#and NO demolition man does NOT COUNT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rat-typewriter · 4 months ago

Text

Hating Weddings | Dabi x Reader

SUMMARY: Just hours before you’re due to marry a man you don’t love, Dabi comes to change your mind; as it turns out, you don't need too much persuasion. WORD COUNT: 2.3k

You sat, staring at your reflection - the stylist nervously tried to meet your eyes in the mirror. She had spent three hours - and quite possibly half the world’s supply of hairpins - drawing your hair into the elegant

“It’s lovely.” You said, attempting to mask the disappointment in your voice - but judging by the way your soon-to-be mother-in-law rolled her eyes and huffed, you were still a bad liar.

Over the year that you had known the woman, the only thing you seemed to have in common was a mutual dislike for one another. You were not the sort of bride she wanted for her son; maybe it was the way you didn’t fall over yourself at the opportunity to spend time with the beyond dull boy - or maybe it was the way that XYZ. Either way, she had really mastered that expression of distaste she wore (which you could only imagine was paired with her envisioning you being run over by a bus). But she tolerated you nevertheless and you did the same for her. Engagements like your own were rarely anything to do with love or feelings or whatever you wanted - they were strictly business.

Quirk marriages were much more common than most people would’ve liked to believe; they paid well too. You’d been found by the guy’s father - an owner of a wealthy demolition company - who knew your quirk would be an invaluable asset to their business. It wasn’t the life you had imagined for yourself, but at least money would never be an issue for you again.

“Thank you,” You smiled sympathetically at the stylist, who seemed unable to exhale fully - glancing between you and the other woman with wide, doe eyes.

She seemed to relax a little before your mother-in-law took her by the elbow and pulled her into the doorway - as if standing a few feet away suddenly made you incapable of hearing their hushed voices.

Shutting your eyes, you exhaled slowly - as if, with enough determination, you could expel the tightness in your ribs through your breath. Your legs buzzed with adrenaline that only seemed to worsen as the ceremony drew closer and your head was starting to feel slightly too light for the rest of your body - as though a strong wind would dispel your skull into a wisp of smoke.

Just as you began to half-heartedly wonder if you might be about to vomit: your phone buzzed. The text from an unknown number flashed up on the screen.

Last chance.

Quickly, you swiped the message away - averting your gaze, instead focusing on the colours of nail polish picked out for you. You had no idea that there could be so many shades of white: eggshell, light ivory, pearl, fresh snow, bone china, chiffon, porcelain, dark ivory-

I’ll be outside in twenty-five.

You stared at the text, your legs becoming more restless than ever. You could practically hear his low voice and smug tone in the sans serif. He was so sure of himself; so arrogant. Who did he think he was? Expecting you to follow him wherever he went, well over a year after you’d told him that you were giving up work with the league of villains. Expecting that you’d just abandon everything you’d worked for - to build a new identity and to cover your tracks so you could leave it all behind - just because he goddamn asked.

It was only as your fiancé’s mother reentered the room - meek hairstylist in tow - that you tore your gaze from your phone.

“Don’t do that with your face.” She scoffed and you were suddenly aware of your deep scowl. Despite trying to relax your expression, you still felt the hot redness in your cheeks.

She continued, “Plenty of girls would kill to be where you’re sitting. I don’t see why you have to go and spoil it for everyone else.” She turned back to the stylist and resumed her string of complaints and general dissatisfaction, occasionally jabbing a finger in your direction.

You tried to follow a string of deep breaths - in and out, in and then fucking out - but Dabi’s stupid, snarky voice still rang in your mind.

The pair of you had always argued like your respective lives depended on it. To the untrained eye, strangers would have assumed your relationship to be beyond dysfunctional - but insults and generally winding each other up was just how you both communicated. It ranged anywhere from flirty teasing to pettiness to flat-out screaming matches - but it was never truly malicious. Even after the most seemingly brutal throwdown, you both continued like nothing had happened - with a casual Do you want takeout tonight? or a simple See you later, babe and a peck on the cheek. Somewhere along the way, being at each other's throats became being more-or-less joined at the hip. And as quick as you were to poke fun at one another and compete - you were still (literally) partners in crime and made a killer team.

Leaving him was one of the hardest things you had ever done. But it was a decision you had to make.

Again, the phone buzzed - sliding across the table a little.

Now or never.

You exhaled - biting back a smile - the fucking cheek of this man. You were tempted to text back Now-or-never my ass, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response. Now or never had become a secret between the two of you: a reference to your first meeting that you’d drop into as many situations and missions with the league as possible. He’d shouted it from the street below, trying to convince you to take the leap out of a fourth storey window after him; you’d whispered it in his ear while pressed up against him, hiding between shipping containers. It was a prayer to your relationship; a promise. All referencing that first chance meeting.

—

You stumbled through the snowy alleyway, still reeling from excitement - and, now that you thought about it, smoke inhalation. You hadn’t burnt something like that in a long time. Probably ever. Sure, as a child you scorched the odd tablecloth and spent your awkward teenage years nervously causing whatever you held in your hands smoke haphazardly - but to truly, completely burn something: that was new. You were fed up with lighting people’s cigarettes and melting their frozen car doors and listening to the frankly endless (and sub-par) swathes of spark-based pick up lines. For once in your goddamn life, you got to burn something.

The night air was freezing; turning your breath to fog in the dark. Despite your blackened clothes and singed hair, the cold numbed your fingers and you were suddenly very aware of your choice to wear flip flops in February. You had only meant to make a quick trip out of your flat to the shop downstairs; had you known that you were going to be making your debut as a record sprinter, you probably would have chosen something a little more robust. Each step through the wintry slush left your feet dripping and even in the dim, yellowy light of the alley, you could see your toes beginning to turn blue.

Hopefully this place wasn’t too far - if it even existed.

You reached a metal door - dented and dimly lit by a flickery yellow light over the frame - and, before you could convince yourself otherwise, knocked. Do you knock at a villain’s hideout? Stepping back from the door, you steadied your breathing - a group of drunken men walked past the opening of the alley, shoving each other and slurring.

Was this even the right place? You rarely found yourself on this side of the city and your melted phone had about the functionality of a deformed paperweight. Conversations with odd people in stairwells or strangers smoking out the back of the kitchen where you worked were all you had to find the league of villains. Conversations with people that you really shouldn’t trust.

The clunk of bolts being undone, followed by the scrape of metal-on-metal pulled you from your thoughts. Hinges groaning, the door swung half-open.

For a moment, it was as though it had opened by itself; breath caught in your throat you stared into the unlit building - but a few feet back from the doorway, the shape of a person shifted. His voice was low and gravely when he spoke.

“Coming in?”

Opening your mouth - vaguely aware of your brain screaming as you sprint back down the alley - you managed a hoarse Uhhh.

Another moment passed, the quiet filled by your soft breath turning to fog. A van rumbled past on the road and you caught yourself glancing back, watching as it rolled by.

“You’re letting the cold in.” He said. “Now or never.”

Oh, fuck it. Turning back to the door you laughed weakly - sounding like something between a cough and a sore throat. “Suppose it better be now then,”

The stranger stepped back and a yellowy strip of light crossed his face, illuminating his features. His skin was littered with scars - you recognised them as burns. Over the years of not being able to control your fire quirk, you had plenty of your own. But beneath them he was young, no older than you.

His eyes crinkled slightly and he grinned - which sent jolts of fear and excitement through your chest again.

“Come on then, sparky.”

—

It was the eleventh time that your phone buzzed - two minutes before the ceremony was to start - that you gave in.

You jumped out of your seat, the bridesmaid (who you barely even knew) and had been fixing your hair stumbled back.

“I- Uh,” you stammered as the other bridesmaids turned to stare at you. “I’m going to the toilet.”

And you took off.

You stumbled out of the door and down the hallway in eight layers of tulle and shoes that were horrendously uncomfortable. You took a left, then a right, then a left again - until you found an open window.

Good enough.

With no further thought, you forced the window as wide as it would go and shimmied through - tumbling out and into a bush.

As you attempted to pull yourself out and untangle your stupidly poofy skirt - which had caught in the branches - you heard a familiar laugh.

“Wow. Bit desperate to leave are we?”

You whipped around, finding yourself face-to-face with Dabi.

“Didn’t think you missed me that much,”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out and your brain was suddenly empty. Butterflies erupted in your stomach - the boy who you hadn’t seen in over a year was still able to make you nervous.

He grinned - oh how you’d missed that - and laughed again. “You look gorgeous, Doll.”

“Thanks, I’ve always loved the dragged-backwards-through-a-hedge look.” you said, dryly, before adding. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He stepped forwards - rolling his eyes; offering a hand to pull you out of the bush. “Oh, how you flatter me.”

Accepting the hand, you let him heave you out of the bush - pulling you far closer than necessary. You stood practically against his chest, having to crane your neck slightly to look him in the eyes.

You swallowed and felt your face grow warm.

God, he knew just how to make you feel sixteen all over again.

“I see you still like to leave everything until the last minute.” He said, glancing down at his watch. “I texted you ages ago.”

You scoffed. “An hour at most–”

“–Two hours.”

You glanced at his watch. 10:59. “I’ve still got a minute - there’s still time for me to marry that guy!” You threatened, unable to hide your grin. “Don’t test me!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just curious - with or without the dragged-backwards-through-a-hedge look?”

“I’ll do it.”

You narrowed your eyes, holding his gaze: both locked in a semi-serious staredown. Standing there, his dark hair falling into his eyes; his arm around your waist tightening every-so-slightly, was the person you had thought of every day for the last year. At night, as you stared at the ceiling he had been the one that you wished was by your side. At every fancy dinner and business party; every dress fitting and stupid, stupid charity ball that you had gone to with your husband-to-be - you had wished he was holding your hand.

And now he was here, holding you close. Staring you down like an asshole.

"I've missed you." You blurted out. It came out slightly disjointed and stilted, surprising you both a little. He glances down at your lips.

He smiled - with only a hint of his usual smugness. "I've missed you too, Sweetheart,"

He leant down, quickly kissing you. It wasn't long or passionate or hot. Just a regular, discrete peck on the lips.

But, God, did it make you fall in love all over again.

The sound of a door opening and voices flooding into the street came from around the corner. Dabi took a step back and turned to you with that slightly-terrifying, but oh-so-exhilarating grin.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He extended his hand to you, faking a courteous bow and in return you grinned and curtseyed. Giggling slightly, you put your hand in his and he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles - winking up at you.

"Touya Todoroki, I never knew you were such a gentleman!"

"If you ever tell anyone, I'll have to kill you"

For a moment, his tone is so serious that you almost believe him; even more worryingly, you don’t seem to care. But then he smiles and tugs on your hand.

"C'mon, I hate weddings."

"Me too." You giggled.

With your hand in his, you both took off running.

NOTES: This is actually a rewrite of something I wrote last year to try to ease me back into writing! I've missed it sooo much over exams but ngl when i sat down to finally write again the absolute DRIVEL that came out of my head wasn't worthy of seeing the light of day. Please send over any requests you might have!! im desperate for some inspo atm!!

96 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

silver underground. / chapter one.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: They say that, before all of this, you dedicated your heart to the Scout Regiment. They say that you're respected as a soldier, trusted as a comrade, and fiercely protected by a Captain. They tell you a lot of things. You remember none of it.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Hange Zoe, Unhinged!Levi, Other Additional Tags to be Added As the Story Progresses

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist.

ONE.

A guttural gasp.

Ugly, brutal, forced; it's the first sound you hear with your own two ears — and you're pretty sure it's coming from your mouth.

From your chest down to your belly, your lungs fill with a deep surprise as they wretch you from nothingness to this — choked airways, freezer-burnt skin, and a splitting headache. Your fingers twitch. Your toes curl. Limb by limb, you body returns to the land of the living. Blinding sunlight invades from all angles, forcing your waking eyes to water profusely at the corners.

Every cell in your body stretches thin in the primal fight for consciousness.

You inhale once more. A pained sound emits somewhere in the back of your throat.

Up.

Get up.

Your hands tremble at your sides, working up your elbows to your shoulders, but it takes another minute for your fingers to flex on command. Determined to fight, you press your open palms to soft, starchy surfaces and push —

It hurts like a bitch.

Then the blurriness of your weeping eyes sharpen, focus, on white — sheets, bandages, gowns. The walls morph from shapeless grays blotches in your peripheral to a stark contrast of sturdy stone.

(Where the hell are you?)

Shaking to oblivion, you finally — finally — sit up. The cot beneath you creaks with protest. Sweat beads along your hairline and onto your brow.

Then an oval-esque shape separates itself from the wall, freezing you in place.

Beyond your shaken breath is a voice, caught at the edge of a tongue.

“She’s—”

You and the shape — blink twice and it's a man in a doctor’s coat — stare at one another. He sports an expression of disbelief, providing little comfort in your state. Too drained to feel the fear rolling off of him, you only mirror his confusion.

Tightening his grip on the clipboard at his chest, the man clears his throat.

His voice cracks, high pitched and lacking assertion.

“Nurse, please alert Commander Erwin and Captain Levi immediately.”

Who?

“They will wish to know at once.”

Why?

“Right away, sir.”

Are you in a hospital?

Your voice doesn’t find you in time to ask the nurse as she hurriedly exits the room, closing the heavy oak door shut behind her.

“James.”

You swing your attention to the doctor, expecting another nurse at his side, but no one else is here. It’s just you, this cot, and a nervous balding man in a deathly quiet room.

And he’s staring at you.

Birds chirp melodically through the open windows, singing of temporary peace.

“Miss James?”

You blink twice.

“Are you—” You pause, eyes widening at the demolition of your vocal chords. Razor blades cut your voice into tiny little pieces, startling you.

It’s like you haven’t spoken in years.

“Please, Lieutenant, do be careful,” the older man cautions softly, nearing with purposeful steps. The label of authority has you opening your mouth, but no sound emits. “It’s normal to feel disoriented after such a long passage of time.”

“A long pass—”

You swallow heavily, brows knit in discomfort, before pressing both palms into the cot. Your limbs shake violently as you force yourself to sit taller. You push with the heels of your bare feet, digging them into the mattress to your back to the wall.

The doctor hurries to your side to help, hovering as your spotter.

This is ridiculous.

Why does everything hurt?

Why does everything feel new?

Teeth clenched, you drop the back of your head against the wall and breathe through your nose. The beads of sweat forming on your forehead drip down the sides of your face from exertion. “I don’t know what — you’re implying—”

“Lieutenant—”

“I’m not a Lieutenant,” you finally force between your teeth, strong and assertive.

The man at your side stops fidgeting, and you see his jaw drop at your confession.

Frozen.

Like you’ve said the worst thing he could have heard.

Of course these brats had to use up the rest of the good cleaning solution.

The next expedition is scheduled to depart in the next forty-eight hours. Levi Ackerman doesn’t have time to stalk down the new recruits to put the fear of God in them for raiding the shelves, so he makes due with what he has.

Diligently his fingers rub the corner of a rag into the crevices of his ODM gear, laser-focused on eliminating every streak. It’s about the only thing left on his personal agenda before the Scout Regiment load up the horses and supply carts.

The Captain only pauses when he can feel a set of eyes watching the crown of his head.

Waiting.

He hates when people don’t just come out and say what’s on their mind.

The ODM unit flips between his palms to start work on the opposite side.

“Are you going to say something?” he inquires, dripping with boredom.

“Depends: am I interrupting something important?”

His hands stop.

Without moving his head, Levi’s attention flickers high to meet the stern and somber gaze of Commander Erwin.

“Extremely important,” Levi baits, monotone. “Clearly.”

Erwin hums in acceptance.

“Nurse Phillipa spoke with me,” Erwin starts like he's going somewhere with this, but the statement stops there.

Levi’s eyes roll right into the back of his head and back onto the nearly-spotless gear.

“I’m sure it was grating as always.”

Maybe one day the worried wart would retire and return to the stables before she keels over while treating the next dumbass that gets hurt.

Wait.

A second too late, Levi realizes his sarcasm is not returned. No. Erwin says nothing at all, allowing him to connect the dots on his own. He raises his chin this time to look at the Commander, really look at him, before the slight knit in his brow dissipates.

Wordless in confirmation, Erwin nods once.

The cleaning cloth drops clear from Levi’s hand when he shoots up from the bench.

“When?” Levi demands, but it’s a loaded trick question.

(When did she wake up? When did you find out? When should I — should we — see her?)

There is something Erwin’s not saying right away, too.

“Twenty minutes ago,” replies Erwin.

Levi’s expression darkens. “That long?”

“It took Nurse Phillipa a moment to find me,” he tells him. “She tried locating you first but was unsuccessful.”

“Sounds right for her,” Levi bites, hoisting a leg over the bench to make his way around the table and past Erwin.

Almost past Erwin; he quickly steps in the smaller man’s path, brows high and expectant.

“Levi.” The Captain stops when motioned to do so, but his nostrils flare. “You cannot barge straight into the medical wing—”

“I can,” he challenges. “Easily.”

“—without hearing the preliminary report first,” Erwin finishes.

Levi’s jaw sets, staring straight through the Commander’s chest.

“I know the extent of her injuries.”

Erwin sighs heavily, deflating in his uniform-clad shoulders. The longer he waits to say anything, the thicker the air in the room becomes.

“Physically, yes, you do.”

Levi’s blood runs cold.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I know it, just give me a second.”

Start with the basics, the doctor suggests.

First he asks if you knew where you were.

You didn’t.

Then he asks if you recall your home town.

You can’t.

Finally, he asks something so basic that you open your mouth with confidence you should not possess:

Tell him your full name.

Your voice cuts out with a singular syllable, a vowel, until… nothing.

Everything is a blank space on an untouched piece of paper.

Why can’t you say anything at all? These are simple questions with simple answers. You’ve known them your entire life.

Right?

“Perhaps just your first, then,” the doctor woefully suggests when you linger in silence for too long.

“I’m getting there,” you warn, low and dangerous.

“Oh— Of course, t–take your time,” he stammers.

So you do.

For two whole minutes, you marinate on the possibility of your first name. Maybe three letters? Or three syllables. Something to do with threes.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

“Is James—” It sounds foreign on your hibernating tongue. “—my last name?”

Your face falls when the doctor frowns.

The impending panic is interrupted by a sudden woosh where wood slams into stone.

The door swings wide as a short man with jet-black hair and intense gray eyes emerges from the hallway. He says nothing, staring in your direction with a purpose. He wears a tan jacket with an emblem etched to the sleeve — Scout Regiment?

Is this a military hospital?

“Captain Levi!”

You want to look at the doctor to gauge the reaction in conjunction to his relieved exclamation, but the stranger's eyes have yet to leave you.

“Doctor,” he agrees, curt in tone.

“I sent Nurse Phillipa to find you.”

“I was found.” The man remains locked at the room’s threshold. “So? Tired of sleeping yet, or are we looking at six more months of winter?”

The strange question is directed to you.

You blink with a squeeze, brow knit.

“You only look like total shit, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

Oh. So he’s rude.

“Captain—”

“Apologies for Levi’s intrusion, Doctor Rini.”

Your attention leaves the Captain long enough to acknowledge the taller man that now stands behind him. Blonde, built, and strong — he holds himself with authority and grace.

If you could take an educated guess, then this must be the Commander the doctor requested the nurse to fetch a half hour ago. He smiles plainly to you, though it’s cautious.

Where the captain barges in, the commander handles what is in front of him with kid gloves.

“Nurse Phillipa was able to locate me in my office. I had to retrieve Captain Levi personally. Is it alright if we come in, or is she not yet lucid?”

And where Erwin remains at the door, Levi takes the first rebellious steps forward.

“She is… lucid, Commander.” An unfamiliar fear grips at your heart from the way in which Doctor Rini speaks with fragility. There’s a but coming — you can feel it.

“But?”

Apparently so does Captain Levi, who narrows his eyes their way when he speaks.

The doctor sighs in defeat and gestures his right hand to you.

“Lieutenant, state your name.”

Both Erwin and Levi turn their attention to you.

Shit.

Suddenly the world feels too small.

When you hesitate, something indistinguishable flickers over Levi’s face.

“...you originally stated she suffered a major concussion,” Erwin says.

“Yes, I did,” the doctor agrees. His hand drops to fidget with his other, “and I also stated on the report that the probability of temporary to permanent post-traumatic memory damage was high.”

“In other words, sustained amnesia.”

Erwin is the one to deliver the blow to the room. Your chin dips to stare at your own hands that have been bandaged and re-bandaged again and again. The glue from the wraps have left sticky trails on your skin.

Memory loss.

Where you are, where you’re from—

Your own damn name.

“It never said anything about permanent,” Captain Levi argues under his breath. He stalks towards your bed, shrugging off Erwin’s hand in the process. His slender fingers catch on the back of a visitor’s chair, dragging it carelessly with him.

Until he’s face to face with you.

This man, this captain, has immense bags under his eyes. Sunken sockets, like he’s never slept peacefully for a single day in his life. Everything about him is unnervingly calm, as if he’s one bowstring pluck away from an explosion.

Theatrically he sits down at the side of your cot, legs spread and forearms pressed to the tops of his thighs so he can lean forward.

“Where are we?” he interrogates.

“Levi,” Erwin warns, but he ignores it.

“Answer the question.”

You run your tongue along the seam of your lips. “I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“I don’t.”

“Where — are — we?”

“Stohess District?” you guess, and his jaw sets.

“Try again, dumbass.”

You can’t hide the surprise on your face from his crude name calling. “Excuse me?”

“Levi,” Erwin warns again, this time stronger.

Levi doesn’t let up. “What is this building called?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“Do you know what titans are?” he asks instead, cocking his chin.

Frustrated, you ball your hands into fists. “Of course I know what the fuck titans are.”

“Good,” Levi says without skipping a beat. “And do you know what the Survey Corps is?”

“Yes,” you answer, exasperated. “Why does this matter?”

“Do you know where you’re from?”

This was one of the doctor’s questions before Levi came bursting through the door. You stare the blank-faced man down, determined to answer — but nothing comes to mind. Nothing substantial, anyway.

Just a feeling: dampness surrounded by darkness.

“I don’t,” you resign.

“You do,” he argues. “You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

“I am trying, asshole,” you hiss.

At that, Erwin takes an authoritative step forward. “Levi, that’s enough.”

Levi considers this heeded warning for only a beat.

“So that’s it, then, huh?” Levi starts instead, icy calm. “You’re going to lay down and happily take being a nameless has-been after being stuck in a coma for months?”

“It’s been months?” you yelp, deciding to instead direct your question towards Erwin.

If the commander feels any sort of way about your condition, then he’s chosen to swallow those emotions to his belly. He sports a neutral expression (opting out of a good cop performance to Levi’s bad cop) so you push to communicate with him instead.

“I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense. Did I do something wrong to a Scout or something?”

Commander Erwin closes his eyes once his index finger and thumb touch his chin in contemplation. Slowly he inhales, debating his choice of words.

Levi, for the first time since his arrival, says nothing.

“I know this must be very difficult for you,” Erwin begins, “but please know we will do everything in our power to make you feel as comfortable as we can. However, I must ask: do you truly remember nothing about your accident?”

“No.”

“Not even an object, a phrase… a name?”

(Fuck, this emphasis on fucking names.)

“I think I’d remember the name of this piece of shit.” It takes a moment to realize it’s your voice blurting unfounded venom towards the captain, who remains seated staring intently at you. You sigh heavily, frustration climbing. “I’m sorry, but no. I’m sorry I can’t be of much help. It… Doctor Rini told me my last name was James.”

You wince hearing the name with your own voice again.

The jagged puzzle piece continues to not fit the three mens’ narratives.

“What he tells you is true,” Erwin confirms gently. “It is James.”

Your next words come out faster than anticipated; a straight-from-the-brain thought at the tip of your tongue. “It doesn’t feel like my last name is James—”

The chair scrapes along the floor.

Abruptly, Captain Levi rises to his feet and turns towards the medical wing entrance.

“This is a waste of time,” he mumbles to Erwin, head bent.

A swirl of emotions hit you like a swift punch to the gut. You physically move with it, jerking like you’re about to vomit.

‘Fuck this.’

A voice echoes in the back of your skull, creating a fuzzy feeling along the nerve endings of your arms. Although you cannot see or dream it, you hear it: like a whisper in the wind curling from the open window.

‘I’m going whether you want me to or not.’

It’s your voice but stronger. Certain. Angry.

Angry about what?

‘This is a waste of time.’

—but that voice isn’t yours.

Before you realize what you’re saying, you call out to the departing captain:

“You're always so quick to walk the fuck away."

Instantly the sound of his steps cease against the floor.

The room falls silent, deathly so, and your widening eyes meet the back of his beige jacket. The Scout Regiment emblem glistens in the protruding sunlight. Levi waits with his back to you, chin bowed to his chest.

Are you hallucinating his voice in your head?

Why were you so compelled to say something to him?

Your empty stomach churns.

"...I didn't mean to say that," you whisper. "I don't know why I said that, sir, forgive me."

Without another word — without looking back — Levi exits the room.

Commander Erwin watches the shorter man depart, waiting a beat, before walking out after him.

In the event of their leave, the doctor takes the opportunity to rush to your side. His fingers gently press into a pulse point, observing your heart rate.

You’re sure it’s spiked, but you can’t stop staring at the open door frame.

You don’t know him.

You don’t know either of them.

Right?

Author's Note: Some disclaimers - I am an AOT baby earning her lore degree bc I just binged AOT for the first time last month and have been writing this story like a fiend ever since. I haven't read the manga, so forgive me if I get details wrong. This story is in 2nd Person POV i.e. 'you', but the reader has a last name the characters reference often.

Also I only just found out that the AOT2 game calls Levi 'Lieutenant', which is hilarious and I'll be putting my own spin on that later. This is just my little passion fixation project, so I hope you enjoy reading as much as I'm enjoying writing it! There is no set update schedule at this current time.

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan fanfic #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x female reader #wip fic #fic series #slow burn fanfic #silver underground #amywritesthings

468 notes · View notes

m-musings · 1 year ago

Text

Headcanons: Junkrat/Jamison Fawkes as Your Boyfriend

A/N: MY FAVORITE FERAL GARBAGE MAN! He deserves even more love on here so here I am to solve that problem for everyone!

Word Count:484

Warnings: a teensy bit of ooc and angst but nothing else besides that.

Two words.... Total. Mayhem.

It's not all mayhem, actually. Most of the time you would spend with him would be relatively peaceful and fun.

You probably meet Jamison at some point during his and Roadhog's crime spree, and one way or another, the two of you became friends and later on, something more.

Once you guys begin dating, he is the epitome of a golden retriever boyfriend.

He's always so happy to see you and will run over to you just to lift you into his arms and spin you around with a joyful laugh.

Junkrat's love language is definitely physical touch, so expect a lot of him slinging an arm around your shoulder while you two walk together or him draping himself across you when you're sitting on the couch.

And while his kisses are a little sooty after a long day of doing thievery and demolition, they're always packed full of love!

He doesn't really know how to flirt but when he really tries, it's very very endearing!

If anything mechanical gets broken around your house, Junkrat will try to fix it for you in his! He will proudly show you the finished result just before it spontaneously explodes and he has to fix it all over again.

But he'd have it blow up in his face a million times just to see the tiny, amused smile that appears on your face when you see the ends of his hair smoldering a bit.

Sometimes, he does get a little sad that no one in Overwatch seems to like him, but just give him a lil cuddle and a kiss on the forehead to reassure him and he'll cheer right back up.

On days where the feelings just keep lingering, he'll silently pull you to his bedroom (or bunk if you are at any OW outposts) to lay down in the quiet with you for a bit, occasionally tracing soft patterns against your arm.

Deep down, he knows he can be a little over the top so if he feels like he's overwhelming you in anyway, he'll gladly go somewhere else to cause some chaos with Roadhog in a place where he won't disturb you.

And if he happens to get hurt during these outings, Jamison will trudge his way back to you with a sheepish grin on his face while he asks for some help getting patched up.

You always agree, of course, making sure to take careful care with cleaning up the areas around his prosthetics. He appreciates that you're so gentle with him when he's a bit down on his luck.

All things considered, Junkrat will be Junkrat. He's a bit kooky and noisy at times, but that's what makes him himself and makes him the man that you love. And he very much so loves you in return.

And neither one of you would have it any other way :)

#junkrat x reader #jamison fawkes x reader #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch imagines #headcanon

300 notes · View notes

sunonyoreface · 2 years ago

Text

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 18

An: Thanks for your patience, March is a really busy month for me! The tension is building and I can't wait for the next part (19 is looking steamy).

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 2800

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of knives, mentions of death.

I think of all the phone calls I’ve made throughout my life. The hundreds of hours I’ve spent talking to friends and family. Sharing the exciting news of getting into college with my childhood best friend who moved away in elementary school. Gossiping with my favourite coworker about an awful shift when she didn’t open with me in the morning. Listening closer to hear the whispers of shared secrets between the few people I really care about. Talking late into the night about that one person I couldn’t scrub from my mind. The conversation slowly dying down but neither of us ready to hang up. Neither of us ready for the silence after the line goes dead. The relief of hearing their voice after days or weeks of nothing. All those conversations flicker through my mind as I stare at the landline sitting on Captain Price’s desk. It’s a clunky, faded, black thing with a rubber coil attaching the receiver to the phone and the numbers on the keys have long since rubbed off.

I’m not prepared to hear his voice. After learning all I know about him, I don’t think it’ll sound the same. There’s no way the man I’m about to speak to is the one I’ve known my whole life.

Soap was supposed to be here. Then five minutes ago, he was called out to demolitions by another sergeant who said it was “urgent”. I wasn’t sure what his specialty was until recently and after getting to know him better, it makes perfect sense. He spends almost every waking moment out there, yet won’t tell me what they’re doing. Whenever I ask, he sits up straighter and has to suppress his smile, but I don’t miss the excitement in his eyes when he says it’s classified.

Right now I’d rather be there with Soap than sat in front of Price and Ghost and some scrawny man with equipment hooked to that damn phone. I’d rather be almost anywhere than here.

The script crinkles in my hand. The Captain already gave the go-ahead. Now it’s all on me. I feel Ghost’s eyes on me. I want to find some comfort in them, but just can’t. After he left, he told Price about the mole. He had to, I get it, but I also can’t help the feeling that nothing I say will stay between us.

I wish I was back in his room, lying on top of the covers and reading his copy of Huckleberry Finn knowing that no one could get to me. Only Simon.

And then the phone is in my hand, pressed against my ear: ringing once, twice. And then it stops. Shuffling sounds fill the other line. Then, I hear his voice. That voice that softens when it speaks to me. That has always been so understanding. That ordered those men to mercilessly take the lives of innocent civilians praying for salvation.

“Y/n?” he asks, almost unsure – like the possibility of talking to me might just be too good to be true.

“Hi,” the word dad almost slips from my lips, but I know if it does, I won’t be able to keep it together. My hands don’t feel attached to my body. Like somewhere in the numb space of my forearms, they were simply disconnected. My mouth is dry and I eye the script, but can’t get the words to come into focus.

“Are you okay? Have they hurt you? Are you eating?” there’s just something to his voice, that I can’t quite pin down. Something disingenuous. Like he’s only playing the role of a concerned parent. When I meet Ghost’s eyes, I know he hears it too. He nods, urging me to speak.

“I’m fine,” my voice is strangely even. “They said I could see you again. That they’d make a trade,” the rest of my body disconnects from my mind and suddenly I’m standing beside Ghost watching myself talk on the phone. The hope in my voice is real. The girl on the phone is going to go home safely to her dad. And it sounds like she genuinely believes every word she’s saying.

“Oh my sweet girl,” he croons. “I want nothing more. Your mother and I have been worried sick.”

“Mom?” I latch onto the hopeful word. “Is she there with you?”

“No, but she’s somewhere safe, being guarded by some of our best. You’ll get to see her soon,” he purposely leaves out her location, unknowing of 141’s extensive intel.

“Dad, I-I,” just like in the script, Price audibly warns me we’re short on time. An intentional move to add more pressure to our conversation. My father will have heard him in the background. “They said I can’t talk much longer,” my tone is rushed and worried. I see a small smile tug on the corner of Price’s mouth. I’m convincing.

“Hey,” he says. “Soon enough we’ll have all the time in the world,” the ultranationalist who snuck into my room said he was displeased that I leaked the ambush info, but you’d never pick up on that while listening to him on the phone. He hides his cruelty so well. Even knowing what he’s capable of now, the man I’m speaking to just doesn’t sound like the type. “But y/n, I’m going to need to know what they want from us first. Okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble like a scared child. I smooth out the script across my thighs and read off their demands. I recite the names of five men. Two of their leaders and three of 141’s soldiers who were taken prisoner at one point or another. Neither my father nor my uncles are on the list. There’s no way they’d trade one of themselves for me. Even I know that.

“Those are the men they want?” I hear a newfound tension in his voice as he shifts in his seat.

“That’s what they told me to say,” my eyes are glued to the paper. If I look at Ghost or Price now, I’ll lose my concentration.

He sighs deeply, “I’ll need a few days little bird, those are some top dogs. But I’m going to get you out, don’t you worry.”

I sniffle as though this is too much. Like hearing his voice made me realize how much I miss him and now I might cry. “Love you,” my voice cracks.

“Love you too darling,” the line goes silent for just a moment. “I’ll be in touch,” with these words, his voice significantly deepens. He’ll be in touch. He has his ways of contacting me despite 141’s precautions. I should expect a shadowy visitor very soon.

Then he hangs up. I place the phone back on the mount. Horror creeps its way up my shoulders and I know I’m back in my own body.

“Well done,” Price congratulates me. He’s surprised I did so well. I don’t come off as the type of person to perform well under pressure – I normally don’t – yet the phone call was almost flawless.

“Thank you,” I attempt a small smile, but inside, I feel awful. Dirty. Blindsided. I can’t believe that is the same man I’ve known my entire life. Sinking betrayal anchors my bones to the depths of the Mariana Trench. The immense pressure makes my head feel as though it’s about to implode upon itself. But along with the shame I now carry because of our kinship, there’s also molten anger stirring within my core, threatening to erupt.

“Thank you, Sergeant, you’re dismissed,” Price turns to the man who recorded the call and waits for him to leave. Ghost hasn’t said a word almost this entire time. Yet he closely watches the man leave with his equipment as suspicious as ever. He doesn’t trust a soul. Especially now. “Within the next few days, your little friend will pay another visit. We’ve installed another camera outside your door and tapped the room. Tell him the truth, just like he asked, we don’t need to aggravate them further, but it is essential he doesn’t think you snitched again,” Price’s tone has turned serious. He understands the gravity of the situation.

The ultranationalist could decide to kill me if he thinks I snitched again. He would certainly order the execution of my friends back home. While Price doesn’t care about them, he needs me alive. They won’t have the opportunity to ambush the Ultranationalists without me alive for a supposed exchange.

“Any questions?” he asks. For once, I have none.

“No sir.”

“Right. Ghost, your request is approved. Take the afternoon to complete it. Return her to her quarters before 1800,” he nods once toward the lieutenant. And then we’re off.

I don’t know why, but I expected him to say something as we navigate the halls. However, like usual, Ghost is completely stoic.

When we first met, I was always silently instructed to walk in front of him. Ghost was suspicious of me. Despite being cleared by intel, part of him still considered the possibility that I could be an Ultranationalist. By walking behind me he eliminated any chance of a surprise attack. His analytical eyes would trail up and down my frame trying to decipher any hidden motives. He’d take note of the length of my stride. How I hold my head, my shoulders. How my hands fidgeted and I picked at my nails and then my cuticles once they were too short.

Something has changed since then. A lot has changed.

Now I walk beside him. Close, but not close enough that our arms brush. Not close enough to attract suspicion. He no longer glares at me like I could turn on him at any moment. There’s so much more depth to his eyes when they steal small glances my way. Sometimes – like now as we walk along the sparsely populated halls - I feel him step closer so we’re almost touching, the heat of each other’s body is just noticeable, before he reminds himself that someone could come across us at any moment. Then, after a brief moment of indulgence, he once again shifts away to a more professional distance. I sense the same kind of longing pulses through his veins as mine.

My thoughts are interrupted as we continue to walk past my room.

“Aren’t you dropping me off?” the confusion is evident in my voice as my pace slows. Ghost turns to look at me while keeping his pace.

“No. We’re training,” he says. Training? Is this the request Price mentioned earlier? What kind of training is he referring to? What is Ghost planning?

“We are?”

“Affirmative,” he confirms. His long legs are hard to keep up to as they stride with purpose.

“What kind of training?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Ghost says. And if I’m not mistaken, I almost detect a hint of teasing in his voice.

Yet, Ghost doesn’t take me to a gym or shooting range, instead, he leads me right back to his quarters.

“Is this a joke?” suspicion is evident in my voice. I hesitate as he waits for me to enter first.

“Negative,” the curt response is typical. He isn’t about to volunteer any additional information.

“What could we possibly train for in your room?” my mind involuntarily wanders to a variety of things, but none that will help with the exchange. As I make eye contact with him, my cheeks flush almost immediately. Ghost’s gaze is strong and unwavering. He knows exactly where my thoughts have drifted.

“I’ll show you,” he motions to the door. A small ball of nervous energy forms in my lower stomach. The type that has no place being here right now. The type that’ll get me into trouble. “First, I want to know your thoughts on the phone call?”

“I don’t want to think about the phone call,” I say as I leave him behind in the hall. Once inside, he takes his vest off and hangs it on the back of the door. Facing away from me, he slips off the skull mask and quickly replaces it with a plain black balaclava. My whole body freezes at the sight. I can’t believe he just took it off in front of me. His hair is darker than I thought it’d be. The strands are a stark contrast against his fair eyelashes. He wears it clean cut like most men in the military, short on the sides and more forgiving on top. But it’s overall longer than I imagined. My mind drifts to what it would feel like to run my fingers through the delicate strands. To gently trace my nails along his scalp. To roughly grasp him by the hair as he–

“It’s not often Price congratulates someone on their performance,” Ghost’s head tilts as he gauges my response. I don’t speak, my mind still stuck on the fact he took his mask off in front of me, even if I couldn’t see his face. “You were almost as good there as you were during the interrogations,” he continues. Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t know if it’s a feeling of flattery or embarrassment.

“I’m not good at it. It feels like I’m not even there,” like the actions aren’t even my own. It’s a dangerous feeling. How far can a person go when they don’t feel responsible for their actions? How far could I go?

“But you know you are?” his tone becomes mildly concerned. Does he think I’m slipping from reality?

“I know I am. It’s just easier to separate myself from what I’m doing,” I think out loud, my voice slowly fading toward the end of my sentence. Maybe it’s my brain’s way of protecting myself?

“Y/n, if it’s too much let me know,” Ghost says seriously as a gloved hand reaches out and touches my chin. It has been too much since the moment they kidnapped me. But now all I can do now is figure out how to survive until the exchange is over. “For this too.”

The second half of his sentence catches my attention.

“And what is ‘this?’” what does he keep alluding to?

Ghost’s delicate hand on my chin leaves as he reaches for something strapped to his belt. The gloved hand unsheathes a steel knife. He flips it around and offers the handle to me. I hesitantly take it from him, all the while closely watching his eyes. There’s a glint to them. Something troublesome. At this point, his intentions could be anything.

“What’s your safe word?” his husky voice is suddenly a lot lower as he takes a step backward and squares his shoulders. There’s an ambiguous spark in his eyes. One that’s about to catch fire. I can almost smell the damp, smouldering smoke in the air.

“Safe word?” my breath catches in my throat and I try to force a swallow. I choke back a nervous laugh. He’s joking, right? The knife feels unnatural in my hand.

“Think of one, sweetheart,” he rasps. There’s that damn name again. The one that makes it so fucking hard to think. My mind snags on it like a loose thread to a nail, pulling every thought out of order. Only he can mend me.

“Um, I don’t – Soap, I guess?” his call sign comes to mind first.

“Not Soap. Something different,” his head juts to the side with disapproval.

“Okay. Fine. Pizza then,” I’m still confused as to why he wants me to have a safe word.

“Pizza,” Ghost repeats to himself, burning it to memory. He takes another step back and I almost feel myself relaxing. My shoulders don’t feel so tense. The knife is no longer so heavy. I glance down at the mean little thing in my hand. I wonder how many people have died by this blade?

Ghost doesn’t wait for my eyes to return to his. From the edge of my peripheral, something large lunges at me. He’s incredibly fast. Just a flash of movement in the dim light. Fear hasn’t had the chance to take over yet. Instinct kicks in and I jump back out of the way, just narrowly escaping his first attempt at grabbing me. But there’s nowhere to go. The room is small and he’s closer to the door than I am. He wants me to fight. He’s forcing me to.

“The fuck are you doing?” I angrily spit at him as I corner myself between the dresser and wall, knife still in hand.

Ghost looks as terrifying as ever as he shifts to face me once more. His intimidating frame takes up the entire walkway between the bed and dresser. Those thick shoulders heave along with his chest as his breathing deepens. His gloved hands stay open at his sides, eager to grab at me again. Ghost’s sharp eyes look darker than before. He is completely locked in on me.

There is no escaping what comes next.

Pt 19:

738 notes · View notes

techhasmjolnir · 10 months ago

Text

Rites of the Covenant

Plot A: You're out on an extended scientific mission with Clone Force 99, assessing a planet for possible threats before the Republic moves ahead with plans for colonization. Damaged equipment leaves you and the squad stuck on the planet until replacements arrive.

Plot B: Hunter fulfills an intensely private mission of his own.

Author's Notes:

This is another one-shot story with a hefty word count (10,696). It features subject matter that is not intended for squeamish readers. The latter half of the story is roughly based on personal experience, although for the sake of entertainment, there is some embellishment. Please proceed with caution, and if you like what you read, please feel free to reblog!

Important Notes:

This content is strictly for audiences 18+. The roles in this story assume female readers and Hunter. Concepts introduced include: biting, blood, blood play, dirty talk, F oral (receiving), M & F masturbation, menstrual cycle, pain, PiV, and voyeurism (accidental).

The assignment was a relatively straightforward one – you, one of the Republic's leading scientists in the highly specialized field of bioacoustics, were to head to the planet of Eyyhá to record data and assess the feasibility of possible human colonization. Normally, a squad of regs would have been assigned to you for security detail and general assistance out in the field. However, this time around, you were left with questions when the word came down that a squad of specialist clone troopers – Clone Force 99 – would be accompanying you.

You found out that General Skywalker and Captain Rex were the ones who pitched the idea of giving you this assignment after your assistance helped the 501st locate a deeply hidden Separatist base that previously, no one was able to detect. You received the proper clearance, and the day you first met the squad still sticks out in your mind. Memories of Rex walking you up to the guys, who were casually waiting outside the Marauder for you to arrive... Remembering the looks each one of them gave you, particularly the tall silver-haired one, and the one with the facial tattooing; you assumed him to be the squad leader before he even spoke.

“Men, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Y/N. She will be accompanying you on this mission to gather critical bioacoustic data that will ultimately lead to a decision as to whether Eyyhá can be colonized. You are to provide round the clock security and assist with any help she needs out in the field.”

The silver-haired one looked at you, an expression of contempt riddled upon his lips. “Just great...our talents being underutilized yet again for a civilian. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my bunk.” He picked up the large rifle at his side and walked into the ship. “Hunter, why are we even doing this?!” he said loudly, before disappearing.

“I'm really sorry about that,” the tattooed one spoke, his voice low and smooth. “That's Crosshair, by the way. Resident sniper, and usually a completely insufferable asshole. I'm Sergeant Hunter. I'm glad to meet you.”

“No offense taken, Sergeant. I've worked with regs before and gotten my share of snide remarks, but his was a bit much,” you reply, a little curtly.

“Please, call me Hunter. Everyone else does,” he said with a genuine smile. “Let me introduce you to the rest of my squad. The behemoth next to me is Wrecker, our demolitions expert. The one with the cybernetics and wearing the kama is Echo, who's new to the squad. The one who can't seem to be pulled away from his datapad for a split second, is Tech. Both Tech and Echo's electronics and engineering skills should be invaluable in the field.”

You smiled at the one called Wrecker, who caught your gaze and returned it with a light wave. “Glad to have you aboard, Y/N! If you need anything blown up, I'm your man!”

Hunter put his face into his hand, shaking lightly. You laughed heartily and winked. “I don't think there will be any real need for explosives on this mission, but you never know!”

Both Echo and Tech looked over at you. Echo smiled and gave you a salute with his scomp-link arm. “Welcome, Y/N. I'm looking forward to assisting you in any way possible.”

Tech looked up from his datapad and nudged his lenses up with a finger, nodding a few times in what you considered to be approval. “I have heard a great deal about you, Dr. Y/N. Your work as a bioacoustician is unparalleled. I read your last published journal...remarkable observations, I must say. I look forward to working with you, as well.” He glanced down at his datapad once more, tapping away at it absentmindedly.

Rex clapped his hands together once. “Excellent! You're in good hands with these men. You'd better be on your way. Intel we received indicates it will be best to land on the day side of the planet and establish a base camp. We know the planet is teeming with life, but the last thing you need are any unwanted surprises in the dark.”

“Then we'll take our leave, Rex. Let me take those cases from you, Y/N,” Hunter offered, picking up both the heavy black cases like they were nothing. “Good luck, everyone. May the Force be with you,” Rex called as Hunter took your belongings into the Marauder, Echo and Tech entering behind him, with you and Wrecker bringing up the rear.

Wrecker clapped you on the back a little too cordially, causing you to stumble with your overloaded backpack full of personal effects. He caught you just before you fell face first onto the entrance ramp, laughing loudly. “Sorry about that! Guess I don't know my own strength! I'm happy you're joining us. I don't know what bio... Uhh, bioac-- What is it that you do, again?”

You paused a moment, turning around to look at Rex, with his always handsome, stoic face. Raising your arm, you waved to him. He nodded once, then turned and walked off. Turning back, you looked up at Wrecker, feeling supremely tiny next to him. “I'm a bioacoustician, Wrecker. It means I study the sounds of nature, put simply.”

He nodded thoughtfully, and you knew he was trying to figure out exactly what you meant. “Well, I don't know what you'll do with all that, but it sounds kind of boring, if I'm being honest.” His remark caught you just the right way, making you laugh long and hard. “You're not the first one to say that to me, Wrecker. It's definitely not for everyone...”

His infectious laughter joined yours. “Come on, let's get you a bunk so you can settle in.”

*****

The mission was doomed from the very start. You quickly realized the intel was missing critical information that didn't prepare you or the squad for the horrific storms Eyyhá often has, and not long after you had set up base camp, some of the equipment had been struck by lightning. Cases of precious sensor arrays and receivers were mangled beyond repair, although you had Tech and Echo look at the blackened parts to see if anything was salvageable. They looked at you, and didn't even say anything...they just shrugged and gave you the look that clearly said, “sorry, you're shit out of luck.”

Thankfully you still had a few spares to at least get some work started, but without everything in place, it was rather pointless to start data collection. Your request to the Senate to return to Coruscant was denied after being told that despite how little functional equipment you had left, you needed to begin research immediately; a transport with replacement equipment would be sent as soon as you submitted a request with your needs.

Much to your chagrin, most attempts at field work have been rained out thus far, so you've spent more time hanging out with the guys in the Marauder than you have doing any actual research. They've certainly turned out to be a lot different than the regs you've worked with in the past. Very distinct personalities, senses of humor, personal habits... Hunter and Wrecker warmed up to you very quickly. Wrecker took to you so much, he affectionately started calling you ad'íka, while Echo and Tech took a little longer to come around, and Crosshair... You're still unsure of Crosshair.

Initially, you were afraid that being a woman, the risk of awkwardness or sexual tension would be quite high, especially since you were spending a lot of time in close quarters with them. Quite the opposite, actually...you get along with them very well, tolerating the light flirtation and off-color remarks better than you thought you would. You discovered just the level of respect they had for you the week you went through your period for the first time while on the mission.

You pulled Hunter aside just before you were due to start, and cautiously explained what was about to happen. At the time, you couldn't have known that he already knew, because the changes of your pheromones in the days prior, along with subtle behavioral changes, told him so. He was empathetic, offering to make up a makeshift bunk for you away from the others, if that's what made you feel most comfortable.

He explained that women worked alongside them on other assignments in the past, so he wasn't uncomfortable with the subject. Little did you know that those days leading up to and including you bleeding, would be some of the most arousing and tempting for Hunter. That was four weeks ago...

*****

Early this morning, you wanted to go exploring, extending the invite for the entire squad to join you. It finally stopped raining, and you wonder if this is just a temporary reprieve from what you believe to be Eyyhá's rainy season. Echo declined, offering to stay back at the Marauder, trying to think of ways to modify equipment to help you until the new parts come. The rest of the men were more than happy to come with you, grateful for fresh air and a change of scenery.

Here you are now, sitting in a field of tall prairie grass, swaying gently with the warm summer breeze. There's not much of anything you can do right now except scribble notes in your field journal about meteorologic observations and visible flora and fauna. After finding out replacements may take up to six weeks to arrive because your parts requisition request had been mishandled, you resigned yourself to the fact you might have to chalk up this mission as a failure. Looking up at the clear blue sky, you put your field journal in your backpack and lie back in the grass, hands cradling your head.

Unbidden thoughts of Hunter flit through your mind – some savory, some not so much. You've discovered through casual observation, coupled with confirmation from Tech, that Hunter's genetic enhancements shine through in his senses of hearing, and especially scent; his exceptionally keen tracking skills are merely another perk. A thought races through your mind now, thinking back several weeks to when you had last gone through your cycle – was he able to SMELL all that?

Oh, Maker, I hope not... Then you realize how much time has actually passed, and that you're due for your next cycle within the next day or two. That would explain why you haven't been sleeping well for the past several days, despite the fact you've been feeling quite fatigued.

“Oh...shit...” you say, thinking that no one is within earshot.

“Y/N, what's the matter? Is everything all right?” Hunter asks, emerging over the top of the grass, very close to you.

You let out a startled gasp, then cover your eyes with a hand. “No, Hunter, not really. I need to make use of the spare bunk...I just realized that now,” you say a little sheepishly.

He looks at you with those expressive brown eyes of his, concerned, but caring all at the same time. “No worries, I'll make sure it's fixed up for you.” “I'm sorry this is so much of a hassle,” you blurt out. “I can't help it, and I'm sure it doesn't make things any easier for any of you. ”

“Hey now, what kind of talk is that?” Hunter replies, coming to sit down next to you. “This isn't a hassle at all. Sure, the rest of us have to make some minor adjustments, but it really is no trouble, I assure you. When I get back to the Marauder, I can set it up for you, okay?”

Out of nowhere, his finger comes to your face, pulling a lock of stray hair back into place. He smiles gently at you, then gets up and starts walking back to the ship. You touch the place on your face where his finger had been, shivering a little. You have no idea what that's about, but the slow heat beginning to build between your legs is trying to tell you otherwise.

The warmth of the sunshine feels quite comforting today, so you close your eyes and exhale deeply. The rest of the guys are somewhere nearby and won't leave without you, so now seems like a perfectly acceptable time to catch a little loth cat nap. Maybe in dreams, Hunter's actions will become more apparent. You already think he's the most attractive of the squad, and you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't fantasize about him fucking you hard at least a couple of times, especially the last time you went through your cycle...

*****

Hunter's strong, warm hands slide their way up your legs, parting them when he comes to your knees. Running his hands along your thighs, he lets one of his thumbs rest on the hood of your clit, the other lying on one of your outer lips. Slowly, he begins to retract your hood, exposing the smooth pearl within. The other thumb begins to pull you open, exposing your glistening wet entrance. He moans softly as he traces his thumb through your wetness, smearing some on your clit. Gently, he begins to swirl the flat of his thumb over it, making you moan and arch up into him.

He chuckles as he slowly slips his index finger inside you, marveling at how tight, hot and wet you are. “Someone's needy, isn't she?” he teases. “I think you like it when I've got my fingers buried in your pussy...isn't that right?”

“Y...yes, Hunter...” you moan softly, grinding your hips up against his hand in an attempt to get him to start stroking your insides.

“That's my girl,” he whispers, pushing his middle finger inside you, your deep-seated groan of satisfaction bringing a broad grin to his face. He starts to move his fingers in and out, hooking them upward a little so he can touch that beautiful little sensitive spot that always makes you come so hard for him. “You want to come all over my fingers, mésh'la? Or do you want my cock, instead?”

You don't answer him right away, for the feeling of his fingers touching your sweet spot make you moan out his name. Hunter takes one of your breasts in his hand, squeezing gently, before his thumb swirls over your hardened nipple. He leans down and his tongue flicks over it, sending chills down your spine and a pulse of heat in your core. You contract your walls around his fingers, breath catching in his throat.

His mouth latches onto your nipple, suckling lightly on it, causing involuntary contractions that to Hunter, feel like delicate kisses on his fingers. He moans against you, swirling his tongue madly before his teeth close down on you, pulling gently. Your hand runs through his hair and down the back of his neck, cradling him as he releases you and his ravenous mouth searches for yours.

Hunter takes your lower lip gently between his teeth, pulling just a little before licking at it and letting his tongue slip into your mouth, letting it glide over yours. You moan deeply into his mouth as he gives your insides a few loving strokes before pulling them out. As he breaks the kiss, he looks at his fingers that are coated with your creamy juices. Your eyes meet his and he smiles, tracing his wet fingers over your lips.

“I want to watch you suck my fingers clean, cyar'ika. Do it like you're sucking my cock,” he tells you, his voice dropping into a husky whisper.

You comply, opening your mouth slowly as his fingers slip into your mouth. Your hand closes around his wrist as your tongue swirls around them, tasting the salt and tang of your secretions. Hunter moans softly and reaches down to adjust himself through his sleep shorts; he's almost painfully hard right now and wants nothing more than to sink himself balls deep inside you.

Suckling more firmly on his fingers, you start to mimic the motions of giving him a blowjob, your head moving to and fro with vigor. Hunter smirks as you fight to suppress your gag reflex once his fingers are fully in your mouth. With his open hand, he begins to free himself from his shorts, the elegant curvature of his thick length aching for the sanctuary of your pussy. He pulls his fingers out, then leans down to kiss you deeply, the taste of your juices still there.

“That's my good girl,” he whispers into your ear, making you shiver and moan his name once more. “Open up for me, cyaré, and take my cock...you're such a greedy little slut. Isn't that right?”

Hunter aligns himself with your entrance, slowly gliding the head of his cock through your outer lips to pick up your wetness, then lets it slip effortlessly over your swollen clit. A heated cry escapes you and you close your legs around his waist, pulling him forward and coaxing him to enter you. He plants his hands on either side of your shoulders, breathing heavily in anticipation as he parks himself firmly at your entrance.

“Fuck me, Hunter... I'm your greedy little slut,” you plead.

“That's all I wanted to hear, mésh'la.”

His lips press against yours for a heated kiss, tongue easing into your mouth as he begins to slowly push inside you, moving slowly so you can stretch around him. You let out a lusty moan of unbridled pleasure as he seats himself fully inside you. Instinctively, you flex your walls around him, squeezing his cock with everything you can muster. Hunter's head snaps up as you do this, with a primal growl. He closes his hands around your hips as he withdraws his cock until he's almost out of you, and with no warning, he surges forward –

*****

“Ad'íka? Ad'íka, where are you?” Wrecker yells, looking over the sea of grass, trying to spot you. “We're gonna catch hell from Hunter if we can't find her,” he groans. “Oi, Tech! Help me find Y/N. I know she's here somewhere.”

“Wrecker, please calm down. The likelihood of her going far without at least one of us accompanying her is statistically speaking, quite low. I saw Hunter heading back to the Marauder awhile ago, so I assume he likely spoke to her before doing so. I believe I can make an educated guess as to where she may be,” Tech replied.

Tech begins to move off in the direction where he last spotted Hunter, walking slowly and parting the grass as he goes, careful not to make a misstep – or accidentally step on you. He looks around cautiously, trying to look for telltale signs such as places where grass looks unnaturally flattened. The wind picks up and the skies are beginning to cloud over again, threatening to bring more rain, or worse, another storm.

“Wrecker, pack it in and move to my location. The weather is becoming inclement and we need to make it back to the Marauder with haste,” Tech calls.

He's still looking around and finds a patch of the grass that doesn't look quite like the others. Striding with a little more purpose, he's almost to where you're lying, but since he can't get a good visual of what's just beyond the grass, he stops and looks up at the grove of trees that marks the division between the forested area and the field.

“Crosshair, can you give me visual confirmation that I'm close to Y/N?” Thunder booms in the distance and Tech looks to the tree line.

When you and the squad exited the grove, Crosshair stayed back and got himself up into one of the taller trees, closely keeping an eye on all of you. He sighs and looks out upon the field, seeing Tech and Wrecker waving. Luckily, he's up high enough and can easily see that they're right at the edge of where you are, still blissfully wrapped up in your dream about Hunter. He laughs and then they hear him rasp, “she's down there all right, fast asleep. Watch your step. If I were you, I'd wake her gently...looks like she's having one hell of a dream!”

Wrecker looks at Tech with a quizzical look on his face. “How does he know that?”

“I do not know. Maybe by her body language?” Tech postulates.

“Wrap it up, you two. I'm heading back to the ship. Last place I need to be is up in a tree when it starts storming,” Crosshair warns as he starts making his way back to ground level.

Tech plows through the grass once more, and finally comes to a stop where his suspicion is confirmed. Sweeping the grass aside with one arm, he sees you lying on the ground, head resting on your backpack. You're still asleep, and Tech's eyes go wide when he realizes that you have slipped a hand down your pants and are slowly rubbing your clit.

“Did you find her? Is she okay?” Wrecker says lowly as he stands beside Tech. “I...I...yes, I found her all right,” Tech mumbles, feeling his face grow hot. This is something new for him, and he's distinctly uncomfortable, feeling like he's somehow violating your consent by seeing you in such a vulnerable state. “She's...well, I...how do I put this,” Tech stammers.

“Tech, what's the matter with you? What's she doing? Crosshair said she was sleeping, so what's got you all jumpy?” He looks down and sees you touching yourself and his eyes get just as big as Tech's, and he clears his throat, trying not to stare and desperately trying to ignore the fact he feels himself starting to grow hard. “Oh, I see, now. She's, uh...she's...” He's embarrassed, not wanting to say the word.

“Yes, that,” Tech replies, not wanting to say it either. “I am not sure how to approach waking her up. But we have no choice. It is going to start raining shortly and I do not wish to get caught out here if it decides to storm.”

“Let me do it, Tech,” Wrecker offers. He kneels down next to you and very carefully places his hand on your arm. “Ad'íka, he says quietly. “Ad'íka, I need you to wake up, honey, please?”

You groan softly and remove your hand from your pants. Tech coughs nervously and also kneels down at your side. “Y/N, it's time to wake up. A storm is coming and we have to get back to the Marauder quickly.”

“Come on, ad'íka, we'll get you out of here. I just need you to wake up first,” Wrecker tries again.

You slowly open your eyes and blink a few times, trying to focus. You have no idea how long you've been out, but you do know that your dream of Hunter fucking you mercilessly is now hopelessly irretrievable. “Tech? Wrecker? What time is it?” you murmur sleepily, rubbing at your eyes.

“Time to go, honey,” Wrecker says, slipping his huge arm under your back, pulling you up into a sitting position gently. “It's getting ready to storm, and this could be a bad one. Come on, let me help you up. Tech, grab her backpack, would you?”

Wrecker helps you get to your feet, and you let out a mighty yawn. “I'm so sorry, guys... That sunshine felt so good, and you know I haven't been sleeping well lately.” You grimace a little as you feel your lower abdomen beginning to seize up a little. You swear under your breath and Tech's eyes narrow as he studies your features.

“Are you quite all right, Y/N? You look like you're in pain.”

“I'll be all right, Tech. Don't worry about it.” You glance up at the sky and black clouds are building in behind you. Glancing at your chrono, you curse again and take your backpack from Tech. “Yeah, we need to get out of here. I can't believe how late it's gotten, and those thunderheads are looking nasty.”

You begin to feel a few raindrops hit your face, and you shoulder your backpack, wincing as pain shoots through your lower abdomen. What you don't see is Tech's look of deep concern as you start back toward the grove, with Wrecker quickly blazing a trail for you and Tech to follow. The three of you end up making it back to the Marauder in record time, sprinting through a deluge as you leave the relative protection of the grove into the clearing where the ship lies.

“What the hell happened?” Hunter calls from the cockpit. “I thought you would have all been back a few hours ago!”

“I'm sorry, Hunter, it's my fault,” you reply. “I ended up falling asleep and it took Tech and Wrecker awhile to find me.”

“Maybe you need to start carrying a homing beacon with you,” Crosshair interjects, coming around the corner as the three of you get inside the ship. “Wouldn't want you getting lost, or anything,” he says, looking at you with that smug expression you wish you could slap off his face. He lets his gaze linger as he looks you over, and you feel like he's boring holes into you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” you fire back at him.

“Oh...no reason,” he says, and then he winks at you before walking into the cockpit to join Hunter. You look at Tech and Wrecker in disbelief, shaking your head. “What's his problem, anyway?”

“He's always like that, ad'íka. Try not to take it personally,” Wrecker says, frowning.

“I must agree with Wrecker, Y/N. We are used to him always trying to get under our skin. Do not let it get to you.”

Hunter emerges from the cockpit, a little smile on his face as he looks the three of you over. “You all look like drowned womp rats. Go get yourselves cleaned up and then come get something to eat. I managed to trap and kill some kind of larger foraging animal, so we've got some fresh meat, for once. Tech, I might ask you to keep an eye on the radar later. We might be in for a long night with this storm... If it looks like something dangerous is brewing, we'll need to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“Certainly, Hunter. I shall keep you updated.”

“Come on, ad'íka, I'll take your backpack,” Wrecker says quietly, pulling it away from you as he starts walking back to the bunks.

Tech gently touches your shoulder, startling you. “Are you quite all right, Y/N? You do not look well. Would you like assistance returning to your bunk?”

You look up at him, his large, golden brown eyes clearly showing signs of worry. “I'll be honest with you,” you say quietly. “No, I'm not feeling well at all, and yes, I think I'll accept the help, if you don't mind.”

A small smile briefly crosses his face, and he offers his arm to you. You happily accept as more cramping strikes, trying not to audibly groan, but you can't help it. As you get back to the bunks, you can see that Wrecker has carefully put your backpack by your bed. He sees you holding onto Tech's arm and immediately looks concerned.

“Hey, ad'íka, you don't look so good. Is there anything you need?” “Could you take my backpack to the spare bunk, please? Hunter said it would be ready for me by the time I got back. I'm...not feeling well, Wrecker.”

As you mention the term “spare bunk,” Tech turns to look at you, and then it all makes sense to him. “Ah...now I understand. You are not feeling well because you are...” He hesitates to finish his sentence, and he coughs awkwardly.

“It's all right, Tech. You don't need to say it. I think I'm going to grab a quick shower before coming to join you all for dinner. Thank you for helping me today...both of you. I appreciate it.”

As you let go of Tech's arm, he turns to look at Wrecker. “I think we should leave Y/N alone for awhile, Wrecker. Why don't you go see if Hunter needs any help with dinner preparation? I need to speak with Echo and see if he came up with any workarounds we can use for Y/N's research until the new parts arrive.” As Tech turns to leave, he stops and looks over his shoulder at you, concern still etched across his face. You give him a little smile, then nod. He accepts that as the sign to leave, and heads out.

Wrecker picks up your heavy backpack and walks it back to the small room just off the main sleeping area, separated by a floor to ceiling curtain fashioned from an extra blanket. He pushes aside the curtain and gently puts your backpack on the floor. On the way back, you stop him and put your hand on his upper arm. As terrible as you currently feel, you still feel the need to thank him again.

“Thank you again, Wrecker. Both you and Tech have been very kind. I'll come eat after I'm done in the refresher, okay? Maybe a shower might help me feel better.”

“It's nothing, ad'íka. As far as I'm concerned, you're a member of our little family now. We've got your back.”

You chuckle quietly. “Even Crosshair?” you ask, with a hint of suspicion in your voice.

Wrecker stops to think about that for a moment, and with great amusement gives you an honest response. “Yep, even Crosshair.”

*****

The pain in your pelvic floor is steadily growing more intense. As you strip off all your wet gear, you check your panties to see if you've started bleeding yet, and sure enough, there's a few spots of blood. Sighing in annoyance, you throw them on top of the pile of wet clothing, mentally reminding yourself to ask Tech later if there's any kind of good stain removing solvent on board. You see that Hunter was kind enough to leave a stack of clean towels for you, and you suddenly feel irrationally guilty, but then you can't help but smile when you see Wrecker's beloved Lula tucked in the corner of your bunk.

You pick up a towel and wrap it around yourself, grabbing your bag of toiletries as you peek your head around the curtain, making absolutely sure the bunks are cleared out. You don't particularly want most of the guys seeing you like this, and thankfully the path to the refresher is clear. You step in, and crank the hot water. As you wash your hair, you start feeling marginally better, although you're worried about how the rest of the night is going to play out. You finish the rest of your bathing routine quickly, not wanting to make the guys wait too long to have dinner.

When you get back to your bunk, you only want to be as comfortable as possible for the rest of the night, yet still be presentable. Fishing through your clothes to find the special black panties you have specifically for absorbing blood, you slip those on, along with a clean bra and one of your oversized t-shirts that you use for sleeping in. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a small mirror as you comb out your hair, and you can clearly see you're not well. Dark circles under your eyes, and paler than usual.

“Could be worse,” you say softly as you dig through one of your bags for a small bottle containing painkillers. Tapping two pills into your palm, you down them with a swig of water from your canteen. You look back at the mirror and sigh. “Could be a hell of a lot worse.”

You make your way to the common area where you know you will find the guys waiting for you. They will not eat unless you're present, which you've told them repeatedly they don't need to do, but they still insist upon it. You remember the last time you went through your cycle, there was one night you were too sick to eat anything, and you had spent the entire night in your bunk. Now you truly feel guilty, because that means they all went hungry that night.

You stop in the doorway and see them sitting around the table, laughing and having an animated conversation. This brings a smile to your face, seeing that they're content and happy, despite being stuck on what has truly been a horrible mission. The others don't notice that Hunter turns to look at you standing there. He knew you were coming; he picked up your scent after you left your bunk, the smell of blood teasing his senses.

As your eyes lock on his, you see his expression change from one of acknowledgment to one of definite interest. His dark eyes began to take on a hooded appearance, and you realize what you see there – it's sheer lust. Then it hits you that he knows you've started bleeding, and a twinge of arousal begins to form in the pit of your chest. Hunter raises an eyebrow at you and a sly grin forms, because you've betrayed that you're more than interested, too.

Conversation stops when the rest of the guys notice that Hunter falls silent, and they turn to follow his gaze. You walk slowly toward them, one hand clutching the material of your shirt between your breasts. Glancing over at them, you can see that Wrecker's mouth is hanging open, a look of surprise on his face. You catch Tech's gaze, and he immediately blushes and looks away. Echo, always the gentleman, looks away immediately. Crosshair's usual stony faced visage is replaced by something resembling a combination of surprise and the same kind of interest you saw in Hunter's eyes.

“I'm sorry, guys, I just need to be as comfortable as I can tonight, so please forgive the way I'm dressed,” you say quietly.

“There's nothing to forgive, Y/N. We understand,” Hunter replies, gesturing for you to come and sit. “Hopefully after you eat a little something, it will help take your mind off your discomfort.” Your eyes widen as he says this, because he didn't see you grimacing earlier...how does he know? “Tech and Wrecker told me you were exhibiting clear signs of being in pain. It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he says reassuringly.

“Please, ad'íka, have something to eat,” Wrecker says as he nudges a plate of roasted something at you. “Take whatever you want.”

You look around at the others and they look at you expectantly. It certainly smells good, whatever it is, and you haven't eaten much other than a measly ration bar early this morning. As you pick slices that have the brownest, crispiest skin, you can hear Echo next to you letting out his breath in a large sigh of relief. You pat his arm gently as you start to eat. Whatever this animal is, it's surprisingly tasty.

“This is really good, you guys. It reminds me of boar-wolf meat.” Tech turns to you with a look of rapt interest. “When did you get the opportunity to have boar-wolf? They're supposedly endemic only to Endor.”

You swallow a mouthful of food and grin. “I was part of an expedition to the forest moon of Endor. We were tasked with locating any sentient life with the goal of establishing contact, but ultimately we found nothing. Some of the men decided they wanted fresh food instead of the rations, so they went out hunting and managed to bring down a boar-wolf. That was some fine dining, I tell you. The expedition was a total failure, but spit-roasted boar-wolf was the highlight of that entire trip.”

“Fascinating... Y/N, when you feel up to it, I would like to talk with you further about your trip to Endor, if you don't mind. So little is known about the planet itself, let alone the forest moon.”

“I'd be more than happy to share that information with you, Tech. I have all of my findings backed up on one of my datapads.”

You turn to look at Hunter, and his eyes still have that sultry look to them. You pause a moment before speaking again, because you feel the familiar heat of arousal creeping back between your legs. Your face starts to grow hot just looking at him, as juicier bits of your dream come back to flood your mind. Hunter notes that your scent has drastically changed, your pheromones intermingling with the thick smell of rich blood. He's glad he still has his codpiece on, because it's hiding the fact he's hard as steel underneath it.

“Truly, this is outstanding, Hunter...thank you for all of this.” You look around at the others, and do your best to not betray the fact your insides feel like they're being squeezed half to death. “Dig in, everyone. There's no guarantee we'll get an offering like this again while we're here.”

“You heard Y/N, boys! Let's eat!” Wrecker booms enthusiastically.

The rest of dinner is a rather noisy affair, with a great deal of spirited conversation, bad jokes from Wrecker, a few dirty ones from Crosshair, and plenty of raucous laughter. The others don't see that you and Hunter are constantly exchanging glances, looking at each other progressively longer each time your eyes meet. You can feel yourself beginning to bleed a little more, the intoxicating scent of it starting to dominate his keen senses. Hunter's earlier assumption is correct – it's going to be a long night.

*****

As you lie in your bunk, the screaming of the wind and driving rain against the Marauder's hull does nothing to ease your shattered nerves. The spasms in your pelvic floor escalated during the course of dinner, after which you quickly excused yourself to retreat to the privacy and confines of your bed. You've attempted to distract yourself with one of the many books you brought, but nothing can take your mind off your body tearing itself apart.

The painkillers you took did nothing to abate your misery, and the only thing you wish is to be released from this punishment. You cradle Lula in your arms and curl up into the fetal position; it's not long before you feel the tears slowly roll down your face.

“Make it stop,” you whisper. “For the love of the Maker, just let this be over...”

Time loses all meaning as more waves of acute tightness pass through you. Clutching Lula tighter, you start rolling back and forth as the tears flow faster, and you try to cry as quietly as possible. The intermittent roaring of thunder combined with Wrecker's snoring provides adequate cover, but you're afraid that at some point, you're going to wake someone up. You've shown no weakness to these men the entire time you've been with them, and not about to start by admitting you're crying from pain.

Hunter lies awake in his bunk, restless and overstimulated with the scent of you assailing him. Visions of lying with his head buried between your legs, tongue slipping into you to rapaciously lap up blood dominates his every thought. He shifts uncomfortably as he feels himself starting to grow hard again, and his hand drifts down between his legs to start touching himself through his sleep shorts.

In the dim, cool white glow of the bunks' overhead lights, Hunter looks around the room at his brothers. Confident that they're all sound asleep, he sits up, swinging his feet to the floor. Lifting his head a little, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Though the room is filled with natural scents of the others, the one that permeates the air the most is yours – the metallic, iron-rich tang of blood commingled with the unmistakable perfume of female pheromones. He groans quietly as his cock swells, hand sliding into his shorts to start stroking himself.

Hunter stops as he picks up the sound of your distress, feeling compelled to go and check on you. Rising slowly, he makes his way from the bunks down the small hallway to where you lie, sobbing quietly. He stops just outside the doorway, hand on the curtain, rooted to the spot as he listens to you, trying to ignore the incredible redolence of blood emanating from your room.

Pulling the curtain aside, he cautiously enters, seeing you sitting up, arms wrapped around your middle and hunched over as pain wracks your body. He sees that you laid a towel down over your bed, now tinged with deep crimson. So this is why she wanted to be sequestered from the rest of us the last time... You look up at him with blurry, red-rimmed eyes and at first you have no idea who it actually is that's come to check on you.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Hunter says quietly, coming closer. You don't answer, but the slow shaking of your head and the heavy trembling speak volumes. “Mésh'la, talk to me. How bad is it?”

You let go of yourself and rest your hands on the edge of your bed before exhaling sharply, pushing yourself up and onto your feet. Your knees wobble as you take a few steps toward Hunter. As you stop, a fresh wave of cramping tears at your midsection; you let out a cry and bare your teeth at him. Locking your eyes on his, your fingers close around the hem of your nightshirt, not caring if he sees you like this. Hunter's eyes go wide, breath catching in his throat as you begin to pull it up.

“You...want to see? Look at this and...f-f-feel my pain,” you choke out.

As you lift your nightshirt up past your waist, his eyes gravitate lower to see that you're wearing nothing underneath, having shed your panties earlier in the night when you knew they would be useless at being able to catch the flow that was to come. Parting your legs just a little, he sees that your inner thighs are covered in blood, a fresh trail quickly coursing its way down your leg onto the floor. He continues to watch transfixed as a large, thick blood clot oozes out from between your legs, followed by another, unable to fathom how you're tolerating this.

Swallowing hard, Hunter stares as you bring a hand down and run your fingers through your outer lips, coating them before bringing them back to your mouth, where you slip them inside to suck them clean. He can see that blood is smeared under your lower lip, and the urge to taste you is overwhelming. Stepping forward, he reaches out and slowly takes you by your upper arms. You don't flinch as his head dips down, mouth hovering just above yours.

“Mésh'la, is it all right if I taste you?” Hunter whispers, his rapid, shallow breathing hot on your face.

You close your eyes and moan softly as his lips trail across your cheek, stopping short of the patch of coagulating blood. “Yes, Hunter...don't be afraid.”

His tongue trails delicately over you, passing over several times until the blood is gone. The concentrated taste of iron combines with the salt from your skin and tears, creating a potent aphrodisiac for his already overtaxed senses. Hunter releases your arms, then slips one of his around your waist, and the other around your shoulders to pull you close.

As you do the same, you feel his lips brush against yours, and you moan deeply into his mouth as he kisses you, his tongue ardently sparring with yours. He breaks the kiss and your eyes meet his. All you can see is a fierce hunger, and you gasp as he takes one of your hands and plants it on his cock, yearning to break out of his shorts. Without thinking, you begin to massage him through the material, feeling him twitch underneath.

“Let me help you,” Hunter says, before gritting his teeth and moaning quietly as you fondle him. “Do you trust me, ad'íka? You can't go on through the night like this.”

“I'm willing to try anything at this point... I just want it to stop,” you whimper.

“You didn't answer me. Do you trust me? I won't do anything unless I'm absolutely sure you're okay with it.”

You hook your free hand around the back of his neck and pull his head down, pressing your lips to his and slipping your tongue into his mouth. Hunter moans deeply against you and bucks his hips into your hand. You squeeze his cock hard, and this time he lets out a loud groan.

“You're here, aren't you? That means I trust you.”

Letting go of him, you turn around and step back to your bed, pulling off the heavily stained towel. Thankfully, there's plenty of towels, so you grab a few more and lay down a thicker barrier. You turn back to him, and see that he's got a thumb hooked in the waistband of his shorts. The head of his cock peeps out above it, slick with pre-cum. Eyes laden with desire bore into yours as he slides off his shorts, the graceful curvature of his thick length just as remarkable as it had been in your dream.

“Take your nightshirt off, mésh'la,” Hunter commands. “You've already shown me that delicious bloody pussy of yours. Now I want to see the rest.”

Heart beating wildly, you obey, pulling your nightshirt off and casting it to the side. You scarcely have time to breathe before Hunter rushes you, hooking an arm around your waist and slipping the other under one of your legs, not caring he's being painted with blood as he lifts you. He sets you down gently on your bed, spreading your legs with hands that feel like they're wreathed in flame. The flat of one thumb trails lightly through your outer lips before it gently flicks over your clit, eliciting a gasp from you.

“I've never seen anything more beautiful,” Hunter murmurs, trailing a fingertip from your bottom lip in a straight line from your chin down to your pubic mound. “...and I have waited so long to do this.” He looks at you with a wanton grin spreading across his face. “But before I do anything, I need to know that you want this. Trusting me is one thing, but wanting me to do this are two different things.”

You press yourself back against your pillows, stretching out a hand that Hunter readily accepts. “I want this, Hunter... You said you could help me. So help me through this...please...” you implore.

He lets go of your hand and leans over you, bringing his head down just above yours. You moan deeply into his mouth as your lips reconnect with his, feeling your clit pulse as his tongue slips across yours. One of his hands closes around a breast, squeezing tenderly as you begin to arch your body up into him in the silent plea to take you. Hunter breaks away and moves his attention to your neck, alternating between light kisses and gentle licking. As he reaches your pulse point, he nips at your flesh, making you cry out in surprise.

“Shhhh, ad'íka, you want to wake everyone up?” Hunter laughs quietly as he moves to position himself between your legs. “Just relax, Y/N, and remember, if it's too much or something hurts, tell me and I'll stop right away.”

You nod and let out a shaky breath as you look down and see how much blood is already on your lower extremities. Hunter looks up at you with fire in his eyes, and you don't look away when he turns to one of your legs, using the flat of his tongue to lick a wide path through the newest trail of blood from your knee all the way up your thigh. Lifting his head, he lets his tongue hang out of his mouth just a little, and you moan when a single drop of fresh blood drips off the tip.

“You taste so fucking good,” Hunter growls. “I want to find out how luscious that pussy is, mésh'la... Are you ready for me?”

“It's all yours, Hunter,” you moan softly.

He slides his arms under your legs, resting his hands on your hips as his face closes in on his quarry. His eyes close as he breathes you in; blood obfuscates nearly everything, but the essence of your fluctuating pheromones is the undercurrent driving him mad. In a flash, his tongue is slipping between your scarlet folds, licking at the fresh trickle of blood slowly seeping out. A large blood clot finds its way into his mouth, and Hunter moans deeply against you, the vibrations sending chills down your spine.

He lifts his head to look at you, and your eyes widen as you see not a man now, but a beast. Blood is on his nose, lips, and chin – macabre tattooing that complements what he already possesses. Hunter turns his attention to your clit, now sticky with drying blood. Out snakes his tongue, swirling over that tiny seat of all your pleasure, cleaning you off and making you moan his name deeply. Closing his lips around it, he suckles gently, letting the tip of his tongue glide along the underside effortlessly.

“Oh, Maker,” you sigh, “don't stop, Hunter...don't you fucking stop...”

He pulls away briefly, looking up at you with a devilish grin. “I have no intentions of doing so, ad'íka. I'm just getting started...” He shifts positions and sits up, bringing one finger to your entrance, which is already leaking once more. “That's what I want to see,” he says, voice dangerously low. “You're so nice and open now...play with your clit for me while you take my fingers.”

Hunter begins to sink his finger inside you slowly, letting you acclimate to him. As you squeeze your walls around him, his brow furrows and he closes his eyes, groaning as his cock flexes.

He starts to glide his finger in and out, watching as it's coated with hot, fresh blood. Watching as you deftly lick your fingertips, he waits for you to slip your hand down between your legs to start rubbing your clit.

“That's my girl,” he croons softly. “Come undone for me...”

He slides his middle finger in, stifling a moan of his own as reflexively, you constrict your walls down around him. Biting your lip, you close your eyes and let your fingers dance over your clit in tight, concentric circles, a low and perpetual moan pouring out of you. Hunter begins to move his fingers in and out gently, watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. Seeing none, he picks up the pace a little, this time hooking his fingertips up to catch your sweet spot.

Your eyes snap open and meet his as you feel that familiar tingle inside you, breath catching in your throat as Hunter's tender stroking draws you closer to the edge. Faster your fingers swirl around your clit, feeling that delicious heat and pulsation build. He grins at you as he slowly trails his free hand down his body until he closes it around his cock, stroking it in time with the rhythm of his fingers. Your walls tighten around him little by little, and he knows you're not far from your climax.

“So close, Hunter...let me come,” you moan lustily.

“Not just yet, mésh'la,” he chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly, watching a splatter of blood follow them. He holds his hand up for you to see, blood quickly flowing down his palm and onto his wrist. “On your hands and knees, baby. There's no hiding how much you want my cock... So let me show you what I've been waiting to do to you.”

Slowly, you bring your legs down, stiff from being spread apart for so long. As you get on all fours, you purposely tilt your ass up a little bit in a clear sign you're presenting for him. Hunter licks the dried blood from his mouth and shifts until he's up against you, his cock lying between your outer lips. He begins to rock his hips lightly, slipping through your wet cleft, guiding the head of his cock over your clit, relishing at the sound of a deep moan from you.

Hunter plants his bloodied hand on the back of your neck, dragging a wide maroon path down your spine before leaning down and biting into your shoulder, making you curse in both shock and pain. He curls an arm around your waist as you writhe underneath him, still latched onto your shoulder. After what seems like an eternity, he pulls his mouth off you, smirking as he sees the mark he's left behind. As he straightens up, his strong hands fall upon your ass, kneading the flesh gently.

“Now this is a view I could get used to,” Hunter murmurs as he looks down to see blood beginning to drip out of you again. “Such a messy wet cunt, waiting to take my cock...”

You push your ass back against him, and he closes a hand on one of your hips, the other hand on his cock. He slips once more through your hot, slick folds, running the head of his cock over your clit slowly, sighing happily as you moan his name. Finally, he aligns himself flush against your entrance, his other hand closing around your other hip.

“Here we go, mésh'la,” Hunter says quietly. “I want to savor every moment of this.”

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly as he eases his way inside you, relishing at how tight and wet you are for him. You moan deeply at the intrusion, feeling just how thick his cock is, stretching your walls tightly. Bringing a hand down between your legs, you start to stroke your clit again, letting out a sigh of relief as your fingers glide across it, slick with new blood. Hunter takes this as the sign to continue, inching the rest of his cock inside until you gasp as he presses up against your cervix.

“Shhhh, don't worry, baby, I'll be gentle. That's it...work your clit for me. Such a good girl...”

“Fuck me, Hunter...make me come...I need you,” you reply with a heated whisper.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw from you, stopping just before the head of his cock slips out. Looking down, he sees he's fully veiled with blood, thick droplets of it dotting the towels underneath. He runs his tongue over his upper lip and one of his canines, grinning as he threads himself back into you. Your breath comes hard and fast, and you have to stifle a scream as he fills you back up. Fingers swirl over your clit a little faster, and Hunter can feel your pussy fluttering against him; he flexes hard in return and now begins canting his hips into you.

He relaxes the grip on your waist, moving his hands to rest on your ass, his thumbs gently spreading your cheeks apart. You begin to bear down a little as you stroke your clit, relaxing your pelvic floor to accommodate Hunter's meaty girth. Exhaling sharply, you feel his thumb press lightly on your hole – almost curiously – giving pause before he pushes down carefully on it, massaging it as his hips collide with you noisily.

“That's the way, Y/N...” his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “You're doing so well...is this okay?”

“Keep going...I'm all right,” you reassure him. “Don't stop...”

He pulls his cock out just enough for him to wipe blood on his fingers, before pushing back deeply into you, making you gasp and squirm underneath him. Bracing himself with one hand, he leans over you and brings the other to your mouth, running the tips of his fingers over your bottom lip and chin before pushing them into your mouth. You let out a muffled cry, but quickly take to sucking his fingers clean.

“That's it, ad'íka, take my fingers like you are my cock,” Hunter groans.

You contract your walls around him hard as you feel his breath on the back of your neck, then his lips as he kisses your neck and your shoulder, moaning loudly as you give his fingers one last hard suck before he pulls them out. As he straightens once more, his hands return to rest on your ass, and now you feel him withdraw enough to feel the thick, swollen head of his cock spreading your entrance wide.

“Hunter...”

“Breathe, mésh'la...”

A tremendous rush of heat radiates through your pussy as Hunter presses forward and starts to fuck you, this time with no more teasing. His hands move from your ass back to your waist, gripping firmly as each forward surge is replete with a singular purpose. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back as he bucks his hips up harder into you, smacking against your ass at a progressively accelerated pace.

The moans from you both grow unchecked, not caring that you're getting increasingly loud. You start to throw back against him, Hunter letting out a deep growl and loosening his hands from your hips to let you be in control. You move back and forth effortlessly along his cock, feeling him beginning to swell each time your ass claps back against his body, relishing at the way he massages your sweet spot.

He lets out a low moan as you connect with him again, this time stopping to swirl your hips as he bottoms out within you. You lower yourself onto your bed, guiding your hand back down between your legs. Your clit pulses heavily, screaming at you to bring forth the relief you desperately seek. Once more, you swirl your fingers over the hard little nub of flesh, quickly feeling that magical electricity returning.

Blinded by instinct and utterly blood-drunk, Hunter grasps your hips and retakes control. He fucks you hard and fast, hips slamming into your ass and thighs, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy. His cock drives relentlessly into you, slipping past your sweet spot, magnifying the quivering of your walls around him. Stroking your clit in time with each thrust, every nerve ending is alight as you're nearly at your peak.

“Come for me, Y/N,” Hunter groans deeply. “I know you're so close...”

Your moaning crescendos as Hunter slows his pace down, his cock swelling to its maximum. A heaving cry flies out of you as your orgasm breaks, your walls contracting around him wildly. Hunter can't believe the strength of your pussy as you bear down and start to push his cock out. He pulls out of you fully, agape as a gush of blood drenches his hand. Undeterred, he strokes himself hard a few times and doesn't hold back a roar of pleasure as he spills his seed all over your ass and onto your back.

Trembling from exertion and still coasting the waves of your orgasm, you collapse onto your side. Hunter shifts forward and slips his hands under your legs, moving you onto your back. You hold up your hand, marveling at the velvety crimson rolling down your fingers, down your palm, and back onto your wrist. He looks at you and smiles, both of you still breathing heavily and bathed in sweat. Leaning down over you, he reaches for your hand and brings it to his face, pulling it across his cheek, mouth, and chin to mark himself once more.

“Ad'íka, that was incredible,” Hunter murmurs against your palm. “So much more than I ever thought it would be. I need to ask...do you feel any better?”

Thinking for a moment, you realize you long since forgot your pain, as you now bask in the pleasant warmth spreading through your entire body. “I feel like a million Republic credits, Hunter. That was...beyond intense.”

He chuckles softly. “May I ask you for one more thing, Y/N?” He lets go of your hand and moves down to your thighs, trailing his fingertips down them gently, making you shiver. “Can I have one more taste of you? We probably won't get to do this again while we're here, so I'd like to have something to remember this night.”

You smile and nod, slipping your hand down between your legs to spread your folds apart for him. “Take all you want, Hunter. I know I'll never forget this.”

A little sigh of contentment is heard as he dips back between your legs, tongue licking every last bit of flesh, sucking on your outer lips to clean them off. Gently, he licks your still-sensitive clit, making your legs twitch involuntarily. You can't help but moan softly as his tongue probes at your entrance, before slipping in and gathering what he can. As he pulls away, he slips two fingers inside you to glaze them, then draws parallel lines on each of your cheeks and down your chin.

His lips seek out yours and you meet him halfway for a deep, passionate kiss, moaning into his mouth as he lets you have the remainder of the blood he took from you. Hunter pulls away from you and moves your hair out of your face, his dark eyes now full of tender care. He smiles and shifts you over so he can lie next to you, his hand resting on your chest, head next to yours. Putting your hand over his, you close your eyes and exhale deeply.

“Y/N,” Hunter begins, “there's something you should know.” You turn your head to look at him with a quizzical expression. “It's no secret that blood consumption is practiced by many cultures throughout the galaxy. But there's one thing that's considered universally sacred, and that's getting to taste the precious lifeblood from a woman during her cycle. Something to do with honoring women as the ones who bring forth life, and the bonds of family, I guess. Unlike my brothers, I've never gotten to go through the ritual...until now. For that, I'll always be grateful to you.” “Hunter, you don't need to...”

“There's more, ad'íka. Since you have given me the intimate honor of being the one to have you during your time, I want to offer you something, if you would accept it.”

“What would that be?”

“A place here with us... I heard what Wrecker said to you earlier today, about being part of the family. My brothers and I pledged to take care of each other in all circumstances, and I want to extend that covenant to you. What do you say?”

You shift onto your side, reaching to touch his face, your thumb gently caressing the corner of his mouth. His eyes search yours hopefully as he slings his arm around you and pulls you against his chest. “I think I'm going to the be most well-protected scientist in the Republic,” you tell him softly. “Yes, Hunter, I accept... I know you don't offer this to me lightly. I need to thank you for everything...you and the others have made this entire ordeal so much easier to bear.”

Hunter's mouth joins with yours in a surprisingly soft, delicate kiss. You chuckle quietly and curl your arm around his waist as you return the favor, slipping your tongue into his mouth and letting it tussle with his. As he presses his forehead to yours, cradling your head gently in his hand, he whispers, “No, cyar'íka...thank you. Welcome to our family.”

“What are you going to tell the others? Are they going to be okay with this? I'm not concerned about Wrecker, obviously, but –”

“Shhhhh, Y/N, there's no need to worry about anything. They'll understand why. Hell, they've been waiting long enough for me to even do this. There won't be any waiting to tell them, either.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, sounding slightly alarmed. Hunter starts laughing, covering his face with his hands. “We woke everyone up, cyar'íka. They heard everything. There's no point in hiding what we've done.” Your face grows hot with embarrassment as he sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, looking down at you. “I think you and I both need a trip to the refresher...we look like we came from a slaughterhouse. Get up, and I'll lay more clean towels down.”

You rise slowly and look back at the mess you two made, and then you look at Hunter, who looks like something out of a horror film. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and you see the tattooing on your face that he gave you – grisly marks of initiation. Dried blood coats your inner thighs, but it looks like the worst of the bleeding is over. Glancing back at Hunter, he's gathered up all the soiled towels, along with his sleep shorts.

“Come on, Y/N, let's get cleaned up.” You look at your nightshirt that's crumpled up on the floor and move to go put it back on. “Leave it,” Hunter remarks as he peeks out of the doorway and down the short hallway. “If we're lucky, we can make it to the refresher before anyone spots us. If not, then...”

“Then someone's getting an eyeful,” you chuckle dryly. “It's not exactly the end of the world if the others see me naked. I guess in time, it's bound to happen, anyway.”

Hunter steps out into the dimly lit hall with you close behind him. Quietly, you approach the junction leading to the refresher, catching a shadow of someone coming toward you. Crosshair stops and leans up against the wall, arms crossed with a distinctly irked expression on his lean face.

“Pfffft....couldn't even be bothered to put your damn clothes back on, could you? Nice job waking us up!” he gripes. “You were going at it like two banthas on glitterstim and I didn't think it was possible, but you even managed to wake up Wrecker!”

“Crosshair, shut the fuck up and keep your voice down,” Hunter snarls. “Cyar'íka, with me. It's all right.”

“Cyar'íka? Hunter, what are you talking about?”

You gather your courage and step out from behind Hunter, his hand closing on your shoulder protectively. Crosshair gets a good look at you and Hunter now, eyes wide, his sleep-addled mind not entirely comprehending what he's seeing. His face grows hot as he stares at you first, dried blood caked on much of your body, your hair disheveled. Seeing all the blood smeared on Hunter's face, he covers his mouth with his hand and starts laughing quietly.

“What's so goddamn funny, you smug prick?” you snap angrily.

“Y/N, don't. I think I know what this is about. There's no need to get upset,” Hunter says, squeezing your shoulder gently.

Crosshair composes himself and coughs before looking at Hunter with soft amusement. “So, you finally went through with it, Hunter. Congratulations... We took bets ages ago as to how long it would take you to get the job done...if I'm not mistaken, I believe Tech has now earned himself quite a few credits. Jokes aside, I can see you took things to a far higher level than the rest of us ever did, but for what it's worth, ner vod, I'm proud of you, truly. I have to ask, though...what's with calling Y/N cyar'íka? I'm missing something, here.”

Hunter's hand leaves your shoulder, trailing down your spine before his arm comes around your waist loosely, holding you close to him. “She gave me something incredibly sacred, and in return I offered her something just as sacrosanct – a place in this family. You know what that means, Crosshair, and you know I didn't offer this lightly.”

Crosshair turns to you, this time his expression changing from amusement to one of solemnity. You could swear he almost looks guilty, as if he's feeling remorse for being rude to you on numerous occasions. “If he's offered that to you, Y/N, then...” He trails off, looking down at the floor, resting a hand on the back of his head.

“Then what?” you ask gently.

He looks back at you and exhales sharply. “Then I accept you too...ad'íka. Is it too late to apologize for not being exactly kind to you? For that, I was wrong. Forgive me.”

“No, Crosshair, it isn't too late. And...thank you. It's an honor to be welcomed into this family...an honor that will never be forgotten.”

“Good. Now do us all a favor and get your asses in the refresher. You reek of blood and sex, and frankly, it's a little insulting,” Crosshair laughs just as Hunter steps forward and shoves the blood stained towels into his arms.

“Just for that, you go ask Tech for that special enzymatic cleaner he has,” Hunter growls, taking your hand gently in his, turning in the direction of the refresher.

You wait until you're out of Crosshair's earshot before finding your voice. “Is it always going to be like that with him?” you ask curiously.

Hunter sighs as he opens the door to the refresher, then laughs quietly. “I'm afraid so. I did enjoy seeing you rip into him, however. He needs to learn a little humility, anyway.” As the door closes behind you, Hunter cranks on the shower. He turns toward you with a seductive grin, beckoning for you to join him. “Let me test a theory, mésh'la, that it's going be just as much fun getting you clean as it was getting you absolutely filthy.”

As you step under the blissfully hot water, Hunter's arms close around you, one hand wandering down to squeeze your ass as his lips touch yours for a particularly deep, sensuous kiss. You feel his cock stirring to life once more, twitching against your stomach.

Welcome to the family, indeed...

*****

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

#star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch smut #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #captain rex #general skywalker #cw blood #period sex

97 notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 3 months ago

Note

Oooooo ok ok so to start off….. RORY HOW DARE YOU HURT ME HEART THIS WAY! Poor omega cannot catch a flipping break over here!

I know this sound sooooooo mean but I’m definitely thinking she’s gonna distress when Johnny and Simon leave, and maybe the person behind the cameras decides to make their move. Omega is practically immobile with the distress and their pack is nowhere around, so it’s perfect timing to possibly snatch her because I have a theory.

This is also brainstorming off Larathebee’s theory (Love ya honey!) which have really good points but I also can’t help but think this is for a much sinister reason. Like Lara said omegas are not suited for a military life style, but I think this could be a way to control a more unruly pack. Looking at Task Force 141 this pack has hardened and effective men; Captain price has a list of achievements and training that make him an effective leader but also highly dangerous in the field. Gaz is also with him mind you learning from this alpha and could potentially commission as an officer. As for Johnny and Ghost; Johnny is a demolitions specialist so that alone makes him a threat and Ghost? This man most likely has a higher kill count than the other 3 put together, he’s the living embodiment of a reaper and has the respect of not JUST the royal army but all it’s allies and even his enemies too.

Anyways what I’m saying is this pack functions so highly in their army and is classified as a hyper lethal one. So if they get out of hand or are unable to be brought in; the fastest way to handle a pack is through its omega. The cameras I think were to manage how well she’s bonded with them; the stronger the bond the more effect she’ll have in them. If the pack turns against a certain someone they might use their omega to rein them in, and if someone wants to cripple them they go for an omega first. I mean you could also see it as a messed up modern breeding program but that’s a stretch but I wouldn’t but this society past it. Want effective soldiers in the up coming years? Just breed them with your current ones! Even better if they’re higher up or have a pack like omegas.

Anyways sorry for the word vomit I hope you’re having a chill time off Rory and I can’t wait for the next chapter honey! MWAH 😘

Hehehe I do because I can 🤭 just remember...it does have a happy ending.

Your theory is amazing actually 👏 while I can neither confirm nor deny whether it's right, I can say it's a very good one. I love hearing everyone's theories honestly it makes me very happy (and I can see the ones who have been paying attention to details and have caught on to some red herrings as well 🤭) we are getting very close to when we find out everything about everyone so...you'll see. Some of you will get bragging rights, I'll say that...

Word vomit away!!! I love it 💚💚💚💚

#i hope you had a good week lovely!!#this was amazing to read #honestly #y'all have some good theories #answered #queue 06

23 notes · View notes

pfhwrittes · 2 days ago

Note

💚💚👋

At least quarterly, I'm reminded that I really should learn to pick locks... how do you feel about lock picking, P?

Please rate the 141 members (and whichever other COD peeps you'd like to include) from best to worst lockpickers. I'd rate them as follows:

1. Soap

2. Ghost

3. Price

4. Gaz

hiya 💚💚!

i LOVE watching the lockpick guy on tiktok that doesn't so much pick the locks but smashes them together so they spring open!

i do think it's an oddly helpful skill but for the three (3) occasions i've been locked in/out of places i've needed to be out/in, i've never picked the lock. (i have climbed onto a flat roof and shimmied in through an upstairs window, taken hinges off a door, and taken an entire door handle apart though!)

as for best to worst lockpickers i'm gonna say it goes: 1. ghost 2. soap 3. gaz 4. price

let me explain under the cut for you!

so i headcanon ghost to have come from a dead rough, working class, council house background. and i headcanon his dad to be a petty thief with multiple ABH charges and drunk and disorderly charges. if there was one thing simon could count on, it was the fact that his dad was constantly in and out of prison throughout his young life.

(and listen, i'm working class. i live in a council house so i'm not saying that everyone who is working class or lives in a council house is a thief or a criminal or anything like that - in fact we're unfairly portrayed that way and stigmatised because so many of us are living below the poverty line on the state benefits/universal credit system and classism is a nasty thing that has very strong roots still.)

what i am saying is that ghost learned to pick locks at 13 because his dad was breathing down his neck. riley sr. definitely didn't give a shit about using young simon for his own ends because in his head if simon got caught, charged, and sentenced he'd have a far more lenient time of it than riley sr. would. (if you've ever watched brassic or ted lasso, i very much think simon's dad is like vinnie's dad (from brassic) or jamie's dad (from ted lasso)) as a result, simon learned to pick locks young and kept the skill fresh because it does come in useful for his job.

so we know that soap canonically locked an MP in his vehicle. yes, we could assume that soap knocked the MP unconscious, took the keys to unlock the vehicle, stuffed the MP in the vehicle, and then locked them in. HOWEVER i think it's much more fun to imagine soap hitting the MP, being a little bit buzzed off his rage and the adrenaline, breaking into the car and stuffing the MP in there and then disabling the central locking system so the car is stuck locked up.

soap's got the necessary dexterity for lockpicking (c'mon, he's the explosives guy!) AND he's got the patience to do it (an impatient sniper is a bad sniper), i just think ghost is ever so slightly better because he learned to lockpick younger and has used the skills more often than soap.

gaz is third because it hurts my heart to have gaz be bad at anything. i like to think that ghost was the one to teach gaz to lockpick. perhaps over the course of a few dreary evenings on base when gaz wasn't up for going to the pub with soap and price was bogged down with paperwork. he was probably mindlessly flicking through the channels on the telly in the rec room when ghost dumped a locked padlock and a set of picks on gaz's lap (nailing him in the balls in the process) and told gaz to crack the lock (when gaz's eyes finally stopped watering and he could breathe without wanting to hork up a lung, ghost was a surprisingly patient teacher).

gaz has got a rough idea of what to do thanks to ghost's lessons but honestly it's more likely that he'll charm his way behind a locked door, or failing that, find a way around the obstacle/clear the area like we saw in recon by fire.

price is the worst at lockpicking. yes, he has the skill. no, he doesn't have the patience. give that man a demolition bar, he'll show you how to "lockpick".

#pfh answers #💚💚 anon #pfh headcannons #sr #jm #kg #thank you 💚💚 anon! this was fun to think about!#apologies to my price lovers for him having the shortest headcanon of the lot

7 notes · View notes

leathfaic · 2 years ago

Note

Sitting here, thinking about Ghost taking the shot and taking out Hassan, but Johnny still falls out the window. How might Ghost take that?

obviously MCD

To the outside observer? Nothing changes.

The Ghost is an experienced commanding officer. This is not the first soldier he's lost despite his best efforts.

Sure it must have been terrible, he made the shot after all, believing to save his Sergeant, only to see the man stumble, try to catch and stabilise himself with his right arm. The arm that was still weak, that couldn't hold his weight even if the man hadn't been exhausted and sleep deprived. A weary misstep and a reflexive mistake. That was all that it took in the end, despite a perfect shot.

The epitome of discipline he doesn't even take the recommended leave after such a traumatic event. Immediately heads back into the field as soon as possible. Performs outstandingly. He is quite frankly every higher-ranking officer's dream, efficient, ruthless, and obedient.

Every higher ranking officer, except his own.

Captain John Price is probably the only person who notices the changes the rest of the world is bound to miss.

It isn't their fault really, Ghost never opened up to anyone. Anyone but him and Soap.

There are little things. Small differences in how Ghost operates in the field. The way he instinctively turns around in the weeks following the incident seeming to look for someone at his six.

The fact that he carries one of his knives but never draws it. Rather bashing a man's face in with his bare hands.

The way he calls for communications discipline the moment any soldiers under his command do so much as laugh.

But the little things in the field are not what break Price's heart.

He can see Simon Riley suffer. Sees the last of his humanity bleed out of the Lieutenant's heart.

Like a door fell shut the moment the Sergeant tripped and Ghost is dedicated to never letting it open again. Eager to avoid anything that could resemble a personal connection.

Price had always considered him a friend. Had hoped the sentiment might be returned. It might have been at some point. But despite all his efforts to reach out he has to watch himself be shut out. The last time he tries to call out to Simon not Ghost earns him a contentious reminder that Simon Riley is dead. There's only Ghost.

He never sees Simon's face again. Doesn't think any living soul ever does.

Very pointedly, he does not count the day he's ordered to identify the body. If there were pictures in his files that and the dog tags would've done. But there aren't and so Price has to go and see the mask being removed one last time.

It's at that point that he realises he has already been mourning the death of two sons for more than a year. History had just stepped in to rectify the narrative.

He is handed the box of belongings since there's no one else to hand them to.

There is a knife he will wear strapped to his gear but never draw.

There are medals too, one posthumously awarded for the efficiency with which Ghost took out Shepherd and a building full of his traitors. And himself. Buried under rubble where he seemingly had tried to escape the blast radius.

The few explosive charges are planted with such precision that he is asked if his Lieutenant had recently taken lessons to become a demolitions expert.

He hadn't. But he’d always been observant.

And there is one thing he hadn't expected.

Price finds himself in Glasgow only a few days later. Uncertain steps carry him to make a request he has no right to ask for.

His only argument is a well-worn leather journal that he places into the hands of the MacTavishes.

Amongst all of Ghost's belongings, this was the one thing Price did not expect. And he can see on their faces, that the MacTavishes didn't either.

About half the journal is filled with their son's bold lettering and his drawings. Mostly of one man, in mask and without. Confessions of love never meant to see the light of day between sketches of wide brown eyes and skeletal gloves.

It is the second half of the journal that makes the breath catch though. The handwriting changes to one neater, more precise. The subject does too. Between pages of apologies, statements of reciprocated love never spoken out loud, between guilt and anguish, are Simon's attempts to remember the face of the man he loved. Not as skilled as Johnny's portraits they are still more than good enough to deliver one final gut punch as the features lose more and more detail the further the pages turn.

It does not take long to convince the MacTavishes to give up the plot next to Soap's for Simon. They deserve to rest together in the end at least.

And while there is a grave in Manchester, it is already occupied anyways.

Instead, Price finds a place where he can mourn both sons he lost.

When he visits for the first time after the funeral he finds one final surprise. A new shared headstone for John S. MacTavish and Simon G. Riley, both killed in action on November 4th 2022 in Chicago.

#simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod hc #cod mw2 #captain john price #I am not entirely happy with this #but this is what my sleep-deprived brain has to offer #cw main character death #ghostsoap #soapghost

145 notes · View notes

apuff · 3 months ago

Text

Today i will rate the skies in the covers of the stuff i have on spotify

Because i am offline while writing this i am naturally restricted by what it will display for me

1. collide with the sky (ptv)

9/10. lighter towards the horizon, great hue shifting, nice fluffy clouds, i love how saturated and blue it all is. one thing i really like is how the field is green and the treeline is so dark because that's just how it is irl for realsies. i guess the only thing that's subpar iis that i feel like for that type of cloud, it would look much more defined? but i guess that's cause the sky can't be distracting too much from the subject. anyways, really nice work.

2. Master of puppets (metallica)

2/10. Just getting some mixed messaging here. Like, the idea of it being all spooky and warm colors like that is cool, but it just…it all muddles into itself a little much. The light on the crosses doesn't look quite right and it's really hard to parse which parts of the sky are glowing or reflecting or clouds or the background or mountains. This album is really good though so i'll add a point for that

3. Danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys (mcr)

10/10. What is there to say? I mean, awesome gradient…great mixture of scrappiness and fullness in the clouds…those colors are just beautiful…i love how the sun rays are radiating out from the spider in the middle…gotta rep the rest of this composition cause it slays. Seriously, great sky.

4. Joke cover of my demolition lovers playlsit (mcr)

4/10. This is very standard and pedestrian but seeing as it's literally just a normal stock photo of a construction worker i can't judge it too harshly

5. Glow (pkch)

9/10. Pukicho is a great photographer and i really appreciate the artistry of this one. My personal preference is for a more crisp and thick cloud but i really like the vagueness and fogginess of these ones. It gives off the impression of a sunset or a sunrise without putting a literal glowing sun or garish colors in, and i like the perspective of the clouds as they approach the horizon seen through how the bands of dark and light get closer and blend into one shade. Just a very beautiful photograph altogether, great colors.

6. Spirit phone (lemon demon)

5/10. Wasn't even sure if this counted as a sky or not, and i eventually decided it takes place outside during the night, but i did have to dock points for barely even being what i'm rating. I love the strange abstractness of it, the smeared perspective lines that have no purpose other than to look weird. Honorary mention goes out to the characters in the foreground that, though ghosts, can be understood as weather phenomena due to the song in this album "soft fuzzy man" (about a sentient storm that wants to date the listener); giving them the dubious honor of the weirdest clouds ever.

7. Embers (beetlebug)

8/10 Another edge case, but i decided the patches were clouds so it counted. As a fellow watercolor artist i'm naturaly drawn to this, but who wouldn't be? It's another one that handles the sunset situation with tact and depth; the white edges aren't just a great painting move- they express light shining onto the edges of clouds. Another very clever composition utilizing the sun. just great.

8. Until the end (beetlebug)

6/10. Less stunning than the last one, but it's charming in an understated way. It feels very simple and childlike, but does have touches of maturity from the nuanced colors and defined clouds. I really appreciate the bold choice to make the sun red, it's unexpected but striking.

9. Ride the lighting (metallica)

3/10. Perhaps this is due to my complete lack of experience with thunderstorms, but i just don't like the black thin scrappy clouds. It feels so noncommittal. I'm guilty about rating it so low because i feel like the album cover, overall, looks great (especially the awesome 80s colors, those get compensation points from me) but every time i zero in on the sky itself, i'm just perplexed.

10. Purrple cat💜 (purrple cat)

1/10. This is just fine. It's a normal sky. It has normal stars and normal planets and normal nebulae. It's so uninteresting. Doesn't attract the eye. Every item evenly spaced out from the other. I don't understand why that planet is glowing but so dark. it just doesn't make sense.

11. Hallows eve masquerade (beetlebug)

10/10. This is basically the epitome of what's good about beetlebug covers- like, there's a kidlike charm to how simple it is, but there's a finesse to the colors and concept. This one just has such an expertly handled warm color pallete. Love the subtle glow and the centered composition.

12. Bee and puppycat- official soundtrack playlist [[star swirling emoji]] (milan records)

10/10. See, THIS is how to do a space sky properly. The glowing things glow and it's not desaturated as all get out. This has a good handle on the subtle pink-and-green nebula glow and it's cohesive with the rest of the palette-- I guess that makes sense, because this show is interested in that retro look where chromatic aberration like that is common.

13. Fly by night (rush)

5/10. Even though i'm not the hugest fan of it, i respect the choice to keep the background elements a solid color. It plain and cohesive, and making everything blue except for the yellow of the eyes is a good idea.

14. ???? (??)

7/10. This is like 20 pixels but it looks very nice. Going into this i wasn't expecting so many of these to use the sun or moon as a focal point of the composition but i guess it makes sense. I like the color shifting to the horizon.

15. Kingdom in blue (kupla)

10/10. AAAAAH!! I love how this is a sunset but much more cool colors than all the rest! You don't see the pink + teal a lot but it looks great. The floating island adds a nice flow to the whole thing and a fantastical edge to the more common lo-fi vibe.

16. Let's cheers to this (sws)

10/10. You know, this would look great if i could SEE it. I'm too miffed to explain why it's good.

17. Dracula reading playlist (elizabeth)

8/10. i feel like this matches the vibe of the playlist and the book very well. i'm not a huge fan of fog as a stated before but in this instance it really works to punch out the silhouette of the castle, which is the main point. I also like how it's just straight up red. evil.

18. Teal album (weezer)

0/10 i'm mad that i thought this was a sky but it's just a teal background

9 notes · View notes

420thewritersroom · 7 months ago

Text

Got That Cursed Dawg in Him

Whoo-ie, this took slightly longer than intended. I wanted to gift this piece to @averageludwig simply because I LOVE LOVE LOVE their art and their pieces of the Demoman & Soldier makes my heart do backflips AND front flips. This is also highly inspired by @waterwindow art on Twitter that I think about daily, on top of that I love their art and their pieces on Demo & Soldier too.

This is also my first time writing anything involving the TF2 peeps, and I feel like it shows a lot when writing dialogue for the Soldier and Demoman (I didn't bother with doing written accents because...no, not skilled or patient enough to bother with that lol).

Before we continue, just wanted to do a bit of housekeeping, BLU Soldier is named John Doe (full name Johnathan Dodger) and is essentially a BLU Team OC. Same with the BLU Demoman, their name is Harvey (full name Harvey MacLennan). So for those who are confused on why the Soldier is named John instead of Jane, that's why. I also like to interpret the BLU Soldier to be a tad bit smarter (still a massive himbo). Anyway, I hope you enjoy the read!

Characters: RED Demoman (Tavish Finnegan DeGroot), BLU Soldier (John Doe), BLU Demoman (Harvey Maclennan)

Word Count: 2,058

Ships: RED Demoman/BLU Soldier (Boots n Bombs) if you squint

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (it's not too gratuitous, but it's there), Unresolved Tension, mentions of murder, BLU Soldier is too dumb to not escalate situations to worse heights

John strains to keep himself upright, wobbly staying on his feet as he looks at the RED Demoman across from him under his helmet. Pained breaths escape him as he readjusts the grip on his shovel, having lost his rocket launcher in the fight long ago.

"Tavish," it hurts to talk as John forces himself to try to reach his former friend again, "Tavish, you need to snap out of it!"

He has tried, time and time again, since this fight reignited, to get Tavish to stop this bloodshed he was subjecting both teams to. John said he could talk him out of this blood-frenzied stupor that the RED Demoman was under, that there was no need to trap Tavish in the Respawn system. Or worse, cut him off from it completely. He can be reasoned with. He's one of the most reasonable men with both teams combined.

"You have to let go of that sword, Tavish. You can't let whatever commie trickery that thing is plaguing you with take over. For your sake, listen to me!"

The RED Demoman was slumped forward, arms dangling in front of him while holding on tightly to the Eyelander that dripped fresh blood from its blade. Tavish's remaining eye shone with a cursed green, the outcome of constantly feeding the sword the heads of not only the BLU team but RED as well. The usual rogueish charm that the Demolition Man possessed was gone. In its place, a blood-hungry beast that saw neither friend nor foe, but lambs fit for the slaughter. Despite being wholly empowered by the claymore, the body is still flesh and bone. Tavish, or whomever was possessing him, struggled to keep themselves aloft. They have lost too much blood, and Tavish's body protested any further exertion unless treated.

John, however, looked worse for wear. His uniform was ripped and in tatters, revealing the white tanktop below, which was also showing signs of damage. He lost FAR more blood than Tavish ever did, with multiple cuts that ran deep and oozed his essence all over his attire and on the dirt below. Breathing was haggard and painful for the BLU Soldier to do. Hell, existing was riding him up a wall as hours of fighting and dodging were catching up with him. The only reason he was still kicking was thanks to the few health kits and bottles that were littered about, the dispenser that his team Engineer set up for him (that was now destroyed at this point), and their resident nurse giving him a buff before the confrontation. But his resources were running thin. He practically ran this entire battlefield dry of its health kits and ammo, his rocket launcher and shotgun now only having a single shell and maybe two rockets for him to utilize.

"Heads," a ghostly snarl escapes not from the claymore but from Tavish's mouth, dripping like poison in John's weary ears. "Heads…Heads," the body continued to utter as it tried to inch closer to John. Tavish's body, exhausted from the fight, struggled to place one foot after the other, stumbling here and there as every nerve was demanding that this being stop and let it rest.

John can barely think. He tried talking to Tavish, but nothing was getting through to him. Every plea, insult, and statement was greeted with unbridled violence and horrific screams. Any strategy the war veteran could think of was leaking from his ears (or maybe that's just blood now that he's thinking about it). As Tavish's body lumbered closer, John scrambled mentally on what to do. Shooting Tavish will send him to respawn and will provoke the RED team to damn Tavish to whatever fate they opted to do. But he can't fight him either. Should whatever's controlling the Scotsman gain a second wind, John will be sent through the ringer instead, failing in his mission and pushing both teams to definitely kill Tavish.

Tavish was now within arm's length of the Soldier, scrapping the Eyelander beside him on the dirt ground and ready to swing the weapon at John's head. John isn't sure what compelled him to do this. Perhaps he was hinging on the possibility that their past friendship still lingered somewhere in Tavish's mind. Maybe it was a final distraction tactic he opted to pull out from under the possessed Demoman's feet. Regardless of what the reasons were, John pushed himself to get dangerously close to the deranged Demoman.

And he kissed him.

The kiss might as well be two kids on the playground pressing lips together, thinking this is "how adults kiss" or woeful virgins awkwardly "kissing" each other. The sensuality was lost between the two of them; their lips connected, but the desire that usually comes with it was in the other room.

Yet, John couldn't help but feel his heart flutter a bit. He tells himself that it's just the adrenaline and fatigue that caused his heart to skip a beat, kicking away the dawning fear that he might still harbor the same feelings that he felt all those years ago; before their fallout, before the Demoman betrayed his trust. But despite these affirmations he tried to hammer into his head, his lips still lingered far too long than they should have. But it must be doing something; Tavish has yet to raise his Eyelander at him.

John mentally had to rip himself away from the Demoman, quickly stepping back should the RED fiend decide to take a swipe at him. What he saw before him took him aback as the RED Demoman stared at the BLU Soldier with a wide eye. The color of Tavish's remaining eye no longer glowed a misty green, but it wasn't back to the usual brown that it was before. Instead, his eye was a startingly alluring emerald green.

"…Tavish?" John says carefully.

There's a brief moment of silence between the two, and John decides to take further initiative in this temporary standstill. "Tavish, you have to give me the sword. You're out of control, out of line, even for someone of your expertise."

The Demoman remained still, his face filled with foggy confusion as he seemingly was slowly coming to his senses. John took this moment of uncertainty to his advantage as he leisurely reached for the sword.

"If you don't let go of this communist contraption you found, they'll kill you. You hear me? They. Will. Kill. You, Maggot," despite the insult, it held none of the searing bite that it usually conveys. John silently thanks his helmet for shadowing his eyes as he used the concealment to prevent the RED Demoman from seeing him eyeing his sword.

"You may not be a red, white, and blue-blooded American, but I know you can fight whatever has plagued your English-muddled brain." John was so close to the sword that he could taste it. Just a millimeter longer, and he'll end this nightmare once and for all-

Tavish's eye suddenly flares in anger, shoving John away from him and placing extra distance from the BLU Soldier. "Then let them kill me. Maybe Heaven or Hell will have more use for me than this wasteland of a state!"

John stares at Tavish dumbfounded, his helmet slightly ajar to glimpse his blue eyes. "Tavish, you don't know what you're saying-"

"I know EXACTLY what I'm saying. Haven't had a drop of scrumpy since I've started this rampage."

So he was aware? All this time?

"What? You think I'm that ill-willed to just LET a dead son of a bitch take me over without an inch of a fight, eh? I fought the goddamn loche, read a cursed book, and lost me eye for it."

Not a single word was slurred or interrupted by an untimely burp. John was lost for words, unsure of how to respond.

"But, why? You're terrorizing both teams consorting with that weapon, letting it whisper Russian nonsense into your ears!"

"Firstly, this sword isn't from fucking Russia; let's put that through your tin-canned skull first. Secondly, I let it take over because I allowed it."

"But WHY?" Soldier couldn't restrain his growing impatience, his tone resorting back to his usual drill sergeant demeanor.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Don't back sass me, you one-eyed Scot son of a bitch. Your whiskey-drinking life is on the goddamn line."

"See, that right there," the Demoman points at the Soldier accusingly, "Maybe if you'd stop with those demeaning jokes, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Jokes? It's what you are, Tavish! You have one eye, and you drink! What else am I supposed to call-" John stops himself, his mind finally clicking back into gear and understanding where Tavish was coming from. "Ah, so drinking wasn't enough, was it? Gotta bully everyone else, all because of your own damn insecurities, is that it?"

"You shut your bucket-wearing trap," Tavish growled, his remaining eye threatening John with a ghostly mist.

"Maybe if you actually faced your own demons instead of trying to drown them out with whiskey and blood, you'd be half the man you wished you were."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Tavish's eye becomes fully enveloped in the same cursed green color as his fury rises to new heights. "YOU HAVE LITTLE ROOM TO TALK FOR SOMEONE WHO WAS PLACED IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL FOR DECIMATING THEIR WHORE OF A GIRLFRIEND!"

Though this should've struck a cord in John, it instead made his spine and skin run cold as a shiver coursed through him. Nevermind that Tavish screamed to the heavens a secret he wished was left buried in its grave, but John completely lost the plot of what he was supposed to be doing. If anything, he reignited and made worse the Demoman's conviction to fucking kill him.

"T-Tavish, wait," John tried to backpedal, kicking himself mentally for letting his emotions run his mouth. But it was too late. The familiar sounds of Tavish's ungodly screams came rushing at him, and he had little time to run. Hell, he even tripped on himself attempting to run away from the bull that was the RED Demoman.

Thank his stars and garters that the Eyelander clanged against steel instead of his flesh and bone.

John is unsure when the BLU Demoman appeared or where they came from, but he was slightly grateful that the demolitionist stood between him and the willfully possessed Tavish.

"We gave you ten minutes, you took an hour, and we waited, John," Harvey's soft voice pierced through John like a hot knife to butter.

John panics as the possibility of Tavish meeting a fate worse than death becomes a painful inevitability in his mind. He scrambles through his words, thoughts not connecting to his lips, "Harv, please, just give me more time-"

"I gave you all the time in the world, Soldier. But something has to be done," Harvey grunts, and his words felt cold to the touch, but he does not raise his voice. Keeping a steady tone that, to an untrained ear, he might as well be as serene as a monk.

The BLU Demoman ends the standstill between him and his RED counterpart, building distance by kicking Tavish away with amazing strength. A prowess even the BLU Soldier didn't know his BLU companion possessed.

The RED Demoman's back slams against the outer walls of one of the buildings. With that previous stalemate, Tavish's body felt a renewed vigor as it slumped forward, and from his mouth, a familiar, venomous hiss escaped his lips, "Heads."

"If there's anything good that came out of your distraction, most of BLU have convened with RED, and they're plotting what to do with this beast once it's down." Harvey tilts his head to look at John, "Either you join them, or you help me keep this monster down."

John, from under his helmet, lingers between the two Demomen, searching through his mind how he can still salvage this situation. Ultimately, he settles on helping Harvey in the moment, and hopes to contain Tavish should they weaken him again. The BLU Soldier gets back on his feet, shovel in hand and stands with his BLU companion.

"I know you both have history, but that can not hold you back from doing what must be done, Johnathan," the BLU Demoman softly says.

"I know," John answers.

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

Hey, you made it to the end of the story, congrats :D

My main inspiration for making this piece, aside from Waterwindow's art piece, was because I have yet to see anyone put Demoman in the "unwillingly or willingly becomes possessed by an entity that takes over their body completely and they're so deep in the possession sauce that they require the power of friendship to save them or have to be put down like a dog for the sake of the world" trope, and I decided to clumsily make this a reality.

I can just imagine, especially when he gains the Eyelander and his friendship with the BLU Soldier is broken, that Tavish goes through a spiral of emotions as he questions his self-worth and feels guilty for betraying his friend all for a cursed sword. And his guilt and self-hatred eats up at him and he becomes vulnerable to the influence of the Eyelander and lets the sword put him on auto pilot, allowing the spirit within to go on a mindless rampage against both RED and BLU team.

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #TF2 Demoman #TF2 Soldier #Boots n Bombs

11 notes · View notes