#wet earth's called mud

[turboheller]

CANON DIVERGENT GETTING TOGETHER FIC

EXCERPT:

Then there's bright lights and fuck, he's here. Not riding in on those rain clouds, though. Not like he used to...

shadowy black wings flap-flapping and whipping up a storm; the wild wind like so many teasing fingers rippling through that dark, already-wild hair

...Nah, the angel had to goddamn drive here. 'Cause some righteous prick who thought he knew best went and stole his wings away from him. Like a shitty thief in the night. And I never even apologized, not really. Not properly, not like I know I should've.

So, as the poor schmuck angel fell further from grace? That righteous prick, he just fell deeper in love.

Whole thing's like a bad fucking joke, swear to fucking God.

.

READ IT ON AO3 HERE

[rainrot4me]

Outrun, Undone

Summary: Your body hurt, heaving and clawing to escape. They were catching up, laughter echoing through the dense trees as you ran, praying for your stamina to hold. But you knew you weren’t fast enough, and so did they…

Characters: Masky & Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Chasing, predator and prey, primal sex, blood, injury, fear, threesome, double penetration, vaginal fingering, anal, blowjob, vaginal, overstimulation, power play, fighting, aggression, mocking, degradation, forced submission, pussy spanking, oral fixation

Words: 8.2k

Fight or flight is described as an instinctual reaction that occurs when the body perceives a threat, rallying for survival. Psychologically, it changes you, gripping for any out or sense of security as it pushes its own comfortability. It’s primal, animalistic, and desperate; mind clawing for any serenity. Your mind and body were screaming, like every inch of your consciousness was being ripped apart the harder you fought. You wanted to cry and scream and get away, but they wouldn’t let you. They were going to make sure you lost this bet.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. 

The woods felt like they went on forever, large pines and ominous maples cutting off your direction and forcing you into a maze, the schlick of mud under your shoes echoing with every quick step. You were soaked with sweat and rain, hair clinging annoyingly to your face and blocking your vision. Your clothes felt heavy on your skin, making it hard not to get overstimulated and tired. “Fuck-” You gasped, rounding a mound of roots to find a patch of brambles, head spinning and looking for another direction. The loud thumping of boots was heavy behind you, branches and leaves snapping as you heard hollers paired with eager laughter calling out your name, searching for you. There was no other direction. You hauled forward.

It was your fault, really. You roused them on, claiming stealth and agility were better tactics for a killer than brute force and power. The boys chuckled, arms crossed and stupid grins shining as they teased. It was always so odd to see them without their masks, especially in such good moods. 

“Oh yeah? And who says that?” Masky poked at you, leaning back into the door of the rental truck you had all lived in for the past week. This mission was exhausting, another hitman job for the Operator that you really couldn’t bring yourself to be passionate about. The boys weren’t too thrilled either. Sleeping cramped into a single cab as the only girl was devastating. The smell of no showers and lack of proper meals was getting to you now, a two-day headache pounding at the base of your skull and making you nauseous. At least they let you have the back seat to yourself.

“Uh, says the one who’s gunned down more than both of you?” You scoffed, kicking some gravel from the campsite parking lot. “Don’t you ever notice how I’m the one having to pick off the stragglers when you two come in guns blazing? I swear, you two only think with your revolvers instead of your actual brains.” 

Hoodie chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the truck bed. “These brains don’t do much thinking anymore anyways.” You rolled your eyes, “Obviously.” Looking out across the field meant for hunting, a dense treeline hung just over the clearing as the sun began to set, deep oranges and pinks pushing through the leaves. You couldn’t remember what state you were in, somewhere north and cold, early autumn setting in as the breeze whipped against your cheeks. It was going to rain tonight, you could see it in the way the leaves upturned, the thick smell of distant downpours on the bark stirring in the air. “Just saying. I could outrun you both and still have the energy to take down someone. You two wouldn’t last a second without your precious little weapons strapped to your hip.”

The boys tensed, eyes narrowing as they looked at each other, a silent challenge welling up. “How about a game then? Put your little stealth tactic to the test.” Masky huffed, a stupid grin matching the eagerness in his eyes. Hoodie nodded along, pushing off the truck bed as he stepped closer, his boots crunching into the gravel. 

“The woods out there. It’s only about fifty acres worth, but it’s dense. Good enough for hide and seek, huh?” Hoodie’s voice sounded a little more chipper than his usual monotonous one, laced with excitement and almost giddy. “We’ll give you ten minutes, put your money where your mouth is. If we can’t find you, we’ll buy you a hotel room for the rest of the trip.” You glared, heart thumping at the idea of finally getting a shower and some heat, fingers fidgeting at your sides. “But, when we catch you, and we will, who knows what we’ll ask for?” Masky shrugged cockily. “Guess we’ll be thinking about it while you���re runnin’.”

The boys pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder as they stared down at you, nauseating smiles making your heartache. You glanced back to the tree line. Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes, stupidly accepting their bet. You were going to win, you knew you were, but all they could do was smile. “Ten minutes starts now, sweetheart.” Hoodie fiddled with his old-style military wristwatch, wiping the glass as he clicked some buttons to start a timer.

“So I just… start runni-”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” You tensed, taking steps back before spinning on your heels, zipping your jacket up as you began to run, slipping into the trees.

-

When you began to run, that’s when the excitement truly swept in. 

The ten minutes had long passed, your feet carrying you deep into an unfamiliar forest where every tree looked the same. But you had to keep going, if for nothing else, then to create distance.

It was getting too dark to see, the sun hanging low on the horizon and dense night setting in. The silhouettes of trees stretched ahead, endless in every direction. There was no trail or path to follow, only the thick underbrush and ferns that whipped at your legs as you ran, branches scratching your skin. You had no clue where you were going.

The rain had begun as well, thick droplets soaking your clothes and face, making your hair cling to your skin. Your legs burned, muscles tensing as you dodged trees, mud clinging to your shoes the further you went, your breath already quickening. When you reached a small clearing, you paused, catching your breath as you searched the shadows, listening intently for any signs of movement. Nothing caught your attention besides the heavy patterns of rainfall, leaves, and branches whipping in the wind as you set off again, catching your pace. 

Adrenaline couldn’t differentiate this from real danger. You dealt with these boys every day, watching how they worked and killed, studying their every move. But now that you were on the other side of the fight, there was no clue just how real they were going to make it. You knew they wouldn’t kill you. They were all for bets, but they weren’t sore losers. They might catch you, they might hurt you, but they wouldn’t kill you. And, somehow, that excited you.

There was something so rousing about playing the victim for once. It made you feel vulnerable and small, but oh did it make you desperate.

Climbing over a fallen pine and sliding down the short ridge beyond it, you crouched close to the ground, pressing close to the roots and bushes as you caught your breath again. You had to think one step ahead, had to conserve your energy; any chance for a break was a good one. They wanted a chance, so you’d give them a chase. But you had to be smart too.

Snap.

You froze, slow breaths shaking as the condensation fogged at your mouth. You clenched close to the ground, careful not to move as you heard the thumps of boots more clearly now, a matching pair. You clenched your jaw, bracing your hands against the side of a tree as their voices grew too.

“Come on, little mouse,” Masky called out, the giddiness in his voice making you cringe. “You’re not very good at hiding your tracks.” Shit. The rainfall had roused the ground with mud, your imprints being left everywhere and leading right to where you crouched. You had to move.

Rain and sweat dripped off your nose, teeth clenched as you shook, the cold breeze cutting against your skin. Your pupils blew wide as you scanned the ground, snaking your body up quietly as you took eager steps in the opposite direction of the boys. The mud squelched, your body aching as you pushed off the tree, steadying your pace back into a jog to not make too much noise. You heaved, letting your pace grow the further you got, the small steps turning into a desperate sprint as you whipped through the trees, the wind burning your cheeks raw. You were panting, sucking deep breaths of air, and fighting against the strain in your chest.

“There!” You cursed, Hoodie’s voice ringing through the trees as you sprinted, fists clenched as you dug your feet into the ground. In your attempt to get away, you had done exactly what you wanted to avoid, catching their attention. You heard the sound of their boots taking heavy steps in the distance, far enough but definitely still too close for comfort. Your heart thumped, adrenaline pumping. You tried to look back, to gauge just how far they were, just how fast you needed to run. You couldn’t see when your ankle snapped against a root popped from the ground, flinging your body down.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. You groaned, palms and clothes covered in mud and grass, your chest aching from the abrupt contact. The boys howled with excitement, their chanting and loud laughs making you nervous, and desperate to get away. The worst part, however, was the fact they had now put on their masks.

The three of you had grown comfortable, there was no desire to cover their faces around each other, saving the covers for jobs. But now, the stupid masks were snugged on, concealing their expression and making this situation all the more terrifying. Now, you realize they saw you as a job, a mission to catch and take, no longer just a little game. You wanted to cry, the anger shooting through your veins as you ran, heaving for air and distance, your brain screaming to get away. They were going to catch you.

You were so used to being on the other side. You were the one chasing, the one seizing runaways. But, something about being the one having to get away, the thought of you fighting within an inch of your life against your friends. It got you stirred in the worst kind of way.

You sprinted, half-running half-sliding down the steepening slope, your shoes catching on vines and mud as you went. You had no clue where you were going or why the terrain was suddenly changing, but you continued to press forward, feet flinging out from under you as you sprinted. The slope picked up, rocks and thicker soil breaking under your steps, clattering down the side of the hill you were pressing down, leaning back to claw into the mud as you lost your footing, pummeling down. Your foot caught on a root, hauling your shoe off your foot and snapping your body with it.

You met the clearing at the bottom face-first.

You landed hard, a thick stream of water splashing against your face as you gasped. The air knocked from your lungs, rolling onto your back as the water flowed around you, the tiny stream picking up from the rain. Rocks and moss stuck to your clothes, your teeth grit as your chest ached. You had to get up, you had to keep running.

But the chuckles from above you made you whine, footsteps crunching down the muddy slope as they paced just out of your sight. “Aww, think before you run. Don’t go panicking now.” You could hear the smile in Hoodie’s voice despite your dizziness. 

Out of pure adrenaline, you shoved yourself up, looking towards the slope, but finding nothing there. You spun on your heels, surveying the trees and sides of the hill, nothing sticking out. You hissed, looking down towards your hands as dirt sunk into the cuts, your palms torn and bleeding down your wrists, mixing with the rain. Your socks were soaked with mud, your feet aching and pounding with pain as your foot had been welted raw. But you couldn’t find them. For how large and annoying they were, you couldn't find them. You had to keep moving.

Turning away from the slope, you dug your heels in, pushing away from the stream. It was hard to focus, hard to keep your mind from spinning as you clawed, legs burning every step they ran. Your head felt light, too nauseated to notice the flash of yellow in your direction. 

A hand seized around your throat from behind, the other gripping into your hair as you cried out. You flung, fighting back against the tight grasp Masky held, kicking your knees. How the hell had he gotten to you? You swung your arms, reaching back to claw at the fists wrapped around you, elbow flying back to make contact with his ribs.

Masky gasped, grunting heavily as how grip loosened, reaching for his side. You slammed back hard, taking the opportunity to shove your shoulders back, knocking the brunette off balance and releasing you. In the process, you took the chance, sprinting away and pressing through the rain, gasping as you heard his yells behind you.

Gripping the side of another steep hill, you clawed at the roots and rocks protruding from the side, launching yourself up the side of the ravine and scrambling up onto flat ground above. Your socked foot caught on a rock, slicing through the fabric and through to your skin too, making you hiss and clench your jaw. Don’t look back, don’t stop, don’t be afraid-

Hoodie grunted as you slammed into him, chest knocking against him so hard you landed flat on your ass. He wasn’t so easy, not allowing you to get back up as the taller man pinned you down. You thrashed wildly, arms and legs flailing as his fists gripped your jacket, raising your chest to slam you back down against the ground, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gasped, tired arms reaching up to claw at his hoodie, tugging the soaked cloth, and trying to reach his skin. Hoodie laughed, his fingers digging into your sides as you groaned, panting your exhaustion. Masky was following behind, grappling up the side of the hill and chuckling his amusement. You were panicking, flailing under the man as you whined. 

“Didn’t last very long at all, huh?” Hoodie mocked, pushing your legs out of the way as you tried to kick him, your hands still clawing. The man just pressed harder, reaching up to clench your jaw, angling your head closer to the ground and into the mud. It was disgusting, your pants and whines making him smile as you gripped his hoodie, feeling for anything you could use.

When your fingers brushed his pistol holstered snugly against his side, you strained your jaw, reaching as far as you could. Hoodie was focused, eyes locked onto your face as his fingers clenched around your throat, tightening excruciatingly as you gasped, head already spinning. Your breathing was labored, the intensity of his grasp faltering your reach as you strained, the eagerness in his grasp making you dizzy.

You whined, pressing your shoulder down as you finally wrapped a finger around the end, tugging the weapon out of its holster. Masky was close now too, boots crunching in the mud as your vision blurred, rain and lack of oxygen snaking a darkness into the edges of your sight. You snagged a finger around the cold metal of the gun, hauling it up and bringing it down quickly, slamming against the side of Hoodie’s skull. His groan rang, his grasp on your throat letting free as he hauled back, gripping at the side of his head. 

You scrambled up, panting breaths of moist air as you pushed back in the mud, hauling yourself up. Masky tried to press in, your hands were quick to shoot up and aim the pistol, a finger placed steadily on the trigger. The man stopped, mockingly holding his hands up and laughing, angling his head to the side in amusement.

“What? Is the little mouse scared now? What happened to all that big talk earlier?” You cringed, panting loudly as puffs of condensation clouded around your mouth. You were shaking wildly, mud and rain crusted deep into your clothes and skin, soaking you to your core. “I thought this was some game, not a real chase.” You grit your teeth, snarling your desperation through angered words. 

Hoodie was up now, looming close to Masky’s side as he watched, an expression showing he was ready to pounce. He wanted more, you could see it in the way his fingers flexed and palmed against his jeans. You shook, keeping the pistol aimed between both of them. You didn’t give them a chance to get to you again. Turning on your heels, you lunged into another sprint, chest, and legs aching at the sudden burst. The boys latched on, not giving a second thought before chasing behind you, desperately trying to match your pace. You were faster than them, but there was no way you would be able to beat them again physically. With a hurt foot and weakened body, they would overpower you in an instant.

Mocking chants and laughs echoed loudly behind you, the rain and wind snapping at your skin. You limped through every step, trying to keep a good pace as the pain began to sink in, mud clinging against your cuts. Your mind was racing, excitement and pent-up energy exerting themselves in every ache and stretch. So many times on missions you were forced into uncomfortable situations, clawing and begging to prove yourself, to show just how useful you were. 

But now, you weren’t chasing anymore. You were the one running, the one begging and sobbing to be shown mercy. Masky and Hoodie weren’t capable of mercy, they didn't know the meaning of the word. So now, the role flipped on its head, you were truly aware of just how much you needed to get away.

You swung your arm around as you felt bodies close in, gripping the pistol tight and aiming high as you took a shot. An ear-piercing ricochet rang through the trees. Curses shouted, loud gasps as the bullet whizzed past their heads, and maniacal laughter soon followed. “Shit, Hood! Mouse’s got some bite!” Masky panted, exhausted tone showing as he continued to run. Hoodie growled his approval, grappling off of trees and closing in again. You’d been a fool to think they’d scare so easily. Of course, your violence would just get them more excited.

Clattering across a stretch of gravel and mud, you cursed, the gash in your foot screaming with pain. The limp caused you to be ill-timed, Masky taking the falter and seizing you, your bodies clattering to the nasty ground.

Masky chuckled, your hair knotted in his hand as he forced you onto your chest. Your fingers dug into the mud, desperately trying to push yourself up as you flailed, pistol gripped tight. Limbs burned, lungs gasping for air as you felt a knee press between your shoulder blades before you could move. He crushed you against the gravel harder and harder. Masky pressed down close, dragging your head to the side so he could groan into your ear. Hoodie was already on you too, the sole of his boot crushed atop your hand to pry the pistol away, tossing it a few feet away. Masky’s knee pressed hard, the mask covering his expression, but you could hear his excitement all too well.

“All that running just for us to still catch you, little mouse. I say we deserve some compensation for all that work.” You clenched your teeth, tears welling in your eyes not only from the exhaustion that was creeping in but from the terrible pain shooting through your body. Everything hurt, sleepiness hanging on every limb. They must have noticed as the Hoodie knelt down beside your head.

He caressed his fingers over your skin, marveling at the softness of your cheeks cool with the rain, before nudging your jaw with his fist. “I think I know a pretty good reward, eh?” His hoodie was soaked, the usual mustard color a dark brown as Masky loosened his grip on your hair, tugging your shoulder over as his knee lifted. You tried to gauge their expressions and understand what they were so giddy about as you lay on your back, face, and clothes splattered with mud and rain. “I’d say I have to agree with you there, man.”

As Masky stood, you tried to sit up before large pairs of hands shoved you back to the ground. Your bodies pressed close, Hoodie wedging himself against your side as Masky gripped your arms, pressing them down against the rocks. That’s when you felt it, the heat in his jeans pressed against your hip, your skin exploding with warmth. You tried to look through his mask into his eyes, shimmying your hips as Hoodie did the same, gripping the side of your face to keep your head down. They were overpowering you, binding you down to submit, forcing you to stop. You didn’t want to. They wanted a fight, and you weren’t so willing to lay down and take it.

“Keep moving your hips like that and watch what happens.” Masky barked, snaking a knee between your legs as he pressed close, breathing muffled as he held you. Your body was useless, their arms and hands gripping tight and hauling you close, gasps ringing at every fist tightening. “You’ve lost, alright? Just fuckin’ give up.” Hoodie jerked your jaw, pressing your shoulder to the ground as you kicked your legs, Masky’s knee slid up against your core and held it there even when you squirmed. “Even after all that runnin’ you’ve still got energy? Fuck.” Masky angrily laughed, tugging at your jeans and undoing the buttons, your heart immediately jumping from your chest.

“Masky-” Hoodie clasped a hand over your mouth, tugging your body up against his own as he pressed beside you. Masky let go of your hands, Hoodie quick to take them in one hand, and hold them above your head as the latter worked on shimmying your pants off of your thighs. The rain made you twitch as drops hit your bare skin. “We won, remember? Gonna have to show you just what girls with big egos get, yeah? You could use a little humbling…” The hooded man smiled, snaking a hand around your throat and clamping down, your airway choking closed as you gasped. It felt like a rush, every inch of your body overwhelmed as they gripped at your skin. You were falling apart, fighting and fear leaving your body, anxiousness and excitement slowly creeping in the lower Masky’s hands dipped against your thighs.

“Every inch of you is a tease.” He snapped, your muddy jeans discarded as fingers dug into your skin. The man acted ravenous, fingernails clawing against your damp skin as he nudged himself between your legs, your head swaying lightly as Hoodie pushed his grip on your throat harder. “Been dying to get a good look.”

You couldn’t deny how many times you caught them staring. Every time you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in the creek or laid out in the truck's backseat to get some rest, their eyes lingered, awkward silence hanging in the air. It was obvious now. That same ravenous look was caught behind the eyeholes of their masks, your heart skipping as Masky hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties. Jerking against Hoodie’s grasp on your wrists, you let your back arch off the ground, panting against the fingers gripped onto your throat as Masky slowly slid the cloth down. 

Rain soaked your face as Hoodie took his time sliding a hand up your shirt, palming at your moist skin and dragging your jacket off of your shoulders. “You’ve always had such a loud mouth, y’know that? It’d be nice to see it occupied with other things.” Hoodie chuckled, letting his fist off of your throat to slide up to your lips, your gasps and coughs music to his ears. He was quick to slide two fingers past your teeth, shoving them down to the knuckle and pushing down your tongue. You gagged, head rearing back but his fingers followed, pressing down into your throat with a cough. He let go of your wrists, snaking a fist into your hair as he held his fingers still, your throat constricting around the digits as you reached back to grip his hoodie, tugging him closer. Masky watched close, your warm cunt throbbing as the cold air ran goosebumps across your skin.

“Christ.” Masky hummed, pressing your knees apart as he adjusted himself between them, his cock constricting tight against his jeans. He slid your folds apart with his thumb, swiping the digit through your wetness and spreading it, smiling at the way your hips instinctively jerked. You whined, senses overwhelmed as you choked again, gagging as Hoodie began to pump his fingers. “If you can’t even take my fingers, how are you supposed to take my cock? Do better.” Hoodie was so much more gruff than Masky, barking his command and pushing you further than you knew he could go. The man was always the quieter of the two, his shadow-like demeanor starkly contrasting Masky’s. So when it came to primal instincts, the two flipped like a coin. Masky took a much more silent authoritative stance, while Hoodie was all bark and bite. The two worked perfectly together, you realized, in murder and sex. Perfect contrasts no matter the circumstances.

Your cheeks shot red, your eyes watering the louder you heard him huff. You tried to let your throat relax, you tried to breathe steady. But when you felt a finger screw into your cunt, forcing its way into your hardly prepped warmth, you cried out. 

Masky’s nails dug into your thighs, his knees shoving your legs open as he twisted his middle finger, angling to press up against the gumminess of your walls. “So warm, damn…” He grunted, letting his thumb press against your clit and rub aching circles against the nub. Hoodie didn’t give you a moment, however. His fingers were soon tugged from your lips as he snagged your hair back, pushing your cheek against his jeans, face-to-face with his boner. How were you going to take that? You tried to stammer, tried to press your hands on his legs, but he was already undoing his belt. “Hoodie-” You hissed, your sentence cut off as you jerked your hips up when another finger crammed itself into your tight cunt, digits spreading and scissoring you loose. Your eyes shot back and forth, focused on fingers tugging down their zipper but also on the hungry way fingers dug into your folds.

You were overwhelmed, the rain and wind snapping at every naked part of your body and sending chills. And the boys were eating you alive. 

“Wait, please- I’m sorry! Ah! I was wrong okay-” Hoodie’s palm was back around your mouth, your pants and whines muffled behind the hand as he tugged his jeans down with his boxers. Your eyes shot wide when he tugged his cock out, shoving his waistband below his balls and giving his length a few good tugs. Masky chuckled, pressing the heel of his palm down onto your clit as he rhythmically curled his fingers up, your cunt soaking them. “If you’re so sorry, then show it, sweetheart.” You gawked at the girth wrapped in Hoodie’s fist, unsure of how you were even supposed to take half of that in your mouth. But take it you would. It didn’t matter if you screamed, bled, or passed out, Hoodie was going to make sure you would melt on it.

You were trembling, as vicious as you were, you were excited. Hoodie and Masky could see it. They had no intention of hurting you, but they had every intention of breaking the little ego you held onto. You held their gaze, rain streaming down your face as you whined. “Open up.” The brunette didn’t give you much of a choice as he pressed his cock to your lips. You gasped around the tip, his hands wrapping into the back of your hair and pressing your head closer. Hoodie groaned as he went deeper, your throat convulsing around him with a barely suppressed gag. You felt like you were losing air, taking a last deep breath before Hoodie stopped, your lips wrapping tight around the middle of his girth. 

He held steady, Masky keeping you distracted with his fingers, but you couldn't fight the dizziness in your head. Hoodie drank up the way your eyes slammed shut, the way your hands gripped into his clothes and pawed for release; he couldn’t stand it. Masky couldn’t either.

When you caressed your tongue along the bottom side of his cockhead, Hoodie growled, fisting your hair tight. He snapped your head closer, pushing your throat open around his girth and tugging you back off quickly, snapping his hips back again to set a sickening pace. You choked, slobber pooling around your lips and glistening on his length as he fucked into your throat, giving you no time to breathe. You dug your nails into his hoodie, clawing for something to hold onto as he rattled your head. Every squeeze of your throat just spurred him on, the resistance only making him more eager to fuck you open and raw. “God, you must be real sorry, huh?” Hoodie growled, letting one hand shove up your shirt up and tug your bra off of your tits, gripping onto the mounds.

Masky watched, smiling wildly behind the mask as his cock throbbed against his jeans. Your cunt had soaked his fingers loose enough to slip another in, his free hand shimmying his belt undone and tugging his zipper down. The man took a shaky breath when his cock met the cold air, twitching and eager as he unscrewed his fingers from your cunt, surprised at the way your hips tried to follow them. The loud sound of slobber and gagging on Hoodie’s cock made Masky excited to hear more, pumping his cock in his fist covered with your arousal as he pressed a free hand back to your folds. “Don’t pass out now, little mouse.” 

You couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own head roaring, throat tensing and convulsing at every press of Hoodie length into your mouth. He was so rough, so aggressive in his actions, desperately clawing for more as if he had been begging for this for forever. You finally felt like you could get the hang of it, finding a good position for your mouth until-

Smack!

You nearly screamed when you felt a palm slap down on your cunt, snapping against your cunt and sending your hips shooting off of the muddy ground. Masky laughed, his fist jerking his cock as your eyes shot open, trying to pull your head back off of Hoodie’s length. He growled, snapping your head back down onto his cock and shoving your nose into his pubes, snapping at you to stay still. 

Masky raised his hand again, your stomach tightening as you watched through tear-beaded eyes when his palm made contact with your clit again. It stung, your throat grunting and sobbing as Hoodie gripped either side of your head in his hands, fucking his hips into your warm mouth. You tried to press your thighs shut, Masky shoving them apart as he slapped again, spanking your cunt and grinning at the squelch. Pained whines muffled around Hoodie’s cock as he rubbed his fingers against your clit before hauling his hand up, smacking back down to watch your hips jerk. You dug your heels into the dirt, trying to press away, but Masky’s hands were already gripped around your hips and tugging you back.

Your head was light, oxygen barely seeping through as Hoodie completely ignored your wails, hips jerking, and balls slapping against the side of your face the deeper you drank his cock down. “So good…” He muttered, gasping as he hunched over your head, driving his hips at an exhausting pace. Your jaw hurt, eyes raw with tears as you lulled your tongue against the underside of his length to desperately hurry his orgasm along.

Your mouth was so full, so warm and tight, and took the brunette the best you could. Hoodie whined when he felt his balls tighten and abdomen tense, ecstasy shooting through his body as he throbbed in your mouth and spilled down your throat. You clung to his hoodie, unable to swallow as quickly as he pumped into you, cum and slobber dribbling down your chin. You gasped as you felt the intrusion leave your mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath as seed dripped down your chin. Masky didn’t give you time, barely able to swallow before you felt a tension pushing into your cunt.

“I think you still owe me an apology, right?” The man between your legs chuckled, pushing your hips down to the soaked ground as he slowly sunk in, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. Hoodie was panting, wringing the last of his orgasm from his cock as he hauled your head up, craning your neck to face him. He shoved his mask up, the fabric bunching at his brow as his flushed cheeks glistened with sweat. You whined as you felt Masky’s cock press deeper, your walls throbbing around him as Hoodie caught your lips, breathing deep as he panted into your mouth.

“Mmn, fuck-” Masky chirped, raising your ass off the ground as he pressed against your tightness, sinking into your gooey warmth. Hoodie ravaged, gripping your jacket and shaking it off your arms, fingers tugging at your shirt until you could hear the seams popping and snapping. Masky bottomed out, you gasp giving Hoodie enough access to shove his tongue past your lips and suck on your own. Groans and whines swapped, Masky watched, stomach twirling with arousal.

He slowly tugged his hips back, your thighs trembling as you peeked out, groaning when you watched Masky slide his own mask off of his face, the object clattering into the mud. His hips didn’t get far before they snapped back, nails tugging your hips back to meet with a stifled moan. Hoodie shuffled behind you, adjusting himself to your back pressed against his chest as Masky started his drowsy pace into your puffy cunt. You whimpered with every inch, panting desperately. Your pussy gripped him tightly as Masky pressed all the way inside—before withdrawing completely and plunging back in again. You screamed, the sound choked with frantic need as Hoodie replaced his lips with his fingers again. Masky pulled your hips back, fucking mindlessly until your knees tightened around his sides. He snaked a hand between your legs and rubbed your clit, grinning as you shook from head to toe and went limp against Hoodie’s chest, the pleasure shattering you.

“Too much, little mouse?" You managed to shake your head, defiant little thing. Masky snapped his hips again, pace slowly and sickeningly increasing, thrusts getting harder but not faster. You mewled, sucking on Hoodie’s digits as he played with your nipples, massaging your tits with every heave of your chest. “Don’t get needy now, sweetheart,” Hoodie noted the way your hips craned to meet Masky’s every move, stomach tightening to get a better grip around his cock. You groaned, flexing your hands as they both laughed at your desperation. You were irritated. They wanted badly to ruin you, to make you theirs. But when it finally comes time for you to enjoy their part, they won’t let you. You felt yourself snap as you hauled your bodies forward.

Masky grunted as you shoved your hands against his chest, kicking your feet free from his hands and slamming the big guy on his back. Hoodie was quick to follow, stunned at the sudden movement but sure to find his place snagged onto your back as you straddled Masky again.

“You’re a fucking prick.” You groaned, pressing your nails into his face as your knees dug into the rocky mud-caked ground. You all were nasty, sweat and rain dripping from your brows but you were so horny it didn’t matter. 

Masky pressed back, tugging at your wrists to let off of his face. It was only when he shoved your jaw back did you saw the gleam of metal in the rain, the dark pistol smeared with mud but close enough to grasp. You pressed forward, shoving Masky’s forehead down as he snapped, Hoodie gripping your hips to drag you back.

You tried to claw, to reach the gun, but the boys were stronger. “Little cunt. You never learn, huh?” Masky barked, gripping his cock tight as Hoodie angled your hips to sink back onto the length. You choked out when they slammed your hips together, Masky setting a brutal pace up into your cunt as Hoodie pressed you down, jerking his own growing cock now.

“I don’t know where you- ah- where you get this attitude from,” Masky growled into your ear, your chest pressing down against his as he quickly tugged his cock in and out of your drenched warmth. You whined through every echoed slap, the rain, and sweat making you both slippery, and every thrust of his hips reverberating off the density of the trees. You reached out, stretching your shoulder as far as it would go to reach the pistol just at your fingertips. You groaned, pressing your sore hands into the mud for one final stretch, your index brushing the metal and tugging it in your direction. 

“Fuck you.” You growled out, tugging the gun into your hand and turning to aim it at the side of Masky’s temple. You wanted a reaction, for his pace to hesitate or his eyes to stutter, but they never did. He just kept tugging your hips down, mercilessly shoving the air from your lungs with every press of his cock against your sore walls. Your noses brushed as you stared deep into the other’s eyes, a silent challenge. If anything, he went faster.

Hoodie chuckled behind you, letting his cock slide between your ass cheeks every time they bounced in Masky’s cock. He was grunting, pressing your lower back down to get a better arch out of you. “Cute.” He smiled.

Masky glanced, acknowledging the weapon pressed so aggressively against the side of his head, but keeping his attention on you. You wanted to yell, to tug the trigger just enough to watch fear creep in, but your thoughts got abruptly lost.

Masky let your hips go, tugging a fist into your hair as he slammed your lips together. You grunted into the kiss, anger fuming between the two of you and tearing your resilience apart. The kiss was aggressive, teeth snagging on lips and tongues shoving against cheeks as Hoodie took his chance to rest his hands on your hips. “Shit.”

Hoodie tugged his cock back, your hips riding Masky on their own and setting your own pace, cunt gushing and squelching at every move. You hadn’t even cum yet, and the desperation was getting to you. 

“Stick your tongue out.” Hoodie reached between you two, cutting your kiss short as he selfishly shoved two fingers into your mouth, Masky growling at the loss. The brunette just laughed, a cheeky grin flashing as he tugged his fingers back, swiping them between your asscheeks.

You hissed, hips stuttering their pace as you felt Hoodie press his index finger against your asshole, swirling the muscle eagerly. “Hoodie.” You grit, craning your neck to look back at him, Masky letting his hand fall to your upper thighs. The brunette smiled, slowly nudging his index finger through the tight ring and making you sit up straight. Masky growled, reaching up to wrap his arm around you, tugging your shoulders back down, your neck in a headlock against his chest.

He slowly began to thrust his hips up again, achingly slow to distract from the feeling of Hoodie stretching your asshole. You wanted to growl, to fight back, but your eyes just rolled. Masky smiled as he watched the pistol slowly slip from your grasp, clattering back against the gravel as he fucked lazily up into your cunt, the warmth a lot more gooey than before. You could feel your abdomen flutter, clit brushing against Masky and sending your thighs tensing. “Please…" you moaned. "Coming… make me come…”

Hoodie craned his index, stretching the rim of your asshole and jerking your ass apart. Masky’s breath startled, resilience cracking as you came on his cock, cunt tightening and throbbing around his length. You convulsed, breath hitching as they brought you to your peak, shuddering violently in Masky’s arms. He couldn’t take it, he had to pull out.

You moaned out, whining when Masky slipped from your cunt and groaned loud, regaining his composure. Hoodie still worked your ass, the sting and stretch were painful but strangely so addicting. He let a second finger tease the rim, your hips sensitively jerking against the feeling as another finger slowly sunk into your ass. Your cunt clenched on nothing, tensing through your orgasm before Masky realigned himself, squeezing his cock back in. He could’ve come from how warm and gummy your walls were after cumming. 

“You ready for both, mouse?” You felt dizzy, head straining as Masky kept a hold on your neck, locking you down against his chest. You tried to nod, mumbling your eagerness as Hoodie successfully pressed another finger past your rim, your whine making them grin. The brunette gave you a few good tugs before pulling his fingers out, stroking his length as he pressed the tip to your rim. You groaned against Masky’s chest, biting into the cloth of his shirt as he thrust his hips, trying to give you a good duality as Hoodie slowly pressed in.

It stung, the stretch and fullness making your fingers grip into anything you could get, nails indenting into Masky’s sides. Hoodie cursed, fingers digging into the mounds of your ass and tugging them apart, trying his best to sink in through the constraint. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re tight as hell- shit-” You sobbed through the tension, trying your best to relax as both of your holes slowly filled, your abdomen swirling with waves of arousal. You felt dizzy, panting in Masky’s scent as Hoodie finally snapped in the rest of the way, the stretch making tears spill down your cheeks.

“Fu… Fuck me…” You choked out, craning your hips just enough to make Hoodie whine, nails cutting into your hips. The boys got the hint, Masky slowing down his pace to match Hoodie’s stuttered one, the brunette fighting against the constraint of your ass while he bluntly thrust. You moaned anyways, Masky’s cock snagging your g-spot and ramming there, his grin telling. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss again, biting into your plump lips. 

Hoodie couldn’t get over your mouth, however. He needed to be in that warmth again. So, he leaned forward, pressing his fingers against the side of your cheek and pressing them into the corner of your mouth, Masky tensing at the foreign taste. He looked like he was going to say something, but you shut him up with a plop of your hips, raising your ass up to fuck against Hoodie’s cock and ride right back down onto Masky’s. “Be nice.” You gasped as Hoodie curled his finger into the side of your cheek, tugging the skin back to make drool pool against your lips. Masky growled, rolling his eyes before snagging your lips again, loud groans and hisses panted into the other’s mouth. You felt so full, holes stuffed so nauseatingly well you could feel the way their cocks brushed together inside of you.

You could feel it again, the way your gut clenched. Masky clenched your thighs, his cock aching inside of you as Hoodie snapped his hips, riding close to the edge again. You tried your best to angle your hips back, giving them both the best angle to tug their cocks in and out. “‘M coming- Fuck! Please, please, please…” You panted through every snap of their hips, their cocks squeezing and stretching your holes so wide you knew you were ruined for anyone else. Your head was so tired, cunt throbbing and aching for release the harder they went, chasing their own.

“Pull out, Hoodie…” Masky choked, getting the last few thrusts he could as he felt you tightening, his cock teetering dangerously close to the edge. Hoodie whined, the tip of his cock popping in and out past your rim and dragging him closer too, both of the boys a whining grunting mess with you sandwiched between them. “Ma- Masky… Hoodie…”

Both of your holes clenched down as you came, the intensity of your orgasm washing over you so strongly that your eyes lulled to the back of your head. Your stomach twisted, the knot unraveling as you released on their cocks. Masky moaned lowly, biting into his lip as he forced his cock out of your swelled cunt, ropes of cum dripping from his tip as he stole your lips. Hoodie followed quickly, pushing your ass off of his cock as he started fisting his length quickly, pumping tight at the base to shoot his seed across your back. He whined through his orgasm, smearing his cum across your ass and lazily smiling at his work.

You all panted, shoulders slumped and bodies sore. You felt like you couldn’t move, every muscle inside and out aching from the exertion you had gone through.

Rain still poured, the chill seeping into your bones as you shook, water and sweat dripping from your nose. You felt so spent, cunt and ass ruined and throbbing wildly as you let your head go limp on Masky’s chest, the man grunting underneath you. “Fuck…alright, mouse.”

You were far too sleepy to care much as they shoved their limp cocks back into their jeans, everyone’s clothes soaked and cold as Hoodie wrapped his arms under your limbs, hauling you up. “C’mon, sweetheart…” Even they sounded tired. 

-

You slipped in and out of sleep on the way back to the truck, Masky collecting your items as they went and tossing everything into the bed as the engine roared. Hoodie laid you in the backseat, climbing into the passenger as Masky peeled back towards the interstate. You were too tired to ask where you were going.

You only stirred back when the obnoxious luminescent lights showed into the truck window, blinding you. You squinted, tossing your hand in front of the light as you sat up, the backseat suddenly opening.

“Don’t make me regret buyin’ this,” Masky growled as he tossed a blanket towards you, you just now realizing how nasty with mud you all were. You smiled as Hoodie helped you out, shuffling you close to his side as the boys dragged you around to the shabby door of the motel they had found. You flinched as you remembered your foot, the crusted blood and mud staining the underside of your sock as you limped through the rusty door.

It wasn’t anything nice, definitely not five stars.

But as you three tugged off your clothes and cleaned as much of the mud off as possible, it didn’t matter. The boys cringed at your cuts, mumbling their apologies and helping you clean them up, too. Exhausted, the three of you crawled into the way-too-small bed, the boys on either side of you as they cradled in, sticky and sore body parts finding their comfortable spaces. 

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was better than sleeping in the back of the truck. You smiled when their breathing labored, faces cradled into your shoulders while you slowly blinked your sleepiness away. You didn’t want to acknowledge what this night might mean for the future, at least not tonight. You’d much rather sleep.

But as Masky and Hoodie slid their arms around your torso, legs interlocking as you all finally relaxed, maybe it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

You’d have to learn to watch your tongue, though. For your sake.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[fen-luciel]

Hurt

Thanks to @driksss for the idea:

[I loved your story

please

write a story in which the reader accidentally hurts herself during training and qimir feels guilty and takes care of her injuries]

Warnings: description of injuries/light smut/sub Qimir

"Again" I ordered, with my lightsaber on.

Qimir grumbled, his butt on the ground "Can I take a break?" he complained, getting up and brushing the dirt off his pants, the lightsaber at his feet.

"Come on, Qimir. At least until sunset, as usual. I'll cook tonight" I tried to cheer him up with a bright expression, but he didn't seem particularly pleased.

"It's just that... never mind" he called his lightsaber back to him before starting to walk. "But let's move from here. The ground keeps making me slip, I can't stand it anymore." I sighed but followed him without protest, my saber now off and at my belt.

I silently watched his back as we walked. We were both terribly sweaty, the forest was humid and the afternoon sun was dry, not to mention we had been training for hours. The tank top I wore was now clinging to me, and the loose pants that reached my knees were soaked with dirt, grass, mud, and sweat.

Qimir looked just as worn out, to the point where he had cut off the sleeves of his shirt with his lightsaber for some extra air.

His back was drenched in sweat, and my first instinct was to tease him, but things were tense between us.

It had been an uphill journey for us, friends, colleagues, and now master and acolyte.

Unfortunately, we were still working on the last part, especially considering how we were indirectly or directly... intimate.

I sighed.

I knew it was a bad idea.

But now, telling him to end it seemed even worse.

We kept training for at least a couple more hours, and honestly, I couldn't stand it anymore.

He kept making stupid mistakes, tripping over branches, getting distracted, it was infuriating.

We stood on top of some trees, the first pink and orange lights of sunset coloring the landscape. It would have been almost romantic if we weren't two Banthas soaked and dirty with earth. We definitely needed a shower.

We jumped from branch to branch, red against red, our bodies pulsing with fatigue. The goal was to get him used to more exhausting rhythms, but it was useless if two times out of three I had to divert my own stroke because he was too distracted to dodge them.

"If you're so bored, you could have spared me the trouble of paying attention to you today!" I finally snapped, and without even thinking, I crouched in a fluid motion, aiming at the thick branch under his feet and cutting it diagonally. Whether he was surprised by my shout or the move, I couldn't say, but he lost his balance, one foot slipping on the moss covering the tree, and he began to fall.

I had time to glance at him a little longer and realize my colossal mistake.

Below us, there weren't just a few meters separating us from the ground, we had gradually moved deeper into the forest, where the trees grew denser and taller, and the branches we were on directly overlooked a small cliff crossed by a stream. Qimir was about to fall into it like a sack of potatoes.

I reached out with my hand, pulling him towards me with the Force, just enough to grab his wrist in the panic of the moment. I managed to pull him up, but in doing so, I lost my balance. My other hand still held the lightsaber uselessly, and I began to fall.

I saw him as he clung to the branch where I had been seconds earlier. I instinctively turned off the lightsaber as I plummeted. Qimir reached out to stop me, but in a mix of fatigue and panic, he only managed to slow the inevitable. He lost his grip, and I crashed down the last few meters, finally rolling into the shallow stream.

I hissed as a ringing filled my ears, my body on fire as I tensed my muscles. I couldn't tell if I'd broken something in the process, but I was sure I was bleeding—I could feel it on me, and the stream wasn't deep enough to get me this wet.

I struggled to open my eyes, my vision dark at the edges as I tried to focus around me. I couldn't see Qimir, but I assumed he was about to come down, so I looked at myself, and it was bad.

Nothing seemed unnaturally bent, but I was bleeding profusely. My legs, arms, torso, not to mention the dull pain I felt throughout my body—if nothing was broken, I'd at least sprained something. Qimir's brief intervention had prevented the worst, but I was still in danger.

"Force, wait, i'm here"

I looked up to see Qimir sliding down the cliff before making one last jump near me, panic in his eyes as he looked at me, breathing heavily. "Come on, damn it, okay, I've got this-" he stammered as he knelt beside me, his trembling hands searching for a wound that wasn't even visible due to the blood scattered everywhere.

"Calm down, Qimir—" I tried to reassure him with a hoarse voice before grabbing his wrist. "I need you to carry me, so try to concentrate" He shot me a wide-eyed glance and nodded. He quickly stood up to retrieve my lightsaber, which had fallen a few meters ahead, and after recovering it, he came back to pick me up. It was quite complicated to get me onto his shoulders, everything burned, and while I could somewhat move my arms, I certainly didn't have the strength to pull myself up or bend my legs. He practically had to lie down next to me so I could roll onto him and slowly drag myself onto his back. Once he ensured I was in a stable position, he began to run toward the base.

I don't know exactly how much time passed—I hadn't noticed how deep we were in the forest, and we reached our shelter on the edge of the woods when it was already pitch dark. I kept myself awake by sheer miracle, more to keep Qimir from panicking than anything else, as he seemed on the verge of a panic attack, mumbling something I couldn't hear well and was too exhausted to ask him to speak up.

We had rented a house for a while nearby—a woodland retreat for those who wanted a nature getaway. We were there to train undisturbed, which wasn't in our favor now that we actually needed to be near civilization to call for help.

Qimir opened the door, quickly closing it behind us and heading straight for the bathroom with determined steps. "We have some medicine, but I don't know how much it can help" I could only let out a laughing breath. "I told you we'd regret not stopping by the store"

He shook his head but said nothing more, letting me slide to the floor beside the tub where I collapsed without strength.

I kept my eyes half-closed—the bathroom light seemed to burn my eyes. "Turn it off, please" I whispered wearily, hearing him rummaging through the bottles behind the sink's glass. He grabbed what he needed before turning off the main light, leaving only the dim secondary one on.

"Swallow these—one for the pain, and the other to make sure no infections develop... we only have one more, so tomorrow we need to get you to a doctor" I swallowed them, thankful for the miracles of bacta that might help me get through this.

"Now, I'm going to put you in the tub and heal you with the Force, okay?"

He began to open my robe with trembling hands, and I chuckled. "Don't be shy, it's not like you haven't seen me before" but he didn't find it as funny, given the glare he shot me.

I didn't feel uncomfortable being naked—I had never had too many problems about it, just as he didn't with me, and besides, given my overall condition, neither of us was really focused on anything else. Qimir turned on the hot water in the tub and started to undress.

"We haven't tried this before. You're brave tonight" I noted with poorly concealed amusement and a tired voice.

"Stop it. I need to wash you, and I can't afford for you to slip in the tub."

I muttered something, but I felt my strength leaving me. "I really need to close my eyes for a bit" I whispered as he grabbed me under the armpits and moved me into the tub, which was filling with hot water. I hissed at the sensation—the pills were beginning to numb my nerves, but the dull pain I felt would continue for a while. The warmth of the tub was pleasant, but it burned my skin, and within seconds, the water had already taken on a brownish-red color.

"I've got you, don't worry" Qimir's voice near my ear made me shiver, though I hoped he hadn't noticed. Once he made sure I was in a safe position, he leaned over to grab the soap "Qimir. I really need to close my eyes" I said in an increasingly faint voice. I saw his lips move, his expression worried, but I couldn't hear his words, and I passed out.

When I opened my eyes, I was still in the tub.

The first thing I heard was my heavy breathing filling the small bathroom. The water around me was strangely clean. I raised a hand to rub my eyes and noticed how wrinkled my skin was, a sign that I had been here for a while.

I caught a glimpse of the long abrasion wounds covering my arms when, from behind, a hand gently took mine—Qimir's hand.

"It's okay, I'm here." His rough voice in my ear was enough to finally understand what was happening.

He had sat behind me in the tub, resting me against his chest. I was so confused that I hadn't noticed his head next to mine.

I turned my gaze towards him, realizing how close we were. He seemed more relaxed and calm now, his eyes fixed on mine, and a sad smile on his lips.

“You’ve been out of it for a while" his tone was still low and slow. This time, the trembling in my body was obvious, but he misunderstood the reaction, as he gently slid us a bit deeper into the warm water.

“You washed your hair” I noted with poorly concealed amusement and a tired voice.

He chuckled with a smile. “And for the record, I washed yours too” I giggled, followed by him, the atmosphere much more relaxed now, although a slight glance outside the tub made me notice the dried blood on the floor.

But I was feeling better.

I think.

I pressed my face into the crook of his neck, still feeling dizzy and tired, but the movement was terrible. Though I appeared better on the outside, inside, I was still a mess. I couldn’t tell if the pills had already worn off or if they weren’t strong enough from the start. “Take it easy, I... I haven’t healed you yet” Qimir admitted, tightening an arm under my chest in a hug.

I murmured in confusion, and he sighed. “I... can’t. I took some time to relax and clean us up. I’m feeling better, but... I can’t focus” the discomfort was evident in his tone.

I couldn’t really blame him, it wasn’t such a common power, and during his years as a Jedi, it seemed to have remained dormant, now forcing him to train it from scratch.

Unfortunately, I could only help him from a theoretical standpoint, which made the learning process slower than usual, but he was gradually improving.

“It’s the first time you’ve tried with internal trauma and not external injuries. Not to mention it’s much more complex than the small cuts you’ve been practicing on until now. You need to relax” I murmured against the skin of his neck, my eyes closed as I pressed more gently against his chest.

I could feel the tremor in his heavy sigh through the contact between our bodies. I moved our still intertwined hands to my stomach, while the free hand moved to the side of his face in a gentle caress. I left a slow kiss on his neck before slightly lifting myself up so that my lips were at the height of his ear.

“Do you want to make me feel good, Qimir?” I asked sweetly, looking at him. He had closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly upwards. I released his hand to rest it on my stomach.

“Y-yes” he stammered in response.

“Then breathe. And focus on me.” I kissed his jaw a couple of times, leaving a slight trail of saliva along his skin. His chest rose and fell deeply, dragging my body along with his as our breaths synchronized “Good boy.”

There was a moment of silence before a pleasant warmth began to soothe my aching muscles and bones. I only let it go on for a few seconds, worried he might overdo it. “Slowly now, we both need our strength” I moved his hand away from me, caressing the back of it. He opened his eyes and lowered his gaze to meet mine, his lips slightly parted as his heartbeat quickened in his chest.

He leaned in towards my lips, but I pulled away with a small smile. “Slowly now” The disappointment was clear in his features, his dark irises, and the moisture in his eyes seemed to burn me alive.

“I really need to get out of the water” I whispered against his lips before giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Keep being good, and maybe I’ll give you a reward later.”

This seemed to cheer him up, and we moved to get out of the tub. Unfortunately, Qimir couldn’t help me as much as he would have liked; my body was still in constant pain, though much more manageable than before. All the wounds on my arms and legs had stopped bleeding but needed to be bandaged.

We took a brief walk to the bedroom in a somewhat ridiculous manner. I was still in pain, and Qimir had used some of his energy to heal my bones, so he was feeling as tired as I was.

“Wait, I want to sit down” I said, letting myself fall into the armchair next to the bed with a sigh.

“Okay. One last effort. And then we’ll sleep” he said, picking up the kit that was already on the bed. I glanced at him sideways as he sat down next to me and started covering the cuts with soft, bacta-soaked bandages. They couldn’t completely heal the wounds, but at least I would sleep more peacefully.

A few seconds passed before he spoke “I’m sorry. It was my fault” his voice rough and low as he kept his gaze fixed on what he was doing, the room dimly lit only by the moonlight outside.

“Nonsense. I wasn’t careful” I replied, looking at the ceiling.

So much had happened in just a few hours that I had almost forgotten how it all started, and as much as the dynamic still irritated me, I was partly responsible.

I should have just talked to him.

“Stop it. I... you’re right to be mad at me” I looked at his bowed head, avoiding my gaze. Slowly, he knelt in front of me, and I couldn’t help but blush a little seeing him between my legs, the wounds long forgotten.

“We both made mistakes—” I began, but he shook his head. I saw the way his jaw clenched when he was nervous, and I bit my lips in response. He was finally opening up to me, and I was getting distracted.

I was hopeless.

“No. I was distracted. I deserved a lesson, but you were too kind to me” his long, slender fingers gently held my ankle as he carefully tightened the bandage up to my thigh.

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“Distracted by what, anyway? You’ve been doing well lately” I tried to focus on his words, but even his tone sent a shiver between my legs, and not being able to rub them together was even worse.

A few seconds passed. He finished the bandages completely before raising his gaze to me, and I almost lost my breath.

He looked at me with those dark, deep eyes, which unsettled my stomach.

Kneeling between my legs, I felt terribly vulnerable given the weakness of my limbs, not to mention he was wearing a loose shirt that allowed me to see part of his smooth chest from above.

I knew what he was about to say.

Our relationship had inevitably solidified into something much more than just a simple friendship or brotherhood due to the time spent together.

I didn’t know if it was I who had seduced him first or if he had fallen at my feet.

But we liked it.

The only thing was that Qimir had still been a Jedi, and now his experiences were limited, if not non-existent. He wanted to learn, but he felt awkward, so he often behaved like a wounded puppy, using some excuse to put his hands on me and feel less pathetic for begging for my more experienced touch.

“By you. By what you do to me” he finally answered, his hand slowly caressing my ankle with his thumb. The fingertips of his hands trailed up along my calves, stopping behind my knees, where his palms gently squeezed.

“I’m obsessed with you. With your scent. With your skin. I can’t stop thinking about your voice,” if possible, his voice dropped even lower.

“I want to make you feel good.” He placed one of my legs beside him before slowly bending down to kiss the bandaged side of my knee.

“I want to deserve everything you give me” Without even realizing it, I spread my legs to let him position himself better between them. He kissed a patch of skin higher up, and even higher, until he was inevitably approaching the part of me that craved his touch the most.

He gently rested his head on my inner thigh, looking directly into my eyes through the strands of hair falling over his face.

“I want to learn to worship you. So please, teach me again how to touch you the way you need”

I had to exhale with trembling lips as I gripped the armrests of the chair beneath me.

"I'll be a good boy for you."

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 59

part 1 | part 58 | ao3

cw: canon-typical horror/gore (like for real this time), emetophobia, reference to minor character death. ty to @thisapplepielife for indulging my weirdly specific research about headstones

Steve tries to follow her — gets shot down before he even gets within speaking range, Max shouting at him to give her a minute the second she spots him coming over the hill. He backs off, hands raised in surrender, and then…

Well, then he’s already out of the car.

Well then his feet know where to take him.

His dad’s grave isn’t far. Maybe a football field away, close enough that he’ll be able to hear it if Max calls for help. He moves toward it without thought, his legs carrying him past simple overgrown markers in the oldest part of the park — crumbling remnants of civil war soldiers, farmers and shopkeepers and factory workers, people who worked the mines, people who died before his grandfather was born. People who might have been loved once, before time and moss and water stripped their names off of the stones.

Up the next slope, the markers get more elaborate, shift from bronze to granite to marble, to monuments and mausoleums and a fucking obelisk; ostentatious displays of the town’s oldest money. The coal barons, the oil tycoons. Rotten bastards, Wayne might say.

The Harringtons aren't that rich. They're further down the hill in a neatly manicured row of Indiana limestone; fresh flowers on each grave, the weeds plucked, the grass trimmed.

Dad's buried right next to Grandpa Otis.

It almost looks nice.

Crisp, clean, dry. Nothing to suggest the messy wet red of his father's demise. Steve shoves his hands in his front pockets and steps up to his dad's plot, toes the edge of it, the rounded lump of earth, sparse grass and loose soil where his father's bones are laid. The ground gives a little under his weight, the dirt compacting. Could he dig this up with just his hands? Could he claw through until he reached the bottom, pry open the box and peer inside? Unbidden, the image forms in his mind: worm food and rot, half a man left inside, somehow still frowning in disappointment with his jaw bone shining clean.

Steve's stomach turns. A sick shiver runs through him, saliva flooding his mouth, sweat beading at his hair line.

This isn't right.

Something's not right.

There's a sudden chill in the air, frigid wind carrying a smell like roadkill in the summer — heat wafting from the pavement, death clogging up his throat. Steve covers his nose and wills his shoulders down from his ears; tries to mutter words of comfort to himself under his breath. “Just a graveyard, Steve. Just a totally… normal…”

Ice on the back of his neck. Steve tenses every muscle, turns his good ear toward the sound of whatever's creeping up on him; something taller than him, something slithering and wet, its rasping rattles of frozen breath sending goosebumps down Steve's arms. His hands twitch inside his pockets.

Then, a voice — a voice that isn’t his, that can’t be anyone’s, because the man it belonged to is dead. “That Munson boy was right about you."

Steve can't fucking breathe. Dark clouds roll in around him, violent as a blooming bruise, and that voice behind him echoes — distorted, vicious; hungry.

"You are a black hole."

Steve grabs two fistfuls of his own hair and tugs; wills the pain to dispel the nightmare, his eyes swimming from the sting.

The thing behind him laughs. "Look how you ruined your mother," it snarls. "Look how you tore her apart.”

"Shut up!" Steve barks with his hands over his ears.

“Steve…” The voice deepens, beckons, thick with malice and rot. Steve slowly turns to face it, trembling all over, pulse thudding in his ears, and his shoes squelch in the dirt, and when he looks down he sees that the dirt has turned to mud that now turns to oozing red, a viscous river beneath his feet, flowing up over his ankles, pouring from his father's grave. And there, in front of him, a mangled remnant stands. The ruined corpse of Richard Harrington, his skin shriveled and gray, the torn parts of him held together by his clothes. There’s a hole in his torso where the exposed ribs glint like knives.

Steve throws up on himself.

The ground gives way beneath him, goes spongy like rotting meat, and the thing wearing his dad's face cackles as Steve sinks into the earth, the grave swallowing him whole, up to his calves, his knees, his thighs. "Join me," it offers, lipless smile full of teeth.

The glamor peels back to reveal a monster underneath, its scarred skin crawling in mucus-coated vines; naked, long-limbed, stitched together with burnt flesh.

Steve screams as he scrambles for purchase, up to his hips now in the muck, his feet on the lid of his dad's casket. He claws blindly at the loose ground but it’s all thick and wet with red, and the air itself is red; blood in the sky, in his eyes, in his lungs. He's going to die here. The voice tells him so. It's in his head now, a bellowing echo as the monster draws near, one hideous hand outstretched, an all-consuming join me, join me, JOIN ME—

“HEY!!!”

Max shouts directly in his face, shaking him hard by both shoulders where they're crouched on the cool ground, Kate Bush leaking from the headphones slung around her neck. Steve gives a startled shout and jerks back out of her grip, falling hard on his ass, landing harder on his elbows.

The world shifts back to blue. To dry, clean grass. To breathable air.

Steve pants up at the sky. His shirt clings to him where he's soaked it through with sweat. When Max offers him a hand, he stands on shaky legs, looks at the ground beneath his feet and screams again, scurrying back until his ass hits a stranger's headstone.

There’s a dent in the earth where he was standing. A smudge of packed dirt where he really did sink in. Steve stares at it; feels it reaching out for him, the dark patch thudding like a heart beat, spreading out like snaking vines.

He clutches at his heaving chest. Max’s eyes are huge on him.

"Okay, what the fuck?" she begs.

"What the fuck yourself!"

No heat behind the words, but they burn him, anyway, pushed out on a weak gasp. Is this what she was talking about? Is this what she calls nothing?

This doesn't feel like fucking nothing.

“Shit," she says, and her eyes go even wider. Steve can see the veins in them. "Shit, Steve, your nose…”

He swipes his arm across his face.

It comes back red.

—

part 60

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[killjae]

leon catdad fluff cause he’s such a cutiepie, this is for you anon!! i hope you see this :3

this is also my second fic, so please enjoy!! special tags :3 @wriosmilk @scorpiolara

ribbon border made by @cherubify !!!

ermm sweet sickle leon, praise and appreciation, catdad leon!!! you’re surrounded in lovebites!!!!!

it was storming outside, the light pitter patter of rain hitting your windowpanes continuously. the sound of thunder booming every now and then, despite the fact you were huddled under a blanket trying to keep yourself warm while watching a movie.

a ring could be heard from your doorbell as it chimed loudly, the sudden noise making you turn your head towards the door and get up.

your soft footsteps making their way across the floor before your hand reached the doorknob and opened it to a small soaked cardboard box with a wet piece of paper attached to it.

what? who would leave this here? you questioned yourself, unsure of what lies inside of the mysterious box. the thought lingering in your head as you carefully peaked over, the sound of rain filling your ears as it was pouring down outside.

there was no one to be found, who could have done this?

a small mew comes out and startles you. what? it was an animal inside, left out in the rain.

you leaned over and opened the box to find a small calico cat, it was soaked with water and mud in it’s fur as it stared up at you. poor thing. you quickly moved to take it inside despite the water leaving a trail as you brought the box inside along with the note attached.

it read. “i’m giving this cat up for adoption, as i cannot hold another one. i don’t have much time left to foster anymore animals so i’ve been sending them out to be adopted by other loving homes. please take care of her, she’s very loving and energetic when you get to know her.”

the feeling after reading the soggy paper left you with a frown and a feeling of sorrow as you looked down at the kitten once again, another meow could be heard.

you grabbed the kitten despite the mud, fleas and murky water coating your hands before bringing her over to a small bowl and filling it with warm water.

giving her a small dawn-soaped bath getting all the fleas and dirt off of her tiny body as she mewled and whined out, not yet used to the feeling of this new warmth.

she was a beautiful calico cat with a brown heart birthmark on her left cheek, almost reminding you of leon with the way you smiled at her. you wrapped her in a small blanket to keep her warm before calling leon, holding the phone to your ear as you rubbed both her sides in the blanket to warm her up faster.

“i-i found this kitten outside left in a cardboard box, with a note about her owner having a limited time left on this earth. i know you said you wouldn’t want a pet, let alone a cat, but she needs us—“

“…are you kidding? you know i’m not very fond of cats.”

“—leon, come on. she’s a baby, she looks barely 4 years old. plus, i kinda gave her a bath and everything, including the flea treatment and now i just have to get some formula that would be good for her to feed on till she gets big enough on her own.”

“..i’m coming home now.”

“don’t be mad, okay? she’s really cute.”

it wasn’t until twenty minutes later you heard the front door open and leon was taking his work boots off and his uniform before leaving himself in a tanktop and his workpants. you were sitting on the couch, keeping the kitten in your lap as she snuggled into your embrace.

“so, where is she?” leon’s booming voice came from behind as he moved from the side of the couch to sit next to you, his eyes instantly going to the small animal sitting in your embrace.

he lightly gasped seeing her fur pattern and genes before leaning closer to her. “..she’s pretty. you said someone left her on our porch? what a shame they can’t take care of anymore but that doesn’t mean we can foster her.”

“leon. she’s just a baby, a kitten literally. why can’t we keep her?” you tilted your head with a frown, looking at him before he huffed.

“we have to get her spayed, her check-ups, and going to the vet.. that’s a lot, plus YOU like her, i’m not into cats like that.” leon gave you a look, although secretly he was considering the possibilities of keeping the kitten.

“i’ll handle all of that, she’s gonna be my baby. she’s gorgeous and such a beautiful breed.” you smiled, lightly petting the kitten’s fur as she yawned before closing her eyes.

“are you sure? i still think we shouldn’t, and we should wait to get a bigger house.” leon spoke, as he crossed his arms.

little did he know.

months later you three are staying at home on a saturday as he’s throwing a squeaky mouse for your cat to catch. you ended up naming her miri, despite leon’s protest on not keeping her. he protested for a long 12 months, eventually coming to like miri.

“you’re a reall, pretty girl. a good one too, you really like this mouse, huh?” leon chuckled as he watched miri repeatedly chase it with excitement.

you stared at the two of them with a smile, remembering how leon went against keeping her a year ago when she was left on your front porch in the soaking wet rain. that stormy night, you’ll never forget the staying up late and having to change schedules because you two were new cat parents.

“shut up, okay? i know what you’re thinking of. i didn’t realize she’s not that bad and she’s actually pretty adorable.” leon spoke out of nowhere as miri was on his shoulder, nibbling his earlobe and slow blinking to signal she was really comfortable around the two of you.

leon felt a sense of pride and achievement in his life, being a catdad despite his previous attitude in the past.

he was happy to have two beautiful girls in his life that he would die for.

[postmoe]

MORE OBEY ME FICS!! PLS I BEG!! PERERABLY ONE WITH DIAVOLO IN IT PLEASEEE MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH Let's do a little world building

sex for favour, contracts, apocolypse au, religious references, yandere

You really, really, really hate using your contracts. Not only does it take a toll on your body, a part of your soul being syphoned out each time but, the aftermath is also unpleasant.

Your story is typical, home demolished by Angelic monsters, rejects cast down from Heaven that didn't quite make it to Hell. Family and friends gone, only some survivors remained that were either not in your village or left with less body parts. The killing blow to your ideals was learning that the Capital had denied help from Exterminators, their best exorcist too far away and no one else willing to fight against a Throne of all creatures. No one even came to look for survivors since it was a waste of resources on a gamble not worth betting on.

Angels trudged all along the Earth, the lowest orders scattered around like pests. Middle orders tend to be the 'boss' of these groups. The highest order, Thrones, were much like natural disasters; sudden, with little warning.

It wasn't easy, and though many still prayed to the Heavens for help and despised any anti-religious behaviour, you had separated long ago from that group. An outcast of an exorcist, making deals with demons to gain enough power to kill angels. Years have gone by and no one knows how you manage to keep Avatars of Sin on your side.

No one knows you've had to sell yourself to young King of the Devildom, either.

You can harness their powers into your weapons, your soul used as fuel for very powerful attacks. To bring of them to aid you in battle, however, costs a little bit more.

.

Your arm is torn at the shoulder, fingers on your right hand bent backwards, broken. Your right eye was swollen shut, and your left leg had a flag pole through the thigh.

Ribs broken, blood coughing from your mouth, this Throne was more powerful than any other you've faced. You wonder if Lucifer could handle it, already knowing he requires your help with Thrones alone. Or maybe that was just him being a nuisance to you? You're not sure, and you're not really in a position to risk it now.

The angel before you rises, a dark mass covered in mouths, constantly laughing as you had sliced and cut through its body. When you thought you were doing well, it had suddenly stopped its incessant cackle, the hundreds of mouths on the castle-like mass opening wider than any creature you know, red veined eyes appearing and staring at you unblinkingly. Pure horror had struck you, though you were still able to force yourself to fight. Lucifer's power had damaged it enough, you really did think you won.

... Until it shed it's crust. Wet, tar-covered wings rose from the inside, two, four, eight, sixteen in all sorts of directions. You were lucky to not be hit, the tar latching to any living thing it flicked to and devouring it, turning it to a walking corpse. You were blinded by a golden light, more cracking of the crust, dust shredding once it finally propelled out. Your jaw slacked, it was somehow even bigger, the carnage of a mansion, houses, farmlands, all nothing but a playmat below it. Four of its wings dragged on the ground, the feathery limbs surrounding wheels of golden wings, mouths laughing at you, eyes unblinking and twitching in every direction. The very middle was a pair of black lips, human teeth like eyelashes over the outside of a giant, weeping eye.

You wonder if you can even pull this off?

Exhaling all your nerves, trying your best to focus as you sit slumped in the mud against a cracked boulder, you close your good eyes murmur under your breath, the words bubbling through blood, "In the name of the Exterminator, (Y/n), I call upon the aid of the demon monarch. Come forth, please, Diavolo."

Silence follows, as though a rushing river is hit with a sudden calm. When you finally open your good eye, you see Diavolo in all his glory, a low whistle reaching your hearing as he places his hand on his hips and admired the creature before you, "Just what have you gotten yourself into this time, Miss (Y/n)?"

You open your mouth to speak, only for your lungs to concave and more blood pushing up your oesophagus. The spell was apparently too much.

Diavolo smiles kindly at you, holding one of his hands up, a soft light from his palm sending all the aches and pains away, "Rest now, Miss (Y/n). You've done well to get this far."

If it weren't for the serene spell he used, you would have felt scared to become so vulnerable before a demon and an angel, contrarily you were all but eager to rest your head against the boulder and sleep.

.

When you next awoke, you were tucked into bed. Your fingers were back in place, you had bandages around your legs, arms, torso and neck. What was broken and out of place had been promptly fixed and the terrible, hellish pain you endured was now dull compared before.

You also didn't miss the way the demon lord was lapping his wet tongue between your legs, giving kisses to your clit before making out with your pussy.

His eyes met yours as his tongue delved deeper, an appreciative moan eliciting from him as you clenched around his tongue. Another kiss before he pulls away enough to talk, "Apologies, you weren't waking up and it's almost been 24 hours."

As much as you want to bark at him to get off, you recognise the pact. You needed to provide some sexual favour for the demons within 24 hours of summoning. It was embarrassing, demeaning, you felt horrible about it. They seemed to thrive off of all these feelings.

If you didn't do it, the energy depleted from the experience would double each hour, putting you out of commission for a longer time.

"I'm surprised you didn't wait," you croak, jerking when he goes back to tonguing your insides like a creature in love, "You would have gained more... food. Or, whatever it is you get out of this."

He chuckles and moves up, your thighs going over his own so he could take out his thick, throbbing cock and smack the fat of it against your stomach, "Believe it or not, I don't want to make you suffer just yet, I'll wait until I have you in my castle for that. Besides, I'm quite busy as the King." Your lips part when he nudges the head between your lips, rubbing up and down to gather your slick so he can push in nicer. The smile on his lips was too nice for a demon, "I'm quite surprised you lasted that long before summoning help, though."

Your stomach bulges from the length of his cock, humping into you upwards to really feel your body around him. His large hands graze over your hips, squeezing the flesh of your stomach before coming to cup your cheeks in a gentle embrace. Your tits rub against his pecs, and though it feels really good, you keep talking about what just happened, "It wasn't like any other Throne I've fought, hah... I think they're getting stronger."

"Throne?" He laughs, kissing you deeply, tongue tasting before his lips retreat with a wet smack, "That was no mere Ophanim, dearest. You were up against a creature on par with the Cherubim."

Of course, you knew the rankings of angels in the Celestial realm, everyone who has been forced into this situation does. It was just easier to name the monsters after those rankings. A lot of people didn't like it, though it didn't stop anyone. "Ngnn~" You move your hands to his shoulders, looking for purchase as his cock rubs deliciously inside you. You can feel your energy draining, the way Lord Diavolo holding you was like he was trying to cage you to him. "I thought only Throne rankings had made it to earth?"

"Cum for me, dearest. Only think about the pleasure you're feeling right now," he orders, biting into your neck and sucking on your skin. His lips move to below your ear, tickling you with a light flick of his tongue. One of his hands had trailed over your ribs, past your belly button and began circling and pinching your clit. Your toes curl before stretching out in pleasure, panting while you clench down around his cock, feeling the weight of his balls push into you as he empties his cum as deep as he can. You feel the trickle of your own fluid down your thighs from your orgasm.

His lips are panting over your own, though you know he isn't anywhere near as out of breath as you are. "Should I be worried?" You questioned, wishing he would avert his loving gaze from your own tired eyes.

Lord Diavolo gives you one more kiss, his cock slipping out and letting his cum overflow onto the sheets, "I have it on good intel that something big is coming. If you come across another Ophanim you must call one of us, if not multiple. And be careful..." he ominously states, standing to fix his regale, tucking away his satisfied dick, "I think a Seraphim might be visiting soon."

[cumikering]

Werewolf Keegan x reader

2k | fluff Keegan had the stiffest neck known to man (part 2)

It all started with a recon duty.

Alone, Keegan lay prone, seamless in the bushes in his dark attire. The full moon perched high, softened by the thick fog. The gentle rain tricked down the back of his neck under his mask.

He aimed down his sight, following the guard on patrol as he waited, waited for him to separate from the other. He took his time rounding the corner, puffing on his cigarette, rifle slung against his body.

As Keegan positioned his finger on the trigger, a branch snapped behind him.

His head whipped over his shoulder to see a shadow a few feet away, crouching. He jumped to his feet, heart pulsing in his ears. He yanked out his sidearm as the large beast pounced and pinned him down with a thump. The force knocked the gun out of his hand.

He freed his right arm with a grunt. He ripped his blade out its sheath, ramming it into the creature’s side repeatedly. It howled in pain and leapt away.

He staggered up, panting. In a swift move, he reverse gripped his bloodied knife. The beast growled, its brilliant yellow eyes glinting. Head lowered in caution, it stepped sideways, blood pouring out of the stabs.

“Come at me, bitch,” he spat out, mirroring its movement.

It snarled, the sound piercing, baring its pointy teeth before retreating into the woods.

He dropped to his hands and knees, heart beating out of his chest as sharp pain ran up his thigh. His pant leg had been shredded, the cuts under gushing blood. He let out an uneven breath. The bastard got him after all.

“Six-Two, how copy? What was that?”

He tried reaching for his comms, but fell to his side as he heaved, eyelids growing heavy.

“Keegan, do you copy?” The urgency in Merrick’s voice grew.

The crackle of his radio was the last thing he heard before everything went silent.

When Keegan woke with a grunt, the sun had just peeked over the horizon, casting a blue hue upon the woods. Leaves and twigs crunched in the distance.

His eyes fluttered open as he sat up, his head spinning. He reached for his holster before he realised he was all skin.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, wincing as he turned his neck. His clothes and gear strewn not too far from his camping spot the night before.

“Keegan,” a hushed voice called out, growing closer by the second.

He dove to his clothes, slipping them on frantically despite the dried mud on his body. Had it been that cold that he was delirious, like hypothermia victims who’d paradoxically shed their clothes? But if he’d got to that point, he wouldn’t have been alive then.

“Ajax! I’m here.”

His head whipped to Keegan. He breathed a sigh of relief as he jogged over. “We thought we lost you!” His eyes scanned over his body. “Oh shit, what happened?”

He followed his line of sight down to his mangled pants. He’d forgotten about his thigh. It didn’t hurt anymore.

“Oh. I- Fuck, there was a wolf. Huge.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered, reaching for his comms. “Scarecrow, he’s secure. Need medical. We’re heading to LZ.”

Ajax’s brows furrowed at how he made his way back with the state of his thigh, but Keegan was just relieved the mission had been a success despite the setback from his side.

On the ride back to base as he recounted the night before to his peers, his pants were cut to reveal his wound which had mostly dried up. He could have sworn the cuts were deep – look at the blood soaked cargos, but maybe his team was right, he just couldn’t see well in the dark.

Back on base as he cleaned his blade, the only evidence that the beast even existed, the bits of his dream came back to him. He tore through the woods on black paws to his heart’s content, each step light, unbothered by the nightfall.

It had felt impossibly real, the ground wet under him, the cold rain on his skin despite the thick fur. The smell of earth was comforting to the point of intoxicating, calling him back home.

Keegan chalked the night up as a fluke, a once in a lifetime occurrence he’d recall and brag about to the recruits. He got the scars to prove it after all.

But he had that dream again the month after.

Often when adjusting back to life after missions, his senses would overload the first few days. This time though, it was even more so. The hair on the back of his neck stood and the sweat only trickled more as the sky darkened.

This time as he lied on his couch, he remembered the warmth instantly rising to his skin, the tingling at his fingertips, the ringing in his ears. He couldn’t control his limbs when he stood and ripped his clothes off, before white hot pain seared his body for a split second.

Despite the light head and what felt like the worst case of sleeping wrong, he was surprisingly stable as he got off the floor and made his way back to the couch. But instead of turning to sit, he swiftly climbed onto it and lied down on his belly.

Wait, that’s not right…

He looked down. Two black paws on the upholstery. He let out a scream, but it didn’t sound right either.

He jumped off and barged through the bathroom door to meet a large black dog. Keegan jumped, making it bark. He froze in place as its growling resonated within the walls.

With the delay in his thoughts and movements, it took him way too long to realise he was dreaming. You never look right in mirrors.

He boofed, paws up on the counter. He tilted his head, tongue lolling as he revelled in his long snout and sharp teeth. His pointy ears and jet black floof made him feel far more like an oversized dog despite the yellow eyes – the only tell that he was a wolf. He chuckled to himself, or whatever the canine equivalent was.

It was dark outside, but he’d always wondered what it felt like to roll around on the grass. He pranced out, standing on his hind legs to open the door to no avail. His front paws slid right off the shiny, round door knob.

After a few attempts, he let out a sigh as he turned back to his apartment. What else would a dog do? Drink from the toilet bowl? Chew on shoes? Rummage through trash? None of those sounded particularly interesting.

Oh, he had a soft rug! He’d take what he could get.

He rolled on it as he panted for what felt like hours before his movements slowed and things went fuzzy again.

As vivid as the dream was, Keegan couldn’t write it off as another glitch because once more, he woke up bare with the stiffest neck known to man. The evidence stared back at him in the form of black fur all over the couch and rug.

“What. The. Fuck.” He sat up, reaching for the fur around him. He rubbed it between his fingers.

If not for the snarl over the comms, his team mates didn’t even believe him about the wolf with how shallow the cuts were that morning. They would certainly laugh at him if he told anyone about what just happened. He knew he’d lose his marbles if Ajax told him something similar.

He had to get to the bottom of this on his own. But first, he had to quench the odd craving for dry cereal.

Legend had it, you turned into a werewolf if you got scratched or bitten by one. Every night of the full moon, you’d get the urge to-

He scrolled down further, shoving more cereal into his mouth in his boxers.

A werewolf experiences his rut 2-3 times a year… His body would feel like it’s on fire… The wolf will then begin his journey to find his fated mate…

The mating bond is to be made within 7 full moons… Rejection would cause the werewolf to stay in his wolf form permanently…

He snickered. What a load of bullshit.

If this whole thing was real, he’d hear it on the news. But he never did, because this was insanity.

Yes, yes, he couldn’t explain the very-much-physical floof all over his apartment. But if for whatever reason he could chill as a wolf once a month, he wasn’t going to complain. As far as he knew there were no drawbacks to it if he could time it with his days off.

Maybe next time he could finally turn the door knob.

With every full moon, Keegan grew more and more comfortable in his new body. Every weekend he was home, he rented a humble cabin off the hiking site, thoroughly enjoying running through the woods and the solitude at the top of the mountain.

See, the lore was nonsense. He didn’t get sick anymore during the full moon (or ever). He could even shift on demand now - his deployments didn’t deter the doggo lifestyle. This was actually fun!

Until he burnt up during a mission. He could barely stand with his spinning head, and so he was sent to the safehouse to recover. He popped each and every pill he was prescribed, but his fever only worsened. He felt so hot… and bothered.

Was he given the wrong meds on accident? Who the fuck would prescribe medications with such side effect, during a mission at that?

He waited. An hour. Two hours.

With a sigh, he did what every man would to get the situation over with, yet the problem remained. Now sweating even more, he collapsed onto the floor with a pathetic grunt; his body like it was on fire.

On fire… On fire…

With the remaining energy he had, he grabbed his phone and navigated back to the lore from months before.

A werewolf experiences his rut 2-3 times a year. For days, his body would feel like it’s on fire with the desire to mate, marking his entrance into adulthood. The wolf will then begin his journey to find his fated mate…

His eyes narrowed.

Some say fated mates share scars and/or birthmarks, but one would ‘know’ he has found his mate when he can single out their scent and becomes possessive of them.

His face scrunched.

After meeting his mate, the mating bond is to be made within 7 full moons.  Failure or rejection would cause the werewolf to stay in his wolf form permanently by the 8th full moon, often turning feral from the heartache.

He dry retched. He never doubted the fact that he liked women, of the human variety.

To make the bond, the werewolf draws the blood of his mate from between their neck and shoulder under the full moon. The bond is only sealed if the pair loves each other and shares a dream that night. The mate can then choose to remain human or be turned into a werewolf by getting bitten in the same spot.

Wait. Human, you say?

As ridiculous as the lore seemed, he had nothing to worry about. There were no soulmates for him. The timer would never start because he knew he was meant to be alone.

So yeah, that was Keegan P. Russ.

He served his country as a Sergeant, kissed his mum on the cheek when he came home. He recycled, paid his bills on time, and gave up his seat to pregnant women and the elderly. He abided to traffic rules and had no road rage (at least that’s what he told himself).

Oh, and thanks to one recon duty, he was now a werewolf.

Heh. Good luck trying to ruin my life.

But as we all know, fate has a funny way of catching up to you.

More Keegan: second chance, fake dating

Special thanks to @tiredmetalenthusiast and @shadofireshinobi who helped me with this!

@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats

[peachdues]

Wreckage

(Sanemi x F!Reader)

A/N: written back at the start of the month.

CW: angst • all hurt, no comfort • reader death • violence/death/blood

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It had lasted through the night, that bloody war.

The sky above them was gray and wet; rain had long since dampened the earth, mixing with the carnage strewn about the remnants of the crimson-soaked battlefield. Though daybreak had finally arrived just a few minutes prior, the muted sunlight still working to chase away the smoldering remains of the demons slain, Sanemi felt as though he’d been wading through the slaughter for hours. His legs ached and his lungs screamed at him to stop, to sit and wait for the Kakushi to arrive and render first aid, but he could not; he had to find her.

A horde of demons had sought to feast upon an entire village, one with known ties to the Corps. In a desperate attempt to avoid mass casualties, the Master had sent three Pillars rushing to the scene, though many lower-ranked skaters had already been lost.

It seemed the Hashira almost had the upper hand, until he’d arrived.

Muzan Kibutsuji’s right-hand monster had deigned to grace the battlefield with his presence, ominous and lethal. Even other demons had cowered the moment he’d unsheathed his hell-sword, some choosing to flee rather than be caught in the crossfire.

Sanemi had been cutting through demons one after another, when he’d caught sight of the Lunar Hashira launching a defensive attack on the Upper Moon, in a desperate attempt to shield a group of younger slayers from the beast’s attack. He’d desperately moved to help her, but before he could reach her, Sanemi had been forced to defend against an aerial strike, and in so doing, he’d lost sight of the Pillar.

Later on, Sanemi managed to briefly engage Upper Moon One, though at the cost of a deep wound to his thigh. The battle only ended once the sun began to bleed through the sky, forcing even Kibutsuji’s highest-ranking demon to retreat into the shadows to avoid daylight’s punishing reach.

And so, the demons had left the surviving slayers to wade through their wreckage.

Sanemi was half-dragging himself through the limbs and entrails of his comrades, his right leg rapidly growing numb from the oozing gash he’d sustained from Upper One, but he paid it little mind. He persisted in his trek, even as he sunk to his knees amidst the mud and blood, because he had to find her — even if it meant hauling himself across the field with his bare hands.

By some miracle, even his color-blinded eyes could recognize the back of her familiar-patterned haori, only a few feet to his left, half-lying a top another fallen swordsman.

Sanemi felt relief, coarse, and sweet, pulse through him as he dragged his bleeding and broken body faster towards her, her name on his lips. He realized, as he drew nearer, that she wasn’t moving, and he called for someone — anyone — nearby to come help the fallen Pillar, to get her quickly to Kocho or the Butterfly Mansion for treatment.

He could see the thick, dark stain that spread across her tattered haori, but that did not dampen the flutter of burgeoning optimism he felt. Because, while he was covered in blood as well, they’d made it — and he could chew her ass out for getting so injured once he helped her get all patched up.

A scarred hand stretched out to grip her shoulder and he turned the motionless Pillar towards him. Sanemi loosed a breath of relief at the sight of her open eyes, because that meant she was conscious.

“C’mere, baby,” he grunted, sitting up and hauling her partially into his lap, helping her to sit against him. “Where’d he get you? Your shoulder?”

Sanemi looked to where he cradled Y/N against him, hands on either side of the woman’s waist, and could see the blood beginning to stain his skin. “Damn, sweetheart, he got you good.” He pressed a kiss against her rain-cooled forehead, to comfort her. “We’ll get you help soon, baby. I’ve got you.”

Y/N said nothing, her head merely thudding against his chest, and he worried that her injuries had sent her into shock; after all, the Wind Pillar could not remember the last time a demon had even been able to draw her blood, let alone wound her. A tightness bloomed in his chest, and Sanemi cast his eyes around, frantically scanning the battleground for any sign of the familiar butterfly-patterned haori of the other Hashira who’d been dispatched with them.

Sanemi’s gaze finally landed on the young doctor, only a few yards from where they lay as she limped away from helping another slayer.

“Kocho! Here!” Sanemi yelled, voice hoarse after hours of yelling and fighting.

The Insect Pillar looked around, trying to see over the piles of corpses and parts as she scanned the carnage for her fellow Hashira. Violet eyes met his, and Sanemi felt the suffocating tightness in his chest ease as she advanced towards them.

“I can’t tell where she’s bleeding from,” the Wind Pillar explained as Kocho drew closer to the pair. “And I think she’s in shock.”

Kocho made it to Y/N’s feet but drew short with a sharp exhale, her eyes widening as she looked over the Pillar gathered in Sanemi’s arms.

“Kocho ,” Sanemi urged, the edge in his voice appearing finally to inspire movement in her as she came around and crouched down by Y/N’s side.

“Shinazugawa,” Kocho whispered, and Sanemi looked at his fellow comrade in confusion.

��Please, Kocho, she needs help,” he repeated, trying to lift her towards the doctor. “So help her.”

Wordlessly, the Insect Pillar’s pale, bloodied hand trembled as she reached out towards Y/N. She hesitated slightly in mid-air, before she brushed her fingers gently over the Pillar’s eyes, closing them.

Sanemi gaped at the pale, shaking woman. “What’re you-?”

But the wounded Insect Pillar only continued to stare at him, her eyes filled with an inscrutable sorrow that vexed him, as she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Sanemi’s own head began to shake on its own accord, parroting that of Kocho’s. “No, no, just — see,” he muttered, shifting Y/N in his lap again so that she lay across his thighs, her face turned towards him.

“Y/N,” the Wind Pillar said gruffly, “Y/N, you’ve gotta — you’ve gotta tell Kocho where it hurts.” Sanemi jostled the unmoving woman in his arms slightly, insistent. “Wake up, Y/N.”

The Lunar Pillar remained utterly still in his arms, and Sanemi felt his heart quicken.

He brought the hand he’d had supporting her lower back up against her face, lightly slapping her cheek in a desperate attempt to make the woman he loved open her eyes again.

“Y/N,” Sanemi growled, his vision becoming blurred not by the cold rain, but by tears as his heart began to accept what his brain could not. “Open your eyes, dammit.”

“Sanemi,” Kocho’s voice was soft, dangerously soft, as she brought a gentle hand to rest against his shoulder. “She’s gone, Sanemi.”

Sanemi did not look up — could not, as he pressed his forehead against the Lunar Pillar’s temple. His fingers trembled as they brushed back the blood and rain-soaked strands of Y/N’s hair from her face and caressed the cooled expanse of her cheek.

“Please,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers, over and over. “Please, Y/N. Let Kocho fix you.”

Still, the Lunar Hashira did not move. He felt as though he were suddenly submerged under water, a dull ringing echoing in his ears, as Sanemi stared down at Y/N in horror. His breath came fast and hard through his mouth, and his vision was nearly obscured by the tears that fell hot and fast from his eyes, splattering onto Lunar Pillar’s frozen, ashen face.

Shinobu hung her head as Sanemi Shinazugawa slumped over the corpse of his deceased lover, cradling her head in his hands, forehead still pressed against hers, as he began to wail, broken and lost amidst that bloodied battlefield.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

😇

Also I made my own icon for the first time so that’s cool!

[atlasthegreatest]

Beneath the Surface / Lara Croft x Gender Neutral!Reader

Which, Y/n Drake and Lara Croft navigate the dense Peruvian jungle in search of a lost temple.

Word count: 2904

A/n: This was requested by an anon, a prequel of “Between Adventures”. Enjoy it!

The storm raged above the dense canopy of the Peruvian jungle, rain slicing through the air as thunder rolled across the sky. Muddy trails snaked through thick foliage, leading toward an overgrown ruin hidden deep within the wilderness. Lara Croft pushed forward with determined strides, water streaming off her jacket and soaked braid. Behind her, Y/n Drake struggled to keep up, their boots slipping on the slick ground.

“This was supposed to be a routine survey!” Y/n called out over the downpour, breathless from the uphill climb. “How did it turn into a life-or-death mission?”

Lara threw a grin over her shoulder. “You didn’t honestly believe it would be simple, did you?”

“Not with you, no.” Y/n adjusted their backpack, muttering under their breath, though their annoyance was more fond than frustrated. They’d met Lara only a few months ago through a mutual academic contact, and what had started as a casual friendship quickly escalated into this—a full-blown adventure on the heels of ancient legends.

Now, deep in unfamiliar territory, Y/n realized they were way over their head. But backing out? Not an option. Something about Lara made them want to prove themselves, to stand by her side even when things got dangerous.

“We’re close,” Lara said, her voice calm despite the storm. She pointed toward the rocky outcrop ahead, where the faint outline of ancient stone walls peeked through the foliage.

Y/n nodded, determination settling over them as they followed.

The ruins were barely holding together—crumbled walls covered in moss, tree roots strangling the stones, and gaping holes in the ground. But there was still a sense of awe in the place as if it remembered its former glory.

Lara crouched by a fallen column, brushing mud off an engraved symbol. “Looks like we’re standing on top of an old temple entrance.”

“Are you saying we need to go underneath all this?”Y/n asked, peering over Lara’s shoulder with a skeptical expression.

“Exactly.” Lara shot them a grin. “It’ll be fun.”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun,”Y/n muttered.

With practiced precision, Lara found a hidden passage—a stone trapdoor half-buried in the dirt. The two worked together to lift it, revealing a dark shaft leading deep into the earth. A rusty old ladder clung precariously to the side of the pit, its rungs slick with moisture.

Lara went first, descending into the darkness without hesitation. Y/n hesitated for half a second but steeled their nerves and followed.

The shaft opened into a vast chamber below, lit only by the flickering beams of their flashlights. Carvings lined the walls, and the air smelled of earth and ancient stone.

“We’ll be quick,” Lara said, inspecting the room. “The artifact should be nearby.”

Y/n nodded and stayed close as they ventured deeper. But just as they rounded a corner, the floor beneath Y/n’s feet gave way with a loud crack.

“Y/n!” Lara shouted, spinning around as Y/n’s arms flailed, trying to grab onto something—anything—as the ground crumbled beneath them.

Their flashlight clattered down into the abyss below, disappearing into the dark depths. Y/n’s fingers scrambled along the edge of the pit, slipping on the wet stone.

“Lara!” Y/n’s voice was tight with panic as they felt themselves slide closer to the edge.

Lara lunged forward, her heart pounding. Without a second’s hesitation, she grabbed Y/n’s arm with both hands, digging her heels into the slippery ground.

“I’ve got you!” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Don’t let go.”

Y/n’s breath came in ragged gasps, fingers clinging desperately to Lara’s forearm. Below them was nothing but a yawning void—if Lara let go, Y/n would fall into the darkness, lost to the ruins.

“You’re not strong enough,” Y/n gasped, their hands starting to slip.

“Yes, I am.” Lara’s voice was steady, filled with a confidence that left no room for doubt. “We’re getting out of this together, Y/n. Just hold on a little longer.”

Summoning every ounce of strength, Lara shifted her weight, pulling Y/n up inch by inch. Mud and stone crumbled beneath her boots, but she didn’t let go. Her arms burned, and her muscles screamed in protest, but she kept pulling.

With one final, desperate heave, Y/n’s hand found purchase on the edge of the pit, and Lara hauled them over the side. They collapsed in a heap on the floor, both panting, drenched, and trembling from the adrenaline.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound was the distant rumble of thunder above and their heavy breathing. Then Y/n let out a shaky laugh, disbelief coloring their voice.

“You did it. You saved my life.”

Lara sat up, brushing mud from her hands. “You sound surprised.”

B“I mean… I just thought—” Y/n hesitated, swallowing hard. “Most people would’ve let me go.”

Lara gave them a look, one that was serious and unwavering. “I’m not most people, Y/n. And neither are you.”

Something shifted between them at that moment. It wasn’t just gratitude—though Y/n felt that deeply—it was a realization. In Lara, Y/n saw someone who didn’t back down, and who would fight for the people she cared about no matter what. And in Y/n, Lara saw someone who, despite their doubts and fears, wouldn’t leave her side.

“Thanks,” Y/n said softly, meeting Lara’s gaze.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lara replied with a small smile. “Just don’t scare me like that again.”

Y/n laughed, sitting up and running a hand through their muddy hair. “No promises.”

They sat there in the quiet ruins for a few moments longer, the weight of the near-death experience still settling over them. But instead of fear or regret, there was only a strange sense of peace. They had each other’s backs—always.

Lara stood, offering Y/n a hand. “Come on. Let’s get what we came for.”

Y/n took her hand, allowing her to pull them to their feet. “Next time,” they said with a grin, “how about we pick an adventure that doesn’t involve falling into pits?”

Lara chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And just like that, they were off again, side by side. The pit might have tried to claim Y/n that day, but it failed. What it had done instead was solidify a bond between two people who were more than friends—they were siblings in all but blood, bound by trust, loyalty, and a promise that, no matter what, they would never let each other fall.

From that moment on, they weren’t just Y/n Drake and Lara Croft. They were a team. A family. And together, there was no challenge too great and no adventure too dangerous.

————————-

The storm had eased to a drizzle by the time Lara and Y/n made it out of the ruins, but the jungle was still thick with humidity, the damp air clinging to their clothes. Mud stuck to their boots as they trudged along the narrow path back toward camp, their bodies aching from exhaustion. Yet despite the ordeal, there was an unspoken ease between them now, a shift in their dynamic—like something had clicked into place.

Y/n adjusted the straps on their mud-streaked backpack and cast a glance at Lara, who walked beside them in comfortable silence. “You know,” Alex began, breaking the quiet, “most people would’ve given me hell for almost falling into that pit. Something like, ‘See what happens when you don’t watch your step?’”

Lara arched an eyebrow but didn’t stop walking. “I figured you knew that already.”

Y/n laughed, shoving Lara’s shoulder playfully. “Yeah, but you didn’t say it, and I appreciate that.”

Lara shot them a side-eyed glance, her lips curving into a rare smile. “You’re welcome.”

There was something deeply reassuring in Lara’s quiet acceptance—she never made Y/n feel foolish or out of place, even when things went wrong. It was one of the things Y/n liked most about her. She had a way of making people feel capable, even in the most chaotic circumstances.

As the trail sloped downward, Y/n’s boot slipped on the wet path, and they stumbled forward with a curse. Before they could hit the ground, Lara’s hand shot out and grabbed Y/n by the jacket, steadying them with a quick tug.

“Again?” she said with mock exasperation. “You’re making this a habit.”

Y/n grinned as they regained their footing. “Hey, it’s nice to know I’ve got someone looking out for me.”

Lara shook her head, though there was a trace of amusement in her eyes. “That’s what I’m here for.”

They continued, the forest alive with the chirps of insects and the distant calls of birds waking after the rain. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward but comfortable like the kind shared between people who didn’t need words to understand each other.

After a few minutes, Y/n glanced over at Lara again. “So, what’s next? Another temple? Lost city? Maybe something with fewer bottomless pits?”

Lara smirked. “I thought you might want to take a break after this one.”

Y/n scoffed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Lara chuckled, the sound low and warm, and Y/n felt a flicker of pride. It wasn’t often that Lara Croft laughed, but Y/n had a way of bringing it out in her. It was something of a personal victory every time.

The camp finally came into view—a small clearing with their tent and equipment, damp from the rain but intact. Y/n plopped down on a log near the fire pit, groaning as they stretched out their legs. “I swear, if I don’t sit for at least an hour, I might just melt into the ground.”

Lara knelt by her pack, rummaging for something inside. “We’ll rest here for a bit, then move on before nightfall.” She pulled out a canteen and tossed it to Y/n. “Drink.”

Y/n caught it and unscrewed the cap, taking a long gulp of water. “Bossy.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Lara said without missing a beat, sitting down across from Y/n with her own canteen.

The rain had left the air cool and crisp, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Y/n allowed themselves to relax. They leaned back, resting their arms on the log. “You know, I meant what I said earlier.”

Lara tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “About what?”

“About you being different.” Y/n gave her a meaningful look. “A lot of people would’ve let me fall back there. Not because they’re cruel, just… because it’s easier. But not you.”

Lara’s gaze softened, and she looked away for a moment, as if uncomfortable with the compliment. “I’ve lost enough people,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to lose you too.”

The weight of those words settled between them, heavy but reassuring. Y/n knew a little about Lara’s past—how she’d lost her father, how the search for him had shaped her life. But it wasn’t just grief that defined Lara. It was the choice to keep going, to keep caring, even when it hurt.

Y/n swallowed the lump in their throat and smiled. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me now.”

Lara smirked, her walls softening just a little. “I’ve handled worse.”

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the tension of the day melting away. Y/n knew they’d be back in the thick of it soon enough—chasing legends, solving puzzles, dodging bullets. But for now, they had this moment. Just the two of them, with the rain-washed forest stretching out around them and the unspoken promise that, no matter what came next, they would face it together.

“You know,” Y/n said after a moment, “you might actually be the closest thing I have to a sibling.”

Lara raised an eyebrow, a rare softness in her expression. “Same here.”

And just like that, the last of the walls between them crumbled. They weren’t just allies on the field or partners in adventure—they were family. And family, as far as Lara Croft was concerned, was the one treasure worth protecting at all costs.

Bonus chapter:

As the sun began to peek through the rain clouds, Y/n stood, groaning theatrically. “All right, enough mushy moments. What’s the plan, Captain Croft?”

Lara smiled as she stood and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “We head north. There’s another ruin not far from here.”

“Of course there is,” Y/n muttered, but there was no real complaint in their tone—just the warmth of someone who knew they were exactly where they were meant to be.

Lara glanced at them, her grin playful. “You ready?”

Y/n grinned back. “Always.”

And with that, they set off together, side by side. Two adventurers bound by danger, trust, and the knowledge that, no matter what lay ahead, they would never let each other fall again.

The crackle of a small campfire echoed through the stillness of the night. A soft breeze rustled the jungle leaves above, but otherwise, the world was quiet—just the faint hum of insects and the occasional call of distant creatures. The fire cast a warm glow over the campsite, illuminating the two figures lounging near it.

Y/n leaned back against a rock, their hands laced behind their head as they stared up at the sky. “Tell me, Croft,” they said lazily, “do you ever take time off? Like, actual time off? No ruins. No traps. No ancient artifacts threatening our lives?”

Lara smirked from her spot across the fire. She was meticulously cleaning the mud off her climbing axe, the flickering firelight dancing across her sharp features. “And do what? Sit on a beach somewhere, drinking cocktails with umbrellas in them?”

Y/n grinned. “Yes, exactly that. See, you do know how to relax—you’re just in denial.”

Lara gave a small chuckle, shaking her head. “You’d get bored in a day.”

“So would you,” Y/n shot back.

Lara didn’t argue. They both knew the truth—neither of them were wired for boredom. They thrived on the thrill of discovery, on puzzles that challenged their minds, and on obstacles that pushed their bodies to the limit. But in moments like this, when the danger was behind them and the fire burned low, there was a rare peace. And for Y/n, it was these quiet moments with Lara that mattered just as much as the adrenaline-fueled ones.

Y/n sat up, grabbing a tin cup filled with coffee from the side of the fire. They took a sip and made a face. “You’d think after all this time, I’d learn how to make coffee without it tasting like dirt.”

Lara smirked but didn’t offer any advice. Coffee-making had never been either of their strong suits, but it was tradition now—part of the rhythm they’d fallen into on long expeditions.

“So,” Y/n said, leaning forward slightly, “when was the last time you did something… normal? Like go to a movie, or hang out at a bar?”

Lara arched an eyebrow. “Define normal.”

“Come on.” Y/n grinned. “You know what I mean. Something that doesn’t involve death traps or cursed artifacts.”

Lara’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Well… there was that one time I had tea with the British Museum’s curator.”

“That does not count,” Y/n said flatly.

Lara’s rare laugh slipped out, and Y/n felt a small swell of pride at having drawn it from her. “What about you?” Lara asked, setting her axe aside. “When was the last time you did something normal?”

“Define normal,” Y/n echoed teasingly.

Lara rolled her eyes, but the warmth behind the gesture was unmistakable. “I walked into that one.”

Y/n grinned, cradling the cup in their hands. “Honestly, though, this is as close to normal as I think I’ve ever had.” They gestured around the camp. “Sitting by a fire. Talking. Just… existing with someone I trust.”

Lara’s expression softened at that, and for a moment, she looked down at the flames. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Me too.”

They both knew how rare trust was in their line of work. They lived in a world where betrayal came easy—mercenaries, treasure hunters, and even historians had their agendas. But here, in the middle of nowhere, they had each other. And that was something neither of them took lightly.

“Not to get sentimental,” Y/n said, nudging a twig into the fire, “but you know you’re stuck with me, right?”

Lara gave a small, knowing smile. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Y/n grinned. “Just making sure you’re aware of the consequences.”

Lara leaned back, crossing her arms. “I can handle the consequences.”

The fire crackled between them, the warmth from the flames cutting through the cool night air. Y/n felt a sense of contentment settle over them—something they rarely experienced outside these fleeting moments with Lara.

“You know,” Y/n said after a pause, “if we ever do end up on a beach somewhere, I’ll get us those umbrella drinks.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “Deal. But only if you promise not to get bored after ten minutes.”

“No promises,” Y/n replied, laughing.

They sat in companionable silence, the fire burning low as the night deepened around them. Tomorrow, they’d be back on the move—chasing legends, solving mysteries, and dodging danger. But for now, they had this. A moment of stillness, of friendship.

And in the grand adventure of life, that was the real treasure.

[eveomo]

bounties and blessings - arthur morgan x f!reader

chapter 2 (SFW)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ synopsis : after meeting a seemingly dangerous yet kind outlaw during a bounty, your world seems to get turned upside down after you can't seem to stop running into each other. could this be the beginning of something you've both been longing for?

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ warnings/tags : MINORS MAY INTERACT WITH SFW CHAPTERS (NSFW WILL BE TAGGED), depictions of violence, arguments, angst, eventual smut, unprotected piv sex, guns, gun violence, swearing, mutual pining, strangers to lovers, soft arthur, animal death, PTSD, mentions/depictions of abuse, attempted SA (very brief and for plot purposes only), NO PREGNANCY, NO BABIES, MC isnt a frail weak girl who constantly needs saving, often grammatically incorrect (probably)

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ contains : arthur morgan x f!reader, no use of y/n, reader changes the plot for the better

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ wc : 2.3k

About a week after your first encounter with the outlaw, you decided to make your way into Valentine, intent on picking up a few provisions from the general store—namely, coffee—while also taking the opportunity to visit the sheriff’s office in search of a new bounty. The weather stood in sharp contrast to your previous visit, with the sky darkening under the weight of the swelling clouds and a menacing raincloud casting a shadow over the landscape. Mud squelched under the hooves of your Arabian, the damp atmosphere wetting the earth below. 

Arriving in Valentine, a palpable sense of tension hovers in the air. You briskly hitch your horse, your eyes flicking around the street as you advance towards the general store. Your hat is lowered to obscure your eyes, and your dominant hand hovers over the holster at your hip, prepared for any confrontations. As you push open the door to the general store, you give a curt nod to the clerk and begin to browse the shelves. You quickly gather coffee, canned peaches, a pack of premium cigarettes, and, of course, apples for Lenora. As the clerk mutters the total, you barely register it, sliding the required amount onto the counter before turning and departing without a goodbye, your heart beating in your throat.

‘Why am I so anxious?’ you think to yourself, promptly deciding to seek refuge in the saloon for a drink or two to steady your nerves. It’s raining now, soaking your coat and sending an icy chill through your bones. You yearn for a drink to warm your insides and chase away the cold. Lost in thought, you suddenly notice a crowd gathering around the saloon. Intrigued, you quicken your steps to discover the cause of the excitement.

“Come on, pretty boy…” 

“Pretty boy? You’re kiddin’ me. Pretty boy?”

Ah. There he is again. Arthur. You weave your way through the crowd, keeping you hat pulled low to ensure your face remains concealed. A sharp intake of breath accompanies the sight of Arthur’s fist colliding with the larger man’s face—a solid, resounding blow. Watching in amusement, you hear multiple men cheering him on, seemingly from all directions. What once appeared to be a lone bounty hunter now seemingly revealed himself as a gang member, and a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Your dominant hand instinctively drifts toward your holster, fingers hovering as the larger man grabs Arthur by the neck and slams him to the ground. He quickly pins him, pressing his neck down and holding an iron grip on his arm, dwarfing Arthur’s frame beneath his bulk. However, before he could land a single punch on Arthurs face, he breaks free using his free hand to swing a right hook into the bigger man’s jaw, the sickening crunch echoing through the street as the larger man crumples to the ground. You wince involuntarily, your hand brushing your own jaw as if soothing an imaginary pain.

A voice called out to Arthur, yelling “Put his face in the mud!”, and boy did he ever. You watch with a raised brow as he pins the man, his left hand tightening around the man’s throat as he rains down punches. For a moment, you consider stopping him, but the thrill of the flying blood and teeth is paramount. The man cries out in pain, a pool of blood collecting around his head as it pours from his many lacerations. Thankfully for him, a man runs up and grabs Arthurs arm, preventing him from throwing another punch.

"Stop! Stop! Please!" the man pleaded desperately, his voice cracking as he searched Arthur's eyes for a shred of mercy.

"Come now, sir, you've won the fight—surely that's enough?" His hands were raised defensively, as if to protect himself if Arthur decided he was next.

"What business is it of yours?" Arthur snarled, releasing the man, watching as he fell to the ground. With a dismissive shove, Arthur limped past him, making his way toward a storefront. The crowd, sensing the confrontation was over, quickly dispersed. You casually sauntered over to where Arthur had paused, leaning beside a nearby barrel as you struck a match to light your cigarette.

Sucking your teeth, you thought about how fortunate you were that your previous encounter with the outlaw had ended smoothly. Before Arthur could notice you, a man in a suit and top hat called out, his cheerful voice grating on your ears.

"Making new friends again, I see, Arthur." The man’s overly chipper tone made your ears ache. Arthur froze as the top-hatted man approached, accompanied by someone far better dressed. The newcomer's attire caught your eye, and after a moment's observation, you decided you didn't trust him. His thick, well-groomed mustache and surprisingly clean suit stood in stark contrast to the rougher looking men around him—definitely a gang member, but one who knew how to keep up appearances. 'Never judge a book by its cover,' you thought to yourself, taking another long drag of your cigarette.

"Look who we found sniffing about," the mustached man chuckled, gesturing toward the other man. He dipped into a bow as Arthur spoke his name, his southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine.

"Josiah Trelawny," Arthur said with a hint of amusement. "Well, well... I thought you'd gone to New York." Arthur finally straightened up, his hunched stance making your back ache just looking at it.

"And miss all this glamour?" Trelawny replied, eliciting a quiet chuckle from you. You flicked the butt of your cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the toe of your boot as you struck another match to light a fresh one. Taking a long drag, you watched as Arthur approached the two men. The man you didn’t trust exuded charisma, making it clear he was likely the leader of their gang (if they're even in one). Arthur was undoubtedly some sort of right-hand man, and Trelawny, with his sly demeanor, must be their informant.

You turned your gaze away as they spoke in hushed tones, wrinkling your nose at the pungent smell of sheep shit that permeated the air, made worse by the rain. Your interest piqued as you caught sight of three more men approaching out of the corner of your eye. Trelawny was the first to speak.

"Ah, Javier and Charles. I've missed you... and Bill, looking well as can be." It quickly became clear to you that this was indeed a gang. You began to reconsider your impulsive decision to try and approach Arthur when the conversation was over, wondering if the risk was worth it. But against your better judgment, you stayed, lighting your third cigarette and watching as Arthur soothed his sore jaw, the men continuing their conversation.

The discussion soon ended, and the leader of the group told Arthur to go wash up. 'Perfect,' you thought as he made his way toward the barrel you were leaning beside. He didn’t even acknowledge you as he leaned over it, splashing his face with water to rinse away the dried blood and mud caked on his rugged features.

"Thought you were gonna lose for a second there, Arthur," you said, pushing off the wall with your foot and stubbing out your cigarette. The moment his name left your lips, he looked up, water dripping down his face.

"Gotta say, I prefer this look to the bandana or muddy face," you continued, hooking your thumbs into your belt as the slow recognition of who you were dawned on him.

"You again," he muttered, a dumbfounded expression crossing his face. You winked at him and gestured toward the saloon.

"Drinks? Or is it too soon for you to head back in there?" A small smirk appeared on his face before he nodded in agreement.

-

You and Arthur approached the bar, and you tossed two quarters onto the counter, requesting whiskey. The bartender quickly poured two glasses, condensation beading on the sides.

"Didn't think I'd see you again," Arthur said, studying you over the rim of his glass. He seemed intent on memorizing every detail of your face, for reasons even he didn’t fully understand—your eyes, your lips, the small moles on your skin.

"Hoped I wouldn’t," you joked, taking a sip of your whiskey. You raised an eyebrow as he continued to study you, causing him to quickly avert his gaze. "Were you hopin' you would?"

"Nah," he replied flatly, downing his glass and flicking another coin onto the counter. He scratched his stubble as he watched the bartender refill his glass with amber liquid.

"What brings you to Valentine?" you asked, pushing another coin toward the bartender as he refilled your glass as well. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and turned to look at you.

"Could ask you the same. I’m just workin'," he said, pushing more coins toward the bartender. "Shots."

"Didn’t know bein' in a gang counted as employment," you mumbled under your breath, lifting your glass to your lips. Arthur raised an eyebrow, taking his shot and sliding the second small glass toward you.

"Now who said anythin' about gangs?" he questioned, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve before taking his second shot. You took yours and chased it with more whiskey, the alcohol creating a much-needed warmth inside your body.

"I’m not dumb. An outlaw shows up in town, chats with his posse after beatin' a man into the ground—pretty obvious. Lucky for you, most people 'round here lack the intelligence to connect those dots." Arthur glanced around the room, taking a sip of his drink before responding.

"Fair enough. You never did say why you’re here, though," he remarked, a smile creeping onto your face. For a moment, you considered fabricating some grand tale about who you were and what you did. But instead, you opted for the truth.

"Bounties."

"All by yourself?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

You paused, inhaling as if to answer, but then you pursed your lips and took a shot instead. Not even liquid courage could make you tell him the truth. He may be an outlaw, but your story was a heavy one—too heavy, something that had driven away person after person, leaving you alone time and again. So you lied.

"Prefer it that way." Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you ordered another round of shots as the world began to feel fuzzy. Arthur raised an eyebrow but pushed a coin onto the counter before your inebriated self could get the chance. You didn’t protest, instead downing your two shots back-to-back, watching as he did the same.

"Why are you in a gang?" you asked, turning the uncomfortable questioning back on him. He leaned back slightly, glancing at you before turning his gaze to the bar counter.

"Mama died and Daddy got hung. Didn’t have no other choice, really," he replied coolly, placing his hat back on his head—a clear signal that he was ready to leave.

"How long will y’all be around?" you inquired, but Arthur just shrugged, standing up and heading for the swinging saloon doors.

"See you around then, Arthur," you called after him.

He nodded once before stepping outside, the doors swinging back and forth as if beckoning you to follow. Instead, you slid more coins across the counter, requesting a room for the night. The bartender pointed you in the right direction, and you stumbled your way upstairs, collapsing onto the hard mattress that felt like a cloud in your intoxicated state.

Lying there, you couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur—his piercing blue eyes, the scar on his chin, the strength in his hands, the way he scratched his stubbled cheeks when deep in thought. Damn. How had you found yourself sweet on a man you’d only met twice?

-

Arthur Morgan found himself the target of lighthearted jabs around the campfire that evening. The teasing started innocently enough—John, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, asked Arthur if he'd had a "romantic rendezvous" in town. Soon after, the others chimed in, with Javier playfully raising an eyebrow and claiming that Arthur must have found himself a "lady friend." Even Dutch, usually more reserved, joined in with a chuckle, suggesting Arthur might be going soft. Arthur, grumbling under his breath, shot them all a look that could cut through steel, but the good-natured prodding continued. Despite his attempts to brush it off, the image of you lingered in his mind, you sharp wit and piercing gaze far from forgettable. The more the gang teased, the more he found himself both irritated and amused, though he’d never admit to the latter.

"So, did you get lucky, amigo?" Javier asked, draping an arm over Arthur’s shoulder, the strong scent of alcohol on his breath mingling with the night air. Arthur chuckled, scooping another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

"Nah. Just talked," Arthur replied, trying to push thoughts of you from his mind. "How’d y’all even know?" He could already picture it—Javier, Charles, and Bill huddled near the gate, watching him converse with you.

"Bill spotted you on his way back to camp," Charles chimed in. "But hey, if you won’t take the plunge, we might," he added with a wink and a hearty laugh.

Arthur rolled his eyes, rising from his seat and heading towards his tent, ignoring the chorus of cheers and crude noises the trio made as he settled onto his bedroll. Once inside, he retrieved his journal from his satchel and began sketching you. He started with your hair, the way it fell over your shoulders, then moved to your hat, the brim that shielded him from your gaze, and finally, your lips.

When he finished, he tucked the journal away and snuffed out the cigarette he had been nursing during his sketch. Resting his head on his hands, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, already anticipating your next fateful encounter.

finally out after 3 months sooooorry.... u can probably expect same timeframe for future chapters bc my life is hell right now ^_^

i added some dialogue from the actual game which was fun will def continue doing this.... YIPPEE i also tried a more descriptive writing style but lmk if its too wordy.....

hope u liked it!! pls like + reblog <3 ok baiii!!

[yuesya]

Gunther runs.

Behind him, there is a bestial roar, followed by a shrill human scream –one that cuts off into horrifying silence all to abruptly with a wet snap, the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones. Something splatters heavily against his back. Damp, and warm.

Gunther continues running, forcing his legs to move faster, and faster.

It’s all he can do.

Terrifying monsters and ferocious beasts dominate these lands, and humans cower beneath them all. There are many who turn to the gods that walk among them instead, seeking protection, and yet–

And yet–

…

In old legends passed down by storytellers, this land had been ruled by humans, once. It had been an age of peace, and prosperity. But such times are long past, if they had ever truly existed at all. The current reality that they live in is a land where monsters prowl and beasts run wild, and of the few gods who remain…

Relying on the gods? Who could Gunther and his people rely on? The most powerful among the divine host are the beast-gods, and beasts do not care for humanity. Of the ones who are benevolent to humanity… 

The God of Fruit’s power is slowly diminishing, the bounty of her territory gradually declining with every passing season. And the most powerful among them, the God of Rain, had been slain in battle by the Wolf-king. So far, both the God of Fallen Leaves and the God of Mist that Gunther and his kin have approached following that catastrophe declined to accept them. To add more humans under their protection at such a juncture would be a strain, a burden. 

In order to at least ensure the safety of our own.

And so Gunther’s people march on, searching for a place where they can receive protection. Where they can call home.

Hopelessness. Desperation. Despair.

… But giving up is not an option. To give up is to die.

It’s for this very reason that Gunther continues running, running, running, determinedly tugging along his kinsmen beside him. He grabs wildly at the children who falter and stumble, all through the mind-numbing panic of his pulse thundering in his ears–

“DON’T STOP!” he bellows, through the cracked lines of his lips and his dry, burning throat. Through the exhaustion that batters away at his body, the invisible stones weighing down his limbs. “DON’T–”

The ground beneath his feet shakes, and Gunther trips, falls. Hot air scalds his body from behind, the bloody breath of the monstrous hound hunting him and his kinsmen for sport, and the dark shadow of its titanic bulk descends upon him–

–then, freezes.

Only for a moment, the monster inexplicably freezes in its tracks, ceasing its movements entirely.

Gunther is not about to take such an opportunity for granted; he instantly clambers to his feet to continue running. This causes the monster to growl as its prey escapes. Gunther chances a brief glance backwards, only to see the muscles on its body clench as it prepares to continue its chase–

But suddenly, its body slackens, and falls. 

The colossal mountain of a beast just –falls. Plummets to the ground in an ungainly, graceless heap, toppling down. The force of its fall is enough to send another earthquake through their surroundings, and Gunther slips in the mud once more. Something in his chest spikes from the sudden panic, at the knowledge that the beast is right there–

But the beast has fallen.

It falls, and… does not move again.

… 

Gunther stares, wide-eyed. 

It is in this moment, when his mind is still struggling to comprehend that this nightmarish monster is dead, that he finally realizes that there’s… something off about their surroundings. He hadn’t really been paying attention to it, during the mad rush to escape, but now that the imminent danger is gone… Gunther realizes that it’s far too quiet. The silence in their new, unknown surroundings is… unnerving. Unnatural.

Which doesn’t mean anything good.

Gunther sweeps his gaze out and rapidly scans the surrounding landscape. Left, and right. There’s nothing but muddy earth and light shrubbery. Desolate, and empty, save for his fellow kin around him who’ve also gradually slowed their footsteps at the beast’s sudden, inexplicable demise.

But… there’s nothing to explain it. Nothing to explain why the bloodthirsty monster pursuing them suddenly just –just dropped dead out of nowhere. There’s absolutely nothing to explain–

–no.

No, there is.

With a sudden start, Gunther realizes that he and his people aren’t alone here.

For above them, there is a young girl sitting in the barren branches of an old oak tree. 

A small slip of a girl, a little child who looks entirely out of place with her surroundings, pale-skinned and white-haired and dressed in nothing more than a single formless swathe of pristine white cloth wrapped around her body.

Most damningly of all, though, are those disinterested eyes that look down upon Gunther and his kin. A deep, abyssal blue. Blue, but not wholly blue, for there is an iridescent sheen that flickers within those dispassionate, inhuman eyes.

She’s not human. A god?

A sudden shiver runs down Gunther’s spine as he finally recognizes what he’s seeing. There’s no doubt about it.

Yet, at the same time…

“You are the one who saved us, aren’t you?” Somehow, Gunther manages to find his voice. Then, he swiftly bows his head, “Thank you.”

There is a long silence, in which the not-girl does not respond.

“… The dog was annoying.” Eerie blue eyes finally turn away from him, after that non-answer.

The appearance that she possessed, the aura that she exuded, the strength that she so very clearly wielded… there was no doubt about it. Despite wearing the form of a small, young child, there was no doubt that the entity sitting in the tree atop Gunther was a god.

A god who was… alone.

Was it because she was young, that she had no worshipers?

… But even if that was the case, she was still a god. A young god who was strong enough to kill the monster that had nearly wiped out Gunther’s clan without even moving from where she sat.

Gunther makes his decision.

“Please.” He knows full well that could be killed on the spot, for the impertinence to brazenly ask anything of a god. To ask for more, even after the god had already saved them, when they had no obligation to do so.

But Gunther also knows that his kinsmen can’t continue on like this –wandering aimlessly across the lands, constantly having their lives uprooted as they flee from monsters too powerful for mortals to face, always on the run.

“Would you… be willing to give us your protection?” he asks.

“Why?”

Does she not know? No… no, that couldn’t possibly be the case. Then… is this a test?

“Monsters such as the one you just killed number many upon these lands, and we lack the strength to defend ourselves” Gunther bows his head as he replies, forcing himself to steady his voice as best as he can, and slowly sinks to his knees. “My clan has no home, and we grow weary of endless wandering. We do not wish to die like this, as we inevitably will if we continue on as we are. Please, allow us to remain upon your lands. We would serve as your loyal worshipers, o mighty god.”

… There is no response. In this interval of silence, the wind sighs softly. A quiet breeze sweeps gently over them all, and even reaches up to lightly tousle the snow-white strands of the unknown god’s hair.

Gunther remains kneeling, staring fixedly at the ground in front of him while his fingers curl and dig into the dark, cold earth.

He doesn’t know how long he remains in this position. A single instant, perhaps, or maybe even an eternity.

…

“… Decarabian,” the god-child’s voice finally sounds in the air, and Gunther’s head snaps up –just in time to catch the sight of the divine entity uncurling her legs. She stands up gracefully, a movement that briefly reveals a pale expanse of flawless skin upon her limbs.

And it is with those unblemished legs that she descends from her high perch, barefooted. Dark blots immediately soil that fair, milky skin as her feet sink deep into the dirt and mud beside Gunther and his fellow kin.

“You may address me as ‘Decarabian,’” she says. “And… I don’t need worshipers. But you can stay.”

[hawkinsquarry]

❝  please don’t go—  i need.  i need someone—  i need you.  ❞ and ❝  it doesn’t have to mean anything,  i just don’t wanna feel lonely tonight. and i want to feel good for once.  ❞ is making me feel things. honestly needy steve begging to not be lonely sounds lovely but either way ❤️

how could i say goodbye? - steve x gn!reader

no pronouns for reader used; fluff, angst; hurt/comfort; sharing a bed; friends to lovers; love confessions; steve cry :(; brief mention of p*rn section at fam video but nothing in depth!

You’ve seen Steve like this before. Beaten up, bruised, a bit bloody. You’ve seen him wear the scars after. Borrowing Robin’s concealer for a cut lip and making up lies about being a klutz. You’ve bandaged him up, grabbed an ice pack and a handful of ibuprofen and sat them down on his bedside table, taking in his sleeping face before shutting off the light and going home.

This time, he’s scared. Everyone is. The world’s up in smoke and fire and tens of people are missing or dead. You’d wrung your hands the entire walk to Steve’s at 2 am, just as big military vehicles are pulling in. You couldn’t sleep, not knowing what’s become of him, and you’re relieved when his big, dumb house is in view, intact. A warm light on in his bedroom window. His car in the driveway, his dad’s car not.

Steve’s terrified when he opens the door, but his features soften immediately. His shirt’s off. You notice the lacerations on his torso immediately, but Steve’s pulling you in and locking the door before you can ask.

“Did you walk here?” is the first thing he says. You shrug, and he sighs loudly before wrapping you up in his arms. He smells like earth. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Lines are down anyway,” you mumble into his shoulder, trying not to kiss the skin as much as you want to. “What happened?”

He sighs again. “Not an earthquake.”

“I know.”

“Guess you could tell I needed a nurse, huh?”

You don’t think it’s very funny, but you lead him to the bathroom, picking out the first aid kit you’d last restocked in July. “Think you’ll need to lay down,” you say, gently kicking the cabinet under the sink shut. “Bedroom.”

You work gently and diligently on his stomach. He’d sworn to you it was already disinfected by the same people who partially cleaned him up after Starcourt. You still apply alcohol, much to his dismay. But even when he’s wincing, he’s quiet. Steve’s not known to be quiet. Your anxiety nearly gets the best of you, almost screaming at him when you ask again, “What happened?”

He stares at you for a long time, brown eyes starting to wet. “Not tonight,” he says.

“Robin?”

“She’s alive, too. Almost -“ and he takes a deep breath, pauses when you dab some more isopropyl on his spent skin. “Eddie.” It’s all he says. You bite at your cheek. You didn’t know Eddie well, and you’ve still got a lot of questions - but it’s a confirmation that those you know who usually get into these kinds of messes are okay.

You’re not unaware of the pointed use of the word alive and not okay. He was okay after 1984, and okay again after 1985, but 1986 only brings the word alive.

You use gauze to wrap the cuts on his stomach before taking another once over of him. He’s still so beautiful, even caked with mud and dirt and some weird thick gross slime that he’d only moaned a little don’t ask about. “Your neck,” you whisper, brows furrowing.

He nods a bit. “Hurts.”

You disinfect it, too, gently dabbing him with a cotton pad. “Hurts to swallow? To talk?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s okay,” you soothe, “I’ll stop askin’ questions now.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your wrist. “Keep talking. Please.”

You swallow and nod before continuing your work. “My house is fine. It looks most bad in downtown - I guess you already know that? The phone lines - I said that already. Guess what I did today?”

A hint of a smile. He shrugs a shoulder.

“I finally checked out the porn section at Family Video.”

His smile grows.

“Which I guess was really good timing. But Keith was there - something about how his employees didn’t show up? Do you know anything about that?”

“Nothing,” he mouths.

“I didn’t rent anything,” you continue, “I just wanted to look. And I guess - I guess I just wanted to see you, too.”

His big eyes get all soft again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You dab away the last remnants of blood from his neck and pull back to throw the cotton pad in the trash. “Shouldn’t apologize for saving the world.”

You’re prepping a band aid for a cut on his head when he whispers, “We didn’t this time.”

You look back at him in a little bit of shock. Yes, the things always come back. But he’s never come back and said “yeah, we really dropped the ball this time.” He’s always been relatively confident, giving it “an eighty to eighty-five percent chance” that this was the last time.

“Zero percent,” he says, like he’s reading your mind. “We didn’t.”

“Let’s worry about that tomorrow, okay? I saw those big government vehicles - they’ll help.”

He makes a face that tells you everything. They won’t. They don’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” you say, leaning back towards him and resting your hands on his chest.

You see his adam’s apple bob. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it safe for you.”

Steve has never cried before in front of you. He’s gotten close, but just walked away, pinching his nose and coming back a few minutes later like nothing ever happened. But now, he’s crying. It’s soft, a few tears riding down his cheeks.

“Steve.” Your voice cracks. “None of this is your fault. None of it. You can’t save the world. I’m - I’m so happy you’re safe.” You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, trying to fight off a sob. “I’m just glad you came home.”

He closes his eyes and bites his lip. You move away with your kit, placing it on his desk before moving back to him. You push his hair out of his face softly. “Get some sleep. Okay?”

Steve’s eyes shoot open and he looks scared again. Panicked. He shakes his head and grabs your hands, pulling you into him so far that you almost trip and fall on top of him. “Please don’t go. I need - I need someone. I need you.”

Your heart jumps up to your throat and you swallow thickly. He’s never asked you for this before. And he’s genuine - his eyes are wild and still wet and he looks so, so scared. Scared of losing you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll get some blankets and -“

“Here,” he says, tugging you in again. “I - look, I know. But it doesn’t have to mean anything. I just don’t wanna feel lonely tonight. I want to feel good for once. I - goddammit. I want you. Please.”

I want you. It rings in your head. I want you.

You move to the other side of the bed and slide under the covers, cuddling up close to him. Steve turns onto his side as best as he can - you’d chosen his good side to lay beside. You wrap him in your arms as he rests his head on your chest. His grip on you is tight and it has to hurt. His muscles have to be screaming at him to stop and rest. But he holds you like you might get taken, too, along with all the others.

And he cries. You feel the tears soaking through your shirt. He tries his best not to make any noise, but he still sniffles and clears his throat. You rake your hand through his hair and hold him as tight as you can, too.

“Steve,” you whisper. “I love you. I just - I had to say it.”

There’s a pause, a shaky breath, before he pushes himself up to kiss you. It’s small and otherwise insignificant, but warm and sweet and what you’ve wanted for years. You’re surprised when he pulls back, but you melt as he whispers, “I love you, too.”

He settles into your chest again, and you resume combing his hair, heart pounding. “I’m here. Okay? I’ll take care of you. Just rest. I love you.”

He sighs and relaxes. “I love you, too.”

[buttered-my-biscuits]

Fever Kisses

(A/N); First, I’d like to apologize to everyone for falling off the face of the earth this last YEAR. I’ve been diagnosed as Immunocompromised, so it’s been a fun ride catching every single cold known to man :’) Currently getting over a 3-week long cold, and I’m Miserable, so I need a healthy dose of our favorite dwarven brothers. — This is also my 1st Fic/Drabble ever, so here goes nothing!

Summary: A wet rainy night proves no challenge for dwarves or hobbits. The same, however, cannot be said for humans.

Pairings; Kili x Reader, Fili x Reader

Warnings; Fevers/Sickness, Very soft and fluffy fluff, with a bit of angst and drama.

Translations:

Ibrizinlêkh: Sunshine

Bunnel: Treasure of All Treasures

—————————————————

The rain poured harder than ever before, showing no mercy to the trees, the bees, and certainly no dwarves.

The dark and stormy clouds blanketed the skies, casting shadows amongst the rolling hills. Soaked to the bone, through cloaks and tunics, still the company of Thorin Oakenshield trudged on.

Dwarrow are hardy folk; cold and damp environments bothering them none. Humans on the other hand, however, do not share the same trait.

(Y/N) found herself at the back of the line, trudging her way through ankle-deep mud, her arms wrapped around herself in hopes of holding onto whatever warmth was left. Kili stayed close, whereas Fili opted to lead the pack side-by-side with Thorin.

Quiet conversation could be heard from certain members of the company, including the one beside you. Kili regaled you with his adventures with the Blue Mountains and how Fili had scored a 5-point Buck with a single throw of a dagger, enhancing his story with wild gesturing hand movements.

“— And man, you should have seen Amad’s face when we got back with the buck! I daresay she had never looked more proud!” Kili boasted properly. “…(Y/N)?”

You looked up, meeting his soft honey eyes, not realizing you had stopped in movement. “(Y/N), are you alright? Are you tired?” Kili took a step towards you, concern etching its way onto his face. You stared at him, a strange, skin-crawling feeling rolling up your spine, a harsh shiver wracking your frame.

Kili closed the short distance between you, his hand gently landing on your arm before repeating his question. Only, this time, as the sound hit your ears, it sounded as though he were not speaking Common Speech at all. Your face scrunched in confusion, before it hit you. You felt a gasp rip through you as you quickly grabbed hold of Kili’s tunic, your legs feeling as though they were to give out. Your vision swirled as though you were one with a tornado, nausea quickly settling in.

Beyond the ringing of your ears, you could hear Kili yelling something, before the shadows of the others came into your peripherals. You tried to breathe, feeling the weight of a thousand bricks upon your chest — you felt as though you were suffocating; your vision began to darken with infectious black spots. Increasing your hold on Kili’s tunic as one last whimper escaped, you felt yourself fall.

—————————————————

“…(Y/N?)” Kili called back to you, having paused in his story at your stillness. He closed the distance between you two, lying his hand on your arm. He called to you once more, only to be met with confusion. He found himself mirroring your expression, if but only for a moment, before that expression quickly turned to terror as your body seized.

One arm shot out to hold up your weakening frame, the other gripping your arm tightly. “Uncle!” Kili shouted, his panicked tone ringing through the air. One look back from both Fili and Thorin had them sprinting to the back of the line.

“What happened to her?” Fili inquired while quickly reaching out with the goal of steadying you. His fear quickly grew as your weak frame shuddered one last time, before alast going limp. Barely catching you in time, he quickly hauled you upwards into his arms, your head lolling heavily against his chest.

Thorin laid his hand upon your too-warm forehead, quietly cursing in Khuzdul. “We need to find shelter. Now!” Thorin barked at the others, watching as they quickly scrambled towards the rocky cliff side.

—————————————————

Safely inside the dry remains of the cavern, a fire was hastily made while Fili and Kili worked to lay out a bedroll for you. Oin frantically dug through his pack, looking for his medicines and ailments as Thorin dug through his own looking for anything dry.

“We need to get her into dry clothes. This will do for now.” Thorin held out an oversized, but dry Tunic.

Fili and Kili shared a look, waiting for their Uncles’ instructions. Surely he didn’t expect them to undress her? Sensing his nephews hesitance, Thorin grumbled under his breath. “All of you. Turn away, now!” Thorin barked once more, before shedding your jacket. Together with his nephews, they worked to undress you, much to said nephews embarrassment.

Moments later, you lay peacefully upon a bedroll, clothed by nothing more than Thorin’s tunic, and a blanket modestly wrapped around your lower half.

Oin knelt beside you, lifting your head gently as he pressed a small glass vial to your lips. “Come on lass, swallow it down.” Oin quietly prayed, pouring the liquid onto your tongue, before sighing with relief at the sight of your body naturally swallowing the rather horrible tasting liquid.

“And now we wait.”

—————————————————

You were floating through the air — clouds more specifically. You were sure of it. You breathed in deeply through your nose, smelling the distinct smell of… a campfire? Surely not in the clouds…

You forced your heavily eyelids to open, finding yourself looking up at a pair of dwarves, whom were sitting side-by-side, heads leaning against one another as they both slept peacefully.

You attempted to recall how you got in said dwarves’ lap, but your brain felt far too mushy and not up to the task. You brought your hand up to Fili’s arm, with the intention of pulling yourself up. However upon doing so, you found yourself with not even enough strength to close your fist around said arm. Grumbling slightly, you tried again.

“Would you like some help?” A tired voice whispered beside you, causing you to jump. You looked up to see ice blue eyes peering back at you, a soft smile creeping their way into them.

At your silence, Fili brought his hand to your forehead once more, clicking his tongue at his findings. “You still have a fever. You need to rest more.” Fili pawed at your blanket, bringing it farther up your body, before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Here, Fee. Get her to drink some water.” Kili, awakened at the commotion, handed Fili an opened canteen. Slowly, Fili helped you sit up with a hand at your back, the other bringing the canteen to your lips. You sighed at the feeling of the cold liquid sliding down your throat; Refreshing. A few sips and Fili lowered it, much to your dismay. “Not too much at once, Ibrizinlêkh.” He chuckled, handing it back to Kili.

Swiping your tongue over your now moist lips, you sighed contentedly and closed your eyes, before shimmying back down to rest your head upon Fili’s chest once more.

Eventually, quiet conversation broke out between the two brothers, offering you distraction while you rested your heavily eyelids. Before long though, you found yourself peering back up at them, breaking said conversation as they both returned your gaze, a sight of content and fondness donning their faces.

Without thinking, you found yourself gripping Fili’s outer coat, raising yourself up to his chin. Using your other hand, you placed it on the back of his neck, gently guiding his nose to rest alongside your own. Instinctively Fili closed his eyes upon the close proximity; you gently lifted your head slightly, to rub your nose along his. Up, down. Up, down. And a third time, before resting your forehead against his. “Thank you…” You whispered quietly, before pulling back to reveal a stunned look upon his face. Had your brain not been mush, you surely would have laughed.

Looking to his right, you found Kili staring, dumbfounded at your stunt. Chuckling, you reached for his cheek. Despite his confusion, Kili leaned forward until his nose lay along side yours. Up, down. Up, down. A third time. Slowly, intimately.

Pulling back, you found yourself wearing a content smile, theirs quickly mirroring your own. “Goodnight” you offered softly, before settling back down into Fili’s arms.

“Goodnight… Ibrizinlêkh.”

“Goodnight, Bunnel.”

—————————————————

As the sun climbed over the horizon, you stretched comfortably, before opening your eyes. Once again, you found yourself peering upwards at a pair of blue eyes, alongside a pair of honey-brown.

“Good morning you two!” You yawned.

“Good morning (Y/N)” Kili returned,

“Good morning.” Fili whispered softly.

The company worked to pack up camp after each companion ensuring your health, before Thorin set them off once more.

Beginning your steps, you were stopped by a couple of hands — one upon your wrist, and the other on your arm. “(Y/N), can we ask you something?” Turning to meet both Fili and Kili’s eyes, yours in question. “Last night… you had… uhm.” Kili started, looking to his brother for assistance.

Fili touched his own nose, before continuing: “you had rubbed your nose with ours… what does that mean?”

You quickly found yourself stifling a laugh behind your hand, furthering their confused expressions. “Did I offer you both one? I’m sorry! My fever must have did away with my manners… it’s called an Eskimo Kiss. Thank you for taking care of me yesterday, both of you.” You grabbed each of their hands, offering a quick squeeze before turning back and following the others.

Fili and Kili found themselves standing there, baffled, before your words soaked in. The next sight, was picture worthy… Their faces quickly resembled that of a strawberry.

“An Eskimo Kiss?!” They squealed, quickly chasing after you.

—————————————————

I wrote this on the fly, on my phone at 3AM, as I personally have my own fever, so if this is horrendous to read, I blame my fever.

I do not have a Beta, nor did I honestly proof this before posting… but regardless, I hope y’all enjoy! This wasn’t supposed to be this long, but, that’s how fics/drabbles are supposed to go, right?

Goodnight and to the doctors I go!

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Through The Echoes.

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count:1,025

He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.

Taking a little break from writing A Slice Of Life to take part in the Stranger Prompts, courtesy of @bettyfrommars , @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing

Eddie Munson Masterlist // Masterlist

Two months, that's how long ago Eddie's funeral had been. There hadn't even a body in that dark wood casket, just a bouquet of white roses and guitar pick on a chain necklace set on top of the casket as it was lowered into the ground.

It had been a quiet gathering of people, his uncle Wayne, who still believed his poor nephew had lost his life to the devastation of the so-called earthquake, and you, and his new-found group of friends who knew the much stranger truth.

Robin wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders as you shook with quiet sobs, holding your head in your hands, knowing that you would never get the chance to ever see Eddie again. To tell him what he means to you. To tell him how you feel for him way deeper than friends do.

That was two months ago.

The rain patters heavily against the windows as you tie your hair back, getting yourself ready for bed, taking one last longing look at the picture sitting on your dressing table. It was a four picture collage of you and Eddie from a photo booth, pulling increasingly silly faces at the camera to make each other laugh. He had taken you to the fair that had come to town, showing off his skills in trying to win you the giant stuffed teddy, which he had done with an all-too cocky smirk.

Your heart pulls when you look at that picture, the unassuming innocence of two people who didn’t know what was waiting ahead of them.

You kiss the photo in the frame, as you had done every night, before setting it back down on your dressing table and getting into bed.

Just as you were about to reach for the book on the bedside drawer, to read a few chapters before falling into an ultimately restless sleep, you’re roused by a heavy fist knocking at your front door. The sound echoing throughout the house. You untangle yourself from the sheets and reach for your dressing gown before sliding into your slippers and padding your way downstairs.

Who could that be at this hour? And what on earth could they possibly want that it couldn't have waited until morning?

However, it wasn't the splatter of cold rain that had your blood running cold as you opened the door, no.

There, stood in the doorway was Eddie, your Eddie, clothes sodden through and caked in mud. His dark eyes are red-rimmed as though he hadn’t known a decent night's sleep in a long time. The once familiar bounce of his frizzy hair is now plastered to his skin, raindrops clinging to the wet strands.

You could scarcely believe what you were seeing. Was this some kind of sick dream that you were going to wake up from at any moment? A manifestation of your grief?

Then he spoke. As plain as day, letting you know that this wasn’t a dream, no, this was real.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” he mumbles out, sadness and exhaustion clear in his voice.

Then, as if on auto-pilot, you bring your arm around him, ushering him into your house and upstairs to your bedroom, giving him a towel to dry himself off with.

 “I-uh, I’ve still got some of your old clothes, you know so you can have something warm to change into.” you say shakily, handing him over an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms.

He had left a few of his things in your room from the countless times he’d stayed over, staying up with you late into the night just talking. You had fully intended on giving them back to him, but after losing him you just couldn’t bring yourself to part with them. Not when they still smelled so much like him. That familiar warm smoky scent that lingered on the soft cotton of his shirts.

The unspoken question of ‘how are you even here right now?’ hangs in the air as silence falls between you.

“Right, well I’ll give you some space to get changed.” you tell him as you take the damp towel from his hands and take it to the laundry hamper down the hall.

When you return to your room you see him as he’s pulling the t-shirts hem down his body, your eyes catching on the sliver of skin, the angry red scratches and splotchy purple bruises that litter his body.

The silence between you both is awful. You used to be able to talk about everything and anything, no topic was off the table, conversation with Eddie was so easy.

“I guess I owe you an explanation, and by God I wish I could give it to you, I really do, but I just don’t know what happened to me.”

“Eddie..” you start, but what were you going to say to that? Where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead? Everyone’s missed you. I’ve missed you. 

“I don’t remember anything, all I could remember is you, and I don’t know, just the thought of you brought me comfort when I felt lost and alone, and I knew that I had to find you. That I had to come back to you.” he said, his shoulders slumping as his head hangs down, hiding his face from you with his dark shaggy hair.

“Eddie, look at me, please.” you say with a steady breath falling from your lips. “Whatever you need, I’m going to be here for you. I’m going to help you, okay? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you ever again, I swear.” 

“I don’t know if you can help me.” he sounds so scared and unsure of himself and it shatters your heart to pieces. “I keep hearing things, and seeing things that I don’t understand and everything just always feels so fucking dark.”

You wrap your arm around his cold, frail and bony frame, pulling him closer to your warmth.

“We’ll figure something out, I promise.” you chance a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “We’ll do this together.” 

@penguinsandpotterheads @mrsjellymunson @paybacksawitch @ali-r3n @seatnights @raccoonboywrites

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Twenty-Four: Family @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist // Hey Neighbor Masterlist // Ao3 Link

Three years later and she's done. Thanks for sticking with me on this one! Thanks for all the comments and reblogs. All your love and appreciation have meant so much over the years <3<3<3

Hey, Lover

Five Months Later

The late spring sun was bright and vibrant in the sky.  Even though it was nearly June, Rowan was still surprised over the blue sky and warm heat already encroaching on the day.  Not that he minded, really.  He had missed being out in these mountains.  The same mountains that had nearly done him in a few months ago.

Tilting his head up, Rowan took another deep breath of air.  It felt good being outside like this.  He’d missed the scent of pine and fresh dirt.  The feel of a surprising cool breeze coming down the mountain.  Most of his workouts and exercise had been conducted on a treadmill or with a physical therapist.  Even with doctors clearing him for more heavy-duty work, his family and friends had encouraged him to take it easy.  He’d broken his leg in an avalanche after all.  His bone had been snapped and reassembled with titanium screws; it was alright to make sure he was ready to come back.

Five months was too long if you asked him.

But he had promised to take this first hike easy.  Even if it was one of his favorite trails.  And one he had spent hours on over the years.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack and kept moving up the incline. 

Given how rough and late winter had been, there were parts of this trail that were still muddy and wet.  Some places of the trail had washed out with spring rain and rapidly melting snow once may hit.  But the feel of the forest was still the same.

Sometimes when he moved, Rowan still felt a phantom pain in his chest from the broken ribs.  Turned out, they’d broken in the worst possible places and had taken a little extra monitoring to make sure nothing happened with said breaks.  His wrist and concussion had been a breeze to work through and he’d tried to levy that into an early return to work.  Gavriel laughed at him and assigned him administrative work.  A glorified duty to scan documents and catch up on paperwork the captain himself had been putting off for ages.

Once summer hit, however, Rowan had been cleared three times over to return to duty.  Good.  He’d had enough of Fenrys’s prickish attitude.

Though, not that he’d admit to it, he was already feeling a little tired.  He’d only gone on a shorter hike that day, a quick four-mile loop around the lower lake.  It irked him to no end.  He’d never taken so much time off from training.  Not even when he was first starting out as an athlete.  He could feel that five months of recovery running through his body and vowed he’d get back into decent shape as soon as possible.

He paused at a bend in the trail and snagged his water bottle from the lightweight backpack he usually brought with him on trips.  The parking lot was only a few yards off and then he’d head back in the city.  Most certainly to stop at the ice cream parlor because—

A loud, long howl echoed through the trees.  Rowan cursed and turned to face the trail he’d just walked down.  Shaking his head he rested his hands on his hips and waited.

One minute later there came another howl and the desperate scatter of paws on earth.  Coming down the mountain was a dog utterly covered in mud.  There wasn’t an inch of fur free from the pup as it came barreling towards him; pink tongue flopping, tail wagging.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

The dog flew past him before circling back, barking again.  She was far too pleased with herself.  For finding him, for being covered in mud.  She sat, tail still wagging through the dirt.  Her bright brown eyes looked up at him happily.

“Did your mother fall down another cliff?”

“It was a ravine!” A voice called out.

Rowan only shook his head and watched as Aelin rounded the trail.  Her blonde hair swung in a ponytail, her (his) long sleeved flannel tied around her waist.

“And!” she added as she drew closer. “I didn’t break anything.”

“Avalanche,” he reminded her, frowning.

“Whatever you say old man,” she replied.  She looked back to Fleetfoot. “C’mon baby!  Let’s go find the truck.”

“Is there a reason she is covered in mud?” Rowan asked, following as Aelin and the dog set the pace.

“Well, when she ran off it was to find the lake, which of course meant mud puddle, which of course meant impromptu bath time…mud time,” Aelin explained.  Fleetfoot bounded on oblivious to anything other than her successful romp in the trees. “Really, that dogs got a nose for it.”

“I just gave her a bath.”

“I know, maybe you just did such a good job she wanted another,” Aelin shrugged.

Rowan rolled his eyes.  “Sure.  But she’s a mess.  I’m not letting her in my truck, I just got it cleaned.”

“Well what’s she supposed to do, sit in the bed?” Aelin asked.  They reached the parking lot, which was blissfully empty.  Fleetfoot still kept close, her good training coming into play.

“Yes,” Rowan said. 

They reached the truck and Aelin sidestepped, cutting him off from opening the bed door.

“It’s too dangerous back there.”

“She’ll be fine,” he insisted.

“Rowan she’s your daughter you can’t treat her like this.”

“She’s acting out because you kept her up ‘til two o’clock reading.”

“Reading is good for her.”

Rowan sighed heavily and reached out to pull Aelin close against him. “Are we really having this discussion right now?”

“It’s just mud, I know for a fact you don’t mind things a little dirty.”

He dipped his head for a kiss, long and deep.  That at least left her lost for words.  For once.

“Demon,” he said, swatting her rear.

“You like it.” Aelin grinned up at him, utterly pleased with herself.

The best response he could come up with was another kiss.  He only pulled away when Fleetfoot whined loudly and knocked her muddy head against his leg.

Sighing, Rowan looked down at the dog. “Alright, traitor, let’s go.”

He opened open the back door of the truck and Fleetfoot, flinging mud and twigs, scrambled up.  Rowan then opened the passenger door for Aelin.

“That dog is an angel,” she told him as she jumped up into her seat.

“Monster,” he corrected.

Aelin only rolled her eyes. “When we get home, can you please fix the garbage disposal in the kitchen?  I’m not sticking my hand down there and Final Destination-ing it.”

Home. 

Aelin’s lease had ended two months ago and in a spur of the moment, random, potentially stupid decision—he’d invited her to move in.  She was already over at his place more than hers, truth be told.  She helped him through the worst of his physical therapy and Fleetfoot decided she liked him quite a bit as well.  It seemed right.  And it had been.

Rowan pulled out onto the main road. “Yeah, I’ll look at it.  After we stop for ice cream.”

Aelin gasped. “You do love me.”

In the backseat, Fleetfoot let out a little whine.  Rowan rolled down one of the windows and the dog immediately stuck her head out.  In the side mirror he could see the dog’s happy grin and flopping ears. 

Aelin hummed happily and checked her phone.  Her content smile flattened a little.

“My parents want to have another dinner party and invited yours,” she told him. “Mom says it’s a nice event. You need a new tie.”

“Too bad,” he said, glancing over at her. “I think we’ll be in Peru.”

Grinning, Aelin reached across the center console and took his hand in hers.

.end.

[personwhowrites]

Traffic

Cw: Fluff just pure fluff between the group

Task Force 141 x platonic gn!Reader maybe some Simon Ghost Riley x gn!Reader, John Soap Mactavish x gn!Reader.

Wc:2.4k

You sat in the car, the smell of smoke, blood and mud stained the inside of the car. Price was driving the car, Gaz sat in the passenger seat, while you were squeezed between Ghost and Soap, the wet mud their skin not making it any better. You wanted to sit by the window but Ghost first got in the car, then you but Soap complained that he wanted the window seat, and with your heart of gold you agreed and let Soap take the window seat, unaware of the wet mud on his arms and Ghost’s.

“How much longer?” You ask, looking at the road ahead. “I don't like sitting in the middle..no offense guys.”

“We would have been at the safe house by now.. If someone didn’t blow up the damn car.” Gaz speaks up before looking at Price who frowned at his comment. “How the fuck did you blow the car? Is that like Soap thing to do?”

“I couldn’t see.” Price replies and lets out an annoyed groan.”I see traffic”

“Traffic?” Soap says peering over Price's shoulder pushing you into Ghost's last personal space he had. “Oh wow yeah..”

“Johnny if you don’t sit down and stop pushing them to me I will make you sit down properly.” Ghost mumbles before looking at you with more annoyance. “And you, don’t let Soap push you around.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t in the middle..” You reply as Price stops the car in a small traffic jam. “God why is this place so packed now? When we came this way in the morning it wasn’t like this.”

“I don’t even wanna question it..” Gaz says and looks over at you before cracking a smile. “You're getting sandwiched very well huh?”

“If you didn’t call shotgun before me..you would be in my place.” you reply and flip him off as Price turns his head over to you. “It’s already hard being hurt…now I gotta deal with being squeezed.”

“Just relax, we will be at the safe house soon.” Price replies and looks at you. “It’s strange seeing you being squeezed like this.”

“Only thing we need is Soap acting like a three-year-old.” Ghost remarks and looks at Soap who's grinning now. “..Don’t you dare..”

“Oh I shall dare..” Soap replies before taking a deep breath. “Price, I'm hungry, whe do we get to the safe house? I'm bored Price, Price..”

“Why did you even give him any ideas, Ghost..” Gaz groans and turns to face the road. “This line will take forever to move.”

“Just give it some time..” Price says trying to ignore Soap blabbering. “Someone shut Soap up before I do.”

Soap stops talking and looks out the window, to see a couple of kids looking at him. Price sighs and rubs his eyes with one hand, before rubbing his face. Gaz takes his phone out and looks at some text messages. Meanwhile Ghost just.. stares out the road, looking at the color and license of other cars. There was an awkward silence before Gaz phone played loud sound, everyone turned to him wanting an explanation on what on earth was that sound.

“What? Can’t a man listen to a video in peace?” Gaz comments and looks back at his phone before cracking a smile. “Stupid chicken..”

“God, you're gonna become like Price with that type of humor Gaz.” You comment looking over his shoulder. “How is a chicken running after another chicken funny?”

“You just won't understand, your humor is worse than Ghosts..” Gaz mumbles and looks at you now. “You laughed over a slice falling over last week..”

“How is that not funny?!” You exclaim and look at him with some annoyance. “You people don’t understand humor.”

“You laughed over some bread?” Soap questions your humor. “Who in the bloody hell laughs at some bread falling over?.”

“People with humor!” You reply and turn to Soap. “You laugh at Ghost awful jokes..”

“Okay why are you and Gaz dragging my name into this.” Ghost comments turning his head to you. “Do I humor you all or something? Do I need to be harsher? Is that what you both need to stop involving my name.”

“Hey at least you don’t have to put your phone close to your face to read big ass letters.” You say looking at Price who stares at you confused. “What?”

“What do you mean by that..” Price says now turning half his body to you. “You're attacking everyone huh?”

“Aw, come on, I'm not just commenting on the obvious.” You state and give him a warm smile. “You act like one of those dads that would be proud after cutting their grass perfectly.”

“I can see this actually..” Gaz comments looking at Price and smiles. “Bet you put your hands on your hips and sigh deeply taking in the sight of the perfectly cut grass.”

“He wears a different hat, like he has multiple hats for different needs.” Soap adds looking at Price with a smile. “Yep I definitely see it..”

“You three leave the captain alone.”Ghost says, looking at Price and then out the window. “It’s obvious he would never take that bloody hat off for anything.”

“Hold on, did Ghost just…comment on Price?” You say with an amused smile. “Never thought he would do such a thing.”

"There's a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Ghost replies and gives you a slight side eye. “You remind me of dog.”

“Huh?” You blurt and look at Ghost slightly annoyed. “What do you mean by that Ghost.”

“I see it.. Maybe like a chihuahua or pomeranian..” Price says looking at your face. “Or golden retriever.”

“It depends on their mood sometimes.” Soap adds grabbing your face. “But i see mix of chihuahua and pomeranian.”

“Are you guys seriously comparing me to angry dogs?” You mumble looking as Soap as his palms rest on your cheeks. “Why do such a thing?”

“Why compare our humor?” Price questions you and Soap lets go of your face. “Why question the hat I wear and Gaz's humor?”

You stay silent and look at him with a dead serious look and sigh knowing he is right. You were bored that’s all, the traffic hasn’t moved an inch and the blazing afternoon sun hit the windows of the car. Price looked back at the traffic and let out an annoyed sigh. He definitely wasn’t pleased with this nor were the others. Gaz turns his attention back to his phone, which makes you take yours out. Ghost glances over, he sees the password and looks away. Soap glances over as you open a game on your phone.

“What are you playing?” Soap asks now more in your personal space.”I never knew you liked games.”

“Uh, just some random game I found while watching youtube. The ad got me to download it since it seemed good.” You reply and focus your attention on the game. “It’s called Cry Of Divine.. or COD. I'm playing the mobile version but there is a computer and console game.”

“What’s it about? Is it popular?” Soap asks while taking out his phone. “Where can I get it?”

“Your play store?” You say confused and see Gaz downloading it too. “It’s multiplayer, and there are tons of different modes and events for limited items.” You pause and look at your phone. “It’s really fun and you play with many high ranked players.. You can work with people or work alone, it doesn't really matter.”

“What's your username?” Gaz asks wanting to play with you while Soap downloads the game. “I'll add you so we can pass time..”

You give Gaz your username, Soap soon joins in the fun. Price advanced the car slightly, the traffic was still heavy and he was bored. Ghost looked at you and Soap played the game, it was just a shooting game, but it seemed fun. Ghost leaned back on his seat and took his phone out, feeling foolish he elbowed you. You turned to Ghost as he offered his phone for you to add yourself. You didn’t question it and added him. Soon he joined the party and Price looked over.

“Are you all playing?” Price asks, raising a brow. “First time I see grown adults play together in a packed car to pass time.”

“How the bloody fuck did they shoot me though a wall with a damn sniper riffle!” Gaz blurts out shaking his head. “This is so bitch ass.”

“Got them! Up to your left Ghost, you can knife them with the mellevee in your second slot.” You say moving your fingers quickly on your screen. “Soap sniper behind you.”

“Got them” They both reply to your call outs as Price smiles a bit.

“So it’s a game about our jobs technically?” Price asks looking over at Gaz phone. “But you respawn huh?”

“Yep, you should join us captain, then there you can also be our captain.” Soap comments looking up from his phone. “It’s actually really fun.”

Price hesitates for a couple minutes before agreeing, soon all of you are playing the game. ‘Cry of Divine Mobile’. The traffic soon moved and you played for Price yourself, which honestly surprised you. Ghost was getting slightly angry on how he kept dying and his shooting wasn’t perfect as in actual life. Soap on the other hand learned how to get the hang of things and even showed you some tricks he created himself. Ghost looked up from his phone to you, his gaze softened. Price looked at Ghost, through the mirror and questioned his gaze towards you. The car slowly began to move, it seemed like the traffic jam was becoming undone slowly. You looked up from your phone, then glanced over at the cars in front of you. Price gives you a smile though the rear mirror and you smile back. Soap yawned and rubbed his yes, he was ether bored or tired.

“Can one of you wake me up when we get to the safe house?” Soap asked with a yawn and lean against the door. “I would appreciate that.”

“We will..” You reply with your own yawn, before sitting back properly in the middle seat. “Think I might join Soap in his nap.”

“You go ahead, I will make sure to wake you two up.” Price replies and glances over at Gaz who’s also fell asleep. “I will make sure you three wake up..”

You nodded and closed your eyes, you slightly lean to Soap, his head rested on the window. You slowly began to nod your head, showing you needed to sleep. Ghost glance over and shifted in his seat, he didn’t want you to lean on him. Soap shifted in his seat and yawned. You joined his yawn and lean against him. Soap didn’t mind it and put his arm around your neck, giving you some support. Ghost looked over and narrowed his gaze, before Price cleared his throat.

“They do need support and probably somewhere comfortable to sleep..” Price says and looks at the busy road. “They need space, and a warm space..”

Ghost knew what Price was talking about, he turned you and yanked you to his lap. You woke up quickly to the yank and stared at Ghost with great concern. Price chuckled as your heart raced, Ghost stared at you with some annoyance.

“Go to sleep, ill wake you up.” Ghost mumbles in his cold tone. “Just go to sleep.”

You nod awkwardly and rest your head on his chest, you hear his heart beating fast. You looked at Ghost, who was looking out the window. An arm wrapped around you for support, slowly you closed your eyes and felt that both of his hands wrapped around you like a casual hug. One you would properly never feel again. Price now sighs in some relief and looks at Ghost giving a nod of approval to rest up. Ghost leans his own head on the back of the seat and closes his eyes, his arms still tightly around you. Soap soon leans over to Ghost arms, and somehow manages to lay down and put his head on your lap. Gaz meanwhile is happily sleeping and leaning on the chair, the seatbelt keeping him safe. Price drives though the traffic jam making sure you all rest up.

Traffic is something no one expected that it would lead you all to become closer than needed. Traffic is something that made you realize maybe there was something more than friendship with Ghost..maybe even something more with Soap. Traffic, something that made you…happy to see each time when you were with them all.