#labels are uncomfortable and make my skin crawl

[sadkachow]

“what’s your gender?”

well, you see. it’s.

hm.

it’s yes, but also no, and sometimes maybe!

if you're going to make me wear a coat, i suppose i don't mind the "man" coat, but it does not sum up ALL that i am, understand? it is simply a coat! it is a part of the outfit, something i can put on and wear and take off at will! it is not the whole outfit and it does not define anything more than the terms in which i don't mind being ascribed to myself. all i truly know about my gender is that i am not a woman! everything else is for me to only halfway know and you to not ask about!

[domesticgoddess22]

wish upon a cowboy

chapter 3: down bad

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: A rugged raider takes you under his wing after hunters leave you for dead. The two of you form a team and you quickly grow attached to him–mumbling, grumbling, protective Joel Miller. When you divulge your wishes to experience life before the outbreak, Joel decides to make them come true. All of them.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/mid 40s),praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, unplanned pregnancy, unprotected piv, canon-typical violence, light choking, dom!Joel, angst word count: 3.3k (chapter 3) rating: 18+ explicit MDNI masterlist here

A month had passed since the cabin getaway, and you hate to say it, but things between you and Joel have pretty much gone back to normal. No kissing, no sex, just the usual surviving the lands of good ol’ Texas.

Not a word of what transpired that night ever came up in your conversations to the cornfields. 

Not even the morning after when you crawled out from underneath his naked body, quietly lifting the weight of his arm that pinned you to the couch. You slipped outside and washed yourself clean of what he spilled between your legs with the well water. 

By the time you returned to the cabin, Joel was awake and fully clothed with his bag slung over his shoulder. “You ready to go?” he grumbled, his face forming that same hard-lined frown he’s had since the day you met him, the man before you receding into his shell.

The cabin vacation had come to an abrupt end.

Now, you're back to the old grind of survival, tension thick in the air between you two. Each night, you sleep on opposite sides of the camp you’ve put together. It’s been your temporary home for a few weeks now. It’s deep enough into the woods where no one will stumble upon it, but close enough to the city rubble for you to run and do raids.

“Joel, can we stop here?” You ask as the faded red of a once-was Target comes into view.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Joel.”

“How many more places do you need to stop at?” 

“I need pads.”

He rubs the skin between his brows, squeezing his eyes shut.  “Alright, Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Why didn’t ya just say so?”

You watch his muscles tense as he digs the sharp curve of his crowbar into the crevice of the sliding doors. Metal scrapes against metal until there’s an opening that fits your width and you take a step inside. When he follows after you, you tell him that you’d rather do this alone.

“It’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about,” his voice is low, softer.

“Can I just go alone, please?” you groan, shifting uncomfortably as your eyes dart around, refusing to meet his.

“Fuck. Fine… Just… be careful. We don’t need any trouble.”

“Careful is my middle name,” you say, stepping over the door frame and leaving him behind in your little white web of lies. You weren’t going in for pads. In fact, pads were the last thing you needed right now, and careful was definitely not your middle name or even an adjective that describes you.

The truth is, it had been six weeks since your last period, and you were never late–a stark reminder that your night with Joel hadn’t been your imagination.

This morning you felt your stomach curdle at the sight of food, and when Joel had asked if you were alright, you just told him that you had some bad canned tuna the night before.

Stepping into the faded red walls of Target, the ceiling has caved in the center of the store, allowing light to pool in and illuminate the rubble. The cold air stings your cheeks as you stare at the shelves, littered with remnants of another time. 

Please have it please have it please have it.

As much as it terrified you to have an answer, especially one you knew would change your life–lives?--forever, it was better to know now than later. 

You swallow, fingers brushing across the shelf as you pass scattered boxes of pads, vitamins, empty condom boxes, and–there, a box labeled First Response in weathered lettering. 

You snatch the box, disappearing somewhere behind a different shelf, just in case Joel came stomping in to scold you for taking so long.

So you squat and pee on the damn stick right next to an old hot dog machine and a cardboard cutout of some family looking chipper in their new home filled with crap from Target.

And then you wait. And wait.

Wait for the little stick to show you one line so you'd laugh and run back to Joel and pretend it never happened. 

You chew your lip, willing the line to appear, and in the seconds that you wait, there's a fleeting thought in your head of you and Joel and your baby and there's a warm feeling in your chest when the images of your little family flash in your mind. 

Joel's protective nature would make him a perfect father, and you want to scream at your ovaries to shut the fuck up.

That little daydream could never happen because he doesn't love you. It was a one-night thing, and he sure as hell doesn't want a kid, in the apocalypse–with you.

Everything's gonna be alright.

That’s what you tell yourself as you take a deep breath in, squeezing your eyes tight and then peeling them open to look at the little device that held your future. Tears well up at the corner of your eyes when you see what the little stick reveals.

Two pink lines.

You’re pregnant.

Somewhere towards the front entrance, Joel is hissing your name and your head jerks up. You shuffle the little stick into the back pocket of your jeans.

“The fuck are you doin’?” He says when he finds you, now standing by an old cash register twiddling your thumbs. “Thought you were gonna grab ‘n go?”

You shrug when he looks at you expectantly. 

“Well? Did ya get what ya needed?” 

“Yes I got what I fuckin’ needed, Joel.” You brush past him, anger fueling each stomp out the door.

You half expect him to scold you again. To use the same irritated tone when he asks what the fuck your problem is, but he doesn't.

He says nothing and lets you stew in silence while the two of you walk to a safe spot for the night, a little clearing in the woods. Joel pitched the tent you found back in Woodcreek. You’ve gotten into the habit of switching shifts so one of you is always on watch, and neither of you is ever in the tent at the same time.

“‘S everythin’ okay?”

“Right as rain. Why?”

“You've been quiet. Thought maybe you were still feelin’ sick or som’.”

I'm pregnant.

“I’m fine,” you say, your tone even and dry.

“Hm.”

The truth sits on your tongue, a heavy weight that rolls around but you can't quite spit it out. Goosebumps decorate your skin at the thought of telling him about the two pink lines–the possibility of him rejecting you for it. The thought of him abandoning you by morning has your stomach doing summersaults.

When did you become so attached to him?

You knew for a while now that you've had a crush on him, and the thought of losing him left you feeling empty, but now that felt juvenile. There was so much more at stake, a baby that needed to somehow survive this cruel world and would have a better chance with Joel as their father than not. 

This realization gives you enough courage to try to tell Joel the truth. “Hey. Maybe we should…” You trail off, trying to find the right words. Are there even the right words for something like this? “I think it’s time we talk about somethin’.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ the same thing–look, about what happened between us that night…”

You straighten your spine, cranking your neck up, swallowing back a lump in your throat in anticipation of what Joel is about to say. You weren’t expecting him to take the lead in the conversation, but you shouldn’t be surprised, Joel takes the lead in everything he does.

“I had a lot to drink that night. More ‘n I had in quite some time… so I figured I’d just say uh–” Joel’s hands are on his hips as his eyes bore into the pebbles next to his boots. 

Your heart is pounding like a drum, your hands are clammy, and you’re starting to think you might actually be sick.

Big brown eyes flit to yours and you swear this is the first time he’s fully looked at you since that night. “‘M sorry, darlin’. You’re so young n’ it just wasn’t right what I did–it was a mistake. ”

A mistake.

“Of course…” You feign agreement, hoping that you can somehow conceal the look of disappointment in your expression. Your eyes flit to anything and everything at the campsite that will take your mind off of this horrific moment. 

“It won’t happen again,” he says with booming finality, the final arrow to your bleeding heart.

“Ain’t gotta feel guilty about it, Joel. It’s fine. We can forget it ever even happened.” Eyes cast downward, you awkwardly avoid his gaze.

“Right–okay let’s do it then.”

“Are we gonna still be…?” Your mouth twists into a contorted angle while you chew at your lips, anxiety still settling into your bones.

“I think we make a pretty damn good team–if you’ll still have me.”

You scoff, a playful smirk creeping up across your face. It’s a facade, but you’re going to have to fake it til you make it. “Who else is gonna get me food?” 

“‘S that all I’m good for? Twizzler runs and huntin’ game for you?”

“Ya aren’t much for conversation, but you aren’t terrible company either. In all honesty, though, I wouldn't survive a week out here alone–so you’re good for a lot more than that.”

“You’d make it without me.”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m bein’ serious, darlin’. You just need a little bit of trainin’ and the right attitude and you’d survive out here just fine” He takes three long strides in your direction until he’s towering over you from where you sit, hand resting on your shoulder. “We’ll start your trainin’ tomorrow mornin’, first thing. Be ready.”

The weight of his hand abandons your shoulder once more, but his warmth still lingers. He heads into the tent, taking the first shift. Usually, Joel only slept a few hours at a time. You’d wake him by eleven and then it’d be your turn to sleep until morning.

“Goodnight,” you say with empty enthusiasm. He grunts in response and then zips the tent shut.

**********

Early morning light peeks through the crack of your tent, illuminating the threads of your blanket from dark purple to a soft shade of lilac. You can tell from the color of the light that it is far too early for you to be awake yet, so you snuggle back into the sleeping bag–which still smells smokey like Joel–and doze off.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” A gruff voice rips you back into reality and your eyes peel open. At the front of the tent, you see Joel, bent at the knees, peering into the opening of the tent. “Today, we’re teachin’ you to hunt.” 

“Five more minutes…”

“No can do, sweetheart.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ stickler!” Mornings were never your cup of tea, there was no good reason to be up before the sun lifted its ass from the horizon. Maybe there was a reason before, but not now.

“What happened to wantin’ to experience school? If you were in school, class would be startin’ soon.”

“Did you know that the world ended?” You sit up, making sure to cover your bosom with the sleeping bag–not that it was anything he hadn’t seen before.

“Not for the whitetails. They’re are out ‘n about in these early mornin’ hours, so now is the perfect time to catch ‘em by surprise.”

“First class of the day: huntin’.”

“Is that part of a normal university schedule or are you just pullin’ this outta your ass?”

“Pullin’ it outta my ass.” 

“Then you better make me a delicious school lunch.”

Joel bellows into a roaring laugh and your heart flutters at the sound.

“That funny?” 

“More ‘n you know. Ain’t no school lunch that was delicious, least not where we’re from.”

“Huh, you’d think they’d feed the kids the good stuff.” The more you hear about life from before, the more it feels like a distant alien planet where people did odd things.

“Get your stuff on ‘n let’s go. Next class’l be math.”

“Math?!”

“Come’on.” He zips the tent shut and leaves you to change.

After you slip on your cargo pants, you tug on your boots, mumbling under your breath as you fumble to tie the laces. From inside the tent, you still converse with Joel. “I’m startin’ to sound like you old man, no wonder you’re so cranky. You don’t even get any sleep!” 

“Yeah, I’m busy huntin’ food while the princess sleeps,” he says from a distance.

“And I thank you for it every day, Joel.” 

It was playful bickering, really, and there was a tugging feeling inside your chest that made you feel like the two of you were an old married couple.

“Just want you to be able to take care of yourself if ya ever have to.” 

Something about that doesn’t sit right with you as you're bent at the knee, tying the knot on your left shoe, holding the once-smooth lace between your fingers, frozen in thought for a beat of time before you give it one final tug. 

The opening of the tent feels cool against your palm as you enter the camp, sticks crunching beneath your feet as you make your way to Joel, his back is to you, broad shoulders tense underneath the green flannel of his shirt. He’s strapped with his rifle and working to fill a bag up with ammo when he notices you.

“What are we bringin’?” You’re at his side now, getting yourself familiar with the gear he’s packing for the hunt when he turns to you. 

The silent response has you spin to face him, hand on your hip as you gesture for him to respond. 

His eyes are fixed on yours, left hand flexing as he looks at you expectantly. 

“What?” You mutter, still very ripe with early morning grouchiness.

And then he says cooly, “You gonna wear a shirt, darlin’?”

A shirt. You forgot to put on a damn shirt.

You swallow, cheeks probably stained red as your heart pounds violently from the embarrassment of it all.

He probably thinks you’re trying to seduce him by showing up in a frilly pink bra that barely holds the weight of your breasts–not by choice but more so thanks to lack of availability. Your last bra had the straps snap. A push-up bra was about all you could find on your recent raids and one that was about one size too small at that.

Play it cool.

“I was gettin’ to it,” you say, real snippy and sharp. “Wanted to see what all the noise with all your packin’.” 

“Same noise I’ve been makin’ every morning. Loadin’ my bag with ammo.” Joel’s eyes are firmly locked onto yours and not on your nearly bare chest. Either his behavior is out of respect or disinterest, you can’t really say.

Your mom once told you that men typically get bored once they’ve laid with you.

“Very good. I’ll finish gettin’ ready then.” You wiggle your brows and then dip back into the tent, grabbing a plain white T from your humble selection of three shirts. The mundane task of pulling the fabric over your head helps calm your nerves.

About twenty minutes deeper into the woods, Joel finally speaks. “You should try coffee. Might help ya in the mornin’.”

“Hmm, maybe. Never tried it before.”

“That’s another thing we gotta add to the list.”

“Not the crap you drink, I meant real coffee from a real coffee shop.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

“We really don't need to do the whole list thing–” you begin before Joel hushes you, the elbow of his arm is pressed to your breast to stop your movement. You swallow, your eyes trailing on the veins of his thick arms and then he points to something in the distance. 

If you squint hard enough, you can see a deer up ahead, golden coat stark and shimmering against the green landscape of the clearing. 

Joel loads the chamber and then rests his trusty .308 in your arms. You’re shocked by how heavy it is, having seen Joel effortlessly sling it over his shoulder for weeks. It’s been his prized possession since he found it, because it means the two of you can eat something more than just canned goods.

Your face starts to feel clammy and the grip feels slippery in your now sweaty palm.

“No, I can’t do this–really.”

“Yes, you can, darlin’.” His voice warm against your ear and you feel his chest against your back as he guides your arms to hold the gun.

“Right hand on the grip, left on the handgrip. Let her butt rest steady against your shoulder. Does it feel steady?”

“Yeah.”

“Press your cheek to the stock and aim down your sight. Aim right above the shoulder, don’t miss ‘n hit the stomach otherwise, she’ll bleed out. You want to get her in one shot and put ‘er out of ‘er misery.”

“Wait what? You’re telling me I can’t miss?”

“You’ll be fine,” his tone is nonchalant.

“I can’t do this…”

“Just aim your sight.”

His calloused hand steadies your shaky hold on the handgrip, tilting the gun up slightly as he urges you to check your sight. You do, and when you land right on the spot he gently removes his grip on you and tells you to breathe and squeeze the trigger.

With hesitance, you obey, swallowing hard before you hook your finger on the trigger and pull. Palms still slippery with sweat, you feel the gun shift just a hair to the right the very second before the bullet launches. 

The problem is that you forgot to breathe. 

“Shit! I missed!”

“Nah, you didn’t.” Joel leaps up, bolting through the trees and into the clearing. You dart after him, but his long legs and ferocious stamina take him to the fallen deer before you.

When you reach your kill, you realize very quickly based on the heaving chest and labored breathing that she was still very much alive.

Tears water your eyes and cascade down your face at the image of another being suffering because of something you did. It was one thing to hunt for the sake of eating, it was another to hunt poorly and leave the animal to suffer unnecessarily. How can you live with yourself?

“W-What do we do?”

“Close your eyes,” Joel reaches for the handgun tucked into his belt and then the blaring noise of a gunshot leaves your ears ringing. Your heart is pounding like a drum, your stomach swinging, and you feel the blood rush out of your face in a matter of seconds. 

“I told you to close your eyes.” His voice is muffled and there’s an odd sense that you, and him, and the whole world is deep underwater, and for some reason it makes you want to–

Vomit. Violently. 

Your fingers are tangled in the grass beneath your palms, yanking on the green strands to stay balanced on planet Earth. Everything is spinning so you heave, and heave until you can’t anymore. 

“Baby…”

The next thing you know, you’re in Joel’s arms, head pressed to his chest. You sway to the rhythm of his footsteps as he carries you through the trees and back to camp. He lays you down in the tent and for a brief moment of consciousness, you catch him watching you, his eyes piercing into your soul as he appears deep in thought. And then he leaves, zipping up the tent behind him, his footsteps fading off somewhere into the trees as you drift back to sleep.

~~~ Thank you for reading, more chapters to come soon <3

masterlist here

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated - pt.2

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

Masterlist

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

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

Warnings! Non-canon violence, not sure if this counts as pollen trope but hunter is a little feral, knife violence, blood, gore, substance abuse, hinting at but not committed non-con

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were barking out orders the moment your feet hit the tarmac. Droids scattered everywhere, scrambling to gather all the supplies you needed for immediate deployment. Realizing you were nearly out of everything (you didn’t know it was possible for five men to go through so much bacta gel), you knew you had to restock. Working with a special forces unit, you knew no one was going to question or stop you. You rested a hand on your hip while scrolling through the last of your checklist on the datapad.

“Pip!” Tech’s voice rang out across the filling tarmac. “I've got your things!” He strutted up to you, holding your duffle bag with all your belongings.

“Thanks, Tech,” you smiled and took it from him before unzipping it to fill it with more supplies.

“I tried my hardest to find that face cream you like, but the labels were very confusing, so I just put both of them in there,” he rattled on, clearly distressed he couldn’t decipher them. You giggled, “It’s alright, Tech. Thank you.” He visibly calmed, knowing he hadn’t failed you.

“Where are we going?” you asked, shoving more feminine products into your bag from the surplus bins.

He pushed up his goggles, looking at his datapad. “I believe we're heading to a star system called the Crait system in the Outer Rim Territories. It’s a mining planet. Hunter didn’t say what the mission objective is.”

You hummed and zipped up your bag before slinging it over your shoulder.

“So much for shore leave, huh?” you joked.

He just huffed and followed you out of the rows of medical surplus supplies.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” he sounded uncomfortable. You knew expressing his feelings was difficult for Tech.

“It’s alright, Tech,” you felt your cheeks heat up.

“No, I mean I just didn’t understand what was so embarrassing about mentioning Commander Wolffe’s obvious interest in you,” he rattled on, “But after discussing the implications with Hunter and the others, I think now I understand why that was making you uncomfortable.”

You just stood there, chewing on your lip, praying he’d be done soon.

“Though I understand it to be factual that an alpha male would find you attractive. You are, in fact, a prestigious example of an omega female, and judging by the fact that all of our implants are due for replacement, the urge to mate grows stronger by the day, especially in the presence of such an omega.”

You waved your hands, “Okay. Okay!” You forced out a chuckle, “I accept your apology. But please stop making me think about the Commander.”

He quirked his head, scenting your discomfort.

You just sighed and linked your arm with his while making your way back to the Marauder. He was unsure what to do with this sudden physical contact. He swallowed thickly, feeling his heart race.

"It wasn't just about Wolffe," you whispered in his ear, hoping Hunter wouldn't hear, "I was also embarrassed because talking about my sex life in front of my commanding officer is very awkward."

"Ahh, I see," he nodded, understanding.

"You want things to remain professional," he added.

You nodded and patted his arm, "Exactly."

"That makes sense," he concluded.

You physically relaxed, knowing he finally understood. For someone so intelligent, sometimes the point hits him right in the face before he sees it, and even then… It made you laugh, especially when he didn't understand some of Crosshair's innuendos or dirty jokes.

When you finally approached the Marauder with your parade of droids behind you carrying your supplies, Echo waved his scomp arm at you two before you broke away from Tech to finish up your job. Wrecker popped his head outside, asking if you needed help carrying everything inside, which you gladly took him up on his offer.

"I gotta go change!" you announced, tossing your bag back into your bunk before fishing out a fresh uniform. You stalked to the back of the ship, sliding open the fresher door. You locked it behind you and began to strip. Pulling off your civilian clothing, you folded it neatly before shimmying into the medic uniform. The white tunic just ended past your bum and secured nicely with a belt around your waist. You then slid on the white leggings and black combat field boots on top. You laced them tightly before standing. You looked at yourself in the mirror, giving yourself a once-over before leaving the fresher.

The others were just finishing up the final refueling when you left the fresher. You wished you could have washed away the remaining alpha stench, but such luxuries were forgotten when you received the orders to leave again.

Brushing past Crosshair on the way out, you slid past him, making your way to the storage bins. Wrecker had dropped off your restock, and you made haste putting everything in its correct location before stowing and locking the compartments. You also took the time to restock your personal pouch along with the field bag that everyone seemed to use.

"Everything set to go?" Hunter asked as he settled into his seat behind Tech's Pilot chair.

Tech confirmed, "We can begin the crosscheck now."

Hunter nodded to Echo, who made sure all of the airlocks were functioning and the life support was in optimal health. You clambered back to your jump seat and buckled in.

Before you knew it, the Marauder was up in the air, climbing altitude quickly before passing through the atmosphere and reaching cruising speeds. Crosshair returned to the main cabin with firepuncher in hand, along with his cleaning kit. He sat down at the table and began taking his precious rifle apart. 

You unbuckled from your seat and slumped down slightly getting comfortable.

”So, what are we doing now?" Echo asked, peering up from the copilot's seat.

Hunter stepped forward, pressing the cylinder drive into the ship's console. In front of you all, a holomap of the Crait system appeared. Hunter zoomed in on the planet the system was named after and specifically honed in on a particular part of the glowing orb.

"Apparently, we're to investigate a missing research party." He zoomed in on one of the mountain ranges on the stark planet. "They disappeared two rotations ago."

"What were they doing on Crait?" Tech asked.

"That was classified," Hunter groused. "It probably had to do with mineral deposits. That seems to be the only thing of value in this system.”

You stared at the projection of the planet, feeling your stomach churn a bit. Something didn’t seem right; it wasn’t common to hear about research parties going missing. Commando groups like your own, sure, it was part of the job, but scientists? There must be more to this, clearly. The Jedi deemed it classified. You shook your head. General Skywalker would have never settled for such little information.

"And we’re just supposed to do what exactly?" Crosshair raised a brow. "Look for a bunch of lab rats?"

"They wouldn’t send us if it was just looking for scientists," Echo crossed his arms. "They’re not telling us for a reason."

Hunter nodded in agreement. "We’ll be there at 0700 hours. Prepare for the extreme. We have no idea what we’re walking into. Get some rest. We’re going to need it." Hunter walked over to the extra weaponry cabinet and grabbed a pistol.

He walked over to you and held it out to you, "I know!"

You raised a brow.

"I know you don’t like blasters," he sighed and held up a handful of leather straps. "But I don’t know what’s out there."

"Does she even know how to use one of those?" Crosshair paused cleaning fire puncher.

For once, you agreed with the sniper. "Sarge, I’ve never received training. I’m much better with my injectors and bandages."

"For me?" He pleaded with you. You could see how worried he was. "Please."

You sighed and relented. He knelt down, straightening out the leathers before holding them open for you to step into. He pulled them up until they were snug around your thigh. He looped the top strap into your uniform belt and settled the blaster into the holster.

"Aren’t you just going to tell me to stay on the ship anyway?" You reasoned.

"Yes," he retorted, "but if something happens, I don’t want you totally helpless."

"What are you expecting to even happen out there?" You were getting worried now.

He stood up and put a hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you. "I’ve heard stories about the Crait system. We all did when we were trainees." He let go of you. You looked at your shoulder briefly; this was the most the Sergeant had ever touched you. "I’m hoping they’re just stories. But I would never forgive myself if something happened to our own."

You just nodded and decided to leave it there. You were in no mood for ghost stories. You just looked at Crosshair who shook his head skeptically before returning to his work.

You decided to let them come up with their plans while you went to sleep while you still could. Kicking off your boots, you settled into your freshly cleaned bunk. Gonky waddled past leaving you in relative silence. The blaster on your hip felt heavy and cold. You sighed, knowing Hunter was just being a good Sergeant and an Alpha. He was a protective one; you realized that was in his nature.

Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to relax into the cot, pulling your blanket up over you, leaning into the rumble of hyperspace. Feeling yourself doze off, you gave in and allowed yourself to sleep.

You must have been out for a while because when you woke, the boys were just finishing up their meals. You could smell it from the bunks. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, smearing makeup everywhere, but you didn’t care. You stretched and checked your data pad for the time. You only had about an hour and a half before reaching Crait. You stood up and in your socks, you scooted out of the bunks into the main cabin and plopped down at the table, still exhausted.

“Do you guys ever sleep?” You mumbled, pulling out the ready-made ration pack and placing it into the heating unit.

“Significantly less than natural-born humans,” Tech informed. “It’s part of our design to require less sleep.”

“Yeah but just because you require less doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.” You heard the ding and removed your pouch of food. “Sleep is nice.”

“That is true,” Tech replied.

Echo pushed his cup of caff in your direction with a smile. You gladly took it and shared a sip or two while you dug into your food.

Crosshair and Wrecker understood what you were saying. The two were slumped up against the sidewalls of the ship, having fallen asleep at some point doing whatever they were doing. Crosshair clutched firepuncher to his chest like a baby. You snickered. It was a little concerning how much he loved that thing.

“So, Y/N?” Tech began while scrolling through something interesting on his data pad.

“Yeah, Tech?” You chewed a mouthful. The beans and rice were delicious. This was your favorite ready-made in the supply kit.

“When was the last time you had a heat?”

You spit out your food and choked on the remaining bits still in your throat.

“Oh my maker.” Echo reached forwards, handing you a napkin and a cup of water.

That woke up the boys. Crosshair growled with displease.

“What the hell, Tech?” You screeched, sputtering to catch your breath.

He looked confused. “What? I didn’t mention the Commander nor is this pertaining to our earlier conversation about Hunter.”

Oh my maker. You could kill him.

“What about Hunter?” The Sargent poked his head out from the fresher.

“Nothing. You are not relevant to this question,” Tech replied, turning to you like nothing was wrong with asking a question like that.

“Why the hell do you want to know that?” You whisper-yelled.

“Well, I was thinking. You got your replacement suppressor implant earlier today and it made me think about how it’s recommended that an Omega has one breakthrough heat every six months per standard solar rotation time. And well, you’ve been with us for six months now. It would be putting you right in that window and I thought I should ask since none of us were able to get our replacement implants on such short notice.”

You blanched.

“First of all, I’m actually going on about two years without having a heat.” You then pointed a finger up in the air. “Second… I beg your finest pardon?”

“Pardon granted,” he nodded. “We have not received our replacement-”

“I heard you,” you snipped. Whirling around, you faced all the boys in the cabin now.

“Was no one going to tell me this?” You looked around at all of them. “I leave you alone one time. ONE time! And everything goes to shit? I’m literally trapped here with five Alphas and no one said anything?! For maker knows how long?!”

Wrecker looked scared. He’d never seen you yell, and he’s never smelled such sour distress rolling off of you in waves before. He fought every nerve in his body to scoop you up and squeeze you.

“It was a mistake, ad’ika.” Hunter stepped forwards.

“No! No. Don’t ad’ika me.” Your accent was terrible. You didn’t even know what it meant.

“No need for distress,” Tech cleared his throat. “We were given these.” He holds up a pill bottle. They all four of them pulled it out of their various pockets. “Suppressors.”

“We were scheduled for our implants in two rotations, this is all they could give us on such short notice.” Hunter used his soft voice with you, trying to give you some kind of solace.

“And how many did they give you?” You crossed your arms.

“Enough for three cycles,” Echo replied, putting the bottle away.

“You’ll be okay,” Hunter assured, “We all will be fine.”

You sighed and shook your head, grabbing your pouch of beans and your spork. “The second we get back to Coruscant I want you all in that medical bay or I swear to the maker I’ll cut you open and do it myself.”

Echo cringed.

“Sorry.” You waved at him. You knew he and Wrecker didn’t particularly like medical stuff. You also knew Wrecker tends to act like a raging bantha when there's any kind of injectables nearby.

“Did you say you were going on two years-” Tech chirped.

“Oh my maker, Tech! I’m banning you from talking about any of my medical history!” You wailed.

Crosshair chuckled from his seat, and you spun around to glare at him.

“But I-”

“No!” You pointed your spork at Tech. “You’re officially forbidden.”

You huffed and shoved a big spoonful of food into your mouth, determined to finish it before you touch down. You cannot believe that this is how your day has gone so far. From almost going home with Wolffe to now discussing your lack of anything in front of your team… and your Sergeant. You could have imploded. Luckily the others gave you some mercy and returned back to their tasks, letting you eat in silence.

But now that Tech had mentioned it, you started thinking about the boys. They too were recommended six-month ruts for performance reasons, and you knew that out of all of them, Crosshair was the only one, that you were aware of, had partaken. Actually, every time you’re on shore leave, he disappears for a week, coming back smelling like a different female. The others, however, you weren’t entirely sure, unless they were far better at hiding it.

You only had confirmation because Cross actually needed bacta for his back one time. She had clawed her way through his milky skin like a feral nexu. He had asked for help, surprisingly, one random morning.

“We’re on approach.” Echo spun around in the copilot seat, waiting for Tech to take his spot in docking the vessel.

You scrambled to chuck your wrapper in the trash and wash off your spork before putting it back in the drawer. The others got ready for descent, and you folded your legs up, watching the white planet come into view. The more you passed through the clouds, the more you realized it was a glittery white barren planet.

Crait.

Home to absolutely… nothing.

Upon descent, Tech brought the Marauder down on a flat plateau nestled next to a pretty large hillside. From your view through the cockpit, there was literally not a soul out there. No plants, no animals. It was a little jarring. What was Hunter so bent out of shape over?

Once Echo released the door to the Marauder, you were instantly hit with a bit of cool air. The air, however, had a strange scent to it.

Hunter immediately cringed, bringing his arm up to block his nose.

“It’s salt.” He coughed out struggling to adjust.

“Salt?” Wrecker stood up, pushing Tech out of the way before trotting down the steps. Upon putting his boot on the ground, there was a light crunch sound. He scrapped his boot, revealing a deep crimson rock underneath. What an odd planet.

“What are your orders, Sarge?” You asked, standing up to stretch.

He slid his helmet into place, relieved to have the air filters. “Echo and Y/N stay on board in case we need backup… or a quick pick up. The rest of you are with me. Let’s make this fast I want to get out of here as quick as possible.”

“I didn’t see anyone at the coordinate point when we landed. I think we should start there and hopefully Hunter can track them down.” Tech slid his helmet on. Crosshair and Wrecker were quick to suit up and follow them down the steps outside.

“Echo, can you close the door? It smells.” You asked politely. He was happy to oblige and seal the door, watching the four brothers stalk their way towards the coordinate points.

You stretched out in Tech’s chair, spinning around before settling on Echo.

He side-eyed you nervously.

“So…” You raised a brow. “You got any good gossip for me, domino?”

He sighed, knowing where this was going… He spun to face you and put his boots up on your armrest. “Naturally.”

You smiled wickedly.

~~~

"This has to be the weirdest planet I’ve ever been to," Wrecker couldn’t help but kick the salt around, watching the red appear.

“This planet is really messing with my head," Hunter said, bending down to place his hand on the surface. Instead of being able to single out little electro currents, he could feel the entire planet pulsing. It seemed to be drowning out everything else. He felt more blind than he ever had. 

Crosshair peered down his scope, looking at the steep mountainside they were supposed to be scaling to get to the base camp.

“It has to be mining operations. I can’t seem to fathom what else it could have been," Tech looked around at the geography.

When they reached the foot of the hill, they looked up at the skinny crag they’d have to walk through, and Wrecker sighed. He hated heights. The four clones pressed their sides into the side of the mountain as they walked very carefully along the narrow path. Down below were nothing but red stalagmites jutting up from the earth. One slip and that would be a nasty fall. Wrecker just kept mumbling to himself to not look down as the inched closer to their destination.

“Anything?" Tech asked Hunter, who just gave him a defeated shake. Tech sighed. Hunter was usually the most valuable part of their expeditions. 

“We should be arriving soon," Tech looked up from his tablet, noticing how the narrow walkway gave way to a massive cave-like structure tucked into the side of this vast canyon.

Inside this cave was a pristine Republic research vessel, along with a few tents set up with various tables filled with scientific research machinery. Everything was untouched, but abandoned. Hunter could tell by the smell of the food still sitting out on their plates it had been left alone for at least a day. The others filed in to start investigating the scene. Tech noticed that the footprints seemingly led deeper into the cave. He slid his infrared visor into place and began scanning the entrance to the tunnel.

~~~

“Oh my god, Echo!” You howled, watching his pale face light up pink. “You did WHAT with Fives?!”

“It was one time!” He justified and looked up at the ceiling. “We were young and had never even seen a human female before. She was also an omega and us clones had no clue how we’d even react in their presence.”

“Ahh!” You giggled. “Was it fun?”

He bit his lip. You shook your head with a playful look.

“Have you ever shared before?” He asked.

“Me?” You laughed earnestly. “No way. First of all, I'm too busy for one, let alone two.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” He nudged you with his boot.

“Oh my god, Echo.” You slapped his shin. “I didn’t know you rolled like that.”

“No one does,” He laughed. “Except the Domino Squad.”

“You were living a wild life before the 99s. I can’t believe you never told me that.” You giggled, standing up with your comm. It had been well over an hour and you hadn’t heard from the others.

You pressed your comm, “Hey boys, just checking in?” You waited a few moments before calling out to them again. “Must be the mountain range,” Echo pointed out.

“I’ll give it a few more minutes,” You settled back down in your seat.

He sat up a bit straighter now, looking at you directly with crossed arms. “Now tell me about Wolffe.”

He smiled devilishly.

~~~

“No lifeforms are coming up on my scanners,” Tech informed.

“I haven’t seen anything but salt,” Wrecker looked around, putting his hands on his hips.

“So what?” Crosshair drawled. “It’s not like they vanished. They had to have gone somewhere.”

As if on cue, Hunter heard the telltale sound of someone rustling coming from the cave. He didn’t think twice before taking off after the noise. He ignored his brothers’ protest and continued after the sound. The echo of crystals tinkering filled his senses, and he disappeared deeper into the cavern. He turned on his night vision as he stalked the sound.

“Hunter, wait!” Crosshair called after his brother, but Hunter was determined. He groaned watching the oldest of them trot off into the cave.

Hunter heard the sound off to his right this time; it was much closer. He zeroed in on a narrow passageway and slowly approached. A distinct smell filled his senses… Death.

Pulling his gun out, he rounded the corner to find a small woman curled up in a ball, covered in crimson dust. A beta from the look of it.

“Ma’am?” He asked, kneeling down and lowering his weapon. She was shaking and trying her hardest to hide from him. Looking around, he noticed that there were a couple of deceased members lying around the cavern in various positions.

“What happened?” He demanded, noticing how they all wore Republic uniforms, including the scared scientist. She just trembled in shock. Her blonde hair was mangled and her clothes were torn in some places.

Quickly, the others filed in behind Hunter, coming into view. The woman hissed in warning, and Hunter decided to back off a bit. She was definitely frightened.

“Ma’am, we’re with the Republic. They sent us to find you,” Hunter tried to assure her.

“The Republic,” She tested the words on her tongue. “They have to know!”

“Know what?” Tech asked inquisitively.

“They-they…” She looked around the cave like she was seeing things. Wrecker followed her gaze noticing she was seeing things that weren’t there. 

Hunter realized she was probably traumatized, shell-shocked. He elected to try and coax her out of her sitting position. He reached up and unclipped his helmet, bringing it to his side in an effort to help calm her. When the woman finally looked back at him, she shrieked in pure horror before grabbing a handful of the dust below her and throwing it harshly in his face before scampering further into her hiding spot.

“Get away!” She was screaming at the void now. 

Clearly, she was hallucinating. 

Hunter sputtered and swiped at his eyes, trying to knock the powdery red off of him.

“You good?” Crosshair asked, helping knock the dirt off of him with a few slaps with his gloved hand.

“Argh,” He growled, feeling the particles sting his eyes and nose. It had an odd taste that was starting to take over his senses.

“Ma’am, you need to calm down,” Tech stepped forwards, holding a tranquilizer pen he stole from Y/N's pouch. She flailed when he injected her, but it quickly took effect. She slumped back down into the ground in a heap. Tech monitored her vitals as she slowly came back to something considered normal.

“I think his tattoo scared her,” Wrecker pointed out. Especially to someone on a deep trip like her, he probably looked like a monster.

Hunter decided to leave Tech and the others to sort out the survivor while he went outside to try and wash the dirt from his eyes. 

Yanking off his bandana, he grabbed his canteen and leaned over to pour it over his face. He used his free hand to yank off his glove and rub at his skin and eyes. 

“Kriff,” His heart was racing. He took a deep breath trying to dislodge it from his sinus’.

When he was certain he got it all, he closed up the canteen and wrung out his bandana. The world suddenly started to move strangely. Hunter tried standing up straight but the red rocks all round him started dancing with the wind. He wavered and clutched at his collar suddenly feeling restricted. 

“Tech, something is wrong,” He muttered, but he was forced to slump down onto the abandoned research table. 

Tech didn’t hear him. 

Hunter’s skin started to crawl, and his sense of smell was starting to go into overdrive. He could smell everything. The beta women, the earth, the crystal critters lurking just out of view, Wrecker’s day-old blacks and sweat. He could smell the gun oil residue on Crosshair's fingertips and Tech’s hair gel…from under his helmet. 

He was smelling things he knew he shouldn’t be, not from this distance. 

He rolled over off the bench onto the floor on his hands and knees into the loose salt. Suddenly, he felt the Alpha in him take over control. His chest puffed up as he fought for control. He was being reverted back to basic instincts, and he knew his grip on reality was slipping and slipping fast. He was heaving, trying to keep some control but the panic was taking over.

“Cross!” He cried out, but he knew his brother couldn’t hear him.

~~~

You were flushed, admitting to Echo that you had actually thought about it. Like really considered going through your heat with the Commander, had you all types of blushed.

"And imagine, you'd all would have had to have a sub-in if that had happened." You shook your head.

He laughed at you, knowing you hate this kind of stuff, which made it all that much funnier.

“Do you like him?” Echo asked.

“I don't know him,” You shrugged.

He clicked his tongue, “Well, that's not really a requirement, is it?”

You just slapped his shoulder, “You’re a slut, Echo. You know that?”

He just put his arms behind his head, “What can I say, Cyra’ika? I’m an alpha.”

“You’re not all like that,” You jabbed.

Echo rolled his eyes, “You have no idea. Back in the old days me and the boys had some stories…” He smirked.

“Mhmm,” You giggled and tried the radio one more time; this time, you opened the door to the ship and stepped outside, hoping the radio signal would be stronger.

“Tech? Hunter?” You called out into the comm, “Cross? Wrecker? Someone come in!” You shifted your weight onto one foot and looked at the little comm device.

You heard a series of clicks coming through the radio, then you heard Hunter’s broken voice.

“Ugh,” You shook the comm, “Signal’s trash… Hunter?”

“I-I… open… I-I need,” His voice was stuttering through the static.

“I think he wants the side door open,” Echo said, trying to boost the signal.

You nodded and trotted down the ramp, taking out your binoculars. You pointed them in his direction, but still, you didn’t see any movement. Hopefully, they were able to find the scientists and you can finally return home for your real shore-leave, maybe even take the Commander up on his offer. You giggled to yourself, lowering the binoculars.

You heard a little jingle and looked down and yelped.

A small little crystal fox stared back up at you blinking its amber eyes curiously. 

“Hi there,” You said, slowly lowering your binoculars. The small creature stepped forwards before quickly nipping onto your shoelace and tugging it loose.

You twitched, bringing your leg back afraid it would bite, but instead, it chirped and darted off under the ship and towards the mountain range jingling as it ran.

“Hey, Wait!” You shouted and ran off after the little guy, “Hold on!”

~~~

“Where’s Hunter?” Crosshair asked, looking around the cave.

Wrecker shrugged, and Crosshair decided to go looking for his brother. When he exited the cave, he noticed the fresh tracks leading away from the abandoned camp and the overpowering smell of an Alpha… in rut.

He followed the tracks until he reached the mountain pass.

Crosshair grabbed his comms and radioed in, “Hunter! Come in!”

He trotted back to the cavern and grabbed Wrecker, “Hunter took off, c’mon, we gotta go now.”

“You have to warn the Republic,” The woman grabbed onto Tech’s uniform.

“Warn them about what?” He scanned her body, noticing the telltale signs of elevated heart rate, dilated eyes, and nervous twitching. The woman was high as hell.

“The minerals. T-they’re…” She looked out at the members of her team, “It’s toxic.”

The three soldiers all looked at each other, knowing Hunter got a good dose of it and with his senses, he was probably coming unglued.

“What is the substance?” Tech asked.

She looked at him, “Unrefined Spice cut with-” Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fainted.

“Shit,” Crosshair wasn’t liking this one bit.

“I got her. You guys go get Hunter,” Wrecker picked the lady up and let the others take off running after their infected brother.

Tech and Crosshair wasted no time sprinting out of the cave and towards the narrow pass.

~~~

You had heard Echo radio for you which made you halt in your tracks. The crystal fox scampered away disappearing into a narrow crevice the mountain side. 

“Get back here.” Echo sounded worried, “There’s someth-” He was cut off. 

You spun around realizing you had ventured far from the ship. You sighed and bent down to re-tie your combat boot before taking off in a jog back to the Marauder. Jumping over a couple smaller boulders you made a beeline for the ship. 

“I’m coming Echo!” You radioed back and scurried up the steps, “What’s going on?” 

You looked around but the ship was silent. You narrowed your eyes and peered around the corner of the cockpit into the main galley. You heard a strange muffled noise before drawing your weapon. You flicked it to stun before holding it up suddenly overcome with nerves. 

“Echo?” You called out softly into the back of the ship. 

Suddenly Hunter’s head popped out from behind the bunk door. You sighed and put the gun back into the holster and pointed a finger at him, “Sarge you scared me half to death.” 

He approached, “I wouldn’t want that omega now would I?” his voice sounded strange. You raised a brow watching him get nearer. He looked disheveled. His grey armor was covered in a crimson substance and his hair was all over the place.

“Hunter are you okay?” You asked reaching for your pack. 

He lunged forwards and grabbed your wrist in a bruising grip. You yelped out trying to snatch it back but he just pulled you into him before throwing you backwards against the dining table. Echo’s caff and various plates went flying and clattering onto the ground. You yelled out in pain as your back collided with the steel surface. He stalked up to you grabbing you again and you tried to shove him off not understanding why he was being so rough all of a sudden. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. Hunter however was deathly precise in his movements. 

“Hunter what-” You started, but he grabbed your neck and slammed you flat to the metal table before going for your wrist. You thrashed around trying to throw him off of you but he was too big and too strong. Your head was pounding from the impact. He settled in between your thighs pushing his hard pelvis into yours sedating you. 

“Stop fighting me omega.” He leaned down using his free hand to pin your arm to the table. You whined feeling him clamp down on your neck. He was starting to hurt you. The panic was setting in. Something was very wrong with Hunter it’s like he was possessed. 

You used your free hand to back hand him as hard as you could. His head snapped to the side with a crack. He growled making your insides churn. Thats when you noticed his pupils. They were beyond dilated. They nearly absorbed his entire eye, you were staring back into endless black holes. 

“Hunter get off of me!” You kneed him in the side making him gasp and cough knocking the wind out of him. You had a split second to get up and you took it. Ignoring the aches in your body, you shoved him back, he struggled to catch his breath and you turned to run. Making your way down the main galley you went for your bag to grab the tranquilizer. 

“Omega!” He used his alpha voice. You had to fight the submission. Every cell in your body wanted to bare your neck and submit to him but you fought it. This wasn’t Hunter. Hunter would never do something like this. Especially not use his tone on you… ever.

“Come.” He demanded standing there gripping his side while he caught his breath. 

You ignored him and kept rummaging for your pack, “Where the fuck is it?” You couldn’t believe it. You always left it in your duffle. 

You heard his heavy foot steps approaching when you decided to go for your stun gun instead. When you had a good grip on the gun, your feet were yanked out from under you. Hunter was way too fast and trained. You landed with a thud on the hard durasteel floor dropping the pistol. He was dragging you out of the narrow galley back into the main cabin. Thats when you noticed Echo knocked out on the floor next to you. He must have found Echo first before he realized you weren’t in the ship.

“Hunter!” You kicked at him with the other leg, “Stop! This isn’t you!” 

“Omega.” He growled out getting on the floor and kneeling on top of you. He placed a calloused hand on the back of your neck keeping you pinned with a squeak. You could feel his hardness pressing into the plush of your ass and you whimpered. He was in a manic rut. You felt him lean down getting closer to your scent glands. He reeked of pheromones. You were practically choking on it. You concluded he was defiantly in a rut. You had to get out of here. 

“Omega… smells w-wrong.” He shook his head trying to get a better sniff. 

“Hunter please!” You whined feeling how hot his breath was on your neck. His smokey scent was everywhere and it was starting to consume you. You could feel your body starting to react to these pheromones and you cursed yourself. He no doubt could smell you. 

You were suddenly flipped over onto your back roughly making you whimper on impact. Tears slipped out of the corners of your eyes as you filled with fear. His face didn’t even look like his own anymore. The softness he reserved for you was gone and all that was left was the animal that lived inside him. 

He leaned down and licked the stray tears off your face with a hum. You pressed your hands into his chest pleading with him to let you go. He pinned your hands down to the durasteel and shifted his weight so he could shove his nose into your neck where the fresh implant rests and your mating gland. He growled disapprovingly and used one hand to tear your shirt collar and rip the bacta patch off of you. You shrieked as it burned. 

“Hunter!” You cried begging for him to get control. 

He looked at the incision menacingly before reaching to the vibro blade on his sleeve. You realized whatever infected him, reverted him back to his primal instincts and one thing between him and a rut was your implant. You flailed helplessly under his weight trying to get away. He tore your uniform top down the seams revealing your bound chest to him.

“Tech!” You screamed, “Crosshair!” You prayed they were close behind. They were probably the only ones strong enough to stop their brother.

Hunter leaned down pressing the tip of the sharp blade to your smooth gland. When the tip met your skin you screamed in pain feeling him lightly pierce your skin. You felt the hot blood running down your shoulder making his nose flare. You screamed in agony praying he’d just get it over with. Your voice broke with your screams.

“Wrecker!” You wailed hoping they’d hear you and that they were in a much better state than this. 

You screamed again feeling the tip of the blade remove the implant as it clattered to the ground. You shuddered starting to feel dizzy from the blood loss. He leaned down to lick the cut spreading his alpha pheromones into your open wound. He tried purring in an attempt to comfort you, but the death grip on your neck didn’t help in any way. You reached down to his thigh searching for anything to help you. He nuzzled your neck again licking at the wound like a corellian hound. 

You knew he kept another blade on his belt but you were struggling to find it. Then when you brushed up against his side, you noticed he still had his gun. In a flash you brandished his pistol pressing it into his side. He was still purring totally unaware when you made your move.

“I’m sorry.” You cried then pulled the trigger. 

He looked at you stunned for a moment before slumping back onto his heels and releasing you. You took a deep gasping breath then sobbed realizing what you did, but he fell back against the side of the ship letting you scurry up to your knees. You turned his weapon to stun and unloaded on him. You stared at his limp body shaking in fright that he’d get up again at any second.

“Y/N?” Tech’s alarmed face appeared in the entry. You fired a few stunning shots at him without thinking but he retreated in time. 

“We’re not infected!” He yelled putting his hands up. 

You lowered the gun and fell back against the leg of the table Hunter had wrangled you onto just moments earlier. You let Hunter’s gun clatter to the ground. 

Crosshair and Tech entered the ship looking alarmed at the scene. 

“I shot him.” You whispered. They turned to look at their stunned brother who had a plasma burn in his side a long with a fresh stream of blood oozing out. 

“You’re bleeding.” Crosshair ran to your side taking his helmet off and reaching for your collar. You flinched making him second guess his movements. He had no idea what Hunter had done to you, but from the blooming bruises around your neck and chest, he was starting to put som pieces together. 

Tech scanned Hunter and determined the shot not lethal. He helped Hunter onto his back and started removing his armor while Crosshair tried to clean your wound. 

“What did he do to you?” Crosshair asked with anger laced in his tone. 

You just whimpered feeling the exhaustion settle in after the adrenaline wore off, “H-he cut my…” You waved at the wound, “He was like an animal.” You pointed to the little pill shaped device lying in the pool of your blood on the floor. Crosshair saw it and turned back to you. You were shaking now as the horror of everything was starting to settle in. He got up and grabbed some supplies from your bins and came back to your side. He knew you weren’t a soldier, but it didn’t make your behavior any less disturbing.  Seeing an omega cry was like having Hunter's vibro blade shoved into his chest.

“We heard you when we got down the hill.” Tech said pressing a bacta pack to Hunter’s side, “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner.” He then hooked hunter up to a liquid IV in hopes to flush his system of the drug.

You just nodded resting your forehead against Crosshairs shoulder. He quickly cleaned your wound opting to forego gentleness he was just wanting to get you patched up. Luckily Hunter made a pretty clean cut and it isn’t deep. He applied the bacta and the bandages just like he’d seen you do a hundred times. He then grabbed the pain killer injection just like last night. He distributed the medicine and continued to hold you as your shakes subsided. 

Wrecker and the sedated scientist arrived shortly after. He just stood there looking at everything bewildered. He set the lady down on a pallet on the floor before returning to his brothers. 

“What happened here?” He asked taking off his helmet. 

“It seems the unrefined spice caused Hunter’s senses to go into overdrive. He reverted back to his more animalistic instincts and attacked Y/N. He was searching for an omega.” Tech took off his own helmet. Tech grabbed a pair of binders and attached one to Hunter and the other to the cargo hold. They had no idea what they were going to get when he woke up. 

Noticing your worry, Crosshair decided you’d had enough. He bent down and scooped up your knees up and carried you back to the bunks. You leaned your head against his chest wanting to just go to sleep.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly setting you down in your bunk. He sat across from you in Tech’s neatly made cot. 

You just sniffled feeling more tears surface. Hunter was one of the men you did feel safe with. It was just any omega’s worst nightmare having a trusted alpha turn on you like that. Even though you know it wasn’t really Hunter, it was still horrifying. He was so strong. It frightened you. 

“Oh Ad’ika.” Crosshair sighed standing up and rummaging through his things. He came back with one of his civvies shirts. It was black and massive. He knelt down at your side taking his time unlacing your boots and sliding them off. He then went for your shirt gently removing what was left of the ripped fabric. You just stared at the ceiling as he shimmied you into his shirt. You settled finally and he grabbed your favorite blanket before pulling it up to your chin. You were unaware the Alpha was capable of such gentleness. 

“Do you want me to stay?” He asked noticing your shaking again. 

“I’m okay.” You croaked, “Thank you Cross.”

He didn’t fight you, but everything in his body begged him to stay and to comfort the frightened omega. He stood up and left letting the door swoosh closed behind him. 

When you were finally alone you started to wail. You cried and cried until you couldn't physically produce any more tears. Never had you ever resolved on to crying while on the job, but then again, you’d never been in a situation such as this before. 

Some time later, Wrecker came tiptoeing into the room worried that you were asleep. When he realized you weren’t, he showed you his Lula. You sniffled and gave him a little smile as he tucked lula into your blankets with you.

“Thanks Wreck.” You cuddled lula letting her comfort you. 

“Anytime pip.” He retreated back to the galley. You noticed Crosshair perched against the wall in the galley keeping watch. You sighed knowing he was at least a bit protective. Knowing he was watching over you, you relaxed a bit. Then sleep came and consumed you quickly. 

~~~

“What the actual fuck happened.” Crosshair demanded looking around the entire ship. The images of your torn up bleeding body haunted him. He might get pissy with you for your little flirting with the regs but this was unacceptable. No one is allowed to hurt an omega like that, especially his brother. It was taking all his control to not kick the shit out of Hunter’s unconscious body. 

“We need to get back to a medical base. I’m afraid I didn’t get a proper explanation from the surviving scientist. She said it was unrefined spice mixed with something else and the others seemed to have died from prolonged exposure. I don’t know what will happen to Hunter if we can’t get him back to a hospital.” Tech sat back into his chair looking at the others. 

Echo had come back to consciousness at some point and needed an ice pack for the bump on his head. He looked to tech, “Get the Marauder up in the air and radio to any of the nearest Venador fleets. We can meet them half way.”

“Better yet, I’ll call Captain Rex.” Tech plugged his data pad into the console, “General Skywalker was supposed to be stationed in the Nabooian system near by.” 

“How do you know that?” Wrecker asked rubbing his eyes. 

“The drunk 501 boys last night mentioned it while they were alluding to the General’s fascination with the junior senator. They were refueling when we landed yesterday.” Tech replied sliding his goggles up. 

“Oh I like that senator.” Wrecker nodded, “She’s hot.” 

“I don’t care what we do.” Crosshair leaned against the galley hallway, “They both need immediate medical care.” His nose crinkled at the smell of Y/N’s blood still drying on their floor.

“Agreed.” Echo stared at Hunter’s limp body. He knew the Sargent was never going to forgive himself for this. Echo sighed, explaining this whole situation just got so much worse. Hunter was probably going to want to shoot himself when he comes to.

“Being their old medic, I’m positive they won’t have an issue treating her.” Tech began the take off process wanting to get off of this horrible planet. 

“Just get us off this forsaken planet.” Crosshair grumbled walking back to the bunk doorway. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Ahh okay, I think this story is going to be a little darker obviously, but it's for the plot! haha enjoy babes.

I'm also sitting here realizing I don't think Omega will be able to be written into this story given the obvious issue with her name lol so tbd on that.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 14

Warnings: none, really, just Villain's interview gone awry.

“My boss should arrive shortly,” she announced reassuringly.

Villain shifted uncomfortably. He felt so vulnerable, so exposed without the mask or makeup that usual hid his gruesome face scars. It made his skin crawl to know how everyone must see him – spoiled goods, a broken menace to society. He was only here in the first place because Hero had invited him; he didn't actually expect Hero's team to accept him or let him switch sides. He was mostly here to prove his point to Hero that the world would still reject him despite trying to be better. To get her to stop harassing him.

Both he and Hero had mutually agreed over the phone not to share his history as Villain to avoid complicating things – to Hero's team, he would be introduced as just another super-powered individual wishing to stop crime and save lives. It certainly helped that Villain was one of the stronger powered people in the city – it would make him more appealing to recruit.

But he wasn't prepared when Superhero entered the office room to interview him. The enemy that had nearly murdered him in their last fight.

Villain was instantly bristling, stiffening in his chair as Superhero sat in the one across from him, the desk the only thing separating them. He caught the quizzical side-eye Hero gave him, and remembered that he wasn't wearing his mask – there was no way for Superhero to know who he was. No way to tie him to his pastime as a villain.

But still, even being this close to Superhero made Villain want to lash out and rip the man's throat out for everything he'd done to him. Hero hadn't heard that her boss was the one responsible for his near-death experience yet. She was oblivious, and Villain partially wished he'd told her earlier to justify his current response.

Villain's mouth suddenly felt dry as a desert, and he watched Superhero eye Mocha, who was now stiff and tense in Villain's lap, ears subtly angled backward.

“You brought a cat. Into my office.” Superhero raised an eyebrow, prompting an explanation.

“I can't leave him home alone or he'll destroy the place,” Villain easily lied. He was always a quick thinker like that, able to make any excuse for any situation. “I have to bring him so I can keep an eye on him.”

Superhero hummed in acknowledgement, not looking pleased but choosing not to argue.

“Hero vouched for you,” he started, “said you'd like to join our hero team to fight crime. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Villain answered curtly.

“What is your superpower, and what skills could you bring to this Agency?”

Villain delicately plucked a pen from its holder on the desk, tossing it carelessly in the air. It froze an inch from hitting the table on its way back down, frozen in time.

Nothing more needed saying.

“Fascinating,” Superhero remarked, looking genuinely impressed. “Timebenders are exceedingly rare. It's a very valuable gift to have.” He opened a drawer and rummaged around in it, eventually pulling out a thick folder of papers and sliding it over to Villain.

“It's so useful, in fact, that I think you might be the key to finally taking down a criminal I've been after for a long time. You could find him and freeze him in his tracks, because the problem is he always manages to disappear somehow – but that would be hard to do if you're frozen in time. Consider it your first official mission. If you succeed, you'll get a huge promotion. Welcome to the team, Villain. I foresee you being a valuable addition to our heroes.”

Villain opened the folder, and his heart stopped. In front of him, was all the information Superhero had gathered… on Villain. Locations he'd been spotted, every fight with heroes that went down…

He was being assigned to track himself down. To literally hunt himself as the city's most dangerous villain. How was he supposed to pull this off?!! If he didn't succeed in his task, he'd be labeled as incompetent, and swiftly kicked off the team. But he couldn't exactly turn himself in either.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

[misdeliria]

SATORU GOJO

Blue Springs related

Days spent in the classroom were often quiet, aside from Satoru's occasional dramatic outburst. Sitting on the very end along the windows, you developed a habit of leaning against your hand, giving you the perfect angle to watch Satoru's theatrics throughout the lecture.

It only made you laugh harder when Yaga Sensei seemed to feed into Satoru's dynamic, or even better when either of your other classmates flamed him.

But the best part about slow days inside the classroom was when Satoru would pry for your attention with the glow behind his shades and his charming, toothy grin. It never failed to get you smiling in return.

The muted bell tolls signifying the end of the school day interrupts Yaga Sensei in the middle of his sentence, forcing him to clear his throat and train of thought.

"You're all dismissed for the weekend," he concludes the lecture. "I'll be seeing you all."

Yaga Sensei doesn't stay behind to wait for you to clear out, but you don't expect him to. What follows is the debrief with your classmates and any plans to hang out after leaving the school.

Satoru, on cue, pulls out the buttons of his collar and reveals his t-shirt beneath with an obnoxious sigh.

"Man, what a drag," he groans. "That took absolutely forever. I swear, I was falling asleep from the beginning."

He rises from his chair while Shoko skips past you to the windows. She's already fiddling with a cigarette between her lips before opening the airway and pulling out a lighter.

"You should spend less time complaining and more time retaining the information, Satoru," Suguru lightly chastises, packing his little books away and leaning back in his seat.

"He could've at least given us a little time to spar outside," Satoru murmurs defensively, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall beside your desk, between the sectioned windows.

"You sound like a kid," you poke fun at him, lifting a brow and leaning over your desk. "You need playtime outside?"

"I'm a growing boy with developing skills," Satoru huffs, glaring at you with no heat. "I can't be expected to get sequestered indoors behind a desk all day."

"Oh, whatever," Shoko pipes up from her corner, a teasing smile gracing her lips. "You spend all your time inside with your girlfriend when she gets sick, so quit the bullshit."

The label makes your skin crawl, and you shoot an awkward look in Satoru's direction.

"No, we're not-"

"That's completely different," Satoru cuts you off indignantly. "I'm not stuck behind a desk in that situation. I can use all my skills to the best of my abilities." He ends his statement with a wide grin, tilting his shades to give you a complete view of his cheeky wink.

"You're an idiot," you mumble, turning your head away in embarrassment. "You have no idea what you're saying."

You were the most recent addition to the class–to this group. You opted to fall silent in the presence of their regular familiar banter, but lately, you were getting pulled along into the fun.

"You guys don't have any plans today, right? Let's go grab some snacks."

"Only if you're paying."

-

The soft knocks against the wood sound too loud, cutting through the dead of night. You cringe uncomfortably, bouncing on your toes in anticipation.

The door pulls open to reveal Satoru with a messy bedhead and his baggy pajamas. He’s not wearing his shades, so his eyes are practically glowing in the dim lighting.

“Hey,” you whisper, rocking onto your heels, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to bail on your efforts. “I had another nightmare.”

A wide, sleepy smile stretches across Satoru's face as he leans against the door frame like a putz.

"What do you want me to do about it," he replies with a playful tune.

"If you're going to be mean, I'll see if Suguru is awake." You're quick to pivot on one foot to make way for Suguru's room, but Satoru is faster. He gently grabs your arm and tugs you into his room before you're too far away.

"I was joking," he murmurs, pulling you into his chest and snuggling as close as he can to you like the touch-starved brat he is. "Was it a bad one?"

Your nightmare. It was darker than your average nightmare, with your classmates lying dead around you and your hands covered in their blood, and the sight gave you such a shock that you woke up in a sweating mess with your heart nearly giving out from hypertension.

"I just needed to see you, I guess," you mumble against his warm collarbone. Your arms wrap around his back, tentative fingers tracing over the ridges of his muscles and bones to get a better footing in reality. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Satoru laughs loudly at that, leading you to his bed and nudging you to get comfortable under the sheets.

"Why wouldn't I be okay, hm?" Satoru's efforts to slip under the covers beside you went smoothly as his hands returned to you under the sheets. The side of his face was flush against his only pillow while your head rested and received warmth from his arm.

"I'm nervous Kiyohime will get bloodthirsty again," you whisper, shuddering gently in Satoru's hold. "I'm worried you'll all become victim to it, and I won't have any power to stop her."

Pressing your watery eyes against Satoru's arm, you can feel the arm hanging over your side get tighter around you.

"Don't be ridiculous," he tells you, chuckling softly, and Satoru overwhelms all your senses, slowing your heart rate and planting a seed of drowsiness in you, along with a prompt. "Suguru and I won't ever let that happen."

-

1 year later

"What the hell," you hissed, kicking off from the wall you were perched on, impatiently waiting. "I'm starving."

Haibara calls your name with a bright smile, watching you saunter to stand beside Kento, jutting your hip out and resting your hand against it.

"I bet they're on their way," he assures you, ever the optimist. "Probably got a little stuck on the assignment."

"Or, they broke something," Kento says bluntly, glancing up at you.

"I'm not playing this game with you again, Nanami," you snarl, stubbornly snapping your head in the opposite direction.

"It's a friendly wager," Kento tries to brush off, speaking your name softly to weaken your defenses. And it was working.

"This stays between us," you glare at Haibara, who shriveled under your gaze. He was responsible for the last time Satoru caught on to your bets with Kento, Suguru, and Shoko–Haibara is too respectful to throw money in.

"My lips are sealed," Kento practically purrs, grinning at you cynically.

"If anything went wrong," you hesitate, nervously glancing around your surroundings in search of a mop of white. "Then, it was likely Satoru's fault." You place your bet in one breath before following it with a relieved sigh. Your nerves are suddenly switched out with excitement, once again eager to meet up with your classmates.

Kento nods before returning to the newspaper he grabbed during their walk into the city.

"Yo!" Shoko's voice calling out over the crowd makes your heart leap in your throat. She's leading the two boys behind her through the masses of non-sorcerers, Satoru is the furthest away, but his arm is in the air to catch your attention.

"How was the assignment?" You ask innocently, side-eyeing Kento, who is looking up from his paper. "You all look like you're in good spirits."

Suguru and Shoko sent you an identical expression that reflected a tired parent, and Satoru wore a forced grin. Hah, gotcha Kento.

"It went great," Satoru grit, throwing a heavy arm over your shoulders once he's close enough. "It was a little too scary for Utahime, but nothing I couldn't handle."

"Is that so?" You question him, smirking at avoidance. Looking at Suguru, he winks at you, curtly nodding before extending a hand out for you to take.

Suguru yanks you out from under Satoru and spins you so he's leaning over your shoulders but still holding your hand. He guides you towards some food stands with Shoko on the other side of him, chatting with Haibara and Kento.

"Satoru?" You look back to see him dragging his feet behind. His expression immediately lights up when you call his name, and he makes quick work of replacing Suguru.

"What's up, sweetheart," he plays off cooly, dragging his hand through his white locks.

"I was just wondering if you were paying," you ask, biting your lip to stifle your laugh, watching Suguru drop his head into his hand with laughter.

Satoru's face falls, turning sour and pulling away, but not far enough that he stops touching you.

"You just after my wallet now?" He leans close with an accusatory glare, and you're sane enough to press your hand against his chest to keep him at a sufferable distance.

"I'm hungry," you pout and raise your shoulders, knitting your brows together as you look up at him.

"You're spoiled, is what you are," he hums in amusement, pulling out his wallet. "On me, guys."

The rest of the group sends you a collective thumbs up behind Satoru's back, all grinning like naughty children.

-

Your joint assignment with Kento and Haibara went worse than anyone was expecting. Haibara was dead.

And to make the situation worse, Kiyohime took possession of you the moment he hit the ground–nearly destroying everything around her.

As badly as he wanted to appear in your room, Satoru was restricted to knocking on your door once you came home. You didn't come out earlier when Kento came to tell you he was going with Suguru to pay their respects to the body.

"Hey, sweetheart?" He calls softly through the door. His heart feels torn to shreds, laced with guilt and phantom feelings from Riko's murder. "Can I come in?"

He's met with silence, making the weight on his chest unbearable.

"Please," he chokes, biting his tongue. "Need to see you're okay."

There's a quiet, "Okay, Satoru," and he's instantly standing in the middle of your room.

Your room's in chaos–your desk is sitting sideways on the opposite side of the room from its original spot, and the floor is littered with everything.

You're lying in bed, the sheets cocooning you, facing the wall.

Satoru can see your body shaking and hear your quiet whimpers now that nothing separates you.

"Oh, baby," he murmurs solemnly, dipping his knee into the edge of the mattress. His hand reaches for you and squeezes your arm gently.

You throw yourself at him before he can do anything. His anxiety spikes in fear, but relief swims through him when you bury your face into his stomach and sob a little louder without your sheets muffling you. Satoru praises himself for turning off his infinity when he comes to see you.

"It was awful, Satoru," you croak, and he can feel your tears bleeding through his shirt. "I almost killed him too. I just wanted to save them. I couldn't save him."

Satoru placed a hand on your head and entwined his fingers through your hair, holding you against him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, throat closing up when your sobs don't let up. "I'm so, so sorry."

a/n: like, comment, reblog my sweet bitch tiddies lmk what you think ❦

[inkformyblood]

the red on my face is matching you (GhostSoap)

Canon Era, Soulmate AU. Part 1/4

The meeting room booked for this debriefing is a fucking disgrace. They could have one of the newly refurbished digs closer to the centre of the base, the scent of fresh paint still bleeding off the walls and all the furniture still slightly uncomfortable in that never-been-used way, but no. Ghost couldn’t be that fortunate. 

Two months stuck in a bleeding ditch with rainwater up his arse, no cover so he was being slowly roasted alive, somehow freezing and boiling all at the same time, and they get one of the off-shoot debriefing rooms miles away from everywhere and not even a crappy coffee machine to get some dishwater that labelled itself as tea. 

Ghost bites the flat of his tongue, holds the pressure steady until the ache is all he can think about, the pain dull to dead nerves, and let's go. In the end, he hadn’t really been needed, just left on the line to dry while the forward team swept through the compound like a wildfire. All flash, no bang. He’d watched them through his scope, just distant moving shadows that were somehow people all the same, seen a couple fall and not even been able to take out their killers thanks to the red tape garrotting him. 

Ghost had his orders straight from Price, smelling faintly of cigar smoke and delivered in the rattle of the plane. Price’s knuckles were white on the tangle of the harness in his grasp, swaying the motion of the plane as he leant down to speak to Ghost. His words had clattered like gunfire and Ghost felt them burrow into his skin, rotting him from the inside out. It wasn’t Price’s doing, he had his own marionette strings knotted around his limbs, pulled taut in that moment, and Ghost understands that well enough.

He’s a dead man walking so he needed to stay out of the mission. Observation, nothing more. Note down the time and position that each man dies, the scope boring a hole through his skull, the trigger a tripwire against his finger, and do nothing.

Fucking bastards.

Ghost tips himself back in the chair before he settles all four legs on the floor once more. It creaks beneath his weight, some flimsy dumpster find, the wood pitted with numerous scuffs, the scrawl of someone’s initials over the back. The singular fan, a goddamn divine miracle at this rate, sits off to his right. It wheezes through the cloud of dust coating the blades, orbiting from one side to the other as if that would do anything. 

He can feel his eye black running down his face, sweat stinging at his eyes as it goes, and it makes his skin crawl, the hollows of his gum aching. His fingers curl, the tapered edge of his fingers catching on every uneven scuff on the table, every dent from a slammed fist. Maybe a couple were from a quick fuck, too pent up to wait until they were behind doors that locked, still stupidly besotted enough that getting caught added a thrill of excitement, and Ghost’s fingers catches on those scratches like all the others, indistinguishable, unimportant. 

Copper coats his tongue, a fresh tear in his lip that he’s been chewing without realising. The nerves are too fried to transmit much about pressure or temperature and he relies on habit rather than sensation most of the time. Sometimes it works. Blood joins the sweat accumulating on the inside of his mask, the fabric beginning to smell more like an open body pit than the nondescript fabric paint he’d used at the start. He wants to take it off. He wants to sew it to his skin and then, maybe, maybe—

“Here we are.”

Price. Self-assured swagger to his step that came along with the bars they’d added to his shoulders when he was promoted way back when. It’s a distinct enough walk that Ghost relaxes back into his seat, letting his legs sprawl out as best as the confines of the chair will allow him. He’s enough of an open book to the other man — open the same way an academic text in a dead fucking language so mostly targeted guesswork — and Price will read his annoyance like a signal tower. Bastard. 

Ghost inclines his head in greeting to Price, his attention snapping to the puppy trailing Price in. Fresh meat. Fuck, had he ever been that young, that bright-eyed? He must have been the same age as the other man at one point, hell, given how young Ghost was when he joined they might be the same age now, but he never felt that young. Adult responsibilities piled onto childish shoulders that grew quickly enough to hold them. 

The lad’s got a mohawk for fucks sake.

It’s intentional, a peacock shaking its iridescent tail for attention, because the realisation that the other man is also wearing a mask is slow coming. There’s introductions — “John MacTavish, our new recruit.” “Soap, please, sir.” — and Price is several sentences into an explanation before Ghost can fully take the other man in. 

The hissing undulation of the fan ruffles Soap’s hair and he pushes a section back from his face without looking away from Price. He’s keen, hungrily so, more likely to slit his own throat for guts and glory and Ghost is ready to dismiss him in the same breath. Just another dog, leashed like Ghost is, but this one hasn’t learnt the incoming hand is more than often a blow instead of a pat. He must sense Ghost watching him — a prickle across the base of his name, someone walking over his grave — as he glances over, his eyes crinkling as he grins and Ghost realises. 

Soap MacTavish is wearing a mask too.

It isn’t the same as Ghost’s, medical instead of tactical, camo print splashed over the front until it’s dismissed as just another part of the uniform. But it’s pulled higher than Ghost is used to seeing people wear, drawn to rest just beneath his eyes and held close to his jaw, a custom job. It’s not uncommon for other soldiers to wear masks, some people are picky about their privacy although not to the same extent that Ghost is, but Soap is another mystery all together. 

The meeting room door opens once more and Gaz slides into his seat, blinking at the newcomer before he covers it with a grin. Must already know Soap because there’s only a whispered exchange before Gaz’s attention glides onto Price like it’s been there all along. Price takes it all in without a second glance, sliding a file over to Gaz without tripping over his words as he brings up the next image. Standard compound, just remote enough to fuck with the delivery drivers, several foot of trees cleared from the hastily constructed walls. Dropped into the centre, a gigantic fuck-you to any thoughts Ghost had of some R&R between missions, is a tower, leaning sideways already, a kid getting distracted and swiping at the blocks as they move away.

He can see his grave when it’s laid out in front of him.

Turning his attention back to Soap, it isn’t a surprise that the other man is staring. Not just staring, devouring, consuming, drinking Ghost down like he's air and water both, mana from heaven and the holy fucking sacrament. There’s a silver cross on Soap’s chest, the chain shining while the token is tarnished, and his hand rises to it, brushing over the metal before it drops once more. 

Ghost hasn’t seen the inside of a church that hadn’t doubled as a battleground for years. Might prove a problem if Soap turns out to be the judgemental type.

But… the mask.

Why?

Ghost grinds his teeth together, the sound echoing in the confines of his skull, and Gaz flinches, a scowl already traced over his mouth. Price barely pauses in his speech, his gaze flickering over to Ghost in a silent chastisement that always twists something in the base of his throat, some scrap of a heart that’s keeping him upright and moving. Soap watches all of this, the fabric of his mask indented over his lip as he chews on it. There’s a damp patch when he releases it, nearly hidden behind the pattern of the camo. Ghost tugs on the edge of his gloves, pulls up his sleeve, folds the scrap of skin in danger of showing away once more. 

It’s a choice, a deliberately maintained choice, something cared for and cultivated. Soap must have a stake in the game, something heavier than just vanity, or is it? Ghost fights the urge to grind his teeth together once more, his gums aching, a spark of restlessness burning through his joints like kindling tossed in the undergrowth. Too long spent huddled in one position and not enough time between missions and then this mystery is tipped into his lap, near-enough fucking giftwrapped to torture him about.

Roba should have tried something like this. Might’ve worked out for him better.

Soap’s still watching him. He’s being careful about it now, thanks to Price’s momentarily diverted attention, sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye between blinks. Price presses a button and the lights dim, a sprawl of surveillance footage rolling across the screen. Ghost watches it without taking it in, green-toned sepia rolling across the whites of his eyes and falling back off again. His attention —  carved up for decoration like scrimshaw, thoughts gnarled together even as the upcoming battle plan etches itself on the inside of his skull — is diverted, compromised. He tips his chair back carefully and Soap straightens at the noise of protest it makes, his brow furrowing before he relaxes deliberately. Already a bleeding heart, Ghost guesses, trying to make sure he doesn’t die somewhere nonsensical before he can die and decay somewhere it would be useful, a puppy whining from its basket. Sit. Stay. Shoot. 

Ghost tips his head to one side, pressure along the side of his neck, a matching ache in his thighs as he braces himself against the floor. There’s still mud on his boots and he scrapes one against the table leg, jolting it slightly. Gaz flips him off behind Soap’s back like he’s a schoolboy hiding from the teacher and Soap twitches, his mouth caught halfway between a grin and a gasp, terror woven so neatly into joy. He catches Ghost’s gaze once more, locked onto him like there’s an entire missile tracking system whirring behind his eyes, and, for all Ghost knows about the government programs twitching curtains behind the scenes, there damn well might be. 

Soap looks ordinary enough, cut mostly from the same cloth as any other soldier.

His arms are mostly bare, sleeves pushed up to his elbows due to the heat. There’s the faint lines of scars visible when he shifts, the light catching off of the silver marks and the notched counterparts, a tattoo on his right forearm of a familiar logo. Cocky fuck. If they both survive this mission, and Soap can manage to find his feet on solid ground, he might grow to like this new stray Price has brought in off the street. The tattoo is too faded to be new, the ink bedded into Soap’s skin aspirational or in memoriam. Could be chasing after his own ghosts and Simon is just another notch on his belt of actions he’ll regret. The mask hides the majority of his features, suggestions of a crooked nose beneath the fabric, a grin bright enough to be noticeable despite it all.

“Any questions?”

Ghost shakes his head at Price, rocking his chair back onto four legs. He’ll be glad to be out of here in any capacity, even if it is to another squeeze into a metal box before he can be thrown into battle once more. Price might sit next to him for the flight, the cigar smoke clinging to the weathered lines of his palms, a curved line of heat at his side to combat the chill of so many booted feet marching over his grave.

Soap could sit next to him.

Ghost dismisses the thought in an instant, anger burning in the base of his throat, bitter like he should be. He’s dead, buried in a grave he was too stubborn to stay in; life isn’t for men like him.

“Good.” Price nods once, pride clear in his wide stance, the easy grin he wears. “It’s going to be a small team this time, lads, so in and out, no guts, no glory. Understand?”

Another nod from Ghost bumping up against the regulation-size “Yessir,” from Gaz, both torn apart at the heels by the bright “sir, yes, sir” from their newest addition. Soap’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins, every piece of his face that is visible utilised to shout his emotions to the world, a fanfare covered by a tea towel. Fuck, Ghost needs a drink. Preferably several, each strong, all served alone in the quiet nest of his room, but he’ll take whatever cheap swill he can coax from a coffee machine before he has to shrug all of his gear back on. It’s been days since he’s taken off his eye black and caught a glimpse of his own reflection, years since he’d wanted to. 

Gaz dawdles and Ghost is going to gut him for it. Give him a new set of scars over his rib cage to show off to his flock of twittering admirers, each one burning with jealousy and trying to catch alight on the reflected glory of Gaz’s attention. 

It gives Soap time to break away as Ghost makes his escape, to slip out of the door moments after he does.

“Hey, LT.”

Ghost stops. Soap doesn’t.

“Looks like we’re going to be working together on this one. Hope it’s a good one, yeah.”

Standing, they’re nearly of a height, Ghost claiming a few inches over Soap. He glares down at the other man, his jaw clenched tight enough he thinks it might shatter, spilling blood and bile down onto the bleach-stained floor. “What are you doing, Sergeant?” 

The fuck off and leave me alone is unspoken, landing like a tactical nuke in the space between them, and Soap ignores it utterly. He’s still grinning, sharper now, somehow, the bright blue of his eyes drawn darker beneath the fluorescence. “Getting to know my teammates, sir. I’ve been hoping to get assigned this unit for a long time now.”

“Why?” Like a gunshot, better to be over sooner rather than later, a quick impact between the eyes than a slow puncture in the belly. Ghost folds his arms over his chest, tipping his head to one side. The cut on his lip had scabbed over, now torn open anew.

Soap meets his glare head-on, the same stubborn streak painted over every aspect of his being that must have set him on this course. “Got my reasons, sir. Not about to kiss and tell on the first date, so to speak.”

Cocky fuck. 

If he lives, Ghost might grow to like him.

“Go get your kit. Dismissed.”

Ghost turns and walks away. He doesn’t look back, even when he hears the conspicuous absence of Soap’s footsteps, the heavy starving weight of his stare imprinted on the back of Ghost’s head. One more mission, then he can rest. Another mission before he can sleep. 

[green-static]

Descriptors are so weird like

Sex repulsed? Yeah definitely, most of the time. I feel sick to my stomach and genuinely start stressing out over it.

But there’s also times where I’m like indifferent about it??? BUT THEN!

There’s also that moment when I’m like “the idea of sex and being physically connected and intimate in some kind of way is beautifully romantic.”

And sometimes I’m like “yeah these two characters are fucking. Good for them. *aggressively draws them naked* “

But like I’m still like wanting to throw up at the idea of myself being in anything sexual.

I use the label sex repulsed because it’s how I feel a majority of the time, it’s not always to the extent of it feeling like bugs crawling in my skin, but it makes me uncomfortable??? God it’s so weird

I guess I’m just asking if I’m the only one like this

[nothingkillsyoulikeyourmind105]

Here With Me

Chapter 4

Master List

Taglist - @glitterypirateduck @eustassarm @vicky-09

MDNI🔞🔞🚫🚫

TW-Explicit Content

Chapter One Sneak Peek Ch.2 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 part 1

Chapter 3 part 2

a/n credit to the artist for the gif. Name is label beneath the gif. The picture for this one. The artist @namedlunagoddess

Previously in Ch.3 part 2

She sighs but before she could answer. König slams his lips into hers. Asserting his dominance over her mouth as he pushes his tongue into her mouth exploring her mouth. She moans are muffled in his mouth. Biting her lip gently. He pulls away. Looking at her cute pink flustered face.

The sounds of his velcro strap on his gloved echoed in the room. Her breathing hitched as she looked up him.

Her heartbeat quicken.

Ungloving his hand König lifted his hood revealing his lower half of his face. His plump pink lips wet from the kiss earlier. Animalistic growls and moans rumble in his chest looking at her licking his lips he savored the taste of her lips. Pulling her hair back leaning forward to the crook of her neck inhaling her scent made his cock quiver. The feeling of lust and excitement overwhelmed his mind and body. The blood rushing to his aching, throbbing cock.

Picking her up gripping her ass tightly listening to her moan in pain and pleasure. Feeling (y/n) wrap her legs around his waist. Tilting her head back so König could have more access to her neck. Savoring the taste of her perfume and sweat mixed together. Teething grazing her neck watching the goosebumps rise on her neck as he leaves a trail of saliva and hickeys. Walking to the nearest table he set her down. Turning his radio off.

Grinding himself against her core just feeling her react to him made him smile deviously.

König unbuckled his belt with haste, unbuttoning his cargo pants she pulled him towards her wrapping her legs around him biting her lips looking at him with doe eyes. Her pink flushed face said it all for her. Those pink eyes filled with lust she bites down on her lower lip holding back her excitement.

“Mein hase you sure?”

“Mmhmm”

König tilted her chin upwards to look at him caressing her face biting his own lip. König restraining himself from his dominant side. Pulps blown, filled with lust the way she watched him made his heart flutter and his mind go blank. Listening to her breathing and feeling her heartbeat race in her chest.

“Mein Schatz you have no idea how much I wanted this. Seeing you skip around base with the other TF guys made my cock quiver and my mind fill with jealousy.”

“I’m gonna ruin you. Gonna mold your pussy to fit me only, make sure you memorize every pulsing vein. And paint your walls white, make sure you can’t walk right for days to come.”

“Mein Schatz you will only think of me if any man wants to touch you or flirt with you.”

König growled into her neck nipping at her ears then down to her neck. Moving slowly down her neck following the line to collar bone stopping at her vest and shirt.

Inhaling her scent. König pinched her chin laying small pecks on her chin moving up to her lips, then her nose to her forehead. Savoring this moment. He looked down to her. To his surprise her eyes changed again.

Purple eyes stared back him. Pulling him down to her level. She purred into his ears inhaling his scent. The smell of sweat and gunpowder filled her senses causing her eyes to glow bright purple. Her hands transformed into claws she gently grazing his back moving under his shirt to his flesh she growled against him.

His skin crawled with excitement leaning more into her chest gripping her thighs unbuttoning her pants pulling them off of her discarding them behind him. Pulling her vest and shirt off throwing them behind him.

She sat on the table with a black lace matching lingerie set. Her pussy soaking the table beneath her. Pulling his pants down palming himself through his boxers the tent only grew more uncomfortable.

Reaching to soaking wet core he pulled her black laced panties off discarding them to the ground beside him.

Looking at her soaked pussy he licked his lips with anticipation.

She watched him waiting desperately for some sort of relief.

“König please I need you now!”

“Patience my hase”

Moving himself between her legs gripping her thighs pulling her towards him. Kissing and sucking on her neck he lined himself up with her entrance. Teasing her folds with his red throbbing tip of his cock he savored the sounds and moans that escaped her lips. Biting his lower lip fighting the urge to stuff her pussy full with his throbbing cock.

“Kö please”

“I want a taste first”

Squeezing her thighs roughly watching her squirm and arch her back towards his chest. Clawing at the table under her the sounds of splintering wood cracking under grasp filled the air. Lifting his hand to mouth licking his two fingers, drenched with saliva he stuffs his fingers into her slick throbbing pussy.

Jumping slightly as he pushed his fingers into her biting her lips harshly holding back her muffled moans. Her gasp and moans were music to his ears.

“K k König!”

Watching her writhing under his grasp in pure pleasure. Finding her velvety sweet spot he curled his fingers slowly stroking her.

“Ride my fingers for me hase”

“Mmhm”

Claws gripping into the table the sounds of woods splintering under her hands. Eyes glowed bright purple her fangs extended out. Throwing her head back gasping and moaning loud. Drawing blood as she bit down on her lips. Licking König shoulders grazing his shoulders with her fangs. The pure pleasure of his fingers grazing her velvety sweet spot. Rocking back and forth on the table against his fingers. Tears streaming down her cheeks holding back the knot in her lower stomach. Adding another finger into her weeping pussy stroking her harder her eyes widen.

“That’s it”

Hot, sweet slick juices coated his fingers. Scooping the juices into his fingers König sucked on his fingers. Savoring the taste of her. The sweet nectar tasted so fucking good on König tastebuds licking his lips the sweet taste lingered in his mouth. Pulps blown he bullied his cock into her.

“Mein hase you’re so fucking tight”

“Y y yes König”

Hushed and muffled cries were heard in the room they were in. The sounds of the old table rocking and squeaking. Pants and moans filled the air.

“I haven’t started and you’re already cock drunk on me”

Hissing at the stretch of her pussy she adjusted her self to make herself comfortable. The little movements made her legs shake.

König smiled deviously under his hood. Starting with a slow pace

“K k König you’re too big!?”

“I don’t think I can take all o of you!?”

“Mein hase, it’s gonna all fit.”

“Bitte let me take care of you”

Gasping and moaning fighting the urge to scream out his name to the heavens. She looked up to the ceiling fighting the urge to not bite him.

Fangs sticking out she lunged forward biting into his shoulder drawing blood from his shoulder. König growled with pure pain and pleasure. He quicken his pace. Slamming into her swollen slick pussy. Circling his thumb over her overstimulated clit tears streaming down her face. Gasping and moaning his name into his ear.

“My hase let me take care of you”

“Scream my name louder let them know who you belong too. You’re mine!”

She tried to speak but her mind was blown and filled with lust and pleasure. Babbling incoherent sentences she managed to speak.

“We’re out in the field König”

“I don’t care. I want them to know who this pussy belongs too.”

Tears streaming down her cheeks she neared her climax. Wrapping her legs around his waist tighter. Feeling her walls clench tightly around his cock.

“Fuck you keep sucking me back in!”

“You’re all mine!”

“König I I uh I’m getting closer”

“Please can I come?”

“Nein, we’re coming together. Hold it together for me hase”

Quickening his pace thrusting harder into her, the sounds of flesh slapping each other filled the air and room.

“I’m ready hase”

Feeling her walls clench around him he slammed into her one more time. Pinching her hardened nipples through her bra he took this time to rub her overstimulated clit. While riding out his orgasm.

Her juices mixed with his started to drip down his legs and the table around her thighs under her.

Gasping and breathing heavily in unison he caresses her face.

“We better get dressed now.”

She turned so red looking down at the mess in between her thighs and the mess running down König legs.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry I got carried away let me heal that for you”

“Nein!”

“Leave it. I want it to scar over as a reminder of who left their mark there.”

“König are sure?”

“Ja”

“Let me clean you up.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket cleaning her up first. Picking up her panties he pocketed them from her winking at her.

“König I need that”

“Nein! It’s mine now”

Dusting her pants off he handed them back to her helping her buttoning up her pants and buckling them up for her. He caressed her face once more. Cupping both her cheeks he kissed her softly and passionately.

“Mein Hase”

“You’re beautiful”

“And those eyes”

Meanwhile

“Captain what’s taking them so long.”

“Not sure Sergeants but we gotta move now”

König flipped his radio back on listeners to Ghost and Soap interact on the radio. By the sounds of the conversation they were headed to the very room they were in.

König chuckled as Sparrow tried to walk forward without wincing at the soreness between her legs.

“König!-”

“Yes my hase”

Her sentence was cut short as Soap opened the door raising an eyebrow to her and König.

Pointing to the both of them with a mischievous smile.

She bit down on her hand and transformed into her beast form and winked at König before jumping out the window.

“You and the lassie here König”

Soap smiled and chuckled and walked away holding back his teasing as Ghost entered the room.

The smell of sex lingered in the air. König nodded his head and walked out of the room. His hood hid his mischievous smile. He walked out and headed downstairs quickly and quietly.

He was so content with himself and at the fulfilled fantasy. He fantasized about having sec on the field with someone that he deemed special to him.

Looking out in the street he saw her walking alone on patrol staking the area out for them.

He couldn’t hold back his smile and his heart fluttered.

“Mein Liebling”

“There’s so much I want to show you and how much I worship you now.”

“This was nothing compared to what I’ll do to you in the bedroom.”

Watching her walk down the street eliminating enemy soldiers. König readjusting his pants as he walks back to Captain Price.

Shifting himself he couldn’t help but smile as he walked feeling the wetness of her slick on his cock and balls as he walked.

Ghost and Soap walked back to Captain Price in awkward silence.

The smell of the room and the wet stain on the table basically summed up everything of what happened in the room.

Looking at her in the distance and back to König both men sighed with jealousy heavy on both of their minds.

König had already laid his claim on her.

Watching in the shadows he savored the taste of her on his lips and tongue.

Pulling her black laced panties from his pocket he lifted it under his hood.

Inhaling her scent deeply. The smell of her made him feral for her again. His shoulder ached with pain but not as much as his already hardened throbbing cock.

[yardsards]

What made you realize you’re aro? An idea has been planted in my head of me being aro

i feel like for me, my thing was less about *realizing* i was aro and more about *accepting* that i was aro. (also talk abt my asexuality in here bc those two parts of my identity feel very intertwined. and some gender stuff as well)

as a little kid, i didn't have any crushes. i assumed all my classmates that said they had crushes were just lying or doing some kind of social performance that i (as an undiagnosed autistic who frequently felt left out by my peers' social rules) figured i just didn't get. i figured real crushes wouldn't happen til we were teenagers or something.

when i was like 13, i was clicking around on wikipedia, and found an article about asexuality. immediately i identified myself in it (and realized that oh, it wasn't the default). my confusion about why the girls my age always talked about finding guys hot finally made sense to me. it just clicked into place.

i read up more about asexuality. i looked at the asexual tag on tumblr. i learned about aromanticism and the split attraction model.

but i wasn't ready to accept being aromantic yet. i labelled myself a heteroromantic asexual for several months, maybe even a year. the idea of never having sex wasn't scary to me. but the idea of never falling in love was *terrifying*. so i told myself i just hadn't met the right boy yet and would grow into it. (you'd think a 13 year old would figure out their romantic orientation before their sexual orientation, cuz it's normal for sexual attraction to not be fully developed yet. but i was not coming from the most logical place here)

over time, seeing aromantics online, and unlearning heteronormativity and amatonormativity, the idea of being aromantic started to feel less scary. so i *began* to accept the fact that i could be aro and that would be okay, and started calling myself aromantic.

but a part of me still didn't *want* to be aromantic.

i tried looking for alternative explanations. i questioned if i was a lesbian: i now knew i didn't want to be any boy's girlfriend, but being a girl's girlfriend was never shoved down my throat (and didn't have heteronormative gender roles baked into it) the way dating boys was and so didn't make me so viscerally uncomfortable. and something about butch lesbians really resonated with me (hello repressed gender crisis). i found girls pretty to look at, and fun to draw.

and i had this female friend that i tended to cling to (i have always had a habit of clinging stronglyvto one best friend at a time in my younger years, as a weird autism-anxiety thing). i liked being by her side, and i wanted to hold her hand. i wanted us to be in each other's lives forever. i found myself jealous when she paid more attention to her various boyfriends and girlfriends than me. (later on i realized that she actually wasn't a very good friend and treated all of her friends like free therapy or pit stops between romantic partners. very high school.)

then i realized i was trans, and came out to some close friends.

and then two separate male-aligned friends both admitted romantic feelings towards me in a very close timespan. it made me feel warm when they told me they wanted to be with me. but i told them i didn't think i reciprocated the feelings. both of them told me they'd be okay with something queerplatonic instead of romantic. but i told them i wasn't sure about that either bc commitment like that was scary to me. and i wasn't sure that if i did want a qpr if i would want it with either of them specifically.

i started to think, maybe i was biromantic. the idea of being a boy's boyfriend didn't make my skin crawl the same way the idea of being a boy's girlfriend did. i wondered if maybe the reason i didn't say yes to being in a romantic relationship was just the same reasons i also didn't say yes to being in a queerplatonic relationship (commitment issues/not being sure if either of those particular people were right for me)

but i slowly realized that all of my feelings that i was hoping to fit into a romantic box just. weren't romantic and couldn't be forced to be romantic. it was all either just strong platonic love (i remember noting that it was roughly the same type of love i'd felt towards favorite cousins, who the idea of being romantic with obviously disgusted me). or in other cases were just me being lonely and wanting to be loved and paid attention to, and wanting any love i could get even if it were romantic. and being so afraid of being abandoned in favour of everyone getting romantic partners (because our amatonormative society says that friends should always come second to romantic partners, plus that first girl friend regularly ditching me for her partners increasing that fear) so i was hoping to be in a romantic relationship with the people i loved platonically so that i wouldn't have to worry about them leaving me behind.

idk if i explained it well, and idk if any of this is helpful to you. but yeah.

[freckleslikestars]

Ok. I don’t know how to phrase this and get it right, and I don’t think I really want affirmations or anything, I just maybe want to feel like I’m not…alone in this feeling idk but the voice in my head that’s telling me I’m a freak constantly has just started singing a song about it and it’s really fucking annoying, but like. Sometimes I feel like I’m a bad aromantic. And like. That’s bullshit. I logically know it’s bullshit. An identity label isn’t something that you can be bad at. And it’s not that I don’t identify as aromantic or I’m confused or whatever because I’m definitely happy with the label. Like. The idea of a romantic relationship makes my skin crawl. To the point where I find it really hard to have sex with anyone I have any sort of prior bond/relationship. I mean I can do it but I end up feeling uncomfortable the entire time and don’t enjoy it. And I know that like half of that is a trauma response and stuff, and I’m always safe and stuff, and that’s not really where my problem lies.

My problem is that sometimes I want to want a relationship. I want to be able to come home from work and curl up in bed with someone - someone whose not a stranger, someone who loves me. I want to be able to have sex with someone I have a connection with. And like… I dunno maybe sometimes a little bit of me (very small bit. Maybe a proton. Maybe sometimes a whole atom when I’m drunk) wants the house and the wedding and the 2.4 children that my mother spent the first 18 years of my life “preparing me for”.

And like, a solid 85% of the time the idea of any of that - just the idea of being in love - seems so…foreign to me. So unwelcome. Like…I have no interest in it. And then there’s this little part of me that wants desperately to want it.

And I dunno. I feel like wanting to want it is almost worse than wanting it? Like it feels like a betrayal somehow. Anyway. Have a pie chart for my feelings on romantic attraction:

[lintwriting]

can we retire that trope where characters are like “I WAS NOT ABUSED” and then make a huge deal of the moment where they admit “… I was abused.”

I feel like the only time I’ve enjoyed it was by simkjrs, where a plot point was that other characters DIDNT believe that he was abused, and they had a whole petty drama about it. He had to put his foot down and air his traumas out for them to believe him. That’s so real. That happens on this damn website every day to survivors of sexual assault.

As for the rest of the fics I’ve read, it makes my skin crawl. Something about how all the other characters are just SO PROUD of the abused character for admitting it. They’re sooo supportive and the abused character just has an irrational hatred towards the word until eventually they accept that that’s what happened to them.

I don’t know why this makes me so uncomfortable. This happens in real life all the time.

Maybe it’s because it doesn’t match my experience at all. I didn’t have the words for what was happening to me, but I knew it was wrong from the beginning. The only thing I didn’t know was whether society would agree or call me a crybaby sensitive snowflake.

Maybe it’s the way people place such emphasis on the word itself. Like somehow physically slapping someone is fine but calling it abuse makes it into something bigger.

It doesn’t. It was wrong either way. Like I said, it was wrong even when I didn’t have the words for it. I wouldn’t have been a crybaby sensitive snowflake whether it was called abuse or not.

I guess my real gripe is the way we use the word abuse. Like it’s magical, mystical, special. It confers the right to righteous anger and trauma, where ‘normal’ actions do not.

Reality is that abuse IS normal. It happens all the time. Many times your friend will casually mention an annoying coworker or a past ex, and you’ll realize… “Wow, my friend inadvertently bullied someone and didn’t even realize. Wow, my friend was neglectful or controlling and didn’t even realize.” I KNOW this has happened because many people have abused me that would have never thought of it that way because I was a weirdo, and they weren’t obligated to be nice to a Debbie downer rude weirdo.

Workplace scandals like that happen all the time, like the Asianguystream drama, and fans take his side because they cannot conceptualize abuse as coming from people they like because it is too mystical, too evil for THEIR life. But it’s not. I guess I’d be more interested in an inversion, where someone is like “I WOULD NEVER ABUSE SOMEONE… I already have, haven’t I?”

Another thing is that it represents an increasing pathologizing of our lives.

It can’t just be annoying, it has to be problematic.

It can’t just be that someone treated you poorly, it has to be that they’re a narcissistic abuser using cluster B personality manipulations.

I want to take these people by the shoulders and shake them. It was bad before you created all these words to pathologize them! What you read as narcissistic, I read as simply abuse! Abuse is bad PERIOD whether or not narcissism was involved. Do you even know what that word means?? Because the field of psychology has famously little research about NPD, so I doubt you’re one of the few people qualified to speak on it!

Not everything is about narcissism, narcissism is just the most evil, most mystical boogeyman thing you can think of so you have a “right” to feeling that self righteous anger and trauma. But like I said before, you had a right to those things even before you added that stupid NPD stigmatizing label to it. That’s not even getting into the fact that Psychology labels are NOT REAL the way people frame them, they’re just observed groupings of symptoms.

Calling someone a narcissist is about as helpful as saying they have a transactional worldview and a struggle with criticism, but the latter two don’t sting quite right, now do they?

THATS BECAUSE “NARCISSIST” HAS BEEN STIGMATIZED, WHICH MAKES YOU PART OF THE PROBLEM WHEN YOU USE IT TO FEEL JUSTIFIED ATTACKING SOMEONE.

God I hate the way we talk about abuse online. That’s not even getting into how ghoulish it is that psychology named someone’s psychological disorder after an insult, “shitty bitch disease” why don’t you call it. Though, maybe people are using narcissist the way it was supposed to be used—it’s clear that the disorder was named to help the people around them and not to help the narcissists themselves.

Finally, why do people bring talk of abuse and therapy speak to cultures where that does not exist? God I hate it when fics set in a fantasy ancient world have these moments the most. “I was… abused.”

First of all, abuse has this stigmatized connotation in part because it’s become inextricably tied to mental health and psychology. A character outside of that context would not normally struggle to say “I was abused” any more than they would struggle to say “My father burned my face off” unless they knew the implications of abuse, such as that abused people are somehow mystically more hurt and righteous than other people. “I wouldn’t want to claim that label when I haven’t earned it”

But like, for instance, do you think a factory worker being abused by his boss is going to have this moment of “… I was abused, wasn’t I?” Where everyone is like soooo supportive and walking on eggshells as he finally claims that label?

NO! He’s going to be like “… That blasted Henry Ford never treated me right.” And it would be just as meaningful as him saying he was abused because that’s what abuse means!

It’s not some mystical thing! At most it’s disillusionment with whatever system taught you to accept the poor treatment. But these fics ironically feel invalidating because it acts like the poor treatment is not actually serious unless a character is diagnosed with CPTSD or calls it specifically “abuse” within the fic. Even when CPTSD is a very modern concept and would’ve likely been called/conceptualized as something different back then.

It reminds me of how people sometimes try to act like a show portrayed a villain in a positive light simply because no character explicitly calls their actions abuse, and then rectify that in fic. But AGAIN, poor treatment was poor treatment regardless of if it’s called abuse. These characters were villains for a reason!

Guess I’m just sad because it’s clear these people don’t feel valid without a diagnosis. They’ve had others call them a crybaby and a snowflake, and now they only feel like their pain is valid with the label, to the point where they HAVE to label other characters to feel valid. Like when people call historical figures gay or trans when ancient cultures had a totally alien understanding of sexuality and gender that gets lost with these labels.

[whumpfish]

I always get so uncomfortable when I see this in whump circles. Why is "lady whump" and "minor whump" a thing, let alone a controversy? Pain doesn't care about your gender or your age. You do not need to be This Tall --- to ride this ride. I came to this subgenre as a woman with chronic pain to be in a place where my pain would be accepted instead of offensive. This puts every woman like me - and every child who went through the institutional violence I did, for that matter - in the realm of taboo in what is possibly the only socially acceptable place for us to explore and embrace pain. I write a lot about women experiencing pain. I write a lot about children experiencing institutional violence. Both these things are part of me and part of many femmes in whump.

In the name of pearl-clutching purity culture suddenly our pain is offensive again. How dare we write about it, we're such bad feminists. How dare those of us who experienced violence and pain as children write about it, we're terrible minor-exploiters. We have to slap warning labels on ourselves in the genre that is our best if not only suitable outlet just like we do everywhere else.

This was not a thing when I joined this community. And I resent its sudden introduction.

If only conventionally attractive adult males are allowed to be in pain in fiction, if someone must be suitable for objectification by adult straight women to be allowed to experience pain in fiction, if anyone else being shown to experience pain is offensive simply because they are not conventionally attractive adult males, it ceases to be whump and turns into a weird fetishy situation that just makes my skin crawl.

when internet people are like “i love gothic literature but i hate anything that discusses incest, sexual violence, oppression, misogyny, abuse, torture, gore, murder, or death”

[deathspeaker]

You don't seem familiar with hyperbole, or that my having disophobia is part of MY disability. I have Autism. I can't help that certain sounds are legitimately painful to me. The sound of kissing makes my skin crawl. The sound of people who chew with their mouth open makes me physically uncomfortable and I have to leave the room.

I was using hyperbole and humor to get my point across. Sometimes, disabilities, aren't compatible. Sometimes people have issues that bump up against each other and that sucks.

I don't care how people eat when I'm not around. I don't take issue with it over manners or anything like that. I was making a point about how sometimes people have issues that aren't just 'manners' or being snobs. I would never mock or deride a person with any issues, but I can't help how my brain reacts to them, any more than they can help but have those issues.

So AGAIN. I am taking issue with the person labeling it as a matter of people wanting to police others over social norms.

I would not be able to be physically present with someone making a lot of mouth noises without having a sensory overload, potentially a panic attack, and or a meltdown.

shout out to people considered messy eaters. people who take huge bites of food, who drop food from their mouth, who drool while eating, who make loud mouth eating sounds, who accidentally bite themselves while trying to chew, who choke and spit and splutter while eating and so on and so forth. vague notions about manners aren't more important than your right to eat

[fivelakesinwriting]

hii!! id love it if youd make a rafe x reader enemies to lovers fic where the reader gets a nipple piercing and rafe sees the piercing thru their thin/tight top? reader tries to tease him but rafe tries to ignore it and shit gets FREAKKYYYY lollol

Author's Notes: Y'all are little freaks...and I love that about you. I named the girl in particular for this story, sometimes it's just easier! Please let me know what you think if you have a moment. If this was your request, I hope you love it! xoxo

Warnings: Talk of piercings (might make people uneasy), Swearing, Drinking, Sexual references - Sexual innuendos, Smut *(biting, rough sex, mentions of choking , unprotected sex - please be safe out there, your choice how! ) All Characters are 18+

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

To say that Rafe loathed his sister Sarah's friend - Evie - would be an understatement. He didn't know why he disliked the girl so much, she had never really done anything to him to make him dislike her so much. There was just something about her that rubbed him the wrong way.

Maybe it was the way she didn't move out of the way for him when they crossed paths in the hallway at Tannyhill, the way she called him by his full name - Rafe Cameron - or perhaps, because she looked like the kind of girl that wouldn't give him the time of day. And that bothered the shit out of him.

It was a lazy Summer afternoon and Rafe planned on doing nothing with his day. Topper and Kelce weren't available for golf, and Barry was out. So Rafe cut his losses and decided he would hang out at home by the pool and drink beers all day.

As he descended the stairs towards the kitchen to begin his afternoon he heard his sister's laugh and the distinct sound of Evie's laugh just after. Rafe exhaled heavily as he rolled his eyes, succumbing to the notion that his relaxing afternoon would have the background noise of a witch's cackle.

"Ladies." Rafe grumbled as he quickly made his way through the kitchen, a beeline towards the fridge to grab a beer.

"Rafe Cameron, nice to see you." Evie smiled over the top of her phone as she showed Sarah a photo.

"Evie, see they rescheduled your burning at the stake." Rafe glared as he popped the top of his beer, sipped, then made his way out the patio doors towards the pool.

"Rafe!" Sarah scolded as she picked out a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter in front of her, and threw it at the door as he closed it behind him.

Just as Rafe started to get settled on the lounge chair by the pool, the sun hot on his chest and face, the patio door opened and the girls came outside still giggling.

"Do you need to be here? Can't you take the car and like, leave?" Rafe sighed as he turned his hat back around to shield his eyes from the sun to properly glare at his sister.

"Last I checked this wasn't your house, Rafe. So, we're staying. Deal with it, or go back inside." Sarah replied with a roll of her eyes as she stepped into the pool.

Rafe let out a long, dramatic sigh as he pulled his hat down over his eyes but kept it high enough that he was able to see the pool just under the brim. He crossed his arms over his chest and listened intently to the conversation the girls were having.

"So, you and Anthony are done?" Sarah asked as she waded further into the water.

"So done. Couldn't be more done." Evie stated firmly, and Rafe heard the sound of clothing drop to the deck of the pool.

"That's what you said the last time, and then I had to come pick you up from that party and your knees were all scratched up -" Sarah stated a smirk evident in her voice.

Rafe's ears perked up at the turn the conversation was taking. He knew his sister had a tendency to pick friends that were less than good influences on her. But this? Oh, he would stay and listen to this.

"And that's why I got these done. It's my gift to myself for kicking that loser to curb. And my constant reminder every time I see it." Evie replied with a laugh.

Rafe was beyond curious as to the gift she had given herself. His mind raced as he thought of all the possibilities. And he had not even known she was with someone until that moment. Rafe pulled his hat back up over his eyes, squinting against the sunlight, then stood up from the lounge chair as not to seem like he had been eavesdropping.

But he was.

"Oh, Rafe Cameron! Wait up." Evie called after him as he headed back into the house to grab another beer.

Rafe gave the door a push to keep it open for her as he continued his walk inside the house again, the air conditioning cool on his skin. He opened the fridge doors once more, but felt uncomfortable, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he felt a pair of eyes on him.

"Stop staring at me." He ordered as he grabbed another beer and closed the door of the refrigerator harshly.

"Just waiting for you to move, Rafe Cameron." Evie smiled while she leaned against the island counter, her sunglasses pushed up on the top of her head as her eyes scanned his body.

"Can just ask." Rafe grumbled as he shifted out of the way, flicking the tab of his beer can. He felt uncomfortable under her gaze but also confident, and powerful. He didn't know which way to go.

Witch.

"Thank you." She nodded as she made her way passed him to open the doors of the fridge again and peered inside.

Rafe looked over at her through the corner of his eye as best he could, trying to figure out what she had been talking to Sarah about. What was the gift? He cursed his inquiring mind with a bite of his top lip and quickly turned on his heel to leave again.

"Oh, wait. Rafe? Can you help me? I can't reach the glasses up there." Evie asked with a strain in her voice.

Rafe turned around again with a sigh, placing his beer down on the counter then walked back over to the short girl trying to reach a glass in the high up cabinets. He easily reached above her head, grabbed a glass and placed it in front of her.

"There you go." Rafe mumbled as his fingertips trailed over the countertop as he backed up a little to give her some space.

"Thanks, Rafe Cameron." Evie nodded as she turned around to face him, leaning against the counter.

It was then as she was leaned up against the counter, arms holding her body up as Rafe noticed what Evie had been telling Sarah about all along. It had been under his nose, and under her tiny t-shirt the whole time.

"Who's Anthony?" Rafe asked with a clear of his throat he hoped wasn't too obvious before he pointed to her nipples, pierced, very visible through her white t-shirt.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Evie grinned as she got close to him, close enough that he could smell the chlorine from the pool on her and whatever perfume she used. She brushed by him, her nipples grazing his bare arm as she exited the kitchen and Rafe shivered.

Witch. Bitch....fuck, she's hot.

Rafe growled low in his chest as he turned around, grabbed his beer and took a big drink. He pushed the door open to the pool area again and stalked out to see Evie sitting on the pool deck, her feet in the water as Sarah floated on an obnoxious flotation device shaped like a swan.

"You didn't bring a suit, Evie?" Rafe muttered as he took another generous sip of his beer and placed it on the table beside his lounge chair.

"This is my suit." She replied as she kicked a leg out of the water.

"A white t-shirt and bikini bottoms?" Rafe inquired, attempting to keep his tone even.

She didn't reply, only tossed him a smile as she placed her leg back in the water while she leaned back on her hands. She extended her neck back, letting the sun hit her face as she let out a content sigh.

Rafe didn't like to be teased.

"Sarah, go pick up Wheezie." Rafe ordered as he finished off his beer and adjusted his hat on his head, turning the brim backwards.

"Why do I have to do it? You're the one with no friends and nothing to do." Sarah replied with a glare over the the neck of the swan.

"I'll get us all dinner if you go and pick her up. I don't like that Samuel kid she hangs out with." Rafe grumbled as he leaned back in the chair.

"Do you like anyone?" Sarah sighed as she pulled herself over to the edge of the pool and climbed out.

Sarah asked Evie if she wanted to come along, but Evie declined. She said she would stay here, dry off and make sure that Rafe didn't fuck up the dinner choice for them all.

"You want a beer, Evie?" Rafe asked once Sarah had left and it was just the two of them and the tension he wasn't sure how to label.

The two of them stood in the kitchen, looking through take out menus and avoided conversation. Rafe's eyes flickered over the top of the menu he was pretending to read and zeroed in on her nipples, still visible through her shirt and he was reeling.

"You should change your shirt before Wheezie gets back." Rafe mumbled as he quickly looked back at the menu in his hands so she didn't catch him staring.

"For whose benefit? Hers or yours, Rafe Cameron?" Evie smirked as she tossed the menu she was holding onto the counter, then leaned on her forearms and looked up at him.

"Listen. Maybe this Anthony character liked to be teased and have you shove your tits in his face, but I don't. So quit it." Rafe growled as he dropped his own menu to the floor and reached over the counter to take hold of her face, making her look right into his eyes.

"You don't like my tits?" She questioned, hands pressed to the counter as she started to climb onto it to get closer to him. The other shoe starting to drop.

"I love them." Rafe practically whined as Evie climbed onto the counter and crawled over to him. He tugged off her still wet t-shirt, dropping it to the floor before he reached for her breasts.

"Gentle!" She hissed with a yank of his hair as he tugged at either of the steel bars that pierced her nipples.

"Hurts?" Rafe breathed out as his nose brushed over hers, his palms kneading her breasts a little more gently as he let her pull on his hair.

"Not too much. You just look like you can get rough." She muttered as her other hand reached for his bicep and squeezed.

"Can be, yeah. Won't be this time if you don't want that." Rafe exhaled while his lips got closer to hers. She still smelled like chlorine, and her perfume was some sort of flower he couldn't name. He loved it.

Evie twisted her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and pulled his lips to hers, the other shoe finally dropping. Rafe groaned against her mouth as he released his hold on her chest in favour of wrapping his arms around her instead, pulling her close against him.

"Don't bite! Your sister will notice the marks." Evie gasped when Rafe removed his lips from his and kissed down to her collarbone, sinking his teeth into her skin still warm from the sun.

"Give you one of my shirts. Have to cover these anyways." Rafe mumbled into her clavicle as he reached up to palm at her breasts again.

"Because Sarah and Wheezie coming home to me in your clothes isn't more suspicious, Rafe." She scolded as she reached for his hair to tug his face up, making him look at her.

"Let me worry about them." Rafe growled as he grabbed her hips to lift her off the counter then placed her on the cool tiled floor in front of him. He spun her around and pulled her bikini bottoms down her legs, his breath in his throat at the naked woman in front of him.

"Here?!" She squealed as she tossed a frantic look over her shoulder at him, eyes wide as she waited for his next move. Rafe ran his hands from her shoulders down her back to her hips, simply admiring her form.

"Too much for you?" Rafe grinned, an eyebrow raised to challenge her.

"So, teasing is okay as long as you're the tease?" Evie shivered as her head dropped down, forehead pressed to the countertop as Rafe reached around to roll her nipples between his fingers again.

"Yes." Rafe stated simply, as if this were a fact she should have known upon walking into Tannyhill. He bent down to press a kiss to the back of her neck, a groan in the back of his throat as she pushed back into him.

"C'mon, Rafe." Evie whined as her right hand reached back to pull at his hair as he bit down on the creased of her neck while he untied his swim shorts, letting them fall to his feet.

"You're so whiny. So bratty. I fucking hate it." Rafe growled into her neck as he lined himself up with her entrance, choking out a breath at how wet she felt against him.

"Are you sure?" She exhaled and Rafe could hear the smile on her face.

Fucking witch. Beautiful, pierced, whiny, wet and warm fucking witch.

"If you wanna keep this gentle I suggest you keep your mouth shut, sweetheart." Rafe breathed in her ear as he pressed his tip inside of her, and he swore his heart stopped for a second as she clenched around him.

Her back arched and she let out a pathetic little whine that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he sunk inside of her completely. She reached a hand back to grab his wrist, her nails deep in his skin as he settled inside of her to let her adjust to his size.

"Damn." Rafe groaned as he pulled his hips back, fingertips pressed into the skin of her hips to keep her steady as he thrust back in. He sunk his teeth into her neck again, loving the way she bounced back into him when he did.

"More, Rafe. Please." Evie begged breathlessly, her neck extended to the side to let him mark her up. Rafe pulled his calloused fingers over her hips and up to her breasts again, kneading them before he rolled her nipples between his fingers.

"Hate how good you feel. Goddammit, Evie." Rafe growled while he wrapped one arm around her chest to pull her close while his other hand reached between her legs.

"Shit! Too much!" Evie gasped, her eyes wide when Rafe gave a firm thrust that sent her forward to the countertop once more. Her nails scratched over his forearm as he pressed his middle finger to her clit, finding it easily.

"Can't handle it?" Rafe grunted as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his middle finger circling her clit as he pounded into her from behind.

"Fuck you, Rafe Cameron." Evie sobbed out, back arched as she pulled one hand down his forearm and the other reached back to pull at his hair.

"You already are, and I can fucking feel you coming. You always this easy? Hmm?" Rafe panted as he unwrapped his arm from her chest to press his large palm to her collarbone, bringing her upright against him. He wanted to wrap his hand around that delicate little neck so badly, but he would wait. She had asked him to gentler with her, and he was trying so hard.

"You're a fuc - " She cursed but was cut off by Rafe reaching up and pushing two fingers in her mouth.

"Shut up, and just cum for me." Rafe growled as he pushed his middle and index finger further in her mouth, a shiver going down his spine as he felt her tongue swirl over the pads of his fingers.

As she came around him, whining around his fingers, Rafe was reconsidering his deep hatred for Evie. He chased his own release and kept an obnoxiously bruising grip on her hip with his free hand. Rafe groaned against the back of her neck, pressing his palm flat against her stomach to keep her flush against him as he finished inside of her.

"Shit." Rafe breathed out against the back of her neck, removing his fingers from her mouth. He gave her a soft kiss below her hairline as a thank you, and he hoped she didn't feel the way his breath shook on his exhale.

"I still don't like you very much." Evie whispered as she rested her head back on his shoulder, her eyes closed as she twisted his hair between her fingers.

"Don't like you all that much either." Rafe scoffed as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, although he had to admit in that moment just the two of them in the quiet house wrapped around one another - he didn't hate her all that much.

"I might let you do that again, though. If you give me a shirt, and order me food." Evie responded, her eyes opening just a little to watch as he kissed her forehead to the tip of her nose and then her chin.

"If you don't get burned at the stake first, be happy to do that again."

Hotties:

@anonymousobxfan @starkey-babie @barrysjumpsuit @sodasback

@fashion-fasting @vintageobx @babeyglo @rottenstyx @pogueslandia @soph0864 @whcclxr @beauvibaby @plutooryectors @rafecameronspolo

*tag list is open, please let me know if I forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from particular posts. I've removed the people that don't pre-populate :(

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

[timextoxhajima]

Nevertheless: Wishful Thinking [1]

[completed] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

synopsis: why would the college flirt want anything to do with the innocent heartbreaker? a [somewhat] nevertheless au featuring tbz's eric son young jae

genre [per chapter]: suggestive material, mentions of alcohol, SMUT *this series is a smut series so* please don't read if you're uncomfy. if you're underaged and you still wanna read, i'm not stopping you. i don't care because that's your responsibility to know what's fiction and what's not.

word count: 2.8k, half of which is probably filth

taglist: @from-xero

{this is a work of fiction}

"i'm sorry, i just... i just don't see you that way."

the boy tries his hardest not to choke (or sob) as he lowers his head, the bouquet of flowers in his hands crinkling when he brings it down to his side.

he huffs, using his tongue to poke the inner sides of his cheeks as his grimace pulls out into a smirk.

you look at him with utmost guilt, fingers awkwardly intertwined with one another as you scan the distraught on his face.

"so..." he slowly nods, looking up from the floor. "not even the most popular person on campus can win you over, huh?"

the label strikes a chord in you.

honestly, you were just waiting for him to say those words. you hadn't expected the campus star boy to confess to you tonight, much less at his own graduation party.

he was two years your senior and frankly way out of your league - leaving you with absolutely no clue how he came about to develop feelings for you.

you had wondered if he was merely capitalising on your growing reputation as the 'innocent heartbreaker'.

the pretty, new, freshman who just couldn't seem to stop heads from turning.

one of those heads was his.

wooseok scoffs, obviously unhappy and dissatisfied with your response.

how dare the pretty freshman reject the hottest boy on campus?

"okay," wooseok nods, still holding out the flowers to you. "at least take the flowers, would you?"

grimly picking the golden-wrapped roses from him, you scan his eyes, glossed with a layer of tears as his nose sours.

"wooseok-"

"no, don't," he interrupts you, sucking in a deep breath as he puffs out his chest. the yelling from outside his bedroom door calls the both of your attention.

"the party's still going on until morning, are you staying?"

with a light shake of your head, you hug the flowers close to your chest. your heart slows down, calming from the fact that he had brought you in here just to confess and not something else you were afraid of.

the guilt sinks in when you realise you didn't trust wooseok all that much.

"okay, well..." he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. the silver shine off the school's logo on the varsity jacket glimmers under the room's ceiling light. "at least stay until we finish the first bottle of vodka? we have games later."

"oh, wooseok, i can't-"

"come on," he reaches forward and grabs your hands, his hands hot and warm. probably from the adrenaline he had to give himself to make this feat. "the first bottle."

you look up from his fingers and at his face, his fringe covering his eyes and casting sharp-angled shadows all over his lids.

your lips part, but before you can even utter a sound, he hops right in and exclaims with a grin on his face. "great! i'll see you around and come find me when you're leaving, okay?"

the smile lines extend from the sides of his nose and down to his lips, the shadow lines on his cheeks shifting as he turns on his heels, hands sliding off yours.

"i'll-" he points to his door, already reaching for the handle. "yeah. bye."

wooseok pulls the door open for him to exit, and right before he can shut the door behind him, his eyes come between the gap to take one last look at you.

the door clicks shut after he moves off first, and you're left with the roses in your arms, standing in the middle of his room, having just rejected the most sought-after bachelor in the school.

looking down at the roses once more, your finger-pads rub against the velvet petals, heart aching for him.

the neon lights in his room were casting a bright blue hue all over the walls and the carpeted ground, trophies for baseball and customised bats decorating almost every corner.

you turn to his bed, thinking of leaving the flowers on the cushion and leaving quietly through his window.

but your train of thought violently snapped into two when the party outside yells, followed by the loud thunking of the bass throughout the house.

the flowers are a reminder of how shit of a person you are.

you didn't ask to be a heartbreaker.

people tend to think you find joy in rejecting the brave ones who get their feelings across but you don't. not at all.

carefully laying the bouquet of flowers back onto his bed, you pull the door of his room open and step out into the hallway, the music blasting like everyone was deaf and hard of hearing.

the crowd in the living room comes into view when you start walking down the stairs - everybody jumping on beat to the likes of superbass and people yelling the all-time classic rap.

your knuckles whiten from gripping onto the wooden railings, unable to return yourself to the party when you've done broken the heart of the host himself.

so you turn on your heels, deciding to return to his room and crawl out through his window - only to be met by someone else.

"party's downstairs."

if you were the innocent heartbreaker...

then eric son was the vicious one - the male, sluttier equivalent of you.

"oh, well... party's not for me," you offer a tiny smile, slightly embarrassed to be caught making a u-turn.

eric tilts his head to the side, holding out an arm and resting it on the wooden railings. you lower your head, taking a step to your left in a bid to walk past him.

but you're stopped yet again by his arm reaching out, palm pressing flat into the concrete as he looks down at you.

you don't realise your fists are clenched (and sweating) until you rub them onto your dress.

"look, eric- i- i had a bad day and i just-"

"so walk out the front door," he raises a single brow, taking a step down and removing his hand off the wooden railing.

your feet fumble around each other in a bid not to topple down the stairs. turning to face you, he forces you to step back to maintain the safe distance between you.

"i don't want to make a scene-" the bad habit of picking your nails returns when your back hits the wall, and eric's standing an uncomfortable distance from you now.

"oh," he lifts his free hand and mirrors the other, keeping your neck between his forearms. but you are the scene. you can't just... leave."

a flustered chuckle runs through your throat as you lean your head back against the wall. "i don't have the time for this."

"make time for me," eric cocks his head to the side and glances down near the bottom of your face. "you can tell me about your bad day."

"i think i'll be fine on my own, thank you," carefully squatting and trying to shrink out from the wall-eric sandwich, your brows furrow as you shift.

but eric son buckles his arm and halves the distance he has between your faces, the sudden surge forcing you back upright.

now his breath is hot on your jaw and you turn away from him, lips pursed into a thin, tight line.

"the 'innocent heartbreaker'," he gently hums, fingers reaching up to play with the curled locks fallen around your upper arms. the fleeting brushes of his skin across yours draw out chills, and a harsh inhale twitches your facial expressions to his liking. "i can see why boys would fall for this."

with your eyes still glued to the party downstairs, you part your lips, wanting to explain yourself.

then eric, with the weight of feathers, reaches up to your chin and tilts it towards him.

his lips are parted as he slides his tongue across his teeth. he sighs softly, eyes travelling from yours to your lips and back up.

by now, you can feel his breath on your philtrum.

"you're pretty," he whispers, almost against your lips.

and your stomach plummets when he pulls away completely, the cool air rushing in to replace the bodily heat.

without breaking eye contact, even for a single second, eric pushes himself off the wall. lips drawn out into a wide smile, he adjusts his jacket and runs his hand through his hair.

"but not that pretty."

you don't realise your heart's racing until you feel your chest heaving, unknowingly panting from the unruly interaction the vicious heartbreaker has just provided you.

the world finally seeps back into view and into complete perfect audio, the music finally rumbling through you again when your eyes trail after eric, walking into the crowd jumping in the living room.

the taste of iron seeps out from the inside of your lips, and you dart your tongue across the mark that your teeth have left on your flesh.

clearing your throat and shaking the thought of eric out of your head, you turn back up the steps and head back into wooseok's bedroom.

the blue hues of the room start to sink into your consciousness again, the yellow shade of the bouquet wrap looking more like green under the lighting.

you take a moment to fester - over wooseok, over your reputation, over eric.

college just started and here you were, feeling guilty over something that wasn't even your fault.

the final decision comes to rest on your fingers in the form of pulling wooseok's window open, carefully lifting your feet and crawling under the glass.

now, troublemaker was playing, muffled but definitely loud enough to be heard at least 3 houses down the road. you climb onto the roof of his garage, eyes scanning to cars parked outside and along the road.

you stride to the side where you know wooseok had a wooden plating attached to one of the walls, fake vines intertwined between the planks.

it's a relief when your feet meet the concrete ground, and nobody was in sight - until you back up into someone's chest and you turn to find eric, again.

"what in the world-"

he cuts you off by grabbing your waist, slotting his lips between yours and holding your chin to align your faces.

you were nearly bought into it, but the consciousness seeps back into you and you rip your face off his, palms one his chest with his hands still on your waist.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"i could ask you the same thing."

"you already know I'm leaving."

"you can't leave just yet."

"why the hell not?"

"because I'm not done with you."

with a low huff, he hoists you up onto his hips, lips crashing onto yours as he walks you backwards, your shoulder blades hitting the wall where you had climbed down from.

there's a gentle rattle when he keeps you up against the wooden planks, his palms riding the skirt of your dress up and over your hips.

his fingers slide under the material of your underwear hugging your pelvis, hot skin gripping onto the flesh of your rear.

then you hear a tear amongst the mess he's making on your lips, and the material of your underwear loosens.

"what the-"

"shh," he smirks, now turning his head into your neck to nip on your jaw. your chest heaves from the sensitivity, the fluttering sensation of his lips on your neck drilling chills all through you. "make a sound and everyone will know you couldn't say no to me."

conscience returns to you for a split second.

"eric- we can't-"

before you can finish your sentence, eric drags the thin material out from under you and dangles it before you, his eyes clouded and dark.

the darkened patch of material on your underwear washes your face in pink and heat.

"you were saying?"

your stomach plummets, and you now register the coolness on your core. eric smiles, rolling up the material to shove it into his pocket.

"eric-" your fingers dig into his left forearm as they return to the wall by your head, his right carefully undoing his belt.

the clink of the metal followed by the zipper coming undone forms a knot in your stomach already, then his fingers coming to spread your neediness all over you forces a sharp whimper up your lungs.

"I've done nothing..." he shakes his head, sliding a single finger up and down your core. "and you are so wet."

he lifts his finger from under your skirt, his fingers glistening under the sharp, fluorescent lighting.

your hooded lids are just about tearing with the overwhelming ache that's throbbing through you, and he makes it worse by running his tongue all over his finger.

eric's pride swells when a whine escapes your throat, and he presses himself into you, chest against yours with his hands digging into your thighs. your arms circle around his shoulders, pulling him closer for a deep, slow kiss.

he prods against you, the throbbing ache spiking when his manhood rubs against your core. groaning into the kiss, your entire being squirms between him and the wall with the muffled music still blasting from the living room.

he doesn't bother to wait for you before he finds his manhood and aligns it with your entrance, gently prodding before sliding himself in like it was meant to be.

he buries himself inside you by holding your thighs around his hips even tighter, drawing a low and prolonged moan from your lips.

eric pulls away, pressing his forehead into yours to let you breathe. but he finds some kind of sadistic pleasure when he pulls his hips away, only to slam right back in, earning a sharp yelp from you.

"go any louder, princess, and i won't be the only one enjoying this."

he grins to himself, licking his lips before diving into your neck and picking at all the right spots. every kiss and nibble earned him a moan or a mewl and it ruins your pride over and over to know that you had just broken someone's heart tonight.

yet you were outside that someone's house, letting eric rail you like he owned you.

your fingers claw and grip at his shirt as you feel your back jerk and rock against the wooden plank. with every thrust he offers you, he sounds like he's laughing and panting at the same time, the hot breath on your neck making you writhe in a guilty pleasure.

he offers a few slower thrusts before grabbing your chin to look at him, eyes slightly fucked out and your thighs tired from keeping your body locked to his.

slowly pulling out and sliding back in, he takes the time to revel in the way your brows furrow and your lips fall apart, your curled hair now a mess around your chest and shoulders.

"that's it, princess," he leans into your ear and coos. "tell me how good that feels."

unable to form a coherent word in your head, you whine in response, pulling his face to yours and planting your lips onto his with every ounce of energy left in you.

his hands fumble under your skirt and find your sensitivity, pressing his thumb flat onto you. the pressure jerks you upwards and he takes the opportunity to reposition himself, changing the angle ever so slightly.

by some miracle, the tip of him buried inside you finds the magic spot, and when he picks up his pace, the knot starts to find you in eternal bliss.

eric pulls away again, huffing as he thrusts himself into you, fingers flicking and abusing you as if your legs weren't already shaking and convulsing around his hips.

"good girl," his breath is heavy on your jaw as he plants a few wet kisses there, his pants bringing you to some newer heights. your vision starts to fade into white with a few more thrusts and his fingers dig into your thighs when your lower body starts to spasm.

muscles flexing, your entire body squirms and trembles as you meet your high.

then eric hurriedly pulls out, the hot fluid dribbling all over the ground under you.

while you come down from your high, eric's strained grunts rumble through his torso under your arms. the vein that popped out on his neck was still there, and your senses only allow enough for you to focus on eric now.

he bites on his bottom lip and pushes his hair back with a deep inhale. he turns to you, eyes wide open and clear.

"not such an innocent princess now, are you?"

[gingersnaaps]

too much of a good thing

he's so sweet, so kind, so dumb - is bokuto really capable of anything besides the best intentions?

wc: ~2.7k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon sex to noncon creampie, manipulation, lovebombing and then neglect, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, penetration, a lil angst, timeskip!bokuto, fem!reader with inner genitals

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Being subtle was never really Bokuto’s thing, not even in the beginning.

In some ways, you suppose that you’re lucky - that you’re better off than your friends who you would always hear complaining, muttering about boys who didn't like to commit, didn’t like labels, who didn’t like texting first or buying gifts or putting in any effort at all.

Barely a week into your relationship, you come home from work with your head dizzy and feet aching from exhaustion, and discover a dozen bouquets of roses on your doorstep. Crimson petals are littered everywhere, strewn against the grey concrete of the steps, and although you feel your neck and face heating up with embarrassment at the grand gesture, you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

He really was so sweet. Who cares if he wasn’t exactly shy about expressing it?

None of the other guys you’ve dated before had sent you good morning texts quite like his, filled with exclamation points and emojis, and none of them had tried nearly as hard as Bokuto does with his breathy, eager i love you’s, his frequent hugs whenever he gets the chance to see you, or even his phone calls that come twice, three times, even four times in the middle of the day.

But the more days that pass by, the more intense it gets.

He picks you up after work all the time, cupping your face in his hands, eyes gleaming almost unnaturally bright. “I love you,” he’ll whisper. “You’re so wonderful, baby. You’re perfect. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

You can’t help but think that these are the sort of words that come months into a relationship, if not years, but… there’s nothing really wrong with what he’s doing, is there? There’s no reason you should be uneasy, no indication of even the slightest hint of trouble on his part.

You’re probably just paranoid.

Bokuto doesn’t stop at words, though - he earns a good sum of money from his job playing professional volleyball, and he’s never hesitant to use it on you. A week after he leaves you the roses, he asks you out on a date to a restaurant you know is ridiculously expensive, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grows as you scroll through pictures of the establishment on Google Images.

“I don’t think I can afford it, Bo,” you tell him, voice hesitant and crackly over the phone. “If we go, I won’t be able to pay my share.”

“So?”

It’s just a word, but the implication isn’t lost on you. And if he’s fine with paying for you, if he’s okay with the hundreds of dollars you’ll be owing him, well - there’s no good reason to turn him down, right?

During the date, you talk with him as you spoon bites of delicate food into your mouth. The restaurant is too lavish, the plush velvet carpeting and crystal chandeliers almost a parody of luxury. You’re pretty sure the utensils are half the price of your rent.

He leans over in the middle of the meal, expression suddenly serious. “You’re enjoying this, right?” he asks.

“I am. I’m kinda lucky, aren’t I? Being spoiled like this.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his grin so bright it could rival the sun. “You really are.”

And suddenly - just for a moment - you catch a glimpse of something slightly off about his whole expression, as if it was a mask waiting to be ripped off to reveal something much, much different underneath, but the fleeting moment is gone so quickly you convince yourself that it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.

Bokuto has been nothing if not perfect, after all. If you’re uneasy, it’s probably just because you aren’t used to being treated like this, aren’t used to someone that lavishes you with constant gifts and praise and displays of affection like he does. On the way back in the taxi, he whispers everything he loves about you softly in your ear, his arm snaking around your waist as his thumb rubs tender circles into your skin. His body is pressed so close to yours, his breath gently tickling your ear, warmth radiating out from his firm, muscled body.

He’s so good to you.

-

It doesn’t last forever.

Bokuto’s affection dries up slowly, but his presence has been such a constant in your life that it’s impossible for you not to notice.

Some mornings, you find yourself waking up to a hollow feeling in your chest as you check your message notifications and find nothing - no late night rants, no funny pictures, no enthusiastic, joyful good morning texts. During the day, the silence now stretches on for hours too long, uncomfortably empty and devoid of the persistent calls that you used to get every single hour.

When he does see you, he’s remarkably reserved - eyes always downcast, fingers fidgeting incessantly, clearly disinterested in what you’re doing, what you’re saying - in fact, disinterested in all of you.

Maybe he’s just busy with volleyball, you rationalize, but your stomach churns with anxiety and deep down, you know that something’s changed.

You try and ignore the dull ache inside of you that seems to follow you around wherever you go, a little voice inside your head constantly reminding you of what Bokuto used to do. Two months ago, he would’ve picked you up. He would’ve sent you flowers today. He would’ve taken you out to eat.

It builds up slowly and steadily, a crescendo of pain that grows in volume the longer he’s gone, like a tidal wave of confusion and hurt that swirls around inside you - until one day, you’re sitting by yourself in the car, sobbing quietly in the cramped darkness.

At least he doesn’t turn you away when you show up on his doorstep.

Your eyes are rimmed with red, streaks of eye makeup running down your face as a frown twists at his features. “Please, Bo,” you whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

And you’re not exactly sure what you did, but you want to fix it, want him back in your life, want to wake up to his smiles and his laughter and his incessant, boundless energy, and you know you’re willing to do anything to get that back.

“Really?” he asks, eyes glimmering faintly with hope.

You nod almost imperceptibly, about to reply yes, yes, want you back so bad, when he grabs your waist with his hands and pulls you in for a kiss so passionate it borders on harsh. It’s a whirlwind of teeth and tongue, a mix of sucking and licking and biting that leaves you gasping for breath, your red lips swollen and slick with spit.

He pulls you inside, his hands roaming all over your body, groping and squeezing at your supple flesh, goosebumps running down your spine as he brings a hand up to brush against your nipple. For the first time in weeks, you see excitement on his face, and his voice trembles as he leans close in. “Let me take care of you,” he says. “Wanna make you feel good.”

And even though there’s apprehension crawling under your skin at his sudden mood swing, you’re so, so glad this version of Bokuto is back that you brush off that hesitation, the mixture of happiness and anticipation overwhelming every single thought in your mind.

As his fingertips graze the soft skin of your torso, his hands - so much larger than yours - maneuver your body around with such ease and grace that you barely notice when you end up on his couch, legs spread wide open as he looks up from between your thighs hungrily. “I - fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he says, out of breath, eyes running over the swollen outline of your cunt.

You whimper softly as his nose brushes up against your clit, his piercing, golden eyes still gazing intently up at you.

He doesn’t waste any of his time teasing you, his flat of his tongue sliding up along your slit with the perfect amount of pressure to leave you squirming. It’s almost as if he knows exactly where to lick and suck, eagerly pressing his tongue up against your clit in insistent circles, lapping at your dripping pussy until your juices are running down his chin. He’s so eager in between your legs, and everytime he finds a spot that makes your legs tremble needily, he gives it so much attention that you already start to feel that wave of pleasure building in your core.

“Don’t stop,” you pant, your hands sliding into his hair as your hips thrust upwards. “Please.”

Bokuto doesn’t need you to tell him that. Shouldn’t have wasted your breath, he thinks idly, diving in and eating you out with renewed vigor.

When his tongue glides around your spasming cunt and dips in briefly, you can’t stop the moan that tumbles from your lips. His tongue is so stupidly long and flexible, sliding inside and licking at your sensitive walls, curling up and brushing against your g-spot until you start to shudder and tremble under him.

You cum embarrassingly quick, your hips jerking and stuttering wildly as he finishes you off. He fucks you through your orgasm, sucking gently at your clit until the border between pain and pleasure starts to blur and you’re moaning so loudly he thinks the neighbors will have complaints for him the next morning.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, voice sending vibrations through your pussy.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“How about another?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“I think you can handle it, right?” a huge grin splits his face as he spreads your pussy apart with two fingers, looking at your swollen, spent cunt. He barely gives your chance to respond before he trails his fingers against your lips, fingers teasing in and out of your slick entrance.

This time, Bokuto uses his hands to stretch you out, inserting his digits one by one until three of his thick, long fingers are nestled inside of your pussy. He thrusts them languidly in and out, his fingertips caressing your nerves until you’re tense and wound up for him again.

“Come on,” he encourages. “You can take it.”

Your brain is hazy from the stimulation, barely registering anything but pleasure as his fingers search and probe like they have some sort of job to do. You feel damp with heat and moisture, the pulsing, burning need in between your legs insistent and demanding.

“Almost there,” he breathes, voice raspy with arousal. A fourth finger brushes up against your lips, and the thought of more stretch, more stimulation, more pleasure, has you clenching desperately against the ones that your cunt is already spread out on.

You sob, your body strung out and wrecked, suspended on the tipping point of another orgasm.

As you cum again, the feeling of relief - white-hot and blinding - rips along your core. You’re not sure you’ve experienced anything quite so intense before, and as you look down at him, hands still manipulating your cunt so expertly, you don’t know if he has the intention of stopping anytime soon.

He stands up and your eyes drift to his cock, flushed purple and almost painfully hard, dripping with precum. His hand strokes along his shaft, soft curses muttered under his breath, but he opens them wide again and looks down at you sadly. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice pleading. “I don’t have any condoms.”

Bokuto sounds so genuine, his tone kind and filled with regret, and guilt begins to sting at your conscience. He’s made you feel so fucking good, given you the best orgasms of your life - is it really fair if you leave him wanting and unsatisfied?

You’re fucked halfway out of your mind when you answer, eyes still fixated on his cock, head swimming with thoughts of how much you want to please him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your words slurred and hesitant. “You can.. you can use me. Use my pussy to get you off. Jus’ pull out at the end.”

Ecstasy flashes across his face, and he looks down eagerly. “Fuck, babe. You’re so perfect. I love you.”

You hadn’t heard those words for weeks.

His strong arms pick you up easily, maneuvering you around until he’s the one sitting on the couch and your cunt is positioned right over his dick. His hands grip tightly at your waist, fingertips pressing so insistently that you’re sure you’ll wake up the next morning with bruises dotting your skin. He lowers you down slowly, carefully, groaning as he fills you up and the warmth of your cunt envelopes him whole.

He already looked big, just from the cursory glance you’d taken earlier, but as you feel the tip of his cock shove against your cervix, your breath almost catches at how you feel your walls expanding to accommodate all of him.

The drag of his curved cock up against your sensitive walls leaves your legs trembling and squirming, but he holds you firmly down as he thrusts up inside over and over. “Stay still,” he coos. “Let me take care of you.”

Bokuto starts off gently, fucking you with shallow little thrusts that have you panting with desperation. He can tell by the way your cunt is fluttering that you're craving more, that the two orgasms he gave you earlier just wasn’t enough for a greedy girl like you, and he relishes the way your small hands grip desperately at his shirt.

He raises you up off his cock, running the tip up and down your slit until your pussy throbs, and slams you back down again. The rhythm he maintains is steady and even, bouncing you up and down on his cock like a ragdoll, whispering stuttered curses and phrases of endearment against your ear, making you shiver from the overload of stimuli.

“Feels so amazing,” he moans. “Gonna.. Gonna cum soon.”

The heat in your core grows intense at the thought of his orgasm, involuntarily whining, and you start to rock your hips back and forth in an attempt to search out more friction.

Bokuto knows he promised to pull out. He knows that it wouldn’t be right if he stayed buried inside your cunt. But how is he supposed to stop himself when you feel this good, wrapped so obediently around him like a perfect little fuck doll? And the heat of your cunt is gripping incredibly tight all around his length, your little squirms and shivers so adorable as he uses you to get himself off.

He can’t help himself.

With one last, desperate thrust, he lets go, thick spurts of cum filling you up until he’s sure your insides are dripping white, and he caresses your stomach where your womb would be in satisfaction. It feels so good to cum inside of a tight cunt, much better than it would’ve if he’d forced himself to pull out, he thinks. And you look so pretty all full and leaking with his seed.

It takes you a moment to fully register the warm, wet feeling pooling inside you, your brain too fucked out, too stupid from the constant stimulation to truly understand what exactly dripping from your slit is.

When you do realize - oh god, he came inside me - panic starts to grip at the edges of your frayed nerves, your vision tunneling as the magnitude of what had just happened hits you. Tears start to blur the world around you, the dim lighting of his living room merging the furniture and warping the walls, and you faintly register the feeling of arms wrapped tight around you, a hand reaching up to caress soothingly at your cheek.

“You know,” Bokuto whispers, face lit up in wonder. “I think we’re soulmates.”