#heavy-lift helicopter

[nocternalrandomness]

"Hustler One One"

[ghostwarriorrrr]

The U.S. Special Operations Command (SOCOM) - MH-47G Block II Chinook

[supplyside]

US Army CH-54 Tarhe

[sweets-library]

The quiet hours

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 4.2k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU.

content warnings: spanking, punishment, rules, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline

-

You're not allowed to watch the news when Shouta's not home. It might seem harsh, but after that one awful night—when you spiralled into panic attacks and wore yourself down to the bone over a fight that didn’t even involve him (“Underground pro moved to intensive care after brutal battle—”)—he laid down the rule: no news unless he's there to reassure you. And now, well, you’re breaking it.

Your fingers are raw, nails torn from anxious chewing as you follow the chaos unfolding on-screen. The fight rages on in an area Shouta patrols, and the pit in your stomach grows with every minute that passes. You search the screen, desperate for any sign of him—a dark figure amid the blur of heroes, villains, police, and civilians scrambling in the streets. The news helicopter captures the madness from above, and you try to convince yourself he’s fine. He’s always fine. But after an hour, when the villains are finally subdued, Shouta is nowhere to be found. Instead, you watch helplessly as bodies are loaded into ambulances, and worse, some are dragged away, lifeless.

It’s 3 a.m. now. Another rule broken. Shouta hates it when you stay up for him—he says it leaves you exhausted, strung out for no reason when you could wake up beside him, safe and sound. He’d be livid if he knew, but you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s your boyfriend, your partner, and every day he risks his life out there. Of course, you worry. Who cares if you can barely keep your eyes open at work tomorrow? At least you'd know he made it home.

The coverage is still playing when you hear his key in the lock, and your heart leaps into your throat. You quickly fumble for the remote, switch off the TV, and dive under the blankets on the couch, pretending to be asleep. He’s not going to be thrilled that you didn’t make it to bed, but at least he won’t think you’ve completely ignored his rules.

You hold your breath, listening to the familiar sounds of his boots hitting the floor, the clink of his goggles landing on the table, and the soft swish of his capture weapon being hooked by the door. His footsteps are slow and deliberate as he makes his way into the living room, pausing when he spots you curled up on the couch. There’s a heavy sigh—he’s fondly irritated, you can feel it—and for a moment, you brace yourself for a scolding.

Instead, his arms slip gently under you, lifting you without a word. You instinctively snuggle into him, heart pounding with relief. He’s home. He’s safe.

“Missed you, Sho…” you mumble, your voice thick with genuine exhaustion now that he’s here.

"Hm," he replies, the stern edge in his voice making your heart skip. "Were you waiting up for me?"

You don’t dare look at him. “No,” you lie, nuzzling into his shoulder as he lowers you onto the bed. “I was just watching a movie and fell asleep.”

You feel his eyes on you in the darkness, scrutinizing. "Makeup down your cheeks," he notes, swiping at the streaks with his thumb. "Must’ve been a real tearjerker, huh?"

"Yeah…a dog died," you murmur, barely able to suppress a yawn. His quiet chuckle sends a wave of relief through you—he bought it, or at least, he’s letting you think he did.

“My little crybaby,” he teases, but you can hear the affection in his voice.

"At least kiss me before you start being mean," you grumble, pulling him down for a sleepy, lingering kiss. He hums against your lips, then pulls back.

"Go to sleep. I’m gonna shower and come to bed."

You smile, snuggling deeper into the blankets, eyes heavy as you let the relief wash over you. Somehow, you actually got away with it. You listen as Shouta moves around the apartment—showering, heating up his dinner in the microwave, and finally settling onto the couch. The familiar sounds are comforting, grounding you in the safety of knowing he's home.

And then, you hear it. The soft click of the TV turning on.

Your heart skips a beat. The news. The coverage of the attack is still on. You cringe, suddenly wide awake, the comfort of a few minutes ago evaporating as panic flares up again. You strain to hear every detail, anxiety pooling in your chest as you imagine the look on his face when he realizes what you've been up to.

The clink of his plate hitting the coffee table snaps your attention back, followed by the low groan of the couch as he stands. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, pad toward the bedroom. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, willing yourself to look peaceful, and innocent—hoping against hope that you can delay the inevitable until morning.

But you’re not that lucky.

"Sit up." His voice cuts through the silence, low and firm.

You hear him, but you stupidly ignore it, keeping your eyes shut in some desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let it go. The air grows tense, and you hear the sharp click of his tongue, a sound that makes your heart stutter.

“Little girl, you do not want to make this worse than it already is,” he warns, his tone laced with quiet authority. The moment those words hit, your body moves before your brain can even catch up. You sit up, your gaze fixed firmly on the floor, trying to steady your breath.

He steps closer, his presence looming as he positions himself in front of you. You don’t dare look up, but the weight of his stare presses down on you. Then, his fingers grip your chin, not harsh, but firm enough to force your eyes up. The moment you meet his gaze, your stomach drops.

He’s pissed. His dark eyes are locked onto yours, filled with disappointment and frustration.

"I'm going to give you one chance to tell me how you spent your night," he says, voice low and steady, "and so help me, if you lie again, you'll be getting bedtime spankings for a week."

The threat sends a chill down your spine. This isn't your boyfriend Shouta right now. The warmth and gentleness are suddenly punctuated by the stern, unyielding side of him that leaves no room for games.

"I—well," you stammer, your voice small. "I was watching TV... and I stayed up too late. I'm sorry." The apology slips out in a mumble, barely audible, as his hand moves to cup your jaw, holding you in place. He leans in, his presence overwhelming.

"Sorry, what?" His voice is firm, a quiet demand that makes your heart race.

"Sorry, Daddy..." you whisper, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment. It feels vulnerable to say it out loud, especially now.

"Hm." He lets go of your chin, crossing his arms over his chest. His forearms strain against the fabric of his sleeves, muscles flexing as he sizes you up. The air between you is heavy with his disappointment, but despite the weight of it, a small flutter stirs in your stomach. You hate how his sternness affects you like this.

"You were watching what on the TV?" he asks, his tone pointed, his gaze never leaving yours.

You sniff, nervously playing with your fingers, unable to stop the tremble in your hands. "I... I was watching the news," you finally admit, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I was just so worried, and it was so late, and they were in your area, and I just—"

"Enough."

The word snaps the air like a whip, and your mouth shuts instantly. The tension in the room feels almost suffocating as you stare up at him, waiting for the inevitable.

"So," he continues, his voice even and measured, "not only did you stay up far later than you're allowed, knowing full well you have work tomorrow, but you also worked yourself into a panic over the news. And then, you lied to me about it." He pauses, eyes narrowing as if daring you to challenge him. "Do I have that right?"

Your throat tightens, and your stomach feels like it's sinking. There's no way out of this, no excuse you can offer. He expects an answer, and there's only one.

"Yes... Daddy," you whisper, your voice fragile, on the verge of breaking under the weight of it all.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before rubbing his tired eyes. The sound of his exhale fills the room, thick with disappointment. You can feel his exhaustion, his worry—this is not how he wanted to end his night, and it makes your chest ache.

“We talked about this,” he says, his voice firmer now, frustration seeping into each word. “We have this rule for a reason, so you don’t spend your nights like this—crying over something that’s not even happening!”

You sniffle, your chest tightening as guilt floods through you. “But... what if something did happen? And I had no idea, and you were hurt, and alone, and—”

“Sweetheart,” he cuts in, gentler now but still firm, “if something happens, you’re the first person they will call. You know this. The hospital will notify you if I’m hurt. And if it’s anything else, the commission will contact Mic, who will call you immediately. You know all of this—we talked about it when we made this rule. Together.”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly tired and frustrated. The exhaustion in his eyes, the strain in his voice, all hit you at once. He’s been working so hard, pushing himself to keep you safe, to keep everyone safe, and here you are, breaking the very rules you agreed on. The weight of it presses down on your chest, and the guilt gnaws at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice thick with regret.“I just... I worry. So much.” The words come out in a whimper, hoping for some sympathy, but Shouta isn’t swayed by the tears.

“Baby,” he begins, his voice firm but not unkind, “you have to trust me. I don’t want you sitting here, crying yourself hoarse every night over something that hasn’t happened. It’s not fair to you. It’s not healthy, and I won’t allow it.” His gaze is piercing, locking with yours, filled with concern but unwavering in its resolve. You know he’s right, but the ache of your worry feels so real.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment as he looks at you, clearly weighing his next move. Finally, he speaks again, and it’s not what you expect.

“I’ll call your work in the morning. You’re not going in tomorrow.”

“What? No—Shouta, I’m fine!” you whine, trying to push back against his decision, but he taps your cheek again, this time with a little more firmness.

“Little girl, I don’t think you’re in any position to argue with me right now,” he says, his voice calm but unyielding. “Trust me, you’re not going to want to go to work tomorrow. We’re working this out tonight. I don’t want to have this discussion again, so we’re dealing with it here and now.”

The finality of his words hits you hard, and you feel the sting of tears building again, pressing at the corners of your eyes. You don’t want to deal with this—not now. Not like this. “Daddy, please, I’m sorry,” you plead, your voice fragile and trembling, but it doesn’t change his resolve.

Your apology falls on deaf ears as Shouta pulls the blankets from your legs with a swift motion, guiding you up with a firm but gentle grip. “Don’t argue with me,” he says quietly. “Come here. Now.”

You hesitate, but his firm tone leaves no room for defiance. He takes you by the arm, leading you to the end of the bed. He sits down, looking up at you with that same intense gaze, the weight of his authority wrapping around you. You stand in front of him, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Shouta, I—” you start, but his sharp look cuts you off before the words can even fully leave your mouth. You’re in no position to argue. You know this, but it doesn’t stop the nervous tremor running through your body as you shuffle your feet, feeling his gaze settle heavily on you.

“How many rules did you break tonight?” he asks, his voice calm but firm, waiting for you to face the truth.

You bite your lip, glancing down as the weight of your actions settles in. “I... I stayed up late,” you begin in a shaky voice, “and I watched the news... and I lied.” Your voice cracks on the last confession, barely above a whisper. “So... three,” you finish, the admission hanging in the air like a confession you’ve been dreading.

Shouta’s hands move to gently rub the sides of your legs, grounding you in the moment. His touch is comforting, a reminder that even now, when things feel so overwhelming, he’s here for you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whisper, your voice breaking as a tear slips down your cheek.

He’s watching you carefully, aware of how hard this is for you, but also knowing this moment is important. You flourish under this dynamic with him—he knows that. It’s his responsibility to guide you, to redirect you when you stumble, and this is one of those moments. A slip. A mistake. One that he’ll correct, and when he does, everything will fall back into place and you'll feel better for it.

Shouta gently wipes the tear from your cheek, his thumb soft against your skin. "I know you’re sorry," he says quietly, “but this is why we have these rules. To help you, not to hurt you. And you know I’m going to make sure you learn from this.”

You nod, knowing deep down he’s right.

“Thank you for being honest with me, sweetheart,” he says softly, patting your cheek lovingly. The warmth in his touch eases some of the tension coiling in your stomach. “I think that’s enough TV for the rest of the week. You can read your books instead.”

Your heart sinks at the thought of being cut off from your usual distractions, but you suppress the urge to stomp your feet and whine. You know he’s not done yet. “And tomorrow after breakfast, I want you to write 50 lines in your notebook, telling me you won’t lie to me again,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nod slowly, knowing this is part of the process. It feels unfair, but deep down, you understand that it’s for your own good.

“Now for tonight,” he continues, his voice low and steady, “I think we will finish this discussion over my lap. Come here.”

With a mix of reluctance and acceptance, you shuffle closer to him, positioning yourself over his lap. It feels both familiar and daunting as you bury your face in your arms, the warmth of his body wrapping around you. The world outside feels distant, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the steady rhythm of your breathing, trying to steady yourself for what’s to come.

“What’s your safeword?” he asks, his hand rubbing your back comfortingly, a grounding presence in this moment.

“Red,” you reply firmly, the single word a declaration of your readiness, a promise of trust.

“Good girl.” His approval wraps around you like a warm blanket, but before you can fully absorb it, his hand comes down hard. Even with the cushion of your pajama pants, the sting is sharp, and a whimper escapes your lips as you bury your face deeper into your arms.

The initial shock of pain sends warmth pooling in your cheeks, and you brace yourself, knowing he’s just getting started. He begins to layer swats on your backside, each strike firm and unyielding. With every hit, you feel a mix of emotions—pain mingled with an odd sense of release. His hands fall without mercy, and in the back of your mind, you know this is only the warmup, the prelude to what’s to come.

Your breath quickens, and you focus on the rhythm of his hand, feeling the sting dissipate into a strange warmth that blankets your apprehension. Each swat brings you closer to a clarity that only he can provide, a reminder of the balance between discipline and care.

“This won’t work if we can’t trust each other,” he says, his voice steady and authoritative, each word punctuated by the rhythm of his hand striking your backside. The hits keep coming, a sharp reminder that you need to pay attention. You don’t bother to respond; you know he wants you to listen right now.

“I need to be able to go to work without worrying that you’re at home crying yourself sick over something that was completely avoidable.” The sting resonates in your skin, but it’s the truth in his words that hits harder. Each swat underscores his concern, reinforcing the message he’s trying to drive home.

“If you’re feeling nervous, text me, or Hizashi, or Nemuri. I can’t always answer right away,” he continues, his tone firm yet laced with care. “But I’d rather you reach out to someone for help when your anxiety is getting the best of you than turn on the news and make things far worse for yourself.”

His emphasis on reaching out wraps around you like a lifeline, and you begin to realize the weight of your actions. It’s not just about following the rules; it’s about building a foundation of trust and communication. You focus on his words, letting them sink in as each strike reinforces the lesson. Whenever he redirects you, his discipline feels less like punishment and more like an act of love, a reminder that you’re never alone in this.

The swats stop for the moment, but you know the routine, and dont bother getting excited. He eases your pants down to sit at your knees, and resumes the flurry of spanks while you cry and drum your toes into the mattress. 

“And under no circumstances is it ever okay for you to lie to me,” he asserts, his voice unyielding, filled with the weight of authority. “Everybody makes mistakes, but if you can’t tell me the truth, then where does that leave us? If I find out you’re lying to me again, I have half a mind to wash your mouth out with soap and give you lines every day for a month. Do I make myself clear?”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you choke out a sob, barely able to respond. “Yes, Daddy, m’sorry!”

“If I can’t trust that you’re making good choices, then there will have to be long-term consequences.” His tone softens slightly, but the seriousness remains. “Do you need me to set up a check-in schedule for you? Is that what it will take for you to behave?”

Your heart sinks, guilt washing over you as you realize he’s already stretched thin, so busy and tired, and here you are, adding to his burden. “No, no, I’ll behave! Please!” You cry, desperation tinging your voice.

“I’m happy to hear that, baby,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he continues his steady rhythm. “But if that’s what you needed, then that’s just fine. We’ll talk about it another time.” His hand gently caresses your back, the warmth of his touch providing a comforting contrast to the stinging of your skin. “I love you, sweetheart. If you need more support from me, then you need to tell me.”

You can feel his gentleness in his words, even if he can’t see the tear-streaked cheeks you hide from him. A fresh wave of emotion crashes over you, and you can’t help but weep, overwhelmed by the mixture of relief and vulnerability. The pain lingers, but it’s softened by the assurance that he’s here, guiding you through the shadows of your anxiety. In this moment, you feel a flicker of hope—his love is a steady anchor, reminding you that you don’t have to navigate this storm alone.

“Love you, Daddy. I’m sorry; I can do it. I can be good,” you cry, your voice thick with remorse.

He lets out a weary sigh, the sound heavy with mixed emotions. “You’re always my good girl, baby. I love you so much. We’re almost done.” With that, he shifts the position of your legs, exposing your sit spots more fully for the next phase of your punishment.

As the final swats begin, you feel the sting intensify, but beneath it all, there’s a strange sense of clarity. His unwavering presence and the weight of his expectations create a safe space for you to confront your fears and anxieties. Each strike serves as a reminder of the lessons you need to learn, urging you to let go of the worry that spirals out of control when he’s not around.

Though the discomfort is real, it pales in comparison to the overwhelming love that underpins this dynamic. You focus on that love, knowing that it’s a guiding light leading you toward a healthier path.

"And you know very well that we’ve discussed this before—about how important it is for you to take care of yourself. You need sleep, especially on work nights, and I’m not going to stand by while you exhaust yourself for no reason." His voice is firmer now, just loud enough to cut through your sobs, but never harsh or angry. "I think tomorrow we’re going to have another talk about your bedtime routine. Clearly, I’ve been too lenient, and that stops now, little girl."

The words sink into you, a mix of dread and relief. Even as he speaks, the discipline continues, each strike a rhythmic reminder of his control and your need to listen. He never yells, never lashes out—just that calm, unyielding tone. It leaves no room for doubt: this is not up for debate. You don’t try to suppress your crying anymore, knowing the apartment is soundproof, and that in his arms, you are safe to let go of everything. The punishment is painful, yes, but the deeper ache comes from knowing you’ve disappointed him—and yourself.

And still, through the tears and the discomfort, you know that he’s right. You need the boundaries he sets, the safety they bring. You feel the weight of his words settle inside you, and even though you don’t want to face the conversation tomorrow, you know it’s for the best.

Your ass burns, the heat lingering even after the punishment has ended. You see now that it’s really for the best that you won’t be going to work tomorrow. His hands rub your back soothingly, the warmth of his touch a balm against the ache. Slowly, he shifts you onto his lap, wrapping you in his strong arms, the fabric of your pants slipping down one ankle as you bury your face into the comforting crook of his neck.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he murmurs softly, his voice like a gentle caress against your ears. “You’re okay. You did so good.” Each word is a soothing balm, and you can’t help but melt into his embrace, soaking up the praise like a flower yearning for sunlight. “My good little girl, I love you, baby.”

In that moment, as you cling to him, the world outside fades away. All that matters is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek and the steady pulse of love radiating from him. You feel safe, cherished, and most importantly, understood. The earlier turmoil dissipates, replaced by a profound sense of peace, as you allow yourself to rest in his arms, knowing he’ll always be there to guide you back to safety.

Eventually, the storm of tears subsides, and a soothing calm washes over you, leaving exhaustion in its wake. You stifle a yawn, snuggling deeper into his arms, teetering on the brink of sleep. He continues to murmur sweet reassurances, his voice a soft lullaby that wraps around you like a warm blanket as he carries you back to your side of the bed.

For a moment, you feel a twinge of abandonment as he steps away, but he’s back almost instantly, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he holds a makeup wipe in hand. The tender gesture brings a flutter of warmth to your chest as he wipes away the remnants of your earlier distress. You fight the urge to surrender to sleep, but his soothing presence makes it increasingly difficult. The room falls into a comfortable silence, filled only with the sound of your soft breaths and his gentle movements.

Once your face is free of makeup, you feel lighter, as if the weight of the evening has been washed away. He leans in, pressing a feather-light kiss on your lips, then your cheek, and finally your forehead, each kiss a reminder of his love and devotion. He crawls into bed beside you, pulling you close into his warm embrace. You instinctively wrap your limbs around him, finding comfort in his strength and warmth.

As you settle into the familiar rhythm of his breathing, you murmur out one last “Love you, Daddy…” The words linger in the air as sleep finally claims you, enveloping you in a dreamless, deep slumber, safe and secure in his arms.

-

guys i hate to say the daddy issues got to me. nobody look at me ok sometimes being an adult is really hard. i cross posted this on ao3 btw

[mikuluvu]

HER LAST CALL

Summary: You and the team were in a mission, almost a whole swarm of enemies we're chasing you and the team. But when you stepped on pressure-triggered landmine with no way to disarm it, you made a unthinkable choice to be left behind so they can escape.

CW: Character death, Soap ooc??, Themes of grief and loss.

Tf141 x fem!reader

A/n: 3/10 COD fic posted! This one is a angst, i rlly love this fic mwa mwa. It was 4 out 4 pages in my google docs LMAOO. This was kinda a little bit of Soap x reader?

The jungle was filled with chaos, gunfire tore through the trees, and shouts of the enemies closed in. Task Force 141 and you moved through the bushes, their breathing ragged but their focus was steady. The extraction helicopter was only three klicks away, the sound of its blade barely heard over the gunshots.

“Move, move! They’re on our six!” Ghost’s voice barked through the comms.

Soap glanced back, looking the silhouettes running towards them. “Christ, they’re swarmin’ like bloody ants! We need to pick up the pace!”

Price pushed forward at the front, his rifle raised as he led the team. “Eyes up! Stick together, and keep fuckin’ moving!”

You ran in the middle of the team, your lung burning. The mission had gone sideways hous ago, and now it was a race for survival. 

The enemies was close, too close. But then, as you pushed through a particularly thick path of brush, it happened.

Click.

Your boot froze mid-step. For a moment, you didn’t register what it was. But then the cold, horrifying reality hit you like a train. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down. There, placed beneath your foot, was the edge of a land mine.

“Shit,” you whispered. Your body went rigid, “No, no, no…”

Soap, who has been keeping close behind you, halt to a stop as he noticed your sudden halt. “Y/n! Fuckin’ move it! We’re dead if-” His words dies as he saw the look on your face. His eyes followed yours to the ground, and his expression instantly turned grim.

“Fuck,” he muttered, crouching down beside you. “Pressure-triggered?”

You nodded, you voice shaky but calm. “I-if I lift my foot, it’s game over.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Soap hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, don’t panic. We can figure this out. There’s got to be a way-”

“Soap.” you cut him off through his rambling. “You know there’s no way out of this.”

The rest of the team realized both of you were gone, making them double back, forming a tight circle around you. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Ghost said,

“She stepped on a mine,” Soap said quickly, his jaw clenched. “One of those pressure-sensitive one. If she moves, it’ll blow.”

“God damn it,” Price muttered, dropping to one knee to see the situation. Gaz stood nearby, firing gunshots into the jungle to keep the enemies at bay,

“We’ve got to disarm it,” Soap said, his voice growing more frantic. “Or… or swap out somethin’ for the pressure.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Gaz cut in, “They’re right behind us!” he yelled, as he keeps on shooting.

Price’s hand hovered over the mine, but hesitated, “It’s too risky,” he admitted. “Even if we had time, there’s no guarantee we could disarm it without triggering it.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak through the lump in your throat. “Then… you have to leave me.”

Those words hung heavy in the air, like a gunshot. Everyone froze, their eyes snapping to you, because you suggested something unthinkable.

“Not happenin’,” Ghost said instantly.“Listen to me,” you said, your voice trembling. “They’re closing in. If you stay here, we’re all dead. I can buy you time to get to the helicopter.”

“No,” Soap snapped. “We don’t leave anyone behind, and we’re not starting now.”

“Soap…” You reached out, gripping his arm. “You have to, There’s no way to save me without costing everyone else their lives.”

Ghost took a step closer, “We’ve been through worse. We’ll find a way-”

“You fucking can’t!” you shouted, tears stinging your eyes. “There’s no way outt of this, and you know it!”

The team fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Price stood up slowly, “She's right,” he said quietly. “We’re out of time.”

Soap stood up and whipped around, glaring at him. “You’re just gonna leave her? Just like that?” 

“Do you think I want to do this?” Price snapped, his voice cracking. “Do you think any of us do? But if we stay, she dies and we die. We’ve got to make the hard call.”

Soap turned back to you, his eyes pleasing. “There’s gotta be another way,” he whispered. “Please.”

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice, but you steeled yourself. “There isn’t. Soap, you have to go.”

Gaz grabbed Soap’s shoulder, pulling him back. “She’s giving us a chance to get out of here. Don’t waste it.”

Ghost lingered, his dark eyes burning into yours. “You don’t deserve this,” he said quietly.

You smiled weakly, your tears finally spilling over. “Just promise me you’ll make it out,” you said. “All of you.”

“We will, love” Price said, his hand gripping your shoulder and looking at you with his now soft eyes.

Ghost hesitated a moment longer, then turned away, his hands gripping his gun tightly. Soap looked back at you one last time, “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

“Don’t be,” you said, your voice breaking. “Just go.”

And then they were gone. The sound of gunfire grew louder as they closed in. Your gripped your gun tightly, your heart pounding as you prepare yourself.

“This is where I make it count,” you whispered to yourself. 

The first wave burst through the trees, and you opened fire, cutting them down one by one. You fought with everything you had, holding your ground as long as possible. The sound of the helicopter’s rotors grew faintly louder in the distance, a reminder that they were almost safe.

You closed your eyes, and then the mine detonated, englufing the jungle in a blinding flash of light. 

.

.

.

.

The team was silent, their boots heavy as they walked through the compound. 

Laswell was already waiting for them, she noticed the missing member immediately.

“Where… is she?’ she asked, 

Price stopped in front of her, his hat pulled low over his face. He didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, “She didn’t make it.”

Laswell’s breath hitched, “What happened?”

“She stopped on a pressure mine,” Gaz said softly, “There was no time to defuse it. She… she stayed behind so we could make it out.”

Soap, who has been silent until now, suddenly snapped. “It shouldn’t have happened!” he shouted. “She didn’t have to fuckin’ die! We could’ve done something! Anythin’, but we just fucking left her there-”

“Soap,” Price said, his voice low but firm.

“No!” Soap turned to Price, “you were the one who agreed to leave her”

He didn’t react, “She made the call, Johnny. She made it for us.”

“And we listened,” Soup muttered bitterly, sinking onto a nearby chair. “We bloody fuckin’ listened.”

A/n: Wooohooo! sorry for this... (Im rlly not) I hoped you all liked this <3 Feel free to request Tf141 x reader! or any of the characters!

Reblogs w/comments are appreciated! You can support me through buying me a coffee!

[naffeclipse]

A Gesture Returned

Reader x Orca!Eclipse

Commission Info

I had so much fun writing this request by the sweet @rinzydings who wanted a Y/N reuniting with Eclipse, and bearing a very important gift (and confession)! Their Y/N is so sweet and I loved combining their character with Eclipse's. There is so much sweetness and fluff! Which is must deserved after all they've both been through. I hope you enjoy! <3

———

The gray base is stark against the icy expanse of the north pole. A structure long since frozen into its foundation and left almost lost in the piercing wind and swirling snowflakes, you glance backward at it once before leaving it behind. 

It’s been a year since you first met the orca siren. You saw him in between that time in the mild temperatures of spring, where the negative degrees weren’t as bitter with its touch and the sun rose and fell in time with a full, proper day. Now you have returned once again in autumn, in the aftermath of a summer full of endless sunlight. 

Of course, you kept busy. Other destinations called out to you, and you felt yourself rushed to find the last of the places on your must-see list to ensure you would not go without. Pictures platter the inside of your computer of beautiful landscapes beside tropical seas and sprawling cliffs.

Slowly, your gloved hand falls into your inner pocket. Touching over the thickness of your coat, you remind yourself that your gift is still there. It’s waiting for the recipient. 

Michael and Vanessa know your intentions. After a whole year of adjusting to your relationship with Eclipse, they are easing into the thought of you growing close with a siren that was once out of the realm of nightmares for them. They no longer fear for you like they once did. Your dear Eclipse and your sweet friends share far more in common than they once believed.

Your decision sits heavy on your heart—not with dread or anxiety—but with eagerness. A want to fling it out into the world and cause it to rear into realization runs through you. You dearly hope you may relieve yourself of this tension very soon.  

Eclipse is out there, somewhere. He must have caught sight of the helicopter approaching. 

You’ve learned much about Eclipse’s life and culture that you’ve gathered in your short bursts of seeing him. Courting gifts and becoming mates are important. You understand now what exactly it means to belong to him, and for him to belong to you.

For so long, he has waited in the icy waters alone. His family was dragged up in nets and gutted with spears by a horrible, wicked man named William Afton. He grew up with no kindness, warmth, or guidance. You couldn’t fault him for the tragedy that befell him, but you did grow fearful after he stole you away the first time and changed you against your will. 

Now you’ve had time to understand him. You watched him let you go, and you returned to find him waiting with open arms. 

Your gloved fingers roam over the irregular and smooth shapes of the gift you come bearing. He gave you so much. There’s something you want to give him in return. 

Vanessa and Michael might not understand everything between you and Eclipse, but they support you. 

You choose Eclipse.

Leaving the base behind, you waddle—ever the bird in Eclipse’s eye—across the frozen layers of ice that make up the great Arctic. You do not wander for long before the sea spreads dark and blue beside you. The sharp contrast of pale snow and choppy, deep waters overwhelms your sharp eye for images to capture.

You have many pictures of the ocean. Each one uses the light and angle to capture a swell of waves, the same as you experience a great rise of emotion, searching for your mate.

Emerging from the depths with a striking arch of his lithe and powerful body, Eclipse lifts his head above the sea. His stunning dorsal fin strikes high into the air, burning red and orange before melting into the lovely pattern of black and white upon his body. Even at this distance, you see his mouth full of teeth spreading into a grin.

A soft sound carries over the waves. A song of welcome. You close your eyes briefly to truly catch the sound of Eclipse’s voice over the Arctic wind and splashing waves.

You hold up your hand and wave, at last breaking into a trot as best as you can. Avoiding a dreadful plunge on the slick ground, you trek to the edge of the water. Eclipse dives down. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Eclipse!” You call as you drop to your knees beside the water. “Eclipse, I’m here!”

You lean over the slushy tide, mixing with shards of ice and blue-gray water, only to be greeted by a crescent mark face of black and white. Eclipse thrusts himself beside you, pushing onto the ice with an impressive flick of his tail. His impressive size easily dwarfs you. Minding the droplets flinging off of his sheeny body, he drapes himself along the ground before you in a dramatic presentation. 

“Birdie,” Eclipse rumbles deeply. A flare of deep joy overtakes his red and yellow eyes. His grin remains wide, and it is painful to wait for his hands to dry enough before he takes you by the arms and engulfs you in his presence. “You came back.”

“I said I would,” you answer softly. 

“You did.” He turns his face down, and with delicate effort, pushes your goggles carefully up your face. The bitter sting of the frigid air rushes your skin. To combat the dangerous cold, Eclipse captures you in a full-face nuzzle.

You softly sigh under the tender but deep fussing of his flat nose against you. He moves over you, going from cheek to cheek and even tucking himself under your chin for a moment, uncaring that your wool scarf gets in the way. His tongue slips out from between his lips to lick at your jawline. You resist a ticklish twitch, and instead, anchor him for a moment against you. Closing your eyes, you return the gesture and lay yourself entirely against his face. 

For one precious moment, Eclipse warms you.

Then he kisses you on the nose. You laugh once in quiet surprise. 

“Let me see you,” he whispers.

You hold still, your eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun shining over Eclipse as if he were waxed and polished. His body never ceases to amaze you.

Gently, he takes your hood and pushes it back. The cold quickly swirls over your head. As you learned before your first trip to the icy land, the head loses the most heat from the human body, and that is why it’s important to keep it covered.

Eclipse tenderly lifts his hand and runs his clawed fingers through your short hair. When you first met, he admired your dark strands with the blond streak you dyed into it, straight down the middle. He admired you in the way one would admire an exotic bird.

“Handsome,” he murmurs. “I missed your strange fur.”

“Hair,” you correct with a smile.

“Hair,” he echoes, before kissing the crown of your head. He reaffixes your hood over you before settling his arms over your legs and holding your gaze. “Tell me about your travels, birdie.”

You need not wait for another invitation. It’s not often you get the opportunity to ramble about your photography, but Eclipse always lends a listening ear. You’ve learned how genuine he is, as curious as you are, and just as insatiable for new, beautiful things. 

First, you tell him about Ocracoke Island. It is not the most exotic land you’ve traveled to, but it is nonetheless abundant with stunning seashells and a lively beach filled with yellow sands and green waters. Then you traveled to Shell Beach in the Australian winter. Awe Striking scenery fueled your photograph as the pale beach glistened to tiny, white shells beside an ever-endless blue sea. Then you traveled to Jeffreys Bay. The water is most gorgeous there, a pale blue-gray with rich seafoam flooding over an entire shoreline worth of shells. 

He doesn’t ask, but it’s clear that you favor tropical and seaside environments during the last six months of your travels. Eclipse has many questions when you talk of such places, such as the creatures there or what you enjoy most about visiting such environments. He draws his claws softly over your gloved hands as you continue to speak. 

Truly, he gives his full attention. Though his eyes may wander over your small fingertips or short stature, he is no less aware of what you spill from your lips.

As you finish telling him of carefully walking along Jeffreys Bay, you gently free your hand from his grasp. His eyes flare for a moment. His claws flex, watching hungrily as you reach into the inside of your coat and withdraw the most precious gift you are about to give.

“I have something for you,” you start softly, your fist curled over the offering, “It would mean so much to me if you accepted it.”

Eclipse tilts his head down, eyes crinkled in curiosity. The shine of his burning red frills catches on the sunlight. You swallow down your heart. Carefully unfurling your fingers, you present Eclipse with a courting gesture.

Laid upon your hand is a cord of strung seashells. Tiny, spiraling, and flat shells clink softly together to form a gradient of deep red, burnt orange, periwinkle, soft baby blue, and pure frost. Six months you spent finding the precise colors. The ones of Eclipse, and the ones that were on your tail when he had changed you into a siren. Those cool, soft colors never quite left your head.

Neither has Eclipse left your heart.

The gravity of the gesture is not lost on you as you study Eclipse’s wide eyes and gaped mouth. He reaches out as if handling thin ice, and strokes the shells with his clawed fingertips. The seashells are tiny but solid. A musical clink echoes at Eclipse’s brush of his hand, and he lifts his eyes.

“I accept,” he answers in a low, powerful voice.

Your entire being flutters, warm and reassured.

“May I?” you ask softly, lifting the cord and carefully taking the ends. “It’s meant to be worn… if you want to wear it.”

“Birdie, I desire nothing more than to display your gift on my body.” His declaration sends a sweeping heat into your cheeks. 

“Your hand,” you say, your eyes filling with misty tears.

He obeys, offering his arm. You level him out to expose his wrist. Slipping the bracelet of seashells around the sinew-packed bones, you deftly tie it and ensure the cord will not unravel anytime soon. 

“You gave me many gifts during our courtship,” you say deliberately. You lean back to admire it upon his wrist. “I wanted to return the gesture in kind.”

His hand clenched as if to contain emotion within his fist. He holds his hand and twists it this way and that, watching the seashells swing slightly against his shiny skin.

“This means much to me, birdie,” Eclipse lowers his gaze at last to you. His chest puffs up with pride. The glow in his gaze is as soft as candlelight. “I will treasure it.”

“I’m glad…” you say, holding back something behind your tongue that stings and causes your entire body to squirm.

In the moment your eyes dart away from him, heavy with words you can’t yet dislodge, a claw curls carefully under your chin. A spark fires in your chest. Gently but firmly, Eclipse lifts your head to look deep into your eyes. His constant grin thins into concern.

“What is troubling you?”

Your throat bobs softly. His eyes dart once to your gift before returning to you, and for a moment, a shine of fear returns to his gaze. The same as when you told him you had to leave the very first time.

You answer quickly but softly, “I’ve never stopped thinking of you, and I've never stopped caring for you, Eclipse.”

His expression softens like the sky in the morning after a wicked blizzard. His claw carefully draws along your bottom lip.

“My little siren,” he rumbles, but there’s a hint of melancholy in the endearment. “How precious you are.”

“I've come to a decision.” A fluttering erupts within you, and you slowly reach out to hold tight to his arm. “Eclipse, I want to stay with you.

You watch in both awe and whirling emotion as Eclipse is struck dumb. His jaw drops. His eyes flare wide open. His touch upon you slackens as if he were about to slip back into the water in his stupor, but instead, he looks at you as if seeing you again for the first time.

A fist squeezes your heart, and you forget to breathe. Is it too late? Does he still want to have you?

“I’m… I’m…” The apology fumbles on your tongue as you try to turn away, but Eclipse grabs you tighter, stopping you in your tracks.

Then you feel the tremors in his hand. Ripples of emotion take over his strong and sleek body, falling down his shoulders and into the very flukes of his tail. His eyes burn deeply.

“You will stay with me?” he asks, caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. “Truly, birdie?”

“Yes,” your voice almost cracks. “I love you. I want to be with you as a siren.”

Saying the words frees something within you. The pulse pounding in your ears calms. Eclipse’s hand upon your chin softens into a tender touch. He leans very close. In a gentle brush of his sea-salt-tinged lips, he kisses you deeply. His fervor almost pushes you back, but his arms wrap around and hold you perfectly in place.

He breaks the kiss softly. 

“I love you, my mate.” He tilts your head softly as he nuzzles your cheek. “When you are ready, I will take you into the water.

Your heart sways within you. It is difficult to not recall how frigid and consuming the Arctic is, and the panic you felt underneath the water. But this is different.

He loves you truly. He let you go, and you step back willingly into his arms. 

“I will make it quick, birdie,” he whispers, “I am yours eternally.”

You smile before caressing his face, touching the corner of his mouth, and feeling the slipperiness of his black and white skin. 

“And I’m yours,” you smile.

With gentle reverence, Eclipse helps you undress. You urge him to hurry once the cold begins to attack your skin. Mentally, you must brace yourself once more for the cold of the water. Eclipse cradles you close against his body as you shiver violently in the sub-zero temperatures.

He bows over you, and with a conjuring of a song from deep within his chest, magic fills the air with the force of thunderous waves. It fills you as he presses his lips to your mouth, and together, you slip under the surface. 

Your courting gift of seashells sways around his wrist in the water.

The power of his magic takes you gently out of a world of footsteps and leg strides and into a body fit for cutting through storms and sailing through seas. The colors upon your fluke tips are the same as you remember. This time, you allow him to remove the last of your clothing. Completely bare, transformed, and magically thriving, you are reborn.

He embraces you. The length of his tail easily surpasses your own, and you are held safe as he kisses you within the frozen brine.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Alt meet bucktommy prompt: instead of Buck and Maddie riding in an ambulance after Doug kidnaps her, the weather is too bad so they airlift them out. Tommy is the pilot. He hears Maddie asking after chimney and Tommy is like “howie got stabbed??” Anyway, Tommy ends up staying at the hospital to check on Chimney (another reason why Chim feels comfortable enough to call him for the water drop later on) and while Maddie and Chimney are having their moment, Buck and Tommy have one in the hallway outside his room.

1. Thanks for the prompt. I enjoyed writing this one.

2. Love your username!

3. Enjoy! 🩶

**********

Buck wanted to cry with relief when Maddie was being lifted into the helicopter to fly her to hospital. He didn’t—he kept himself together for her sake. She needed him to be strong right now, even though he himself was in absolute awe of Maddies own strength in surviving what she had. Surviving that son of a bitch Doug. If she hadn’t have killed him, Buck would have.

“We’re almost there, guys.” Pilot Kinard said through the mic.

“You hear that, Maddie? We’re almost there. You're doing great.” Buck squeezed her hand and smiled at her, trying to keep her positive.

“Tired.” She mumbled, her eyelids getting heavy.

“Uh, hey, hey, Maddie, I-I know... I know you're tired, but I-I need you to keep your eyes open for me. You-you know the drill.”

“Uh-huh.” She said trying to force them open as best she could as the medic on board tended to her wounds.

“Yeah, just, uh... just like that.” Buck reassured her. “Hey, you, uh... you think you had a hard day. Athena and I have been running all over the state looking for you. I wasn't dressed for snow.”

“Me, either.” She joked and it sent relief through Buck.

“Athena said she'd, uh.. she'd call Bobby, let everyone know that you're okay. They are gonna be... so relieved. Chimney. Chimney most of all.”

“Chimney's alive?” She questioned, her face breaking into relieved tears.

“Oh, my God. Y.. Maddie, no, yeah, Ch-Chimney's alive. He, uh.. He-he made it through.” He paused. “You both did.”

“Uh, Chimney as in Howard Han?” Tommy asked.

“Y-yeah. You know him?” Asked Buck.

“Yeah I know him. Was at the 118 back when he was a probie.”

“No way.” Buck exclaimed. Small world, he thought.

“You said he’s going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Docs said through knife missed any vital organs.” Buck told him.

“Thank God for that.”

**

Maddie was going to be okay. Just like Chim, Doug had missed anything vital when he stabbed her. She’d need quite a few weeks to heal from the physical injuries, and likely many more for the psychological injuries, but she was alive and Buck was grateful for that.

The hospital that she’s been taken to wanted to keep her for a few days for observation which she didn’t want. She wanted to go home and make sure Chimney really was okay.

So after some begging, cajoling and Tommy offering to transport her to the hospital in L.A where Chimney was admitted, the doctors agreed to let her go.

After getting checked in at the second hospital the first thing Maddie did was asked to be taken to chimneys room. Buck followed behind as a nurse wheeled Maddie to his room.

“Are you coming in?” She asked Buck.

He shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile. “No. You-you should have some time alone.” She smiled thankfully and was wheeled inside by the nurse who closed the door on her way back out.

Buck leant against the wall opposite the room, watching them through the window. He smiled seeing them happily embrace one another.

“Your sister okay?”

Buck turned to see Tommy walk up. “Uh, yeah. She’s okay. Relived that Chim is okay.” He pointed to the window.

Tommy looked in to see Maddie sitting on the edge of Chim’s bed, leant forward with her head in his shoulder and him stroking her hair.

“That’s sweet.” He responded.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” He asked Buck, noticing his hands were shaking. The shock and adrenaline from the last 48 was beginning to wear off.

“Y-yeah, I’m.. I’m fi-“ his face crumpled and his breath hitched. A whine came from his throat as tears exploded from his eyes.

“Hey, woah! I got you.” Tommy moved quickly and put an arm around him, guiding him a few feet away from the window to Chimneys room and wrapped his arms around Bucks shoulders.

Buck fell into him almost and held on tight to Tommys flight suit as all of the fear and relief he’d held inside poured out of him.

“It’s ok. You’re okay.” Tommy said softly, running a gentle hand up and down his back.

When Buck came to his senses, an embarrassed heat flushed through him and he let go of Tommy.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to..” he blew out a breath and rapidly blinked his eyes in an attempt to dry them out.

“You have nothing to apologise for, uh..” Tommy realised that he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Buckley. Evan, uh.. Evan Buckley.”

“Evan. Tommy Kinard.” He smiled.

Buck felt- he looked at the man before him. He had piercing blue eyes surrounded by warm wrinkles as he smiled, a light dusting of stubble caressed his jaw, dipping into the prominent cleft of his chin. He was incredible handsome. Beautiful, even.

He’d admired good looking men before, even checked out the ass of a few—which was totally normal—But this was.. different. There was a warm feeling in his belly at those eyes and that smile and that cleft.

And definitely that build. Buck wondered what his physique looked like underneath the flight suit.

Was it weird to think that a crying man was beautiful? Tommy couldn’t decide. Evan was definitely gorgeous—that baby face, the cute birthmark and those lips.. Tommy would go to war if those lips asked him to.

But it was the vulnerability that got him. He’d felt a little disappointed when Evan pulled away. He’d wanted to comfort him longer. Which Tommy wasn’t entirely unaware was strange given that up until seconds ago he didn’t know this man’s name.

“It’s just.. she’s all I have, ya know?” Buck told him.

“Your parents not around?”

“Oh they’re around but they- She pretty much raised me herself. She the strongest person I know. But seeing her like that today..” He blew out a breath in an attempt to keep himself together.

“It must have been scary.” Tommy offered and Buck nodded.

Buck all of a sudden felt exposed. He rubbed his face with hai hands trying to clear away the remaining emption.

“Do.. do you have to go back to work?” Buck asked.

“Actually my shift ended an hour ago.”

“Oh. Why are you still here?” Buck realised how that sounded and rushed to correct himself. “I-I mean, you can go home. If you want.”

“I actually can’t fly back to Harbor. I’ve now maxed out my flying hours for the week so I’m officially grounded.” He explained. “I have to stay here until they send another pilot to fly the helo back.”

“How long will that be?”

“Not sure. Our other pilot is on another call right now so could be 1 hour, could be several.” He said. “Besides, I wanted to check on Howie anyway. Although, I think your sister has that covered.” He chuckled.

“Yeah. That’s why I didn’t go in; wanted to give them their moment.”

“Are they dating?” Tommy asked.

“Uh, actually it was their first date that night.”

“Talk about bad luck.”

“Seems my sister is carrying on the Buckley tradition of almost dying on a first date.” Buck joked. Tommy gave him a confused look.

Buck let out a small laugh. “Last year. I, uh.. choked on a piece of bread and my date had to perform an emergency tracheotomy.”

Tommy pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and stared at Buck. “What?!”

Buck laughed again. “Yeah. I should be clear—they were a dispatcher so not a civilian, and did have medical help over the phone. But yeah, I stopped breathing for a minute.” He pulled down the neck of his hoodie to revealing the pale scar on the base of his throat.

Without even thinking about it Tommy reached up and his finger tips grazed the area. Buck felt his body temperature go up with a flush at the touch.

Tommy suddenly realised what he was doing and pulled his hand back, shifting awkwardly in his stance.

“I thought I’d had some bad dates, but I’ve never almost died.” He said trying to push whatever this feeling was he had back down.

“What was your worst?”

“Huh.” Tommy said thinking about it. “Gotta be between the guy that stole my car the morning after, or the guy that dined and dashed but didn’t tell me until the police showed up at my door the next morning.

So Tommy was into guys. Buck felt.. pleased? Relieved? ..happy? He couldn’t pinpoint the feeling.

“Did you get arrested?”

Tommy shook his head. “Thankfully, no. I knew one of the officers and they knew I wasn’t the type to do that. I still paid the bill though.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, I really love Micelli’s and wanted to be able to go back.” He laughed and Buck followed suit.

His laugh was beautiful. And that dimpled smile when he did it made Tommys mouth go dry.

The laugh died down but they continued to look at one another. Buck couldn’t pull his eyes away. Tommys eyes were just so mesmerising that he could willingly get lost in them.

They broke eye contact when Tommy’s phone rang.

“Go for Kinard.. okay great.. I’ll be there in second… bye.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Seems my ride is here and a replacement pilot.”

A flood of disappointment filled Buck that Tommy was leaving.

“Right. I mean, uh, good. I-I bet you’re looking forward to getting home.” Buck said unable suddenly to keep eye contact.

“I’m definitely looking forward to a shower.” He said with a chuckle. “But it was nice meeting you Evan.” He reached out a hand to shake. Buck took it and held on to it a second longer than was normal. He kind of didn’t want to let go.

“Uh.. you too, Tommy.”

“Tell Howie I’ll call him in a few days to check in.” He said beginning to walk away.

“I-I will.”

Tommy wanted to turn back around and.. well, he didn’t know what. He wanted to stay talking to Evan that was for sure. He was gorgeous and sweet and adorable and.. and probably straight. There was no point in deluding himself, he thought, as he pressed the elevator button.

Before Buck knew what he was doing he was running down the corridor to the elevator.

“Wait!” He called out and Tommy turned around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Uh.. I-I.. I was wondering if, uh.. if you would like to.. to go to.. dinner. With me. Some.. sometime.” Buck let out a relieving breath.

Tommy looked at him for a moment and tilted his head. It made Buck feel weird—like he was naked and exposed.

“Evan, are you asking me out on a date?” Tommy asked, trying his damndest not to give away the excitement he was feeling.

Buck, however, realised what he had done. He’d just run towards Tommy not really thinking about what he was going to say, and oh..

Oh.

It suddenly hit him. The warmth in his belly, the little pin pricks of nerves he was feeling when talking to Tommy, and the definite swooping in his belly when Tommy was looking at him.. he liked Tommy.

“Yeah, I.. I guess so.” He smiled shyly. “But-but if you don’t, uh.. if you don’t want to that’s-“

Tommy stepped forward, tilted Bucks head up by the chin and kissed him.

Buck thought his bones had disappeared. It took all of his strength to not melt into a puddle on the floor at the feel of Tommys soft and warm lips. He pushed back into the kiss for a second before Tommy pulled away.

“Was that okay?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper and looking at Buck with those eyes. Buck was simply fucking mesmerised and all he could do was nod.

Again, Buck moved before his brain could compute what was happened and he shoved his lips back onto Tommy’s. Tommy responded with unexpected hum and a lash of flames soared up through Buck at the sound.

His arm immediately wrapped around Tommys neck to draw him in as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Tommy didn’t have any brain cells left to resist and wrapped his arms around Bucks waist and opened his mouth to let Bucks tongue in and holy mother of god it was exquisite!

His perfectly plump lips were softer than he could have imagined and moved so wonderfully against his own, with perfect pressure and a delicacy Tommy hadn’t experienced in a kiss before.

A voice echoing out of the hospital tannoy brought Tommy back to his senses and he gently ended the kiss.

“We should probably stop.” He spoke; his voice hoarse and thick with desire. He desperately wanted to kiss Evan again but they weren’t exactly in the best place for that.

He placed a gentle kiss to Buck cheek before stepping back.

Bucks chest was filled with a number of different feelings. Pleasure, excitement, confusion. And a feeling of contentment he hadn’t anticipated. As though a piece of him had slid in to place that he hadn’t realised was missing.

Buck couldn’t take his eyes off Tommys swollen, pinked up lips.

“I really have to go.” Tommy said reluctantly. “Hand me your phone.” Buck unlocked it and passed it over. Tommy put in his phone number before giving it back and pressing the elevator button. The doors immediately opened and he stepped inside, turning to face Buck.

“Text me when and where and I’ll be there.” He said with a smile.

“I-I will.” Buck replied, his own throat struggling to make sound.

“Bye, Evan.” The doors began to use shut.

“Bye.”

Buck was in a total love struck daze as he walked back to Chimneys room.

“Earth to Buck!”

“Huh? What?” His brain finally came back online to see Maddie in her wheelchair in the doorway to Chim’s room.

“I said what’s got you smiling like that?” She asked.

An embarrassed flush tried to take him over by he coughed and pushed it away.

“I’m, uh.. I’m just happy you’re okay. Both of you.” He smiled and followed her back into the room.

**********

[revelboo]

skywarp and/or Blitzwing nsfw/link headcanons... Augh please I love your writings sm, you've always feed us w Starscream and Thundercracker content 😔😔😔💞💞💞

Very, very late. Went with TFA Blitz. 18+ mass displaced mech 🌶️

Hello Helicopter

TFA Blitzwing x Reader

• Cackling as exhilaration spins him tight, he wants, needs, to celebrate. One less pesky Autobot. The peskiest of them. No more Optimus. Singing to himself as he darts about over the city looking for a reward, a toy. Something to break. And finds one of the tiny organics carrying a bag to put in a bin at the curb. You’ll do. Landing hard enough to knock the human down he grins. “Want to play?”

• Breath catching in your lungs, your mouth falls open as you stare up at the giant monster. When it bends to reach for you, that breaks through the shock. Choking on a scream, you scramble to your feet and run out into the street. Hearing it laughing as you sprint like your life depends on it, heart hammering. “Run, little mouse!” And then it’s right after you, heavy peds thudding on the asphalt. Can see lights coming on in the houses along the street from the noise. Someone will see and help you. They have to.

• Delighted with how easy you are to spook, he lunges and his servos connect with your hip, sending you tumbling to the ground. Crouching, he pins you flat under his servos. Frame shuddering as his personalities momentarily come into conflict over what to do. Squash you like a bug? Dissect you? Play with you? Yes, play. Picking you up, he goes airborne again and hears you scream, looking for a quiet place away from the city. He should get a reward for destroying the Autobot. Finding a field, he lands and bends to drop you. Watching you gasp and run from him as he mass displaces and chases after again.

• A hand seizes the back of your shirt and you yelp as your feet leave the ground. Finding yourself hitting the ground on your back as the monster looms over you, all sharp denta as he grins, a hand splayed on you to keep you still. “Caught you,” he sings, bending forward to drag his glossa against the side of your neck. Gasping, you twist your head away and try to shove him. And the hand lifts. Frantic, you roll onto your belly and scramble to get away. Only to have him seize your ankle and drag you back. Big frame caging yours as his wet glossa slides behind your ear. “Caught you,” he insists, those pointed denta too close to your face. Is he playing with you like a cat with a mouse?

• Lifting his hand, he waits for you to run again so he can knock you down. “What do you want?” You ask and the question surprises him. He wants to play. To destroy. To kill? You cringe back from him, eyes wide as his personalities argue and swap, trying to come to a consensus. You lunge to get out from under him and he pins you again, excitement flickering through him to mix with the confusion about what he wants. Doesn’t even realize he’s released his spike until his servos curl loosely around your little neck and he nearly releases.

• Heart racing as his face swaps over and over, the monster shifts against you and your terror shifts to a mortification when you feel his spike bump against you. Big and scary is apparently horny. Then again, if your option is to be eaten or fucked, you know exactly which one you prefer. He’s shuddering over you, denta bared almost like he’s in pain as his face keeps changing. That hand is still against your throat, but he’s just pinning you as he shakes faintly, not hurting you. Reaching up your own trembling hands, you touch his face and it stops blurring between the three. The face that’s staring down at you is calmer, more alert. Freezing as you cup his cheek. Then blurring again, denta bared.

• Weak, inferior organic. With soft, gentle hands. Warm under him. Not afraid anymore, no fun. Still needing to play. A reward. His toy. Lifting his head away from that touch, because it makes his processor more chaotic even as it calms him. Avoiding those frightened eyes, he tries to figure out your coverings, his big servos too clumsy for little things. Venting uncertainly as you help him, removing them yourself. “Run,” he demands, lifting his hands from you. Frame going taut as you roll onto your hands and knees. Swapping personalities again when he immediately pounces on you. “Mouse!”

• Big warm hands on your hips, dragging you back and flipping you. But something had shifted when you’d cupped his face, for a second his expression was almost frightened. But now he’s all sharp denta and crazy optics again as your hips are lifted and his head ducks. That long glossa sliding against your inner thigh and over you in a wet slide. Leaves and sticks tangling in your hair as you arch in his grip. Those awful denta are way too close to you, but it’s hard to be afraid when he drives his glossa inside you, stroking deep until you’re whimpering as he explores you.

• Those little noises string him tight, prey sounds that make him want to bite as he savors the taste of you. Glossa sliding over you and along your hip. Feeling you shiver at his touch, before he flips you onto your belly. Hands tugging your hips up as he shifts behind you, guiding himself to you. “My toy now,” he growls, hips driving forward. The wet heat of you wrapped around his spike sending him into chaos all over again. Personalities fighting as he ruts against you, and you keep making those lovely sounds of need that confuse his instincts even more.

• Gasping as he moves against you, that big spike stretching you as he thrusts frantically, slows for a handful of deep drives, then ruts against you hard and fast. Growling and talking to himself the entire time he claims you. Arguing with himself it sounds like as his servos flex against your hips. And despite yourself, it feels good. Body heating and responding as he bows over you, glossa sliding over the back of your shoulder and neck. Moving back against him, you chase your own high. Those denta grip your shoulder as he starts driving hard and fast again, tipping you over the edge, lingering fear and need tangling in you. Biting enough to sting as he ruts against you and his massive frame shudders, feeling him release inside you.

Next

[castielsprostate]

having evil thoughts and thinking about eddie dying instead of venom. venom somehow getting ripped from eddie during woodchipper fight, flung underneath a helicopter door surrounded by fire where he can't escape from. somehow eddie makes it to the acid, mr soldier blows everything up and venom can't do anything but watch. helplessly they try to lift the door but it's too heavy and it's getting too hot and the fire is everywhere. and this time it's permanent. eddie is dead and venom can't fix him, can't get to him in time.

he manages to barely get away in a cockroach, skittering to new york, vengeance and revenge overtaking every single part of them as he takes in the statue of liberty. he leaves his host, thinking, we'll see each other soon eddie, as they let themselves die- and then he gets snatched up by a piece of webbing

[nocternalrandomness]

USMC Super Stallion in action

[ghostwarriorrrr]

Sikorsky MH-60M Black Hawk (S-70A) - USA - Army

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Reality just keeps crashing down around you with the repercussions of your pregnancy. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One || Two

“Max? Max, where are we going?” Max looked away as he walked by your side, his hand never leaving yours. “Max, no, no…”

The sounds of the ward forced pressure to crush down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. One room cracked open as a nurse left with white gloves stained red, and the wails of pain leaked into the hall. The heaviness in your head lifted enough to crane your neck to see the walls decorated with teddies with pink and blue bows and posters on breastfeeding. 

The cries of newborns came and went with the rooms that you passed and your brother looked at you with pity in his eyes. 

“I shouldn't be here,” you whispered as your gurney was pivoted into a private room and the orderly left. A tense silence filled the room while you waited for the doctors to come. “I shouldn't be here, Max.”

“You’re having a baby, zusje.”

Panic spiked and you looked down at your body in confusion and fear, your voice screeching, “Now?”

“No!” he rushed to answer before his tone softened and he took a seat beside you. “Not right now.  Look, we should wait until Charles and Lando get here.”

“No, no, I need to get out of here. This is a mistake.” You were quicker this time and tore the IV line from your hands before anyone could stop you. Getting out of the room was another problem, you felt like bambi on ice and could barely keep your weak legs straight as you stumbled to the exit. 

“Get back on the fucking bed,” Max growled as he blocked the door. “You may not believe it, but it’s not just you that you’re risking because you’re being stubborn.”

Your hand reached for the soft skin of your abdomen before you forced it to your side again in a fist. “Do they know? Is that why they aren’t here?” 

“What are you talking about? Can you just get in the bed!”

“No, Jos left after mum got pregnant. Daniil and Kelly broke up after having P,” your voice broke as you dropped your head and sweat dripped down your neck. “Babies change things, is that why they left me?”

“Oh, zusje, no.” Max closed the space and pulled you into his arms. “They haven’t left you, I told you they are on their way. Charles was by your side the whole time and they wanted to come in the helicopter but they couldn’t. Don’t you remember?”

You shook your head against his chest, unable to see that the door had opened behind him. 

“Those two love you, and they aren’t leaving you.” Max looked over his shoulder and stepped away so Lando and Charles could calm you down in a way only they had the power to do.

“You must be crazy to think we would ever leave you, baby.” He took your hand and paled at the sight of the blood seeping from where the IV was. 

“What have you done, amour?” Charles sighed and shook his head. “Get her back in the bed, she’s still too warm. I’ll go find a doctor.”

“Sorry, she freaked out at the news.”

“We should have been here with her,” he said wistfully as he watched Lando carefully lay you back on the cooling pad and wrap the chilled blankets around you. 

“You should have worn a fucking condom.” Knowing his temperament was unstable, Max nodded his head to the bed and excused himself. “You stay here, I’ll find the doctor.”

For the second time in less than 12 months you were staring at a contract that was null and void. It was hard not to resent the little bean growing inside of you at the turn of events but it wasn’t her fault that you had a moment of stupidity when you were drunk. No one publicly knew the full extent of your condition outside of the handful of people who had signed NDA’s. You still didn’t quite understand it. Obviously, you did, but some part of your brain still refused to accept it. 

You hadn’t been able to say anything after the doctors told you everything that had come to light while you were unconscious. You had just curled up on the temperature controlled bed and fallen into a state of disassociation. It had taken almost two days for your body to regulate its own temperature again and you were almost ready to be cleared to be discharged. 

You had undergone test after test to make sure the baby was healthy and a small knot in your stomach unclenched when they said everything came back as normal. You picked up the picture of the sonogram again, searching the image for a connection that would make it real. But all you saw were ten fingers, ten toes and a big head. Charles joked Lando was definitely the father. Max kicked a chair and walked out.

“Shouldn’t I feel…something?” you asked quietly, your voice hoarse from the lack of use. 

Lando shared a look with Charles before climbing onto the bed behind you and curling his body around the shape of yours. He kissed your shoulder and his fingers brushed your shirt up so he could rest his hand over your abdomen. 

“There’s not even a bump,” you whispered. 

“I know you’re scared, baby, but it’s going to be okay,” Lando promised. “Charles and I will be by your side the entire time.”

You tucked the picture back under your pillow and closed your eyes. The toll the race took on you was still draining your energy quickly between the many naps you had taken. “I want to go home.”

“I’ll go find Max,” Charles said, knowing no matter how angry he might be he wasn’t going to abandon you.

You didn’t open your eyes as you shook your head. “No, not Monaco. I want to go home.”

The warmth being you disappeared as Lando rose from the bed and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call your mum.”

“I’ll book the flights.”

“And I’ll go to sleep.”

Your replacement had been confirmed before you even reached Doha Airport. It felt like the universe was kicking you while you were already down but someone had to be ready to drive in Austin, and Fernando certainly had the experience. Plus, he couldn’t get pregnant and fuck up the team’s plans for the season. 

Lawrence had tried to fire Kristian for not including pregnancy tests with the rest of your regime, but since he was employed directly by you the most the bastard could do was ban him from the Aston Martin hospitality areas. Kristian had apologised and sent flowers to the hospital, feeling guilty for not realising what was going on and for pushing you so hard. At least now you knew why no amount of training was helping you lose weight, it was only going to get worse in the coming months. 

“They’re all looking at me,” you huffed as you buried your hands in the hoodie you stole off Lando. “They know.” You had only just stepped out of the car at the terminal and you could feel the eyes in you. 

“No they don’t. No one knows, mon amour, and no one will until you’re ready.”

“Fuck, reporters are here,” Lando growled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and tucking you into his side protectively as the security detail surrounded all three of you. “You don’t have to stop or say anything, baby, just keep your head down.”

Questions were shouted through the wall of black suits that blocked you, their accusations and taunts trying to goad you into talking to them. You were accustomed to the barrage but your exhaustion and the somewhat turbulent emotional state had your teeth gritted.

“Mr Stroll, the senior, has stated Alonso’s return will be positive for the team and he is expecting a much stronger finish to the season with a man in the seat. What are your thoughts on that?”

“Mr Stroll has been wanting a man to drive for him all season, I am glad he’s finally found one. Maybe he can replace Lance next and have it as a two man team.”

“Ma chérie,” Charles warned quietly.

“As for my thoughts, well Fernando can have them and my prayers when he realises what a shit box the car has become. I wish him all the best.”

You hadn’t realised you had pulled out of Lando’s embrace and were heading towards the reporters who were swarming with all the wild enthusiasm of a shark smelling blood. Suddenly the space between the security guards was blocked and it was Charles who curled an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the special entrance to the departure lounge. 

“Take a breath,” he murmured in your ear.

The rush of blood made it almost impossible to hear him and you realised how worked up you had gotten over the question. They made you want to rip your hair out. All that repeated in your head was the final question that had been shouted while you were led away. Twice you had your contracts voided, two teams, which meant you were the common denominator. Were you the problem in the sport or women in general?

“Congratulations. You just ruined any chances of another female getting to the same level. I always said women are too messy for this sport, too emotional.” You hated that you could still hear Jos snickering in your head and Charles wiped your cheek, his fingers coming away wet.

“It’s not fair,” you choked as you buried your face in his chest. “All I wanted to do was race, ever since I was a kid, Charles. I don’t know who I am without it.” 

“I know it isn’t fair, amour, and I’m sorry,” he said softly as he wiped your tears away. “But this isn’t the end, you can still come back. You are a World Champion, that doesn’t change because you had a baby.”

You laughed before sobering up. “Oh wait, you’re serious…”

“Of course I am, and I know you. Stubborn, strong, stubborn,” he smirked. “You thrive on doing what people say you can’t do, on what you think you can’t do. It’s why I fell in love with you, the day you beat me for the Monaco Kart Cup.”

You did love to prove people wrong, so maybe there was a chance - however small - for a return in the future. Whether someone would be willing to take a risk giving you a seat again would be a problem for another day, or year.

“I’m surprised you noticed me,” you admitted as you started to relax again in the empty hall that bypassed the busier areas of the airport. “I didn’t think you could see anything through that Beiber hair you had going on.”

“I saw enough to know you held my heart, and my trophy.”

Lando draped his arm over Charles’ shoulders and pinched his cheek. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“Everyone,” you smirked at Lando, “because he’s french.”

You laughed as Charles gasped as wriggled out from between you, pacing ahead on his own. “You know I am Monegasque.”

“You are?” Lando played dumb, scratching his head at the regular joke. “When were you going to tell us?”

A frustrated groan echoed down the hall and you giggled along with Lando before catching up.

“Someone should probably explain that to Arthur, he still thinks he’s french.”

Click here for the next part.

[enriquemzn262]

The might of American logistics in one picture:

A KC-130 Hercules tactical tanker refuels a CH-53K King Stallion heavy lift helicopter carrying an F-35C Lighting II 5th generation VTOL stealth fighter jet.

[thechaoticcheese]

Cause I'm hacking up half a lung, have some head cannons on some COD folk and workouts-

Ghost

He loves lifting weights. Can't get enough of it. If he's working out, he's using every damn weight lifting machine available. He seems to dread cardio. Always having this look of tearing apart the treadmill or digging up the track, but he does it begrudgingly. He's silent about his distaste, knowing he has to keep fit for his position. Will silently complain and curse under his breath when no one is around.

Soap

Like Ghost, fucking loves the weights. You can often find the two spotting each other in the gym or workout room on base. However, Soap needs to be DRAGGED to participate in cardio. He doesn't care if he needs to stay in shape. He complains the entire time and everyone has started to just mute his voice out. He's gotten louder about complaining.

Gaz

He says that he doesn't have a preference, but he does enjoy running more. The only thing he enjoys more than running? Swimming. Though he won't tell you that, especially since some places don't have a pool. He'll go with the training, but he doesn't push himself as much on the weights as others and he's ok with that. As long as he can hang with his buds, he's happy.

Price

He fucking loves to run. He partly relieves stress whenever he runs, but if he can't, he smokes, bad combo I know and so does he, but he doesn't care. It hurts his lungs after a good run, but he could care less. Weights are definitely not his favorite, but he needs to keep up with his men, and Nikolai. You can sometimes hear him cursing under his breath and giving himself soft encouragement whenever he does set.

Price and Gaz love jogging together. Gaz never pokes fun at him until after the two are done, they usually just talk casually here and there.

Nikolai

Does not at all have a favorite. He loves working his body at any moment, but it's nothing ever heavy. It's the repetitive motions that give him enjoyment and often makes him remember working on some sort of stubborn piece of his helicopter. What's worse is that he's always just been kinda strong. He never really has to do anything to keep his body the way it is due to his job. Though he does really like working out with Price, even if it is just to see how red in the face his favorite Brit can get.

Laswell

Cardio. Nothing else. Or at least that's what she'd like to do. Since being entangled in 141, the guys have gotten her to start lifting, even just a little. They're not surprised that she does have muscle, but she hates weight lifting. She scowls the whole way through it, only for it to be worth it when her wife compliments how hard Laswell's been working on her form at home.

Graves

Fucking loves it. Cardio, weights, stretching. All. Of. It. He's that fit person in the group that is genuine in offering workout advice, but accidentally ends up pissing people off due to it. He's always at his A game with exercise and will always help people out.

Shepherd

No. Look at him. What exercise? He likes sitting in hot tubs after a 5 minute walk.

Alejandro

Loves to run as well. He is always striving to do better and swears one day he could beat Usain Bolt in a race. He cannot. He does have real good athleticism, but it just won't happen. He also likes weights. He just likes pushing his body, the slight pain from it afterwards always makes him excited for the next workout. Rudy often has to keep tabs on Ale to make sure he's not over doing it.

Rodolfo

Rudy is meh about exercise. He does it to stay fit and in Los Vaqueros. That and for Ale. Mainly because he finds the dude hot whenever he's pushing himself, baring his teeth as he tries to beat his previous record, but to also make sure he's not over doing it. Rudy lies and says he likes exercise, but only insists on doing it with Ale for the previous reasons.

Roach

Is dragged to it every time. No matter what. He does like it once he gets started, it's the getting started part that's hard. The idea of exercise sounds more taxing than it is, but always feels better afterwards.

[morphids]

Enmies to lovers hange zoe

Pls🤗🤗

the worst neighbour, hange zoë

i love enemies to lovers, it’s probably my fave trope of all time—ty anon <3

nonbinary, they/them hange.

summary: hange moves in next door and ruins your peace, until a storm forces you together.

warnings: not many so idk storms?? very sfw—a bit silly and fluffy really, minus some suggestive themes throughout, and a heavy makeout sesh at the end. poc friendly!! weed smoking- stoner!hange. r has autism but its not an integral part of the story. hange is also a lil mentally unwell.

wc: 5.7k of pure yap, enjoy.

—

When you first moved into your own place, away from the helicopters that are your stringent and unpleasant parents, you were so relieved that you could've levitated. Thinking you'd finally have a safe haven of your own. To decorate, eat, dress and generally live life on your own terms. Bills be damned! It was that - for maybe a few weeks? Until you spotted the 'For Sale' sign on the lawn of the semi-detached connected to your own. When exactly did that get put up?

Internally groaning, you already were catastrophizing— what if it's a family with five kids and two twin newborns? What if they're a crazy dog person and the dogs bark every hour and set each other off? What if it's a group of college kids who party every night?

So imagine your relief when you see a single van pull up, and only one, very tall individual lifting boxes into the building attached to yours. Quite an attractive person, at that. Hair messily pulled back, glasses framing their face, clad in a tank top underneath an oversized blazer and some loose pants. You had been stalking observing the new arrival through the gaps in your blinds. Praying that your silhouette wasn't spotted from the outside. I mean, look.. we all have to be wary of our surroundings, right? Lest there be a creep move in next door and you're none the wiser.

A few hours later, the big van outside had already left its spot on the side. There was a knock at your front door, revealing the very hot neighbour on the other side, holding a plate of some homemade stew.

You made your introductions, Hange was incredibly friendly, you couldn't deny, a wide smile stretched on their lips as they almost pushed the stew into your hands, saying, "I read that this is a good way to greet new neighbours!" It was a short, courteous greeting. You both returned to your homes soon after. You wanted to kiss the stars that you got so lucky with a pleasant hot neighbour. The stew ended up being delicious, by the way, saving you the effort of cooking your own dinner for the night.

That relief very quickly dissipated once you realised just how loud Hange was. It drove you insane. If you were maybe four years younger, you probably wouldn't have minded so much, but as a working adult with a regular 9-5, you found yourself seething at how incredibly absurd it was. You had no idea what Hange did, mind you, and you cursed the architect's firstborn for connecting your bedroom wall to Hange's. It was as if you lived next door to a busy night cafe, the buzzing whir of what you'd assumed was a stupidly designed, industrial-sized coffee machine. Grounding coffee beans together, followed by bangs of metal against the counter as they'd dumped the old ones into the trash. The walls were so unbelievably thin you could almost feel their exact movements. Every night. At three in the damn morning. Who drinks coffee that late?

The whirring seemed to vibrate through the entire structure of the house, reverberating through the walls as you laid your head against your pillow. You had taken to banging against the wall as revenge once, not so nicely letting them know they were keeping you up. Crashing out by yourself in the solitude of your bedroom. If there had been cameras installed you would've looked so unhinged and probably been sectioned to a ward to live out the rest of your days. A part of you was so aggravated that being sectioned felt like it would be a gentle kindness. You tried getting ear plugs—didn't help. The noise-cancelling headphones that you used when you were experiencing sensory overload? Nope, didn't help, it was like it was in between the walls vibrating your floor, even if you couldn't hear most of it, you still felt it.

After a few nights of not so passive-aggressive banging against the wall, Hange seemed to get the hint. Well, that and perhaps also the way you glared at them when you made your way back into your house after your shift. You weren't the greatest at verbal confrontation, you'd probably rather die than actually go and confront them in person. So, the nastiest glare you could muster was enough. Hange had been mowing their lawn, white tank top tight against their well-sculpted torso as their built arms glided the lawnmower over the grass. Lifting their hand up to wave at you as you ignored their advance for a conversation, scoffing as you quickly entered your house. At least they weren't cutting grass at night, too.

Not to mention the smell of weed that travelled through the walls, almost thickening the air with a haze. Look, you didn't care what people did in their spare time, wasn't like you were gonna call the cops over a joint but... Hange had already pissed you off so much, to the point where this was just a rotting cherry on top of your least favourite cake. It clung to your clothes, for god's sake! You wouldn't have even noticed if it wasn't for one of your coworkers cheerily asking you if you were holding any because they hadn't smoked in a while, creating a very awkward, "I.. don't smoke?" on your part and an even more awkward realisation from your shocked co-worker. Embarrassed that they had accidentally outed themselves to someone who could potentially report them to the bosses. You would never, but they didn't know that.

That night, you got home and washed all your laundry, deciding to keep them in a different room where the smoke remnants didn't reach, not wanting to go through a similar situation with someone else another time.

Did I mention that they were apparently a guitar player, too? It's just hit after hit. Strumming strings late into the night and you wondered how someone could have so much nocturnal energy. They weren't unskilled, in all honesty, they were just incredibly annoying.

Fortunately, the coffee machine incidents had ceased. The relief returned as you settled yourself for the first good night's sleep in three weeks, finally feeling well-rested the next morning as you got ready for work. You should've known it wouldn't last long, though. How naive of you to think your neighbour would become reasonable overnight. This time, at around midnight, you heard drilling and the subsequent falling of wood against the floor. Perhaps Hange was doing it out of spite, unpleased with your glares every afternoon. You hadn't exactly been the nicest, but it wasn't like it was unjustified. This had been building up for almost a whole month, you had grown sleep-deprived and irritable, disgustingly moody.

Huffing to yourself, you lifted your body up off the seducing comfort of your bed. Throwing on a jumper that had been left discarded on the chair, and some slides. Mentally amping yourself for what you were about to do, trying to script how you were going to politely yell at them and burst all your inner feelings about their inconsideration.

You rapped a fist at their front door, noticing how the lights were on in each room through the window. There was silence at first, then you spotted the silhouette coming closer to the door. Revealing Hange, with a dark green woollen cardigan hanging off their slender shoulders, grey sweatpants that didn't quite cover their toned midriff. Hange puffed on a joint, leaning their weight against the doorframe.

"Wha-"

“I swear to god, if you make more noise at night, ‘m gonna set your house on fire.”

Well, you hadn't quite scripted that particular sentence. Apparently, arson had been on your mind! Great, now you look insane and actively threatened your neighbour!

Hange's eyes widened, shock falling over their features as their mouth opened and closed.

"But...wouldn't that burn yours, too?" They half joked, half didn't. At your lack of response, and clearly unimpressed face, Hange sighed, continuing.

"Alright, I'm sorry, but you don't need to be such a bitch about it," They brought the joint to their plump lips again, trapped between their ringed thumb and index finger, huffing on it before blowing it out, directly in your face. You would've kept staring at Hange's nice hands as they gracefully held the joint, if you hadn't just been disrespected by the amount of smoke that invaded your nose, and been called a bitch added on top of that. You were stunned into silence  for a solid moment before your anger reignited, scoffing at their audacity.

"Are you serious?"

"It's not been that bad..."

"Again—are you serious?!"

Hange didn't answer, looking at you blankly, which doubly pissed you off even more.

"You've kept me awake for the past month! Are you aware that people need sleep or d'you just not care?"

Hange ignored the pangs of guilt, although not really wanting to explain their inner workings to a pretty stranger. Initially, Hange thought there'd be a good friendship built upon that first meeting, it'd been cordial— thinking you were a cute, inviting person, even thought they lucked out with a pretty neighbour right next door. Unfortunately, Hange quickly realised you both definitely weren't on the same page as they felt the wrath of your glares every afternoon. Maybe they were more oblivious than they thought.

Hange didn't truly realise the walls were so thin and you heard everything, honestly they thought your banging on the wall had been… something else entirely. In hindsight, they now felt a bit silly with the realisation that it was a painfully obvious noise complaint—but it's not like they didn't have their reasons.

"Relax, man," Hange sighed, lifting themself off the doorframe and reached their arm out to offer you some joint, "You need some of this,"

Unbelievable, you gaped. Honestly, if you had to sit on a court stand to explain what happened next, you'd say you blacked out. Before you could even stop yourself, you plucked the lit joint from their fingers and let it fall down on the floor, making sure to aim for the small pool of water collected on the pavement from the rainfall earlier that day. Situation was made worse by the small hiss as the water murdered the flame, effectively soaking and ruining the entire zoot. You would've felt bad, realising they must've only sparked it a short while ago, as there was a considerable amount left— but if this was your one crime against a plethora of theirs, then so be it.

"Was there any need—"

"You're a dick, you know that?"

"I'm a dick? That was a peace offering 'n you thre-"

"Fuck your peace offering, keeping it down is the best gift you could ever give me."

Hange’s brows tilted up in mild amusement, blended with a healthy amount of irritation. That was the remainder of their stash, the very last zoot that they had saved until all their tasks were done, and no dealer would be active this time of night.

Hange studied you for a moment, your arms crossed and viscerally annoyed— your lips curved to the side as you blew out a single strand of hair away from your face that kept falling into your eyes. Undoubtedly, adding to your frustration. Still cute, they thought, even though you did just absolutely desecrate their last zoot. Hange paralleled your body language, folding their own arms up to match yours.

Now, Hange definitely knew better than to say something like this, knew this had a 99% chance of making the situation worse. Yet, could they help it? Evidently not. Words slipping from their lips before they could withhold it.

"Yes, mama."

Silence.

At their words, Hange's amusement grew as the hardness in your face fell. You seemed to be going through all the different stages of grief. Trying to mask the evident flustering that overtook your features, caught off guard by the sudden switch up of energy that hung in the vacant space between you. Hange would've regretted it, would've expected you to curse them out even more— deserved it, even, had it not been for the softening of your voice and the confusion glazing over your eyes. They could've sworn there was something else lurking in there, something subtly dangerous.

"I-I, you—"

"Won't do it again, dear," Hange muttered, ceasing, "You have my word,"

Hange seemed to have a proclivity for stressing you out, it seems. A crooked smile etched on the corner of their lips as they watched you, deep, brown eyes boring into yours— almost challenging.

"Right—well, I'm...gonna go home now,"

"Alright, then."

Stepping down from their front porch, you let out the breath trapped in your ribs. You had been geared up for a confrontation, not that. What the hell even was that? Hange's voice broke out from within the silence again, in almost a mockery of friendly neighbourhood conduct.

“Always lovely seeing you,”

—

From that point, the noise had considerably decreased. You were thankful that at least something positive came from that conversation. Though, it didn't exactly simmer the annoyance lingering in your heart for Hange. You thought they were an incredibly inconsiderate asshole. Yes, they may have stopped the noise, but you couldn't simply forgive and forget the way they spoke to you. Arrogant and disrespectful. Not to mention the cocky way they ended the conversation, you hated that you had faltered at their words. Cursing yourself for your lack of a quick response and staring at them dumbly. The grudge had remained, no hatchet buried. Even if they did look like that.

You were currently all wrapped up in your fuzzy blanket, burrito style as you layered up on fabrics. The weather had been harsher than most this winter—we have the rich and wealthy to thank for shitting all over the planet and ruining the climate. Winds had been howling, trees shaking trying to stand firm against its force as you threw on the local news on your television.

You managed to catch the late part of an announcement.

"—severe weather warning, as dangerous winds from the storm expected to strike around the area. It is advised that people stay inside their homes, charge their devices and stock up on canned food. Single-person households are heavily advised to house together during this time, to account for any potential casualties—"

The television cut out with a soft click, as the lights and electricals in your house switched off simultaneously, leaving you in total darkness. If there was ever any way to freak someone out, this would definitely do it. You gaped through your window at the heavily falling rain as it splattered against the glass. Shit.

Sighing, you blindly made your way to the drawers in your kitchen. You were a bit of a candle enthusiast, so at least you had some way of illumination. Lighting the wick with some matches, you filled the darkness with a candle in each corner. It was a bit of a haunting vibe, but you could manage for the night. What was worrying you more, was the way your phone was almost out of charge. You thought of a lot of things for times like these, yet a portable charger always seemed to evade you. It was one of those, i'll buy one next time, except next time never came.

Your thoughts went to Hange, you were both considered single-person households. Perhaps, it would be safer to band together. Maybe they have a portable on hand. Battling yourself, you considered the consequences of making your way over to Hange's, asking if they had any charge to spare. Would that be embarrassing? Technically, it's for safety, humans have an evolutionary tendency to stay together in times of crisis— it's the smart thing to do. Yet, you couldn't bite back the pain of succumbing first, they might use it against you. You made your peace with the fact that if life was a survival of the fittest, you likely wouldn't make it very far.

A decision seemed to be conveniently made for you, though, as a quick repetition of knocks blasted on your door. More eagerly than you'd like to admit, you stood and answered.

Hange was stood shivering, totally drenched in the five seconds that it took to travel from their door to yours, the rain had clearly won the fight. Glasses splashed with raindrops. Their slackened hair was sticking on their forehead and cheeks, no doubt lost the fight against the wind, too.

"You can say no, but can I borrow a blanket? Turns out houses get cold with no central heating,"

You bit back a chuckle, they were just now realising that?

Hange was stood pathetically at your door, the contrast of their drenched figure against your completely dry one, was almost funny. The expression plastered over their face wasn't, though, dark eyes held a seriousness you hadn't seen in them before. Almost fearful.

"I have a few you can take."

"Thank you,"

Hange took the cue to enter your space, feeling a sense of safety with the candles brightening up the room. Grabbing some from a pile on the arm of your couch, you handed them over. Hange gratefully taking them from your grasp as they made excruciatingly slow steps towards the door. They didn't want to go back into a dark house, embarrassingly unprepared for a situation like this, they hadn't anticipated buying some candles— heck, not even one blanket.

Noticing how slowly they were walking, you spoke,

"You could dry yourself off here? Maybe get warm again before you leave?"

A look of hope flashed across Hange's eyes, as you continued, trying to blurt the invitation out into the air as quickly as you could.

"The government says that.. single occupant households should stay together—so it's the smarter choice, anyway, really."

"Well.. if the government says so, right?"

"Right! Who are we to disagree..." You say this like you ever believed the government. No one needs to know the truth, definitely not Hange. It's not that you particularly fearful of storms, but the announcement had spooked you.

There was something intuitively nipping at your gut, that there was more to Hange coming over in such a panic for just a blanket. You didn't press it.

Snuggling into the plush fabric of your couch, right in the comfortable corner, you motioned your head to indicate that Hange could also take a seat. Seeing the awkward, stiff way they were stood against the wall in your living room, even made you feel uncomfortable.

Thunder cracked in the atmosphere, booming outside as the sky lit up briefly. You didn't miss the way Hange's shoulders jerked up before they hurriedly made their way to sit down, placing a fair distance between your bodies. As one would with someone they had an altercation with only a few weeks before.

"You alright?" You couldn't help but ask, feeling like an energy absorbing rock with how obviously uncomfortable Hange was. They grabbed the pillow they had sat on and nuzzled it between their legs, wrapping their arms around the soft fabric, fiddling their fingers around the cotton tag.

"Yup.."

Heavy silence filled the air amidst the thunder and rain, the wind filling the gaps in between.

Droplets of water dripped from Hange's loose strands of hair, splashing on the pillow, leaving wet blobs seeping into the dry.

"I'll get you some dry clothes,"

"You don't have t—"

"No arguing, I'm not letting someone get hypothermia in my house."

Hange nodded, their attention back to the tag in their hands.

You quickly came back from your room with a change of clothes. Hange being slightly taller than you, you weren't sure what was best for them, or what they'd feel comfortable in. Opting for a long pair of loose shorts you usually wore for working out, and an oversized tee with a faded Hello Kitty print in the middle.

"Here, I'll leave you to get changed."

"Wait!" There was that panic again, "Could you, uh, maybe, stay? You can just turn around or something.." Their voice lowering into a whisper as they muttered the last part.

Slightly odd, you thought, but you silently nodded and turned yourself around to give Hange some privacy. Only facing them again once they gave you a 'Okay, I'm done,"

"They alright for you?"

"Yeah—thank you, they're perfect,"

Nodding again, you placed yourself back on the couch, where Hange was already comfortably placed, legs crossed with a blanket thrown over. They looked pretty cute with your Hello Kitty shirt on, cozied in your living room, perhaps it was the warm flickers of candlelight on their skin.

The air was a little awkward, neither of you quite knowing how to interact with each other. Hange was antsy, shaking their leg beside you, causing the couch to slightly rock with their movements. They seemed to catch themself doing it and ceased the movements, glancing up at you to check if they had annoyed you with the rocking. They hadn’t.

"You've been really kind to me," they muttered, "Thanks,"

"Crazy what a good night's sleep does to someone's psyche," You joked, trying to lighten the mood, hoping it came across the way you intended.

Hange cringed at your words, face twisting, "I am sorry about that, I really didn't think the walls were that thin,"

You chuckled, looking down and plucking the balls of fluff that wear and tear does to a blanket, "It's alright, I appreciate that you stopped."

"Just a little confused why you came here, though, when you dislike me so much," Thinking about the way they called you a bitch, at the ease with which it escaped their tongue, perhaps you were acting like one and it was deserved, but you couldn't deny that it struck a nerve. Hange gulped, looking down at the wooden flooring, raising a hand to scratch at the nape of their neck.

"I don't dislike you," They answered,

"You called me a bitch." You stated, straight-forwardly, wanting to clear the air and actually communicate like an adult should, instead of running from confrontation like you usually do.

"I did, and I'm sorry for that, too." Hange didn't meet your eyes, sighing, "You were right about the noise, calling you that was uncalled for."

"Thank you," You let out a breath, a weight lifting from your shoulders, "I'm sorry about your throwing your zoot in the water,"

Hange laughed, rubbing their face at the memory, "I get it, I'd probably have done the same, so, y'know."

"So we good?"

"Yeah," Hange chuckled, "We're good."

Hange reached into the wet pocket of their damp jacket, left in a pile on the floor, feeling around for something.

"It might be too soon—I don't wanna ruin your hospitality and you can say no, but can I light up? I-it helps me calm down,"

You did consider saying no, perhaps in any other circumstance you probably would've. If Hange hadn't been so visibly on edge, their shaking leg and twitching shoulders with each crack of thunder, you would've said no. Yet, with the meekness in their voice and bashful look in their eyes, you couldn't find it in yourself to.

"Yeah, go ahead," You weren't sure what to make of the feeling in your stomach when Hange's eyes glimmered up at you at your response, "I don't have an ashtray, but I'll get you an old cup,"

Hange eagerly thanked you and pulled out a small tin from their pocket. Pulling out paper and some card to roll the contents ground inside of a grinder.

Sitting back down, placing the cup on the coffee table, you watched as they rolled the bud into the paper, folding it neatly into a tight cone with nimble, lean fingers. You couldn't look away as they brought the sticky part to their mouth, tongue poking out to lick at the residue to glue the paper down. You glanced away quickly as Hange caught your gaze, breaking eye contact as a wave of shame hitting you like you'd been caught doing something bad.

Clearing your throat, you took a look at your phone, checking the time, 9:08p.m with only 3% left on the battery. Great, you dropped it back into the couch, looks like you won't get much use out of that tonight. At least you were off work the following day, the weather deemed so bad that forms of transport were stopped, halting most workplaces.

Hange hesitantly brought the lighter up to meet the tip of the joint tucked between their lips, looking up at you as if to check if you had suddenly changed your mind before they sparked it. That's kinda sweet, you thought, that even with your permission, they still double checked.

Feeling satisfied that you didn't change your mind, Hange lit the joint, inhaling a few drags before releasing it out into your room. The thick smoke whirling in the air. They rested their head against the back of the couch. Allowing you to gaze upon their neck and the small exposed part of their collarbone poking out underneath the shirt collar.

Hange seemed to feel your eyes on them, tilting their head slightly to meet your gaze again with a curious expression.

"You wanna try?" Thinking that's why you had been staring.

"Uhm— I've never done it before," You rasped, truthfully you've never been against it, but living with your hard-ass parents, you'd had a pretty straight edge life, doing things most teenagers do whilst they grow their own— drinking with your friends in a park, clubbing when you were of age. The opportunity for a smoke hadn't ever come up, so you just didn't really think about it.

"No pressure, but the offer's there if you want,"

You nodded, mulling over it. Maybe you'd like to try, after all. It probably felt nicer than being drunk and messy.

"Maybe a little?"

"You sure?" Hange hummed, the zoot clearly taking effect, they were more relaxed, less jittery.

"Yeah, just don't laugh at me if I cough,"

"Oh, you definitely will cough," Hange chuckled, "But that happens to everyone, so, 's alright."

Hange passed the joint over to you, carefully placing it between your fingers so it doesn't get dropped on the couch, and ruin your blankets.

You looked at it for a minute, bringing it closer to your mouth, "Do I just breathe it normally?"

"Pretty much, just make sure you hold it in your lungs for a sec,"

So you did, pulling air through the roach as the weight of smoke hit the back of your throat. You tried to follow their instructions, holding it in for a few seconds before you couldn't anymore, letting out the smoke into the room with a few coughs. Hange muttered a gentle, there you go, saying that's how you know you did it right, before passing you some water.

"Ouch," You grumbled, feeling a hot wave in your chest and a slight burn at your throat, "It tastes like ass,"

Hange laughed, wholeheartedly amused at your baby lungs, "It does."

It didn't deter you enough, though, taking another drag and managing to hold it without coughing this time. You saw a proud look on Hange's face, that's it, they said, you blamed the weed for making your stomach twist at their praising words.

After a few hits, you began feeling lighter, joining Hange with your head rested on the couch. Hange looked at you, the white of your eyes bloodshot as they glimmered with the candlelight. You looked pretty, eyelashes curled upwards, casting shadows on the lids as you blinked up at them.

"You never answered my question," You hummed, fiddling with the blanket, rolling it into shapes. Hange took off their glasses, the weight of them becoming uncomfortable so they placed them on the coffee table.

"What question?"

"Why you came here, you were...scared." Your question was tentative, not wanting to ruin the amiable mood.

Hange took a second to answer, choosing to puff on the remaining amount of joint instead of answering straight away, plugging it against the ceramic cup to make sure it was dead.

"I'm—uh," a pause, "imscaredofthedark." They mumbled, timid voice coming out like they were speaking underwater. So barely audible, you couldn't hear a damn thing.

"Huh?"

"I'm... scared of the dark, okay? Storms, too, i-it freaks me out." Hange shyly huffed, crossing their arms over their torso, avoiding eye contact like the plague. Even in the minimal lighting, you could see the embarrassment tainting their cheeks.

"Oh."

There was a taut awkwardness that hung in the air at their admission, and you found yourself feeling slightly bad for them. Unsure of what to say back, not wanting to make them feel worse.

"Look—'s not a big deal, okay? But.. the darkness and the howling winds, thunder—together, doesn't help..." Hange tried to save themselves, try to make it seem like they hadn't been close to quaking in the pitch black rooms of their house. Their electric bill each month was ludicrously high, lights in the hall or the bathroom staying on each hour of the night until the sun finally came out enough to shine through the windows each morning. Their bedroom always illuminated with lamps and decorative Christmas lights all year round. Hange and their parents thought they'd grow out of it as an adult. That didn't end up being the case.

"Okay," You breathed out, "Well, I've got a lot of candles." You pointed at the flickering wicks placed in each corner of the room. "So we're not totally in the dark, thankfully."

Another momentary pause, Hange hadn't responded, so you added, "It's not embarrassing, you know?"

"Yeah—thanks."

"Is that you're always up at night?" That had been bothering you for a while, surely it wasn't healthy for someone to stay up so late each night. You wondered how often they slept.

"A little," The muttered, covering their mouth with a loose part of the blanket, "I've had insomnia since I was a kid, and frequent night terrors, doesn't mix the best, I guess." They chuckled.

"So I try to keep myself busy at night with tasks, drink coffee, anything to stop from falling asleep and have another one. Most people grow out of it—I just…didn't."

You hummed, the admission making you feel bad for having such a one-sided problem with Hange the last couple of months. You wouldn't have been so angry if you had known there was more to it.

Placing your palm over the back of their hand, you squeezed, Hange looked at you, the blanket shield falling down to their chest as they lifted their head, revealing their face to you once again.

"I'm sorry, I wouldn't have been such a bitch if I knew,"

"'s okay, I didn't exactly tell you, so."

You smiled at them, and attempt to be reassuring and maybe even comforting, Hange's lips quipped up, and you looked at each other longer than usual. Hange flickered their gaze to your lips, then back up to your eyes. You felt yourself doing the same. Chest growing heavy as the air fell tender, yet apprehensive.   Hesitation outweighing want, as you realised how close you both were. Barely inches in between, lips almost meeting.

You wondered how a friendship with Hange would've developed had it not been for the mess in between. The attraction to them was undeniable, you were intrigued as soon as you set eyes on them the day they moved in.

"I really wanna kiss you," You muttered, a fleeting moment of boldness, glancing down to their lips again, they just looked so kissable. 

"What are you waiting for, then?" The corners of their lips breaking into a soft smirk, challenging you to do it first.

"Fuck," You bit the bullet, fingers threading the hair at the back of their head as you brought your heads closer, connecting your lips together. Hange sprung into action, grabbing the back of your neck closer and humming with satisfaction into the kiss.

Lips melded against each other, you sighed as you felt how soft they were. Soft and plump. Tugging at their hair, you gently nipped Hange's bottom lip, jutting it out slightly, swiping your tongue against the reddened skin. Taking the hint, Hange's mouth split open, allowing you access to enter. Hange groaned as warm tongues connected, breathing heavily at the sensation.

Pulling the blankets off—they didn't need the extra heat anymore—their hands then wrapped around the supple skin of your thighs, placing you into a straddle over their lap as they held your sides firmly. Fingers digging into your skin as you placed kisses below their ear to the bottom of their throat, their head tilted back. Hange shivered at the contact, skin raising into goosebumps as your lips touched, soft moans from their lips with their eyes shut.

Hange lifted their head, chasing your lips to meet once more, one hand placed tight at your hips, the other coming up to rub the back of your neck. Kissing Hange was delightful, you discovered, finding that you would do this forever if it was physically possible. Eventually, your lips disconnected, forehead resting against forehead as you both breathed heavily, catching breath.

Hange gazed up at you, eyes almost doe and full of mirth. Holding on to every ounce of restraint they carried in their veins, to stop themself from acting impulsively and taking you right there. You were in a similar way, but you pecked their lips again, before nuzzling your head into the crook of their neck. A silent agreement that you both should stop, perhaps do things the right way instead of acting on instinct. Sighing as Hange wrapped their strong arms around your waist, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying each other's embrace until you found yourself slipping into a sleep, the weed had suddenly made you feel tired and sleep was the only way out. You mumbled a quiet, "Sorry.." before falling asleep on them. Hange chuckled as they realised they were trapped in place until you moved, but it didn't matter too much as the thought of sleep was growing more enticing.

After a few minutes, Hange fell asleep, too, arms still wrapped around you—the storm was still raging on, thunder still thundering, but it was the first night in years Hange slept without a nightmare.

—-

AHHHH anyway— hope u guys enjoyed <3

[burstinn]

I need more krueger fics (anything) 👉😔

Stalker x Stalker

(Part 1/?)

KRUEGER X M! READER

Notes And Warnings:

- Stalker x Stalker trope

- Stalking on both sides

- Masturbation and jerking off

1.To people without their awareness

2.To a dirty piece of cloth

- Sexual innuendos and thoughts

- NSFW

- no proofreading

- made in a short span of time meaning probably an hour or shorter so this is probably not the best way to yknow..

- made short on purpose because I got lazy

- This is a work of fiction made because I was bored, This should not be followed or replicated or else I will kill myself (>o<)

-made this cuz I didn't write for a good while and I felt bad

You don't know how this even started, He wasn't even acknowledging you the first time you guys met.. Was it his eyes? His accent? Maybe he reminded you of someone.. Shit you didn't care, you stopped caring for a long time now. It's an obsession at this point, You are hidden in your closet. You made a small hole inside of it like a secret room.. Just so you can keep trinkets and everything about.. Him.

Nothing but heavy breathing fills your cramped secret hole.. You need more pictures of him, this is getting out of hand, you're so desperate to feel him in some kind of fucking way it's unbelievable you held back for so long. Smelling one of the missing boxers of his wasn't enough to even satisfy you anymore.

Krueger, Sebastian Josef Krueger.. You scan your wall of pictures.. Pictures of him sleeping, working out, talking, eating, bathing.. Jerking off.. Those pictures were when you got lucky enough to take them and by God do you masturbate to those every night. Wishing one day you'd finally able to make him yours.. You know everything about him, His likes, his dislikes, his family, relatives, who he dislikes, what he does every morning and every night..

And recently you've only just started breaking into his room just to touch him, his face, tracing your finger tips against his jaw line, pressing your thumb against his soft lips.. Fuck,the thought of it makes you so hard.

But right now, you have a mission you need to attend to and the only thing that can calm your nerves is Krueger. Since you couldn't find him anywhere, Your shrine is the best place. You softly press your lips against one of the pictures of Krueger. One day, You will have the balls to actually try and talk to Krueger. You walk out of the closet, leaving with a slightly less grouchy mood. Hopefully the mission would go off without a hitch.

•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•

You're gone, The helicopter you got in with your other mates had just left and he watches intently and carefully to see that you actually did leave. Once he sees the heli leave the vicinity he wastes no time walking over to your room.. Not without precautions of course he made sure nobody saw him walk in there.

Fucking finally, Your room empty.. Everything in this room is just you, Your clothes, Your pictures, Your bed, your dirty laundry.

Krueger can't help but feel a short adrenaline rush come over him as makes his way to your desk which was right across from your bed.. He shuffles for a moment under the desk, pulling out a small camera.. He can't wait too watch this later, he doesn't care if you were doing nothing, reading a book, scrolling your phone, jerking off.. He didn't give a single shit he was gonna jerk off to whatever was recorded here anyway.

He pockets the camera, walking over to your bed and just.. Smelling, hugging everything.. You are so intoxicating. How could you do this to him? He knew it was wrong but he was in love, more than in love. Why else was he doing this? He loved everything about you.

Even if this obsession started over nothing special he didn't give a damn, what happened, happened and he's in love with you.

He stands up and grabs one of your dirty briefs from the hamper, making his way back to the bed laying back down and slowly lifting your brief to his nose. Krueger flinches his body getting hot just by the smell of you, He could just.. He shuts his eyes keeping your boxers to his nose.. His other hand shuffling to unbuckle his belt. His hard cock almost immediately throbbing out when he pulls his pants and boxers down.

He rips his gloves out of his hand with his teeth, slow breaths. His mind drifting off to you, naked on your bed.. Your cock out and lonely, desperate for his touch. Bothof you just whining and grunting out his name as you rubs your cocks together, moaning in each other's mouth, your tongues fighting against each other..

He didn't even notice he already came, his cum staining his uniform and on your bedsheets.. Goddamit, He promised himself he was supposed to make sure to not cum on your bed this time. He takes a breath, pocketing your brief as well as he gets up, zipping his pants up.. He should clean this.

Next time he'll be careful, It's only a miracle he doesn't get caught in your room while your sleeping, jerking off to your sleeping figure.