#patch time downtime

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

what's yalls most "oh you did not lie about your kitchen experience" question at a new job? Mine's usually "what's the heat distribution on the grill" or "what side of the grill is fucked up" (depending on the vibes of the restaurant)

[impossible-rat-babies]

thinking. rotating even. eyrie’s way of showing love and how it so quietly bloomed during their time in thavnair w estinien. how it slowly found its way there and so much of how it was both felt. they love each other—as friends and romantically. it’s all there, utterly unspoken, but it’s there.

[floral-hex]

“you should get all your patches from local bands and live shows!” Honey, I’m poor and I live in arkansas, how am I supposed to do that?

[elizabethrobertajones]

ALSO wint and frog r similar age range, wint is 20 in arr, and i hc that with timey wimey stuff (no way arr-ew is all in 1y @ devs) shes like, 26 in ew (a decision i made bc i was 26 then, 27 now lol)

hahaha, I should do a poll for how many years people headcanon pass between ARR to EW... I love that it's so malleable. "Because I say so" is such a wild thing to be completely normal for a whole fandom's perception of time. I've been in protracted battles over a few months passing or not in other fandoms XD

I like that you can imagine your WoL starts young and sort of grows up in all that though... And the characters around ALSO change and develop so it doesn't feel weird to look back on ARR as such a naïve youthful time because everyone has changed so much since then.

[redflagshipwriter]

Snitches the cat and his favorite bat

I wrote up dpxdc fics based off of prompts I happened to see in the last day to add to the reading pile for anyone who didn't prep for the archive down time today.

EDIT

The idea for Danny as a cat came from @shycorvid, thank you so much for correcting me and letting me play in your sandbox!

Snitches the cat comes from @garbagewith-a-cherryontop (I think??? I couldn't find a definite first post!) but the fantastic linked post is the one with how I think Snitches the cat looks here.

Word count is 1053.

Tumblr reference

masterpost for my AO3 downtime fics

“Ugh- that's not- did we just summon a demon cat?”

“It's so messed up looking. Ew.”

Danny blinked and swayed on his feet. He'd had a tail a minute ago, speeding across the GZ to check in on Walker. There had been an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. And now he was on his feet. All four of them.

Wait, what?

“You fucked this up.”

His ears twitched at the sound of a slap. Danny swiveled towards the sound and then got distracted by the feeling of his ears swiveling back. Whaaaaat?

He looked down at his precious little feeties. They were adorable paws.

“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. It came out as a conversational yowl.

The humans looked at him from about ten feet away and five feet up. “Annoying…”

He was pretty sure they were high schoolers. There were five of them, two girls and three boys. They were all bigger than him. High schoolers were usually bigger than he was, but this was just ridiculous.

“Count yourself lucky, dimwits,” one of the older kids said. He took a step towards Danny. Danny pressed his ears flat against his head and hissed at the approach. “If you managed to sacrifice Patches to a demon, your Mom would straight up murder you.” He laughed when he said it, like anything about that was remotely funny.

Uh- what now?

Only now, Danny noticed a very distressed calico cat underneath a laundry basket on the other side of the room. There was a stack of textbooks weighing the basket down. A large rug had been rolled up and- he sneezed rapidly, eyes watering. Chalk! They'd drawn on the floor with chalk!

‘This is some incompetent summoning,’ Danny realized, way too late. ‘Did they- how did they turn me into a cat?’ He looked at his unfortunate brethren under the laundry basket. Her ears were flat against her skull and she looked scared.

He remembered the word “sacrifice” and his blood flushed hit with fury. They'd wanted him to eat her! They'd wanted something to eat miss Patches!

The teenagers froze and looked at him, aghast at the angry sounds that were coming out of his throat.

“Shut up!” One hissed. She took off her shoe and threw it at him. Danny dodged and then threw his head back to yowl even louder. Sonic attack! Aural damage, you big jerks!

“The neighbors are going to- make it shut up!”

Danny had to run, dashing over furniture and tearing his way across a crowded table to avoid being grabbed. He screamed the whole time, eager to alert whoever they were so afraid of. Someone should see!

The window burst in.

Danny stopped running, shocked. He hadn't actually expected-

Someone snatched him up from behind and smacked him on the face with a palm. His jaw exploded with pain. It cut off his yowling.

Stunned. He was still for a moment and then he struggled for his life. The grip on his ribs was way too tight-

He looked over at the sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Holy shit, that was bomb as hell. His eyes went wide at the sight of a heavily armored small child crouched on the windowsill. The boy's eyes were covered, but Danny could still see him look at Danny and the poor calico under the laundry basket. He sneered.

“Unhand the cat or lose your hands at the wrist, you wretch.”

Danny loved him.

The teenager dropped him. Danny caught himself with a stumble. He let out a sad mraow before he could stop himself.

Fight club baby was enraged. “What have you done to this animal?” He hopped down into the room, revealing he was at least a foot shorter than the smallest girl in the room.

Danny trotted to him and started winding around his ankles admiringly. What a good kid! He purred.

“I will be taking both of your cats with me. If you ever harm an animal again, it will be your head that is found in a chalk-”

“Robin.” A hugeass grown man squeezed himself through the window that the kid had broken. Danny craned his head up, up, up, to see him case the joint.

The older man radiated incredible judgment. “I see that you require education on animal welfare and demonic summoning. Go on, Robin.”

“That's my Mom's cat!” One of the teenagers protested. “You can't take her!”

Robin growled at her. Danny jumped in his skin at the sound.

“Then we shall return it to your Mother and her alone, when we explain what you've done.” Danny let murder baby scoop him up and purred at full volume. Hell yeah. He looked at the cowering teenagers with condescension.

“Not that fugly thing.”

Danny blinked. He ended up making an inquisitive mraow. Why was a finger being pointed at him? He was baby.

“That thing showed up, you can get rid of it. But Patches is Mom's cat, and you can't steal a cat because-”

“Batman can steal any cat!” Robin bit out, gathered up Patches, and jumped out the window with both cats in an expert grip.

That didn't sound right, but Danny just enjoyed the night air as a line pulled Robin up to where yet another masked vigilante was waiting, cackling himself to tears.

“Batman can steal any cat,” he wheezed. “Brilliant. Good detour, Robin. Can I hold one?” He held out his blue-striped palms expectantly.

He faltered when he saw Danny, visibly surprised.

Danny… was starting to feel bad. He curled into Robin, hurt. He wasn't ugly. Why did people keep reacting to him weird?

“No,” Robin said curtly. “You have damaged his pride, and Patches is still reeling from her shock.”

The man let out a sigh but let the topic go. “That's Patches, and this is…?”

Robin hesitated. “He is the Snitch.”

That unlocked cooing. “Snitches? Snitchy Snitch Sni- ow!”

Danny snapped at the hand that came way too close and he let out a warning growl. No baby talk!

Robin seemed very pleased. He rubbed behind Danny's ears. “Snitch… I suppose that Snitches will suffice. We are taking him home.”

“....Maybe, just for fun, we should take him to get treated for mange first!” The guy made jazz hands to go with his statement.

Robin and Danny both growled that time.

[leyavo]

| I am my father's daughter | 2 |

💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader

PART TWO: Agreeing to let Toff check you over, you make the decision of whether not you want to stay with your dad or just take off, which would be so much easier.

[18+] MDNI | TW: Hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/comfort/ complicated father-daughter relationship/some TF141 too.

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

[Part one] [Series masterlist] 3026words

Toff lived up to her nickname, no letters dropped at the end of her words like the team your dad had around him. No she was posh, well spoken and had the accent of someone that came from old money.

The gold designer watch on her wrist and the rock of an engagement ring, also telling enough. Her fingers prodded the yellowing bruise on your rib cage, the rock dazzling under the light, blinding you each time she moved.

She doesn't fit in, too put together compared to the likes of your father. He's still wearing some sort of hat, whether its the ridiculous army bucket hat or a snug knitted fisherman one, if he's not it's stuffed in his back pocket. You're convinced he's still got the same Levi jeans, a few added scrapes and as he says, they wear well. There's an array of plaid and flannel shirts in varying colours hanging in his wardrobe, like another uniform he wears on his downtime instead of his camo gear.

Your dad had slipped that she went to some prestigious medical school before working in the military. Not that it mattered it to you, you'd see a vet if it meant they wouldn't talk to your dad.

Thankfully she made your dad wait in the hall, her office door shut as she assessed you. If you got this over with, you could leave and not have to speak of it ever again. You could just imagine him pacing the hallway, halting to greet the soldiers calling him captain and then resuming his pacing.

Being the Captain’s daughter also meant you had a shared family health plan with him. One you’d never heard of before. He did use to remind you to go for dental and medical check ups, but moving around when you were younger made it difficult. Your mother reluctant to fill out forms to sign you up to a new doctor’s surgery because she wasn’t sure if the new home was long term. Shocker, they never were.

"You won't, uh tell my dad?" You asked as you rolled the layers of clothing back down.

Toff tipped your chin up with her finger, "all patient records are confidential, even if your dad's Captain Price." She pushed her chair back wheeling it to the desk and picking up a pair of tweezers, sliding back to you.

She peered over her thick framed glasses at you, turning your face side to side inspecting the gash above your brow. The metal of the tweezer cool against your skin, she prodded the tape drawing back with a nod of satisfaction.

"Soap patched you up well," Toff said handing you a plastic cup of water and some painkillers.

"Sorry, what," you blurted out, choking on the water.

Humming Toff nodded, "he's good with light touch, probably why your dad got him to fix you up whilst you were out cold." She managed to get hold of some of your medical records, which she requested last night. No doubt your dad had called as soon as you fell asleep in the car and asked her for a favour.

You muttered a string of curse words under your breath, did the whole bloody army base know what happened last night? Toff was too busy reading your record, brows scrunching as she double clicked the mouse.

"You broke your wrist six years ago, but never had surgery," she said, turning the computer screen for you to see the x-ray. "The follow up on here, shows your bone moved during it was in a cast, but your guardian refused surgery." Her pen circling the area of the screen for you.

"We were moving and it felt fine," you shrugged, looking down at your wrist. You wondered if your dad knew about that one.

"Does it bother you now?" Toff said, returning to you and picking up your right wrist, pushing your sleeve up. "Huh, there's a lump there, does that hurt? Any regular pain? Does it restrict you from doing certain things, this is your dominant hand?" Her hazel eyes snapped up to yours as you snatched your wrist back and shoved the sleeve back down.

All of her questions spun around in your head, you hadn't even thought about the pain when there was other things to worry about.

Toff stood from her chair, palms raised as if you were going to bolt out of the room, you wanted to.

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Is that all you need me to take a look at?"

"Yes, thanks,” you snapped, flinging your hoody back on and zipping it up.

You're ready to bid your dad goodbye and never look back, but as you swung the door open you crashed into the back of someone else.

Soap's light touch kept you upright, you're trying not to think of him patching you up whilst you slept. The thought alone making you feel pathetic, small in his presence. Like you can't even look after yourself.

“Captain got called in,” Soap said, as if that’s supposed to mean anything to you. You’re used to him coming and going, more focused on his job than you.

More interested in his team, how he so easily referred to Soap as son. You haven’t even been there for a day and he’s found another family, leaving you to feel like a spare part. You want to hate Soap, but you don’t know him. Don’t know your dad the way they do.

The walls began to press in and you took off down the narrow corridor, your sight on the world outside. You needed fresh air, needed to catch your breath and not fall apart in front of Soap.

"Hey, woah," Soap called after you, his boots stomping as he tried to catch up. "dammit slow down would ya, like a fuckin’ greyhound."

You forced the door open with a bit too much force and they slammed against the stairs railing as you rushed down the steps.

"I am not a dog!" You spun around, jabbing his chest with your finger. The cool air swept your hair across your face, drawing a deep breath from you. You watched Soap's chest rise and fall as if he was coaching your breathing.

He tucked the curtain of hair shielding your eyes behind your ear, "feel better now?"

“I’d feel a whole lot better if you signed me out right now.” You raised your brow, wincing at the tape pulling it tight.

Soap shook his head, falling into step beside you. He waved, signalling for the guard to let you both through the gate back into the residential area “Your dad’s a good man, why don’t you give him a chance?”

“Because I’m not a soldier, he had his chance six years ago.” The three years he didn’t reach out, didn’t bother checking in on you. Only to find out he had another kid, another family.

You didn’t miss the tic of his jaw or the gulp he took. All the little signs you looked for when you said the wrong thing, you were good at noticing the change in people. Knew how even the nicest ones could change like a flick of a switch.

Soap leant down, face close to yours that you could feel his hot breath fanning the curve of your nose. “Look, if you’re only here to piss off your dad, I’ll sign you out right now. Hell I’ll even take the blame for you leaving, just don’t go asking him about six years ago.”

“Got it,” you said, voice low but good enough for him to hear. The tension in your body kept you in place, breath trembling as he backed off and started walking ahead.

You trailed after him, keeping your distance incase he turned around again. The beating of your heart drummed against your chest, palms sweating as you balled them up inside your pockets.

Why were you so pathetic when confronted? You could just hear your dad’s voice in the back of your head telling you to knee him in the groin. Take up some space so they can’t take all of yours.

Space, exactly what you needed after being stuck in house with a team of men. You slipped through the front door, not glancing at Soap as you rushed to the safety of your dad’s room.

Shutting the door, you pressed your back against the wood panel. The lock sliding into place, your body slumping to the floor and arms wrapping around your legs as you brought them into your chest.

Your small area of safety calming you. After a moment of silence, you picked yourself up and climbed under the duvet. The memory foam mattress too hard on your back that you flipped over on your stomach, closing your eyes.

-

The constant buzzing of your phone drew you out of your sleep, your eyes heavy as you squinted at the window. You don't know why your dad opened the blinds, the sun making it harder for you to focus. His half of the bed smooth and tucked underneath the mattress, not a crease in sight till you tugged the duvet.

Numb tingles danced across your upper back, you groaned into your pillow and attempted to roll your shoulder. Searing pain stopping you before you could rise from the bed.

Eying the alarm clock, you stumbled out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. You're glad the others are training this afternoon and you can sort this out yourself. It can't be that bad.

You pulled your hoody over your head, wincing at the pull of your arm stretching the skin across your shoulder blade.

Peering over your shoulder, you looked at your reflection in the mirror and your fingers pressing into the red skin. A weeping wound oozed yellow pus just right of your back below your neck. You'd forgotten about the graze, too distracted by Toff questioning your broken wrist.

You added a little more pressure and clutched the edge of the sink, black dots lining your vision. You heard the thud before you felt your body fall to the floor.

Sweat ran down your forehead, the cool tiles beneath you a welcome addition against the heat of your skin. Since when were you so hot? your breaths quickened as you tried to focus on your phone across the bathroom. Your hand aching to reach for it.

Maybe if you just rested for a little.

John couldn't wait to sit outside and have a cigar. The day had knocked him, your call in the early hours of the morning throwing him off track and his duties as a captain, a father. He hated how he got called away whilst he waited for Toff to check you over, hoping to catch you before you went on another stroll around the base to get away from his questioning.

He pulled his boots off and added them to the shoes lined up by the door, the living room and kitchen were clear. The mumbled tones of his teammates drew his attention to the hallway. He dragged a hand down his face, hoping he wouldn't have to readjust yet another bathroom schedule.

John joined the guys huddled by the closed bathroom door, looking around Soap for a clue of what the hell they were doing. "I mean we could shimmy the door open, pop it out of the frame with a bit of force," Ghost said, his calloused hand tracing the wood.

They’re all covered in sweat from their training session. Thinking they’d revert back to their bathroom schedules like normal, but they’re locked out. Only the new recruits use the communal showers.

"I don't think kickin’ the door in, is gonna make the lass feel safe." Soap said, arm shooting across the guys before they could move. The warped door's been wreaking havoc since they were assigned the house, but they haven't been bothered about taking it off and shaving it down or replacing the temperamental lock. That or wait on the long list of maintenance services.

“What the hell are you boneheads going on about?” John grumbled, their heads snapping towards him as they finally realised he was there. He glanced to the lock picking device in Ghost’s hand and the dagger wedged into the crack of the door.

“The doors locked, she was talking a second ago…” Gaz winced as the captain’s fist banged against the door shaking the whole wall.

John held his hand over his shoulder silencing them all behind him, his head titling as he tried to listen for any movement. Another knock on the door, "hey kiddo, you alright in there? If you can hear me give me something, anything."

A light tap bounced back, the tension in the captains shoulders easing at the sound.

"Can't kick the door in, there ain’t enough room in there for it to fall. Could hurt her," Gaz said, he yanked the dagger out of the door and shoved it back into Soap's hand.

"Could take the window out and go in that way." Ghost added, as if they were planning to scale a building and ambush a rogue team.

Their mumbled voices merged together in the cramped hallway.

"Window it is."

Gaz volunteered to climb through the second floor window and break the lock from the inside. John holding his breath as he waited on the other side, his chest stung at the sight of you in Gaz's arms. The ringing in his ear and the hands pushing him forwards kept him in tow behind Gaz. You were so pale, words slurred and hand dropping over his arm like a dead weight.

John was no stranger to the infirmary, he'd been sat either at someone's bedside or the unconscious one receiving aid. What he wasn't used to though, was his daughter strung up with an IV and sleeping off the medication Toff had given her.

Nurses flitted back and forth from the bed, herding John to the side as they assessed you. Gaz and Soap had gone back to the house to sleep, Ghost fixed the door and the lock and stopped by to give the captain a strong flask of coffee leaving straight after.

The constant questions, ones he didn't know since he'd never been asked before. How could he not know if you were allergic to anything or if there were any underlying health issues? It hadn't even been two days since you'd come back into his life and he didn't know you at all.

Hours had passed since Gaz had carried you through the house and to the infirmary. Your skin pale and clammy, hair sticking to your forehead. He'd never seen you like that, lost for words as he trailed after them.

The marks of another man's grasp circled your bicep, green bruise fading, but visible as you laid in the bed. John thought the split lip and gashes on your head and brow were bad, the wound on your back much worse. Couldn't understand how you carried the pain so well, as if you'd mastered putting up with it. That scared him.

He nodded to the nurse as she finished her shift, the clipboard at the end of your bed falling to the floor. He picked it up flicking through the pages and shuffling them back into the file. His hands hesitating as he read your name, Marston not Price. Was he that detached from your life that you'd dropped his last name? He'd even put his surname for you when he'd signed you into the base and you hadn't said anything when you looked at the visitor pass.

A hand smoothed across his back, chair scraping along the floor beside him. “Lucky girl, Cap. Mild case of sepsis, good that you caught on to it early and brought her in," Toff said, she leant her elbows on her knees and ducked her head to catch John's gaze.

He couldn't glance at her though, his gaze on his hand on top of yours. "You were supposed to check her over," he snarled, more angry at himself for not paying enough attention than at Toff.

"She didn't show me the wound on her back, just some bruising and the marks on her face that were visible. If I'd have known John..." Her words cut off by John's hand patting her knee.

"How she looking?"

"You caught it in the early stages, could be a few days or a week or more. She'll need to be monitored here and make sure the infection has gone. A wound like that though with the placement, would have made it difficult for her to tend to herself." Toff flicked through the medical chart, eyes flitting to the heart monitor as she walked around the bed.

John didn't want to think about you alone, isolated from people that could help and care for you. How you lacked a family and friends to lean on during those times. His mind consumed with finding whoever did this to you. Ghost had already asked him if he wanted him to look into it.

Toff hooked up another bag of IV, silently bidding him goodbye and returning to her office over the other side of the infirmary. Door ajar incase she was needed.

A twitch of your finger tapped against John's, followed by the hurried beat of the heart monitor. You whimpered in to the pillow, rapid movement fluttering under your eyelids.

“You’re okay, kid. Just relax, your old man’s right here,” he said, adjusting your pillow and smoothing your hair out of the way.

“Captain,” you slurred, lazy smile tugging your lips. You struggled to keep your eyes open, but you clutched his pointer finger like you used to as a kid.

You’d called him Captain as a kid, your mother’s doing as she used to tell you stories about daddy becoming one, one day. Playing soldiers whenever he came home and he’d always let you be the captain, your little voice commanding him to play.

"I've got you kid, you're safe."

[PART THREE]

- thank you for all your lovely comments on the first part!! :) more parts to come soon! Hope you liked it - Leya

[korn-dawg]

hey y’all here are a few street racer!vi hcs cause i can’t stop thinking abt her (nsfw? only like two of em tho)

✸street racer!vi who spends most of her time in her garage, bumping loud ass music and working on her car (she prob listens to stuff like L7) (don’t try to argue with me on this one)

✸street racer!vi who walks around in sports bras and basketball shorts during her downtime, the elastic hanging low enough to get a full view of the fiery red happy trail tracing down her stomach

✸street racer!vi who goes on late night drives to ‘clear her mind’ (hotbox in an empty parking lot)

✸street racer!vi who keeps a towel in the backseat of her car just in case you tag along (🤨)

✸street racer!vi who also plays the drums or bass

✸street racer!vi who ate you out on the hood of her car once (maybe twice)

✸street racer!vi who’s an adrenaline junkie, constantly doing dumb shit for the thrill

✸street racer!vi who goes straight to your place after the dumb shit gets her hurt, letting herself in with the spare key you gave her and waiting expectantly on your bed for you to patch her up, giving you a little ‘reward’ for doing so after

[luvly-writer]

Basgaith: A scent of Trouble

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

Basgaith - Training Grounds

It started with the scent.

Xaden Riorson wasn’t the type to get distracted easily. He was Wingleader of the Fourth Wing in the Rider's Quadrant, feared and respected, sharp of mind and even sharper with shadows and swords. He had people to keep alive, secrets to protect, a rebellion to continue to orchestrate, and yet—

Every godsdamned time Y/n Gamlyn walked past him, his brain short-circuited like a first-year who’d just seen a dragon for the first time.

He didn’t understand it at first. The first time she passed him in the hallway outside the sparring ring, he paused mid-conversation with Garrick. He didn’t even notice the silence until Garrick arched an eyebrow.

“You good?” Garrick had asked, half-smirking.

“Fine,” Xaden had muttered, confused.

Because she smelled like exotic fruit and sunlight and something he couldn’t name—something dangerous. And her braid had a small black silk ribbon tucked into it, elegant and absurdly perfect. Her wrist adorned with a delicate charm bracelet and her nails a deep wine red, brushed Ridoc’s arm as she giggled at something dumb her brother said.

Xaden had chalked it up to lack of sleep. Or hunger. Or some new mind-game by leadership.

But then it kept happening.

Every time Y/n was near, something in him shifted. She’d lounge on the grass during squad downtime with Rhiannon and Violet, sipping mango juice from a flask she’d somehow snuck past Dain, and Xaden’s eyes would find her. Not because she was loud—no, she wasn’t like Ridoc, whose voice carried through stone walls—but because she glowed. She radiated soft mischief and sharp intellect, and she looked like she didn’t belong in battle gear, but fought like she was born with a blade in hand.

Garrick was the first to notice.

They were walking to the Academic Wing, Xaden and Garrick trailing behind the Iron Squad. Y/n passed by them, her curls catching the wind, a new black ribbon tied neatly behind her ear.

Xaden slowed to a halt, inhaling subtly—but Garrick caught it.

“Did you just sniff her?” he asked, incredulous.

Xaden blinked. “What?”

“You definitely just sniffed her. Don’t deny it.” His grin was pure mischief now. “Oh, this is too good.”

“Drop it, dumbass.”

“Not a chance.”

Within an hour, Imogen knew. Then Quinn. Then, somehow, Bodhi—who immediately said, as if scandalized, “So, Xaden’s into Ridoc’s sister now? That’s risky, even for you, cousin!” Which caused all of them to start laughing. Loud.

Y/n, seated beside Ridoc and Liam, blinked at the outburst and tilted her head. “Did I miss something?”

“Apparently, Riorson is ogling you,” Ridoc snorted, not even glancing up from his tray. “Can’t blame him, really. I did warn everyone she was the prettier sibling.”

Y/n flushed, half-horrified, half-amused, and quickly looked away—straight into Xaden’s eyes.

And gods help him, she smiled.

It wasn’t coy or calculated. It was warm. Curious.

Later that night, Garrick leaned against the doorframe of Xaden’s room, arms crossed.

“You’re in trouble, you know.”

Xaden glanced up. “Because I noticed a girl smells nice?”

“No. Because it’s Y/n. She’s a first year. She’s Ridoc’s sister. She’s—you know—sweet.”

Xaden paused, letting the truth settle. Y/n Gamlyn, the girl who tied black bows in her hair and laughed with her whole heart, who wore perfume that no one could identify, and who painted her nails and wore gold and pearl jewelry—was now the only thing he couldn’t stop thinking about.

The next day...

It started during a quiet afternoon on the flight field, just after drills. The girls, Violet, Rhiannon, and Y/n—were stretched out on a sun-warmed patch of grass, enjoying a rare break. Boots off, gloves discarded, braids a little undone.

Violet twirled a dagger lazily between her fingers. Rhiannon was half-laying across Y/n’s lap, sipping water and occasionally tossing berries into the air to catch with her mouth. Y/n, ever composed, still had her dark red nail polish immaculate, her black silk ribbon in place, and not a drop of sweat in sight.

She should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

"So," Rhiannon started, grinning far too wide to be innocent, “how long are you going to pretend Riorson doesn’t look at you like you’re made of magic and sin?”

Y/n blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please,” Violet cut in, sitting up with a sparkle in her eye. “He turns into an actual statue when you walk into a room. I've seen him forget what he's saying just because your perfume hits him.”

Y/n’s face went warm immediately. “You two are being ridiculous.”

Rhiannon gasped in mock offense. “Don’t you dare lie to us. Even Sawyer noticed. Sawyer.”

Y/n’s fingers brushed over the bow tied neatly in her ponytail. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Violet drawled. “Because last week, when you wore your hair in that sleek braid with the little curls at the ends—he nearly tripped over his own boots. Xaden Riorson. Tripped. Over. His. Own. Boots.”

“I—” Y/n bit her lip and looked away, blush deepening.

Violet sat straight up. “Wait.”

Rhiannon perked up. “Oh no.”

Violet leaned in, eyes wide, and gasped with full dramatic flair. “Are YOU attracted to him?!”

Y/n’s face went crimson. “Violet—!”

“Oh my gods, she is!” Rhiannon practically sang, sitting up and pointing at her. “She totally is!”

“I am not—” Y/n started, but then groaned and hid her face behind her hands. “I mean... I have eyes, Violet. I think everyone in the Quadrant at least once has been attracted to Riorson.”

Violet laughed so hard she nearly tipped over. “That’s not a no, Y/n!”

“It’s not a yes either!” Y/n protested, flustered. But the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“You are so doomed,” Rhiannon said, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “That man is one smirk away from becoming your problem.”

“And honestly,” Violet added with a teasing grin, “I can't wait.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but there was a soft, fluttery warmth in her chest that even she couldn’t deny.

"You are both ridiculous."

A few days later...

Training was particularly insufferable that day seeing as the weather was already hot and brutal. The sun burning high above them and not a breeze in sight. The Second Squad was halfway through drills when Garrick and Xaden moved into the sparring circle for their usual round—one-on-one with no weapons, just hand-to-hand.

Y/n tried very hard to focus on her footwork beside Rhiannon. She really did.

But then Garrick muttered something too low to hear and Xaden smirked—that rare, dangerous smirk that said he was going to enjoy throwing someone across the dirt.

“Bet Garrick falls in the next thirty seconds,” Sawyer whispered beside Violet.

“I’ll take that bet,” Violet said, eyes sharp.

The sparring started fast, brutal, and beautiful. The kind of movement that drew eyes whether you wanted to look or not. Garrick was fast, almost reckless—but Xaden was precise, his control so sharp it made every movement feel like a threat.

Y/n only meant to glance.

But her eyes wandered—just for a second—tracking the way Xaden’s muscles flexed under his black shirt, the way his jaw clenched when he pivoted, the way his shadow magic sparked faintly across his fingertips like it wanted to join the fight.

And then, as if summoned by the gods of mischief themselves, he paused.

Without ceremony, Xaden reached behind his head, grabbed the back of his sweat-soaked shirt, and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. Muscles. Everywhere. Back, arms, abs that looked like they’d been carved out of stone. Sunlight kissed every inch of him like it knew what it was doing.

“Oh no,” Rhiannon muttered beside her, catching Y/n’s not-so-subtle stare.

Violet, biting back a grin, elbowed her lightly. “You’re drooling, Gamlyn.”

“I am not,” Y/n hissed, face heating. But her eyes didn’t leave the ring.

Even worse—Garrick caught her looking. And laughed.

“Stop flexing, you dramatic bastard,” he barked at Xaden, ducking under a punch.

Xaden didn’t reply—but his smirk widened. His posture shifted, just slightly, standing a bit taller. Shoulders rolling back. Chest—definitely more puffed than it needed to be.

“Oh my gods, he’s preening,” Violet said under her breath. “He's showing off for you.”

Y/n groaned into her hands. “No he is not.”

And then, of course, Ridoc chose that exact moment to wander back from fetching water.

He took one look at the scene—Y/n's flushed face, Xaden shirtless and smug, Garrick laughing his ass off—and smirked like he’d just caught her writing his name in hearts.

“Please tell me you’re not making heart eyes at Riorson, of all people,” Ridoc said loudly.

“Ridoc,” Y/n warned.

Rhiannon grinned. “Too late, she’s gone.”

“Tragic,” Ridoc sighed. “Guess I have to beat him up now. Family honor and all.”

“I will throw myself off the Parapet,” Y/n muttered as the squad burst into laughter around her.

In the ring, Xaden shot a glance over—just the briefest flick of his dark eyes to where Y/n stood. His smirk softened into something quieter, just for a heartbeat, before Garrick tackled him to the ground again.

And Y/n?

She definitely wasn’t looking anymore.

(Except she was.)

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia

To be added, leave a comment <3

[dukestags]

Pairing: Poly!TF141 (Price/Ghost/Soap/Gaz) x Trans!Male!Reader (Medic)

Genre: Action, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn Romance and smut but not detailed.

Summary: Being Task Force 141’s combat medic means you keep them alive. But somewhere between the blood, bullets, and quiet nights in war zones, they start to keep you alive too.

The hum of the helicopter faded behind you as your boots crunched into the gravel. You had your rifle slung, medpack strapped tight across your back, and a thousand-yard stare that came from too many nights tending to bullet holes and shrapnel wounds that always felt too personal.

"New doc’s got edge," Soap muttered, watching you from under his mohawk and half a smirk.

"You mean he's competent," Gaz corrected, flicking his eyes from you to Price.

"Means he’s still here after Kandahar and Rio both," Price said, lighting a cigar with a tired sort of respect. “That’s not edge. That’s grit.”

Ghost gave a quiet grunt in agreement, masked face unreadable. But you felt their eyes on you—measuring, testing. Not cruel, not cold. Just...cautious.

You didn’t expect easy. You were the new guy. A trans guy. A medic. A walking contradiction in a world that didn’t always know how to handle any of those things, let alone all three wrapped in one person.

But you could stitch a wound under fire, hold a man’s hand while he bled out, and patch your own damn self up when necessary. That earned you a place in hell. Or, apparently, in Task Force 141.

You dropped your gear next to the barracks door, glancing at the four men already halfway through a post-op debrief.

"Someone bleed out while I was gone?" you asked, raising a brow.

Soap snorted. “Nah, doc. But you left me emotionally scarred.”

“I’ll put in a requisition form,” you deadpanned, and that earned you a snicker from Gaz.

Ghost didn’t laugh, but his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary. Price just took another puff of his cigar.

“You’ll fit in just fine,” he said, and that was the closest thing to a welcome you were gonna get.

Your first week with 141 was quiet, in that chaotic military way. No one questioned your skills—your hands were steady, your voice calmer under pressure than some of the grizzled vets. What they did question was how long you'd last. Not from prejudice—but from painful experience.

You patched up Gaz after a frag nicked his side. He winced when you pressed the gauze too hard, but didn’t complain.

“You always this gentle?” he asked.

“Only with pretty boys who don’t whine,” you replied dryly, and saw the faintest blush under his stubble.

Ghost was next—knife wound, shallow, but you worked in silence. His eyes followed your hands.

“You don’t flinch,” he said after a pause.

You didn’t look up. “Neither do you.”

That night, Soap offered you a drink during downtime. He grinned wide, all charm and chaos.

“Tell me something real, Doc.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like?”

“I dunno. Why’d you sign up? What keeps you here?”

You hesitated. The truth was sharp, buried deep. “I’ve lost people before. Now I try to stop others from losing theirs.”

He didn’t push. Just nodded, then clinked his bottle against yours.

The next week, you caught Price watching you clean your rifle after a mission. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time he spoke.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

You glanced over. “You expected someone broken?”

“I expected someone hiding. But you’re not. You just… carry it differently.”

You didn’t answer. But something shifted after that. They started inviting you in—quiet moments after ops, shared cigarettes, deeper questions over late-night watch rotations.

They were protective, too—not in a condescending way, but in the way soldiers who had learned the hard way to value what keeps them human protected what they loved.

You weren’t part of them yet. But you were on the edge of something real.

Something more.

The mission was clean. No one died—on your side, anyway. When you returned to base, bruised and riding the high of success, Price called for a toast.

“Earned it,” he said, pouring the whiskey like it was water, his voice rough and low. You clinked glasses with him, Soap already half-gone and loudly daring Gaz to arm-wrestle him. Ghost watched from the shadows, eyes on you more than the bottle.

One shot turned into three. Laughter turned into touches—shoulders brushing, Soap leaning in too close to tell you how “bloody good” you looked patched up and shirtless.

“You’re dangerous like this,” Gaz murmured, eyes hooded. “Kinda unfair.”

You didn’t remember who kissed you first—only that someone did. Rough stubble, hot mouths, calloused hands pulling you between them. You gasped against someone's throat, fingers gripping a combat vest still half-zipped open.

“We don’t have to stop,” Price growled at your ear, his breath hot, possessive.

And you didn’t want to.

They took their time, like they knew exactly how to handle you. Each of them had a different rhythm—Soap, eager and teasing, Gaz smooth and reverent, Ghost quiet but deep, and Price… commanding. They didn’t fight for you. They shared you, like you belonged to all of them.

And maybe, in that moment, you did.

The room was dark, just the soft amber glow from a desk lamp left on. Your back hit the mattress, breath caught in your throat. Warm hands tugged at your shirt, and you let them—let it all fall away, piece by piece.

Soap was first—mouth hot, movements hungry, the kind of desperation born from weeks of tension and unspoken touches. His accent was thick in your ear as he bit at your neck, his hips grinding down against yours.

“Wanted this since day one, doc,” he breathed. “You have no idea.”

You moaned into his mouth as Gaz moved behind you, hands steady on your hips, lips brushing your nape.

“Let us take care of you,” Gaz whispered, fingers teasing where you were most sensitive. “You’ve patched us up so many times… time you let go.”

Ghost didn’t say a word—he just knelt beside you, mask pulled up just enough to kiss, his mouth hot and consuming, his eyes locked on yours. When he finally touched you, it was careful, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize your reactions. Your body trembled under his touch, your breath hitching at every glide and press.

And then came him—Price. Solid. Grounded. The kind of presence that demanded attention without a word. He came to the edge of the bed, watching as your body arched between the others. He pulled off his gloves slowly, eyes dark.

“Spread your legs, soldier,” he said, voice low with command and heat. “You’ve earned every bit of what’s coming to you.”

You did as told, dizzy with pleasure and whiskey, breath stuttering as the room closed in around you. Hands—everywhere. Mouths, tongues, sweat-slick skin pressing to yours. You couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the next began. All you knew was heat, the sound of their voices coaxing you further, the way they praised you, touched you, held you down like you were theirs.

And god, you were.

Over and over, they took you—each of them claiming you in their way. Soft praise, rough thrusts, gentle kisses, punishing grips. You lost track of time, of names, of everything but the burn and the pleasure and how much you wanted. How good it felt to be wanted back.

By the end of it, you lay tangled in limbs and sheets, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest. Soap’s arm thrown across your waist. Gaz curled behind your back. Ghost’s hand resting over your sternum. And Price… sitting beside the bed, still watching, protective and proud.

“You still with us, doc?” he asked, voice soft now.

You gave a breathless laugh. “Barely.”

“Good,” Ghost murmured from your side. “Means we did it right.”

[ateliersss]

Predator Masterlist

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

Mi‘ytiar

The plots of the series as a whole and the individual oneshots are already in order regarding the timeline, but I would recommend to start with the series as that's where my journey with those characters started. Every work takes place in one timeline as displayed and are interconnected with one another.

⇨ Her Protector Summary: Still new to life on Yautja Prime, you’re struggling to find your place among a clan that sees you as fragile, unworthy and unfit to stand at the side of their great leader.

⇨ Downtime and a Bath Summary: Your mate returns from a hunt, in desperate need of a bath.

⇨ Bandaids and Kisses Summary: One part of motherhood seemed to be patching up your reckless pup after another adventure in the wild against his parents' wishes.

Blooming Family Series (Finished) ⇨ Part 1 — He Will Come Summary: You were caught three days after you and your son's arrival on earth by an organization called Project Stargazer. Now you both were treated like guinea pigs. No wonder, considering said son was a hybrid of human and Yautja. ⇨ Part 2 — He Is Here Summary: After Akail freed himself and then you from your captors, you both had only one thing on your mind — to return home where his father and your mate was waiting for you. ⇨ Part 3 — He Shan't Lose Summary: Mere two months ago, you had returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… ⇨ Part 4 — He Shall Prevail Summary: In your past life on earth, when someone would ask you how you managed your job as a nurse with the occasional death of a mother during birth, you told them that you never took it too personal because you would never find yourself in their position. Then why were you now so adamant on giving your life for your pup? Edited: 24.08.2024 (only a few details that contradicted each other in the course of the fanfic)

⇨ Don't worry, only You and Him Summary: Waking up from the week of bed rest after giving birth, you hadn't expected how your eldest seemed to resent the newest addition to your family.

⇨ The Huntress Summary: It's the first time you and your mate go on a hunt after your pregnancy.

⇨ Oh, take me back to The Night we met Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination.

⇨ Main Masterlist

[scribbledswans]

✦ lakeside desire

Till death do us part. But what do you do when it finally does? More importantly; Is it considered infidelity to fall in love with someone you're in hell with, even if you'd been married to another in your life?

WARNINGS:

Kind of a weird moral dillemma in this one, Potentially OOC Guest 1337

This fic is also up on ao3

There's nothing Guest finds more calming than the shore during downtime. Distorted images of the moon dance on the surface of the lake, old wood of the dock creaking under the strain of each step he takes. He fidgets with the wedding band wrapped around his finger, chest heavy with thought.

Some horribly selfish part of him hopes his wife didn't move on. Guest shakes away the thought as quickly as he can. It would be cruel to doom his daughter to a life without a father. He hopes, for Charlotte's sake, that Daisy managed to move on without him. Whether or not she found someone new to give her love to is something he doesn't need to think about. A bigger question settles on his mind, something more real than hypotheticals regarding a world he's no longer part of.

Is it unfaithful for a dead man to fall for someone else?

Guest runs his hand through his hair, the blue strands becoming messy and disheveled at his attempt to self soothe. He regrets leaving his wife and daughter behind, but there's nothing he can do now to change that outcome. He made his choices, but you?

God. You deserved a long life, something kind and comfortable. Yet here you were, subjected to the same conceivably eternal torment as him. His gut tells him it isn't fair— some cruel force punishing the innocent for a grief they can't control. Here he is, though, counting the seconds before the peace becomes entropy.

And here you were, suddenly, tired eyes looking him over like he was a stray dog.

"Hey, can't sleep?" you ask through a yawn, taking a seat next to him on the dock.

Guest looks you over, slightly concerned by your half-awake wandering. "You should be resting while you can. It's important that you make the most of the downtime, you never know when we'll be sent back out there again."

A peaceful look washes over you when you look out at the water. "I just wanted to visit. I don't get to see you outside of treating your injuries."

This strong, sudden sense of yearning bubbles into his throat, and he does everything in his power to swallow it down. Your ability to patch him up quickly is what helps him keep his head at times, and he wants to make sure it stays that way. If he lets his feelings off a leash, it'd make these sick games that much harder for everyone.

Guest says nothing, returning to fidget with the tarnished gold ring on his finger, a symbol of faith now reduced to a mere question. His gaze darts to your hands, eyeing the way you twist your own ring around your finger, staring off into the water. He entertains the idea of you feeling the same towards him— pining for companionship in such an unforgiving environment. Wondering if it makes you any less faithful to your living loved one if you were to act on this want.

"Hey." You say, eyes still fixed on the water, "Do you ever think about them?"

He chuckles, a dry and mournful sound. "When It's quiet."

You don't acknowledge his response, your hands coming to a halt. Guest watches you bring your knees to your chest, some of your hair falling out of its neatly kept place. It's here, seated before the quiet water with your face lit up by the moon, that he lets himself indulge. Despite the exhaustion around your eyes and the mess of your hair, you're pretty. He can't quite recall when he started noticing it, but he's seen it for a while now. The crease of your brow tells him you're worried about something. The way you chew on your lip tells him it's serious.

Guest hesitates. He's not much for overthinking, that's part of his efficiency, but the things you do his brain are too much.

Regardless, "Are you okay?" He asks anyway.

You look at him, finally, and your expression is a mix of fear— no— apprehension, and doubt. Guest tilts his head, placing his hand on your shoulder to ground you a bit. You blink, and shake your head.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't know." The words clumsily fall from your mouth, "I want something to happen. I know it shouldn't but..."

You trail off, eyes flickering from his face to his hands. "It keeps me up at night knowing it could."

Silence. Uncomfortable, grating silence, thickens the air around the both of you. Guest begs his heart to stop beating so loud, like you'll hear it through his chest. He swallows hard, trying to scan your face for any sort of clue. Deep down, he knows, but he's not impulsive. He needs you to say it.

"What is it that you want to happen?" His saliva is napalm in his throat when he swallows, ignoring the way his heart sinks into his gut when you look away from him.

Then, a quiet murmur. Something secretive and vulnerable, something resembling a hushed confession caged away behind clenched teeth.

"I want to kiss you. I don't know if I should."

Guest's jaw falls slack for a second, only a second, expecting words to follow. Instead, he's silent, and he pulls his hand away from you. He can't help but feel like he had himself doomed. As much as he wants this, and trust him, he wants it bad— he has a wife and kid. You have a spouse.

At least, the both of you had those things. The realization sort of graces his conscious as he looks back at you. You don't have them, not anymore. Neither does he. Death was very sure to bring the two of you here alone, regardless of how many people waited for you at home.

His hand meets your shoulder once more, prompting you to look at him. A calloused palm greets your jaw, the hand not on your shoulder cradling your face in the slightest of touch. Dark blue eyes flicker to your lips, and back to your face, begging for some sort of go ahead. When you lean in, he does too— rough lips connecting to yours in desperation.

He feels your hands travel to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you in unabashed want. Your lips are chapped, cold air and poor sleep making for a careless and rough kiss for the both of you.

After a few seconds, you pull away. Guest caresses your cheek with his thumb, rough hands feeling like satin in your lovesick stupor. He watches as you stand up, a little bit of shock and well met excitement plastering your face. A small smile tugs at his lips, warmth finding its way to his face when he sees you twirl your hair kind of like a schoolgirl.

"You should sleep now. I promise I'll try to rest soon too."

You nod sheepishly, returning to your cabin not long after. When he knows you're gone, he presses the back of fingers to his lips, feeling the warmth of where yours had been.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 22] || [Chapter 22.5] || [Chapter 24]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.1K~ cw: selfish john price, also john price is a hypocrite/liar? Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Their drinks + nicotine of choice is fully INSPIRED by this post by @ceilidho

Chapter 23: Kiss and Tell?

Simon, Kyle and Johnny sat outside the base, in the open air, each one of them engaging in their typical vices.

Simon with a milky breakfast tea and a nicotine patch, Johnny with a vape and an Ultra Blue Monster, Kyle with a weird green tea drink and a cigarette.

It’s way too early in the day for them to be doing that… But they are nonetheless.

They’re just having some downtime, talking to one another, shooting the shit… Not at all waiting for you to wake up and text them back, not at all.

John joins them soon after and sits beside them, carrying a cup of black coffee and one of his usual cigars. He sits down with a groan before kicking his legs up on the ledge of the outdoor table.

“Captain.” The men greet him as he lights his cigarette and grumbles a “Lads” in return.

“A word?” John says as he puffs from his cigarette, wet lips and tongue tasting the brown wrapping as he sucks in the smoke.

That attracts the attention of the other three, all of them glancing over with varying degrees of displayed intrigue.

“I’d like in on your little… agreement.” He says casually while exhaling the smoke and taking a sip of his pisswater-like coffee.

The lads look at each other, almost like silently begging each other to say something.

“Why, Captain?” Kyle ends up asking, leaning forward on his knees to glance at John.

“What Ghost said resonated with me.” He explains. “How I enjoyed my time with them as well.” He says simply.

“Right, but that’s different from datin’ them.” Ghost retorts as he sips from his milk tea, brown eyes locked onto John as if trying to read his intentions. “Can’t just force something that isn’t there.”

“I know that, Simon.” John retorts, his eyes boring into Simon’s harshly, causing a blonde eyebrow to raise in response. “But I wanted to talk with you lot about it before I go on pursuing them.” He explains.

Simon can tell John is hiding something, but he knows better than to address it in front of everyone. He knows Kyle and Johnny trust John blindly, and he doesn’t want to ween them of that with a harsh reality check.

“Well…” Ghost says with a shrug, fingers nudging at the nicotine patch on his shoulders while pretending to stretch his arms a bit. He’s been wearing them as an extra ‘pick me up’ for a decade now. “Not like we’re a… ‘closed’ relationship.” He explains.

“We’re not?” Johnny asks playfully. “Ye’re seein’ more people on the side, L.T.?” Johnny quips with a smirk on his lips while setting his Monster can down and taking a hit from his flavored vape.

“Yeah, you cheating on us?” Kyle jokes with a smirk.

“Oh, piss off, both of ya.” The blond retorts and rolls his eyes, sipping his tea once more, earning some laughs around the table. “Bloody insufferable, you are.” He adds, causing the younger sergeants to nudge each other while murmuring “He’s talking about you.”s to one another.

“What I’m trying to say is,” He tells John as he looks the older man in the eyes. “you shouldn’t be askin’ us about this. It’s all on them if they take you into the fold.” Simon retorts.

“Already did.” John replies, eyebrows raising as he takes another puff of his cigar. “Paid them a visit last night, explained what I felt about your situation, they eased a lot of my worries…” He trails off. He’s mostly saying the truth.

“Helped me realize maybe I was just… feeling left out.” He says. He conveniently forgets to mention he spent half of the night rearranging your guts. They don’t need to know that.

“No way, Captain, ye were jealous?!” Johnny teases and then bursts into laughter, for which Kyle joins him.

“Yeah, yeah, take the piss out of me all you want.” John quips and rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but hiding a little satisfied smirk behind the rim of his mug. He’s not going to deny it.

“Well, I’m fine with it… The more the merrier!” Soap says to Price with a chuckle and a wagging of his brows.

After a sip of his green tea drink, Kyle speaks: “Filthy pig.”, earning a nudge on his side. 

“Haud yer wheesht! I weren’t the one balls deep in ‘em last week.” Soap retorts.

John’s attention is turned to the bickering Sergeants, having been unaware of that detail until now.

“I was just being a good friend!” Kyle retorts as he takes a drag of his nearly-burned-through cig. “Was shaggin’em for Simon.”

“Don’t drag me into this… I didn’t ask you to do that.” Simon retorts as he narrows his eyes at Kyle.

“Oh, please, as if your blood didn’t rush ‘down south’ before I even arrived-” Kyle continues his playful tease.

“Right. Ye’re speakin’ as if ye weren’t jerkin’ off the whole time, L.T.” Johnny adds.

“Wait, he was jerkin’ it?” Kyle asks with a gasp as he turns to his right side to glare at Johnny.

“Aye? Ye didn’t see? Ye were there!” Johnny tells Kyle.

“I was occupied, Johnny!” Kyle replies, though he looks like he’s a bit sheepish about saying it aloud.

“That ye were.” Johnny quips with a smirk. Kyle rolls his eyes. “Didn’t peg ye for a shaver.” He adds.

Kyle groans in frustration, even he getting a bit flustered/annoyed by Johnny’s teasing. He looks over at Simon, as if seeking out help only for the blond to say. “Don’t worry, Kyle, it’s good you shave. You’ve got a really pretty cock.”

“That he does.” Price slips in casually as he sips his black tea again, which causes the other men’s eyes to widen as they stare at him like he’s just said something unexpected.

“What? I’ve seen all of you naked.” John shrugs and smirks playfully under his mustache.

That leaves the other men sputtering a bit, exchanging glances, three pairs of eyes trying to wordlessly figure out if the others know that the Captain isn’t just hinting at ‘locker rooms’, ‘showers’ or ‘urinals’ for all three of them… 

Trying to figure out if the others have figured out that all of them have been below the Captain at one point or another in the last decade.

John knows better than to let them figure it out, so he instead changes subjects: “So… when are you planning on making it official with them?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[writeriguess]

Hiyaa!!!

I'm so so so glad that you're back! I wish you the best and hope you have the perfect time writing and enjoying this🥰

Since you said you got your old requests deleted I guess I'll send mine again XD

I had sorta of a specific request afab!reader x Bakugo first time (nsfw)? Reader and Bakugo known each other since middle school and hated each other's guts but then in the first year of ua thing start to change... Like a enemies to friends to lovers thingy And they confess to each other a day before the final war now it's several months after that and when Bakugo takes reader for hiking on the weekend but then end up having their first time in the hot springs?

I hope it's not too much XD

Thank you!✨❤️

author's note: I remember writing this request before and feeling proud of it, but unfortunately, I cleared my entire queue of over 40 fics when the plagiarism issue surfaced. It's been quite a while since I last wrote NSFW content, so I need to practice again. I apologize in advance if the smut scene ends up being a bit brief.

From Sparks

The crunch of boots against gravel echoed through the serene mountains as Bakugo Katsuki led the way up the hiking trail. The midday sun filtered through the canopy of towering trees, casting golden patches of light on the forest floor. Behind him, you followed, your breath hitching slightly from the climb.

The crisp mountain air filled your lungs as you adjusted the strap of your backpack, keeping your gaze on Bakugo's broad back. The way his shoulders flexed under his tank top with every step he took distracted you from the ache in your legs. He glanced over his shoulder, the usual fiery determination in his crimson eyes softened by a rare smirk.

"Keep up, slowpoke," he teased, his voice playful but laced with the competitive edge you’d grown to expect from him.

“Maybe if you weren’t trying to kill me with this climb,” you shot back, feigning annoyance. “You know, not everyone has the stamina of a hero like you.”

He huffed out a laugh, slowing his pace slightly. “Didn’t think you’d wanna quit on me, considering how much you run your mouth.”

The banter felt natural, a sign of how far the two of you had come since those middle school days filled with endless bickering. Back then, you couldn’t stand each other, always butting heads over the smallest things. Now, years later, things were different. The bond forged through shared battles and late-night confessions made your relationship unshakable.

When you finally reached the summit, Bakugo stopped abruptly, turning to face you as you caught up. His face was flushed, either from the climb or the way his eyes lingered on you. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you with an expression that made your heart race.

“This way,” he said gruffly, jerking his thumb toward a path off the main trail. You followed, curious as to where he was leading you.

The sound of running water reached your ears before you saw it—a hidden hot spring tucked away behind a cluster of rocks. Steam rose from the clear, inviting water, curling in the cool mountain air like a beckoning promise.

“You planned this?” you asked, your voice tinged with surprise and delight.

Bakugo shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Figured you could use some downtime. We both could.”

Without waiting for a response, he began peeling off his boots and shirt, leaving you frozen in place. His sculpted physique was on full display, every scar and muscle a testament to the life he led.

“You coming or what?” he called over his shoulder, his smirk returning.

Your heart hammered as you quickly removed your shoes and outer layers, stepping into the warm water. It enveloped you like a soothing embrace, but the proximity of Bakugo, now sitting beside you with the water lapping at his chest, set your nerves alight.

The conversation dwindled, replaced by a comfortable silence as the two of you soaked in the tranquil atmosphere. His hand brushed against yours beneath the surface, tentative at first, but when you didn’t pull away, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, but he cut you off with a gentle tug, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap.

“Shut up,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. His hands settled on your hips, steadying you. “Just… let me do this.”

His lips crashed into yours, a mixture of urgency and tenderness that stole your breath away. The world around you disappeared, leaving only the heat of his touch and the sound of your racing heart.

Your breath hitched when you felt his hardness pressing against your swollen pussy lips, and you couldn't help but moan. Katsuki smirked, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His usual brash confidence was softened by something more intimate, more vulnerable—a rare glimpse of the man beneath the hero.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of emotions he rarely expressed. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding you as his forehead pressed against yours.

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. You couldn’t imagine a better place to be than here with him, sharing something you had never dared to hope for.

You let out a soft whimper when he entered you, his cock filling you completely. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you rocked against him, taking him deeper. His hips snapped upward, driving his length even further inside you.

Katsuki let out a low growl, his teeth grazing your neck. Your skin prickled with anticipation, heightening every sensation. Pleasure coiled deep within you, building with each thrust until you couldn't hold back any longer.

Your release washed over you like a wave, the rush of emotions and physical sensations threatening to drown you. Bakugo followed shortly after, his body tensing as he came.

When your breathing finally returned to normal, he pulled back, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked, his tone soft despite the edge of frustration in his words.

"I could ask you the same question," you replied, giving him a smile that left no doubt about your feelings.

Katsuki chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess we're both fucked."

His kiss was softer this time, a promise of things to come. You didn't know where the two of you were headed, but whatever happened, you knew it would be worth it.

Feel free to request <3

[rivendell-poet]

heyy, i love your work and i was wondering if you could do a scenario of a teen!reader that looks like they could be a child of arwen and aragon.

Thanks so much anon, and yes - I can do that! Hope you enjoy it (focused more on Aragorn/Arwen's side - but if you want me to do one that also showcases other people's reactions please hop back into my inbox and let me know. I'm always a sucker for platonic lotr.)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 & 𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenario »

Gender-neutral reader | Wordcount : 0.6k | TWs : None

✧ When Aragorn first sees you, there is a second when he pauses. It’s almost imperceptible as he looks you up and down, mainly seeing Arwen in you. A little bit of himself.

✧ As he greets you it’s like he would any other, respectfully and asking your name.

✧ But as the two of you travel together he tries to keep you close to him.

✧ He claims that it’s because you’re young and he wants to make sure you’re safe - which is true - but there’s an extra instinct for protection in this case. Because he can’t see you get hurt.

✧ Definitely helps you with blade skills (think the training session between Boromir and the hobbits except it’s you and Aragorn).

✧ Always gives you first or last watch because you need your sleep. Strongly denies Pippin’s accusations of favouritism.

✧ Tries to pass on some of his skills to you, so in the downtime you have you might be identifying plants together or lighting a fire.

✧ Wishes he had more wisdom that his father could have passed down to him. In fact, generally feels unprepared for how he should treat you. Aragorn knows you’re not his child, but there’s still something that makes him want to look out for you and he would appreciate the extra guidance.

✧ Tells you quite a lot about Arwen - he looks forward to you finally meeting her.

✧ You’re always the first person he looks to find after battles, checking you over for injuries and patching them up the second he sees them.

✧ Is privately very proud of you - he wasn’t told his heritage until he was twenty-one, and yet you are here with him now.

✧ Oftens sings when everyone is trying to get to sleep, he doesn’t do it specifically to sooth you but it is very calming, especially after a long day.

✧ After the battle where you’re both injured, he stays with you until you fall asleep.

✧ You’re just slipping unconscious when he pulls the blanket slightly higher, whispering to you, “Good night, senya.”

✧ At the time you don’t think too much of it, at least until you ask him what it means the next day.

✧ He freezes for a second, before he admits it translates to ‘my child’. There’s a second more of pause as he waits for you to say something, before you smile. And he realises that you don’t mind.

✧ When he finally introduces you to Arwen he spends slightly too long making sure you look good (smoothing your outfit, tucking in a stray bit of hair).

✧ Arwen can see the resemblance when she first sees you, although she thinks you look more like Aragorn.

✧ There’s a knowing smile on her face as she greets you before looking to her betrothed.

✧ Seeing the two of them together for the first time, you finally see the resemblance as well.

✧ Making eye-contact with Aragorn he realises you know, and gives you a sheepish smile.

✧ Afterwards he apologises for being overbearing, and perhaps over-stepping boundaries, but you reassure the man that it’s ok - and he doesn’t have anything to apologise for.

✧ Arwen enjoys spending time with you as well, asking if you’ll meet her and enjoys getting to know you. She’s a lot more open about your looks, but it’s never suffocating. She says it rather affectionately, as though it is something she wants you to be proud of.

✧ No-one particularly acknowledges it when the three of you are together, but to the unknowing eye you truly do look like a family.

Bonus : When Elladan and Elrohir first meet you they have to do a double-take. Elrohir checks you, semi-secretly, for elf ears. Also a few pointed looks from Aragorn, to Arwen, to you.

A/N : Hope you like it :) It's always lovely to write for platonic lord of the rings. Also we're back to green, feels weird using it after all the trick-or-treats being orange.

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan / cont. in comments ✧ wish to be tagged?

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

You’re writing is amazing! I had two things

1: What is a trope you love writing?

2: Can there be a Bad batch x reader, where she’s loves to cook. When she joins them she cooks for them and they love her cooking (once they get used to having something other than ration bars). Maybe she even sends them with packed lunches for when they go off.

Thank you x

I don’t have a trope in particular I like writing, but I’m a sucker for a good enemies to lovers or anything angsty or tragic

⸻

“Seconds”

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader

⸻

They weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

A civilian-turned-ally. Handy in a fight, steady under pressure, and weirdly good at organizing their storage crates. But most of all, you cooked. Like, really cooked.

No one had expected it—not after surviving off ration bars, battlefield meals, and the occasional mystery stew Crosshair pretended didn’t come from a can. But then you’d shown up with a patched-together portable burner and the stubborn attitude of someone determined to make something edible from nothing. And you did.

The first time you cooked, it had stunned them into silence.

The scent of simmering broth wafted through the corridors of the Marauder, followed by spices and roasted meat and something buttery that made Wrecker’s eyes water.

Tech was the first to speak, nose twitching. “That is not protein paste.”

“Unless someone’s finally weaponized it,” Echo said, cautiously hopeful.

Hunter didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in the doorway of the galley with arms crossed, watching the way you moved—calm, focused, humming to yourself as you stirred a bubbling pot. There was something disarming about the scene. Domestic. Gentle. Strange.

Crosshair gave a low whistle from where he lounged. “Are we keeping this one?”

No one answered. But no one said no.

⸻

It became tradition fast.

You cooked whenever there was downtime, wherever there were ingredients. You scavenged herbs on jungle moons, traded for spices in backwater towns, stretched every credit and crumb into something warm. Something human. You’d hand them plates and bowls and containers like they were weapons before a battle—only these made them feel… grounded.

Every day you could. Breakfasts on quiet mornings. Late dinners after brutal missions. You adapted what ingredients you had, learned what they each liked—Tech hated onions but loved citrus, Crosshair liked spicy food that burned the tongue, Echo had a sweet tooth he tried to hide, and Hunter… Hunter liked comfort food. He’d never say it out loud, but you caught the softness in his expression whenever you made something simple and warm. Like home.

They never asked you to. But they stopped saying no.

Eventually, you started packing lunches for them. Personalized. Thoughtful.

Crosshair’s were spicy and wrapped with a snarky note.

Wrecker’s came with double servings and a warning label.

Tech’s included clean utensils and clear labels, because of course they did.

Echo’s always had a little dessert tucked in the side

Hunter’s would just have little doodle/picture you’d drawn

⸻

They’d left you behind this time. Not because you couldn’t handle yourself, but because someone had to stay with Omega. She wasn’t ready for this mission, and neither were you—still recovering from the last one, a blaster graze healing at your ribs.

The ship was quiet. Omega wandered in around dinner time, drawn by the smell of whatever you were cooking.

She climbed up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world, chin resting on her hands as she watched you slice vegetables and stir broth.

“That smells better than anything I’ve ever had on Kamino,” she said dreamily.

You smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.”

She watched you for a while, head tilting. “You always look really happy when you cook.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

You thought about it as you stirred. “Because food makes people feel safe. Even in the middle of a war, a good meal can remind you what it’s like to be human.”

Omega was quiet for a beat. Then: “You make them feel safe.”

You didn’t answer right away.

She squinted up at you. “You really care about them, huh?”

You nodded. “They’ve been through hell. They deserve someone to care.”

She grinned slowly. “You’ve got a crush on one of them.”

You almost dropped the spoon.

“Excuse me?”

She giggled. “I knew it!”

You tried (and failed) to play it cool. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sliding off the counter. “You pack lunches. You make special snacks. You stitched Wrecker’s sleeve when it ripped, even though he didn’t ask. You added hot sauce to Crosshair’s meal because he once said it tasted better. You kept Tech’s favorite tea even though no one else drinks it. And you stayed up all night once just to make sure Echo’s respirator didn’t fail after that dust storm.”

She paused, smirking. “One of those meant more.”

You turned back to the pot. “You are way too observant.”

She laughed. “So, who is it? Wrecker?”

“No.”

“Tech?”

“Definitely not.”

“Echo?”

“Closer.”

“Crosshair?”

You gave her a look.

She grinned wide. “Fine, fine. I won’t guess. For now.”

You stirred the pot again and said, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

Omega’s voice was gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “Because maybe it’s safer this way. Just being part of this… this crew. This little found family. It’s enough.”

She looked at you for a long moment. Then she slid onto a nearby stool and rested her chin in her hand again.

“They’ll be back soon,” she said. “You gonna tell them dinner’s ready?”

You smiled quietly, not looking up. “They’ll smell it.”

[mothfables]

Snuggle Time

☁️🐰for anonymous🐰☁️

"Has anyone seen the Vet?"

Warriors' question was met with a chorus of no's. It was nearing dinner time and he hadn't seen the Veteran in several hours. The other hero hadn't gone patrolling, he hadn't gone to get firewood, he wasn't even sorting through his numerous items like he liked to do during downtime. Wars wasn't sure where he could be.

The Captain did another lap around camp, trying to ease his nerves. The Vet was fully capable of taking care of himself and didn't often go off alone, only doing so occasionally to clear his head or recharge from being around eight other people constantly. When he did, he always told at least one person what he was doing; this disappearing act was more in line with something the Champion or Traveler would pull, not the 'prefer-to-be-prepared-for-anything' Veteran.

As he walked, Wars did a silent headcount to make sure no one else had gone missing in the interim. Wild, one, at the cookpot, beginning to prepare food for dinner. Hyrule, two, sitting nearby and chatting with the Champion. Wind and Twilight on one end of camp, the Sailor hanging off the Rancher's arm as he chattered away like a monkey, three and four. Smithy, on the other end of camp, doing weapons maintenance with Time beside him, working on his own armour. Five and six. And finally Sky, leaning against a tree and snoring away, sailcloth wrapped around him like a blanket. Seven. Wars himself made eight.

Despite himself, he found a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as his patrol brought him closer to the Skyloftian. Sleepy he may be much of the time, he wouldn't be snoring like this is there truly was an issue. The rest of them may tease him about his sleeping habits, but they knew they could rely on the sky knight when the need arose.

Drawing closer, Wars noticed another sound under Sky's snores. Listening closely, it sounded softer, squeakier... and like it was coming from under the sailcloth.

Wars ever-so-gently lifted a corner of the sailcloth to peek underneath. ...Oh. Of course.

A head of soft pink hair pressed against Sky's chest, a pair of thin hands adorned with rings tucked under the chin. A patched purple bunny plush was held close under one arm. Quiet, squeaking snores sounded from the boy cuddled close to the older hero currently serving as a pillow.

Wars couldn't help the fond sigh that escaped him at the sight. The sound caused dark lashes to flutter, brushing against pale cheeks, and he reached down to smooth his thumb over one. "Go back to sleep, honeybun. It's alright, you're safe here."

Legend gave a tiny, snuffly sigh and settled again. Wars replaced the sailcloth with care and stepped away. They could sleep for a bit longer.