Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“AAAAAAHHHHH!”

Well, this certainly was a sight to behold. One that was unfortunately common. Well, more common when Randy had still worked for animal control, but common nonetheless. He’d never get over his fear of swans, despite befriending one (and acquiring it as a pet) by chance with a hotdog that had been dropped on the ground and left there forty-eight hours prior. The swans know this: the perpetual fear. They never back down from potential prey. Those damned vile, wretched creatures of pond scum and bird villainy who don't get fed enough.

Anyway, Randy’s instincts and legs led him to the familiarity of Gingi’s tent, the swan now unable to get to him. If worst comes to worst, knowing (well, more like not knowing at all. Gingi’s… everything would remain an enigma no matter how many times they fucked.) their bizarre biology, they could probably just spray some cryptid-acid on Randy’s peculiar predator and call it a day.

“Ah, my dearest Randal, what brings you here?” they asked, as if his screaming didn’t make it apparent enough, but Gingi was never the the brightest of the bunch, or the most strategically-evolved organism to live in something called civilization.

Randy panted, chest heaving up and down as he rested his hands on his knees. He hadn’t even noticed how fast he ran, or if any bystanders had witnessed the entire sordid ordeal of him sprinting from and shrieking at a mere bird. Knowing his luck, at least one person did or heard him. But none of that mattered because all his mind was occupied with at that time was getting the fuck out of there. And pretty much everyone in town already knew about his occupational incompetence, so it wasn’t like any new information was being learned.

Of course, Gingi didn’t need optical sensors to tell that he was very much out of breath, the huffs filling up the small, quaint tent/home/abode. They just swished their tail back and forth in a lazy rhythm as they waited for some sort of response like the constantly understimulated cryptid they are.

“..Haah… Do I even need to tell you?..” Randy spat out in between breaths. Might as well say something to get them off my back.

With a grunt, Gingi took a whiff of the air with their superior sense of smell. Yuuup, sweat, body odor, swan rage, and what was potentially piss. “I guess not.”

Wow, their cryptid brain is actually functioning for once and using something called inference? Shocking! It used their one and only brain cell, comprised solely of the rational narrator voice in their head. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how entertaining their shenanigans, malarkey, tomfoolery, and antics are), this only happens once every blue moon, or a 1/1000 chance (which was supposed to be the possibility of getting Madame Mediocre’s not-so-nice fortune. Damned drunk programmers…), so don't get your hopes up. Concerning any aspect of this green creature.

…Okay, well, maybe Gingi did have one redeeming quality.. Just look at the rating of this fic. You know damn well what it is.

Randy plopped himself down somewhere in the tent; it’s not like there was anywhere remotely sacred in there anyway. “Thanks, Gingi, for, uhh, being there for me.. most of the time.” He sighed, smiling. Oh, how he loved yet sometimes opposed this strange, green cryptid. Everything had its pros and cons, he supposed.

“My pleasure!” Gingi wagged their tail at the compliment, a smirk creeping up on their phone-face. “Speaking of pleasure…” They crawled their way over to Randy, a hand going to turn his Nokia-head left and up to face them, locking ey– optical sensors as he flinched from the interaction. Gingi lightly trailed one of their nails— almost long enough to be terrifying— up Randy’s neck, which only served to scare the man, earning a frightened shudder from him as the painful realization set in that his heart rate had increased by what felt like tenfold. Fuck, Gingi could really fuck him up if they wanted to, huh? He tried not to think about how he basically put his life in their hands every time he was in their presence, but his mind was already drifting off to all of the possible scenarios. Some silly, and some particularly gruesome. He prayed he’d never have to endure the latter.

Randy was brought back to reality as Gingi whispered into his receiver. “How does right about now sound?~” trying their best to sound sexy, or have a vague semblance of a suave demeanor; whether it actually was or not is up for you to decide. It didn’t matter if they succeeded, though, because Gingi was already pinning him down and looming over him, their tongue now unsheathed and lolling out of their non-existent mouth, eager and at the ready to lick a long, hot stripe up and off of him as if he were some sort of meal.

Randy, now against the floor and wrists caught and pinned down beside his head, turned three shades redder. His face burned with the oh-so familiar feelings of embarrassment and growing arousal. “U-Umm– Uh— Gin-Gingi– I…–” he stammered out, mind racing.

All of a sudden, whatever aura they had cultivated was gone in a flash. “Randy.. you, uh– good? Wanna do… ze sexuals?” they asked and tilted their head, lifting him back up. “We don’t have to if you don’t feel like it, but it’d be #notcringe if you agreed.” Said aura was replaced with something much more tender and caring, which was quite out-of-character for Gingi considering they’re a feral animal at heart, which only made Randy melt further.

He stayed silent for a moment, trying to process Gingi’s words through his already muddled brain. Once the main message got through to him after a whole agonizing four seconds, he softened at Gingi’s concern. It made a pleasant warmth surge through him, enveloping him like a protective and loving embrace, which didn’t make it any easier to think. But it felt good to be loved, to be worried for. And, you know.. to be fucked. So… “We-Well– Y-Yeah– I, um— Uhh–”

“Clear diction, motherfucker…” the cryptid said, a growl creeping into their voice, clearly used to his inability to communicate.

“Can-Can we just– maybe– tr-try something new this time..?” Randy admitted, way too nervous to even mildly suggest any idea that Gingi might not be pleased with. But alas, if he wanted to try certain things with his partner and progress in their relationship endeavors, he’d have to use his words to share the more… personal things about him. Well, the things that the creature didn't already know. Remember when they met for the first time on the phone-sex hotline and Randy came from just a few sweet words? To be specific, “See you later, cutie pie!” Yeeaaaaaah. Anyway, Gingi knew if they moved too fast with Randy, he would instantly become overwhelmed and may or may not retract, not unlike a tape measure, so they waited with startling patience until he was ready. And ready he was. Well, as he’ll ever be for this situation, which was, in reality, not that much.

Gingi blinked in surprise. “...Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you of all people to assert yourself in any way. So, what’re you thinking in that pretty little head of yours? Please, continue; do tell,” they said.

Now it was Randy’s turn to blush at a compliment. He toyed with the bandages on his hands, refusing to look at Gingi out of shame. What he was ashamed of, who knows? Because when you’re dating a literal cryptid, there’s not much more that you could lose (other than your possessions, of course)– plus they’ve both lost their dignity long, long ago. And knowing Gingi, they absolutely cannot be one to judge. “So, I-I’ve been thinking… Could we, um– maybe tr-try..” He paused. “...b-bondage?” Randy squeaked out, so quiet you’d doubt Gingi could hear it. But Gingi hears all. “O-Of course, if you don't want to, th-that’s completely fine! I-I just—” he added almost immediately, trying to reason more with himself than the clearly quizzical creature in front of him.

Gingi tilted their head, a smirk forming on their phone-face for the second time. “...Kinky. Didn't know you were into that.” Randy’s Nokia-head whipped up to gawk at them. He really should be used to their antics by now, now thinking of all of the shit his poor not-ears have been through, all of those unsolicited comments.. Admittedly, Randy felt a little stupid for making this situation a bigger deal than he should be, but he couldn't help himself. So, Gingi was cool with this. …Nice. Wow, what an astute observation! He really could not think clearly right now. “Anyway, I think I have some rope somewhere,” Gingi scurrying to a different place in the tent where they stored their (potential) sexy time items, which they considered very valuable, indeed. “And I can finally put my rope-tying skills to good use! Haha, I am so great,” they boasted. Was it true, however? They’d both find out soon enough.

Randy sat there, Gingi’s words and their implications sinking in. “...Wait, why do you assume I’m the one being tied up?!”

“Randal, my dear, you are a bottom in every conceivable way. ..Do you not want to?” they asked.

“N-No, I do want it!—”

Gingi cut him off. “Then no complaining for Randy Jade,” they said, finally acquiring said rope. Their tail perked up, lazily yet languidly swaying back and forth at the prospect of this. They crawled back to the man, who was both nervous and excited. “Alright, let’s get this bread.”

“Wh-What..?” Randy questioned the cryptid’s bizarre verbiage as he was promptly turned over so Gingi could begin their handiwork. But, first and foremost: clothes. They had to come off. Only for Randy, though, as Gingi was someone who was perpetually naked, everything hanging out no matter the time of day. And everyone just accepted it. Or at the very least, tolerated it. Gingi was akin to a toddler in the way that they both refuse to wear certain clothing. Yet in the cryptid’s case, it was any clothing at all.

Anyway, it was kind of hard to fuck someone fully clothed; Gingi would know from experience. First world problems, amirite? They started to remove Randy’s denim jacket for him, slipping it off of his shoulders and watching the fabric pool around his form with a rapt interest, when all of a sudden an idea so good hit them it almost made them drool. Yes, the metaphorical lightbulb that lit up just above their head was so palpable it could almost become corporeal and cause much confusion, shattered glass, and subsequent pain.

“Strip,” Gingi commanded.

Randy scrambled to obey, not waiting a second longer. “R-Right!”

Randy got his clothes off with a bit of flustered fumbling, now scattered elsewhere and strewn about the tent. He was down to his final garment: underwear, of course. He could feel Gingi staring straight (gay?) at the ever-growing bulge in his boxers.

“Getting hard already?~” Gingi teased, their head tilted and voice pitching higher. “Man, your submissive and breedable pheromones are REALLY potent ri–”

“Sh-Shut up!” Randy retorted. His face burned as he averted his optical sensors, refusing to look at the smug creature in front of him.

In response, Gingi pressed their palm against the small tent, a soft groan exiting his speakers as his hips bucked into their hand, eager for more of that pleasure he feels he doesn't deserve. “Off with them undies now :),” Gingi said, pulling away.

He blinked up at Gingi. With a whimper and a nod, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and pulled down.

“F-Fuck…” Randy drew in a shaky breath.

“Yes, that’s what we’re doing right now,” Gingi said, admiring their work: a masterpiece, really. Randy was rocking the rope and knots on his body! Hands bound behind his back, the constraints accentuating his nipples and shoulders… He was also getting close to being.. “rock-like” in a different way.

Gingi eyed him with an almost ravenous gaze, drool starting to drip from their hatch-mouth. Oh nOooOo, he’s hot and looks STUNNING, Gingi thought as they brought a feather-light touch to the side of his head, gently caressing him. Their other hand gripped and clawed at the ground beneath them with a surprising and uncharacteristic force. Phone-God, how Gingi wanted to fuck Randy into oblivion right then and there, but alas, they had to be patient. And patience doesn't come easy for this green creature. As much as they wanted to give in to their animalistic instincts, they knew all too well how the most rewarding part of having sex with their beloved boyfriend was being an absolute tease. And boy, were they good at it, mostly because it involved a whole lot of nothing.

Randy squirmed against the rope under Gingi’s intense scrutiny, already flushed from everything that was happening. Rotary-Christ, this was so much better than he had imagined (and he will neither confirm nor deny he’s had numerous wet dreams about this).

Anyway, since doing most things would be considered a Herculean task for Gingi (much to nobody’s surprise), they had limited options. Except when it came to Fucking™, they had their self-proclaimed years of expertise to rely on, which were currently telling him to rail Randy right this instant. They blatantly ignored their absolute want— bordering on need— to do that, for now. So, kneeled in front of him, they decided to lean down and lick at his neck instead, tasting his sweat and delightfully heated skin, tongue wandering. Then, they found a spot they liked and bit down, careful not to actually hurt him.

“FUCK!” Randy hissed, throwing his head back. The searing pain sent an electric shock of pleasure up his spine. Gingi, pleased with the reaction, sucked at the area hungrily, flesh growing redder, before finding another spot and biting down again. This time, Randy was more prepared and attempted to suppress the half-cry, half-moan that came from him.

Gingi paused momentarily, a hint of an annoyed grumble escaping their throat and a quiet hum of staticky impatience escaping Randy, deprived from their contact. But Gingi wanted him to really make some noise. So, with a little, “I'm sure you can be louder, hon~” they made sure to bite down extra-force style, just to be a teensy bit mean.

“Shit–! H-Haah…” He was panting hard now. “Gi-Gingi, you—”

“Yes, I know, I am a lovable asshole,” practically finishing his sentence. “Which is why I’ll continue to tease you despite your raging boner.” (ignoring the fact that they were very much going through the same predicament.)

He let out a whimper at that. Randy’s cock craved attention, a striking amount of pre building on the tip and dripping down his length.

“L + ratio + bozo”

“Pl-Please don’t remind me of the knife-headed mugger or L-Little Billy…– What are you do–”

Gingi then proceeded to lean down and bonk their heads together with a veritable clank, the object-head equivalent of a rough kiss as Randy moaned into it and shivered (despite their kissing compatibility being like trying to jam a square peg into the round hole), the sheer debauched sound music to the wickedly depraved cryptid’s not-ears.

Chapter Text

It was late at night, stars twinkling and illuminating the vast, endless void up above. In Gingi’s view was the familiar sight of the funfair’s ticket booth, no clear signs of life to be seen with what was usually partnered with bright, obnoxious, ever-changing lights and their beloved yet pathetic former-swan/dick wrangler. They looked around, exaggerated and erratic movements akin to a shitty game's NPC despite, y’know, being the main character. But Gingi didn't know that, and they didn't care either.

“WHERE RANDAL.” The cryptid’s voice boomed through the stillness of the quiet; brief and comforting, it was something the Narrator was beginning to enjoy, but alas. Nothing would ever be enjoyed stuck inside this odd creature’s head. Such as their sheer lack of intelligence…

[...Why do I expect anything from you?] the Narrator said, tone dripping with exasperation that Gingi failed to pick up. If they were capable of audibly sighing, they sure as hell would. [You do see that mysterious green light glowing from inside the ticket booth, right? Or have your optical sensors finally burned out after having a staring competition one too many times with the sun?]

“Shut. I totally see that. Bastard.”

To be fair (not that Gingi deserves justification in this situation), said light was somewhat dim and could possibly be easy to miss. Keyword: possibly. Maybe if you were a senile grandpa that just got his only pair of glasses stepped on by a particularly mean grandchild, it'd make sense. Mole vision, maybe? Anyway, back to the light.

[Pretty sure that’s Randy over there. Y’know, since his head probably glows now. You should go check on him to see if he’s okay because you fucking pushed him into that vat of radioactive sludge! What the hell were you thinking??]

“hehe funni”

[Okay, how about this: What are you going to do if he’s curled-up dead on the ground? You’d go to jail for this.] The Narrator tried reasoning with Gingi or at least understanding their non-thought process, knowing full well that this would not go anywhere.

“My future self will just have to deal with that, then!”

[You know your future ass will not give a shit about it.] they retorted.

Gingi surrendered, holding both of their hands up in defeat. “You got me there, Narrator…”

The creature proceeded to run up to the ticket booth with hefty strides, their phone-head rattling and making various sounds and other such noises that it frankly shouldn't be. Stopping with their face just millimeters away from the bulletproof glass, Gingi squinted. They peered past it the best they could, and there it was: a wild, glowing, radioactive (and most importantly, sleeping) Randy! Oh yeah, his head was definitely glowing a light green. Scratch what had been said earlier, this was not dim at all. Only with the distance closed could they see that it was actually pretty fucking bright. Perhaps it had become brighter in that very short amount of time? Or was it just their shitty eyesight? We may never know…

[Yiiikes, that's not ideal at all… He’s gonna be even more vulnerable to predators now. At least he doesn't seem dead yet?]

Unlike the Narrator, Gingi softened upon seeing Randy. He looked so… relaxed. He was asleep after all, but it still managed to be a shock to them; seeing him so.. content and at ease after all of his seemingly perpetual suffering. And damn, every time they looked at this prior garbage-dweller, they were reminded of one of the things that made it truly worth it being and staying in this wretched world—

Randy was beautiful.

He may be an ugly, stinky schmuck to the vast majority of people, but guess what? Gingi isn't the vast majority, let alone human enough to qualify as a person! They admired him every time he dozed off in their arms if he was crashing at their tent, watching his every movement, every little shift in position, and the faint sounds of his gentle breathing. The rise and fall of his chest moving up and down, a simple sign of life. They would lazily trace the scars that littered his skin with a sense of awe and pride, a reminder of how no matter how much he struggled, he persevered. It didn't matter if he powered or slogged through it; the only thing that mattered was that he had made it. If for some reason he wasn't being cuddled while asleep, like in the present moment, his arms were glued and wrapped around his chest, a clear sign of that touch he always and so desperately craved. It was a welcoming sign that Gingi would happily (and sometimes forcefully) oblige with, granting him that closeness and affection that he was so cruelly deprived of for so many years. Speaking of, Randy looked so damn huggable right now. The urge to snuggle up with him, to scoop him into their loving arms was taking over by the second—

[Hello, Earth to Gingi! Did your brain shut down for the umpteenth time?]

The Narrator snapped them out of their very gay thoughts. Right. Yeah. Just checking in. Hi. They totally didn't blue-screen because of the very cute Randy in front of them. Nuh-uh. Didn't happen. And so, Gingi sinned lied. Well, at least only halfway with their response: “‘M fine, Narry. Just gazing upon my absolutely gorgeous mate is all.”

[One: Never call me that again.] they asserted. [Two: That is.. weirdly sweet. Huh. Didn't know you were capable of that.] 

“Excuse me?! I am capable of many things, Narrator!” Gingi retorted.

[...Let’s just agree to disagree.]

“Fine, fine, whatever. At least I have someone who actually cares about me: There lies my beloved R-A-N-D-A-L!” The creature pointed at the mass on the floor lit by his obnoxious head.

[Uh-huh. Anyway, he seems fine. So, you gonna head back now to get some sleep, or..?]

“Naaaah,” Gingi stated. “I must fuck him first and foremost—”

[Aaaalright, and that’s my sign to head out. I’ll be back once you… yeah.]

“Groovy!”

A Discord leave-call sound could be heard in the distance.

“Welp!” They would hop over to the ticket booth if they hadn't already, so Gingi just banged on the glass because their constant chitter-chatter with the voice in their head hadn't woken Randy up yet.

BANG BANG BANG

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

…Okay, that did not have to be as aggressive as it was.

He immediately woke up, sufficiently startled and scared half-to-death. At least Randy didn't piss himself this time. His head darted in every direction in a frantic daze, finding nothing in the almost-darkness. “Wh–Who’s there?!”

“It is I, Gingi!”

He softened upon hearing his lover’s voice, turning towards the glass and standing up to try to see them. “Phone-God, you scared me.. Wh–What’re you doing here? Have you f-finally decided to steal my organs…?”

“No, silly! I’m here to do the horizontal tango with you!” Gingi wagged their tail, as if that was a completely normal thing to say in civilized society.

“...What?” he asked in utter confusion and partial sleepiness.

“Fuck. I wanna fuck you.”

Randy felt himself heat up and looked away. “You came all the way here j-just to have sex with me?!” His hands shot to tug at bandages that were no longer there.

“Oh, I haven't come yet, but I will definitely be coming soon my dear Randal. ;)” The cryptid ended the sentence with a suggestive growl.

“Wh-What–”

“Unlock the door before I get a hungry swan from the park and trap you with it,” Gingi said flatly.

Randy stammered out an apology, now scrambling for the key. Muscle memory fueled his movements. It only took a few seconds before they both heard the click of something unlocking. Impressive. Swan trauma really is a proper motivator, huh?

“Aww yeah! Thanks, darling.” Gingi fumbled into the ticket booth and was soon face-to-face with the man. They had the closest thing you could get to a dopey smile on their phone-face. “You’re the best. A good boy, even.”

Sufficiently flustered from the praise, Gingi used this opportunity to tackle Randy to the ground with a thud, almost climbing on top of him. Phone-God, it was so easy to make Randy metaphorically melt into a puddle, and the both of them thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.

“W-W-Wait!” Although he was enjoying the sudden manhandling, Randy backed up into a wall with his feet and held out his arms, signaling Gingi to stop. “I'm radioactive now!! You pushed me into– into that thing, remember?? This is a safety hazard for you! I don't want you to die or get sick or something from– from—”

“I sleep in a biohazardous crate.” Gingi stated this as they entangled their clawed fingers with his, scooting closer so they were kneeling just above Randy’s lap, and leaned forward. Their phone-heads were rather close to touching now.

Randy processed this. “O-Oh. Um. Right, how could I forget…” He squeezed his legs together as if they weren't going to be spread open in the next few minutes. “Consider your point taken.”

“Anyway, Randal, this is not just my untameable, feral horniness talking, no siree,” Gingi proclaimed, accentuating what they said with a sharp (and frankly terrifying) head tilt. “I wanted to make up for pushing you into the radioactivity by doing this.” They paused in an attempt to look somewhat innocent, but what came next shattered that thought. “...I may or may not have forgotten to yesterday and just abandoned you. Oopsie daisy! 😇”

Randy ignored that Gingi somehow managed to express “😇” out loud. “I-I mean, not that I’m complaining, but you could also just say sorry—”

“I will never, ever utter that word.”

Randy blinked. “..Okay then— EEK!”