Hopefully, he hasn't fallen into a pit of depression, choosing to drink himself to death, rather than come back to the team.

However, after just a few moments of standing on his porch, Simon answers it rather quickly. And he looks happy. Delighted, even.

"'Bout time, Johnny." Simon says, stepping aside to let him in. "Was wondering if you got lost."

"Was wonderin' if you'd gone crazy." Soap banters back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Cap said ye want more time?"

Simon chuckled quietly, locking the deadbolt behind Soap. He shoves his hands - gloved hands - into his sweatshirt pocket. "Took his advice. Found a hobby."

"Lemme guess: knittin' me a Christmas sweater?"

"You fuckin' wish."

It's good. It makes Soap sigh with relief (internally), seeing Simon in such good spirits. He tosses the pack of blems onto the coffee table and follows Simon into the kitchen. The smell of rubbing alcohol hits him before he sees the counter; bandages, gauze, bloody gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and an open suture kit.

He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, his teeth bared in a wince. "Shite, Ghost- ye reopen tha' bullet wound?" he says, lifting up one of the bloodied pieces of gauze.

"Hm?" Simon turns to face him, then looks at what he's holding. "Oh- nah, I'm fine. Luvie here bumped her head."

Johnny looks up, confused, following Simon's back with his eyes as he makes his way into the dining room - his mind goes blank when he sees the poor, bloodied thing, tied to one of the chairs.

You're staring back at him, hair messed and blood dried against a nasty gash on your forehead. Fabric is stuffed into your mouth, with a strip of duct tape securing it around your head. Your eyes light up with hope as they take Johnny in; you're heaving, poor thing, breaths more like whines as you fight through the delirium of your concussion. Your right ankle is swollen and a nasty shade of purple. Blood all over the chair, your thighs, and now, Johnny finally notices, Simon's hands.

"Dinged 'erself pretty good on my bookcase." Simon says, too calmly, his broad frame standing behind the chair you're strapped into. "Slippery lil' thing, she is."

Simon rips the duct tape off - your voice immediately fills the room, echoing inside Soap's head with your begging and pleading, please please please get me out of here, please help me, he kidnapped me, he's a monster, please-

Johnny has to look away - there's too much noise, too much going on - his eyes trail down the dark hall and into Simon's bedroom. The bookshelf is toppled over, volumes strewn about the floor, a lamp shattered on the ground and casting an eerie angle of light through the room. He hears the sound of his own blood pumping, his chest and throat feel tight, mind racing a million miles a second. Did his LT do this? His Simon?

"Johnny."

He turns back to you. The duct tape is back in place, and now you're weakly thrashing about as much as you can - which really isn't much. Ghost is staring at Soap, one of his hands wrapped around your shoulder, knuckles white with how hard he's gripping you; which is most likely what's making you cry so much.

"Need ya to help stitch 'er up." Simon says, his eyes cold. It's an order. "'Fore she bleeds out on us."

Johnny feels like he's going to vomit. He needs to stop thinking, to stop shaking, and do something. His lieutenant's kidnapped a bloody civilian, for Christ's sake. Why? And what the fuck did he do to her?

"Won't let me touch 'er. Hard to stitch the wound when she's throwin' a fit - damn near stabbed 'er in the eye. I'll hold 'er while you do th' job."

Johnny finally inhales after holding his breath for so long. He stumbles backwards into the kitchen, remembering where the front door is, thinking he should have been in his car and on the phone with the police by now. If he does, though, Simon will be gone forever. Locked up in prison, far away from Soap. How can he save this? How can he save you, and him? "Simon, ye- ye can't be serious, mate-"

"If you walk out tha' fuckin' door I'll kill 'er before you reach it."

That ruffles your feathers. You're whimpering again, screaming against the gag - at him? At Ghost? He freezes where he stands, trying to remember his training. Act first, think later. Do what keeps the most people alive in the moment. That's what Simon had taught him. The same man who was threatening to kill you, ironically, based on what Soap decided to do.

"Get the sutures off the counter." Simon ordered, apparently sensing Soap's inner turmoil. He knows Johnny wouldn't leave you there, not after the threat.

He couldn't.

Soap exhaled heavily through his teeth, forcing his muscles to move. He snatched the suture kit off the counter and stormed back into the living room. He heard Ghost hum in approval as he slapped it down on the table.

"You do it." he said, his voice low and full with grit. "Ye stitch 'er up, I'll help ye take her to the hospital. We come back n' clean up-"

"Shut the fuck up-" Simon growled out to Soap, gripping your chin in his large hand and yanking your head back against his abdomen. "Get to work. Don't let 'er die on me, now."

Die. Die. You had a concussion and a headwound, but you weren't dying - still, he knew that wasn't what Ghost meant. If Soap didn't help, you would die, one way or another. He had to think of this differently, for the time being. He was helping you. He'd take this little by little - first, patch you up. Figure out what the fuck to do with you later; also, how to keep this from ruining Simon's career, because he couldn't leave the task force. Soap wouldn't let that happen.

So, he took the needle and sutures in his hand, and knelt on the floor, between your restrained legs. Ignored the way you screamed and thrashed, only held still by Ghost's meaty paws. Didn't focus on Ghost's satisfied grin. He was doing this to save your life, you'd understand that later. He was doing this to save Simon's career.

Like a good friend.

Next ->

Taglist: @a-sadmilky

Ghost photo credit to @chatskaja

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jetii · 4 months ago

Text

Theory of Attraction

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Words: 10,975

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends/squadmates to lovers, virgin!Tech, Tech’s autism rizz, smut, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, squirting, Tech being a bit of a perv but can you blame him

Summary: It's no secret that Tech has been fascinated by you ever since you joined the team. He's spent months carefully crafting a plan in the hopes of someday asking you on a date, but it all goes out the window with the smallest push.

A/N: *slaps roof* you can fit so much smut inside this baby. That’s pretty much all this is, the feelings are a garnish.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The heat is cloying, sticking to Tech’s skin in an unwelcome blanket where his armor doesn’t cover. Whisps of hair are plastered to his forehead, sweat dripping down the back of his neck and pooling into the collar of his blacks.

He’s uncomfortable and on edge, much preferring the cold of space to the sweltering heat and humidity of the planet that seems dead-set on torturing him.

Maybe that’s why his body is feeling the way it does. Why it’s so receptive to the image that’s right in front of him. Something so innocent, that no one around except for him is batting an eye.

You, your eyes closed in apparent pleasure, licking and sucking a bright red popsicle.

Tech isn’t sure precisely how long he’s been staring at you, but he knows exactly how much of the treat you’d started with and how little was left on the stick now as it disappeared again into your mouth.

Somewhere between finishing the repairs and watching Wrecker load their replenished rations and potable water onto the ship, you produced the collection of colorful popsicles and offered him one. You, Wrecker, and Omega had already devoured two each on the journey back, gushing over how refreshing they were when you breached the tree line and caught sight of them.

He’d nearly declined, not wanting to add syrupy stickiness to the laundry list of less-than-pleasant sensations he was currently experiencing, but a pout from your slightly swollen lips had him reaching into the box. He devoured his meiloorun-flavored popsicle in a few bites, ignoring the offended looks from the others at his method, and returned to his datapad to study up on the flora of the planet.

Or, he had tried to.

His datapad lies forgotten in his lap as he regards you with slightly shallow breaths falling from his lips. A line of red syrup drifts down your hand, and you slowly follow the trail with your tongue before it reaches your wrist.

His hand clenches on his knee, hoping no one else is noticing the way that his eyes darken at the sight of your tongue disappearing into your shining wet mouth. The popsicle is quick to follow it, drifting in and out between lips stained a very enticing shade of red. His mind is full of cotton as he swallows thickly, and he feels himself twitch in his jeans.

Of all the things to be his sexual awakening, this one has to be the most embarrassing.

Sex had simply never interested him before, at least not in a way that felt like this. He isn’t a stranger to the urges that came with being a healthy human male, and he took care of it himself the same as his brothers in the ‘fresher or in the cover of darkness in his bunk when the need arose. But the idea of being with another person hadn’t been top of mind, well, ever.

Between missions, recovering from said missions, endless repairs and modifications to the Marauder, and satisfying his insatiable thirst for knowledge, it hadn’t ever been a possibility worth spending time thinking about. He preferred to focus his efforts on things that were real and tangible.

He’d spent a lot of time lately thinking about you, however.

And even more time analyzing those thoughts in an effort to tease apart why he’s so distracted by you. Wondering where you are, what you’re thinking, feeling delighted whenever he receives new information about you. That had quickly led him down a path that turned into watching out for you specifically when you were in danger and looking for opportunities to help you when you weren’t.

Last week, you’d been stuck on a lift alone together, and he’d pretended to struggle with fixing it just to spend a few more minutes talking to you.

It’s embarrassing, it’s irrational, but he couldn’t stop it if he tried.

After weeks of deliberation, he’d resolved to set a plan into motion that would eventually lead to him asking you to dinner. Tech never did anything without thorough research and preparation. When the others went to sleep, he went through a long list of romantic holofilms, some less terrible than others, and imagined himself in the leading role.

He pictured himself saying the right things, knowing the right way to touch you to hold your interest. You’d talk over a nice meal about what you always talked about, hold hands on the walk back to the Marauder, and perhaps share a dry peck on the cheek before calling it a night. He thought he’d want to start slow.

The wooden stick nearly disappears completely between your red lips. His hand forms into a fist on his knee. Kark.

Slow went right out the window with the last of his sanity, evidently.

It takes a lot for Tech to admit when he’s wrong, but stars, was he wrong about this.

He replays that moment over in his head again. How your cheeks hollowed ever so slightly as you sucked the stick clean, trying to get every inch of the sweet syrup. He pictures you doing the same action but on your knees, his skin underneath your lips instead.

It’s late, or what passes as late when you’re traveling at light speed through the cosmos. He’s awake as he often is, back pressed into the pilot’s seat while the others are sound asleep in their bunks. But unlike the other nights where he’s alone, you’re there, nestled between his spread legs, your hands softly caressing the inside of his thighs.

You’re wearing that oversized shirt you always wear to sleep and nothing else but a pair of GAR-issued briefs, and he can see a flash of their damp center even from his position above you. Your pupils are blown with lust as you stare up at him through your lashes from where you kneel until they flutter closed when the head of his cock presses into your awaiting mouth.

“Ah, just like that,” he whispers through clenched teeth, his fingers twisting into the hair on the back of your head.

You let out an appreciative moan at the slight pull before sliding forward, sucking the remainder of him into your awaiting mouth. He can feel the press of his tip at the back of your throat as you swallow around him, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head at the movement. He casts his head back until it thumps against the headrest, breathing heavily to desperately stop himself from coming down your throat and ending it all so soon.

You seem to sense his desire and slow your motions to a crawl, leaning away to press kitten licks to his head. He holds your hair gently while keeping one hand tangled in it, his eyes searching your face as he continues watching you suck him off slowly and deliberately, moving up and down at your leisure. But when a hand reaches up to cup his balls, he pulls you off him with a wrenched gasp.

The motion entices you to stand and climb onto his lap, his hands welcoming you by grabbing two handfuls of your soft thighs just before they reach the flesh of your ass. You settle your weight on him, hands coming to wrap around his neck before your lips meet in a vicious and messy kiss.

Somewhere between the meeting of teeth and tongues, he helps you lift your shirt up and over your head, whipping it over his shoulder and the back of the chair without another thought. Your bare breasts heave directly in his line of sight, and he’s mesmerized by their shape and apparent softness. The birthmark above your right breast has always enticed him whenever he catches a glimpse of it, and he doesn’t think twice to bring his lips to it.

You eagerly press into his awaiting mouth as Tech dips his head to taste the skin of your chest. He spends special attention on your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks as he caresses your bare skin wherever he can reach. You moan, nearly trembling with his efforts while you mindlessly rut against him, just as drunk off the contact as he is. He can feel you practically drip onto him from where your clothed core rubs against him.

Tech moves a hand up to cup the side of your face, admiring the desperate expression he finds there.

“Please,” you beg with a wanton moan as your clit catches the tip of him, sending a shudder down your thighs.

Tech is nothing if not attentive, and he reacts quickly by lining himself up to your entrance, his thumb pushing aside your underwear to bare you to him.

There's a moment of delicious, almost painful waiting, and then he slowly lifts his hips to sink up into you. Your fingers latch onto his forearm - nails sinking into fabric and flesh. It feels incredible, almost dizzying as he stretches you out and fills you to the brim.

He can’t help but dig his fingers into the flesh of your ass as you lower yourself completely onto him. You turn your head slightly and suck his thumb into your mouth, the most incredible sounds escaping your lips as you wrap your lips around him and draw him in to lave your tongue along the digit.

You move yourself up and down torturously slow, but every time his tip nudges against that spot inside of you, you whimper. The motion makes your bare breasts brush against him, and he’s enticed to lean forward and run his tongue along your flesh, sweeter than any dessert —

“Tech, you’re staring.”

It takes everything in his power not to jump out of his skin, mouth snapping shut with a clack of his teeth to hide his surprised gasp. But Tech still startles slightly — only slightly — before his wide eyes are met with the sight of Echo in front of him.

There’s no mistaking the amused expression on his brother’s pale face as he watches Tech fumble to look anywhere except at the woman currently making an absolute mess of him.

Tech is far from the only one who looked at you, he knew that. But after months of traveling together, it became increasingly apparent that he’s the only one who remains flustered by your presence.

His brothers teased him endlessly over it, but Tech had never been bothered by their assumption of his affections, nor made any effort to deny them so long as they didn’t make you uncomfortable.

His interest in you is only natural, after all. A byproduct of forced extended proximity, your objectively admirable qualities, his lack of experience with women, and the way your mere presence seemed to ease the constant buzzing in his brain.

At least, that was the working theory.

Echo clears his throat, bringing Tech back into the present as he shifts to cross his arms over his chest, still clearly enjoying the situation.

“I was not,” he responds with a huff, adjusting his goggles.

The heat that’d already been traveling up his body from his loins diverts to flush his cheeks and ears with red. He’s suddenly grateful for the datapad in his lap — he’s already been caught, he doesn’t need to be caught like that as well.

The look Echo gives him makes him feel chided, but the clone is only struggling to hold back a smile, eyebrows raised. “Sure you weren’t.”

Desperate to escape the teasing — and there’d be no shortage of it once Echo reported back to the others — Tech jerks to his feet. He can feel eyes on him as he retreats, offering a rushed explanation about HVAC diagnostics, but he chooses to ignore them in favor of hurrying toward the cockpit.

Once inside, he throws himself into his chair and locks the doors behind him. His hand is drawing out his hard length from his jeans before the lock kicks in.

Tech can’t sleep, so he does the next best thing by heading to the cockpit, taking over Hunter’s watch with very little convincing. It's quiet there, and it gives him time alone to sort through his thoughts. Not that the ones that are currently racing through his mind are all that productive, but it's better than tossing and turning and waking everyone else.

He settles himself in the pilot's chair, the dim lights and steady thrum of the engine a welcome distraction from the constant replay of the previous day's events. His mind drifts back to the heat, the humidity, the way your hair fell over your shoulders and stuck to your neck with sweat.

And then his brain helpfully supplies the memory of your mouth, swollen and red from sucking on the popsicle, the way the liquid melted in the summer sun and dripped down your arm, and the way you chased it with your tongue.

He sinks lower into the pilot seat and groans, throwing his head back against the headrest and squeezing his eyes shut. This is becoming a problem, he thinks.

“Oh!”

His head shot up at the sound, snapping over to glance at the entrance to the cockpit as the door hisses closed.

You stand still, your hand slightly raised toward your mouth as you catch sight of him in his chair. Your eyes are wide in surprise as they meet his own. He can see even in the dim light that you'd just rolled out of bed, wisps of hair escaping your braid and sticking to your neck.

His eyes travel lower, and he nearly lets out a groan when he realizes you’re wearing the same shirt as you were in his fantasy, legs enticingly bare underneath its hem.

He must’ve been staring for a while because you start to fidget under his attention. Your fingers play with each other in front of your waist as you bite into your lower lip. He tries not to focus on the movement, but there’s something about the air between you that has him entranced by it.

“Sorry, I thought no one’d be in here,” you whisper. When he does nothing, his mind too distracted to form words, you move to turn back toward the door. “Goodnight, Tech —“

He has a split second to make a choice.

“Wait,” he calls out, stopping you in your tracks. “You can stay. If you would like to, that is. I don’t mind.”

“Um, alright.” You still look a little unsure, but you're soon sitting in front of his turned chair in the co-pilot’s seat.

When it comes to love, Tech is far from an expert. Unless you considered an encyclopedic knowledge of courtship rituals and human erogenous zones being an expert, which he does not. Particularly when the breadth of the information stored in his mind seems just beyond his reach every time he looks at you.

He has a feeling you won’t enjoy many of the techniques suggested in his reading, either, such as what one author referred to as “playing hard to get.” You don't seem like the type to entertain mind games, not that he was interested in playing that type of game with you anyway.

No, his approach is going to have to be different, and more importantly, genuine.

The problem is, the longer he thinks about how to approach you, the more his mind becomes overwhelmed by the prospect.

At some point, Tech realizes you've been sitting in silence while he monologues internally, and once again, his mouth opens before he can stop it.

“Are you alright?”

You look surprised, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of the question or because he’s the one asking it. He doesn't exactly make a habit out of checking in on the others, figuring that they would tell him what’s on their mind if they wanted to, but he’s been watching you long enough that he can tell the look on your face is solemn. He doesn’t enjoy it.

“I…” you trail off when you meet his eyes, looking back down at the hands folded in your lap. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s stupid.”

“I sincerely doubt that. You are a very intelligent woman.”

His earnest, rapid-fire compliment seems to have caught you off guard, because when you turn to face him, you look bewildered.

He stammers to recover.

"I-I only mean that if you were thinking something that was bothering you, it would most likely be something important."

Your features softened. “Do you…ever wonder what will happen to us?”

The chair turns fully, your knees nearly brushing. You draw your legs up so they’re balancing on each armrest, elbows falling to brace yourself on them. You're looking at him now, and he once again is struggling to know what to say once you clarify, “What you’ll do after the fighting ends?”

Tech sets his datapad down on the console. When he looks into your eyes again, he can see them shining in the dim light, and it makes his heart feel heavy to see you look so lost.

Still, he can’t help but say it. The truth.

“We are clones. War is our purpose. There is no ‘after’ for us.”

Tech knows immediately it isn’t the right thing to say. You inhale sharply and quickly scrub your cheek. “But do you think about what it would be like if there was?”

He hesitates. He wants to say no, to tell you that the thought never crossed his mind, but that would be a lie. Tech has thought about it, at this point quite extensively.

He’s pictured a life outside of running from or into danger, one where Omega could actually be a kid and one where he and his brothers aren’t constantly looking over their shoulders. He’s pictured a home that isn’t a gunship or a lab balancing over a tumultuous ocean, a life that is simple and routine but no less rewarding.

But he’s afraid to say it, he realizes. Not just because it’s an illogical waste of time to consider the possibilities, but because now in every one of those pictures his mind has loosely constructed, you're there by his side.

You had already become part of his routine, your lives inexorably intertwined, and he didn’t want that to change. His ideal future is any future where you're together, whether it’s simply as teammates or friends or something more.

He isn’t sure how he’ll react if he divulges that to you, and you don't feel the same. He reminds himself that he wanted to start slow, his strong sexual attraction to you be damned.

The words are quiet when he finally speaks.

“Yes, I have.”

Your hand reaches out to take his, and the sensation of your bare skin warming his own sends something like a static shock to his system.

You've touched before — to swap tools, pull each other into the safety of cover, and that one time you fell asleep on his shoulder at dinner — but all of that had been through his gloves or armor. This was the first time he’d ever felt you.

It’s thrilling, he wants more of it, and he immediately understands why people get addicted to this sort of thing.

Tech’s hand turns, and he laces your fingers together before he can convince himself not to. When he catches your eye again, tearing his gaze away from where you're connected, you're smiling at him.

It’s small, a far cry from the ear-to-ear grin you wear when Wrecker says something to make you laugh, or when he dips the Marauder into a nosedive, but it still makes him feel warm.

“You deserve to have a life outside of war, Tech,” you say earnestly with a squeeze of your fingers. “You all do.”

“Thank you.” He scoots closer to the edge of his seat, toward your warmth and welcoming smile. Tech’s heart is in his throat, but if there was ever a time to tell you how he feels, it’s now.

“I—“

The door slides open, startling you both into letting go of each other’s hands. Wrecker stumbles into the room with an arm thrown up over his face, the other outstretched and waving wildly.

“Everybody decent?” he asks, then barks out a laugh at his own quip as he lowers his arm from his eyes.

You're both quick to scoot your chairs away from each other and stand, a flustered blush rising to your cheeks and an annoyed one rising to his. Tech opens his mouth to give his brother a piece of his mind, but you speak up first.

You clear your throat. "Yeah, um, I was just on my way out."

When he turns to you, your cheeks are flushed.

“Goodnight, Tech,” you mutter as you stand, avoiding his gaze. “Wrecker.”

You shove past Wrecker without another word, and the two watch you go before Wrecker turns back to Tech with a wide grin.

“Soo?” Wrecker asks, drawing out the question as he looks back and forth between the door and Tech, who has his hands braced on his hips.

Tech is silent for a beat, but when the tension gets too high, he throws his arms up. "So what?"

“What was that all about?” Wrecker gestures to the space you had just been occupying, his smile turning smug.

Tech scoffs and turns away, settling back into the pilot’s chair and picking up his datapad. “We were just talking,” he replies curtly over his shoulder. “Was there something you needed?”

“Aw c’mon, that’s it?” Wrecker whines. When he doesn’t get a response further, he heaves a sigh. “It’s my turn for watch.”

Weeks have gone by since your talk in the cockpit. The mission for Cid went off without a hitch, relatively speaking. You had your cover blown at the last minute, which led to an inevitable firefight and a hasty retreat. While some would consider it a failure, the group was optimistic. After all, you'd gotten the stolen cargo back and then some, and miraculously no one was hurt.

The generous sum of credits that greeted you on your return to Ord Mantell was split the usual way. Cid took more than her fair share before the chits hit the table, and what little amount was left was first pooled together in a fund for food, supplies, and repairs for the Marauder, then divvied up equally among the Batch. Your individual take-home pay was meager, but with the essentials taken care of, it was enough to keep paying your rent. For now.

As soon as the credits were pressed into your palm, you made yourself scarce, muttering something about needing a real shower and bed for once. Tech couldn’t blame you, though he was itching to speak to you again.

The group made their way to Cid’s arcade, Omega half hanging from Hunter’s arm as she fought sleep. Though none of you were eager to spend much time planetside, there was little else to do but wait for Cid to need you again. And if you were going to endure the city and its splendors, a drink was required.

An hour into Cid’s beer reserve, still full price and then some for the Batch, and you finally return. Freshly showered with a new set of clothes, you're easily the most put-together and rested any of them have looked in days. The tight shirt you chose rides up slightly when you wave a greeting, revealing a sliver of the skin of your abdomen. Tech quickly buries his nose in his datapad to avoid being caught staring again.

You settle into the empty stool beside him at the bar, and the others welcome you back. You seem relaxed, a stark difference from the somber mood you were in the last time Tech saw you, and he feels relieved to see you happy.

Still busying himself with his research, he slides over the glass of tsiraki in front of him in your direction. It's your drink of choice, one that he noticed you always seemed to prefer over the fruity mixed drinks Echo ordered for you.

“For you.”

He didn't have to look up to know you’re smiling at him, though he can feel his own lips tilt up when you speak. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I am always thinking of you,” he says, eyes still on his datapad.

A beat passes, and Tech realizes his mistake. His eyes widen, and his gaze snaps up to meet yours. You're looking at him with slightly furrowed brows, lips parted in a quiet gasp.

He opens his mouth to correct himself, but nothing comes out to correct his accidental confession. One that he meant entirely, but perhaps could have timed better.

His face feels hot, and his mind is racing as he watches the expression on your face soften. You huff out a quiet laugh, closing your eyes and shaking your head as you reach for your glass. He watches you carefully, not wanting to look away for a second, as he struggles to process your reaction. Or lack thereof.

“Is something wrong?” Tech finally asks, setting down his datapad.

You take a long sip of your drink before setting it down and leaning your elbows against the bartop, turning to look at him. A soft smile pulls at your lips. “No, not at all. Don’t worry about it.”

Normally, he would press further. Leaving questions unanswered is never his strong suit unless he is sufficiently distracted. Like now, for example, when the sight of you licking your lips is far too enticing to let him focus on anything else.

If you notice he’s staring again, you don’t show it, choosing instead to throw back the final drink of your glass before setting it aside. You turn your body to face him fully, your knees brushing softly against his leg.

“Have you ever heard of five-blossom bread?”

“It is a pastry from your home planet, correct?” He asks, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at the sudden question. You nod. “I have only been once to Naboo, and we did not spend much time there to try the cuisine.”

You hum in affirmation, tilting your head at him. He feels as if you're searching for something in his gaze, and his mouth opens and closes as he thinks of something else to say. Fortunately, you speak up first.

“There’s a place not far from here that sells it. Wanna come with?”

You glance away from him awkwardly, but when you meet his eyes again, he can see the excitement in them. It does something to his heart that has him nodding before you could finish speaking.

You don’t talk about your time before the Batch much, but from what little he’d gleaned from you, you hold a fondness for your home that he simply doesn’t feel about Kamino. And it made you happy when you came across any memento of Naboo on your travels, something that never failed to make the rest of them feel happier as well.

“I know you have a sweet tooth. You’ll love it, I promise.” You beam up at him, and he returns your smile with a hesitant one of his own.

“That sounds agreeable. Do you want to leave now? If you are hungry, of course. Or we could wait until the morning, if that would be better—“

Tech is interrupted by your hand covering his on the table, and all thoughts of five-blossom pastries and Naboo leave his head immediately. The feeling of your touch is the only thing on his mind as he looks up to meet your eye.

“Let’s go now, Tech,” you say.

You stand and begin to make your way through the bar, passing by the others on their way out.

“Where’re you two off to?” Wrecker asks with a wide grin, eyes on where you’ve grabbed Tech’s hand to pull him along.

“Out,” you answer before Tech can open his mouth.

He glances over at you, eyebrows raised in surprise by your sharp reply. You tug him forward before anyone else can speak up, throwing a quick “catch you later!” over your shoulder as you quickly ascend the stairs and out into the evening air.

The sun has just started to set, and the streets are alive with the noise and bustle of the city. Tech keeps close to your side, trying his best to keep an eye on the people around you while simultaneously focusing on you. It isn’t as difficult as it sounds; you are a bright point among the chaos of the crowd.

He could have sworn that you were smiling wider, your steps lighter, the closer you got to your destination. It makes him happy too, even though he has no idea where you are headed.

Tech hadn’t considered the fact that you’re still holding his hand until the two of you are forced to stop at a crosswalk. You stand waiting for the signal to change, and he becomes very aware of how closely you’re pressed together.

After you cross the street, a thought suddenly occurs to him, and he stops abruptly, his arm tugging your back.

“Is this a date?” he asks, bewildered.

You turn around, and he can feel your fingers tense in his. He hopes he hasn't said the wrong thing, and the panic is short-lived when you start to smile.

“Do you want it to be?”

His mind is racing, but Tech manages a single word, surprising the both of you by the certainty in his voice, "Yes."

Your eyes are wide as they search his, and when you bite into your bottom lip, he can feel his cheeks heating up.

“If that is also your preference,” he adds quickly.

“It is, yeah,” you say with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “C’mon, it’s just ahead.”

He follows along after you, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. The bakery is a small, hole-in-the-wall establishment, but the smell coming from inside is delightful. The door jingles as you step inside, and the girl behind the counter looks up from the customer she’s helping with a startlingly friendly smile considering the city you’re in. You’re practically bouncing on your feet as you wait in line.

Tech glances over the baked goods in the display case, eyes catching on one that looks familiar. He points it out. "Are those the pastries you mentioned?"

You follow his gaze, a smile blooming on your face. "Those are! How did you guess?"

Tech feels his cheeks warm. "It’s not difficult to deduce. You seem quite excited by their presence."

"I can't help it. These things are the best; I'm telling you."

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a table by the window, a five-blossom bread garnished with syrup steaming on a plate between you. You take a bite, sighing happily as the taste washes over you. He smiles at your expression, and after a moment, you open your eyes again.

"Here, try some." You break off a piece and hold it out to him. He eyes it warily, not used to someone wanting to feed him, and takes it slowly between his teeth.

The taste is…not terrible.

"Well?"

"It is adequate, I suppose." He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, taking another bite. "Just say you love it."

"I am not going to lie to you."

You laugh, and Tech feels a surge of pride knowing he was the one who caused it, however unintentionally

"Alright, alright. I get it. Just know, I'm never letting you live this down. You're gonna have to find a way to make it up to me." You grin at him, a look of mischief in your eye, and he finds himself smiling back.

"I am sure I can think of something."

You finish the rest of your dessert quickly, and the two of you continue to talk as the night draws on. You tell him about Naboo and its many charms, the foods and people and sights. He tells you about the many other planets he has been to before you joined the squad, the differences and similarities. The conversation flows easily between you, and before he knows it, hours have passed, and the bakery is closing.

As you leave the bakery, you slip your hand back into his, and he marvels at the simple joy of the action.

The streets have cleared somewhat, and you're able to walk at a leisurely pace to your apartment. Tech insisted he escort you home, as the streets are not the safest place to be even for a trained mercenary. You had tried to convince him you would be fine, but when you saw the look in his eye, you agreed without further argument.

When you reach the entrance, he expects you to release his hand and step inside, but you pause.

"I had a great time tonight, Tech. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." He pauses. "Perhaps we could do this again sometime."

You smile. "I'd like that."

"As would I."

There’s a moment of quiet between you before Tech looks around awkwardly and takes a step back, dropping your hand. “…Well, goodbye.”

He turns to leave, but your hand on his arm stops him. "Tech.”

When he turns back, you're closer, looking up at him with a soft smile. Your fingers trail down his arm until they meet his. You squeeze gently before letting go, and his breath catches.

“Yes?"

“Generally, at the end of a date, it’s customary to kiss the other person goodnight."

Tech feels his face flush. He swallows hard, his voice slightly strained as he replies. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm," you hum. Your gaze falls to his lips, and he finds himself unconsciously doing the same to yours.

"I did not want to presume—"

Your hands cup his cheeks, and then your lips are on his, soft and warm. The kiss is sweet, short and over far too soon, and when you pull away, his eyes flutter open, his breath leaving him in a rush.

"You weren't," you whisper. He watches your lips move, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Good. That is…good." He leans in to kiss you again, his hands coming up to grip your waist and pull you close. Your lips are soft and yielding beneath his, and when your tongue flicks against his lower lip, he gasps.

His mind is hazy, a pleasant fog clouding his thoughts. All he can think about is the way you feel in his arms, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body. You kiss him with a passion he has never felt before, and he tries his best to match your fervor.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together. Your cheeks are flushed, and you look as dazed as he feels.

“You’re…you’re pretty good at that,” you say between breaths, chest heaving.

“Your positive feedback is noted,” he replies, just as winded, before adding, “and reciprocated. I’m pleased to know my research has paid off.”

You grin, a blush rising to your cheeks. "Research, huh?”

“Yes. Once I better understood my interest in you, I took it upon myself to learn more about the nature of romantic relationships and affection.” Tech adjusts his goggles. “It is a surprisingly fascinating subject with no shortage of material on the HoloNet.”

You tilt your head as your fingers trail along the back of his neck. The light scrape of your nails sends a shiver down his spine.

“What else have you learned?” you ask, voice soft.

“Many things I am eager to share with you,” he confesses, leaning closer and tightening his grip on your waist. You mirror his movements, your lips parting slightly.

“Did you know it is customary for alpha-bull Crolutes to have a harem of concubines in a breeding colony? They must constantly battle other Crolutes to maintain their status. It is fascinating they are able to sustain such a base culture given their female species’ proclivity for space travel.”

The words fall out of his mouth, and the sudden shift in mood has you snorting, your shoulders shaking with laughter.

He's confused, but he doesn't let it stop him from pressing on. "There was an entire subsection dedicated to the topic. I can send you the link if you'd like to read more about it."

You smile up at him, a look of fondness on your face, and shake your head. “Tech.”

You kiss him again, slower this time, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. You pull away after a moment, your lips ghosting over his.

“As interesting as that is, I was hoping for something a little more…tactile.”

He blinks, struggling to understand your meaning beneath the pleasant haze creeping over him. A litany of possible anecdotes crosses his mind before his train of thought is forcibly interrupted by the feeling of your fingers tapping against his chest plate. They drag downward, following the contours of his cuirass, and suddenly it clicks.

Just as you move to pull away, Tech follows, tightening his grip on your hips. He crowds you against the door, careful not to push too hard as his chest touches yours. With your hand trapped between you, his own travels upward to grasp your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding,” he murmurs. “I am more than happy to provide a physical demonstration.”

When your lips meet again, Tech feels as though a switch has been flipped, his desire for you flaring bright and hot.

His kisses are no longer gentle and tentative but passionate and demanding. He wants to know what you taste like, how you will react if he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. You gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your parted lips. You moan, a low and needy sound that makes him ache.

Tech can feel his body responding to the physical stimulus, his cock already hard and straining against his pants. He groans into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours.

Your fingers clutch at his chest plate, pulling him closer as he explores your mouth with his tongue. He can feel you trembling beneath him, your breath coming in shallow gasps. He releases your chin to slide his hand up to cradle the back of your neck, angling your head so he can deepen the kiss.

Your leg lifts to wrap around his waist, and he eagerly grabs for it, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. He uses his grip to hoist you further up, and you quickly get the hint, wrapping both legs around him until he fully supports your weight with his arm tucked underneath you.

The new position has your core flush against his, the heat of you obvious through your clothes. Your arms wrap around his neck as you continue exploring each other's mouths. Tech can feel you grinding against him, and he moans, hips bucking instinctively.

His withdraws his hand from your face to reach for the door panel, deftly deactivating the lock, and it slides open with an abrupt hiss. Gasping at the sudden loss of the barrier behind you, your body tenses against him. Tech quickly maneuvers his hand back underneath you to prevent you from falling backward through the threshold, and you let out a relieved laugh into his mouth that turns into a moan as he shifts you to grab two generous handfuls of your ass.

He carries you inside, and you fumble blindly with the control panel, struggling to close the door with his mouth attached to yours. When you’re finally successful, the door sliding shut behind him, he breaks from the kiss momentarily to look around the dimly lit room. “Where is—“

“Door on the left,” you say immediately between open-mouthed kisses on his neck. He nods, making his way to your bedroom as best as he can in the dark.

Just as he’s about to reach the door, teeth sink into his earlobe and tug. He lets out a gasp and stumbles, pressing you back up against the wall near the door as he involuntarily ruts into the juncture between your thighs. You let out a little laugh before he descends on your lips again, forcing them apart with his tongue.

The kisses become increasingly frantic and messy, and Tech finds it difficult to think. All he can focus on is the taste of you, the warmth of your skin, the way your legs tighten around his hips. His cock aches, desperate for relief, and his hips begin rocking steadily into your core.

He can feel you panting against his mouth, the heat of your breath driving him wild. His grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging into your soft flesh, and he groans, rutting against you harder.

You’re moaning now, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his armor. The sound makes his cock throb, and he grinds his hips against yours, chasing the sensation.

Tech wants to see you, needs to see you, but he can't bring himself to pull away from the kiss. Your lips are so soft, so warm, and the way you whimper and cling to him sends shivers down his spine.

You suddenly wiggle out of his hold with a nip to his lower lip, and his hands fall to his sides. He can't help the noise of protest that escapes him as you back away into the dark bedroom, but before he can do anything else, your fingers dig into the lip of his cuirass and tug him after you. He follows your lead, hands roaming over your waist and hips as he backs you toward the bed.

Your hands drift toward the fastenings of his chest plate, and his heart rate accelerates, pulse thudding loudly in his ears.

“Can I take this off?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

He nods.

You make quick work of the clasps, removing his cuirass and tossing it aside. Together, you remove his armor piece by piece until he’s standing in just his blacks and jeans.

When his holster is removed, you drop to your knees before him, fingers moving to the clasp of his pants, and he nearly chokes as he’s reminded of the fantasy he’s been tormented by for weeks.

"Oh, Force.”

The button pops, and the zipper is tugged down agonizingly slowly. You lean forward and mouth his length through the material of his briefs, and his knees go weak. You look up at him, pupils blown wide with desire.

Tech can’t tear his gaze away.

With trembling fingers, he pushes his pants and briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free. He has to resist the urge to touch himself, to fist his aching length and seek relief. Your breath hitches at the sight, your eyes raking over his body.

"Stars, Tech, you're big."

His cheeks burn, and his heart is pounding in his ears. You run your hands up his thighs, and his cock twitches, straining toward your touch.

Tech has never been particularly interested in his size, but the way you said it makes him feel like the most desirable man in the galaxy. Your words and the expression on your face has his ego skyrocketing, his chest puffing out with pride before he sucks in a sudden sharp breath.

Your breath is hot against his tip, your lips so close he can feel them brush against the sensitive skin. He’s aching, the urge to thrust his hips and bury himself in your throat almost overwhelming. But then, your mouth is on him, and his mind goes blank.

The wet heat of your mouth is incredible, your tongue tracing the veins on the underside of his cock and flicking across the slit. Your hands come up to rest on his hips, fingers digging into his skin, and you take him deeper, swallowing around him until he feels the back of your throat.

Tech moans, his eyes squeezing shut as his head falls back. His hips rock forward instinctively, and you make a noise in the back of your throat, one of your hands coming up to rest on his stomach.

He looks down at you, his hand cupping your jaw and thumb caressing your cheek. Your eyes are closed, tears leaking from the corners, and your lips stretch around his girth. He’s mesmerized, his fingers brushing over your features.

You open your eyes and look up at him, and the sight of you is nearly enough to undo him. He bites back a groan, his grip on your tightening.

Tech has never seen anything so beautiful.

"You are so lovely." He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, and you hum around his cock, sending vibrations through his body. "I have dreamt of this moment, of having your perfect mouth wrapped around me. The reality is even better than I could have imagined."

You swallow around him again, and he shudders, his hips rocking involuntarily.

"You look exquisite on your knees, taking my cock. So perfect. So eager."

A whimper escapes you, and he moans, his hips snapping forward. He’s careful not to go too deep, but the sensation of your throat constricting around him is divine.

Your pace quickens, and you bob your head, taking him deeper each time. He’s so close, his cock pulsing and throbbing.

"That's it. Take it. Take it all."

Your lips stretch obscenely around him, and he can feel the tip hitting the back of your throat. He’s lost, consumed by the pleasure, his words pouring out of him. "You look so beautiful like this. Taking my cock, letting me fuck your mouth. Such a good girl."

You whimper, your hands sliding from his hips to cup his balls, rolling them gently between your fingers. His orgasm is building, a tingling sensation at the base of his spine, and his hips begin to stutter.

"Fuck, mesh'la, I'm close. I'm going to cum. Stars, yes, I'm—"

With one last thrust, his vision whites out, and he’s cumming, cock pulsing relentlessly as he empties himself into your mouth. You swallow every drop, licking him clean as he comes down from his high.

When he finally pulls out, you gasp for breath, cheeks flushed. Tech is breathing heavily, his legs shaking, and he collapses onto the bed next to you, his head spinning.

"Force, that was…" He trails off, unable to find the right words. You grin, a sly look in your eye, and he knows that you know exactly what you've done to him.

Tech can still feel the buzz of his orgasm lingering, the tingle in his limbs making his toes curl. His eyes are half-closed, and he can’t seem to stop smiling.

"Do you have any idea how badly I've wanted to do that?" you ask, crawling up the bed and draping yourself over his side.

He blinks, surprised by the admission. "No. But I must say, I am extremely pleased you did."

You giggle, and his arm wraps around you. He pulls you close, relishing the feel of your body against his.

"That was…incredible."

"Mmm, I'm glad you liked it." You press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He sighs happily. "More than liked. It was a singular experience. One that I would be interested in repeating." He sits up, leaning over you. “But first, I wish to return the favor."

He kisses you, slow and deep. His hand slides up your body, caressing your curves. Your breasts are soft under his palms, and he feels you arch into his touch. Tech teases your nipple through your shirt, his tongue exploring your mouth. You pant into the kiss, your hands roaming over his bare chest.

Tech wants you naked, your skin against his.

He breaks the kiss, sitting up. "May I undress you?"

You nod, and he lifts the hem of your shirt, exposing your bare torso. His eyes travel over your body, drinking in every detail.

"Beautiful." He murmurs, fingers tracing the swell of your breast. You shiver at the touch, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. He drags his lips down your chest, peppering your skin with soft kisses. Your breasts are heavy in his hands, and he can feel your heartbeat racing under his tongue before his head dips lower.

His teeth tug at your nipple, and you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"Please."

Tech sucks hard, and you moan, your legs spreading beneath him. He continues his exploration, moving to the valley between your breasts. He trails his tongue down your stomach, his hands tugging at the waistband of your pants.

"Take these off."

He hooks his fingers into the fabric and pulls them down. You lift your hips, helping him remove the garment, leaving you bare save for your underwear.

Your skin is smooth and warm beneath his touch. Tech can feel your thighs trembling, your body arching toward him. He traces your hip bones, dipping his tongue into your navel, and you gasp.

"Tech…"

"Patience, cyar'ika. I promise, you will not regret the wait."

He drags his tongue over the apex of your thigh, teasing you with the barest of touches. You whimper, and he feels your legs spread even wider. He moves lower, tracing the seam of your pussy with his finger. You're soaked, your arousal seeping through the fabric of your panties, and the sight of it makes his mouth water.

“Tech, wait—“ He pauses immediately, though his fingers don’t leave you.

“Yes?”

“Have you…done this before?”

He tilts his head. “Intercourse?”

You sigh. “Yes, Tech.”

His brow furrows. He had not. Was that a problem?

“I am admittedly inexperienced in this area,” he says, eyes flicking downward toward the dampened crotch of your underwear and back up. He can feel saliva pooling in his mouth, and he swallows against it. “But I assure you I am a quick study.”

You reach out and run your fingers through his hair, pushing the unruly locks back off his forehead. He leans into your touch, his eyes closing.

"That's not what I meant. I just don't want you to feel obligated. If you aren't ready, we can stop."

“Understood,” he nods, pausing pensively to thank you before his thumbs smooth over your stomach. “Though I doubt I will wish to stop until I have had my fill of you. Lift your hips, mesh’la.”

After a second’s hesitation, you comply with his request, and he drags your underwear down your legs before tossing it aside. His hand is on you in an instant, middle finger gently exploring your slick folds before he dips it inside. He’s pleased to note that your anatomy doesn’t differ much from his research as he gathers the slick weeping from your entrance and swipes upward to catch the bundle of nerves above it.

You let out a soft cry and arch against him, your legs trembling. Tech grins, a thrill shooting through him.

"Is that good?"

"Yes, oh stars, yes." You pant, your hips rocking against his hand.

He continues to move his fingers, exploring your body, watching your reactions. You're so wet, your juices dripping down his hand. His thumb replaces his finger on your clit, rubbing gentle circles while he drags his finger down to your entrance.

He breaches you slowly, searching for the spot he had read about on your upper wall. When he feels a texture different from the softness surrounding it, he presses upward, and he’s rewarded with a loud whimper.

Chasing your noises, he begins to create a rhythm, drawing in and out and focusing on your core with rapt attention. He marvels at the way wetness seeps from your slit, dampening your thighs and his hand, at the sounds you make, at the way you arch into his touch.

He moves his free hand to press down on your lower stomach just as he adds a second finger, earning him a loud moan. Your hips begin to writhe with the motion of his thrusting fingers, wetness squelching lewdly.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” you gasp out between panted breaths, your eyes locked on where his fingers are disappearing inside you.

“I have not,” he says. “But I admit I have thought about you in this position many times.”

You wail as he increases his pace, lowering himself onto his stomach so he can watch your impending orgasm up close. “That’s it, mesh’la. Cum on my fingers."

You shudder, your hands fisting in the sheets, and Tech can feel your walls clenching around his digits. His own arousal is steadily increasing, his cock filling out against the bed as he imagines how it would feel to fuck you.

Your climax hits you hard, your hips lifting off the bed and thighs pressing tightly around his hand. You let out a wordless scream, your body writhing in ecstasy.

Tech watches with wonder, his cock throbbing as a flood of release escapes you, soaking his fingers and the inside of your thighs. He doesn’t let up in his thrusting, eager to see how much he can wring from you.

“Tech—“

He groans at the breathless way you say his name, pressing harder onto your stomach as his thumb nudges underneath the hood of your clit. A choked sob leaves you under the squelching of his fingers deep in your cunt.

Suddenly, you arch and shake with a scream, and a flood of liquid squirts from you, splashing onto his goggles and dripping onto his nose and mouth. He blinks, stunned. It takes everything he has in him to not cum the instant you soak his face.

"Fuck! Oh stars, Tech, I'm sorry."

You sit up, a mortified expression on your face. Tech licks his lips, the taste of you flooding his mouth. He can't hold back the moan that escapes him, his cock aching to bury itself inside of you.

"You have nothing to apologize for. That was...extremely arousing," he says, pulling his fingers from you, though not without marveling at the way the inside of your walls grips him as he pulls out completely, as if they wanted him to stay.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he replies before wiping the lower half of his face. He lifts his goggles onto his head, unable to stop the smug smile from forming as he watches your heaving chest.

“I’ve never done that before,” you say, blushing furiously. Your hand comes up to cover your eyes as he licks his fingers clean, sucking them into his mouth to collect the remains of your release.

“I am honored to have been present for such a spectacle. You are quite extraordinary, you know."

You peek through your fingers, and Tech can see the smile curling your lips. "Flatterer."

“I wonder if you could do that again. Would you like to try?" he asks. Your hand drops from your eyes as you stare at him in utter disbelief. “That was the most arousing thing I have ever witnessed, and I would very much like to experience it again."

He slides his hand between your thighs, fingers sliding easily along the soaked length of your pussy, and he watches as you visibly shudder, a whimper leaving your throat.

“Maker, Tech, you’re going to ruin me,” you groan, throwing your head back. A distinctly male part of his pride preens, filing your words away for later in the back of his mind to repeat when he was alone. “Maybe some other time.”

His brain stutters, and the hand he’s trailing absently up and down your slit slows to a stop. “You want to do this again?”

“You’re not going to be able to keep me away after this,” you warn, and though he recognizes it's a joke, he can see a hint of something else in your eyes. He pushes himself up to his knees, drawing close until he can anchor himself onto either side of your head with his hands.

“That will not be a problem,” he says, pressing his mouth against yours.

You respond immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The movement forces his cock, still hard and aching, to press against you, and he gasps as he feels the precum beading at his tip smear across your skin.

As if reading his mind, you move a hand between you to take him between your fingers. Using your thumb to spread the leaking fluid down his length, you wrap your fingers around and squeeze. He’s still sensitive from earlier, and he can’t help but move his hips to fuck your fist.

“I—kriff,” he swears as he leans his forehead against yours. His eyelids flutter closed. Your thumb presses against the vein underneath his head, and the sentence forming in his mind disappears in time with the needy whine that falls from his lips.

“I want you inside me, Tech,” you whisper, meeting his gaze when his eyes blink wide. He scrambles back to position himself at your entrance, and he’s surprised again when you shakily move as well.

Your hand presses gently on his chest, and he follows the motion to take your place, his head nestled in your pillows. You move to straddle him with your thighs on either side of his waist, and he feels faint with the amount of blood rushing down to his cock.

He can hardly believe what he’s seeing, though he wishes he could see you more clearly. With the lights still off and his goggles resting on his forehead, he can barely make out your silhouette above him.

Your hand goes back between you to guide his cock to your entrance when he stops you.

“Wait!” He calls out, just as you are beginning to lower yourself onto his lap.

You freeze, and he quickly grabs onto his goggles, tugging them off his head. He nearly drops them in his haste to wipe them off on the sheets before securing them back over his eyes. They aren’t perfectly clean, far from it, but it’s enough to allow him a clear view of the way your slick folds open around his length.

“You may continue.”

You huff out a quiet laugh before you resume your descent, grabbing his cock to hold it steady. His hands reach out to grab hold of either side of your hips as you lazily move his erection up and down your folds, his tip catching on your soaked entrance before notching your clit.

You let out a small whine before doing it again and again, and Tech feels like he is about to combust.

You repeat the motion two more times, and he feels a desperate noise tear itself from his throat. He isn’t entirely sure how he is still managing to breathe.

“Please, cyar’ika,” he hisses, staring hard at your cunt. Your folds are glistening, and his mouth waters at the sight. His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold you still, and you relent, taking a deep breath. Your eyes lock on his, and the intensity of your gaze sends a shiver down his spine.

“Since you asked so nicely.” You smirk before sheathing his cock entirely, punching a deep moan out of his chest.

Tech feels as though he is being swallowed whole. Your heat engulfs him, and he can feel every muscle and ridge along your walls. He gasps, his head thrown back, and his nails dig into your skin.

The feeling of being inside you is indescribable. You're so perfect, and his brain is melting, his vision is whiting out, and his heart is going to burst out of his chest, and he never wants this to end.

It’s a revelation, an epiphany, a truth he could have gone his whole life without knowing, but now that he does, there is no turning back.

You seem to be having an equally hard time with it, your breath escaping you in tiny pants. You slowly shift your hips, grinding against the nearly trimmed hair of his pubic bone with a barely suppressed whine.

After a few more minutes of adjusting to each other, you start to move. You lean forward and brace yourself on his chest as you rock back and forth, and the motion draws another gasp from you, the feeling of your tightening around him nearly making him choke. You are relentless, using him for your pleasure, and he is more than willing to let you.

A litany of curses and praises pour from his lips as you ride him, and you seem to delight in his vocalizations, speeding up the more he says. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks, and the pain only heightens his pleasure.

His hands find their way to your breasts, and he plays with your nipples, twisting and pulling on the hardened nubs. You moan, arching into his touch, and Tech can't stop himself from leaning forward and wrapping his lips around one of the buds.

Your pussy clenches around him, and he groans, sucking and biting and teasing until you are squirming on his cock. Your hips are rocking faster, and you’re panting and gasping, and Tech is sure he has never seen anything more beautiful. He can feel his orgasm building, the tingling sensation returning, spurred on by your movements.

“I will not last long,” he warns you. “You feel so good.”

His broad vocabulary is failing him, but he can’t find it in himself to care as you slowly lift yourself, his cock nearly sliding out before slamming back into your body, and his hips thrust upward to meet you.

He feels his tip kiss the mouth of your womb, and his eyes roll back, the feeling nearly sending him over the edge.

You begin a new rhythm, rising and falling onto him, and he matches you thrust for thrust, driving into you with a ferocity that has the bed creaking beneath him. It’s clumsy at first, but the awkward movements give way to something more rhythmic as you figure each other out.

He can see the tension rising in your body, the way your brows knit together, and he wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart. He releases one of your hips to slide a hand between you, his thumb finding your clit.

The effect is instantaneous. You clench around him, the rhythm breaking for a moment as you try to move faster, to find your peak. Tech can feel the coil inside him tightening, and he knows he won't be able to hold on much longer.

"That's it, mesh'la, come for me," he growls.

You let out a keening wail, and your body goes rigid, your back arching. Tech watches in wonder as you throw your head back and scream his name, your pussy clamping down on him. He can feel your release seeping out of you, coating his thighs, and the sound of his name on your lips is enough to send him over the edge.

He can only manage a few more thrusts before his own climax overtakes him, his muscles locking as he comes with a shout. His vision whites out, his mind goes blank as he empties himself inside you. He feels as though his soul has left his body, his entire being centered on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock.

It feels like an eternity before he can think straight, and when his senses return to him, you're slumped over him, your face pressed against his shoulder. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. He can feel your heartbeat through your skin, and the weight of you is surprisingly comforting.

You stir after a moment, leaning back to look him in the eye.

He raises a hand, cupping your cheek. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you in any way? Do you require anything? I was aware that you would be dehydrated and—”

"I'm fine, Tech." You giggle. "Just a little sore. But, I'm really good."

Tech breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing further into the bed.

"I'm glad," he says, moving his hand down to brush your sweaty hair from your face. “Is this an opportune moment to tell you that I love you?"

You stare at him for a moment, your mouth dropping open.

"What?"

"I love you," he repeats, suddenly feeling apprehensive. Perhaps you don’t feel the same? He thinks back to the moments leading up to your coupling. He’s almost certain he hasn’t imagined you returning his feelings. "Do you not feel the same way?"

"No, I do. I mean, I love you too, Tech," you rush to explain, sitting up.

His softening cock slips from your body, and he’s mesmerized by the way your combined releases trickle from your folds. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his.

It’s a short, sweet kiss, and he can feel his lips pulling up into a smile when you pull away.

"Well, in that case," he begins, "I think it would be appropriate to suggest that we make this a recurring activity."

You laugh, burying your face against his shoulder. "Definitely. We have a lot more of your research to verify."

"Agreed." Tech nods before his brain catches up to his mouth. His ears turn pink as he processes what exactly you're saying. "Oh."

You shift, lifting your head to smirk at him. "I suppose you should get started."

He doesn’t bother with a reply, rolling you over to pin you beneath him.

#tech x reader #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #x reader #the bad batch #clone wars #the clone wars #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #clone x reader #roy writes

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livelaughlovesubs · 1 month ago

Text

~ 06.10 - Boothill ~

Dom!reader x sub!boothill - reader is gender neutral

Warning: a little dark, dubcon, sadistic (?) reader, first time (doing smt sexual), finger sucking, gun play, teasing, dacryphilia, dry orgasm, cumming untouched, hair pulling, use of chemicals, choking, violence, vomiting, kidnapping

~ Word count: 7k ~

Nini!rant: went for a slightly different vibe this time~ how is it?

Kinktober list 2024

“Hah, another fake galaxy ranger? Who’s tryna impersonating us this time?” Boothill lowered his hat to hide his face while he stared at a wanted poster. Still clean, it must be a new commission. At first, he only wanted to check his own bounty, when he noticed another one right next to his.

‘Galaxy ranger […….], wanted, dead or alive, bounty [1.380.000]’

Consider him surprised when he didn’t recognize the name or the face. Him, the one who owns a data bank to support his memories. It could only mean that it’s an imposter. Having a fake ranger’s wanted poster hung right next to his is pretty humiliating, are they looking down on him? “This might be interesting.” The cowboy smirked to himself, yanking off the poster from the wall while he continued his pursuit.

This was going to be a side job, to yearn some cash for his good ol’ alcohol: Asdana’s white oak, about 6% alcohol and fragrant like the fields after rain. A classic among the malts. Pair that with a bullet to match and consider yourself drinking the holy water from the garden of Eve. The bass and gunpowder will bring an exquisite taste only folks with fine tongues can taste. If he had to give a deeper description, the word mellowness would match mighty fine.

Just thinking about the taste raised his spirits. Since he was going to catch you soon and get compensated big, it wouldn’t hurt to celebrate like this once in a while. Don't get him wrong, this isn't indulging, it's enjoying life. Which is why he was standing in front of a bustling bar, his favorite one. The minute he walked in, he felt his mind be at ease, like a ship with smooth sailing. Everything stayed as cozily as he remembered, the same old barkeeper, music, and seats. As if this was his second home, he popped down right next to the counter and put his arm up onto the bar table.

“Boss, here! The usual for me, you know, the lit stuff.” Boothill smirked, his other hand was tapping his knee slowly. “It’s you again, one Asdana without ice?” The man behind the counter seems to remember that very cowboy, as well as his usual order. To that boothill answered, “Of course, I take my Asdana neat.” Then the barkeeper nodded, as if to acknowledge it, commenting, "You are as lively as ever, sir." Before walking off to get the bottle.

Lively? Huh, it's not a word he'd use to describe himself, but it isn't bad. No, not bad at all. In the meantime the cyborg looked around the establishment, seeing many new and old faces that bring back memories. Among those, there was a single shadow that intrigued him. It was the person sitting next to him.

You were there already when he came, sipping away at your drink as your eyes darted around aimlessly. A cocktail of some kind, fading from black to red. If he had to guess, probably hangman’s blood? One of the specialties of this bar, he knows the owner is proud of that drink. It’s pretty strong, you must be good at dealing with alcohol. Maybe you'd be a splendid drinking buddy, he thought to himself, grinning from ear to ear. Meeting new people and making connections never hurts anyone.

Suddenly he moved his chair closer to yours, opening his mouth and attempting to strike up a conversation with you. “Hey, you there, I haven’t seen ya’ around here. This your first time here?” He tried his best to give you a gentle smile, that ended up with him showing off his sharp teeth. For some, he might have appeared threatening even. “...Yeah, it is. I heard that the drinks here are excellent, which is why they have so many regulars.” You stirred around in your glass, mixing the two colors.

“That’s right, you see, I consider myself a regular too.” Boothill chuckled, by the looks of it, he was quite proud of that title. “Oh right, name’s boothill, you can call me that. How ‘bout we drink a lil’ together?” He smirked, it was still a rather awkward smile. Though luckily you didn’t seem to mind. “Boothill huh? I’ve heard that name around, you are notorious for your misdeeds against the IPC.” You turned around to face him, returning his gesture by smiling as well.

At least he thinks you did, since he saw your face twitch. However, he couldn’t see it clearly due to the effects of the lighting. That was why you looked like a shadow from afar. The cyborg scoffed a bit, appearing amused by your words, “misdeeds you say? Cutie, my actions may not be innocent but I only do honest work.” A low chuckle reached his ears, followed by your response to his rather playful comment, “Of course, I understand. You galaxy rangers are brimming with righteousness after all.”

For some reason, your voice was as clear as day, despite the bustling noises emerging from the background. Many people were talking among themselves, so despite you not speaking especially loud, he still heard you perfectly. It was almost as if he filtered the other sounds out for yours only. At first glance, you seemed friendly, kind even. Yet there was this strange feeling surrounding you, he couldn’t get rid of the lingering suspicions. How did you know his occupation? Sure, his name was pretty infamous, though was it normal to know this much?

“…I guess the number on my bounty isn’t just for show.” He joked, before letting out some breathy laughs. Instead of paying attention to his words, you stared at his hand, each finger was out of metal. A artificial arm, or to be precise, a cyborg. Nothing you didn’t know. Suddenly you raised your finger, pointing in his direction. Boothill frowned a little, taken aback by it. “Your drink, it’s coming.” After a moment you explained, and he turned his head around.

Who would have guessed, you were right, the bartender was just putting down the liquor as he chirped, “One Asdana?” Before winking at the male and leaving the two of you alone. “Ah, yeah, that's for me.” The cowboy mumbled, about to take the old-fashioned glass when you stopped him. “Wait a second, I have something for you.” The moment your sentence ended, you began fumbling with your bag, apparently searching for something.

He was a bit irritated but listened to you anyway, taking his hand back. Waiting like this was a tiny bit annoying, but he put up with it. About a minute later, you were holding a shiny object in your hand. Without giving him any warnings, you dropped the said object into his drink. The beverage splashed against the glass due to the impact, only a single drop landed outside before the liquid calmed down.

Now, a bullet was slowly sinking to the bottom of the glass. Its color matched his drink, it had a golden gleam. “Holy forkeroni…” He gasped, this bullet, it was- “9 millimeters caliber, 147 grain, and the bottom's round as a pie. An eternal classical, am I right?” After explaining something obvious to him, you finally showed your face by leaning forward. The lightbulb brightened your features, exposing your identity to the cowboy. A daring move, a risky gamble with cards not everyone would have played. You stared right into his black pupils without a hint of fear, and his response to your boldness was as expected. “This information, you are...!” Immediately, the cyborg grabbed you by your collar and yelled, “Son of a nice lady- you are the one from that wanted poster! The fake galaxy ranger!” He shook his head, then demanded, “Fudge me… don’t fork around and answer, how do you know so much about me?” What a serious tone he had, he must be feeling threatened.

Your eyes darted down to his metallic hand, the same one you were eyeing up and down earlier was now clenching your shirt. Instead of taking him seriously, you were calm and collected, taking one step after another. Seeing you so relaxed, he felt a hint of anger building within him and used more force. It was almost enough to lift you off your seat. Gosh, look how much contempt he suddenly has for you when he was so nice to you mere moments ago.

“Please don’t cause a scene, sir boothill, I was only being nice by catering your drink to your taste. What's the problem?” You cooed at him like he was a child throwing a tantrum, playing the naive card. This playful tone of yours reminded him awfully of his own, yet at that moment it annoyed him. “You are dodging my question.” He stressed his words, furrowing his brows and tightening his grip. But he jerked a little when you clasped your hand over his, your touch was warm in comparison to his.

Then you spoke in a calm tone, “Shall we take this outside? There are many watching eyes here. I believe you wouldn’t want to get banned from your favorite bar.” The way you talked suggested you knew much more, a lot more than what he does about you. After all, you knew some private details about his preferences and hobbies. In conclusion, you must have been waiting for him here, at this very bar.

Boothill still hesitated for a moment, before eventually letting go of you. He clicked his tongue as if he regretted your meeting today. In truth, he wasn't in the mood for a fight, despite everything he came here to have fun. Your clothes were now wrinkled and slightly messy, disheveled would also be a fitting term, but you didn’t really bother with straightening them out, rather, you were amused by his hot temper. The boy thought about the situation and the problem he was facing. He couldn't read you at all, what a tough nut to crack.

It would be smart to sort out his thoughts, so first things first, he has to find out how you obtained all this information about him. What was your deal and reason? Then he should think about how to clean up this chaos in case it becomes messy. Even so, startling the other guests wouldn’t be good, that’s why he should contain himself for now. “Fine, lead the way, and don’t try to pull any funny business with me.” He clasped his arms in front of his chest, glaring at you with nothing but contempt. To be honest he looked like a cheeky cat instead of a dangerous lion.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of criminal~” You jest, grinning from ear to ear as you sipped at your cocktail. “Oh yeah? Why do you have quite the sum on your head then.” The cowboy countered your statement, squinting his eyes a little. To think you lost his trust this fast, he was a cautious fellow. “Haha, you hurt me. Don’t you have a bounty on your head as well? If so, why can’t I be righteous too?” He shuddered a little at your words, by the looks of it, you could also be a crazy stalker who invaded his privacy. Heck, he would almost bet on you knowing his head's value in and out.

At this point your voice alone was enough to scratch him the wrong way, you were really testing his patience. Boothill dismissed your statement with a groan, “Don’t compare us, I’m not a motherfudgin' fake ranger like you.” You blinked a few times at his words, before laughing out loud. He didn't like how you reacted. “Ahaha~ yes yes, of course, I’m the bad guy in your story, how did I forget this detail?” You blabbered, and he didn't really understand what you meant.

Then, without giving him any time to process what you said, you sprang up from your seat but made sure to take your cocktail with you. “Come now, cowboy. Take your drink with you, can’t leave that to waste right? Let’s continue drinking outside, like real drinking buddies.” That last sentence, he hasn't asked you yet, that means you guessed by his actions alone. Was it that obvious? It almost felt like you were taunting him or making fun of his previous idea of befriending you.

To save some of his pride, he decided to entertain your little chitchat. “Take it with me? I don’t think I’ll need that long to deal with the likes of you.” He sneered, a cheeky expression was plastered on his face now. You scanned him up and down a few times, then said, “If I can give you one advice: you’ll regret it if you don’t.” Shortly after, you walked out of the store, not giving a damn if he followed you or not. It was because you knew he wouldn’t let you escape so easily, and as you predicted, he followed you to the back of the bar. His footsteps were rather silent for a cyborg, he must not want to involve other guests.

The environment was filthy and dark, as well as out of the sight of innocent civilians. Perfect for an ambush or to have a private talk. You took another sip of your drink and complimented it, “Heavens, have I told you already? This tastes great. Wanna try some?” This sudden courtesy didn't seem fitting at all, considering he already lost all trust he had for you. His eyes pointed to your hand, the hand holding the glass in front of him. Instead of taking it, he clanked his own glass against yours, saying “No need, and cheers. Now that we are drinking, it’s time for you to start talking.” After finishing his speech, he drank his much-anticipated beverage.

This was what he missed, the sweet taste of paradise. No matter how he hated to admit it, the bullet you put in was just the stuff he needed. The faint taste of brass and gunpowder partnered up with the overwhelming sweetness of the malt juice was simply magnificent. “Ehem.. now,” He began, putting the drink onto the staircase next to him. It was the emergency staircase in case of a fire, yet it looked rusty as hell. Still, it won’t crash down because of one measly drink, will it?

This was something he had noticed for a while, somehow, he always found your gaze on his hands. The same applied here when he was putting his malt juice away. Was it worth being careful about? Boothill sighed, before continuing, “Tell me, what is your purpose? You were looking for me, weren’t ya?” Straight to the point, as expected of an ill-mannered cowboy like him, but you didn’t dislike it. “If I told you, this won’t be fun anymore. The villain always shares their plan when the hero is subdued.” You gurgled down the last bits of your ‘hangman’s blood’, then put the glass on the ground, unlike him. Would you look at that, who has no manners now?

Afterward, you walked up to the man, and his response to it was taking a few steps back. It wasn’t until his back hit the wall that the two of you stopped in your tracks. “Shirtbag… do you want to imitate a cartoon villain that bad?” He scoffed, crossing his arms once again. “Hehe, maybe.” You smiled at him providing him with a vague answer. Fork it, he was definitely going to wipe that insolent grin of yours from your face. “Anyway, before things escalate and you hit me, how about a quick introduction? My name is y/n.” The ranger didn’t look happy at all at your suggestion, and so he snapped, “I know, I saw on the poster. Can you stop wasting my free time now?”

“Whoa, easy there. And hey! Don’t pull your gun out!” You said and raised your hands as if to testify to your cooperation, then spouted “Well, I don’t know what information I own that could possibly satisfy you.” Now you were really wasting his time, chatting with no end in sight. Obviously, you were playing dumb with him. This caused Boothill to shout almost angrily, “Just tell me what business you have with me, fudgehead!” His rather funny way of talking didn't shock you, which means this was another piece of information you had access to beforehand. Who was feeding you with all that info?

He reached out for your collar again, but to his surprise, he couldn't move his arm anymore. “What the fork?!” His eyes turned to look up at you, his soft lips were parted due to disbelief. “Thankfully it worked~ otherwise I’d be cheese by now!” You joked, taking another step forwards him. “Holy wubabboo- is this your doing?” A confused expression spread on your face and you questioned, “Did what?” What the- what was happening, he couldn't comprehend this darned situation.

“How did you pull this off-? UrGhh!!” Out of nowhere, he dropped down to his knees, hovering and kneeling on the ground while sweating furiously. There was no strength left in his legs, or he lost control of his limbs somehow. On the outside he looked like a robot out of power, arms dangling next to him all lifeless. “Fudge! Tell me! What did you do?!” This has to be your doing, the timing is too perfect. You scanned his body again, smirking to yourself. "I had to prepare a lot for this, you know."

His ears perked at your confession, were you finally getting bored of that clueless act? Your face was barely visible since the alley wasn’t very bright, there was only one dimly lit street lamp around the corner. “You were easier to catch than I thought.” You then uttered. What the hell is this! That was supposed to be his line, so how did things end up this way? He is a motherfudging cyborg, what could you have possibly done to him?

The word confusion was basically written all over his face, he couldn’t even curse at you because he was so baffled, so perplexed about basically everything. Then, you raised your foot and stepped down on his shoulder. He turned his head to the side just to be faced with your shoe, the soles dirtied his cropped jacket.

“Get off me, you son of a nice fugin' lady.” Boothill gritted his teeth, trying to push you away. But the word in capital letter and underlined was 'trying', since he couldn’t move at all. He felt as helpless as the day he lost his home, unable to do anything but watch from the sidelines. “I like that feisty look in your eyes, cowboy.” You teased, those stinging words hurting his ego. Suddenly you leaned down, all so you could meet his gaze more easily.

Your hands reached for the glass of malt juice standing on the staircase and held it above his face. It shone in a golden light, almost akin to a disco ball. His eyes were glued to that glass, partly because he wondered what you planned to do. “Here, as I said before, this shouldn’t go to waste.” You told him and grabbed his chin. It happened so suddenly that he couldn’t react to it, not like he could have done anything in self-defense anyway. “Ugh, let go you mother- fuuHHMM!!”

When he opened his mouth to curse and to let out a shocked yelp, you forcefully poured the drink down his throat. It streamed down his oesophagus. You had to admit, he had good reflexes for reacting to this so quickly. Some of the liquid landed on his lips or cheeks, but he drank most of the juice. You watched the remains that weren't swallowed drip down his chin, soiling his clothes further and creating a darker spot on the fabric. It also covered his metallic chest in a golden shine, one could easily confuse it with oil.

The cyborg closed his eyes to avoid the liquor getting in places it shouldn’t, he choked a little since you were pouring so fast he couldn’t keep up with the swallowing. This didn’t stop until the glass was empty, even the bullet you gifted him earlier ended up in his mouth. He let it rest on his tongue for a while, before gulping it down as well. “Mmmh, guhh- cough cough!”

Boothill gasped, the bullet didn’t roll in as easily as the malt juice, it remained stuck in his throat. He had to cough a few times for it to slide down, after that he instantly complained, “Fu-fudge... why did you do that? I wanted to enjoy my drink slowly!” But he stopped mid-track when your familiar laugh echoed in his ears, and your fingertips stroked his chin. Shivers ran down his spine at your touch, he didn't know why.

“Dear ranger~ did your mommy not teach you not to take things from a stranger?” His eyes twitched and widened, you couldn’t really grasp the expression he pulled, though he looked devastated. It seems a light switch clicked inside his thick skull. Did you mess with his drink? Boothill just couldn't keep calm anymore at the realization, glaring at you with a nasty attitude. “Oh my, did I hit a sore spot there? You look like you want to kill me.” Yet his threatening, imposing body language didn’t scare you off, which is why you continued ridiculing him.

“I’ll ask you a last time, what the fork did you do to me?" Despite all these misfortunes, he didn't give up his insolent side, he was planning on giving you a hard time until the very end. Boothill was showing his sharp teeth once again, but this time he wasn’t smiling. “Are you familiar with Sulfuric acid?” You uttered, tapping his lips with your thumb. That word was foreign to him, was it something he would know? He wanted to bite down on his bottom lip, but you stopped him. This feeling, it was latex, you were wearing gloves.

“You see, it’s potent enough to melt metal.” The expression that followed after you enlightened him of its importance was simply amazing, you were curious about what he felt in that moment. Shock? Anger? Frustration? Maybe even self-hatred? “Then, how did you-” “Hey, I wasn’t done talking. Anyway, to answer your question, I hid it inside the bullet. Then I just had to wait for it to melt through the brass and voila, need me to say more?” What a talent you have for spouting such horrendous things with an innocent tone.

“Everything’s going according to your plan, huh, explaining everything when the hero’s subdued.” He repeated your words, then coughed again because his throat was burning. Actually, it hurt and itched. His face also felt like it was on fire, or to be precise, his skin did. It was so painful he had to clench his teeth to suppress the pain. You laughed under your breath, laughing at him, mocking him. “Right, if it’s potent enough to inflict wounds on a cyborg, then of course it irritates the skin as well.” Well, that should explain why his skin was hurting. “Now, boothill, may I give you another advice?”

Your hand caressed his cheeks as you asked him that, face only millimetres away from his. The way you touched him was surprisingly gentle, it made him sick. “What do you want.” He scorned, shaking his head to brush off your hand. “I’m sure you have extra protection around the more important components inside your system, though you should still get rid of the acid.” You looked unfazed when he avoided your touch, instead you closed the already nonexistent distance between you two and whispered into his ear.

The male looked mad, really damn angry. He yelled into your face, “Well fudge me I guess?! I can’t forking move my body!” That caught you off guard, you blinked a few times at his aggressive behavior. Don't get you wrong, it's not that you didn’t understand his point of view. On the contrary, it's good to see him still so energetic. “Ah~ my bad, I didn’t think the acid would break your control Center first. Why is it located right next to your stomach anyway?” You admitted, scratching your head a little.

This was so easy that it was almost boring, you expected him to put up more of a fight. But you can't blame him when he's basically a cripple right now. “In other words, I’m fudged? Fork this, dying so dishonorable tsk tsk.” Boothill snarled, rolling his eyes, he didn’t consider himself a living man before, but now he was dead-dead if you knew what he meant.

You glanced at his face, he was sweating and his complexion didn’t look all that good. He acted as if he didn't mind it, but he was hanging onto life so dearly it almost moved you. In the end, you proposed in a tender tone, “Want me to help you?” The ranger was still glaring at you, though his gaze bore more skeptic than fury. “You caused this first- fine, I don’t have any choice but to accept do I?”

No matter how he despised you, he can't carry out revenge when he's dead. It's not that he trusted you to 'save' him, but rather, this is his last resort. As soon as he finished his sentence, you yanked on his chin to make him look up at you. The tips of his hair were wet due to the alcohol, and his skin also reddened due to the acid. Your thumb pressed on his bottom lip, almost pulling at it. A faint blush crept onto his cheeks at the intimate touch. Adorable.

When he parted his lips a little, you took that opportunity to stuff your index and middle finger into his mouth. “What- Mhm..!?” The male groaned, finding himself in a pretty bizarre situation. God how embarrassing, he was falling into a shameful abyss he couldn't crawl out anymore. Truth be told, he had a pretty accurate guess on what you wanted to do, though he really didn’t want to actually carry it out. Was this the only way?

You stuck your digits deeper inside, already at the second knuckle, causing him to flinch and twitch. His eyes were tightly shut, brows furrowed while a growing blush covered his features. Damn it, this is worse than any nightmares, this feels the worst. So what was this bubbling and tingly sensation he felt? It was messing with him, causing him to shudder. He could feel your fingers pressing down on his tongue, as well as you trying to not cut yourself on his teeth. This was weird, it was so strange, why was he getting lightheaded?

“Don’t act so surprised now, I’m helping you as you wanted.” After watching his helpless face for a while, you commented on it, obviously not planning on stopping the teasing anytime soon. It seems you caught on to the growing tension between the two of you, so you chuckled, “Hey... what’s this I'm seeing? Why is your face getting red?” His once half-lidded eyes were yanked wide open at the thought that he got exposed.

Don't tell him he was enjoying this perverted act. “Hmm! Sho-shou ap..!” Boothill tried to speak despite the difficulties, feeling your digits reaching deeper and deeper. With each poke, the tingly feeling also increased. Was this perhaps what they called sexual pleasure? If so, why did he have to experience it for the first time at your hands?

A few seconds later, you were knuckles-deep inside him, fingertips already rubbing the walls of his throat. It was wet and hot in his mouth, and his face seemed to be gradually heating as well. That process was speeding up quite rapidly. His cheeks quickly turned red, a foggy blush tainting the skin. He was blushing so much just from sucking on your fingers a little? You simply couldn’t miss out on ridiculing him yet again, purring into his ear once more, “Does this turn you on? How cute.”

His pupils shrank at your comment, probably at the disbelief that you’d say something this audacious. Him? Turned on by you? What a joke- this can’t be real. He was just having a hard time breathing, and that’s why he was getting red. Really. Though deep down, he knew he couldn't sugarcoat it, the truth will always be the truth, no matter how he denies its existence. “MhMm, guhNn, hmm-nggHh..!” The cowboy tried to argue with you, though his protests were muffled by you, only inaudible noises could be made out.

There were also sneaky moans mixed among his protests or little gasps. The vibrations of his voice tickled your skin, it felt pretty funny actually. “What was that? I can't understand you~” You admitted cheerfully, watching the emotion on his face rotate from shock, and anger to frustration. What a shameless person you were, and not to forget heartless.

Then you pressed down on his wet muscle once again, and he gagged around you. “Ughhh..!” That one single gag soon turned into a series of chokes, and tears began collecting in his eye sockets. So he still had his gag reflex, excellent, it was exactly what you needed. More coughs and chokes continuously spilled from the male while you mercilessly ravished his throat.

He could feel you poking his throat so deep it almost hurt, yet that wasn't the only thing he felt. No. Far from it, his body was burning up from the inside, though it was a different kind of heat than the effects of the acid. His mind felt so foggy and weakened, was it alright for him to let his guard down in times like this? When he still hasn't discovered your purpose? But he couldn't hang on anymore, it was as if his brain was melting. Never ever was it this challenging for him to hang on to his reason and logic, to what makes him human.

"Dahmmmm it..! S-stouu! GuhHGG..!!" He choked again, but this time, it felt like something was coming out... no, it was- "hmHHh, fooouukk!! Ugh-guUH!" This familiar sensation and taste, he couldn't move his tongue but he could still taste it faintly. Not to mention the burdensome smell, this familiar smell that stayed around his nostrils. The Asdana he just gurgled down was coming up again, he was on the verge of vomiting. It was as if his body rejected the drink, and he couldn't stop gagging.

At least his insides won't get messed up any longer, that must be the only positive thing in all this. Even so, to do something that shameful in front of you, damn it, he wants to spit at you if he could. You noticed how his throat tightened, or how his Adam's apple moved around. With that, you took your fingers out as fast as how you stuck them inside him. Strings of saliva connected your fingertips with his mouth, and his tongue hung outside for a while. "Ugh, fu-gUhg, UhmM!!"

Right afterward, he puked on the ground, head hanging low while more gaging sounds left him. His pupils shrunk as the contents spilled onto the filthy ground. Those embarrassing noises didn't cease until he choked up the bullet he had previously swallowed. Then, he whimpered at the taste, it had become sour now due to the chemical. "There you go, you should be fixed now." You reported, but he couldn't bring himself to be joyful about it.

Rather, he was sweating furiously, eyes widened and almost dried up. If he could cry, he definitely would have. Oh how thankful he was in that moment that he physically couldn't sob. He wouldn't have been able to live with the shame of breaking down in tears and weeping in front of you. "Uhhhhg, da-mHnn it... fu-uGGhh!!" The taste of the alcohol wasn't as pleasant as before, probably due to it getting corrupted by the acid you mentioned. Such a waste, and to think it landed on the floor now. A place like that wasn't worth a drink this exquisite.

His eyelids and brows twitched, and now that he was done, he clenched his teeth again and insulted you, "You muddlefudger..." That rebellious look in his gaze didn't vanish, he glared at you once more. You were almost impressed if you didn't notice a small glimmer of falter within his tough facade. Despite it being a normal bodily reaction, he seems to be holding it against you. "And here I thought I helped you out, how ungrateful." You clicked your tongue, and his face became redder. Was it because of the humiliation or anger?

Your shoe was still on his shoulder, pressing down on him, reminding him of his vulnerable position. The Cowboy snapped at you, spitting through gritted teeth, "What do ya' got planned now?" You took off your gloves, they were covered in his saliva. Then you revealed, "I'm not sure." He only got more annoyed by that nonchalant answer and demanded, "If you're going to kill me make it quick." Weirdly enough, your eyes glimmered, as if you were inspired by his suggestion. "If that's what you want, I don't mind it." You smirked, patting his head, stroking his long hair as your other hand sneakily pulled out the gun around his waist.

He almost lost himself in that small gesture of comfort you gave him, if it wasn't for him seeing you with his gun in your hand. "Hah.. with my own weapon? Fudge, you want to humiliate me to the end huh." How resentful he sounded, you almost pitied this guy. "Maybe I do." After saying that irritatingly proud, you pressed his revolver against his forehead, pushing his bangs to the side. "But this is a little boring, don't you think?"

As if you were truly interested in his opinion, he found it quite difficult to believe that. "Why do you ask me?" Boothill gnarled, but to his surprise, you moved the revolver away. Instead, the barrel was pressed flat against his chest, the muzzle facing his chin. "What are you..?" The male mumbled, twisting his expression at this damned play you organized for him. For you, all this must be a game, a stage you laid out for him, where he was a mindless puppet playing right into your hand.

He thought he couldn't be surprised anymore, yet your actions kept going beyond anything he could ever imagine. You moved the revolver upwards so that the muzzle was touching the underside of his chin. At the same time, the gun was going underneath his short jacket. "Y-you..!" The cyborg couldn't help but blush a little. His face was hot, overheating even compared to the cold weapon you held in your hands. "Do you still want to die? If you beg, I might spar you?" Your tone didn't sound that serious, it was almost said in a joking manner.

“Fork you, never." Boothill snarled again, acting disobedient even though his life was at stake. He had a strong spirit since he was still so cocky after all the things he went through. You wiped off the smile from your face, now staring down at him with a cold-blooded expression, "I'll count down from three then. Three..." Wha- no, this can't be the end, he still has to find Oswaldo. His artificial heart pounded against his chest, causing his mind to fall into chaos. "Two."

You were so cruel, counting down like this without remorse, a fudging monster! Adrenaline was being pumped through his body, or should he rather say every wire he owned? "One-" Without thinking, since he lost that privilege the moment you began counting, he yelled as fast as he could and closed his eyes, "Fudge! Fine! If m'gonna die lemme at least curse at you! You- er, muddlefudging clocksucker!!" Right now, he kind of wished he could cry, just to let out some steam. You couldn't help but giggle, before uttering the word, "Zero." Suddenly, he blanked out.

For a split second, time appeared to have stopped. What followed after was a loud, ear-splitting sound that echoed through the alley. To be expected, it definitely alarmed other people. Then, absolute silence emerged. Not even the faint music from the bar could be heard anymore. "Ah... hu-huh..?" "Oh? Seems like your gun wasn't loaded!" You giggled, you knew this from the start, didn't you? Pants along with a few choked-out whines escaped him. Shivers traveled through him and electricity was being sent to his brain, stimulating the euphoric parts.

A moment later, a slap sound reached his ears, and a sting that felt strangely pleasant originated from his cheek. His face turned to the side, and his cheek throbbed. "uh-urghh..! Ah, wha-what?" Did you just... slap him? Boothill groaned, shaking a little as drool rolled down his chin because his mouth remained open for too long. His spit also defiled the gun, wetting the revolver. Then, the unimaginable happened, and he let out an unrestrained moan, "ahhhHHHNngg..!?" It was high-pitched and whorish, he wore such a confused but slutty expression that it surprised both of you.

Reality crushed down on him too hard, and he couldn't help but gasp and whimper underneath his ragged inhales. "Ugh..ngh- wha-what's this fe-feeling..? W-why.. ha-hmnHg..♡♥︎?" Oh dear, this is not what you think just happened, right? "Boothill, did you just cum?" You said his name after a long while, and he groaned again, "guHhh... s-stop, that's nonsense! How can I e-even.. I-" The boy stumbled over his words, stuttering as a deep blush was painted over his entire face. He was such a twitchy mess now, totally different than his previous self.

“Are you a masochist?” You asked him randomly, it was so out of pocket that it killed the mood. "...are you crazy?" Boothill replied with scorn, his pride was pretty hurt by that statement. As if to test your speculation, you grabbed the back of his hair and yanked on it, making him yelp. "Arghh..! L-let go- fudge!" Then you squeezed his cheeks and stuck out your tongue. He stared at you hesitantly, his own tongue also hanging outside. Mere moments later, your spit was dripping down and landing in his mouth.

That action rendered him speechless, causing him to freeze. Your saliva tasted a little like alcohol. Darn it, this was so disgusting. Once you were done, you let go of the cowboy again, before teasing him, "I was right, you are a masochistic dog~" You knew because of his flushed cheeks, they became redder at your lewd antics. "Are you satisfied now? The fork do you want from me?!" Boothill scoffed, he could only bear this much until his breaking point. "What do I want?" You repeated his sentence, and put a finger on your chin as if you were thinking hard about something.

In the meantime, boothill impatiently waited, he desperately wanted to know your intentions, to see if it justified your actions. When you moved your finger away, you grinned before responding, "I think the answer is you." "...huh?" The cyborg was stunned, staring up at you with spirals in his pupils as you suddenly embraced him. "You heard me, boothill." Your voice and your hug were so warm, he didn't know you could be this gentle.

No, this was no good, it was troubling, to say the least. "Y/n? You- shirt, what do you mean?" For the first time, you heard your name come out of his mouth. His voice trembled as he voiced out your name, the way he said it had a nice ring to it. Then he glared at you once again, but this time he looked like a small animal, eyes glistening while a heavy blush formed on his face. Wait, why was he even blushing? Maybe, because he was wanted for the first time after centuries?

"I hate you." He said after returning to his senses, he got caught up in his emotions there for a moment. These little bits of comfort aren't enough to make up for the mess you caused, and he didn't feel the same. On the other hand, you couldn't stop smirking, and he knew by the looks of it that it wasn't an innocent smile by length. "Let's get out of here, I'll help you move." You then told him and helped him get up, pulling him by his arms.

This was immediately met with angry protests from the male, "Don't touch me- hey, ugh! Where the fudge are you taking me?" The second he let his guard down, you stuffed your gloves into his mouth to muffle his voice, "hMHh?! MmhhGFFF!!!" After that, to satisfy his curiosity, you whispered quietly, "To a place where I can have you."

"Finally, the guards are here." One of the guests said, to which another one answered, "Thank god because no one dared to go see what was going on." Maybe people we in disarray due to the mysterious sound they all heard. It was probably a gunshot, which means, someone might have died. Yet no one dared to go into the alley, out of fear that they might be the next victim. After the guards arrived, a rather large group of people followed them and ran over to the scene.

They all wanted to know what that gunshot was, standing on the sidelines and observing the investigation. 'What the hell happened here?!' Everyone wondered, eyes searching around for evidence. The only hints they found were two glasses standing on the staircase with some credits, as well as a pool of what seems to be malt juice lying on the ground along with a single golden bullet in the midst of it.

The guard in charge of this operation reached out for the bullet and said, "...someone must have been shot." Then he eyed the bullet up and down, in hopes of finding more clues. That's when he noticed a weird detail, "Why are there holes in the bullet?"

Tags: @ghostiegirl56 @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

Based on my findings, concentrated sulfuric acid can melt many metals, like aluminium, iron and steel. (Boothill isn’t safe hehe) It’s enough if it’s moderately concentrated, so it’s alright if a bit of water mixes into it as well. It also reacts to brass - the copper aspect of it, I dunno if it reacts to zink as well. Some sources say yes, some denied it.

Anyway, the Formular for the melting process or chemical reaction would be: Cu + h2So4 -> CuSo4 + h2 or Fe + h2So4 -> FeSo4 h2

So it also creates hydrogen gas at the same time, which also melts iron and is poison for the human body. Annnnd copper Sulfid, which is weak and easily breakable, that means it can weaken the brass.

My plan to poison him: his favourite drink is malt juice with a 9mm calliber bullet that’s out of brass. And malt juice is out of ca. 25-30% water. So, I was thinking of drilling a hole into the bottom of the bullet and use a needle to shoot concentrated sulfuric acid inside the capsule. Then drop that in the malt juice. Now we just gotta wait for the acid to melt through the bullet, and mix with the water of the alcohol, then it’d become moderately concentrated. Btw sulfuric acid can absorb water from everywhere, even from the air.

Then if he drinks it, bam, his insides will melt. It might take a bit, so we gotta entertain him and stretch out the time. Even if he doesn’t drink it, he eats bullets, so he’ll get the acid inside his body anyway. With that, we successfully ‘poisoned’ him. It takes a bit of fantasy but oh well.

Now, take this hangman’s blood recipe:

- 1¾ parts gin.

- 1¾ parts white rum.

- 1¾ parts whiskey.

- 1¾ parts brandy.

- 7½ parts stout beer.

- 6 parts champagne.

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