#the headache: the handler

[thechaosjunkie]

Ye ole tag dump

[malka-lisitsa]

I'm not wrong, and you are welcome.

[hihomeghere]

Unspoken thing | Five Hargreeves / Reader

Word count : 1.7k Summary : Part 2 of One Bed, after that fateful night in the hotel room. Five has been avoiding you and now you're called into the Handler's office to take responsibility for the delay in exterminating the target. After a minor injury caused by the Handler, Five patches you up. You can no longer take the tension of the unspoken thing between the two of you. ( I do not own The Umbrella Academy or any of it's characters) Warnings / Tags : Allusions to smut, cursing, mentions of blood and surgery equipment, tension, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested. Part one here

“Impressive work, Y/n.” The handler said with a sickly sweet tone. She flipped through your completed files. You watched as she licked her finger before turning a page. You swallowed, fighting the urge to cower before her. “I see here that you suffered from a headache during your mission, is that correct?” She asked, cocking her head in false concern. It wasn’t just a headache. 

“Yes.” You answered, not daring to say anything more. Anything you said could and most likely would be held against you. She read the paper, her eyes flying from left to right.

“Hmm, yes it seems that this delayed your extermination of the target?” She phrased the statement as more of a question. Treating you as a child instead of an employee. She clicked her tongue leaning forward, clasping her hands. You bit the inside of your cheek. 

“No.” You tried to keep your voice steady, with no discernible tone. She raised her eyebrows, her fake smile falling.

What delayed the job was unforeseen circumstances, Five was looking for you instead of the target. You had split up, and he couldn’t find his way back to you. Which had then led to a very interesting night in a hotel room. 

You should have known that you would get called in for this instead of Five. Even though it had been both of your responsibilities to eliminate the target. But Five was one of the handlers favorites. 

“Hm.” She hummed, clicking her tongue, “You know Y/n if you let any of our trained scientists here poke around in that little brain of yours. We could figure out why you’re getting those headaches.” She pointed to your head with a well manicured red nail. You froze, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. You were transported back to that lab. The sounds of drilling, cold sterile instruments, the excruciating pain. Your screams echoing off the walls. The scientists with bloody gloves and masks.

“No. No one is going to ‘poke’ around anywhere.” You said quickly, shaking your head, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. The handler smiled, pleased by your reaction. You sighed looking down at your lap. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. 

“Well, the offer remains if you change your mind.” She said standing up, you stood up as well. Glad this interrogation was over. “Although if you wish to stay Number Five’s partner, you’ll need to start pushing through your headaches to complete the mission.” She said false encouragement in her voice. Her hand gripped your shoulder as she led you out of her office, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You winced, pulling away from her. She cocked her head as though she was surprised by your reaction.

“You won’t have to worry about finding him a new partner.” You said through gritted teeth, “We’ll manage just fine.” You turned on your heel, striding towards the stairs. Once you were sure you were out of her view you let out a shaky breath. In for 4, hold for 7- Tears started to prick your eyes. You took in a shuddery breath, your hand coming to your heart. You rushed down the stairs, a stabilizing hand on the railing. Your other hand moved from your heart to cover your shoulder. You started breathing rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears. You turned down an empty hallway, leaning up against the wall. A cool hand wrapped around your wrist, Five blinked you both into his office. You would never get used to that, like someone was injecting ice into your veins.

He led you to one of his office chairs, the same one you had sat in when you first met him. He squatted in front of you, inspecting you for any injuries. His cold fingertips landed on your shoulder, he stopped, his eyes meeting yours.

“Who did this to you?” He asked his jaw clenching, you lowered your gaze. He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was deadly, calculated, ready to strike whoever did this to you.

“The handler.” You whispered, biting your lip. Five clicked his tongue, a scowl on his face.

“Of course, I assume this after the mission debrief?” He stood up walking around to the other side of his desk, rifling through his drawers.

“Yes, Five it’s fine-” You said, picking at the skin on your hands. 

“Fine? That bitch dug her claws into you.” He scoffed, shaking his head behind his desk. He stalked around his desk to kneel in front of you again. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his forearms bare except for the umbrella tattoo. Part of you wanted to trace the veins on his arms, to touch him in any way. You thought that being with him physically would have scratched the itch, instead it only fed the fire inside you. You missed his touch, most of all you missed him. You could count on your hands the number of words he had said to you since that night. He opened up his first aid kit, pulling out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He carefully poured a small bit onto a cotton ball gently dabbing it against the bleeding crescent marks in your shoulder. You flinched but prided yourself on keeping quiet as he pressed the cotton ball onto the wound. You felt the prick of new tears in your eyes, you raised your gaze to the ceiling. Your vision clouding with unshed tears, you sniffled as quietly as you could. Although every sound seemed amplified in the tiny office.

You watched Five work, this wasn’t some gaping wound he had to patch up by himself. It was a scratch, but you could tell he had a system, doing this many times before. His jaw was set with an unreadable expression. He moved like a machine, programmed only to do this task. He opened up a bandaid, covering the wound on your shoulder. 

“Done.” He said, rising to his feet.

“Thank you.” You said slowly getting to your feet. He walked back to his desk, opening the drawer and setting the first aid kit back in its normal spot. Now to leave, he had only done his duty as your partner. Nothing more. He had made it clear he didn’t love you, and made it clear that you were only partners. You were ready to go home, curl up in your bed with a good book. You walked to the door, your hand settling on the door knob.

“Leaving so soon?” He questioned, you looked back at him. He was pulling out a bottle of scotch, two glasses balanced in his hands.

“What?” You asked, your brows pinching together. 

“Can I not ask my partner to share a nightcap?” He asked, recoiling, a teasing smile tugging on his lips. Your heart thumped in your ears, you longed to be close to him again. Longed to be back in his corner where you belonged.

But he wasn’t yours.

“No.” You bit your cheek, avoiding his gaze as you looked away from him. Unspoken things always seemed so romantic, full of tension, the will-they-won't-they of it all. It didn’t feel romantic  right now, full of tension yes. This tension that made you want to tear your skin off, instead of your clothes.

“No?” He raised his brows, setting down the glasses on this desk before loosening his tie. 

“Is that what I am to you? Just your partner?” The words slipped out before you could think to bite your tongue. You clench your fists, grounding yourself with the dull pain in your palms. He scoffed, pouring the golden liquid into his glass. 

“You should know what you mean to me.” He turned his eyebrows pinched together, “I’m not some womanizer.” He knocked back the glass, hissing as the alcohol ran down his throat. Your face burned, shame creeping up your neck.

“Well I don’t know, so what am I to you?” You asked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, he hung his head bracing himself on his desk. 

“Fine.” He said standing to his full height, “You want to know what you are to me?” his lip twitched as he waited for your response. You nodded, crossing your arms. “You’re my everything.” It was like someone had dumped a bucket of water over you. He walked around the desk, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights. He stalked towards you, “I can’t think when you’re around- you-” he huffed clenching and unclenching his fists. “You drive me crazy.” he said softly, his eyes meeting  yours. 

“I-” You began when the door opened, pushing you forward into Five’s arms.

“Oh! So sorry Y/n!” Herb squeaked, pulling the case file close to his chest. You looked up, directly into Five’s face. His jaw was clenched, his stern gaze turned on Herb now.

“No worries.” You breathed, holding onto Five’s arms for balance as you got back on your feet. Once you were able to support yourself again, Five reached out and snatched the file from Herb’s hands. He began to thumb through it, “You’ll be leaving immediately.” Herb clasped his hands together, “Handler’s orders.” You internally groaned, what a fucking cock block. 

“Thank you Herb.” You said walking up beside Five, “We’ll take it from here.” You said with a reassuring smile. He nodded before closing the door behind him. Once Herb had walked down the hallway you put your hand on Five’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes full of emotion. “Let’s get the job done, and once we are back we can pick up where we left off.” You smiled softly, moving to stand in front of him. You reached up and straightened his tie, he relaxed under your touch. 

“Alright, tesoro.” He smiled, the corner of his lip pulling up. You pulled him forward by his tie, softly kissing his cheek. You’d have to thank the Handler for her hand in all of this, maybe an edible arrangement? You chuckled to yourself as you walked toward the briefcase department, Five’s hand resting on your lower back.

[mistydeyes]

AAAAA I HAVE AN IDEA OKAY can u pls do ghost with a veterinarian reader? Bonus points if she’s also a dog trainer that trained task force 141’s K-9 unit for them so all of the dogs love her and she gets scary dog privileges

thank you for requesting anon! loved researching the role of a veterinarian in the forces :) hope you enjoy reading!

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summary: Simon is the definition of providing "scary dog privileges" and he's happy to be dating the Army's veterinarian who has a soft spot for him and dogs.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!vet/dog trainer!Reader

warnings: swearing, mention of wounds/violence

a/n: omg did you know in pharmacy school we actually learn how to prepare and counsel pet owners! in one of my classes, i learned how to compound a cough syrup for a cat and an analgesic fur cream for a dog :)

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Your pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted by the obnoxious blare of your alarm. Rubbing your tired eyes, you groggily turned over. Despite your boyfriend being on a regimented schedule, you could never relate. “God you need to teach me your ways, Simon,” you said into your pillow, almost as if he was in the room. But as you got out of bed, you faced the disappointment that he was still on deployment. As you dressed for the day and fastened your hair into a bun, you tried to go over your agenda. The morning was filled with vet clinic planning and clinical meetings. You cringed at the thought. It was honestly the worst part of your day. After lunch, you had two patients to follow up with after some shrapnel wounds gained on the field. Just two German Shepherds who were always well obedient for you. You knew they’d be getting some treats today. Finally, your day ended with a combat fitness test. You had perfected this over the years and knew the handlers and canines were up to the challenge.

The morning had gone by slowly. You sipped your coffee as you exchanged ideas with the supply department and pharmacy. They were preparing for a month-long deployment and along with human patients, the pharmacy took care of the working dogs. After three hours of revising, you finally had a full plan and med list. You could feel your phone buzz but as you saw the examination room with a returning patient file on the door, you decided to look at it later. You took your time to examine the dog's coat and checked on the progress of her stitches. “She’s healing perfectly, private,” you smiled at her handler as you gave the canine a treat. She nodded before leading the dog out of the room. Just as you were about to check your phone, you ran into your other patient for the day. Hopefully it isn't something important, you thought to yourself as you gave a similar examination. With the final few sentences, you finished your charting for the day. You sighed contently but soon groaned at the gentle sound of your watch beeping. You closed your office door before running off to your final assignment for the day.

“Alright we’re done with combat PT for the week,” you commanded as your regiment of soldiers and canines relaxed. After two hours of running through the course and showing the basics of taking down an enemy, you felt like they were satisfactory for the time. This was one of your better commands and the dogs had performed beautifully. They would be ready in a matter of weeks, right on schedule. “Be sure to give your companions a treat before you return them home,” you said and the group dispersed. You stretched your tired limbs as you saw them walk back to base. “Just another day in the Veterinary Corps,” you sighed. You loved your job but you realized after a few years that it was more of a balance between training the working animals and their handlers along with the clinical side. You were in the middle of a 15-week-long session to prepare the dogs for the field and the handlers were giving you a headache.

You shielded your eyes from the fluorescent light as you entered the base. “Long day, Captain?” one of your techs asked and you nodded. “Only eight more weeks until I get my evenings back,” you smiled as you walked over to the office space. “I got a question for you,” he continued, smiling at you. “A few of us are going off base and–“ Before he could finish, he stopped in the middle of his sentence. His gaze turned down the hallway as you heard heavy footsteps approach. “Lieutenant Riley,” he said officially and you turned to see Simon approaching. You smiled at him as you heard your tech quickly wish you a goodnight. “You’d think he saw a ghost,” you joked as he walked up to you. Despite his balaclava, his eyes crinkled with a smile. He shrugged and you avoided the urge to reach up and kiss his cheek. “You don’t answer your phone,” he observed and you remembered the text from earlier. “Sorry, long day,” you said sheepishly and he nodded as if you provided a satisfactory response.

“Didn’t realize you were back so soon,” you said and returned his smile. “Me either,” he replied, “found out this morning.” That must have been him this morning. You muttered an apology and he waved a hand passively. “Anyways, I got a surprise for you,” he said, a hint of cheer in his voice. You raised an eyebrow curiously. “You? You have a surprise for me?” you said in disbelief, “Must be a special day.” Simon shook his head at your antics, letting out a chuckle. He motioned for you to follow him and you walked in step. You made casual conversation about your current group in training and the good visits from some of your patients. “You still give them treats after?” he asked, shooting a glance at you. “Still do,” you said cheerfully “not much has changed in 3 months, Simon.” “You spoil them,” he joked back, rubbing a hand along his sore jaw. Must’ve been one hell of a mission, you thought. You continued chatting until you heard the familiar padding of footprints on the base floor.

“Is that who I think it is?” you said excitedly and soon your favorite partner came running towards you. The handler, also a close friend, tried to wrangle him but Riley slipped out of his grasp. In a flash of tan and black fur, Riley rubbed his head against your leg. “Riles! You’ve gotten so big,” you cooed as you brushed through his coat. Despite being named Riley out of his litter, you loved the almost human-like nickname. You petted him affectionately, bending down to greet your longtime friend. “Heel, Riley,” Ghost commanded and Riley sat down obediently. “Oh stop it, Lieutenant,” you responded, hitting Simon’s thigh and encouraging Riley to come back into your embrace. As you showered Riley in love and belly rubs, you heard Simon tell the handler that he would make sure you returned Riley at the end of the night. The private nodded and continued to his own quarters.

“You have enough puppy time?” Simon joked and you shot a look at him. “It’s never enough with Riles over here,” you said happily, continuing to pet him. “Riley did a great job on the field, Price was impressed,” he complimented and you couldn’t help but beam at his words. “Well Price should know I train the best of the best,” you remarked as you looked back down at the wagging dog, “and he is one of the best.” After another fifteen of you playing around and Simon getting in some pets of his own, it was time to bring Riley to the kennel. He looked tired but happy as you walked through the base. You held the unlatched leash in your hand as Riley obediently walked in between you and Simon. “Always such a good boy,” you hummed as both you and Simon brushed his fur.

When you reached the kennel, you quietly opened Riley’s cage to not wake the other animals. He turned around a few times, trying to find the most comfortable position. “If you come by tomorrow, Laswell is considering bringing Riley and Apollo on our next mission,” Simon offered, putting a hand on your shoulder as Riley laid down to rest. You waved to her before you checked all of the dogs were returned and happy. “I’d like that,” you smiled into his touch as you walked out, “Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?” “Probably 6 weeks max if we get the job done,” he said gruffly, averting his eyes from you. Even after years of familiarity, Simon always hesitated to talk about the job. You nodded and closed the kennel for the evening. It was quiet as you walked back to your quarters.

“I won’t be leaving for another week,” he spoke up, voice echoing in the empty hallway. You turned to him with a smirk on your face. “Oh really?” you questioned, putting a hand on his cheek. His eyes flashed around but you laughed as it was late and the coast was most certainly clear. “I would enjoy some company, would you?” you flirted. Simon grunted but you were prepared to draw this out of him. “Hmm, what was that Lieutenant Riley?” you teased before he coughed out a sheepish “yes.” You teasingly beckoned him to follow you. He let out a dry laugh before following at your heels, just like a loyal companion.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König AU Writing Masterlist

Masterlist

Konig Dump

Happy Tails:

KorTac decided to rent some space in a small animal adoption cafe to provide an animal therapy program for their agents. König came for the snacks.

Intro [1] [2] [3]

Summoned!CoD AU

Reader, or Summoner, was forced by the military to summon a beast of war to use in battle. Unfortunately, Summoner isn't great at controlling themselves, so they accidentally summoned a being far too powerful for any of you to control.

Intro

None of Your Shit

Ever Watchful

An Ant Among Men Among Gods Among Cosmos

Kiss the Ocean Kiss Yourself (First Kiss)

Accidental Meteor Showers

An Unexpected Appearance of Softness

A Question Best Left Unanswered

Sweets and Sours and Maggots

Circles of Stars in Cosmic Waltzes

Writhe Beneath Me

Silly Games for Silly People

A Step Through Time, A Step Closer

A Different Definition of Ash

In The Heart of My Mother I Laugh

Mistakes Meld Realities Together

Paper Trails Leave Bleeding Hearts

Extras

The Best Song for Summoned!CoD

Nice Kidnapper!König

To live is to suffer. Your existence feels meaningless, and you know that if you dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would remember your name. Your one chance of happiness was speaking to a nice masked man at a bar, but your 'friends' had cut off your time and stolen you away. Little did any of you know, he'd steal you back soon enough.

Intro [1] [2]

First Time Out of the Basement

Flickering Shadows Hide the Light

Cream and Honey and Thorns and Nettles

Ablutions with Acid

Carve the Fat

The Possibility of an Open Window

Do You Miss What You Had? Do You Miss Who I Was?

Long Pig

Read Me To Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

I Entered Daniel's Den and I Saw the Truth Before Me

A/B/O Universe

In a world where military soldiers are forcibly paired up with partners to produce more soldiers, König is paired with an omega O, and has to deal with the new changes in his life.

Intro

My Ever Empty Bed

An Olive Branch Among Thorns

Declivities

Two Can Play At That Game

To Market to Market to Buy a Fat Hog

Aren't You Tired Yet?

I Sit With You And Cry For What Could Have Been

The House is Burning, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling [1] [2]

Kinktober

Ghostbusters AU:

Who ya gonna call? GHOSTBUSTERS

New Recruit

A Conversation with Those Who Laugh at Death

You're a What Now?

Basement Bros

Infection!AU

You've managed an off-grid farm ever since you parents passed. It's been years, but you've endured the winters and grown to be an incredible homesteader. However, that was before the lights went out, and the barracks north of you went to shit.

Monster Trainer!Cod

Reader, code name Handler, is assigned by higher ups to be the Designated Operator of König, a rowdy and difficult-to-control jotunn/nachtkrappe shifter hybrid with a strange history of 'accidents' with his previous handlers. Your best bet to get by is to speak to others on base, but nobody is forthcoming with information.

Talking Heads Roll On Floors

Headaches Split my Skull, Stop Talking

Mischief and Mayhem

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Endless Possibilities

Break Down Build Up

Phantom of the Opera!AU

Inspired by a glorious ask, a version of Phantom of the Opera where König is our beloved phantom trying to save reader from the horrible fate of being seduced by a lover from the past with a dangerous agenda. König is a twisted man, but it takes a dark soul to recognize another, and so he will do whatever he can (from the shadows) to save his beloved songbird.

The ask the inspired it all

A Man Among Ruins

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

Cannibal King!AU

Taking place in the world of Sons of the Forest, reader is trapped on a remote island. Soon she is kidnapped by a cannibal king. Once by his side, she learns that life in the woods isn't as painful as expected, adn that humanity comes in many forms.

King Cannibal Conquer Quest

Rest Well Reign Strong

Fuck Me Like A Bitch So I May Love You More

Stars Whisper Prophecies into Waiting Wells

Sweet Like Honey Suckles, Bloody Like Venison

Local Executioner!König

Living in a small village leads to a tight-knit community. When you father left to be an adventurer after your mother passed in childbirth, you were taken in by the village baker, your uncle. You always avoided the public executions, but your uncle gets sick and can't go out to market to sell his buns on the very day an execution is slotted. You must go, and there you find a cursed outsider who sparks your interest.

Carve Out a Place for Me to Sing

Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises are in Vain (Pt 2)

Behind The Dew You Sing To Me (Pt 2) (Pt 3)

Cat Hybrid!KorTac

Horangi and König are sick and tired of roughing it on the streets. They were born and bred to be soldiers, but the batch of kittens that were meant to be made into KorTac's next greatest soldiers escaped into the city, they had to grow up on the streets. They made their little gang, but Horangi and König always wanted more. One day, reader comes along and finds two sick kittens on the street. Unable to stop herself, she brings them in and nurses them back to health. She immediately regrets her decisions.

Intro

Konig and Horangi Refs

Hunters

Horangi Wink

Horangi's Hoard Art

Meeting the Human Forms (First Time)

Cuddling Konig

Move comic

Food Quality Ask

Get Out of There! Comic

Devourer of Treats Ask

Child Locks Ask

Buzzing Static Burns The Silence Between My Ears (Ask)

Art from This Post

[emovulture]

Ghost & Fox Hybrid user.

little bit of context: you're able to shapeshift in and out of a "fox form", and you have ears and a tail when your in your "human form."

Hyper. You were just so.. *hyper*.

They really should've expected it though. You're a fox, after all. Although, it had only been a few months since they rescued you from a lab, and sure, you were a great asset to the team in the battlefield, but sometimes Ghost couldn't keep up with it, even before he was assigned as your handler. So usually, he just simply stood there with his arms crossed as you ran around (in your fox form), squealed, barked, yapped, screeched.. and sometimes clawed. Unfortunately for him and the team, today was a lot more chaotic, mostly because it was heavily raining, and you couldn't go in your afternoon walkies outside with Ghost. So he (and the rest of the taskforce) was forced to endure your hyperactivity until you grew tired. Which didn't seem anytime soon.. it never was when you went through these bursts of energy.

Hell, you were practically bouncing off the walls. You were jumping on and off the couch, running in circles around Ghost, tail rapidly wagging, and your ears were perked up playfully. And not to mention the headache inducing barks and yips.

Ghost eventually sighed, his voice is finally coming to light. "You're going to break something, you do know that right?" And as if it was timed, you yapped excitedly, and jumped off the couch, accidentally knocking over a full cup of coffee. The cup clunked on the ground and spilled everywhere, though thankfully it didn't break. Ghost grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a moment. "What did I just say.." He muttered, exasperated.

He walked over, avoiding you as you jumped around like a little tornado, and had no other choice but to reluctantly clean up after you. He mumbled and muttered to himself, saying something about you being a no good pest. Though as he was distracted, you saw a chance and took it, so you began stalking him from behind like he was prey, and since you were way to quiet all of a sudden, he got suspicious. "Y/N? What are you doing..?" He asked in a grumble, though getting no response. You eventually got close enough to pounce, but when you did, he turned around and caught you in his muscular arms with a playful scoff. You squealed and barked, turning back into your human form to flail your limbs, but he just chuckled, throwing you over his shoulder. "I knew you were up to no good, you fleabag." He ruffled your hair, pretending to body slam you onto the cushion of the couch, which made you squeal and squirm around playfully. Finally, he was playing your little games, and a miracle eventually fell upon Ghost - you grew tired! Albeit, he did too after playing with you for more then half an hour, but it eventually grew quiet in the room the two of you were in. You had went back into your fox form, snuggling up to Ghost.

Silence.

He sighed, looking down at the fluffy red fox in his lap, his hand hesitating to pet you, but after a few careful thoughts, Ghost gently placed his calloused hand onto your back, gingerly stroking the soft fur. Soft purrs and snorts of affection eminated from you as he pet your pelt, and it stayed like this until the both of you had dozed off in the common room on a couch. It was peaceful with the rain outside, tapping on the glass window, and the sound of your soft snores lingered for a while before they slowly died down into quiet breathing.

---

a/n: Soap totally snuck a picture of you and Ghost cuddling up together during Ghosts nap lmaoo

[actualbuckybames]

Another scene from that fic I haven't posted. Excerpt of this scene under the cut

---

Bucky falls the instant he steps inside the facility. Vertigo takes hold and then he’s falling, falling away from himself and away from the howling storm trying to tear him apart. He falls and the Soldier weathers the storm, the memories hitting him like hail. It’s just pain. Pain and noise. He’s done more under worse conditions.

He takes the pain and burns it like fuel as he plunges into the depths, puts the noise where it can’t disrupt his focus. The mission is to confirm this facility’s purpose and purge it. No prisoners. As always, no survivors.

A quarter of them try to fight. They die.

A quarter of them try to run. They die.

The rest beg for their lives. They die.

The last makes a stand in the bare concrete room housing the cryo unit. He manages to separate the Soldier from his guns with a kind of stun baton that leaves the metal arm jolting and uncooperative, but on his next lunge, the Soldier grabs the baton halfway down the shaft with his right hand and crushes it.

His left arm resets and locks in for a punch that sends the man crashing into the cryo pod. Though blood streams from his nose, he fumbles at his waist and unsheathes a knife. The Soldier almost smiles. When the Soldier draws one of the tantos from his back, the man pales. He’s fast enough to dodge when the Soldier whips it at his head and just barely quick enough to catch the second tanto on his own blade when the Soldier closes the gap.

Caught up in the flurry of blows, the Soldier lets the grin twist his lips under his mask. This man is good. Very, very good. As good as anyone can get with unmodified flesh and bone.

But he is unmodified. Sweat gleams on his face and he pants with each lunge, parry, and dodge. The Soldier feels no exhaustion and gives no quarter, chasing him around the small space and ensuring he never has any delusions of reaching the door.

For a minute, the man thinks he’s holding his own. The Soldier lets him think that. It feels good to stretch these muscles, to wield a knife in a way he hasn’t since fighting Captain America—

Fighting Steve—

“Перешеек,” the man gasps, and the Soldier freezes. That is what that word means: silence and stillness. The land between shifting waters, immovable and eternal. His muscles lock. The arm’s plates lock. Everything locks and his thoughts break against his body in waves.

The man doubles over with his hands on his knees and heaves for breath. Drops of sweat splatter on the floor, joining the blood he’s shed from the dozen small cuts the Soldier has inflicted on him over the course of their fight.

They’re fighting. Right. But the man said перешеек—he’s a handler. The Soldier obeys the handler.

“Fuck,” the man straightens and glares at the Soldier, “you are fucking terrifying.”

The Soldier cannot respond, but his muscles are starting to itch with a need to move. There is a headache crawling out from the base of his skull with a sound like a scream.

“You killed all of them, didn’t you?” He peers past the Soldier, towards the door. “I don’t understand why they keep saying to bring you back alive. You’re not worth this.”

He knows: the knife in his hand belongs in the man’s eye, in his brain. But перешеек holds him fast. Can’t disobey the handler. Can’t move. Can’t do anything other than watch as the handler steps close and lines up his own knife.

“Fuck that,” the man says, face contorting in anger. “Fuck you.”

He drives the knife into the Soldier’s chest.

Pain crashes through the Soldier’s mind in a tsunami that rips away the shackles of перешеек. Clarity, as it always does even without the burn of electricity, follows in its wake: this man isn’t his handler. He doesn’t have authority to override the mission. The mission is to take no prisoners and leave no survivors and he is still alive.

The Soldier’s left hand slams into the man’s chest and throws him back. Something cracks on impact; a rib, from the man’s grunt and subsequent gasp. With his right hand, the Soldier rips the knife out of his chest. The man’s next sound of pain is cut off by that knife when Soldier drives up into his brain through the fleshy underside of his jaw. A puppet with its strings cut, the man crumples and the Soldier lets him fall. Even lets him keep the knife.

For just a moment, the room is silent, no more echoes of combat bouncing off its bare gray walls. The Soldier’s breathing is the loudest sound.

He spares the next moment to examine the tear in his jacket. The wound beneath is bleeding heavily from him pulling the knife out but, upon inspection, it shows itself to be narrow and small. At the angle he struck at, the blade must have hit bone, to be stopped from going any deeper. Or the man underestimated the Soldier’s muscle density and the force required to rip through it.

The wound requires cleaning, but he halts his steps toward the exit and the medical supplies beyond when a quiet beep reaches his ears. It’s a sound he knows, a sound deeper than anything a knife can reach. He turns and faces the cryo pod. The beep comes again. Underneath it is the soft hiss of air through narrow tubes. His left hand twitches and he crosses the room in three long strides.

There’s a man in the cryo pod. That doesn’t make sense; this is the Soldier’s pod, even if he has no intention of using it ever again.

He wipes at the fog on the small window and frowns at the pale, gaunt face framed with ice crystals that rests on the other side. That frown deepens when the face and its tousled blond hair tugs at frosted strings of memory in his mind. As the monitor beeps a soft and infrequent report on the man’s vitals, recognition gives way to vertigo and the Soldier—no, no, James, Bucky, my name is Bucky—nearly collapses against the pod. Frigid metal bites into what little exposed skin makes contact but he doesn’t feel it because his eyes are fixed on Steve. Steve, who’s stuck in the pod. Steve, who’s stripped of his serum and small and week and frozen. Steve, whose vitals are sounding off ever slower while Bucky’s own heartbeat thunders in his ears.

GET HIM OUT. The order screams through his thoughts and tears up everything else on its way. He’s slamming his fist on the emergency release before he even thinks to move. But the pod doesn’t open. Doesn’t open when he hits the release again. Doesn’t open when he tries the actual command sequence for defrosting. Doesn’t open when he slams his fist into it with a shout. And still Steve's vitals are slowing.

Static bites at his focus and black creeps in at the edges of his vision. All he can see is the cryo chamber. Steve. Steve. That cold—he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It never leaves. It’s enough to kill Stevie. More than enough.

God, he might already be dead. When was the last beep?

“Stay with me,” he begs the silent figure while he claws at every seam in the pod, hunting for purchase. “Don’t you dare quit, you’re too stubborn to stop now, you hear me? Too stubborn by half. Stay with me, don’t leave.”

He hasn’t heard a beep in—

In—

His metal hand smashes into the side of the pod, denting the metal enough to expose a lip he can fasten his fingers around. He rips the panel away with a roar but it’s just an exterior support. There are so many more. So many.

He’s yelling at Steve, now, so Steve can hear him over the sound of Bucky tearing apart the pod. Screaming for him to stay, to wake up, to stay god please stay, because the monitor isn’t beeping anymore and—

The last hinge gives way with a shriek and the pod door goes crashing across the room. Searingly cold air blasts over him, forcing his eyes into a squint, but he reaches in blindly with his left hand and finds—

Nothing. The pod is empty. Blinking away tears, he stares at the unoccupied restraints in mute confusion, the adrenaline pumping through his veins only making that confusion spiral faster as frigid mist spreads across the floor. A blink and that mist is gone. The cold is gone.

A glance to the right: no vitals monitor. A glance back at the pod: no Steve.

There’s blood roaring in his ears, the ground is swaying under his feet, he can’t get enough air, and he's falling.

---

He comes to after a few seconds, finding himself sprawled on his right side. Another few seconds pass before he pieces together what happened and why his right shoulder and head ache. The wound in his chest is still bleeding. It’s the easiest thing to focus on with his mind fogged by confusion and pain.

Thick drops of blood pool around the fingers of his hand when he brings it near and then fall to the floor. He watches them, transfixed. And then notes how bright red his blood is. A good sign.

With a bit of effort, he gets his left hand braced against the floor in front of him and, fingers scraping on the concrete, slowly levers himself up while putting as little strain on his core as he can. He uses the cryo pod for support as he gets to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the metal. The front of his jacket is shiny with blood and the room spins a bit when he stands straight, but it’s manageable once he leans against the wall and takes a few measured breaths. He looks to his right; the cryo pod is empty.

Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

[mangoshorthand]

i know it is meant to be a oneshot but maybe ... "The Pandas and the Conservationist" part 2? haha

The Pandas and the Conservationist Part 2 | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 6.8k words, Rated E

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE (several months and one nervous breakdown later). Thanks to @thebearmage for helping me with ideas on this one. !SubFive is truly your speciality.

Enjoy the Commission worldbuilding I can't seem to resist leading to a subby Five slutting around in a doomsday bunker. (Also please give me headpats for finding this gif without freaking out. There were so many Five/Lila ones and I feel cold all over).

<< Read Part 1

The Handler was unlike his predecessor in many ways. Where they aligned, however, was in a roach-like ability to take a bullet to the brain and survive.

Unluckily for this Handler, however, he had no metal plate in his skull: there was, irrevocably, a bullet lodged in his frontal lobe. Yet, when he opened his eyes to see a chunk of viscera swinging before them, he felt fine.

Woozy, but fine. 

He had a job to do, that he knew. The board was relying on him to keep things operational. Yes, he had a job to do, and he knew it had something to do with…that guy. 

He racked the 95% of his brain not eviscerated by the bullet and tried to call him to mind. Thinking hard, it came to him that there was definitely a guy…and there was also a woman…and he had to do…something. 

Employ them? Kill them? Take them out for waffle fries and a large Sprite? 

Maybe he had to do one thing to one of them and another thing to the other.

Mouth pulling down into a frown, he got to his feet, the bodies of two men blurring before his eyes. As he swayed and caught the back of a chair to steady himself it occurred to him vaguely that he might not be in optimal health. 

***

“You’re staying here.”

“I thought you said we were going to R&D together?”

“No,” Five said, irritably shifting behind you again.

The closet was no less cramped after your fumblings in here. They were now sweatier, in fact, and sweat wasn’t the only bodily fluid making this an even more inconvenient hiding place than before. 

Impatiently, Five reiterated the plan:

“I blink in, steal a briefcase dynamo, blink back here and then we get out, okay?”

“And do what?” you protested, “We know nothing about what’s going on. We’ve got no idea how to stop whatever threat I pose.”

You heard air leave Five’s nostrils in a huff, but you continued to whisper over any planned interruption. 

“We need more information.”

Five wished he could lift his arm enough to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers and stave off the threatening headache as you continued:

“You said that guy - the Handler - had a file. Can’t we just-”

“No,” Five said, sternly. I need you to stay safe. So that means we get out of here as soon as possible.”

“But it’s not just about me!” you said, pained, “People could die.”

“And we’ll try to stop that from happening.” Five said, gentleness breaking through his frustration and he rubbed your hip in small, comforting circles.

“Remember: this isn’t your fault.”

And his forehead came into contact with the back of your head, the tip of his nose in your hair.

“I don’t want to lose you.” came the whisper, “You and I…I want to chase that as far as you’ll let me.”

“Five,” you protested, half exasperation, half touched. 

“You’ll be cold in that nightdress,” he said, wriggling to extract his arms from his suit jacket.

His tone was low and tender, but firm. He intended to carry his point, as much about your body temperature as your staying here.

He succeeded in removing his jacket with difficulty and, with no place to go, it stayed wedged between him and the tightly-packed supplies he was pressed up against. 

“Put this on when I’m gone.”

“No, Five-”  

But the suit jacket fell to the floor in the sudden absence of the body that had been pressing it against the boxes. 

***

You drew the jacket more closely around you as you followed Five’s figure through the gloom. The tunnel was tight, claustrophobic, and lit only by small, flickering fluorescents twenty feet apart. When you emerged into the relative spaciousness of the stairwell, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“What is this place?” 

“It’s a hollowed out cold war missile silo.” said Five, sounding partly amused and partly dismissive as your footsteps clanked on the metallic stairs, “It was Dad’s, and it’s a prepper’s paradise.”

At the bottom of the first flight of stairs, he felt his way along the curved wall until he found a switch, and the strip lighting flickered into life, along with the hum of machinery.

“There we go.” he said, looking around the room with satisfaction. “To think, all the time I was alone in the apocalypse there was all this just a four day walk from the city.”

He laughed bitterly, whether at his own ignorance or at his father’s keeping this knowledge from his children, you didn’t know.

You looked around with interest at the large, circular room you found yourself in. To the left of the stairwell, there was a bank of six floor-to-ceiling water tanks, and to the right there were large, industrial generators and batteries, presumably to produce and store electricity.

“We won’t need them now,” he said, noting your gaze and motioning you to follow him down the next flight of stairs, “They’re only designed to kick in if the mains go down.”

“Are we safe here?” you asked, following him down to the next level, where industrial shelves of canned and dried food stretched as far as you could see on either side. 

“Safe as we can be,” he said, turning sharply and continuing to trot lightly down another flight of stairs. “The first I heard of this place was six months ago. I found the deeds in a secret safe none of us knew about. Not even Klaus.”

You emerged at the end of a long hallway of modern, wood paneled walls leading to a circular central concourse, lit pleasantly with hidden bulbs mimicking sunlight with eerie accuracy.  

“Here we are.” he said, matter-of-factly, leading you through a door into a bright living space, “this floor sleeps sixteen and there are about ten identical units below us. Beneath that there’s a library, and then a gym and media center right at the bottom. Should keep us entertained for a few months at least.”

You looked with interest around the room. It was an odd mix of functional luxury. Plush yet hardy carpets, the smooth concrete finish on the walls and the sleek, modern furniture. It was very different from the Hargreeves house with its stuffed sofas, trinkets and elegant portraits around the walls. 

You looked assessingly at the ridiculously well-stocked bar along one wall. Five’s dad liked a drink as much as he did, apparently.

“I always assumed your place was full of booze because of you guys,” you said, smirking.

“Dad’s influence.” Five said, matter-of-factly. He adjusted his shirtsleeves unnecessarily before looking back at you, a small smile curling his lips.

“I’m going to take a shower after our little encounter in the closet. I’d say we have a few hours before my family get here, so…”

His eyebrows raised suggestively, and his head gave a small, inviting incline towards the hallway again. Clearly he was inviting you to join him in the shower.

You smirked, but hid your smile as you crossed over to the bar.

“Sounds nice, but I think I’m going to put my feet up and read this over a nice drink.”

Casually, you pulled the manilla file out from beneath Five’s jacket and waved it over your shoulder so he could see it.

There was a moment of disbelieving silence.

“What the hell?”

***

He was losing blood. He might not remember exactly why, but the fact was proclaimed by the thick, dark drops on the polished marble floor, smearing as he staggered through them.

The Handler encountered nobody as he swayed his way through the halls, intent on only one thing: if the answers to all this were going to be anywhere, they would be in his office. 

He thought the worst part of the journey would be navigating the stairwell, but it didn’t seem to have gotten any easier now that he was on the flat.

He ricocheted hard off one of the walls in the hallway, his head ringing with - not pain exactly - but with a surge of something that rooted his legs to the spot, causing him to nearly go sprawling with his own forward momentum.

As he flailed wildly, his hand closed around the nearest door handle, that of the cleaning supply closet, to support himself. He held it tightly, breathing shallowly with head against the solid wood of the doorframe.

***

Five looked from you to the file with a look that could only be described as apoplectic.

“I told you to stay in there!” he said, through teeth gritted so tightly you were surprised he could get it out. 

“The Handler walked in on me with half his brains falling out!” you said, defensively, “I had to think fast!”

In two strides, Five crossed the room, and grabbed you, his nails digging into your upper arms and giving you two or three abrupt shakes to punctuate his words:

“You could have been killed!”

***

You cowered when the door opened and a man fell through it. The light of the corridor stung your eyes, and it took them a couple of moments to adjust until you almost screamed aloud at the sight before you. The Handler was impossibly standing before you, straightening up and swaying as he did so, blood dripping from a bullet wound above his right eye.

“File,” he slurred. 

“Um,” you stuttered, trembling.

“There’s a man,” he continued, still in that dragging monotone and apparently incapable of noting your fear. “There’s something about a man. And a woman. In a file. My office.”

Neither of his eyes were focused on you. In fact, one of them was drifting off into the back of his head as a result of the traumatic brain injury.

You bit your lip. Though Five had insisted you stay here, this opportunity had just dropped into your lap. 

“Then we should go and get it,” you said. 

“Yesss,” he replied, as if he hadn’t thought of this, “Goooddiydea. Good idea. Yes. This way.”

He stood back against the door and ushered you with an odd sort of gallantry into the hallway. 

***

Five snatched the file from your hand 

“I can’t believe you did this! Are you an idiot?”

You fired up at this immediately. 

“I’m an idiot who got us information!” 

Five growled, baring his teeth in frustration, as if trying to stop himself striking like a snake. 

“I wanted you to stay safe!”

“I am safe!” you shouted, though placing your hands consolingly on his upper arms.

Your touch seemed to take some of the anger out of him, his face relaxing as you rubbed his arms soothingly up and down.

“He didn’t even recognise me. He took me into his office and fell down dead as soon as he stepped through the door. The file was just there on the desk. I took it, walked back to the closet and then you were back within two minutes.”

Five looked from you to the file and then back again.

“Did nobody see you?”

“Nobody walked past,” you shrugged, “and even if they saw us on cameras, we’re out of there now anyway.”

There was a moment or two of eye contact. Anger had not quite drained from those eyes, but now the fear underlying the anger was more evident, alongside a hard, manic energy building fast.

He broke away from you, sat down on the couch and began to read, his leg shaking restlessly. 

“Five,” you said, soothingly, following him and massaging his shoulders over the back of the couch, “I thought you needed to shower?”

“That was before we had this,” he murmured. “Now, shut up for a while. I’m reading.”

“Charming,” you said, and you thought you saw the hint of a smile curve his lips as he read. You stayed standing behind him, running your fingers absently though the hair at the nape of his neck. Gradually his leg stopped shaking as you petted him, leaning forward to read over his shoulder. He was looking intently at what looked like a flow chart.

“Nova Vertical City,” Five said contemplatively.

“That giant skyscraper they’re building?” you said, surprised, joining him on the couch now. 

“That’s the one,” he said, grimly, “It’s the wave of the future, apparently. Got a capacity of ten thousand and it looks like the construction crew are under a lot of pressure to get it finished.”

“What does this have to do with me?” you asked, scanning the page but unable to make sense of it from the little snippets you read.

“Nothing directly, but in about twenty days, you have a fender bender with the chief engineer, David Haltz. It means he gets to work late and kind of pissed off. As a result of that he’s stressed and rushing and he ignores a recommendation for structural analysis thinking it’s just normal settling movement. Except it isn’t. In two years or so it falls and six-thousand people die who aren’t supposed to.”

“Aren’t supposed to?”

“To ensure the optimal timeline. One of them is supposed to become president apparently. It looks like he’s responsible for killing way more than six-thousand people, but the math must bear out somewhere down the line.”

You sat there for a while, dumbfounded.

“So…people will die either way? More people will die because I live?”

Five sighed and put a hand on your knee.

“Don’t think about it like that. People always die, it’s just what people do. Trust me, don’t do the math. It’s all just chaos. We’re particles bouncing around in a bell jar colliding off one-another at random. We’ve got no choice. So don’t think about it. Take my advice and try to forget it if you can.”

Instinctively, you laid your head on Five’s shoulder, searching for the fundamental comfort his warmth could offer you after this news.

He looked at you sidelong. All these little touches. Grinding against each other in the closet had been hot, sure, but it had accelerated things. Through all the months Klaus tried to set you up, your relationship moved glacially. Then, after one heady cocktail of fear and lust, all the barriers between you had fallen before you’d had a chance to talk about what this was. 

He’d been anticipating a conversation after a few days, one in which he’d try to play it cool and sensible, but with your fingers in his hair and your cheek against his shoulder, it felt too right to ignore. 

He put an arm around you. 

“Why not just stop me getting into the fender bender?” you asked, eventually, “Why kill me when they could have just locked me up or whatever?”

Five shook his head.

“God knows. They kill because killing’s what they do when it comes to their targets. I expect resourcing costs play a part but the Commission I worked for liked to minimize outputs as much as possible.”

He spoke bitterly, brow lowered as he continued.

“If you kill problematic individuals then you only have to train assassins rather than jailors. You don’t have to house them and you don’t have to come up with ways to stay under the radar. The less common sense you have to apply, the easier it is to function in an institution like the Commission. It wasn’t like that when Herb was in charge.”

You could hear the cogs in his mind whirring once more after the brief hiatus in which he held you.

“This is actually good news,” he said, “It means we can wait it out. It’s probably safest to wait until construction of the vertical city’s complete before we leave, but in the meantime we can make a plan for the Commission. I gotta find out what happened to Herb and Dot.”

“Sounds good,” you said, rubbing his shoulder and hoping to settle him once more, but the tension in his body made it clear he was preparing himself for action.

“I’ll get started in advance of my family arriving.”

“In crusty underwear?”

Five ignored this and stood, fingers twitching into an automatic pen-hold as he scoured the room for a writing implement.

“This can wait,” you said, firmly.

“Doesn’t hurt to get ahead,” he said, distractedly.

You got to your feet and stood behind him, letting your arms wrap around his waist.

“Didn’t you promise me some more fun? Wait until tomorrow at least. Right now, you need to shower, put on some laundry, and change.”

You kissed his shoulder blades through his shirt, smelling sweat, sex and the undercurrent of detergent. The tension started to leave his body with each kiss, and you hummed against him as he relaxed into you, pleased with the effect you were having. 

“There we go,” you said, amused, “it can feel good to let go of control.”

He leaned back into your touch. This was rare for him to become intimate so soon. One of your hands slid from his hip to his stomach, where the last of his tension remained. You rubbed him gently there, and he sighed. 

“Did it feel good in the closet?” you whispered, gently into his ear, “trapped with my ass against you?”

Five could feel his body wanting to become boneless, your whisper lifting all the fine hairs on his neck. Too much had already happened today, the weight of responsibility was beginning to make itself felt again. It would feel good to turn off his brain. Something about your voice, about your arms holding him. It made him want to surrender.

“There are definitely worse situations to be in,” he said, voice slightly frayed.

You smirked. He was so easy to undo. A few more prods and this strong, usually so controlled man would be putty in your hands. You leaned in again, so that your lips brushed his ear as you whispered.

“No choice but to get hard, huh?” 

He chuckled under his breath, slightly nervously, you thought. You let the hand on his stomach drift lower, tantalizingly close to where he could already feel a semi developing against the uncomfortable mess in his pants.

“And didn’t it feel good to just let go and let it happen?” you whispered, brushing your lips against his neck.

Yes, you’d expected Five to be putty in your hands after a few more prods, but you didn’t expect him to crumble immediately. He let out an unrestrained moan after only one close-mouthed kiss against his throat. It was a whimper really, totally shameless. It made you flush with pride and arousal; how readily he gave himself up. 

“Tell me what to do,” he gasped, in a rush, the words falling over each other as they spilled out of his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

You laughed in disbelief, still stroking his lower stomach in that perfect mix of soothing and teasing. Almost his full weight was against you, and his pelvis began to move, looking for more friction against his front and grinding his ass gently against you.

“You’re quite the slut, aren’t you?” you asked, conversationally.

He whimpered again, his hips stuttering, and the sound delighted you, although not as much as his next words.

“Yes! God yes, I’m a slut. I’ll do anything you want.”

You’d meant it as a joke, but Five Hargreeves was full of surprises. All the time you’d been hanging out with him and Klaus, you would never have suspected he was capable of mewling like a kitten, grinding his ass against you and falling over himself to admit he was a slut.

You kissed his neck again, and this time you grazed him with your teeth.

“Oh fuck,” he wispred, rapturously, his hair falling over his eyes, “bite me. Please.”

“So demanding.” you said, into his ear, “That’ll leave a mark. Your family will notice.”

“Don’t care,” he said, baring his neck to you, “don’t care who sees. Bite me.”

“You’re saying you want your family to know what I giant slut you are?”

He whined again, and in that moment the whine meant ‘Yes, and right now I’d let you tattoo it across my forehead’, but you knew that Five in his right mind would be less enthusiastic about the idea.

So you decided to be cruel to be kind.

“Teleport us to the shower and strip,” you said, simply.

“Bite me first,” he whined again, tearing at his buttons and baring his neck to your mouth so that the skin was taught against his muscles.

“Shower,” you said firmly, slapping him lightly on the ass.

He actually pouted at this. Five Hargreeves pouted. This man, who still had blood on his collar from fighting his way out of the Commission was pouting like a boy just denied his favorite candy. 

But, nevertheless, he obeyed, and in a flash of light and squeeze of pressure, you were standing in the bathroom, Five tearing off his clothes before you’d even got your bearings. By the time you’d managed to orientate yourself, he was already out of his shirt and in the process of dropping his pants.

You smirked at his eagerness, hanging his jacket on the back of the door and removing your night dress as he kicked his underwear across the room and turned on the shower, waiting with clear impatience for it to reach temperature. 

You looked at him as you removed your panties. He was toned and lithe, muscles gently defined rather than sculpted, and the steam just beginning to fill the room furled around their soft angles in a way that only served to accentuate their latent power. Suddenly, seeing him this way felt overwhelming: every inch of skin completely bared. So far you’d only seen and touched little slivers. 

His skin was pale, criss-crossed with scars and dotted here and there with freckles, moles or birthmarks - you weren’t sure which - like those on his face. Your eyes were caught by one in particular. It was a small mark on his upper thigh, just adjacent to his pubis. It was oddly dainty - beautiful, you might say - and it was made even more so by its proximity to his cock.

You hadn’t seen it in the closet, only felt it as it rubbed sinfully against you, trapped against his stomach within the confines of his clothes. It stood out firmly from his body, curved, thick, pretty and enough length to enjoy too. His glans was a deep pink full bell and. as you stared at it, your mouth filled with saliva as you imagined the shape and feel of it on your tongue. 

As he looked at you looking at him. He stroked his fingers gently across his tip, and his cock gave a tiny twitch. 

“Do you like what you see?” he asked, and there was none of the bravado that usually marked his speech. 

His voice was approval-seeking, and you could tell by the way his thighs inched closer together that there was a small edge of self-consciousness in being looked at this way.

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, his vulnerability finally forcing your gaze back to his face.

You didn’t need to say anything else. If your blown pupils weren’t enough, the way you kicked your panties away would have made him sure he had your approval.

You crossed the room in two strides, and almost before he had a chance to admire your naked body in turn, you were kissing him against the shower wall.

You held his face tenderly in your hands as you kissed his mouth, fingers bedding themselves in his wet hair. You kissed him hard and soft, teeth sometimes grazing his lips and tongue sometimes slipping between them. He wrapped his arms around you in turn, holding you to him as the water cascaded around you both.

For Five, the whole world was in your lips, in the heat of the water, your hands on his face, and the cold press of tiles against his back.

A rush of feeling passed between you, one redolent of all those games nights with Klaus: shared smiles, gentle flirting, a connection unspoken. Now it was all finally coming to its resolution: the most natural resolution of such a beginning. 

“Clean yourself,” you whispered, “Get yourself nice and clean for me.”

He nodded, swollen lips still tingling, and turned obediently to the shower, soaping his perfect body as you pressed yourself against his back once more, your naked breasts pressed against his scapula. He hummed happily at the contact, the sound morphing into a small moan as you kissed his neck once more. 

You alternated between cleaning yourself, kissing him, and rubbing your breasts against his back. Once clean, you leaned against him as he finished up, kissing softly from his ear lobe down, and he again bared his neck to you, yielding to your mouth immediately. 

“I like that,” he whispered, laying his head back against yours. 

You only smiled against his skin and continued. 

Each kiss melted him a little further, that floaty, boneless feeling starting to reassert itself. By the time you nipped him with your teeth, he’d already let out a few needy little hmmms, resisting the urge to toss his head with the ticklish, shivery feeling.

“Bite me,” he said again, feverishly “please, bite me.”

Drawing it out, you let your tongue drag along his lower neck to the area of soft skin between neck and shoulder that would be far less obvious beneath clothes. He let out an anguished whine at this tease, but then groaned as you sucked a deep purple hickey above his clavicle. 

“Fuck yes,” he whispered, arching his back into you as you nipped your teeth into the spot, marking him in just the way he wanted, in the way that made him yours. 

Both of your hands reached around him then, one to gently stroke and pinch the tip of his soap-slickened cock with your fingers, and the other to roll a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

He gave a shaky little gasp at this, and you smiled. 

“So sensitive,” you cooed, your mind aflame with a delightful consciousness of your power over him, “you’re so easy, Five.”

He only groaned, and, when your hand rolled his foreskin as far back as it would go, he leaned back with a sigh, laying his head on your shoulder in a display of acquiescence, happy to be held in your arms and pleasured. 

“So you wanna be a little pillow princess?” you smirked, kissing his cheekbone, letting him know that this was okay with you if so.

“I wanna be whatever you want me to be,” he said, voice slightly slurred with the intensity of his arousal as his dick leaked a little precome onto your thumb “just tell me what to do.”

“Hm…” you said, considering this intriguing proposition. And then, deciding: “Face me and kneel.”

He did so. You reached over him to angle the shower so that it would fall on his back rather than onto his head. When you resettled against the shower’s wall, he was already at your feet, hands demurely on the wet tiled floor and head tilted up to look at you. 

His lips were slightly open, wet hair plastered off his face. He looked up at you with such a look of unqualified supplication that you found an strange instinct rising within you: wanting equally to nurture and to devour him. His eyes, that sweet, intermediate green, looking into yours and begging for whatever you wanted to give him. He looked so perfect like this, his cock protruding from between his slightly-spread thighs, that you found yourself idly wondering if Five might look at you that way on the end of a cute little strap-on. Would a doomsday bunker have such a thing?

Preoccupied with these thoughts, you pushed your slick thumb over his bottom lip. He accepted it meekly into his mouth, not taking his eyes off yours as he did so, his tongue flicking against the pad of your thumb, cleaning it of his arousal with a fervor that made your pussy ache.

“How about you eat my cunt?”

“Yes please,” he said, moving forward eagerly as you draped a leg over his shoulder to make room for him between your thighs. “Just use my face to get off.”

You chuckled at this.

“You really are a slut.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” he said smirking up at you, a little of his usual self returning with the wry expression, “If there’s pussy on my face, I’m just a fucktoy.”

You smiled back at him. Something about this little glimpse of his usual sardonicism made his submission even hotter; it felt like more of a conquest to have a man like him kneeling before you, ready and willing for you to use him. You took a gentle handful of hair from his crown. 

“Wow,” you said, with mock-admiration, “If you’re just a fucktoy, then I’ll expect you to make me come before you get any more pleasure.”

He only nodded and grunted his assent to this, too turned on for words. He buried his face gladly between your legs, nose pressed into your pubis. 

He kissed your clit reverentially, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. Each of his outward breaths tickled across your folds. He knelt there, eating you like a postulant worshiping at the altar, wanting nothing more than to be found worthy to serve. 

His tongue slid between your lips, dragging a long line across your inner labia to your clitoris. You let out a high-pitched moan that mingled with his own deep grunt upon tasting you. His voice sent pleasant vibrations against you, and you had to lean more heavily against the shower wall to compensate for your weak knees.

You used your grip in his hair to guide him where you needed his fully extended tongue, canting your hips forward and riding his face so that he slid back and forth in between your lips. The feel of him, warm and wet against you, sent heat coiling into your lower stomach. He was more eager than skilled, but his willingness to be used was all you really needed.

“Good little fucktoy,” you gasped, fucking his face. He moaned again, making wet suckling noises as he hooded and unhooded your clit with his tongue. Your pussy gushed into his mouth, rewarding him for his efforts, and he lapped it up like cream. He seemed to forget your pleasure for a moment as his tongue entered your pussy, seeking out more come greedily, groaning again and again as he swallowed what you gave to him.

It was then you noticed that he was beating himself off: a hand between his thighs stroking his dripping cock. You grinned: it was the perfect piece of disobedience to take advantage of. 

Using your grip on his hair, you pulled him away from you and pulled his head back, forcing him to look up at you with a hand under his chin. He did so with hazy eyes, hand still around his cock and face slippery with your come.

“Why are you touching yourself, Five?” you said, sternly, though with enough irony that he might know that he didn’t have to play along. As hot as this was, you had only been following his lead up until now, there had been no discussion on boundaries.

“I’m sorry,” he said dropping his cock immediately and kissing meekly at your fingers.

“Do fucktoys get pleasure before I do?”

“No,” he said, ruefully, “I’m just here for you to use.”

“That’s right,” you said, cocking your head to the side, “And yet you played with your little pecker when you weren’t supposed to.”

“It’s not that little” he said, unable to resist breaking character for a moment.

“Just a figure of speech,” you said, with dignity, “There’s more than enough to get a boy like you into trouble. But stop trying to distract me: you've been a bad little fucktoy, haven’t you?”

You could see him wanting to smile at this, finding amusement in your perfect ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed’ demeanor, but he schooled his face into a look of regretful supplication and nodded.

“Do you think you need to be punished?” you continued, twirling his hair around your fingers. 

“I should be,” he agreed, with wide eyes that would be innocent but for the just-veiled excitement at this idea.

“Well, I’m glad you’re so contrite.” you said, with a sage nod, “And how should a bad fucktoy like you be punished?”

He answered immediately and with such readiness that part of you wondered whether this hadn’t been his plan all along:

“I think you should pin me down and use me like a dildo. I don’t think I should be allowed to come until you tell me.”

“That sounds like a reasonable punishment,” you considered, “but I wonder whether a little slut like you might enjoy that too much?”

“That’s definitely a risk,” he said, regretfully, “but it would still teach me a lesson.”

“And what would it teach you?” you asked him. 

Still holding your eyes, he took one of your fingers at his chin into his mouth and gave it a submissive little suck before he replied:

“What I’m good for: that I’m just a dick that happens to be attached to a person. I’m just your fucktoy.”

You chuckled at his breathy voice, laced with a hint of self-conscious irony. You also didn’t fail to notice the way his erection twitched as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“That needy cock won’t last.”

“It will,” he said, made suddenly desperate again by his little act of self-degradation, “I’ll make it last. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And he took two of your fingers into his mouth this time, as if by fellating them prettily enough he could prove himself. And he did look good doing it.

You leaned over him, turned off the shower and indicated the bathroom floor.

“Lay down a towel and lie on it. Quickly.”

He didn’t even stand, he blinked and reappeared at the towel rail on his feet. Another blink, and he appeared supine on the towel, already laid out on the bathroom floor. 

“Woah,” you said, wondering how one could possibly teleport a towel into place, “you’re full of surprises.”

Five nodded, watching you as you left the shower and came to stand over him. His eyes were like saucers as you approached, taking in the water dripping off your breasts and your puffy, swollen pussy. His left hand was already inching towards his dick, laying thick and hard against his stomach.

“No touching yourself!” you barked, and his hand slapped immediately back onto the towel.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re just so pretty.”

“Not an excuse,” you said, authoritatively, kneeling with his hips between your knees, “I need a fucktoy to make me come, not a greedy little slut.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be better,” he said, voice thick with lust at the sight of your pussy hovering mere inches above his cock.

You couldn’t resist it anymore: you reached between your legs, lined him up at your entrance and sank down onto his dick.

You groaned, Five whined, his back arching off the floor, hands coming to your knees in an effort to steady either you or himself, he didn’t know which. He only knew that the tight, wet heat of you was already forcing his hips mechanically upwards, instinctively seeking deeper penetration.  

“Oh God.” he wheezed, as you took his wrists and pinned them over his head with one hand, your bodyweight shifting on him as you did so, creating all kinds of new sensations on his dick, sending pleasure radiating all the way down it. His balls were already tight, ready to blow.

You stirred your hips languidly against him, grinding your walls around the cock stretching them. He felt thick, sublime in the way he filled you. You sensed his sensitivity in the tightness of his thighs and leaned over to whisper right in his ear, 

“Be a good little fucktoy now.”

He nodded, breathing in pathetic little whimpers through his nose.

And you began to ride him with his arms pinned, angling your body to chase your own pleasure, heedless of his.

“Fuck,” he whined, “Fuckfuck. God yes,” he let out a throaty groan as you found the perfect angle and sped your hips, “Use me. Just like that.”

“Noisy. Little. Fucktoy,” you grunted, riding his cock. 

You had him where you needed him: squeezed between your thighs and his pretty, plump cockhead generating perfect friction aginst your G-spot. It seemed like Five’s punishment might not last for long: tingles were already running up and down your arms and legs, and the approaching orgasm promised to be explosive. 

“Use me.” he whispered again, eyes glassy as he looked up into yours, voice fragile and restive, “Use me, baby. It’s all I’m good for.”

He looked so pathetic as he said it, mouth slack, face still slick with your juices and his entire upper body tensed with the effort of holding off the orgasm you knew he was already riding the edge of.

“Just a. Useless. Little. Fucktoy” he whispered, and then he whined again, long and keening.

“Don’t you dare!” you scolded, feeling him tense even more. He was teetering, holding off only by his overriding need to prove himself: to be a good for you. 

What other option did you have?

You came spectacularly around his cock, your tits hitting him in the face with the force of your thrusts. You bucked and thrashed with the pleasure, listening to him begin to sob beneath you as your cunt contracted around him, trying to milk his cock of the come he was desperate not to give until you gave him permission.

“Oh fu-uuck,” 

“Oh, Five!” 

He sobbed again at the sound of your voice, rubbing his head feverishly against the towel and writhing as if trying to escape (though it was obvious that escape was the last thing on his mind).  

But not even his wriggling could have helped him then: you rode him like the fucking rodeo, bucking furiously along with your orgasm. Every thrust brought a fresh wave of bone deep pleasure and a new groan of delight.

Five, sobbing and struggling beneath you, managed to grind out one word.

“Please.”

You looked down at him, face blotchy and front teeth cutting white crescents into his lower lip. You took pity on him. 

“You can come.”

His hips immediately sprung into action, matching you thrust for thrust, and he shouted with long-needed relief, coming perfectly on command. 

“OHHHHHH-god-YESSSSS”

He emptied himself into you, cock throbbing and trying to shoot come long after his load was spent. It was intense, almost too intense, and it wasn't long before your movements began to overstimulate him.

“Stop,” he gasped. 

You did, releasing his hands and leaning forwards so that your torsos were flat against each other. He was shaking slightly as he tried to catch his breath and you wrapped your arms around him.

“You okay baby?” you whispered.

He couldn’t respond, only whimpered and buried his nose in your neck.

“You did so well,” you soothed.

“Was I good?” came the tiny whisper. 

“So good.”

You kissed his hair and rolled the pair of you, letting him slip gently out of you as you did so. Now he was lying more on top of you than on the towel itself, head nestled on your chest. 

“That was…different.” he said, after a couple of minutes of you whispering affirmations and raking your hands through his hair. 

“New for me too,” you admitted, “did I do okay? Not too mean?”

“No,” he said, “you were amazing.”

“No,” you said, kissing the bridge of his nose, “you were.”

He snuggled against you, and you sensed his lethargy. Ahead of you were months and months together, maybe as an acknowledged couple, or maybe enjoying the thrill of sneaking around in front of his siblings. But, before all that, there was a warm bed and electrolyte-replenishing drink and snack in Five’s near future. Before you broke your hold to facilitate this, you gave him one last squeeze.

“For the record,” you said, “you’re good for much more than a fucktoy. You’re the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, you saved my life today, you make me laugh, and you’re an excellent mode of transportation.”

He began to chuckle against you.

“I’m the pretty much the Swiss army knife of sluts,” he mumbled.

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[blueorchid-95]

Blue steps forward, her face solemn. “Kai. You’re related to my agent, I’m assuming.” It’s not a question, and she doesn’t bother to make it sound like one. There’s a little extra emphasis on the word “my”—clearly not intentional, but there all the same.

Questioning and Revelations

After some medical attention, Kai (@agent--shadow) finds himself inside one of the agency's interrogation rooms. Several signal blockers have been set up, cutting him off from any outside communication.

Handler Ellie walks in the room, her eyes cold and strict. She puts down an analog recorder, several digital microphones and cameras have littered the room.

"I would appreciate it if you would cooperate with this questioning, young man." Despite her words implying it was a request, her tone was clearly implying that it wasn't an option to be uncooperative.

She checks her watch, checking the time. If her guess is right, Handler Blue (@blueorchid-95) will arrive in half an hour. She would've heard about Kai's location around this time and once she hears about this, it would not be pretty.

[joemama-2]

A SPRINKLE OF CURIOSITY

a/n: part two to “made with love”.

word count: 1859

toji x reader

tags/warning: angst, fluff

find part one here: made with love

toji wakes up with a pounding headache, like always. he really doesn’t want to get up but he knows he has to. rubbing his bleary eyes, he can faintly make out what room he is in. not his.

he can tell by the cleaner walls, the faint scent of something floral and a woman he doesn’t even remember the name of passed out to his right. from the view of her bare back on display, he can piece together that he had maybe a little too much to drink last night.

toji never stays long enough for them to wake up, so like routine, he finds his scattered pieces of clothing, putting them back on. it feels uncomfortable, dried semen making the boxers feel a little too tight. and like the stealthy man he is, he slips out the bedroom and apartment without much noise.

he doesn't even remember what city he's in, but he can only assume it's not close. having picked up a small job shiu assigned to him yesterday in the hokkaido prefecture, he hasn't been in the comfort of his own place for a couple days now.

he slowly walked to the nearest ATM, pulling out his card to check his balance. and would you look at that? still 0. now he’s pissed. he’s stranded in some city he doesn’t know with no money to get back and the job he was there for in the first place didn’t even pay him. those motherfuckers.

he huffs and pulls out his phone, calling his handler's number. without even waiting, as soon as he picks up, toji is quick to express his annoyance. "where's my damn deposit?"

shiu's tired chuckle sounds through the receiver. "relax, it's a weekend. won't come in until tomorrow."

of course. "then how the hell am i supposed to get back?"

"like you have a home?"

toji's eye twitches, grip tightening around the small cellular device. "keep talking, i'll rip that tongue out your mouth."

with a sigh, the other man responds. "jesus christ, you can't go one day without bitching. i left some cash in your pocket."

"how much?" toji's hand feels for the money, reaching in to grab it out and count it, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. "is this enough for a train ticket?"

"if you didn't use it already, then yeah."

and another huff before toji closes the screen of his phone, effectively ending the call.

so this was basically the lead up to where toji currently finds himself. after hours of a stiff chair that hurt his ass, stiff air, and the smell of elderly all around him, he practically throws himself into his small, run-down apartment and onto the mattress. there's no bed frame, hell there's barely anything inside, but it's enough for him. the tiny sheet crumples underneath his large form as he gets comfy, a small sigh escaping him.

everything is just as he left it, dishes in the sink, an old takeout box and the counter and the TV playing some who knows what show. damn it, was that on the whole time he was gone? now his bill will be even higher. there's never a moment of peace with toji, even after days and days of where he honestly deserves it.

his eye peak open, hand reaching for the remote to shut the TV off. just as the screen blanks, something instantly catches his attention. one that makes him sit up, despite his fatigue. it looks so out of place, like it doesn't belong. and quite frankly, it doesn't.

the pink box is vibrant against the cold surface of his kitchen counter, standing out like it directly has a light shone on it. it's almost taunting him, enticing him to come closer. and toji has never been one to show a lot of self-restraint. when it comes to you though, he didn't think he could try harder.

but he finds himself standing up and walking to the box. the heart drawn on top causes an eyebrow to raise as he opens it. there's nothing inside. after having got home from the encounter with you, he was hesitant to bite into the first cookie. but he's glad that he did. they tasted better than any other sweet he had tasted. the powder littered his lips and the soft jelly exploded into his mouth like fireworks. before he knew it, all five treats were gone in the matter of minutes.

but the box is still here for some reason. why he kept it and now threw it out as soon as he finished is questionable, but toji chalks it up to being lazy. because why else would he keep it? he sighs and closes the box again.

he falls back onto the mattress, eyes glued to the ceiling that has cracks and some mold growing. he really needs to move out. that thought is quickly thrown out when something else invades his brain. you.

your voice, your face, your stupid smile, and the words you told him. "love." the oh so holy pastries were made with your love. you were obviously joking, but an idiotic part of his mind entertains the idea that you weren't.

his head shakes. what are you doing? why is he acting this way about you? he barely knows you, you just own the bakery he knows. you're nothing more than a simple person who has no business getting involved with him. no, he has no business getting involved with you.

you're too kind, too sweet for him. he can't even see himself with another woman right now, not after his wife. at least, that's what he thinks. either way, there's no way someone like you would be interested in him. you probably have a loving family, a loving boyfriend. all in all, you have something going for you. you have things to lose. he doesn't. oh and of course, the main part of it all,

you're a complete normie.

you probably don't even know about curses, let alone sorcerers. you're probably one of those people who blame it on life's obstacles, the unwarranted negativity. but maybe you're just so damn positive all the time that you do literally the opposite of attracting curses. curses are formed from negative emotions, and you don't seem like you have those. that's what he thinks.

you see, toji has a very bad habit of assuming things. he's here having this entire dilemma on the kind of person you are when he knows jack shit about you. that's wrong, he knows. but toji....toji does a lot of wrong things. a very shitty justification, but toji is a shitty person.

would you think so too?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------——

it's been about a week, give or take, since he last saw you. but no matter where he goes or who he's killing, it's like the simplest things remind him of you. this is unhealthy, honestly. growing attached way too quick and way too easily, he has a lot of things to fix up on.

pink reminds him of you. puppies remind him of you. rainbows remind him of you. sweets remind him of you. and the sun reminds him of you.

so as you can see, you're everywhere he goes. following him when he wants nothing more than to get away. you must be a witch.

he just wants to gouge his own eyes out at this point, anything will save him from the restraints of adoring someone. he likes to think he's strong. wait no, he knows he's strong. but for some reason, you make him weak. and toji hates being weak. he confronts those who try to make him seem like he's anything but the terrifying killer he is and makes them beg for mercy.

which is why, he's currently back in the god forsaken place that started it all.

and what are you doing? greeting him like he's an old friend, like you've known each other for years. it makes him sick.

"you're back." you say, almost sounding relieved. do you always greet customers like this? or is it just him? "did you like my love?"

he wishes you would just stop referring to your treats as your damn love, it makes him want to hate you even more. "yeah." is all he says, a small scowl present with his arms crossed over his chest.

"tooooold you." you chuckle.

he wants to scoff at your cockiness, at your playfulness. can you just stop being so damn cute? silence follows as he stares you down, but you don't look the slightest bit bothered by it. why aren't you? do you think you're better than him?

"i'm assuming you came back for more." he didn't, but you're already completing the same routine as last time, picking a box and filling it. "we have some new ones this week, so i'll give you some of those. unless you really liked the ones from last time, we still have the custard ones, so i can give you that to--"

"what's your name?" he cuts you off, firmly.

you momentarily still, eyes flicking back up to his over the counter, he's still looking at you. as you stand back to your full height, you're slightly confused. however, you tell him. "y/n."

he knows he's in deep shit when just your name gives him butterflies. and hearing you say it? he just wants to grab you from over the counter and kiss you until you can't even rem--

he clears his throat. god, he's too horny.

"y/n what?"

"y/n l/n."

"are you lying?"

you snort a laugh. "who lies about their name?"

you're right, who does do that? "suspicious people."

"am i suspicious?" your head tilts in an frustratingly adorable manner.

no, he thinks. you're anything but. you seem like you wear your heart on your sleeve and you just seriously might be the most genuine person he's met. but then again, he doesn't know you, so this might all be a facade. you might actually be a two-faced bitch. "a little."

you hum softly and nod. with a small look to the ceiling, in thought, you say the most ridiculous thing ever. "well, how about we change that?"

a scoff breaks through. "how?"

and he supposes this entire time, you were filling the box and closing it back with the same sticker and heart from before. "you can get to know me." scratch that, that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard you say.

"no." is his automatic response.

"why not?"

"i'm not looking for friends."

"we don't have to be friends." you say, sliding the box over to him. "but we can know each other's name at least. and since you already know mine......" you trail off as he gets the hint to what you're saying.

hesitation floods him because you really could be a spy or a fake. telling you his name could be dangerous and what if you try to report him to some authorities or something.

he's overthinking if you couldn't already tell.

but, he's getting older and probably won't have much more time left with what his occupation is. he's taken risks before, so what's one more? and again, you're right. how can he assume you're not really who you say you are if he doesn't find out himself.

so, with a deep exhale, his fingers twitching against his arm, he tells you. "toji fushiguro."

[reno-the-himbo-turk]

Pain that was the first and last things Reno experienced today. He woke up with a headache and some lower back pain from the day prior's workout routine. He'd gone to classes and made it through the day just fine until after classes it happened. Men came, more specifically men in suits. They'd been looking for him saying they wanted to have a little chat and offer him a job; claimed benefits, perks, a high wage and more but something about them had the ginger on edge. It was the look the bald one gave him the vibes were off and then he spotted it when the man looked to his handler the collar Reno saw it and knew he was fucked.

From there began the fight of his life. He hadn't noticed they'd drugged his cola but he was feeling the effects of it now but thankfully his speed mutation came in handy. The cafe they were at was public so he'd made a mad dash for it but the drug made his mad dash only slightly above average speed and before he could react a hand snagged his arm and tore it out of the socket before slamming him into the ground. Screaming in agony the boy discharged his other mutation and sent a strong electric shock into the other. It worked for a few moments but didn't stop the hit to his ribs let alone the sickening snap. The man behind the bald fucker kept giving orders and despite the bald man's desires he couldn't fully subdue Reno. After what felt like an eternity he had a plan. Using his feeble strength he gripped the others collar and poured as much electricity into it as he could. With that he fried the collar and soon enough the bald man was free and turned on his handler giving Reno enough time to let his speed dissolve the rest of the sedative and let him escape.

Running as his life depended on it he raced out of town his body breaking down the more he ran. It took hours to flee but eventually he could go no more. His body ran on autopilot and seemed to subconsciously guide him. Unsure of where he was and a lack of energy to go on Reno made it to X-Mansion collapsing right outside the gates in a bloody and bruised heap his body finally broken to the point he was unable to continue. As he collapsed he saw someone a plump and curvy woman that he looked at eyes wide as he struggled. "Help...." he managed to pant out before darkness overtook him.

[amymaleneart]

"The Mail Service Trilogy."

Here's part three of the trilogy of @missterious-figure Wine and Feathers AU! Was going to do some sort of feather-care, but than I thought of something better. (*tiny evil laughter*)

Enjoy!

You walk down the long private hallway of the casino, trying your best to carry the oversized package addressed to Eclipse without dropping it.  Thankfully it’s not heavy, but it sure is a little cumbersome.  

You would have already opened the package to remove its contents, as it was a part of your job to screen everything that comes in for the stars.  Except the way your manager had pretty much busted into your office and tossed the package on your desk.  Then demanded you to take it to the “prissy oversized drama-king” right away, didn’t give you much of an opportunity to make sure it was safe.  Even though he did assure you that it is all safe and okay, he continues to yell and barates the most seeked after peacock about how he has been hounding him about this particular package.  Then he starts yelling at you about how the mailroom wasn’t doing their job and should have taken it to you in the first place, even though you have nothing to do with it.

It seems ever since you got promoted to becoming their main handler, the manager seems to take any opportunity to express his frustrations and anger out on you whenever they do something he doesn’t approve of.  Often when no one else is around.

You wipe away your incoming tears onto your shoulders as you try your best to shake off the underserved berating.  But there isn’t anything you can do to change that you guess.  As far as you know, there’s no one else higher than your boss besides the owner, and you know he doesn’t come here that often to be on any kind of name basis with you.  You also know that HR is friends with your boss, so best to just leave–“Omph!”

While lost in your thoughts, you failed to realize someone was in front of you as you collided into them.  Fortunately you didn’t drop the package, but instead started to fall backwards towards the ground.  You already accepted your fate of getting a nasty headache from hitting your head onto the ground.  Yet somehow you find you’re half suspended in the air as you feel then see a large bronze leather glove cradles the small of your back.  You follow up the well muscular arm until you are face to black and hot pink face of the giant peacock harpy known as Eclipse.

He purrs as his amber eyes drinks you up like you are his favorite cocktail.  “Careful now, my darling little gloaming star.  You could have hurt your precious self and then someone would need to take care of you.”  He leans in closer, “Although, I would be more than happy to take care of you anytime, my dear little handler.”

That’s when Eclipse notices how puffy and watery your eyes are, his demeanor changes from his overly flirtatious self to one of concern.  Of course you don’t notice this because you are still reeling in from being flustered.

“I-I-I…” you swallow, “I-I have a p-package for yoooooou!?” You nearly screech out the last word as he tosses you over his shoulder, like you were fresh kill, causing you to drop the large box.  “Eclipse!” You gasp as you try to hold onto his back without pulling at any of his orange feathers.  “Wha-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer as he bends down to pick up the box with his free hand, then continues down the hallway towards your original destination, his private dressing room.  

As you enter, you cry, “E-eclipse, please.  P-put me d-down.”

“In a moment, my sweet little honeysuckle.”  He tosses the package into his room as he turns around to shut and locks his door.  You’re not sure you like where this is going.  You know him to be the biggest flirt between the three of them, but you never thought he would outright kidnap you!  Next he flungs you off his shoulder into his open arms, holding you up high so you are face-level with his oranges, reds and pinks feather-framed face.  You found yourself squirming in his gentle embrace, having a hard time looking at his adorable face.

“Are you already?” he asks, his tenor-like voice entering into your soul like a pleasant evening breeze.

“I-I am f-fine,” you say, still refusing to look at him.  The last thing you want is for him to worry about you.

He hums as he continues to observe you.  You do recall that the name he had as a chick was “the watcher” and has developed these skills to the point you have no doubt he saw through your obvious lie.

“I-I was instructed by the manager to bring you this,” you say as you point at the package. “He…umm…said you really…(“Give that giant, overpriced feather duster his dumb package!  I am getting really sick and tired of his cocky attitude, thinking he owns the damn place.)…need it as soon as it arrives.”

Another hum leaves his mouth as his lips turn into a half-frown, like he smells a dirty rat.  He gently sets you down as if you were made of porcelain.  “I’m sorry, sweet thing.  If I had known he was going to give you such trouble, I would have practiced more patience if it would mean to save you from his wrath.”

You quickly look up at him, panic showing through your voice as you say, “No! No, it’s okay.  He didn’t do anything—” A gloved finger was placed on your lips, instantly silently you.  You stand there as you feel your face heat up in a bright blush that you’re surprised it doesn’t burn your skin.

Satisfy, Eclipse turns his attention to the partially battered package.  He picks it up to remove the tape to take out its contents.  He pulls out a large, rectangular piece of soft fabric that you quickly realized must be a king-sized blanket.  Your eyes widen as you see the bronze color shimmer against the lights in the room.  The large harpy takes two of the corners of the blanket into his hands to open up to reveal an amazing custom design of reds, hot pinks, blues, purples and bronze peacock feathers printed into the fabric.  It was almost like someone tried to take his tail feathers to enchant it into this blanket.

“I had asked the manager to help me order this.  Even used my own earnings though tips from the rich patrons to pay for this.  But it seems I should have gone to someone more…tolerable, for help.” 

Next thing you know, you are in complete darkness as Eclipse tosses the blanket on top of you.  Before you could say any sort of sound, you feel large hands grab and spin you around until you are tightly wrapped up into a comfortable human burrito.

Oh My Stars!  This is sooooo Soft!

Eclipse pulls down the blanket to reveal your star-struck face, causing him to laugh at how adorable you must look to him now.

“*hehehe* I knew you would look beautiful in my colors.”  Eclipse proceeds to pick you up, bridal-style, and walks over to his Mayan hammock he has hanging on one side of the room.  Carefully and elegantly, he turns and falls into the hanging breathable weave like he has done a million times before.  

“E-eclipse?  I-I really c-an’t–”

“Shhhhhhhhh.  Don’t worry.  You have enough time for a little break, my hardworking pheasant.”

He holds you close in his arms, ready to protect you from any danger that might come your way.

Part One: Done in an ask - Part Two: Over Here- Part Three: Here

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Headaches Split My Skull, Stop Talking

So this is just a little continuation of the first part of the monster hybrid story. König is a nightmare to write introductions for because he cannot introduce himself well for the life of him. It really doesn't help that he's always terribly rude with introductions. Unless he's actively chosen reader, he's always so mean when he's first introduced! I need to spray him with a water bottle.

TWs: Eating food

Wordcount: 1.5k

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Headaches Split My Skull, Stop Talking

You stood beside Lieutenant General Haus, the same man who’d given you König’s files earlier. You glanced up at the older man, brushing his moustache with one hand while watching the numbers tick by above. You watched the countdown with him until you hit the desired floor.

You followed Lt-Gen Haus down the pristine hallway to a room with a red door. Stepping through, you were cowed by the man you saw.

Half jotunn was never more apparent. The man was a giant of a man, easily eight feet tall while still crouching. He was big, burly and powerful as he stared deep into your soul.

“Cnl. Leichenberg! So good to see you,” Haus’s voice boomed in the cramped room.

“Lieutenant General Haus,” the man nodded from beneath his massive hood.

“I’m here to introduce you to your new handler today,” the lieutenant general took a seat across from your new charge. He was completely at ease in the giant man’s presence, unlike you. You didn’t even hear your name being said until the general turned to look at you.

“Yes sir?” you asked meekly.

“I was asking if you’re willing to sign,” the general pointed at the paper and pen set out in front of you.

“Of course sir,” you replied, quickly picking up the pen and jotting down your name.

“Cnl. Liechengerg? Will you please sign the contract?” Haus turned the page with the pen expertly.

The man nodded and jotted down his name with an aggressive flick of his massive hand, nearly breaking the fountain pen in the process. The lieutenant general waved the paper twice before tucking it back into his manilla folder with a smile.

“Well, I know that normally you have a rather busy schedule, but both your schedules have been cleared for the next hour,” Haus looked at both of you with his warm blue eyes, “I’m sure you’re both experienced enough, but we still encourage you to take the time to get to know each other a bit better. After all,” he turned to you, “your duties as handler extend beyond your monster’s normal schedule. You are expected to attend to each of Cnl. Liechenberg’s needs. And Cnl. Liechenberg,” he turned to address the giant man, “I know you've heard it before, but it needs to be emphasized that you’re expected to ensure the safety of your handler, both on and off the field. Now,” Haus drummed his fingers on the table, “I’m expecting you to be back for training with Cnl. Liechenberg this evening, but I think we’ve covered all the necessary bases?”

Seeing no disagreements, the lieutenant general dismissed the two of you to leave you to your own devices. You wished he’d stay, as the man terrified you.

You’d never been afraid of a hybrid before, not like this. Normally, if you feared a hybrid it was due to the monstrous form they took during training. You’d never dealt with a hybrid of such a high rank before, and you’d never before cowered in your monster’s presence. Cnl. Liechenberg was a different sort of creature altogether.

“So, um, do you wanna join me for a coffee?” you offered politely.

“I hate coffee,” his voice was pitchy and scratched on your ears.

“Oh, um,” you thought for a moment, “how about lunch? Not at the canteen, but at that little cafe nearby? You know, not the one in the fort but out on the base?”

The man glared down at you with ice-cold blue eyes, a sharp contrast to Lt.-Gen Haus. Without being able to see his face, all you could think about was how the man looked like he wanted to crush you to dust in his palm.

“Okay.”

You found your way to the small cafe. There, you met up with König outside and tried to hold a one-sided conversation before you gave up and followed him inside. As soon as the barista looked up and saw you both, you felt a sudden surge of dread.

“König? What’re you doing here?” the woman leaned against the counter in the empty store.

The man gave no reply. If nothing else, at least he wasn’t singling you out with his cold reception.

Instead of greeting the woman, he stood beneath the counter and looked up.

“I want…” he thumbed at what was probably his chin under that hood, “a mediterranean wrap, a grilled cheese panini, two cups of americano with a side of cream, and a slice of carrot cake.”

The woman sighed, “Do you want the soup with that?”

“Yes.”

“Why do I ask,” you heard the poor woman mutter as Cnl. Liechenberg strode off to sit at his table of choice, leaving you to stand with the barista.

“You deal with him often?” you asked nervously.

The woman flicked her dark ponytail over her shoulder as she faced you, “Who, König? Not really.”

“You sounded like you knew him,” you commented lightly before leaning in close, “look, I’m his new handler. Can you give me any pointers? I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall here.”

“Oh don’t even bother trying with him,” the woman waved a tanned hand at you, “there’s no way you’re getting through with him. He’s just… König.”

You nodded carefully, then gave your order and joined Cnl. Liechenberg at his table.

“So,” you slid into the seat across from him, “Cnl. Liechenberg-”

“König.”

You paused and looked up at the man, “König?”

“Call me König,” a pause, “everyone does.”

“Alright, so, König! You come here often?” you chirped.

The man shook his head curtly.

“Really! The barista seemed to know you, at least,” you chuckled, “must be nice being a regular, right?”

König wasn’t paying you any attention. He was fully absorbed by what the barista was making.

You looked out the window beside you, “Looks like you chose a nice spot here. You can even see the duck pond from here!”

König nodded absentmindedly.

“Do you ever go to look at the ducks?” you asked, “they’re pretty cute. Oh, you know that a few of the ducks had babies, right? If you want, when we’re finished here we can go check it out if we still have time.”

König barely reacted, if at all. Was he even breathing? You’d have to check his file again about that…

“Sometimes I like to go and check on the ducks when I have a chance. I don’t have a lot of time, but it’s a nice break from life on base,” you could hear yourself babbling on listlessly but you couldnt' stop yourself, “there’s usually a bunch of people in the park, but if you go just about an hour before the sunset you can get some time to sit down on a bench and think. I sometimes take a few peas with me if they’re served for dinner, but never bread. You know you’re not supposed to feed ducks bread, right? It’s not good for them! It’s better to give them cut up veggies or something.”

König didn’t say a word. He didn’t even give you so much as a glance to acknowledge you as you went on your spiel. A part of you couldn't’ believe how incredibly rude König was.

“There’s also a pair of swans, if you’re interested…” you trailed off.

Nothing you were saying was getting through to this guy.

“Do you know if our schedules will be synced up?” you asked, “so we can go and see the ducks together.”

König finally reacted by giving you a half hearted shrug.

“Are you sure? With my other hybrids I’ve always been synced, but I dunno if it’s gonna be the same way with you. Was it like that with your other handlers?” you asked.

König gave you a small nod.

“Oh great! So when we get our schedules next we should be synced up! That means we can go to the duck pond together!”

König was less than disinterested.

You sighed and sat back in your chair. It was only day one and you were already tired of trying. It was like he was going out of his way to refuse and and all attempts to communicate. How the hell did any of his handlers talk to him before? You could only imagine how somebody helped him.

“Alright, here you guys go,” the barista came with a tray to set down your plates in front of you. You noted that König’s share of the table was quickly overtaken as his meals spread onto your side of the table. You thanked the barista, noting how König barely even acknowledged her presence.

The way König acted as though he was better than everyone around him set you on edge. By technicalities, you were his superior, and yet he didn’t bother listening to you once. A part of you wanted to pull the rank card, but you’d hate for the relationship to start on such a sour note. Another part of you was furious. No other hybrid you dealt with had ever pushed you this far this quickly. Then again, you’d never dealt with a hybrid of this rank before. It was maddening how he refused any sort of interaction.

“Looks good,” you commented as König picked up his wrap.

König nodded and took a bite. He chewed quietly and set the wrap back down.

You set to work on your own meal, small in comparison to König’s smorgasbord. You picked away at it, antsy with how you’d be dealing with König.

You took a bite and smiled, “I’m glad we came here. I forgot how good the food is here.”

König nodded silently.

You sighed. This would be a long contract, wouldn’t it?

Alternate Universe Stories

Konig Dump

[charlieisannoying]

A perfect case for my certain skillset

Part 1 | Next Chapter >

Platonic CF 99 X Jedi!GNReader Summary: Clone Force 99 is getting a Jedi, as if that could ever work out for the band of misfits. The worst thing? They're not even getting a General. First meetings will always go a little sideways, but the Force will right things in the end (Or so Hunter is told.) Word Count: 2,215

Hunter was tired.

He could feel a headache slowly blossoming under his skull, burrowing itself deeper and deeper, setting alight every nerve–

This was not the right moment for this. He had a mission to do.

It was simple, really.

They haven't been on the field that long anyways and they were a special case anyways. Their assignments, although they wrecked absolute havoc on the world around them were successes. They were still tasting the small bits of freedom between each missions, still overwhelmed with the fact that this was their life – the four of them against the world. While their... fondness over the regs was tested each and every time they came in contact with them, Commander Cody was a special case.

Even Crosshair was silent around that man, his snark nowhere to be found.

So when Commander Cody had commed him, letting him know that his pack, his own Clone Force 99, was supposed to get a handler... Well, Hunter was glad he wasn't alone when he received the news. He did not want to be the one to break the news to his brothers.

Still.

Getting a Jedi General was something even he was supposed to get used to.

It's not that he didn't want a superior officer or that he didn't like Jedi (although, truth to be told his experiences with other Jedi that Master Ti were rather... closer to 0 than any other number), but...

... he wanted to keep his brothers safe, close to himself and only himself. He heard through the ever evolving vod grape-vine that the Jedi were kind and understanding and they were all normal beings, not gods. His mind told him he was exaggerating, that it was in his very nature to protect his brothers...

But would his Jedi not only understand, but also listen to Tech's need to always fix something and explain and research? Will they leave Crosshair be and just exist in the presence of his brothers after a particular rough mission? Will they see how smart Wrecker is or will they just see his bulk and write him off.

Well. Clones were nothing if not adaptable.

'You don't have to be nervous about it.'

Cody's eyes were kind when he said it. They also seemed sad, but that couldn't possibly be true. Commanders knew how and when to say things. Commanders gave orders that no other clone could. Commanders swallowed their grief.

'I am not in the position to reveal anything but...' the Commander's nose flared and he bit on the inside of his cheek, as if searching for the right words. '...this assignment of the Jedi to your batch is more for the well being of themselves than a punishment to you boys.'

As if.

Look, Hunter could agree that their plans were wild, reckless and often enough sputtered into nothingness as soon as a mission started. But they accomplished their missions. They always were successful.

But siccing a Jedi on them?

This would never solve their... creative solutions for their already dangerous missions.

'When should we expect to report under our Jedi then, sir?' Tech's voice was crisp and perfectly measured, skilfully hiding how he felt in that moment from everybody. Well, everybody except Hunter. He could hear Tech's heartbeat skip in a pretty concerning way every so often and could start smelling his anxieties over the matter.

At that question, Cody allowed himself once grimace.

'That's your first job. Your Jedi Commander has... left our ship without telling us where they were going and we were called to aid the 501st.' What? Hunter's impending headache must have messed up his hearing, because why would a Jedi just... leave? Cody continued on, bringing Hunter back to the briefing. 'Their comm was last online in one of the lower levels of the city. It would be wise to check first some of the bars without attracting any unwanted attention.'

Lower levels? Bars? It seemed that all of his brothers were having the same reaction because they all had the what in Prime's tits is doing their Jedi in a bar face.

Something must have taken the Commanders attention away from them and their bewildered faces, because he didn't comment on their lack of response. Before he closed, he did wish them good luck, and that must have meant something, right?

By the sound of Tech's tapping on his data pad, Hunter was sure that every tidbit of information over their Jedi would be soon in their hands. He could always count on his brother's

'Wait, what did he mean by Jedi Commander?'

—

His headache was definetly getting worse.

This was the fifth? Or was it the sixth bar they searched? The vibrations of the bass and drums sent painful spikes from his skull down to his finger tips. This was promising some very painful next few days. And if they wouldn't find thei Jedi, his headache will become even worse and then Crosshair will see it, because of course the little shit was just as observant as his eyesight was perfect and–

'I just say we leave this damn Jedi find us instead. We're soldiers, not babysitters.'

Ah, kark it.

This was absolutely perfect. Now he also got Crosshairs snark to add of the things that were annoying him in that moment.

The lights were blinding him.

The music was getting louder and louder and he couldn't think, his brother's arm on his shoulder was like sand paper on his skin, although he had both his blacks and his armour on and why was the music so karking loud–

'You okay there buddy?'

If Hunter was at his peak he would notice that you were holding a fuzzy, colorful drink in your hands, the type that would come with small umbrellas and would wreck anyone in two gulps. Except he couldn't smell the alcohol. At all.

Your clothes seemingly resembled Jedi robes, the teal outer robes mixing with a tan tunic and brown pants. Small dots littered your sleeves, as if they were painstakingly embroidered, slowly combating the simpleness of normal Jedi apparel. Your hair was stuck to your forehead as if you'd been jumping the whole night and your eyes–

Maker, your eyes.

He could say that they were pretty because they were surrounded by blue glitter, and lined with black as if you were trying to capture everyone around you. You didn't break contact with him, as if trying to scan and read and see right through him, a small glint in your eyes indicating nothing but trouble.

But no.

Your eyes were sad. As if you knew something he didn't, as if you've lost and lost and lost, and you couldn't quite believe that you won't lose again. Hunter just wanted to bundle you up and take you far away from the war that just takes from beings.

Where were these thoughts coming from?

There was something else.

All he could focus was that the sounds were...gone. All those terrible sounds that were scratching the inside of his brain did not make him want to keel over and cover his ears.

He could still hear his brother's heartbeats, Tech's tapping, Crosshair grinding his teeth over another toothpick (where was he getting them??) and Wreckers fiddling with bits of an explosive.

Even those accursed lights seemed dimmed.

'You with me, Sarge?' Your brows were furrowed, as if you were trying to read him. And in the end, who even were you, why would you care–

Oh.

You were his Jedi. Were you the reason this place was more bearable now? Could the force even do that?

Wrecker snorted. Wait, why was Wrecker laughing?

That weird glint returned to your face, a small smile pulling over your lips. 'It's a Force Bubble. Helps me with my own migraines, and I though it would help you too.' You continued, the frown making an appearance once again. 'You were projecting your pain quite...hm...strongly across the lower levels. And anyways, what is Clone Force 99 doing here? We were supposed to meet tomorrow.'

Did he say that out loud?

That admittedly subdued headache was going to be the end of him.

'Technically, it is tomorrow.' Tech's voice was a bit harsh, not like his usual calm and calculated cadence. Were his brothers also starting to feel the simmering anger rising? They were out there, trying to find them, and... what? Their Jedi thought that giving Hunter a small respite would fix everything?

Before his thoughts could spiral even further, you had the decency to look... not ashamed, but guilty.

'Ah, my apologies then. I just wanted to...' You mulled over your words, trying to find the perfect one. You seemed to do that a lot, as if being able to choose your own words was something new, something not yet experienced. '...well, just be a Jedi for one more night and not a Commander.' You're eyes crinkled slightly as you smiled, as if laughing at a joke.

Hunter wasn't aware Jedi's sense of humour was so subtle. In fact, he heard quite the opposite from various other Commanders. Returning his attention back to you, you seemed to be already thinking about something else. Your face was already angled towards the back of the bar, where a small raised platform was created. A guitar was nestled against a box pretending to be a stool. A microphone completed the set, as if beaconing courageous drunks to sing something.

It seemed not only Hunter noticed your divided attention.

'Something else you've got to do, Jedi?' Kark Crosshair and his big mouth. Hunter was not in the mood to fight a decommission report to save his dear, dear brother. His headache was threatening to become a migraine once again.

This seemed to catch your attention once again. Shoulders pulled back, the blue robes did not seem to swallow you anymore. A small quirk of your eyebrow betrayed your amusement.

'You've crashed my set, actually. You guys are not exactly low profile.' Set? Did you sing? Is that your drink was all for show? All sadness was gone for a moment from your eyes, a fierce glint taking its place. 'I'm sorry you're tired and cranky... Crosshair, is it? So why don't you get a nice little drink from the bar and enjoy the show, yes?' Paired with a sweet little smile, you took your leave towards the makeshift stage, blue robes trailing like a blaze behind you.

This did not feel like getting a handler anymore.

This was going to get much, much worse.

—

Despite his worse fears, no decommission request landed in Hunter's pile of folders or in his inbox. After the incident at the bar, Crosshair finally fell silent, which meant that Hunter was free to fall into blissful sleep in their barracks. They did not stay to see you perform, much to Wrecker's dismay, but he was sure Tech already sliced through the bars shoddy footage, only to satisfy his curiosity, if nothing else.

You took the closed quarters of the Marauder in stride, your face betraying nothing. Your heartbeat though...? Well, that told Hunter everything he needed.

It seemed that not only Clone Force 99 was anxious about this change.

'Anything I should steer clear off?' You're eyes were still darting around, as if you were taking it all in. Your question though, it warmed Hunter somehow. He knew viewed clones as people, but other nat-borns had other ideas, that were not nicely viewed in the GAR.

'Our lives?'

Even with his back turned around the momentarily least favourite brother, he could feel Crosshairs sneer.

Before even taking a breath to reprimand Crosshair again in less that 24 hours, Wreckers boisterous voice bounced against the ship's walls.

'HA, as if you could beat a Jedi, Cross.' Wrecker's huge form seemed to eclipse you for just a moment, before draping an arm around your shoulders. You seemed to dip a bit, before finding your footing and righting yourself again, without shrugging Wrecker off. This seemed to encourage Wrecker, as he quickly continued, a sharp grin forming on his face.

'Technically, don't touch anything of Crosshair's. Don't mess up my workspace.' Tech's eyes were glued to his data pad, but his finger was pointing to various parts of the ship.

Thank you, Tech and your perfect interruptions.

You're impassive face was slowly breaking apart, your cheeks twitching slightly. Even your heartbeat seemed to slow down, and you even seemed to lean more and more into Wrecker, as if you were leeching his body heat. You risked a glance towards Hunter, but quickly looked away when you noticed him analysing you.

He wondered if you were going to burst from trying to keep in your laugh.

'You can always take Lula!' Reaching towards his bunk, Wrecker dragged you along a bit, without realising that you were still somewhat trapped underneath his arm. He offered you the tooka doll, and Hunter really hoped this was not the moment Wrecker will get heartbroken from your response.

A genuine smile lighted up your face instead.

'Thank you.'

If it weren't for the proximity alarm going off in the cockpit, Hunter was sure of there was more to be said.

For now, they all had one job.

Complete the mission.

Next Chapter >

[st0rmyskies]

I spent the day sweating my ass off at a smaller hometown theme park, so here's a list of how the boys enjoy their day trip to a fun park.

Twilight - He’ll go on any ride with anyone no matter how fast or scary, nor how slow or mundane. Although the teacups and other rides that spin you a lot tend to make him dizzy, and he's not a big fan of the haunted house. But our big soft-hearted country boy is partial to the antique carousel and needs to go on it just once. Come on, guys, anybody…? (Spoiler: They all go on it with him.)

Wild - It’s a wonder he’s going to survive any of the rides because this boy is all about the food. Funnel cake? Candy floss?? Potato pancakes??? Fudge????? Dippin’ Dots!!????!?!? He has his hands full of treats while they’re waiting in every line, and on any ride he can sneak them on to successfully, too. His favorite ride is the music-coaster-thing, and he’ll sing along at the top of his voice to every damn song.

Champion - Not too thrilled by rides, but he will go on them to be a sport. Except those rides with a sheer drop, tower-of-terror style. NO fucking thanks. Where he really slays, though, are the shooting games, with special bonus points if one of the other boys challenges him to a round. You bet your ass Champion is casually lugging around a stuffed Wolfie half the size of his body for most of the day.

Legend - He’ll get on some of the coasters and the crazier rides, but not all of them. He’s not a big fan of screaming his head off all day long, gives him a headache. He gets uppity with the fortune telling machine giving him the same negative reading over and over again no matter how many quarters he jams in the damn thing. And his fortune ends up coming true, too: he gets banned from the bumper cars after a vulgar road-rage incident.

Hyrule - Goes on one, maybe two coasters, and promptly pukes. He’s then the designated Bag Handler for the rest of the day. Which actually works out well, all up until the mid-afternoon when he wanders off to find himself some coffee and promptly gets lost, necessitating a rather embarrassing announcement over the PA system.

Warriors - He stressed out about his outfit for two weeks beforehand and STILL managed to choose the wrong thing to wear. Yes, those linen pants with the front crease are supposed to be breezy, Wars, but they’re meant for something like a wedding, not a fucking amusement park. He gets cranky when he’s too fucking hot and his hair is damp against the back of his neck. Eventually, one of the other boys — probably Legend or Sky — has to shoo him away from the group for a bit. When they turn up 20 minutes later Wars has an icy drink, a pair of novelty swim trunks from the souvenir shop, a headband for his hair, and a brand new “fuck it, we ball” attitude.

Sky - Loves all the roller coasters, LOVES THEM, and gets sad if he doesn’t get to sit in the front seat on every single one. He wants to go on the biggest, tallest, fastest, most OSHA-violating coaster no less than three times, and he’ll hop off of it just to turn around and get right back in line. Least likely to remember to hydrate and reapply sunscreen. You know he’s passed the fuck out that entire drive home. 

Four - He quite enjoys observing the inner workings of the mechanics that go along with the rides, then makes ominous comments about the engineering to his seat-mate as they’re being hauled up the incline for that first drop of a coaster. He also spends an inordinate amount of time in the air conditioned arcade winning as many tickets as he can to obtain some silly prize like an obscure toy from the 80’s or something similar. May not be tall enough to ride every ride.

Wind - Water rides are his JAM. His hair and clothes and shoes are soaked through well before halfway through their day, and he gets the cutest waves in his hair because of it. Although he also smells like chlorine all day, then. Also has way too much ice cream and cold treats during the day, so he’s nursing a hell of a stomach ache on the drive home.

Time - Bet you thought he wouldn’t be in attendance or would wait in the car or some shit, didn’t you? Time allows the boys to cajole him onto every coaster, every water ride, the carousel, into the haunted house, you name it. He’ll sit in the first row of the rides that take your photo, too, and he just. Deadpans it. Zero facial reaction, no screaming on coasters, ALL day. Flawless commitment to the bit. He does secretly enjoy all of this; Time didn’t get to do this sort of stuff when he was their age, so better late than never.

[blueorchid-95]

“Huh?” Blue hums, clearly caught off guard. Her fingers tighten around the old scar. “Y-yeah. Just… a headache. It’ll fade with time.” She’s never been good at lying to Shadow, of all people. It was easy to deceive everyone else—it had even been easy to lie to him.

(“It’ll be all right,” she’d said in that elevator, moments before the fall. “You and I will always be together.”)

She shakes her head a bit to clear the thoughts. She needs to be focused on the here and now. Her agent needs her. “Next time I head out to the vending machine, I’ll buy us both Coca-Colas. How’s that?”

Paper Relations

Shadow sat in her bed next to her handler, who was asleep at the moment, had been for a while. She'd inclined her bed to sit up, used all her spare paper to make paper airplanes, which were now on the floor and out of her reach, and she was bored. Kai was still recovering, her handler was asleep, and all she had left was a stack of paper to consent to group physical therapy.

Kai had requested to be in the same session at her, which she was happy about. She was overjoyed that he seemed like his normal self again and that she could finally spend time with her brother again. After all these years, it was exactly what she wanted. But if they were the case, then why did she have a sinking feeling in her stomach? The feeling that she was missing or overlooking something that would seem obvious later.

She wanted to trust him, wanted so desperately to believe that he was back just the way she remembered him. But... Things changed. She knew that well, and sometimes it was for the better, but oftentimes, especially in situations like his, there were secrets hiding within every crevice, waiting until you let your guard turn to rear their ugly head. She knew she couldn't wait until everything was figured out to trust people again, but... What if it ended until hurting more than just her?

She shook herself out of her thoughts, not wanting to go down that path, and picked up the stack of papers and a pen, and sighed heavily. "paperwork" she muttered under her breath, resigned, distracting herself from her current dilemma with her disdain for such mundanities.

Though she couldn't avoid it for long, and eventually, after dawdling on things for longer than she could bear, decided to judge her handler awake, she'd gotten enough sleep, right?

"Blue," she whispered, trying to be gentle, "hey Blue, I need to talk to you about something..."

@blueorchid-95