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politemenacephd · 3 months

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Monster!Mig Vol 4. (+18)

Werewolf!Miguel O'Hara X GN!Reader

Masterlist

Content: Established relationship, Monster/human relationship, Fear kink, Hormone smelling, Oral (reader recieving), Rough PinV Sex, Size Difference, Belly bulging, Claiming Bites, Knotting, Creampie.

Notes: i got the flu real bad so we're feeling feral today boys i swear i will be back w more stuff soon Word count: 4162

‘There, nice and tight, right?’

You gently jangled the chains that you’d just tightened around Miguel’s chest, ensuring that they were immovable. They clanked a little against his rounded pecs, and while they could be moved about an inch or so they remained taut and firm.

Miguel kept his eyes on you as you checked them. ‘I’m—sorry we have to do this again’ he murmured.

‘Nah, don’t worry about it’ you said, giving him a cheeky smile to ease his worries. ‘I knew what I was getting myself into.’

‘I- I mean I did my best to warn you, but—’

‘Mhm. Mhm. You did your best, and my god, I just did not listen’ you sarcastically sighed. He let out a little snort of a chuckle in response.

‘I just want you to be safe’ he murmured. ‘I couldn’t- stand, anything happening to you.’

‘Oh my god, stop being so stoic, pup. Just relax’ you teased.

‘You call me pup again I will bite you’ Miguel grunted back, ‘and I don’t mean because of the change. I will happily do it regardless.’

‘Oo, please do. But, later. For now—voila!’

You stepped back and admired your set up. This was your so called ‘panic’ room, a totally bare attic space with enormous, shackled chains bolted into the hard brick wall. It had one window overlooking the night sky, allowing cool light to filter in and highlight the dust in the air, but beyond that there was nothing else.

It was horribly drab, however, that was for a reason, for the floor was covered in years’ worth of claw marks, and the bricks showed signs of being gnawed by giant, hardy teeth.

You looked back down to Miguel on the floor and noted the slight tint of yellow showing on his warm red-brown eyes. His pupils were already dilating.

Your dear Miguel, your beloved, would soon turn into a ravenous beast for the night.

‘I’m gonna miss you’ you said softly, your sentimental heart unable to keep up your cheerful, teasing façade.

Miguel gave a slight smile and scoffed. ‘It’s one night. One night to keep you alive. You’ll manage.’

‘Mm, I dunno. Maybe death would be better.’

‘You’re so dramatic’ he said bluntly.

‘I’m dramatic? Me?’ you said as you dramatically pressed your hand to your chest. ‘You’re the one who can’t see a full moon without murdering everyone in sight. THAT’S dramatic!’

Miguel scoffed a second time and let his head hit the brick wall. He was playing the exasperated partner, but you could see his eyes lingering on you in the dimming light.

‘Yeah. I’ll miss you too’ he said, his voice softening as he looked you up and down.

You smiled as your hands fell to your sides. You looked oddly coy. ‘Mhm. That’s what I thought.’

You carefully bent down to his level as the urge to kiss him became too strong. He strained against his chains to meet you with drooping eyes. You made it to your knees, even allowing your lips to brush, when you smelled something that gave you instant pause.

‘Is, that—’

It was. It was that familiar musk, the smell of fur and earth and beasts. You glanced at Miguel’s eyes and found them even more dilated than before.

‘Shit…’

The two of you glanced in unison towards the one rickety window in the corner. You could see that the sun was slowly setting as the sky turned from red to navy blue, the emptiness glimmering with the first few speckled stars.

The little blocks of light cast onto the dirty floor were turning from a soft yellow to a hazy white. Moonlight.

You sighed. ‘Okay. Okay, um—it’s time for me to go.’

You managed to sneak one gently kiss to his cheek, leaving a lingering little print of your scent before you reluctantly withdrew. Miguel’s sad puppy dog eyes followed you all the way to the door.

‘Good luck’ you whispered, pausing on the precipice of the doorway. ‘I’ll stay up. Make sure nothing gets out of hand.’

‘I’ll be thinking of you’ Miguel murmured back. You smiled before locking the door at your back.

…

For the rest of the night you stayed up in your room. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep so you decided to cuddle up in your loosest pyjama’s and watch videos until the early dawn.

You wanted to be able to sit beside him, but Miguel was staunchly against such a thing. He couldn’t risk the temptation of having you nearby, and you knew he didn’t like you seeing him in this form.

You knew you wouldn’t care but you didn’t want to push it. You agreed to stay separate.

As the clock struck midnight you glanced over to where the curtains on your bedroom window were lightly waving. You could see the full moon beyond them, bright and bold and uncovered by even a single cloud.

An ominous sight to someone like you.

Your eyes instinctively glanced up to the ceiling. You knew he would have changed by now. You wondered as you always did; was it painful, the change? He said it wasn’t, but you knew he could just be covering to save you the worry.

You wondered what he must think about in that state, if he even thought at all. You wondered if he did miss you. If he thought of you.

God, you really did miss him. You missed his warmth, his biceps around your waist as you spooned, his warm breath on your neck. You missed resting on his chest. You missed kissing him. You missed- well, everything.

You missed his body. You missed his soft praise and barely concealed possessiveness as he held you down. You missed his calloused hands and sharp claws gripping you tight.

You felt a soft pulse in your lower sex and shook your head. No, you shouldn’t get worked up tonight. You needed to be on guard.

But… you did miss him, so, much…

BANG.

You jumped in bed at the sudden noise.

Luckily, you were used to this. When the moon hit he always tried to escape, and it’s that which kept you awake all night. The sound of that poor beast struggling against his chains, snapping and howling. It’d been painful the first few months you’d had to hear it, then it’d gotten annoying, but now it was just normal. It was like adjusting to your partner snoring at night.

You yawned and leaned back into the pillows.

The banging continued as you’d expected. You heard chains rattling, boards being torn and ripped. You dozed through it all in a half-asleep daze, barely paying attention to the video you put on.

It was at about 2am, when the clock struck, that you heard something more alarming.

You heard metal clanking hard on the floor, and jolted upright in bed. Wait, you’d never heard that before. His chains didn’t reach the floor?

But that was definitely what you could hear. You could hear metal on wood, scraping its way from one end of the attic to the other. Your head slowly tilted as you followed the sound.

‘Shit’ you hissed.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Not tonight. Not now.

Another loud bang rang out, and this time you physically jumped in shock. It sounded like wood splintering, and it was coming from the side of the attic that you knew the locked door was on. The side opposite to where Miguel was meant to be.

A low, warbling howl filled the silence. Your heart sank.

You heard the door upstairs slowly, painfully, creaking open.

Oh no. No, no, no.

You jumped from your bed and instinctively went to hide beneath it, but somehow your luck took an even worse turn. As you jumped your feet landed directly on a loose board. It creaked, loudly, and the footsteps stopped.

‘Shit’ you hissed again. He knew you were in here.

For a couple of seconds, all was still. All was silent. In the dark you couldn’t tell what was the house settling and what was a predator on the prowl.

A low, threatening growl filled the air, and you bolted.

In a moment of panic you dove out of the bedroom and down the stairs, just barely missing the enormous muscled figure of Miguel as he dove at your head.

You had only one hope. Miguel had left his taser downstairs in the living room. It was just a precaution, one you’d never used before hence why it was in such a random spot, but you needed it now.

You stumbled into the living room with Miguel hot on your heels. You made it halfway across the room to where the taser was sitting on the edge of a table. You reached, your hands grasping, but right at that crucial moment you tripped.

Your toes went under the rug on the centre of the floor and you fell hard on your face, knocking the taser to the floor in the process.

‘FUCK—Ah, ah…’

You spun around onto your back as the floor creaked.

Miguel crawled towards you on all fours. In the dark you could only barely see his face, with the light of the moon and the red of his eyes highlighting the contours of his body. The curves of muscle breaking through his torn shirt, the ruffle of dark fur on his back and arms, the shimmering coat over his talons, all of it highlighting how deadly he was.

He still looked like him, like your Miguel. That slicked back dark hair and rough brown skin, those almond eyes and that chiselled square face, with his enormous chest and shoulders sat atop that smooth curved waist.

But you could see the monster breaking through. The fur bursting out in patches on his arms and chest, the claws erupting from his fingernails, the tufty ears erupting from his head, and most of all the teeth. His usually soft expression was drawn back into one of animalistic malice, and you could see the most enormous fangs in his maw.

He bared those same teeth and snarled.

‘Mig, Miggy—Miguel, hey, it’s me’ you panted.

He drew his lips back even further.

‘Miguel’ you repeated desperately. ‘Miguel—’

He took a few steps closer, forcing you to scurry on your back. You couldn’t run. You would never make it to the door, nor the window nor the corridor.

In a panic, you could think of only one thing to distract him. It might have seemed mad to anyone else, and yet to you, there was a lingering shard of a memory teetering on the edge of your terrified mind. The memory of Miguel mentioning the importance of scents, and how the smell of you always drove him mad.

You grabbed your pyjama pants and shifted them down.

It was just an inch at first, as you were laying awkwardly on the floor and they kept catching on the wood, but as you slid them you noticed him slowing his predatory approach.

You saw his eyes darting. He sniffed, smelling the air.

‘That’s it’ you whimpered. ‘That’s it, it’s me. You know that, don’t you?’

You lay down on your back as Miguel crawled over you. The scent of your kiss must have stuck in his nose, as he seemed to remember through the haze even a small part of you, but more than that the smell of your bare body was enticing.

He bent his head and sniffed from your neck down to your belly and finally to your thighs. He growled there, and in a panic you yanked your pants further. You pulled them right down to your ankles.

‘Ah—there, there, shh—’

He gave a grunt of what you assumed was satisfaction as you kicked them aside. He moved in, and you lay back in submission. He pressed his face right against your bare pussy.

‘F-Fuck—’ You bit your lip to stifle any noises. This was a dangerous ploy, especially as you’d made yourself so vulnerable, but you wanted to trust him. You had no other choice.

You closed your eyes and prayed.

It was then, in the dark and the cold, unseeing and tense, that you were jolted by the most abrupt spasm of pleasure.

Something long, wet and warm was lapping at your bare pussy, eagerly and curiously winding between your lips and up to your clit. Your legs spasmed at the sensation.

‘A-Ah—Mig?’

You opened your eyes and looked down, only to find that he was licking at your bare sex. He was clawing at the wood as he curiously tasted you.

‘A-Ah…. Miguel, that—mm—’

The soft little fluttering pulses in your clit that you’d tried to ignore before had left you extremely sensitive, and his rough tongue was making it hard to see. You were trying to stay on guard, wary that he might still lose himself again, but fuck did it feel heavenly.

He’d always been a fan of pleasuring with his tongue, but this was something else entirely. His increased size allowed his tongue to cover your entirely labia when flat, covering every single little spot of nerves he could get at. You whimpered on the floor.

He kept licking. Kept tasting, kept curiously flicking the tip on your clit, kept getting so close that his tongue delved right into your cunt. All the while his claws were dangerously close to slicing your ankle, and worse, his teeth kept grazing the sensitive skin of your folds.

You knew you were going to cum from this, but you didn’t want to startle him with any loud noises.

To your horror, as the pleasure rose, you had to try and bite you down.

You forced yourself to cum in silence. Your hips bucked a little, your legs involuntarily spasming as he kept licking through every ripple of pleasure, but luckily it didn’t seem to bother him. You rode out that sweet, guilty pleasure as you screamed in your mind, before slowly relaxing as your muscles de-tensed.

Thankfully Miguel drew himself back just a little while after your silent orgasm, his mouth dripping with slick and spit. He drew himself up to your head and snapped at your cheek, baying you to lay still. You did as told.

‘A-Ah… you really are still Miguel, huh?’ you said with a shaky laugh. He grunted.

You realized then, as the adrenaline and the pleasure wore off, that he was naked. You hadn’t really taken it fully in before now, but the change must have torn his clothes to shreds.

He was naked, and his enormous veiny cock was pulsing between your legs as he hunched over your body on the floor.

You baulked a little in shock. Fuck, had the change made him bigger?

You didn’t have time to ponder that as he began to push himself between your legs, his claws settling beside your shoulders. He was getting into a missionary mating press.

‘A-Ah… ah, fuck, Miguel’ you panted. He wanted to try and fuck you? Like this?

His eyes on you were still burning with that beastly haze, but you swore you saw something in them that looked like him. Something soft, something affectionate, beyond the curdled animalistic lust.

You felt his cock nudging at your tight hole, smearing the spit and slick he’d left behind as he coaxed you to take him. You could feel his bulbous member twitching.

Your eyes shifted, and you realized that the taser had fallen on the floor within arm’s reach. You could feasibly bring him down now, if you wanted. If you had to. You could grab it quick and render him limp.

But… Your eyes involuntarily drifted back. You were so sore, your pussy throbbing as your blood pulsed through it, your thighs sodden and shaky. The thought of the release, the relief, of your beautiful Miguel fucking you raw with that fat rod, it filled you with fear and unescapable excitement.

You bit your lip as he growled again. Fuck. Your hormones had certainly won him over, so, at least your plan worked, right? At least with this, you were safe. At least like this, he couldn’t go anywhere else.

‘O-Okay, you… That’s it. Stay here with me’ you stammered breathlessly. ‘Stay with me, Mig. That’s it.’

You lay still, and you let him take you.

It should have felt familiar. You’d taken him so many times before, but this? This was different. You felt the size difference immediately.

His cock was obscenely fat, and it was splitting you open as he stretched you wide. He hit a point about a third of the way down his shaft where he could get no further, and with a dissatisfied snarl he started to rut harder. He was pushing you to your limits, and as he edged deeper you felt the sudden influx of burning in your core.

‘F-Fuck—’ You squirmed a little, trying to adjust to the size, but a sharp snap at your cheek forced you back to stillness.

‘O-Okay, okay, just—careful, please—’

You weren’t sure how much of him remained lucid, but something definitely seemed to make him slow down as you winced. He started to pause between pumps, letting you shift and settle, and even nudged your cheek to see if you were okay.

He never stopped, though. He continued to pump his shaft into your cunt, easing it open inch by inch to take him, and when he finally bottomed out it was because you physically couldn’t take any more.

He managed to get most of it inside you, but he couldn’t fit it all. You were embarrassed to see a good two inches of thick, throbbing cock surrounded by dark hair still sitting uncovered, accompanied by the sight of your belly bulging where he’d settled.

You felt it nudging at your cervix. You felt it throb, you watched it throb, and grit your teeth. You were shaking, but fuck, it was good.

Miguel snarled again, his teeth bared against your cheek. You could feel him breathing a little harder as he shifted his pelvis. You knew he was feeling you, tasting you, pausing to savour the sensation of your insides squeezing him tight, and you liked it.

‘It’s okay’ you stammered. You felt his drool hit your cheek. ‘I-I’m okay. You- You can have me.’

Miguel throbbed again, a pulsing sensation so hard that you felt it in your guts.

‘Mine.’

You blinked in shock. Was that, a word?

Miguel bared his teeth a second time as he took one, hard thrust inside you, one that threw your entire body and sent both sharp pain and toe-curling pleasure through to your soul. You groaned in shock.

‘A-Ah, f-fuck—’ you whimpered.

‘Mine.’

He repeated that single, guttural word, and you knew he meant it. You nodded.

‘Y-Yes. Yes. Yours. All yours.’

He growled deep in the back of his throat, a motion which made his Adams apple jolt.

‘Breed’ he snarled. You shuddered as he dug his claws into the wood beside your head.

‘Breedable. Mine.’

You grit your teeth in anticipation. You could feel him gradually beginning to slip his cock in and out. Without another word, that enormous beast started to rut back and forth.

He was rough from the start, even when he was exhibiting some form of control. You had to dig your nails into his biceps for support as he threw your body with every thrust. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. He was happy to bend you, pushing you into a deeper mating press.

You could see his talons by your head. You could feel his hot breath, could smell the stench of fur and metal and musk. He was panting with each pump.

As you trembled and moaned, taking each deep thrust of his cock, some of that animal rage in his eyes seemed to dissipate. Did he look, hot? Was he, moaning back?

He was definitely grunting with each thrust he took. You could feel the veins on his cock pulsing against your gummy walls, begging for release.

As his grunts got louder he started to pump harder. It was all you could hear. His grunting, his panting, the sound of skin clapping skin, the whine of the wood being raked by his claws and the wet squelch of his cock moving back and forth.

He was getting close. You realized, in a brief moment of lucidity as you were fucked brainless, that he was going to try and cum inside you. All you could think was one thing: How would he even fit that in you?

It was while you tried to comprehend this question that one of his little werewolf habits reared its ugly head; the need to bite. The claiming bite.

You squeaked audibly as he abruptly bit down on your neck and shoulder, pinning you hard to the floor. You could feel the burn of his teeth as they sank beneath the skin, the pure power in his jaw. If he moved too hard, he could absolutely cause a lot of damage.

‘M-Miguel’ you whimpered. ‘Miguel—’

With your body clamped and frozen he started to buck harder, driving his cock into you with a frantic and animalistic force. You clung to him as tightly as you could.

‘Miguel—’ you cried, ‘P-please, ah—’

He thrust, and he growled, and every hair on his body stood on end. With a seething grunt he orgasmed inside you.

As you’d expected there was just no space inside you left to fill. You had to experience the full sensation of his unloading with so little room between his cock and your sensitive walls; the pulsing, the twitching, the thick spurts of cum that oozed out only to immediately start dripping down your ass to the floor. It sounded so obscenely wet.

‘Ah…. There, good- good boy, good boy’ you panted. ‘Miguel, fuck—’

Then you realized, one other little thing Miguel had mentioned to you in confidence; he was going to knot.

You gripped his arms tighter to support. ‘F-Fuck, fuck—’

Sure enough he knotted on the last spurt, plugging you tight as you squirmed. He hissed on your cheek as he did so. It was a primal display of possessive need, a sign of ownership as his cock swelled and pushed you to your limits. You could feel the thickness of his cum inside you, now unable to escape. You panted.

‘F-Fuck…. Ah, o-okay big guy, there you go. You- You okay now?’

His growling lowered to just a gentle whine, and slowly he drew his teeth back from your cheek. He simply held you there beneath him, impaled on his shaft, panting and beading with sweat from the entire ordeal.

Eventually you felt the knot releasing. It was like feeling a stranglehold on your neck finally unclench. The relief was intense, and you immediately began trying to ease yourself off.

But you barely made it an inch before being pinned by Miguel’s clawed hand. His fur brushed your cheek as he grabbed your chest, holding you still to the floor. You rushed to soothe him. ‘A-Ah—okay, okay. Shh, you’re okay big guy.’

He bared his teeth in that same territorial display. You met his gaze. You locked on to each other, naked and joined at the hip, throbbing around each other in a pool of primal sweat and cum and slick.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay’ you repeated. ‘I’m yours. I’m yours. See? Your- your little, prize.’

You gently shifted your hips to draw his attention there, and predictably his eyes did a little roll as your pussy clenched his shaft. He pulsed back, his veins pumping with hot blood.

‘Mine.’

To your continued surprise, he started thrusting again. His erection hadn’t lost any stamina, and if he was feeling overstimulated, he certainly wasn’t showing it. You, though, were showing it quite overtly.

‘MM--!’

A raspy moan escaped your lips as he winded you with the force of his insertions. His previous load was now being squished out with each thrust, but he didn’t care. He was making way for more.

‘A-Ah—f-fuck, Miguel, you—you really, need, more? MM—’

His hand pressed a little harder against your chest as he started to pick up speed. He was smacking you down against the wooden floor, his pelvis turning your hip bones numb. He tilted his head and growled.

‘Oh fuck—fuck that’s so—good—’

Your eyes rolled as that sweet dumbification kicked in. His cock easily fucked away all of your inhibitions, drowning your fear in heavenly pleasure as he rutted you raw.

If this is what it took to keep him distracted all night, then this is just what you’d have to do.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 #smut #monster human relationship #miguel o'hara smut #+18 #werewolf smut #werewolf x reader

477 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 3 months

Note

Part 3 of the alpha Spencer Reid x male omega reader? ~ 🌸

Accidental mating 2

Fandom: criminal minds

Characters: criminal minds OG cast +reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: male reader, omegaverse, mpreg, enemies to lovers

☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️

(name) was nervous, feet tapping against the speckled carpet of the waiting room after finishing writing his information, Spencer awkward beside him though reading a book to pass the time "what do you think the pup will be? Morgan is absolutely dead set that they will be a girl" (name) tried to make small talk and Spencer almost didn't reply, the Omega the one to nervous ramble instead of Spencer, the Alpha remembering what Morgan said about building relationships for the pup "I'm happy with either or, as long as they're healthy"

"I just want them to be happy"

"(Name), (last name)?" The nurse spoke up and (name) got up, hands shaking slightly and he was thankful he didn't have to make awkward small talk with the doctor that was the father to his kid, the lanky alpha not sure how to comfort the other or if he should even do so but his alpha begged him to comfort the Omega. "Turn around" (name) grumbled as the Alpha, slightly startled turned around quickly as (name) began changing "...are you excited to meet them?"

Spencer paused at the question and fidgeted slightly before answering "... yeah, I kind of am"

"I am not doing those 3d ultrasounds though, those things scare the hell out of me"

"Fair enough" Spencer chuckled, (name) didn't say anything but it was his first time hearing Spencer laugh around him.

Nope.

He's just here for the pup.

(Name) shoved his omega down as he sat on the bed, shirt covering his chest "you can turn around now"

"All that to cover your chest? You know we're guys right?"

"And I'm an Omega, it's taboo if I do it remember?" (Name) grumbled out and Spencer made no comment as they waited for the doctor who seemed to be taken their sweet time "I find that stupid" "so do I but it's what has to be done, male or not I'm an Omega"

"So, Any luck with an apartment?"

"None, no one wants to rent to a single pregnant Omega" (name)s words were simple as if he said them hundreds of times before and he probably had, calm and collected as Spencer thought about it.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Powell, here for an ultrasound I see?" The middle aged doctor said as he sat in his stool "you must be the father" Dr. Powell said to Spencer who nodded "Dr. Spencer Reid" the Alpha said calmly as the doctor began the ultrasound, the cold gel feeling weird.

"There they are! Size of a grape" (name) was in wonder as he looked at the blob of cells "oh wait, there's another!" The doctor said and (name) looked panicked "twins? How are they gonna fit in my apartment... Oh god how are they gonna fit in my body?!" His voice shaking as Spencer placed a hand on his shoulder "your body will adjust and I have space at my apartment, you can stay with me till you find a place of your own" his voice serious as (name) looked worried "would there even be enough space?!" He said and Spencer pumped out calming pharamones, thanks to their mating bites it worked as intended since (name)s Omega thought they were mates.

The rest of the ultrasound went smoothly, (name) and Spencer walked out of the clinic together and (name) halted Spencer "I know it was just to calm me down, but you don't have to have me at your apartment, I know it's the last thing you want" (name) though he couldn't stand Spencer, didn't want to make a further enemy of him, his omega already upset they aren't in the same bed and being in the same apartment would just hurt, (name) didn't feel like fighting with his Omegan side like that "oh I was serious" Spencer said simply as he looked at the omega calmly "you're statistically not going to get an apartment that will accomodate a single Omega and their pup let alone two, two sets of hands are better than one especially with twins and we could do rotations..." He listed off why it was a good reason, each point making (name) fidget more and more.

"But don't you hate me?" (Name) asked barely above a whisper and Spencer bit his inner cheek "I'm learning not to" Spencer said back, words truthful as (name) laughed a bit "I'll.. I'll consider it"

When the two got to the office, Penelope was excited to see the ultrasound photos and damn near dropped at the fact they were having twins "two smart asses? Between the two of you, that kids gonna be a menace to their teachers" Morgan teased them as (name) stuck out his tongue "wings up in 20, we have a case" hotch walked in seriously as the team stopped their joking and immediately went to get their go bags, Spencer looking confused as (name) held his go bag "what?" (Name) asked inquisitively and Spencer looked expectantly at him and (name) placed a hand on his hip and glared "I'm going, Reid" he said simply and went to leave the bullpen.

"Absolutely not!" Spencer followed behind angrily "you're not my alpha, I may be carrying your child but I still get to do as I please" (name) said confidently as Spencer looked annoyed "I'm well aware you're a free person with free will but as you said, you're pregnant with my child! This is a homicide case, you're to early in your pregnancy to put this stress on yourself!"

"It almost sounds like you care" (name) teased and Spencer glared "of course I care" Spencer quickly rebutted as they walked to the jet "yes because I am carrying your pup, if I wasn't pregnant with another person's child would you have given a damn if I got on that plane or not?" Spencer was quite for a moment before answering carefully "though we have not cared for one another, the last thing I want is you in danger"

(Name) stared at him carefully before stepping onto the jet "then I'll be sure to keep out of danger, come now we can't leave the others waiting"

Spencer was pouting as (name) looked over the files, paying the Alpha no mind "why are you so mad?" Prentiss asked amused at the other "he's upset I went on this plane, I am Hotch's assistant and until I medically cannot fly I will follow him dutifully like an assistant should" Reid looked the others and Morgan chuckled "I am not getting into this mess"

"Hotch.." Spencer said to his boss who sighed "I would rather him not be on the field but do long as he doesn't go leave specific areas as agreed when he announced his pregnancy to me, I have no issue" of course he did have issue but he knew better than to start a war with (name) over this.

(Name) wasn't deaf to the comments about him when he went places, he was an Omega after all.

He was putting things together for Hotch in a private room of the police precinct when he heard it "an Omega? Imagine he slept his way to get here" an officer commented as the other scoffed "he's mated, who would let their Omega do this shit? This isn't a place for omegas" (name) kept quiet, pointless to cause a scene over things he heard all day "you know degrading comments like that is a surefire way to get suspended" hotch said as the officers sputtered something out before walking off with their tails between their legs "you know you don't have to take that, right?"

"If I got angry at every person who disrespected me, I would be dead" it was honest, sure omegas had rights but it didn't mean they had respect.

Hell (name) knew half the team didn't fully respect him till he proved himself, showing that he was worthy of being Aaron Hotchners assistant "I organized everything by date and by method, there seems to be a pattern..."

"You asked him to move in with you?" Morgan repeated as he and Spencer drove to the crime scene, the genius sighing "he can't find an apartment and no one's gonna take a single Omega with twins!" He said and Morgan smiled "you're apartment isn't big enough for all of them though" and that's when Spencer looked flustered and annoyed "I may have used the money I earned and saved from not just here but the other things and purchased a four bedroom house just outside the city..."

"And you're hoping he agrees"

"Well yeah, it would save one money"

Morgan wasn't even gonna comment about the fact he knew Spencer wanted (name) closer, bonds are crazy things and eventually if enough contact happens... The two will fall for each other... Which was really tragic sometimes but in this case, Morgan rooted for them.

"Thats true, maybe take him to dinner and present the pros of living together" aka a date, thankfully Spencer was too in his head to realize Morgan's little plan "food is a good bribe" Spencer said methodically and Morgan laughed at this as they continued their drive.

(Name) was crocheting plush toys on the hotel bed as a show played in his laptop, waves of nausea coming in waves and he just tried to distract himself as best as he could.

KNOCK KNOCK

(name) was always in edge when people knocked, keeping his gun in him as he walked to the door and looked through the peephole "Spencer?" He opened the door to see the Alpha standing awkwardly "I was wondering... If you wanted to go eat? Talk about plans for the pups" (name) raised an eyebrow, dressed in comfy clothes but not quite pajamas "sure, lemme get my stuff"

(Name) was a simple guy with simple tastes.

So Spencer shouldn't have been surprised when they ended up in a McDonald's booth "I think, we should know the gender so we can plan accordingly" (name) said as he ate his fries and Spencer looked confused "don't omegas typically want it a surprise?"

"Depends on the person, usually it's so they don't get unsolicited advice"

Fair, Spencer thought "if one of thems a pup, we should put aside a fund for nesting as omegas usually start making little bests at around two" (name) explained and took a bite from his sandwich "and collars, those are important" he was a prime example of their importance and Spencer looked sheepish at that "I do have one demand for if we have An Omega" (name) said seriously and Spencer looked confused "what demands?" "The Omega gets treated the exact same as the Alpha, same opportunities and gets to pursue higher education"

"If course, why would that be an issue?"

"Because I had to cut off my family to do so" he said it like it was nothing, just a normal thing but Spencer was horrified "you're smart, you know the statistics" (name)s words cut a bit and Spencer looked serious "I would never deny my kids opportunities for any reason"

"Good, I'll castrate you if you do"

"So about the living thing"

"Yeah, I had a viewing for next week but they canceled in me" (name) grumbled and Spencer sighed "I'm serious though, stay with me"

"Spencer, that's-- that's a thing mates do! We aren't mates! I know because if we were it would make things considerably easier!" (Name) said stressed out, frustration clearly visible on his face " you hate me"

"I want to get to know you, I want to get along with you... We wouldn't be more than roommates" Spencer said earnestly, patience running thin but he had to keep his chill for the other who was so exhausted and stressed "can I think on it?"

"Of course"

(Name) went back to his hotel room, hand on his stomach as he stared off "what do you think?" He asked his belly to no response, after all the pups barely developed enough to be good conversationalists "it would be better for your development..." (Name) whispered as he thought it through...

"Do it for the pups" was (name)s new motto as he got up and walked to his door, housecoat on and made his way to the alphas room.

"I agree... So long as we have equal terms and agreement" Spencer was over the moon as he heard this, his alpha wanting to hold the Omega but he frankly felt he did enough holding of (name) "I'll send you the address when we get back"

#criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x reader #alpha spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #x male reader #male reader #criminal minds omegaverse #criminal minds a/b/o #a/b/o

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 11 months

Text

Steve stared at Eddie when he called him that. Don't ya, big boy? He barely had time to process it before he was patting Eddie to get up. Shit, did he accidentally pat him on his ass? Steve jumped on the seat, and they were off. As he was driving, he could think about Eddie and what he had called him. Big boy. Had he been flirting with him? But wasn't he just pushing him towards Nancy? Steve growled.

"Confusing asshole," Steve muttered.

"What was that?" Eddie asked.

Shit, was Eddie sitting behind him?

"It was nothing, I was just talking to myself," Steve said quickly.

"Fine, I suppose you're allowed to have your secrets. It's not like we're taking down an evil wizard together or anything," Eddie said.

"It's just - " Steve paused.

"Look, man, I was just messing with you. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Eddie said.

"Why did you push me towards Nancy and then call me that?" Steve asked. "I mean, if you were trying to send a guy mixed signals, it worked."

"Is this a good time to talk about this?" Eddie asked.

"Well, we have plenty of time before we get to the War Zone," Steve said. "I think it's a good time to talk before we go off to fight an evil wizard, don't you?"

Eddie sighed. He was suddenly sitting by Steve’s chair, still on the floor and looking up at him.

"I was trying to see if you were still interested in Nancy," Eddie said.

"Well, I think a part of me will always be interested in her, but I know I need to move on, that it will never work," Steve said. "It's just that - have you seen her?"

"Yeah, she's fucking cute as a speckled pup is what she is and a badass to boot," Eddie said. "So, I can't really blame you there."

"She's cute as a speckled pup?" Steve asked.

"Hey, if I'm comparing your cuteness to an animal, it's the highest compliment. I like all sorts of animals: dogs, cats, raccoons, dragons," Eddie said.

"I hate to tell you this, Eddie, but dragons aren't real," Steve said.

"Oh, yeah, then what are lizards if not tiny dragons?" Eddie asked.

"Well, they're lizards," Steve replied and rolled his eyes. "So, about you calling me big boy. . ."

"Oh, yeah, I was absolutely flirting with you. You only live once," Eddie replied. "Just like I'm sure you absolutely meant to grab my ass."

"I swear, it was an accident," Steve said, laughing.

"Sure, Stevie, I believe you," Eddie said, flashing his dimples at him. "Just admit that you want a piece of this."

"Maybe I do," Steve replied with a smirk.

Eddie leaned his head against his thigh, gazing softly at him. Eddie opened his mouth and proceeded to go into detail about all the filthy things he was going to do to Steve after this was all over.

"Jesus, Eddie! I'm trying to focus on driving!"

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #bisexual appreciation #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson

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animeomegas · 10 months

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Just imagine, the Shikamaru who had three cubs getting back home from his appointment(or the surgery you choice) to find it speckles, children napping in their rooms soundly. His alpha fallen asleep on the kitchen table in front of two steaming plates of his favourite food(children ate earlier so Shikamaru and alpha could get themselves a bit alone time)

Referring to this post.

Shikamaru would feel so grateful and loved in this situation. He knows that it wasn't possible for his alpha to accompany him to his abortion/surgery, but they clearly worked as hard as they could to help from afar. That means a lot to him.

He'll go straight over to wake them up, enjoy the food together, and then he's going to lay down while alpha deals with the pups for the rest of the day.

It would be one of those moments where he knows that his obsession instinct picked the right person <3

#shikamaru #nara obsessions #hcs #cw abortion #a/b/o #omegaverse

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soaricarus · 1 year

Text

some scug designs i did. i love these sillies. i love rain world. such a silly game. design notes (and slight spoilers?) below. might revise all these designs later

monk: design is meant to be soft to show that they're pretty peaceful compared to most of the others. they have a small circle on their head as a reference to the monk passage

survivor: a little sharper than monk with the fur. their markings are a light brown as a sort of nod to them and monk being siblings. they have the survivor passage symbol on their snout inbetween their eyes

hunter: sharp design with bandages around tail and front legs and spots pretty much everywhere because idk they look neat. first part of hunter passage on snout, second on back as a rib sort of marking, green + purple bandana and strap made by NSH. bandana was given after campaign. i like to think hunter didn't ascend but instead it cleared most of the rot, allowing hunter to live and return to NSH

nightcat: literally sparklecat galore i don't have any reasoning other than it looks cool and Stars. very round though to look friendly

artificer: sharp fur edges, bandages around arms like hunter. they r lesbians ur honour. glowing bulbs on tail and around the antennae serve as a catalyst for their explosions. their antennae were made by 5p as a way to communicate with eachother. lotsa scars, pretty fire colors just because. the two crystals in her amulet are carved colored pearls she found and wears as a memory of her pups.

rivulet: ourple. big ears idk why it just looked cool. semi-transparent fins and gills for better movement in water. speckle-y cape marking because i love cape markings and rivulet is my favorite

spearmaster: a lil bright purple/pink that goes into a sort of inbetween dark magenta. big fluffy mane 10/10 very huggable. many whiskers for many reasons, kept the pearl post-campaign and gave it to suns to show that moon sent it on its way back to send her last broadcast. small red sun marking on head that matches suns'

gourmand: he is very round he is very friendly. spots just because. no reason really

saint: big fluff to stay warm. yellowish green because a more blue-green would look less warm and friendly, mane is a bit spiky due to getting out of scuffles alot to avoid harming another.

#slugcat #rw downpour #rainworld downpour #rain world downpour #hunter #artificer #survivor #monk #nightcat #rivulet #spearmaster #gourmand #saint #my friend commented on spearmaster not being an emo purple and honestly thats just a skill issue for him /t #i got access to the internet when sparklecats were the hype. i think nightcat makes it obvious #i have an ascended saint design. alas i do not think i should post it yet #rain world #downpour #my art

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sednonamoris · 8 months

Text

vienna waits for you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: After a one-off meeting with a young Lieutenant Price, you assume you'll never meet again. A mission in Vienna proves you wrong.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, description of knife wounds, lots of blood, strong language, excessive dog puns, pre-relationship, pre-slowburn

Word count: 3,027

A/N: A little prequel action for hellhound (cross-posted to AO3)!! Thank you thank you thank you to the people who love this series as much as I do - your enthusiasm and joy has written this series just as much as I have 🩷

—

Ever since Belfast they’ve called you Hound.

Ever since Price, really. Hellhound, he had said, but it got shortened quick enough. One less syllable to trip through as they tease you.

Dog’s dinner again, eh, Hound? in the mess hall.

Well sure, every dog has its day, when you make top marks in training.

Pretty as a speckled pup, you are, cooed mockingly on a rare night spent out of fatigues drinking with the lads just off base.

One of the newer recruits even tried whistling at you during a sparring match. He ended up in the med bay for that one, while you were reprimanded by Command yet again.

In the dog house, your squadmates titter as you march out of your captain’s office with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and anger itching beneath your skin.

The teasing is fine. You like it, even, making your fair share of awful puns just to get a laugh out of the boys. What you can’t shake is the feeling of discontent with your superior officers. You joined up with the Irish Armed Forces at eighteen to do something. When they sent you up the ranks to the ARW just a few years later it was supposed to matter more. Save the good guys when you could, take down the bad ones when you couldn’t. ACTION had been promised by every recruitment poster in big bold letters. And yet, it seems like every time you take some all they do is give out to you.

You’re not good for much more than taking orders and pulling triggers, you know, but still it feels like something’s missing. Like you could do more if they’d just let you.

—

Weeks later you get your chance: another team-up with the SAS. When it’s announced to the regiment you’re the first one geared up and ready to go.

For a silly, self-indulgent moment you let yourself wonder if Lieutenant Price will be there, too.

—

Between the SAS and ARW, a burgeoning terror cell has been tracked to Vienna. It’s being run by Wesley Martin, an English expat coming off a dishonourable discharge from MI6. Rather than fading quietly into obscurity, he’s taken the opportunity to sell out his country’s secrets and incite insurrection not just against them, but most of Europe as well. He staged an attack on Irish soil months ago, but the trail had gone cold - until now. England was the one to find him again, and Austria’s task force has offered its support, working out negotiations between the three nations as to who gets to make the arrest and on exactly what counts and which soil he will be tried. If the whispers up the chain of command are true, Ireland gets dibs on cuffing him.

But that’s all above your pay grade. You’d just like to nab the prick.

When your boots hit the tarmac you have a stretch and breathe deep. It was a cramped plane ride with your squadmates. Jacks had snored on your shoulder the whole way, and Murph wouldn’t shut up about his latest shag, who apparently gave him quite a memorable experience in a pub stall over leave. He’d spared no detail. Lieutenant Doyle, of course, was the one who kept egging him on; even a glare from Captain Guiney hadn’t been enough to stop him from asking what color her knickers were. He produced a rather spectacular lacy red thong from one of his pockets in answer.

Chatter cuts as you make your way over to where the SAS team stands in formation.

“Pint short as usual, Guinness,” Captain MacMillan’s thick brogue snarks. “You’re late.”

“They are early,” a less amused Austrian woman corrects. Anna Ebner, if it’s the same person who coordinated and shared all the intel reports.

“Only by Paddy standards, which is to say none at all.”

Ebner rolls her eyes.

“Je-sus,” Guiney says in greeting, “how’d I get stuck working with you cunts?” His wide grin and open arms counteract the words.

A series of warm handshakes are exchanged, but then it’s right to business.

Ebner informs the group that Austria has opted to sideline its men with the promise of support only if things go very, very wrong. They’ll be on comms for the whole operation. That leaves two mixed-company teams to infiltrate the safehouse apartment; one from the front and one from the back. Once the ground floor is secured, Alpha Team will head upstairs while Bravo covers the cellar and makes sure no one gets in or out of the building.

Team assignments are handed out with efficiency before everyone piles into the vans. Most of your squadron ends up with Alpha, headed by Guiney. You and Jacks are the only ARW soldiers on Bravo, which will be led by MacMillan and his lieutenant.

“Looks like we’re top dogs today, Hound,” Murph crows, elbowing you in the ribs before heading over to join the others with Alpha.

You grin and flip him off while Jacks tells the lot of them to go fuck themselves, and turn to find Lieutenant John Price looking right at you. Your eyes go wide and your spine snaps straight.

“Hound, is it?” Barely-there amusement curls at the edge of his mouth.

“It is, yeah.” There should probably be a sir attached to that, but you’re too caught up in the starstruck realization that he remembers you to care.

It’s a stroke of luck that he doesn’t seem to mind. Just hums at the back of his throat with a twinkle in his eye before nodding his head toward the van behind him. “With me.”

—

It’s tight quarters inside the vans, so many soldiers pressed knee to knee. Price is seated across from you. At your side, Jacks is shooting shit with the other Brits in your temporary squad. Already he’s insulted the Queen - your favourite pastime, usually - but you ignore him in favor of quietly observing Price, who in turn is quietly observing you.

He hasn’t changed much in the months since your last meeting.

His face is clean-shaven with an ever-present threat of stubble. The rest of his hair is tucked beneath a dark beanie that either hides a buzz cut or a seriously impressive cowlick - it’s hard to say which would suit him more. His broad frame fills his tactical suit, and the stars in your eyes make him seem that much broader. But it’s his eyes that strike you the most. Clear-cut, no-nonsense blue that sees straight to the heart of you.

What has he found there, you wonder?

In Price it feels like you’ve found the answer to a question that’s been difficult to put to words. He’s so sure. Sure of himself, of his team, of his mission. Every doubt you house is a certainty in him - it’s no wonder they’ve already named him a lieutenant while you can barely keep your rank as sergeant.

“They didn’t court marshal you, then,” he breaches the silence between you.

“Not for lack of trying.” Your smile is crooked and self-deprecating. “I’m fairly certain ‘loose cannon’ is at the top of my file in red ink.”

He huffs a laugh. “Better than ‘temper management issues’.”

“Oh, please,” you say. “Yours has got to be something like ‘hero’ or ‘patriot’. Maybe ‘golden boy’. I bet the recruitment campaigns can’t get enough of you.”

“They tried to get me to pose for a commercial,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

“Told them to sod off.”

You cackle. “Too right!”

The rest of the van ride is spent trading quips back and forth, bantering like you’ve known each other for ages and not just from a one-off meeting months ago. In the time that’s lapsed between then and now you’ve imagined working beside him plenty— more than you should have, being honest. It should be impossible for the man to live up to the myth you’ve manufactured in your mind.

Somehow he exceeds it.

Somehow you’re not surprised.

—

The muffled sound of Bravo team breaching the cellar door is the only thing that breaks the midnight silence of Vienna’s neighborhoods. Combat boots creak down wooden steps, guns at the ready and night vision gear engaged. Captain Macmillan leads the charge, sweeping the space with practiced authority.

“Clear,” he announces. His voice is too-loud and rough in the cramped space.

Though no targets are on this level, a wealth of information seems to be. There’s not an ounce of modern technology to be seen, but every inch of unfinished wall is covered in the paper trail three respective countries have been chasing in vain for months.

“Seems like your man is starting to lose the plot, eh?” Jacks says with his crooked smile, gesturing to documents pinned on corkboards and clipped across strings that hang from the low ceilings.

Your mouth snaps shut on your reply at MacMillan’s warning to keep quiet, but disagreement is plain across your features. Martin is paranoid, certainly, but you wouldn’t call him crazy. Though this organization system is beyond you, it makes sense in theory; Who better than a former MI6 operative can appreciate how insecure cyber storage is, even with encryptions in place?

Paper maps cover one of the walls wholly, marked up in unfamiliar code you’re sure some poor interns will have a field day with. Whatever his next moves are, they must be hidden there. Many of the hanging sheets read like weapons orders, others like mercenary pay stubs, all in a myriad of languages. Everything else is too much text to be anything but a manifesto. You snag one of the sheets for yourself and read a few cursory lines of down with the status quo and death to the Other - nothing that hasn’t been done before.

With a nod from his captain, Price starts barking orders. Everything must be taken down and packed away; this kind of evidence is every operation’s dream. You all set about the work as quietly as you can in case things still aren’t clear inside. MacMillan radios Guiney for a sitrep off to the side before he joins in.

In all of a second it isn’t necessary.

Shouting sounds from inside, then gunfire.

You hear the tinkling of broken glass and the impact of a body hitting the ground and the thunk, thunk of a flashbang falling down cellar stairs before it goes off. Harsh, blinding white overwhelms your senses and forces your eyes to close in a painful squeeze. There’s a ringing in your ears that feels like it’s coming from everywhere. Someone screams. You tear your night vision gear off in a blind panic and blink sightlessly at the chaos.

Fuck.

Fuck!

There’s a dark shape at the foot of the stairwell going up, and before you register what your body is doing you can feel yourself lurch after them. You’re not even sure if you have your gun.

You stagger outside to see Price giving chase to someone who can only be Wesley Martin - him or one of his close associates. Doesn’t matter now. You join in hot pursuit, the thick soles of your boots pounding across Vienna’s pavement. Your lungs burn and your vision is still blurred but you can’t afford to slow down. Price is still several metres ahead.

Without breaking stride he takes aim with his gun and nails Martin squarely in the back. The crack of the shot echoes sharp in the night and lays him flat out in the street. Price continues his sprint, only slowing a few steps out from the body.

Except it isn’t just a body; he’s still alive. You see him move - he must be wearing kevlar - but before you can shout a warning he whips his body around and takes Price out at the legs. Moonlight flashes off the wicked threat of his unsheathed knife. He shoves the blade up hard into Price’s ribs and slashes a wide arc through his belly. You swear it’s happening in slow motion, like those nightmares where you run and run and run but your legs won’t move.

“Get off him, you bastard!” you shout. Martin’s head turns to see you come barrelling at him. He smiles. The knife drips blood. Price gasps and stumbles backward where he’s shoved aside, fingers clutching desperately at the wound.

Your hands feel for the familiar weight of your gun only to find it gone. You must have lost it in the confusion. Martin could easily kill Price now - it’s what you would do, if the situation was reversed - but instead he takes your momentary distraction as a chance to take off again.

It’s his mistake.

You’re close enough and determined enough now that it takes only a few strides to overtake him, and while you don’t have your gun you sure as shit have a knife. The collision happens all at once and in fragments. Your body against his. Your knife in his neck. The scalding spray of blood as you pull it out. The sluice of flesh as you drive it back in. You’re not sure when you stop stabbing, but it’s long after he stops twitching.

His body is limp and strange beneath you. You roll off and stagger to your feet only to retch in the street beside it. Bile bites the back of your throat and you wipe at your mouth with a grimace. Your hands are shaking. Command is going to fucking kill you.

Sirens sound in the distance, now, but the only thing that breaks your thousand yard stare from the man you just killed is the sound of Price’s labored breathing a few metres away.

You blink and all of the sudden you’re knelt in front of him. It takes a moment for him to register that you’ve come back; his eyes stare unseeing, clouded with pain.

“You killed ‘im,” he slurs. “K-I-bloody-A.”

“That’s not important right now,” you snap. “Focus on staying alive. One breath at a time, yeah?” You move his hands from the wound to assess the situation and nearly retch again. Martin stabbed clean through the kevlar, and now his guts are threatening to spill into the street. “Did you radio anyone?”

He just blinks up at you, dumb with shock and bloodloss.

You curse.

With one hand you fish around for the meager med supplies you keep on you, and with the other you call in for help. The radio is sticky with blood. You’re not sure whose. Price has gone so pale. Blood leaks at the corner of his mouth. His teeth are stained red.

You’re only a block over from whatever remains of your squadron but it might as well be miles. They say they’re on the way, but there are so many wounded already. Looking at Price, you know it won’t be fast enough, anyway. You only have a disinfectant wipe, a needle, and surgical thread. Sutures have never been your strong suit, but if it’s not you and it’s not here and now then it’s lights out. You’ll just have to make do.

“No bloody dying,” you warn. “This is gonna hurt.”

You lay Price back carefully, carefully, and smear the alcohol wipe around the edge of the wound. It stings - it must - but he only sucks a sharp breath in without complain. Pinching the skin together, hands slick with blood that isn’t yours, you poise the needle over him.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself.

He stares up at you with the most lucidity he’s managed since being stabbed. Clear-cut. No-nonsense. So very blue. “Ready.”

—

Your stitch job is crooked and atrocious, but the hospital staff inform you later that it saves his life.

“Be a hell of a scar,” Price laughs from the sterile white of his hospital bed. The sound wheezes out of him. You can tell it hurts, but he seems in good spirits.

So good, in fact, that he’s managed once again to talk you out of a court marshal. He didn’t let up until he’d convinced Command that Wesley Martin had to be put down. That there was no salvaging the mission otherwise and that your actions saved not just his life, but the lives of many. Once those interns deciphered the rest of his plans they were quick to agree. Now you’re all done up in your service dress for an award ceremony later this afternoon. You wanted Price there, but the hospital staff wouldn’t release him from their clutches. A visit just before will have to suffice.

“Something to remember me by,” you say.

There’s something fond and familiar in his eyes that makes your throat hurt. “I would be hard-pressed to forget someone like you, Hound.”

“Running with the big dogs, now,” you grin. He rolls his eyes at the pun. “Next time I kill a target I’m not supposed to I bet they promote me.”

“I don’t doubt it. You do good work.”

“So do you, Lieutenant.”

There’s more you want to say, questions you want to ask him, but they all die in your throat the longer you look at him lying there. Even battered and beaten he’s still so sure. Certainty stinging in the creases of his eyes. Sunshine slatted past hospital window blinds. Dated rock music filtering grainy through the radio one of his lads must’ve brought in. Half-wilted flowers at his bedside. Sitting upright in an uncomfortable bed wrapped in starchy white sheets he is every inch the soldier you’ll never be.

“If you’re ever in England again…” he starts. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised he’s offering, but you are. A delighted smile lights your face.

“I’m never in England if I can help it,” you say honestly. He laughs. “But give us a call if you hop the channel, yeah?”

“I will do,” he says.

It’s silly to think you’ll actually meet again. Truly, why would you? But it feels like he means it. Like you’re dogs of war, set on intersecting paths to hell.

Somehow, some way, the two of you are always going to find each other.

Somehow, some way, you don’t think you mind.

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii x reader #hellhound #fran writes

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brandyllyn · 1 year

Text

This Time

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader [no use of y/n. 3POV]

Sequel to Next Time - but I think it works as a stand alone

Words: 2.8k

My Masterlist

Rated: Teen. Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff.

Smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt, Jack frowned at his reflection in the Bronco’s side mirror. The material was a soft grey, short-sleeved with pearl snap buttons. It was one of his favorites, good for a casual day out, having a beer with friends - a utilitarian shirt.

His frown deepened.

Making an effort to look away, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to make the lean against the truck as casual as possible. Wear the same thing as last time, she’d said.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t like surprises, he enjoyed them as much as the next person. He just liked to be informed, that was all. How could he protect people, do his job, if he didn’t have full information?

“Hey Jack.”

Her soft voice startled him out of his musings and he jerked his head up to see her. His mouth froze on his greetings, the words garbling in his throat.

Lord have mercy, she was wearing jeans. Jeans that looked like they had been painted on her, framing soft thighs and an ass he felt a sudden irresistible urge to bite. She had on a loose blouse with one of those camisoles with the thin straps underneath.

And she was smiling. At him.

The beauty of her knocked him on his ass and he completely missed his opportunity to meet her, to walk with her and open the car door like a gentleman. Instead he scrambled inside and flung himself across the bench seat, grabbing at the passenger door handle and giving her a sheepish smile as she slid inside.

“Lord, you’re pretty as a speckled pup.” She raised an eyebrow and he gave his head a sharp shake. “It’s a compliment.”

“Is it?”

Damn it to hell, how was he messing this up already? Again.

“It is,” he turned the key in the Bronco and set it to drive.

When she had offered to plan their second date, the old school gentleman in Jack had balked. He’d been raised to believe it was a man’s job to do the romancing. To plan the outings, pay for dinner, make the moves.

Then again, their first date had gone so poorly he hadn’t objected when she’d offered to plan their second. Only some of it had been his fault, in his defense. He couldn’t have done anything about the tornado.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Head into town, then north on New Circle Road”

They chit chatted on the drive into Lexington, a little over an hour with light traffic. Plenty of time for Jack to learn more about her. She wanted a pet, but worried her job at Statesman would interfere. Never been married, although she made passing mention of a proposal that perked his ears. She asked him questions about his hobbies, and then made appropriate follow-up noises of appreciation about the Bronco when he said it was refurbishing older vehicles.

“It’s very shiny,” she smiled and he choked back a laugh. Maybe he should have mentioned his ever so slight obsession with World War II documentaries instead.

She gave no clues to where they were going, nodding slightly when he got off the highway onto Route 4 but aside from that remaining mum. When they turned on to the city streets north of town Jack almost asked but held his tongue. Stadium signs rose to their right as she directed him into a half empty parking lot. Even as they approached the stadium, he didn’t ask the question that bubbled in him. Not until she handed two construction paper tickets to an older lady and led him inside.

“Baseball?”

“The Lexington Legends,” she chirped back, slipping into the sparse crowd and looking back to see if he followed.

He did, his gait slipping into an easy saunter. Earlier, he’d have laid all his money they were going to a museum for the day. Maybe some kind of art gallery.

“Never figured you for a baseball fan.”

“I’m not really,” she shrugged, eyeing something over his shoulder as she came to a stop. “But this isn’t baseball. It’s minor league baseball.”

“Other than the obvious, what’s the difference?”

“Baseball is about the sport. It’s about winning and all that.” A soft aha noise left her and she grabbed his hand, slipping her fingers between his and dragging him to a vendor. “But minor league is about having fun. It’s a carnival with baseball as an excuse.”

Glancing up at the sign he smiled, “Funnel cake?”

“To start,” she answered with a decisive nod. “After that they have one of those things set up where you hit baseballs and win prizes.”

“A batting cage?” His interest was piqued.

“Yeah, that,” she said distractedly.

He didn’t have her attention. She was practically salivating as she gave her order, not just the cake but deep fried Coca Cola and a lemonade to go with it.

“Shouldn’t be possible to fry a liquid,” Jack mumbled, licking powdered sugar from his fingertips. “But damn if it ain’t good.”

She beamed back at him, reaching up and using her thumb to wipe at the corner of his mustache. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do.” He managed not to shiver at her touch - barely. “But I have to admit it’s not what I expected.”

“Well,” she turned her back to him, leading him to a nearly empty set of bleachers. “One of the times you were asking me out you mentioned going to the state fair. If I remember right you tried to lure me with fried Oreos.”

“I did,” he nodded.

“And I know you play on the distillery’s softball team so I figured it wouldn’t be the most boring venue.”

Staring at the first baseman, Jack tapped the heel of his boot on the steel bleacher. “That was pretty astute of you.” Ducking her head she concentrated on their food and Jack eyed the field. “You rootin’ for anyone in particular?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I don’t even know who the teams are.”

Shutting his eyes for a moment Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Are you telling me, sugar, that you brought me to a baseball game solely for the food?”

“Well, I brought me solely for the food. But I thought you might like the game.”

“You are…” he searched for the word. Finally he settled on a huff of laughter, sliding the funnel cake from her hands and ignoring her protests. He leaned over and pressed his nose to her shoulder, “… somethin’ else.”

“Is that good?” She asked, one hand snaking over to his lap and the fried strings of dough. He picked one up instead, straightening and holding it out to her.

“Is to me.”

The Legends were playing a good game - relying a bit too much on a strong pitcher in Jack’s opinion, half the team couldn’t bat for shit - but he didn’t protest when his companion tugged on his arm in the third inning with a pleading look in her eye.

“Pickles?”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Fried?”

“Of course.”

“Lead the way.”

It was probably coincidence that the vendor was right next to the batting cage. And Jack couldn’t resist those pretty eyes when she bit her lip and glanced over at the stuffed animals hanging from the fence.

“Want me to win you one, sugar?”

“You think you can?” she asked with a tease on her voice.

He hummed an affirmative, rolling his shoulder under his shirt. It ached sometimes after the distillery league games, but it had been fine lately, certainly fine enough to knock out a couple homers and get the purple dog looking thing she was staring at.

“What do I get?”

She tapped her lip thoughtfully at the question. “Third date?”

“Deal,” he said quickly, pulling out a five and handing it to the guy without preamble. Her giggle followed him and he gave the bat a trial swing before setting his stance.

Crack.

The first ball was a foul, sailing almost straight up and into the tarp. Jack jumped back to avoid being brained and grunted. He’d gotten used to the underhand throws of the softball league. He’d need to re-evaluate.

Whiff.

Fuck, he hadn’t even touched the second. He felt the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and took a swing at the third. It felt solid as it connected, a low hit midway down the far tarp. A solid hit in a real game, but not enough to read as a home run in the cage.

He had another five in his hand before the ball stopped rolling “Again.”

Another foul.

And another.

A low drive to a non-existent third baseman.

“Again.”

“Jack,” her voice sounded too soft and he didn’t look at her.

Two hits and a miss, one that should have been a home run but the damn game clocked it as a triple and Jack gritted his teeth against the argument that rose in his throat.

“Jack, come here.”

Shoulders sagging he turned to the fence, taking a step to it and frowning. “Sugar I-“

“A kiss.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Win me the dragon and you get a kiss.”

He blinked again and darted his eyes to the purple stuffed animal. Is that what it was? A dragon?

Wait.

A teasing smile pulled the corners of her lips up, a touch of powdered sugar still dusting the lower one. She’d be sweet, he knew that. And soft.

“Hell yeah,” he muttered, thumbing another bill at the kid running the cage. The prize wasn’t worth twenty bucks but that wasn’t the point.

Crack.

Three home runs, a light and siren going off each time.

She looked skeptical. “Did you batting cage shark me?”

“Did I what?” he spluttered, pointing at the largest version of the dragon for the worker.

“Batting cage shark, like a pool shark. Pretend to be bad so I’d offer you something?”

“Yes…?” he said slowly, drawling the word out and squinting slightly. It was a better explanation than anything he had. He handed the stuffed animal over, taking the nearly gone pile of fried food from her.

She frowned as she wrapped her arms around the ridiculously large toy. After a moment her face broke into a grin. “Liar.”

“I simply lacked proper motivation.”

Shifting the toy in her embrace she leaned towards him. “Are you going to collect?”

He traced his eyes over her face and settled a hand at the base of her spine. “Later.”

The spluttering sound she made at that warmed his heart.

“I’m assuming we don’t have dinner plans?” Jack asked as he held open the Bronco door for her. He took the dragon from her with one hand, patting her thigh slightly as she buckled in.

“Are you still hungry?” she responded incredulously.

Grinning, he leaned into the back of the truck, setting the plush down and pulling one of the lap belts across it. “Not a bit, I was just checking.” Dragon secured, he slipped into the front seat. “Where next?”

He didn’t expect it to be a bar, a dive bar at that. She was a fancy gal - she’d shown for their first date in a pencil skirt and heels for Christ’s sake. Then again, the last time he’d told her he was going to ‘Show her the town,’ so maybe that was just a miscommunication.

“You dance?” he asked after they got their drinks, leaning in a dark corner a little away from the speakers.

“A little,” she shrugged. “Never had much of a chance to learn.”

“Not interested?”

“Two left feet.” She laughed and he shifted closer. “It’s also a lot to keep track of. Counting, which direction to go…”

“You ever have a good partner?”

Without giving her a chance to answer, Jack swung her into an easy two-step, the live band doing a passable cover of an old George Strait song. She stumbled at first, but he kept a steady hand on her shoulder blade, giving the direction she needed to match his movements.

“Quick, quick, slow slow,” he muttered down to her helpfully and she glared back up at him.

Despite his teasing, she followed him like a dream, letting him guide her in a large circle around the floor. There was no looking behind her, no fighting him. With the gentlest pressure from him she turned slightly, keeping the rhythm and facing forward by his side, their interlinked arms ahead of them.

“You’re a natural,” he smiled, guiding her into a turn so she was facing him again.

“You’re a good teacher,” she smiled back. He kept an eye on their drinks, making sure no one messed with them, but that only took about 5% of his concentration. The rest he could focus on the woman in his arms. She was settled into his embrace like they’d done this a hundred times before, his fingers spread behind one shoulder while he traced his thumb over her other hand. He knew the song was ending soon and he gave a silent prayer for another two-step.

Instead, a car engine revved and a twangy guitar intro followed. One any cowboy worth his salt would recognize, and he smiled. “Ever line danced?”

A shake of her head and his smile turned into a grin. “I’ll show you.”

It should have been easy, this one was a classic for a reason. A simple grapevine, a toe tap or two, some clapping and a booty shake.

She was hopeless at it.

“No that way,” he huffed, turning her waist with one hand.

“One, one-two, one, one-two” he tried to help out as she double tapped and looked lost.

The third time she spun into him he gave up, pulling her close. “You weren’t kidding about those two left feet.”

“I told you-“

He shushed with her a turn, swinging her out of the way of the other dancers and back to their waiting drinks. “I thought that was modesty.”

She snorted, stirring her drink with a straw.

He did eventually manage to get her through the electric slide, but they did much better in the partner dances. Jack didn’t mind, any excuse to get his hands on her was welcome.

It was raining by the time they left, rushing to the Bronco while Jack tried to hold his hat over her head. They were laughing when the doors shut and he did his best to ignore how the water made her blouse stick to her skin.

“Home then?”

A nod and he shifted into gear. He jumped in surprise when her hand slipped into his, drifting up to cradle his forearm when he needed it to change gears. He liked it, even though her fingers were cold, and once they got on the highway he entangled their fingers together and chatted about absolutely nothing.

She was sleepy by the time they got back to the compound, leaning back in her sleep and fighting to keep her eyes open. He shut the truck off, frowning when her hand slipped away after he was forced to let it go.

“I’ll walk you up.”

“You’re not going to claim that kiss?” she asked with a small frown and pout.

“Nah.” With one hand he swept his hat off, turning and settling it in the backseat. “I figure I’ll save it.”

“Save it for what?”

“Third date,” he informed her with a grin. “And my second chance.”

A soft smile came over her face and Jack couldn’t help but press his fingertips to her jaw, rubbing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “But Lord you do make a man think twice about his convictions.”

“Oh do I?” A sly, sultry look replaced the shy one. “Maybe your convictions are in the wrong place.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his thumb slipping down to trace her lips. “You’re enough to tempt a saint to sin.”

Her laughter warmed him, and his focus was so pinpointed on her smile that he missed that it was moving closer until it was almost a surprise when those smiling lips were pressed to his.

Lord he was right, she was sweet. And soft. Her mouth brushing over his with the barest of pressure. A groan escaped him, one hand clenching in the hair behind her neck. He wouldn’t push, he wouldn’t. But if she wanted to rub that body of hers against his and lick at the seam of his mouth who was he to deny her?

They were both panting when she broke away, and Jack’s jeans were fitting a bit tighter than normal.

“Next Saturday?”

“Tomorrow.” The word choked out of him and he winced. “Don’t make me wait a week to see you again, sugar.”

“Brunch?”

Yeah. Yeah he could do brunch.

“My place?”

In her house? Where her bed was?

Ain’t no way he would survive that.

“How bout we go out somewhere? You got any pretty Sunday dresses?”

The smile she gave him was dazzling, and a little mischievous. “I think I have something.”

Lord have mercy, what had he gotten himself into now?

For updates on stories please follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

Songs from the saloon: George Strait - I Just Wanna Dance With You Brooks and Dunn - Boot Scootin' Boogie

#jack 'whiskey' daniels #kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you

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tribbetherium · 11 months

Text

The Middle Temperocene: 150 million years + 1000 years post-establishment

Hello, Neighbor: Fellow Travelers

The Longest Darktime had come to an end.

Now the golden glow that illuminated the horizon now brought forth the yellow-sun, not merely a tease like it had before, when the faint light simply returned to darkness. The great yellow sun, dwarfing the scarlet gleam of its red companion, did not rise very high in the sky, nor did it stay for long, but the little daylight it bestowed was relief for those who had endured the horrors of the near-endless night.

Sharpstripe was the first to stir.

The warm rays that dappled upon her spotted coat roused the pack's lead female from a light sleep. She glanced about at the cove which for now they called shelter, at her mate, and young, her family which still lay reclined beside her.

Her attention, however, turned to her two youngest. Now christened Dawn-Light for the female and Two-Blue for the male, they huddled together tightly in a corner, twitching, kicking, crying in their slumber.

She quickly moved to their side, her warm, reassuring form resting against the two.

She could not blame them.

What peace of sleep could a young pup possibly have, when they had bore witness to a horror no youngster their age ever deserved to witness?

Pale-Beard had been the one to reassure the two when they suffered troubled nights. But now, there was only silence.

She could have laid by their side all day, a warm pillow to soothe their inner pain, but the sound of calls-- voices-- in the distance brought her rising to her paws. She gently nudged the pups aside, toward their elder brother Switch-Eyes, before hurrying around the edge of the cove, bearing her wood-tooth, to investigate.

A cry broke from her clenched jaws when she glimpsed the flicker of a glowing flame, waved upon a branch by a strange houndfolk.

Strange-Eyes, her partner in watching over the pack, was alerted by her call and hurried over to where she stood, her back fur bristling and tail held straight up in warning.

"Outlanders?" Strange-Eyes asked.

"Not know," Sharpstripe responded. "Not sure."

It certainly seemed that way, with the manner the passerby carried themselves. Hoisting a flaming branch, that trailed a streak of smoke, it caused both their hairs to stand on end, remembering the terrors of the fateful night.

But something seemed different this time, as Sharpstripe listened to the voices. Her pack had traveled well inland, long before she had met and bonded with Strange-Eyes, and she had learned some of the local dialect.

These were not chants of war, like the Outlanders had cried out before. It was a light, and simple song, whose note was certainly far too cheerful and friendly to be coming from the murderous warmongers of the Longest Darktime.

"Come, yellow-sun, shine above sky,

Come, small red-sun, join friend light,

The long dark is done,

The big night is gone.

Come both suns, keep warm, bright."

It was clearly by no means something the Firethieves would be singing.

Strange-Eyes gave a small relieved whimper, and let down his guard. Yet Sharpstripe remained stiff, fierce, on watch.

They were still strangers whom she did not know, and she was wary.

The southhounds, the grey houndfolk, were not one people, but many. The ones who dwelt in the mountains. The ones who roamed the plains. The ones who lived by the edge of the sea. To say nothing of the lesser factions of each, of packs or small groups of packs that stood apart--and against-- the others.

A divided people.

The travellers settled nearby, and Sharpstripe got a good look at the newcomers. By their pale grey speckled coats, dark brown manes that extended to the tops of their heads and tails striped in three colors lengthwise, she recognized them as the plains folk, a nomadic people that did not stay in any one place for long, and followed wherever food was plentiful.

One bearer of the torch, at the front of the group, noticed the pair hiding by the edge of the cove. She seemed scarcely apprehensive.

"Hello?" she barked in the baywulf tongue, for the wide and far travels of the plains folk taught them many foreign words.

Her tone seemed welcoming, even friendly, but Sharpstripe was not taking any chances. Gripping her wood-tooth tight in her jaws, she slowly, warily approached, seeking to demand their intentions.

"Stop! Not need," Strange-Eyes pleaded, gently biting the blunt end of the wood-tooth and tugging it lightly. "Them peace."

"Not know sure," Sharpstripe insisted.

Sharpstripe made her way over to the new arrivals, and sat down a few paces away, leaving much room between them. The rest of the plains folk seemed taken aback, and mildly agitated at her stern, serious approach, but the leader of the group simply calmly sat down, a gesture to the rest of the pack not to worry.

At last Sharpstripe spiked her wood-tooth into the sand, and spoke.

"Why here?"

The leader paused with a quizzical tilt of her head.

"Come by," she replied, in the baywulf tongue once more, yet heavily accented with the sharp squeaks of the plainfolk's dialect. "Only passing. Look for food."

"Look other place," Sharpstripe demanded.

Strange-Eyes stepped in, realizing the foreigners could understand them.

"Sorry for her," he apologized. "She afraid."

"Have right to be afraid!" Sharpstripe cried. "After Longest Darktime! Very right."

"We not harm," reassured the plainsfolk's leader. "We come peace."

"Make sure," Sharpstripe snarled. "Do not try." She grabbed the wood-tooth once more, and tapped it twice against the sand. As a warning, that she meant business.

With a huff, she wandered off, bearing the wood-tooth, while the rest of the plains-pack murmured among themselves in their own dialect, perplexed at the sudden, unexpected encounter.

That evening, as the yellow-sun grew dim and the red-sun now ruled with its crimson rays, the plains folk settled onto the opposite end of the cove. There, they dug out a small pit in the sand, filled it with twigs, and ignited it with a torch: setting the pit ablaze, around which they gathered for warmth.

Sharpstripe went on edge as she watched their flames from afar.

"Mother, why?" asked Switch-Eyes, sensing his mother's discomfort.

"Nothing. I ok." she grumbled, though Switch-Eyes knew that was not the case.

The shadow of the Longest Darktime still hovered over the pack, Switch-Eyes felt. He, especially, with Whitesmoke's dying yelp still echoing in his ears from time to time. But he could tell his mother had been scarred as well, with the way her fur bristled, the way her tail pointed stiffly behind, as she gazed upon the yellow flames of the newcomers from far away.

The youngsters, however, seemed intrigued.

"Who them?" Brushtail asked.

"Come see," Sunbeam urged, eagerly.

"No! STAY AWAY!" cried Sharpstripe fearfully, but the two had already trotted off in the direction of the newcomers, seeking to investigate.

"Mother call back!" Shade cried, for she, too, had become very wary of strangers.

But Sunbeam and Brushtail were already on their way, curiously headed toward the plainsfolk huddle by the fire. They had been foraging near the coast all afternoon, and had collected a fair catch of seafood, a fair achievement, Sunbeam thought to herself, as they were poorer swimmers than the coastfolk.

"Hello?" Sunbeam shyly piped up, standing a few paces away.

The plainsfolk all pricked up their ears and took attention. Some of them, too, were wary, others intrigued, and still some others paid no heed and went back on their business.

The leader of the pack, the same old torch-bearer from earlier, rose to her paws and came forward to meet them.

"Hello," she greeted warmly. She seemed curious, and inviting, and the two felt safe enough for an introduction.

"I, Brushtail. Sunbeam," Brushtail introduced himself, and his sister.

"Narooo-a," the plainsfolk leader replied.

The two siblings looked at one another in confusion.

"What that mean?" Brushtail asked.

"Not mean none," replied the bemused elder. "Just sound calling me."

How strange, the siblings thought. For their names were words. Words that meant things, that described them, or compared them in analogy to another concrete thing that could be felt or seen. Like a bristly tail, or a warm disposition.

Narooo-a. A sound that meant nothing but a name itself. How different they were.

Yet as they looked at the rest of the pack, eagerly feasting on their catch by the fireside, speaking to one another, enjoying one another's company as they barked and chirped and chattered among themselves in their foreign speech, they couldn't help but see how they were also same.

Sunbeam was just about to ask another question when suddenly, Sharpstripe came bounding over to her side, bearing a wood-tooth, with Strange-Eyes in hot pursuit.

"GET BACK! LEAVE HER!" she snarled at the startled plainsfolk, nudging Sunbeam away.

"WHAT IS PROBLEM?" snapped Strange-Eyes at his mate, finally tired of her unwarranted hostility. "They peace! Leave them be!"

"They carry fire. Like...like--" She struggled to spit out the foul name, "--like Outlanders."

The plainsfolk froze for a moment.

Save for Narooo-a, few of the plainsfolk knew much baywulf. But there was but one word in all the local tongues to name the dreaded ones.

"Us...not them," piped up one.

"Us...right owners of flame," Narooo-a explained. "Us brought fire from roaring sky-light. From storm, touch ground. Then flame."

"Flame keep warm, scare off bad beasts. But not destroy. Them. They steal fire. They use to harm, kill."

"They tell same story, but tell wrong. They tell of gift of sky-light, but tell it for war. Strongest ones. Fiercest ones. Lead all."

"Tell stories wrong. To spread hate."

Sharpstripe fixated her eyes upon the flame.

"Still flame. Flame...destroy. How Us, trust Them? Use flame, like...O-Outlander!"

"Us? Them?" snarled Strange-Eyes.

"If anyone like Outlander...YOU ARE."

The words pierced Sharpstripe like the spearpoint of a wood-tooth.

She was.

Long had she despised the Outlanders for their cruel ways. For the hatred they bore to those unlike they.

Yet was she beginning to hate like them?

"I just want best for Us!" Sharpstripe cried despairingly, yet as she spoke the words she knew she sounded even more like an Outlander.

She angrily threw her wood-tooth against the sand and rushed off, crying into the crimson twilight.

Throughout the evening, Strange-Eyes and Narooo-a traded stories by the fire. He brought over the rest of the pack to meet them, and under the red-sun the two groups mingled, telling tales, teaching words.

The plainsfolk had pups of their own, and Dawn-Light and Twoblue romped excitedly with their new playmates, tussling and wrestling and chasing each other about.

Two peoples, united for a moment.

Save for one.

From a distance, Sharpstripe watched in silence. Never had she felt more ashamed of herself.

Was she wrong for wanting to protect her pack? But was she right for branding all unlike an Outlander? Did that make her like an Outlander too?

Troubled thoughts raced through her mind all night, as she sat all alone on the sand, until, exhausted by painful memories and inner struggles, she at last drifted off into a lonely sleep.

------

Over time, Narooo-a and her pack became a regular sight. They were nomads, and were frequently on the move. Yet an acquaintanceship had been forged, and there was reason to return: and where Strange-Eyes and his pack had at last settled, not far from the cove where they met, the plainsfolk returned, from time to time, bearing gifts of interesting objects, or stories to tell.

Friendships were made between the visitor's pups and theirs. Youngsters, growing and learning, every experience a lesson, they quickly learned one another's words, to which they came to speak both dialects fairly well. Thus was one of the gifts of the plainsfolk, on the move since youth, exposed to many tongues, and speaking several upon adulthood.

Amongst all this, Sharpstripe kept her distance.

She felt she was wrong in distrusting them, yet she couldn't help it. Not after the Longest Darktime. There were wounds that would never fade, like the battle scars she and her young ones had suffered. Or the loss of Pale-Beard, whose absence was still felt.

She grabbed her wood-tooth and sauntered off to the shoreline. Perhaps hunting for some breakfast would help take her mind off things.

South of the cove was a small rocky bay, where the small sea-creatures gathered in the mornings. She was skilled with the wood-tooth, when it came to spearing her quarry, frequently the small shelled swimmers, though the bigger grunting sea beasts that sometimes rested on the shore, shaped like land-beasts but rounder and with fins instead of feet, were a welcome occasional addition when she had assistance.

She headed to the peninsula where an old dead tree stood, its dessicated trunk still standing where the salty sea had now encroached. It had been a favorite fishing spot of hers for some time now.

But today, it was occupied.

-------

From far off, Strange-Eyes heard her calls of distress.

"Sharpstripe trouble", he grumbled. She had been acting strange lately, and it had taken its toll on Strange-Eyes as well, who, for the first time in many seasons, had not gotten along with her and her recent behavior since that fateful night. Yet she was still his mate, and they were a pack, no matter what.

"I come. Help." Narooo-a added.

Strange-Eyes knew his partner well, and where she liked to go fishing. He made a beeline for that spot, with a wood-tooth of his own, while Narooo-a followed close behind, carrying her lit torch in case it was some kind of deadly beast, like a fold-paw, whose kind were repelled by flame.

Yet it was anything but.

It was fellow houndfolk, like their own kin. Yet they too differed: both from Strange-Eyes's people or Narooo-a's. They were taller, and more heavily built, with thicker and shaggier coats. Their ears and tails were dark, their coats were striped, not spotted or speckled, and, most telling, a dark stripe that ran between their eyes, dividing their faces down the middle.

A distinctive mark Sharpstripe remembered all too well.

The mark of the Outlanders.

Strange-Eyes, too, recognized the mark of the unusual intruders, who called out to each other in a language he knew not. Theirs was deep, guttural and throaty, rumbling to one another as they backed off from Sharpstripe, bearing her wood-tooth as she slowly paced backward, reluctant to turn her back to them.

"Stay back. Go away. I warn!" she called. Yet the strangers seemed not to understand. In return, the largest of the group, an old male, put himself between the pack and Sharpstripe, grunting out a few warnings of his own that Sharpstripe, in turn, did not understand.

Yet Narooo-a seemed to.

Hurrying forward, in an attempt to cease the conflict, she called out to the old male, in the same deep notes that he had spoken.

Now, he seemed to understand, and stood down.

"Why? What happen?" Sharpstripe asked.

"They not Outlander," Narooo-a explained.

"They are the snow-giants, the south-folk. The dark-ears. They...peace people."

Strange-Eyes took a pause, and observed them more closely. They did seem different from an Outlander. Their fur quite more brown, their coats thicker and their bodies bigger. Around their necks, they wore cords of dried grazer-beast gut, armed with thorns: fearsome to behold, yet meant to defend--not attack.

Sharpstripe was not convinced. "They look Outlander." she noted.

"Not all different, Outlander!" Narooo-a snapped, even her kind, accommodating self now beginning to lose her patience with Sharpstripe's hostile judgement. "They snowfolk, kind people. I know. Met before."

"They tell many stories. They speak of the stars. Tell time. Tell seasons. Much to learn, if not judge quick."

"Put wood-tooth down," Strange-Eyes advised.

But no sooner had Sharpstripe dropped her weapon did the old male darkear suddenly approach her, sniffing her scent in close proximity. She gave a startled yelp and leapt away, equally frightening the old male who flinched and stumbled backwards.

Narooo-a chirped in amusement.

"He not harm," she encouraged. "Snow-folk stay close. Like to close together."

The darkears were a physically affectionate group, borne of a need to huddle in the colder weather of the south. Yet their lack of sense of intimate space was offputting to Sharpstripe, who was uncomfortable with their close approach.

"It is us different," Narooo-a explained. "Each us differ. Coast folk. Plains wanderers. Snow people. All differ. But same."

Narooo-a made a few grunts to the darkears' leader, who responded in kind, not a single word of what was said coherent to the baywulves' ears.

As a show of trust, the lead darkear allowed Narooo-a to remove the thorny collar he wore, leaving his throat exposed. He gave a few stern grunts and rumbles.

"He says drop wood-tooth then us talk," Narooo-a translated.

"Ask him why here," Sharpstripe demanded.

Narooo-a and the darkear exchanged a few more grunts and grumbles, before Narooo-a spoke in the baywulf tongue once more.

"He is escaping."

"From Outlanders."

The darkears too, in their southern tundra home, had gotten word of the conflict that had broken out in the north-east. A few had moved away, westward and around, as fast as they could. They would not stay and wait for the war to come to them.

"He is Graahahan," Narooo-a introduced. "It mean Star-Watcher in snow-people speak."

Graahahan. Star-Watcher. A foreign sound, like Narooo-a. A meaningful word, like Strange-Eyes.

Names all so same yet all so different.

Graahahan gave a few rumbles to Narooo-a.

"Come," she said. "Something that he want show."

He led them to a small patch of shore where the ground was silt, not sand. The mouth of a river, where fresh water met salt and blended in the muddy shallows.

Strange-Eyes watched as Graahahan, or Star-Watcher, rolled himself about in the muddy soil, all undignified like a playful pup in stark contrast to his earlier, composed self. Finally he was coated all, snout to tail, and he turned to Narooo-a and gave an eager rumbling howl.

"He want us join." she said.

Reluctantly, Strange-Eyes waded out into the mud and, with a knowing nod from Star-Watcher, he too tumbled himself in the mud, though he felt silly doing so. What relevance did such a childish activity, fit for pups, have in a serious treaty of peace?

He glanced aside, and saw Narooo-a doing the same.

At last the three stepped back onto the solid ground, covered entirely in the river mud.

"What is point of this?" Strange-Eyes asked.

Star-Watcher, as usual, gave a few throaty grunts that Narooo-a was all happy to interpret.

"Look in river."

Strange-Eyes did so, and saw three reflections, caked in mud.

It took him some time to see which one was him, until he saw the eyes, one blue, one brown. Yet that brief moment, when all he saw were three houndfolk, was when he realized.

Cloaked in mud, there were no spotted shore-people with the round eye spots. There were no snow-people, with stripes and dark ears and a band across their face. There were no plains-people with three-toned tails and speckled coats.

Their differences shrouded, they were all just...people.

"Do you see now?" Star-Watcher said through Narooo-a's interpretation.

"Why hate another for something mud can hide?"

Sharpstripe, too, began to see.

The hate for the different was what made the Outlanders weak. That made them act as cruel wild savage beasts. Not as story-telling hunt-beasts that knew and acted better.

She did not want to be like them.

And so, in a show of support, she, too threw herself into the mud and rolled in it, much to Strange-Eyes bemusement.

-------

The sun was beginning to set in the late evening, now that the Longest Darktime was far, far since past. Now it rose earlier, and set later, as the days once more became longer.

"Grar-ar-ar," Twoblue babbled.

"Graahahan", Star-Watcher corrected.

The receding orange light cast its glow upon the three packs, who in the time had began to spend more time in each other's company.

Star-Watcher had found a new home.

Narooo-a had found new friends.

And Sharpstripe heart had softened, and her mind opened.

There was many they could learn from each other. Stories, words, dialects, skills. The darkears wove collars for protection, and read the stars. The coast-folk crafted tools and weapons, and told stories and sang songs. The plains-nomads brought song and story from far away, and brought the fire that kept them warm at night. Each brought something new, and all began to become more like each other.

In the fading orange rays of the setting yellow-sun, the colors of the southhounds faded to the same tangerine hue in its waning embers.

It was hard to tell the stripes from the speckles and spots-- for, like with the mud, there were only people.

--------

#speculative evolution #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative zoology #hamster's paradise #the calliducyon saga

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four2andnew · 1 year

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May Prompt #22: Grief for @hinnymicrofic (This literally has nothing to do with the prompt, but I used the word so I'm counting it! Muggle AU. CW for language)

Harry loops Hedwig’s lead around a park bench and pours some water into her collapsible bowl he’s unclipped from her harness before working through some stretches for his post-run cool down when a yappy hairball rushes up to them, quite literally hopping with each yap. It would be funny if he didn’t think the fluffy thing could fit entirely in Hedwig’s mouth if she saw fit to bite the dumb dog yipping at her feet.

“Oi! Control your dog,” he calls out to no one in particular, unsure of where exactly this tiny dog came from.

A woman saunters up lazy like and scoops up the hairball. She’s wearing the tightest fucking t-shirt Harry’s ever seen, an electric blue scrap of fabric that proudly pronounces her to be a “Cereal Killer” in shiny silver vinyl letters straining across the most perfect pair of tits in the universe. Her jeans are clearly men’s and at least one size too big as they sag low over her hips, exposing nearly a hand’s width of taut belly absolutely covered in freckles and the tiniest sliver of the elastic of her neon green knickers. Knickers Harry has to physically shake himself from staring at when she tucks her dog into her jean pockets and the weight of it pulls her trousers down that much more. His eyes jerk to her face in an attempt to be less pervy, only for his brain to stutter to a complete stop at the sight of her flaming hair and doe-eyes.

“Sorry about that,” she says brightly, “I’m dog-sitting Pig here for my brother across the street there and this little shit used his tiny size against me to slip out the door just now.”

She pats her pocket with the dog in it fondly, clearly not too fussed at the “little shit” who is fighting to push its head out. Harry is standing like an absolute imbecile with his right leg still bent up, heel to arse for a nice quad stretch, staring completely dumbfounded at this stunning beauty. Hedwig seems to understand that his brain is short-circuiting and nudges his hip with her nose, jerking him out of his stupor. He drops his foot to the ground and thrusts out his hand.

“No problem, I’m Harry.”

She laughs, a full bodied, head thrown back laugh, and shakes his hand, leaving his tingling in her wake.

“Ginny. I think you know my brother, Ron? At least, I’m assuming you're Harry with the wicked big dog that Ron always talks about,” she says with a pointed look at Hedwig, his Great Dane. The dog in question preens under her attention, sitting regally next to Harry to allow Ginny to scratch her ears. Harry feels an irrational pride at hearing Ginny coo over his dog, even though he knows Hedwig’s beauty has everything to do with her rare white coat speckled with black and nothing to do with him at all.

“Yeah, I know Ron. We usually wind up running together in the mornings. I didn’t know he had that furball though,” he says, pointing at the fluffy face that had finally succeeded in removing itself from Ginny’s pocket.

She waves dismissively, “Ron’s aways going on about birds of prey snatching little puppies off the street. If you ask me, he’s a little ashamed of falling in love with a purse pup instead of a hulking beast like your beauty here. But the heart wants what it wants and I give him enough grief as it is. It’s my duty as the youngest.”

She ends with a little shrug and shoves Pig’s head back down into her pocket, pulling her jeans down a little more and Harry gets enough of a glimpse of her knickers stretched over her hipbone to know her freckles are everywhere. He coughs, choking on his spit and flushing furiously, sure his face is as red as Ginny’s fire-kissed hair. She’s staring at him, a polite smile on her lips, waiting for him to respond like a normal human being, but all he can do is nod and gather Hedwig’s bowl and lead and run away like an absolute coward.

#hey look at me writing again #hinny microfic #hinny #muggle au #I really just wanted Hedwig to be a Great Dane #and Pigwidgeon is a Yorkshire Terrier

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redfurrycat · 1 year

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🐓🤠Hangster Fic Recs🤠 🐓

🐓🤠Hangster Goodies to Read! 🐓🤠

[Recs List 4]

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

List of Hangster Ao3 Authors in Recs List 4:

[Recs List 1] - [Recs List 2] - [Recs List 3] - [Recs List 4] - [Recs List 5]

I turn at last to paths that lead home by JuliaBaggins {T}

"Kazansky? Hasn't he got cancer or something?"

"Oh yeah. I remember talk around base about that a while ago, didn't sound good."

"Fuck", Phoenix's severe expression fitted the others', “I didn’t know that, that’s terrible.”

There was a moment where no one said anything. And Bradley felt like someone had stolen all the air out of his lungs, as well as all of the warmth out of the sun shining so brightly down on them.

Bradley hasn't talked to the two men who raised him in years. But when he hears about the situation one of them finds himself in, he decides to do something about that.

[Lots of family feels between Bradley, Ice & Mav; established Icemav; Hangster endgame]

The Prince and His Knight by McDanno50

On A Dreary Night {E}

Jake felt his heart thump quicker, galloping in his chest, as the clicking of claws grew closer. Heavy breaths not his own let Jake know he was no longer alone. He remained still even as natural fear urged him to look over his shoulder to gauge the threat. But there was no real danger because Jake knew in his soul that he was safe with the monstrous wolf-like creature that lurked in the flickering shadows. The beast who terrified the men, women, and children not born of Miramar was hardly a monster to Jake.

The bright light of day sees the Crown Prince of Miramar, Jacob Seresin, protected by his personal knight: a Lycan named Rooster. But at night, Jake loses himself to pleasure by Rooster's wolf form.

A Speckled Rooster Crowed {G}

Lycans had few offspring, litters born every ten years. The last Lycan pups included Julian’s own knight, Cyclone. And now it was Jake’s turn to choose a knight – his very own Lycan pup to raise and train as his personal bodyguard. He’d never known something so exciting yet terrifying.

The time has come for Prince Jake to select his knight. Five pups vie for his attention, but one young Lycan seems a bit preoccupied with a fowl enemy.

Of Sex and Flowers {E}

If Heaven truly existed, Jake was sure his would be exactly like this. With Jake and his knight Rooster, alive and together in this peaceful place. Nothing outside of the meadow mattered when they were here: Jake was not royalty and Rooster was not a Lycan. They could play pretend and just be two men hopelessly in love with no duties and no secrets.

Jake sneaks out of the castle to spend some private time with Rooster in a meadow. Their relationship will change once Jake becomes the Crown Prince so they say goodbye in the only way they know how.

Call Me Yours by Renai_chan {E}

Jake is the perfect Crown Prince of Seresin--handsome beyond compare, educated by the world's most renowned scholars, draped in all the luxuries his wealthy kingdom can afford, magnificent in battle, with multitudes of adoring subjects throwing themselves at his feet--but all he really wants is to be put on his knees and called a filthy whore by his slave, Bradley.

nothing’s good until it hurts by thegeckbros

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) {E}

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?”

“Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.”

Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

you do it all your life and you never get through it {M}

The silver lining, if there is one to be had, about watching his dad die in front of him is that the worst thing to ever happen to Bradley is over before his life has really begun. Every shitty breakup or spectacular fuckup, every broken bone or missed flight. None of it will ever come close to even touching the worst day of Bradley’s life. And then, 15 years after the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, it all happens again. or scenes from bradley's life, before and after jake

Crazy 'Bout A Sharp-Dressed Man by MadeItUp {E}

When Rooster needs advice on what to wear for a hot date, it's Jake he asks for help. Despite the fact he kinda wishes he was the one Rooster was taking on this date, Jake's determined not to let his ego get in the way of helping a friend in need and agrees to offer his services...

All of them.

“My impeccable taste is at your disposal.” He flashes Rooster a grin. “But you’ll owe me one.” “Sexual?” Rooster says, with the same mischievous tone as Jake. Jake lifts his beer to his mouth and winks. “If that’s what you’re offering…” Yeah, so long as Rooster keeps acting like this, they’re good.

Neon Pink Longing by Capt_JaneClaude {E}

Being in a long-distance relationship is hard but Bradley knows how to make it easier for Jake.

Cambiaste un Ferrari por un Twingo by LulaluzHazel {T}

Jake Seresin is a famous songwriter in a long-term relationship. He has been living in Barcelona for the past five years living the most romantic and beautiful dream. Until one slip from his partner reveals on National TV the dream is not a dream and Jake has been cheated on for the past year and a half.

Heartbroken, he doesn't know to function, until his younger sister suggests he could do a song with one of the most controversial DJs and producers to 'vent' and start healing. A music producer he doesn't respect much. But he knows that between both of them, they can put out a song that will follow the Fucker who played with his heart like that.

Of Crowns and Medals (That Don’t Shine Like They Should) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

It wasn’t as if Rooster hadn’t wanted to serve in the Guard his entire life - he had. Serving the king, his country…it was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

…Until it wasn’t. And with the rules being as strict as they were, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Bradley falling in love with Jake was going to get them both in trouble - and he wished more than anything that he could change that.

Holding Pattern by Anonymous {E}

The thing about having a dead father everybody liked is that everybody’s got a bigger piece of him than Bradley does.

... 5 times Rooster wasn't ready + 1 time he was

we met and you claimed me by haridwar

it seemed so natural, darling, that you and I are here {M}

“Did we really do this?” Bradley asked. It was the first thing he had said since Jake’s brainwave and Jake was not a fan of how upset he sounded. “Are we- did we get married?”

or: what happens in Vegas...

don't call me lover, it's not enough {T}

all the things that happen after Vegas

The shapes of love by winterbitch {T}

sink your teeth into me (keep me)

Rooster doesn't need to know what animal Hangman shifts into, but he sure wants to find out. It's just another piece of the man he's hopelessly in love with, and he wants to know everything, no matter how much his friends tease him. Through a series of events, he finally finds out, and maybe gets more than expected or shifter au where rooster is a wolf, hangman is [redacted], there's a LOT of pining, and icemav are cute together (ice is a tiger, mav is a fennec). they get their happy end

I see forever in your eyes

Having gotten together (and engaged in the same day), Rooster and Hangman don't get any less annoying with their behaviour. Rooster would even argue that their friends are more annoyed with them now, but he's too deliriously happy to care. He has the love of his life by his side, his friends surrounding him, and he's getting married. Life is great (and it's about to get even better)

or shifter au with smitten puppy rooster, disgustingly in love hangster, some background icemav and ANOTHER proposal

The Parent Trap by Broke_Traveler {T}

Annie and Hallie had no clue they had a twin or who their other dad was, but a chance encounter has these two mischievous twins hatching a plan to get their dads back together.

The Final Masquerade by MerielTLA {E}

Some excruciating steps more and he finally saw it, the little apartment building he had been looking for. Ordinary in absolutely every way except one: It was home of the most dangerous man in the world…and that thought alone made his head spin even harder than it was. This was a bad idea. or A wounded hero, whose only option is to trust his greatest enemy.

IWTBY Verse by hangmanbradshaw {E}

I want to brainwash you into loving me forever

“So…this is fucking weird and I have no clue what to say here.” Bradley smiled warmly and leaned his forearms against the table. “Don’t worry, Mav already filled me in, and I’ll do it.” Jake blinked. “You’ll do it?” “Yeah.” Bradley sat back with a nod. “You want to come out, right? If us appearing to be in a stable relationship will help, then I’m in.” Or, Jake Seresin has it all- fame, money, a NFL MVP trophy, a Super Bowl appearance, a lonely house, and a problem. He wants to come out on his own terms. Enter Bradley Bradshaw, the solution to said problem, or maybe, the beginning of a new problem. After all, you don't fall in love with your fake boyfriend. aka the Fake Dating NFL AU

Wanna Be Your Left Hand Man

Europe calls. Jake & Bradley answer.

Dust is Everlasting (And Love Even Moreso) by ToukoJalorda003

If Time Rewound to Dust (Love Would Endure Anyway) {M}

All Rooster had ever wanted was to work for Jurassic World - his godfather did, and for his whole life, it had been his dream. Now he finally had it, and he…wasn’t so sure how he felt about Hangman. The man was just too dangerous, too unpredictable, and Rooster feared it would end in disaster. …But disaster had found them anyway, and now it was starting to look like it was too late to accept Hangman’s offer for a date. Damn.

When Dust is all That Remains (Love is Eternally Present) {M}

After the events of the park’s catastrophic closing, Bradley just wanted to rest. Maybe take a nap and remind himself what he’d nearly had. But he couldn’t do that, because an active volcano was going to wipe out the remaining dinosaurs - including Jake’s raptors. …And if it was possible, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Maybe, while he was at it, he’d finally get that date, too.

As We Lie In Fields Of Gold by Capt_JaneClaude {_}

Rooster is just playing the piano, intense, moving, almost tormented. There are no words, just notes, but Maverick feels like he can hear him singing.

Suitable Replacement by ReformedTsundere {E}

It's the middle of mid-term hell week, Jake's vibrator is broken, and the fastest Amazon can get him a new one is after the weekend. His only salvation seems to be the newest sex shop in town and the weirdest, hottest clerk Jake's ever seen.

Flying Conditions by elwenyere

Holding Pattern {E}

The thing about having a dead father everybody liked is that everybody’s got a bigger piece of him than Bradley does. ----- 5 times Bradley wasn't ready + 1 time he was

Punching Out {M}

Jake’s always been sharp and soft, but not in the right configuration. ----- Or, 5 times Jake can't always get what he wants + 1 time he gets what he needs

5 Times Rooster Fell Asleep On His Teammates And 1 Time He Did It To Maverick by Nickies_Nonsense {G}

When Bradley was kid he was all over people. You couldn’t get the boy to leave you alone if he wanted to be near you whether it was holding Mav’s hand as they walked, being picked up, or nuzzling into his shoulder in the evenings he simply insisted on being held. —— Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has a habit of cuddling up to people when he’s sleepy which the daggers discover during training before the suicide mission.

No More Wasting Time by DraconisWing24441 {E}

Having just completed a mission that required multiple miracles, Bradley thinks the most miraculous thing of all is that he’s not furious at Maverick anymore. Or Hangman. Now that his relationship with Maverick is on the mend after talking about their past, Bradley starts to realize some other things. Like the fact that Hangman isn't such a bad guy and he maybe actually really likes him, like, a lot. Jake, meanwhile, starts to realize that Bradley may not, in fact, hate him for being an ass, while also trying to hide the fact that he’s been in love with Rooster for years. Without the anger characterizing every interaction, Bradley and Jake are left with the conclusion that there's more there that they hadn’t realized until now. But, as Bradley and Jake's icy relationship unexpectedly begins to thaw into a tentative friendship, the friction that existed between them sparks something deeper than they ever expected. Letting go of the past and respective fears is harder than they thought, but when it comes down to it, the question remains: will they have the courage to leap off their perches and take the shot?

I’m alright with a slow burn by lesbiseresin {M}

Maverick’s eyes lower to focus on the figure whose head barely reaches Copperhead’s hip, a blonde boy that looks to be around Bradley’s age. “And this must be Jacob.”

Jake,” the boy corrects. He only crosses his arms when Copperhead taps his shoulder in a silent reprimand, but Maverick doesn’t seem to mind.

He laughs and exchanges an amused look with Copperhead before moving his hand into a similar grip on Bradley’s shoulder. “Well, Jake. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Maverick. This is Bradley.”

Bradley blinks owlishly at them both until Maverick nudges him. “Hi.”

(alternatively: jake & bradley over the years)

Make someone happy by WaffleToaster {T}

Bradley Bradshaw feels like he has misjudged Jake Seresin when he finally gets to know him better after the mission and quickly comes to realise Jake is actually quite different from the Hangman persona he knew up until now. Much to his and everyone's surprise they actually get along with each other, they still bicker but that's to be expected when you're both of the same dominant type. But it's when Bradley starts feeling something more that he starts doubting the situation. The thing they called 'the tug' only happened between you and your soulmate. But that couldn't be correct, because two alphas couldn't feel 'the tug' for each other, right?

Down the Rabbit Hole by theinsouciantknitter {E}

A bet is a bet, and Rooster's not one to shy away. So when the Daggers challenge him and Hangman to a game of gay chicken, how is he supposed to say no? He quickly realizes he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

Stay the Night by theinsouciantknitter {T}

And if this is what we've got Then what we've got is gold We're shining bright and I want you I want you to know

we could make constellations by emseebeans {E}

It’s the night before the Dagger Squad is officially disbanded, and Bradley can’t sleep. Ever since he read the mission report, he can’t stop thinking about Jake. And when they run into each other in the halls of the barracks, one night might be enough to change their relationship forever.

blue memories by callsignvalley {E}

Taking a deep breath, Jake tries not to lose his nerve, summons the last bit of anger and discontent that’s been simmering for nearly a year now. “I want a divorce.” Bradley blinks from his spot on the annoyingly stylish chair next to the bed. Rolls the rocks glass of whiskey in his hands slowly before answering. “Okay.” + aka the musician bradley au

steal me with a kiss by abliafina {T}

What do you get when you take one ridiculously cocky model and one stubborn makeup artist? A recipe for disaster of course, but with some luck maybe the outcome won't be as bad as initially expected.

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't. Or: Self-indulgent Hangster AU.

wreck my plans (that's my man) by Ravens_Words {T}

Fake dating turns into a fake engagement, which then snowballs into a fake (almost) wedding.

Anti-Camera Shy by ReformedTsundere {M}

"Look," Jake says, sighing as he pulls his arm across his chest to stretch out the taxed muscle of his shoulder. His words falter when a shadow appears in the doorway of his gym room, a body leaning casually against the frame, familiar and amused eyes watching him with a quirked brow. It kicks up something hot in Jake's belly. He can't stop himself from smirking, forcing himself to refocus on the phone before someone realizes he's distracted and starts asking questions he doesn't want to answer. "He's gonna have his opinions all he wants, the wrong ones, mind you, but I'm not gonna let him ruffle my feathers because he thinks street tacos beat out Gumbo Shack."

tell the truth, I look better under you by lesbiseresin {G}

Before Bradley knows it, there’s a hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing as Hangman slips past him towards the door. “Hope you don’t snore. Otherwise I might have to shove your face into a pillow,” he tells him, completely cheerful. It makes Bradley want to reach for his collar again, face no longer numb but burning hot in a way he hopes doesn’t show through in color. Instead, he tightens his jaw and does what he’s been doing for the past few days every time Hangman tries to push one of his buttons. He ignores him. (alternatively: and they were bunkmates…)

the stars align (just one time) by OfTheDirewolves {M}

In one world a prince fell in love with a lord but the world was cruel and they were robbed of the time they deserved... In another two pilots meet at top gun but it will take them too long to fully understand what they mean to each other. or Jake and Bradley fall in love over multiple lifetimes, will they finally get it right? or will they keep getting in their own way? A Bradley Bradshaw x Jake Seresin Reincarnation AU

Flying in Less Than Ideal Circumstances (And the Best Possible Outcomes) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

All Rooster had ever wanted was to be a WSO. He’d never had any interest in being a pilot - and when he finally got what he wanted, he’d hardly expected to be paired with Hangman, of all people. But perhaps it wasn’t all bad. Maybe. If he would be willing to admit that Hangman wasn’t terrible. That might have been easier to do, though, before everything went just slightly wrong.

Yes, Alpha by chase_acow {E}

“I’m not looking to get bitched, Bradshaw,” Jake drawled, tipping his head back to kill the rest of his bottle. “So, whatever little fantasy you’ve got going on in that little hamster wheel of yours, get over it.” “But, you-” Bradley stuttered to a stop, twisting around to plant his elbow on the bar so he could study Jake better. The man was handsome as ever, with his sharp jaw and long torso leading down to his low-slung pants. “You like it. You like . . . taking it.” “I do,” Jake agreed, sliding his empty bottle onto the counter and then pulling Bradley’s fresh one from his numb fingers to take a drink. “I also like being me. Christ, Rooster, look at me. Why would I change anything about this perfection?”

Midnight at the Shoreline by monkiedude {T}

Jake likes to plan their beach week. Bradley messes it up.

Most Arduously by MadeItUp {M}

When the Dean of Hale South Western College announces a prestigious new writing course, rival Associate Professors Dr Jake Seresin and Dr Bradley Bradshaw find they've got to co-operate. But as the two of them pit their disciplines against one another, each set on proving the other wrong, they're grudgingly forced to admit that in order to teach, they've got to learn... Jake stares forlornly at his laptop as he contemplates withdrawing his acceptance. But damn if that wouldn’t make Bradley fucking Bradshaw happy. And Jake would rather drive himself to the depths of misery than give that dickhead one single second of satisfaction.

make a lil' room for me by callsignyours {G}

Jake somehow ends up with Bradley's dog.

august sipped away (like a bottle of wine) by k0ralik {E}

Jake isn’t sure when he and Bradley started seeing eye to eye. Maybe it was when Rooster was chosen to fly the mission instead of him and he had to step down, following orders, forced to give up competitiveness. Maybe it was the countless games of poker and many, many bottles of beer later. or: 5 times Jake and Bradley go for it in not-so-private places + 1 time they actually find a bed

Lost Boy by Earthangel_44 {E}

Jake has to face the consequences after he stole from the pirate.

31 Flavors and Counting by infinitejaust {G}

Jake has a terrible sweet tooth. He doesn’t indulge it much - you don’t get to have great abs and dessert every day. But there's something about that little concessions stand down the beach... For the prompt: Meet-cute at the beach! Bradley works at an ice cream shop and meets lifeguard Jake.

We're Crashing Like Waves by Renai_chan {M}

Jake is a movie star looking to get some surfing lessons and Bradley is a surfer living a quiet life in Hawaii. Like the land and the sea, they come together on the edges of O‘ahu.

Days Like This by chase_acow {E}

Jake's in Hawaii to lose himself after getting the Navy's first air-to-air kill in decades. Instead he finds a ramshackle diner, a cast of odd characters, and possibly the love of his life. Bradley goes to the Hard Deck to order waffles. He orders waffles. He goes to the Hard Deck to get some waffles. He goes to the Hard Deck, and who is this hot asshole acting like they know each other?

What's my worth? by WaffleToaster {E}

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight… These were the only thoughts that rang through his head. Twenty-nine, thirty. Two breaths. One and two. They weren't friends, they didn't even like each other and whatever they had going between them meant nothing. And then the mission happened. Or how Bradley and Jake went from hating each other to caring a little too much.

If Safety was all That was Desired (And Love was all That Could be Offered) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

For an embarrassing length of time, one which he didn’t feel like admitting, Hangman had been trying his best to safeguard Rooster - even when the man in question couldn’t have been bothered with him. But Hangman understood that much - he just wanted Rooster safe. So when he noticed that Bradshaw was sicker than normal, well…he wasn’t going to let that slide.

Cuddle Bug in Training by ReformedTsundere {T}

"I'm not dating any psychopaths this time, Nat, promise," Bradley says, trying for lightness but only managing something so tired he's surprised he hadn't yawned the whole way through. Natasha snorts, her arms unfolding, but the look on her face remains painfully unimpressed.

An Unexpected Visitor by DraconisWing24441 {T}

It's been a year since the mission, a year since Bradley and Jake have seen each other and decided to start over, but as friends. But when Jake decides to show up at Bradley's house one night, old feelings are rekindled and starting over, together, suddenly seems a hell of a lot more possible than before. ***** Unlocking the door, Bradley yanked it open with the full intention of ripping into the person pounding on his door for no good reason only to freeze as the open door revealed a soaking wet Hangman on his front stoop. Frozen in shock – he hadn’t seen Hangman since the mission ended – Bradley found himself just staring at him as he tried to process the presence of the blonde aviator in front of him. Bradley asked, “Hangman? Wh–what are you doing here? And why are you soaking wet?”

Southern Summer Nights by lizbeth_e {T}

Badly injured after an accident while on deployment, Bradley finds himself stuck in a small Texas town with his estranged godfather, wishing he could be almost anywhere but here. Until a certain blonde rancher makes him start to think otherwise. Jake is just trying to keep his head above water as he takes care of his family ranch, working day in and out, after a family tragedy left them all a little off-kilter. But when an injured fighter pilot stumbles into his life, he finds that some of that stress and responsibility begins to fade away.

like sticky sweet lemonade by greatea {E}

When Jake looks back down at this phone, he notices for the first time that he has two unread messages, along with three unanswered calls. After he had left the plane, he had stuffed his phone in his pocket, just after he had punched the address of the cottage into the car. His reception must have been shit, because one of the calls came in just after he landed. Javy must have given up on calling him after that, because the last two notifications from him are a message, sent just thirty minutes ago. It seems that Tash forgot you were staying at the cottage, she only told me today. Bradley asked her a few days ago n she gave him the other key. srry!!! And then don't kill each other pls. - or the one where Jake and Bradley haven’t seen each other in four years and run into each other on vacation. Jake’s not happy.

take a deep breath, baby (let me in) by perishablealex {E}

It’s been months after the mission and Bradley still feels unstable on his feet, can’t stop the tremor in his hands. It’s been months and he should be okay — but he’s not. After the fourth of July, things begin to change. Or: Bradley deals with PTSD after the mission with an unexpected companion by his side.

One and Only by hngstercity {E}

“C’mon, Bradley.” Oh, now he’s using his real name? Fuck him. “You haven’t had anyone after him.” “I did. You know I did, Maverick. You’re the nosiest Alpha I know, and I know you know any time I’ve slept with someone. You can’t keep your fucking nose out of my business.” And he means it literally, because anytime Bradley had someone over, the next day Pete would always inflate his nostrils to process every single scent that came out of Bradley. Including his hormones, including Jake’s missing ones. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You haven’t had anyone you loved after him. You haven’t mated. If I asked you to talk to me about love, would you tell me about someone that isn’t him?” No. And that’s the fucking problem. - Jake is back in town, and Bradley is forced to face him, their past and their future.

in another life by lemqnie {M}

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw is too afraid to take up his own Weapons System Officer. He meets WSO Jake "Hangman" Seresin, and the fear gets worse: he falls in love with him.

Let Me Face Hurricanes by Cristinuke {E}

Hangman and Rooster are caught and held captive by the enemy. This is always less than ideal, but then they learn their captors decide to take a different approach in interrogation, and they suddenly realize that escape is about to get a lot harder.

You've Got Me Hypnotized by theinsouciantknitter {E}

Jake has a problem. A six foot one, hundred and eighty pound, absolutely fucking stacked problem. It’s got auburn curls, rugged scars, honey brown eyes. It’s the kind of problem that makes him want to slam his head into a wall and then maybe mope over a Jane Austen novel. The problem haunts both his dreams and his waking hours. The problem also hates him, which is just the icing on the cake because the problem is Bradley Bradshaw, and Jake is in love with him.

The New Revolution by Brenda {E}

Jake Seresin is the biggest asshole Bradley's ever met, with a competitive streak that borders on the pathological, has no idea how to keep his goddamn mouth shut, starts shit just to watch the sparks fly, treats his body like a temple and never lets anyone forget it, runs laps around everyone up in the air (well, everyone except Mav and Phoenix) — And as God is his fucking witness, one day Bradley is going to snap and kill him. (By which, what Bradley really means is, he wants to fuck Jake so bad it's making him stupid.)

cosa nostra (this thing of ours) by lemqnie {_}

Bradley is the prettiest thing Jake has ever laid eyes on. It's a shame he's a rival gang's heir and Jake has to kill him.

Song #86 by LadyLanera {T}

How would the bar scene of changed things if Rooster kissed Hangman instead?

Misconceptions by SamHeartfilia {M}

Jake "Hangman" Seresin received an incomplete mating claim from one Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw a week after graduating from the Naval Academy. No one but his best friend know, and now that the uranium mission is over, things are looking up. His claim is completed and he's feeling like himself for the first time in years. Of course, everything starts change when his secrets come out. Secrets he was only just coming to terms with himself.

Priest 'verse by theinsouciantknitter {E}

One Look From You (And I Would Fall From Grace)

Jake didn’t expect this when he moved in with his grandmother. He expected to be roped into attending church with her, that’s all fine and dandy. He didn’t expect that the priest would look like that, though. He didn’t expect that he would be funny, and quick-witted. He didn’t expect him to be that young. He didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Like a Little Prayer

Bradley has a difficult decision

Before This River Becomes an Ocean

Conversations must be had, and this is one Jake wants to avoid.

It Goes Like This (the Fourth, the Fifth)

Jake just has to get through the planning of the wedding, and then they're home free.

the Minor Fall, the Major Lift

A steadfast resolution

if you're looking for absolution (well get on your knees) by milestaller {E}

Jake comes home to Texas for the summer, where he meets his church's new priest. Tempting him feels like the best kind of bad idea.

get into it (yuh) by milestaller {E}

When Jake wakes up with a problem that he needs to deal with quickly, Rooster offers to lend a helping hand. Out of the goodness of his heart, obviously.

elevated levels by ginnydear {E}

A five year mission is a long time, especially when you're a first time captain.

what time is it where you are (i miss you more than anything) by cryinginthebronco {G}

Sipping on his coffee, Jake unlocks his phone and smiles to himself when he’s greeted by a stream of new messages. There are a few from his sisters and Javy, but he gets those out of the way with short replies. The thread he leaves for last is filled with short messages, photos, and a couple of videos, and Jake has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling like an idiot. It takes him a couple of sweeps to get to the first unread message that makes warmth spread in his chest as he reads it. or jake and bradley trying to navigate a long-distance relationship

When the Waters Run Deep (Trust Them not to Pull You Under) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

In all of Jake’s life, all he had ever wanted was to be a marine biologist. He adored the ocean and it’s inhabitants more than anything else. He thought he had everything he’d ever wanted. Until his boss sent him on a mission that he’d almost died on - forcing him to realign his perspective, and realize perhaps there was something else he wanted, after all.

Your Voice Can Take Me There by greenstuff {E}

“I’m not that drunk,” Bradley protests. Jake stops pushing him and falls in step at his side instead. Bradley immediately misses the warm pressure against his back. “So you don’t want to go back to your place?” Jake asks in an undertone.

jet blue skies by winterbitch {M}

Neither Hangman nor Rooster have any idea how come none of their friends know they're married, and have been for years. Sure, they're not the most affectionate in public, but they're smitten with each other, and to be honest, they went at it in way too many public spaces not to be caught. Apparently, their friends and Captain are just not that bright, which turns very interesting when Rooster becomes obsessed with getting Mavering and Iceman together. Somehow, through it all, neither Hangman nor Rooster realise their marriage is somehow a secret... or secret relationship hangster but their friends are just idiots + icemav getting together + a lot of fluff

(sometimes I feel) like a monkey pilot by charlie_mou {_}

Mav’s both eyebrows twitched. “That does sound like it’s going to be a problem.” “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, making himself look straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. “He’s a shithead in the same way you are.” “Bradley,” Mav said, and he was using that tone, the one that made Bradley feel like he was fifteen again. “What? It’s true. He has the same lack of brain-to-mouth filter, doesn’t know when to quit, I can go on if you want,” he said, but Mav didn’t take the bait. They marched down the tarmac, getting closer and closer to the others’ hearing range, and Mav was still staring at him, expecting an explanation. He sighed. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.” “Your—” Mav exclaimed, falling a step behind Bradley, before catching up, striding inches away from Bradley’s side. “From before?” "Yep." “Why didn’t you say anything?” God, why was this tarmac so long? “As much as I’d prefer to avoid him, orders are orders, Mav.” Or, it's time for the special detachment and Bradley's decisions from five years ago are finally catching up with him.

ignition by charlie_mou {_}

In a reality where Mav had an adult, honest conversation with his kid instead of going behind his back, said kid didn’t run off and cut contact -- no, he decided to figure out if there was something he wanted to do aside from being a naval aviator. And thus, Fire Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw has been working at San Diego Fire Department for close to fourteen years when the Dagger Squad is assembled for a special detachment. Or, 5 times Jake crossed paths with Fire Lieutenant Bradshaw and 1 time he met Maverick's son

slow down (you're doing fine) by charlie_mou {M}

"But have you ever thought about what happened after?" Suddenly, Jake felt like the tone alarm was going off and he was stuck in the cockpit with the hydraulics out. "After?" "His dad died before he even turned three. His mom died a week after he turned nine. Have you thought about what happened after?" Or, Seven years after their break up, Jake and Bradley are finally about to admit why it happened. But instead of resolving whatever there is between them, Bradley starts giving Jake heart attacks while in the sky - and Jake has a feeling it's all about more than flying. Going to Maverick for advice might just clear things up for him. (or, I heard 'slow ride' and 'waiting for the right moment' and made it into a backstory for all of Rooster's issues)

hold me like a grudge by lesbiseresin {M}

Whatever truce he and Hangman might’ve temporarily made on the beach still wasn’t enough for Bradley to want to hang out with the guy in his free time. Except, here he is with the Bronco pulled into one of the spaces that line the stretch of sidewalk beside Hangman’s house. He can see Hangman’s truck sitting in the driveway and the light for the living room turned on inside. Hangman is here, and so is Bradley. For what exactly, he isn’t sure. He knows he’s searching for something. An answer, maybe. Figuring that out would require thinking, which isn’t what this is supposed to be about, but the uncertainty must show on his face. Hangman opens the door without him even having to knock, eyebrows raised and the obvious question quick to come. “What are you doing here, Bradshaw?” (alternatively: in which bradley takes the phrase ‘don’t think, just do’ a little too literally)

Trouble With Comms by ForASecondThereWedWon {E}

Bradley gets himself a gig as Jake’s back-seater. Now that he’s a little more familiar with the circuit breakers, it’s easy to switch off the radio and be the only voice in Jake’s ear.

i’m looking your way by Hail_the_gay {T}

your face was the one i wanted my mind to conjure

Bradley Bradshaw finally arrives at Basic Training at age 25 and meets Jake Seresin, a royal pain in his ass — The men in the bunks surrounding him were already talking, a few louder than most. A blonde sitting across from him seems to be talking to the person above him. Bradley doesn’t want to look, making it obvious he’s been listening in, so he stares at his lap, eyes glossing over. “I’m from Texas, lived on a ranch for the first 18 years of my life until I went to Louisiana state for 2 years to get a bachelors in civil engineering. Then came straight out here after graduation. What about you?”

I’m trying hard to forget you

Mav pulled my papers.” Jake almost spits out his coffee. He’s sitting on the balcony on a nice July morning, cramped into a patio chair he took from his neighbors when they moved out. Bradley’s next to him on a plastic lawn chair, nursing a cup of tea. “Excuse me?” “Mav? My dad’s best friend? When I was 18, he pulled my papers to the Naval Academy. So I... I was stuck for four years. I went to UVA and got my degree until I put my papers in again. I was so obsessed with being able to go to the academy that I did that instead of just graduating from NROTC. I made sure he didn’t know and finally got accepted. I resented him for years. Still kind of do.” — Jake doesn’t know about Maverick until they’re together for a few years. Snapshots of Jake learning about Maverick and not forgiving him.

watching from afar

“I am good, Rooster. I am very good.” The cocky grin on his face doesn’t faze the aforementioned Lieutenant, who nods at Bob and rolls his eyes at Hangman, who continues after a pause. “In fact, I am too good to be true.” “Shut up, Seresin. No one wants to listen to your whining on a Friday night. It’s just stressing everyone out more.” — The 5 times everyone thought Hangman and Rooster might have something going on, and the one time their suspicions were confirmed

it’s so weird to be back here

“Hey, where’d Bradley go? I thought he was going to be here.” “I don’t know. Maybe ask his friends? They’ve been here all night but I haven’t seen him once.” She gestures to the group of aviators at the pool table. They’re all crowded around Bob, silent, before bursting into cheers and high fiving the man. He doesn’t see Hangman either, unable to find the cowboy hat he usually pairs with his civvies. “No Jake either.” He points out. Penny looks up and frowns when she can’t see Hangman. — Maverick finally finds out about Bradley and Jake

i was enchanted to meet you (please don't be in love with someone else) by starryinspace {G}

“Your date bailed? On Valentine's Day?” Jake flashes Bradley a toothy grin but there’s no warmth behind it. “Broke up with me, actually. Five minutes ago.” “Shit.” - or jake gets dumped on valentine's day & bradley comes to the rescue.

speak low if you speak love by andrealyn {T}

You'd think that after the Dagger mission, Hangman and Rooster would pull their heads out of their asses and realize that they're both being idiots about how they clearly want to get together. Unfortunately for everyone around them, their stubbornness reigns supreme. It leaves their friends with no choice but to Much Ado the shit out of matchmaking them together.

bad idea, right? by ok_thanks {M}

From: ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT!!! (AGAIN) No greeting for me? Don’t I get that Bradshaw hospitality?

I took the stars from your eyes and then I made a map by dalearden {E}

Before Jake knows it, his jaw has dropped and the gears in his brain have stopped turning as he struggles to process what he’s seeing. He’s seen Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw all dressed up before, a few times over through the course of their respective careers that kept forcing them together as though fate was playing a twisted little game with them, but somehow, this time it hits different.

Maverick for America by LetPeteBeMaverick

Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all {M}

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell may not have won the Top Gun trophy, but he did win the 2020 Presidential Election. Luckily, his wingman is there to keep his feet on the ground.

Seven Visitor Passes {T}

The seven people who visit Bradley Bradshaw in the hospital.

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin {E}

Jake first kisses Bradley outside the Hard Deck in 2012, but that's only half the story.

Schooner Or Later by TwiceInABlueM00n {G}

Jake “Hangman” Seresin is a sea otter. And Bradley Loves Sea otters.

Cherry by lovelybattle {E}

Hangman is sitting in the sand, ankles crossed in front of him as he reclines to look up at the stars. He rests his weight on one hand, the other occupied with the second popsicle he’s eaten in a row, this one red. Bradley has been watching the entire time.

Yin and Yang by Just_A_Regular_Person {M}

Rooster’s and Hangman’s relationship was…complicated. They were opposites of each other but could still complete each other. They like to tell themselves that all they do is fight and can never stand to be in the same room with each other unless someone says a catty comment. But deep down, their fighting was because they could never tell each other their secrets. Their inner demons. So they thought they could solve everything with just a physical relationship. Sex. Silencing words with just a kiss. But after awhile, they realized kisses, sex, holding hands, and hugs could not solve something that needed to be said in words. So that’s when they called it quits. Until they meet again at Top Gun.

hot as a fever, rattling bones by Notchka88 {E}

If the weather is going to be even half as bad as the dire warnings suggest, they should drop by the store before the heatwave starts—Bradley will probably have a comparison of A/C models and specs before the day’s over—but instead of agreeing sensibly, Jake decides to put his foot in it. There’s something about his need to rile Bradley up that overrides all his common sense. “Just sayin’—in Texas that’s a regular week, not a,” he adds air quotes for extra obnoxiousness, injecting a dose of scorn into his voice, “heat advisory.” (Jake lays a trap and gets caught in it.)

Aim Small Miss Small by cheaptrickandacheesyoneliner {T}

Jake always liked pretty things. Growing up, he led with his eyes first—latching onto the shiny, bold, and confident. It took a bit for the lesson to sink in that some pretty things aren’t for having and keeping. Not that it ever stopped him wanting. Bradley and Jake met years before being called back to Top Gun, but they didn’t get off on the right foot and Jake’s never been able to let it go.

be the ocean where I unravel by whimsicule {T}

He’s not even thirty years old. A lieutenant in the United States Navy. A highly-decorated aviator with two air-to-air kills. And he’s suddenly gone ahead and become scared of the goddamn sea. What a fucking joke.

#hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #hangman x rooster #hangster fic recs #hangster recs list 4 #ongoing list #I need a shorter version because I have way too many bookmarks on AO3 #I appreciate the work of the Hangster's fan artists and authors #Thank you for feeding the obsession of so many...myself very much included!#love and appreciation #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

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revelisms · 9 months

Text

Little Numbers

Jinx has a lot of things she doesn't like—and, mainly, she doesn't like thunderstorms. Silco, slowly, is learning how to navigate that.

Rating: G | WC: 1.5k | Oneshot A lil' semi-sweet morsel of a character study, set early after Act 1. Features Jinx brainstorming a new invention, talking about her and Vi's papa, and asking Silco about his past. Silco is still figuring out how to be a Dad™️. Full story below and on AO3

They've something of a routine, in this.

He's come to expect it, over the months; on days like these, most of all. Past a spider-spiral of jade glass, glossed with gold, brews a storm: the rains speckling off the windows and battering over the roofs, a haze of gloom laid about their streets, like an old god stirred from the tides. It rakes its claws off every storefront and tile; leaves its footprints in polluted pools on the cobbles, with each howling stagger through the Lanes. It skews his office to gray tones, and ripples the walls with water-shadow.

A kindred spirit, in its own way. A comfort. But not for her.

The child dislikes the rain—much as she dislikes sunlight or the color lemon or the feeling of water in one's boots. Those menial things, though, can be corrected: a change of environment, new paints, fresh clothes. Contrary to the superstitions of those paid by his coin, however, he cannot control the weather.

A storm will oft send the girl into a reclusive fit. Ill associations, perhaps. He knows, best of all of them, that memory's a wry devil. With a sorceress's charm, she weaves sensation into the most stubborn edges of one's nerves; she steals things that were once cherished, and tarnishes their taste to rot; she encases, cages, and gnaws at the mind.

In his case, the work and the drink and the walks through the night's chill do enough to abide her.

Jinx—as she is now asking to be called—is still finding her ways.

On the rare, rain-drenched instances she will emerge from her den, brave the firecracker of the thunder to peel up the bar's varnish-slick steps, he's learned to find her here: her quiet tinkerings echoing from the underbelly of his desk, her small head at his knee, a gargoyled hunch in the cave-cover it provides.

He tends to think of the girl in feline terms: a spatting kitten clawing up the curtains. On these days, she's more akin to a pup at his feet—one he has to remind himself is there.

He shifts in his chair, pen in hand. She's brought a closet's worth of crafting supplies with her: papers, pens, metal parts, screws. His own work, housed in a series of reports, is similarly cluttered: steel mills, imports, distilleries, bullets. Cogs and wheels of his own toolbox.

"I see you're...working on something new." Rain smatters; his pen scratches. At his knee, the girl rifles through a set of oil-crayons. "Another invention of yours?" he wonders slowly, slicing the quill into three sharp lines.

1-5-7.

A code for Sevika: a blessing in order, with a red string. The mills were up thirty percent from the last quarter, but their chief of operations was getting skittish. Not all saw the promise in supplying disputes across the water.

He could bend their workers' ears, differently.

A small, paint-spackled hand twists around the front of his desk. With it, a splatting page.

The girl has her own codes, he's found. Music or mantras or poems, when the words won't seem to come to her. A color palette of emotions, when she isn't quite sure how to box them in, herself. He's picked up enough on their patterns. Blue means happy; yellow, sad; green, nervous.

She retreats her hand, quickly. In silence, he muddles over what he's left with.

No talking today, it seems.

Scrawled on the page: a flash of neon-pink.

Her penmanship spears through the paper, jagged lettering and punctuated swirls. It has a touch of carnivalesque charm about it. Bold, vibrant, uneven.

Gilby — Gilbert — Gilly? Like a smokie bear-BOOM! He's gonna be pink and red. See?

Underneath, she's drawn a ghoulish rendition of what appears to be a pipe bomb, with extra wires atop the head and a set of welded ears. The face wears the signature scowl she so seems to favor. Scribbled along the sides sit two claw-tipped paws.

Curiously, Silco cocks his head. She's gone so far as to outline the very chemistry she intends to use to stage the explosive. A viper-sharp mind in that little head of hers.

He hums. His pen scratches in a quiet response. A line jetted through smokie—above it, a thin respelling. Beside her drawing, he leaves notes of his own, in his sliced, sloping script.

Lovely colors. Consider a chlorate mixture — will better suit the size.

He slides the page back towards the edge of his desk, and returns to his reports. A thin set of fingers tiptoes over the varnish: slips the paper back out of sight.

Another rumble of thunder bleeds through the streets. His pen sweeps down a second sheet. Not a moment after, he finds his work again interrupted. A series of stars have been added across her page.

Sawdust or sugar? Why is it better? How did you learn about chemistry?

Silco leans into one elbow, with a low breath. He has half a mind to send his reports to the girl; see if her sharpness for equations extends to analytics.

Instead, his thumb slips her candy-colored questions farther over his wall of numbers, careful to avoid smudging her work. A gust of wind batters the rain against the windows. Beneath his desk, an incessant tick-ticking of metal. He scratches in his responses, lamplight glimmering on still-wet ink.

Sawdust. This design will have a greater reliance on pressure than combustion. From working the tunnels, then the doctor, then the tutors he knew of.

And so their routine begins: a question to a response, a response to a question. With each tradeoff, another smattering of doodles appears—some pink, some blue, some black.

Did you like school?

She's drawn a small galaxy, now, complete with star-shine and moons. He does his best to write around them: neat boxes of black lettering.

What I could get of it, under the company allowances. They hadn't much care for an educated workforce.

The company hadn't much care for anything, beyond bodies sloughing through that black earth, doing as they were told. Huddled in the barracks, his lamp tucked beneath his sheets, he used to read stolen books cover-to-cover and back again: histories, economics, folktales.

What was your favorite part? Literature.

The girl scribbles a violent response, to that. He lifts his brows, patiently, fingers laced. Gives a dull huff to the slash of pink she slides before him.

UGH!! Borrring! Did you ever write anything? Boring for you. Started with union pamphlets. Some essays stuck in the press.

A light thwunk of her boot hits the floor.

What about geology? I like geology. What's your favorite rocks? Consequence of the trade, less than like it. Minerals, not rocks. Covellite, jasper, bloodstone.

Each mineral hosts their own illustrations, by the time she turns the sheet back to him: a blue comet, a red heart, a green hand.

What were the mines like?

His pen idles on the page.

"Am I to answer that in stanza, or in a speech?" he muses, dryly.

Beneath his desk, a small sound, like an animal stifling a hiccup. After a moment, Jinx speaks. "Papa worked in the mines."

She hardly ever mentions her parents. When she does, it is with the same veneration that she speaks of her sister: like something too far gone to touch; something feared and worshipped, in turns.

Silco thinks of his own father, nigh-nonexistent father, with a lineage stripped from him since birth, and feels his nail bite into his thumb.

He thinks of Vander, for a short, vile moment—and then he doesn't.

"Then you know of it, enough," he mutters, regathering himself.

A feather-light touch toys at the clasps of his boot. "Papa hated them."

He is back in them, briefly. Back in that hellish chill, dry as death; in the red-lamped glow signposting ten-meter intervals in the pitch; in the feel of the rock at his back, a crawlspace of a work path, ore and diamonds rattling in his carts; the smell of sulphur and sweat and dust in his lungs, thick as sludge in his throat.

His pen twitches.

"Most the lot of us did, child," he says, far quieter than he intends, "and most hadn't a choice."

Jinx says nothing to that, for a long moment. She makes no move to retrieve her sheet, either. But he feels her shift: a firmer pressure at his knee, her tinkerings forgotten.

He lingers over her drawings.

Pink. The color of her shame and anger.

Silco drags his thumb against the ridges of his fingertips, worries over the hard calluses the years of that labor had left: scar tissue too deep to fade. In the silence, his reports tether back his attention. Still, Jinx sits.

He marks three sharp lines: another code for his right-hand. A gloss of green light begins to break through the gray. "These wretched things in life," he finds himself murmuring, "we all must endure. But we are stronger, for having endured them." His other hand loosens from his temple, finds the soft crown of the girl's head, and rests there. "Remember that."

Jinx draws in a small breath, picking at a piece of tin.

For minutes, she doesn't say a word. Then, quietly: "Okay."

The rains lighten. He returns to his work, leafing through new proposals and policy drafts.

At his feet, the child scribbles.

Pink and blue, and pink and blue.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #silco arcane #jinx arcane #silco & jinx #crime dad daughter duo #these season 2 tidbit ideas hit me like a truck #listen i just hhlskfj #i love lil jinx so much #and complete awkward crime boss dysfunctional dad silco #totally at a loss for how to Do This #but also just seeing so much of *himself* in her #and almost reapproaching his inner child as a result #writing

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