#I am entirely normal about this skeleton

[neims-skeleton-obsession]

desperate for someone to be gentle with skug. down on my knees, begging, pleading. someone be soft in his general direction. as a treat.

[puppy-the-mask]

I love it when a new blorbo jumps the hierarchy straight to the upper pantheon. Like you’ve got your major and minor blorbos and there is a difference between the ranks

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After being captured by The Ghoul, he had dragged you through the hot desert of the Wasteland. You were so thirsty, and you’d do anything for a drink of water. And you meant anything. Tags: Smut, Practically No Plot, Humiliation, Begging, Spit, Blowjobs, Throat Fucking, Thigh Riding, Biting, Hate Sex(?), maybe OOC The Ghoul but I think I got it right, Not Beta Read, there's still consent because i can’t write severe noncon Author's Note: i had so many “why am i writing this” moments yet i still finished it i’m so sorry. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been this thirsty in your life. 

Scratch that, you don’t think anyone’s ever been as thirsty as you currently are. 

Even though you had no saliva left to swallow, you tried anyway, your throat feeling like sandpaper. It caused you to cough, earning a disgruntled noise from the ghoul currently holding you hostage. 

The Ghoul. Infamous bounty hunter and the cruelest person you’d ever met. Of course, you only found out who he was after he captured you. You’d never even heard of a ghoul until a few days ago, your sheltered life in Vault 14 withholding information about the surface to you. 

You wished you were back home, suffocating as it was. At home, you wouldn’t be forced to walk countless miles under the boiling Wasteland sun. At home, you wouldn’t have a lasso around your neck, preventing you from running off. And even if you did manage to somehow escape the rope confines, you’d seen how accurate of a shot he was. He’d kill you before you managed to keep a foot away from him. 

You glanced back at him, The Ghoul, who had his sawed-off shotgun casually trained on you. He seemed unaffected by the heat, by the sun beating down on your faces. His hat made sure of that, and you supposed that you didn’t have to worry about sunburn if all your exposed skin was melted by radiation.

It had been hard, looking at him at first. After spending your entire life surrounded by “normal” humans, it was a shock seeing him for the first time. You’d seen burn scars before, sure, but never this severe, every inch of him covered in them. Of course, that wasn’t the most off-putting part. That had to be the complete lack of nose, an empty socket where the cartilaginous appendage should be. 

It unsettled you deeply, but you found that you couldn’t stop looking at him, a sick part of your brain enjoying it. You didn’t dare delve into that part of your mind right now, though, your current circumstance is significantly more important. 

He had stopped you in Filly, and after a brief discussion had decided that he was taking you with wherever he was going. You had no say in the decision, and even when you fought and kicked and screamed he still managed to get you bound. A few people tried to help, not because they cared about you, but because they had also wanted to get their hands on a “Vaultie”. Apparently, you were worth something to them up here, a commodity of sorts. It made your skin crawl. You’d gotten firsthand experience, then, of how good of a shot The Ghoul was. 

How you longed to be back in the stuffy Vault, working as a teacher to those kids. As annoying as they were, at least they weren’t currently threatening your life, or making you walk to who the hell knows. You’d take that over this any day. Hell, you’d take latrine duty with overflowing toilets every single hour over this. 

You fixed your attention back in front of you, the endless stretch of sandy dunes in front of you broken up by partially destroyed houses and skeletons of buildings. Your feet were in incredible amounts of pain, every step feeling like you had fifty pounds of bricks attached to your ankles. And that thirst, never ending, overwhelming thirst you felt nagged at you, consuming every thought of yours. You’d take anything to drink now, even that definitely radiated puddle you’d passed hours ago. Or was it minutes? You couldn’t tell.

You knew dehydration had long since started affecting you. You were no longer able to form sweat, and you were certain that your body was slowly cooking from the inside. You were almost certain it would be a better fate than whatever The Ghoul was leading you towards. 

You hadn’t even realized he’d stopped until you felt a sharp tug at your throat, nearly toppling you on your ass. You heard him chuckle as you steadied yourself, and you shot him a glare. Even faced with death, you weren’t going to let yourself be treated like this. “We’re stopin’ here,” he gestured to a dilapidated building to his right.

You had been surprised when he spoke the first time, not expecting a southern drawl. You’d never heard an accent like his before, only ever hearing them on the Holotapes your Vault would play for movie night. You’d also believed them to be fake, or to have died out with the rest of humanity. You had to admit, the one good thing to come out of this whole experience was hearing his voice. 

Momentarily confused as to why you were stopping, your eyes focused, and you realized that the sun was half set. You’d learned rather quickly that it was suicidal and stupid to travel across the Wasteland at night, after an almost perilous encountered with what you assumed to once be a bear. You’d barely escaped with your life, climbing a tree until the creature grew disinterested and found new prey. 

You almost wished it had torn you apart then. 

Apparently you were taking too long, and you felt another tug at the rope, pulling you closer to him. “Ain’t got all day, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The name was anything but sweet, saying it with so much condescension that it made you flush angrily. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

Grumbling something under your breath, you stormed past him, another low chuckle leaving him. “Nothin’ good is gonna come from that mouth on ya,” he threatened, waving the gun at you in a go on motion. 

The shifting sand nearly caused you to stumble as you ducked into the house through a window, and your eyes struggled to adjust to the low lighting. Holding your breath, you listened for anything else in the house besides the two of you, and when you were met with only your heartbeat, you continued further in. 

Entering what used to be the living room, you saw a large couch, still in relatively decent condition, and luckily free of decomposed bodies. Any wood furniture, however, had already decayed, leaving only fragments where they once stood. You realized that if you were to sit on the couch, it would probably crumble under the weight.

The Ghoul entered behind you, and you made your way down the hallway, checking each room for anyone or anything that could do you harm. The first room was a bathroom, sand filling the bathtub like it was water. Out of desperation you almost tried to turn the handles on the sink, lift the seat of the toilet, do anything for a drop of water. But you refrained, not willing to stoop to that level yet. But you could feel that you were close. 

The next room was a large master bedroom, completely destroyed from when the bombs fell. Sand covered everything, and the walls had practically caved in, leaving you exposed to the outside. There was no where you would stay there willingly tonight. 

The third and final room was also completely devoid of life, but the empty crib in the middle of the room had you gasping, and you heard the click of a gun behind you as The Ghoul prepared for anything. You quickly shut the door. “Nothing, sorry,” you managed to croak out, and you heard him scoff.

However, you saw that he did manage to catch a glimpse of the room before you closed the door, and in those still human eyes you saw something flash through them. Sadness? Longing? Anger? You couldn’t tell, but you sure as hell weren’t about to ask him about it. 

Living room it is, then. Heading back to the original room, you watch The Ghoul sit on the couch, right in the center of it. It held, surprisingly, but you could hear the wood groan in warning. Spreading his legs, you watched him tilt his head back, a content sigh leaving his mouth. 

If you had the energy to blush, you would’ve as you watched him, finding yourself having to look away. Maybe dehydration was messing with your brain, the way you thought that was attractive. What the hell was wrong with you, you thought. 

Thirst quickly chased those thoughts away, and you attempted to lick your dry lips, your tongue mostly sticking to them instead. You were about to go explore the bathroom until you remembered the rope around your neck. 

Like he could read your thoughts, you watched him regard the lasso in his gloved hand. “You gonna run off on me if I take this off, sweetheart?” 

You shook your head, excited to have the irritating rope no longer chafing your neck. “You’ll kill me before I could,” you responded, voice barely a whisper.

The Ghoul barked out a laugh. “Damn right I will.” He considered your response for a moment, and you fully believed that he was going to keep it there. That was until he stood, almost inhumanly fast, approaching you with long strides.

Holding your breath, you felt his tug the rope off your neck, those eerily human eyes never leaving yours as he did. You flinched when you felt one of his leather-clad fingers brush over the irritated skin. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, mostly because of fear, but also for another reason that you refused to name. 

With a satisfactory smirk, he looped the lasso back onto his belt. You quickly exhaled when he stepped away, eliciting a coughing fit, which was dry and only irritated your throat more. Fuck, you were so thirsty. 

The Ghoul sat back on the couch in that same lounging position, and you debated sitting on the floor in front of him, but you feared that if you rested now then you’d never get back up. You watched him set a lantern on the ground, the weak oil based contraption the only source of light in the entire room. You didn’t ask why he didn’t start a fire; you also learned to not do that early on too. 

So you remained standing, even though your feet screamed for relief. You ignored them, shifting to try and alleviate the pain slightly. Rubbing your neck, you could feel that he hadn't once taken his eyes off of you, and it was making you increasingly unnerved. “You gonna stand there all night?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.” You tried to sound defiant, but it came out more like an airy noise.

“Suit yourself, then.” He rolled his eyes, making a show of getting comfortable on the couch. “It’ll be a long night for you, that’s for sure.”

Swaying, you leaned your back against one of the barely-standing walls, screwing your eyes shut. You occupied your thoughts with memories of home, trying desperately to ignore the pain. You were mostly successful, that was until you heard the sound of a canister being opened. 

Curious, you opened your eyes back up, nearly falling to your knees when you saw him drinking from a circular canteen. You must’ve made some noise, because he was now smirking at you. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and you watched a droplet of precious water trail down his scarred chin, dripping onto his dusty clothes. 

“See somethin’ you want, sweetheart?” He was unabashedly cocky with his tone. 

You son of a bitch, you thought, glaring daggers into him.

“Now, now, no need to be like that,” he chuckled, taking another sip. “Just tell me what ya want.”

He wanted you to ask for it. He wanted you to be at his mercy. Groaning, you rest your head back against the wall. You don’t think you’ve ever hated anyone as much as you hated The Ghoul. Any humanity left in him had been stripped away, leaving behind a cruel excuse of a human. Despite that, you couldn’t deny the way your heart continued to patter in your chest as he stared at you expectantly, that cocky attitude doing things to you that would leave anyone who knew you horrified.

“I…” you tried to talk, but your voice proved to be too scratchy. Clearing your throat as best you could, you tried again, ignoring the way he looked at you like a predator would his prey. It was similar to the bear from earlier, but you’d take that now over the ghoul in front of you. “I need water.”

He tsked, crossing a leg over his lap. “And here I thought you Vaulties were raised with manners.”

It took everything in you to not just snap at him, but that would leave you without any water. “I need water, please,” you gritted out. 

The Ghoul shook his head disapprovingly. “Shame,” you heard him mutter, before he was slowly pouring the water out onto the floor behind him.

Sheer panic tore through you, and if you were able to form tears, they would be in your eyes. “Wait, wait, wait,” you pleaded, your voice cracking and breaking, and you lunged forward. The click of a gun had your blood going cold, but he at least had the decency to stop pouring. You held your hands up, taking a few steps back.

Registering that you weren’t going to attack him, he lowered the gun, but he still kept it on his lap. If he had any eyebrows left, you’re sure one of them would be raised, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’m- I’m sorry,” you stammered out, keeping your hands in the air. “I just… Can I please have some water? Please, I-I… I need it. I’m begging you… please.” You wondered if he could even make out your words. 

You watched his eyes travel up and down your body, and he cocked his head. “Are you?” You made a confused noise, and he chuckled lowly. “Are you beggin’ me?”

One problem that you always had at the Vault is that you never knew when to shut your mouth, and what you said next certainly made it clear that you hadn’t learned yet. “You want me to get on my knees, then?” You had meant it sarcastically, and you immediately regretted it when his eyes went dark. 

You heard the creak of the couch as he planted both feet on the ground, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. His guns barely stayed in his lap, but he didn’t seem to care. “Now that you mention it… yeah.”

Humiliation warmed your cheeks, and you nearly let your pride stop you from sinking to the floor, but then you saw the way the canteen hung precariously in his hand. Damn it all. Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself slowly, unable to look at the man, not wanting to see his victorious reaction. The sand shifted beneath your knees as you rested on them, but you could barely feel the relief your feet finally felt.

“Can-”

“Closer,” he cut you off gruffly. “And I want those eyes on me.” His voice had turned husky, and you realized he was enjoying this. Were… were you enjoying this too? You honestly couldn’t tell.

Wordlessly, you obeyed, shuffling forward until your knees bumped into his shoes. Your ears burned worse than they did out in the sun, and you wished it would just explode and incinerate you right now. “Eyes up, sweetheart,” he practically purred. 

You took a moment to prepare yourself before you were looking at him through hooded eyes. The brim of his hat cast a shade over his face, and you could only see the hungry glint in his eyes matched with a predatory smirk. Oh, he was loving this, and you couldn’t help but squirm under his gaze, heat pooling in your belly that was quickly doused by shame. 

“Can I please have some water? Please? I- I’m really thirsty and… just a bit. Please.” 

His grin grew more as you begged, and you sagged with relief when he brought the canteen closer, no longer dangling over the back of the couch. “See, that ain’t so hard now, was it?”

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologizing, for what, you weren’t quite sure. You weren’t too upset about it, though, especially when he brought the canteen to your lips. 

“Head back,” he ordered, and you did, your neck straining at the angle. You swore you heard him groan when you parted your lips, never breaking eye contact with him. The water was disgusting and acidic, but damn if it wasn’t the best thing you’d ever had the pleasure of drinking. He poured it into your mouth, and you desperately swallowed every single drop, the dryness in your mouth and throat instantly being quenched. 

But it wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t help the disappointed noise you let out when he ceased the pouring. “More, please,” you found yourself whining, any remnants of shame tossed out the broken window you’d climbed into.

“Manners, Vaultie,” he growled.

“Thank you, thank you,” you repeated like a mantra, and The Ghoul let out a pleased hum. Thirstiness still clung to you like a second skin, but you felt better than you had moments ago. Some of your energy had returned, and you felt like you were no longer in the grasp of death. 

“You want more?” He asked, and you immediately nodded.

“Please,” you whispered, and you saw something almost wicked pass over his features. 

“Don’t worry,” you felt one of his gloved hands sneak around your back, collecting a handful of hair and tugging, forcing your head back even further. You cried out, a mix of shock and pain. “You’ll get more. Just keep that pretty mouth wide open, just like that.” His normal drawl had turned into an almost rasp, and you shuddered. 

You watched as he took a swig for himself, but he didn’t swallow, keeping the water in his mouth. Confused, you closed your mouth, but as soon as you did you felt him pull hard at your hair. Obediently, you opened it back up, a shaky exhale leaving you.

If he had a nose, it would be currently pressed up against yours. He adjusted so that he was practically towering above you, and man did the angle kill your neck, but you didn’t dare complain. With increasingly widening eyes, you watched as he slotted his mouth above yours, not touching, but you could still feel the heat from his body. 

You nearly flinched when you felt the water hit your mouth, fighting every instinct that told you to shut it. The act was filthy and degrading, but you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t getting you incredibly aroused. Your Vault-Tec suit was becoming suffocating; it hadn’t even felt this bad when you were outside. 

As he sat back on to the couch, his lips glistened in the dim light, stray remnants of water still coating them. As you held the water in your mouth, he frowned disapprovingly. “Do I gotta spell it out for ya?” He shifted forward again, grasping your face. “Swallow.” 

When you did, he let go, tapping your cheek lightly. “Atta girl,” he cooed, and you sputtered, cheeks growing warm. Shifting where you sat, you tried and failed to relieve some of the tension in you. You thought you were subtle in your movements, but his sharpshooter gaze locked onto it immediately. 

He laughed, a mix of surprise and condescension in one. “This gettin’ you turned on? Maybe you ain’t all that innocent, Vaultie.”

You eyed the half-hard tent in front of you. “I’m not the only one,” you grumbled out, and he laughed again. 

“I ain’t the one on my knees, sweetheart.”  Scoffing, you watched him lean back again. You expected him to say something, do something, but he simply watched you with anticipatorily. Something shifted in the atmosphere, and you realized he was putting the situation in your hands, wordlessly asking you how far you were willing to take this. 

You needed this. You needed him, as bewildering as it was for you to admit to yourself. 

Desire running deeper than that for water coursed through your veins, and you nodded. “More.” You both knew that you weren’t fully talking about the canteen in his hand. 

“Good answer.” Before you could even register, he was gripping your face again. Fingers pressed into your cheeks harshly, opening your mouth back up. Taking another swig, you expected him to repeat what he’d done last time, but you were startled when you felt his lips on yours. 

It was a strange kiss, his closed mouth against your open one, but it didn’t stay like that for long. His lips pulled apart, and without needing further prompting you swallowed another precious mouthful of water. You could feel that bastardly smirk against your mouth, and if you were anywhere near being able to create a coherent thought you would’ve said something. 

But you didn’t, you couldn’t. It was like you were caught up in some haze, but you were sent out of it when you felt his tongue sweep into your mouth. You’d kissed a few people, sure, but never like this. It elicited a startled noise from you that had him pulling back an inch, and you had to fight yourself to not chase after his lips.

“Never had that before?” He chuckled, and he found your following silence an adequate enough answer. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

He didn’t even give you a moment to react before he was crashing his mouth back against yours. It was all tongue and teeth and it had you moaning, and you felt the grip on your face tighten. Your head spun, and you tried to keep up with his movements, but you ended up just letting him take over, moving his mouth against your however he’d like. 

He nipped at your lower lip with his teeth, and your hands shot out, no longer able to just keep them idly in your lap. You found purchase on his thighs, the sinewy muscles tensing under your touch. But the grip on your face tightened more, almost incredibly painful. Your eyes shot open, alarmed, and a pained noise left you. 

He had pulled away again, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths, but he was glaring down at you. “You better watch those hands.” Even though his voice was husky, the threat didn’t make you any less terrified. 

You were confused, and you watched his eyes trail down to his lap where your hands were. Unable to move your head, you had to strain your own eyes to look down, and sheer dread washed over you when you saw his gun still in his lap, your hands a mere inch away from it. 

“I- I wasn’t… I didn’t… ” you gasped breathlessly. “I didn’t know! I- I’m sorry! Please.” Out of all the times you’d begged and pleaded tonight, this time had to be the most genuine. Immediately retracting your hands back to your lap, you awaited his response tensely. What you failed to notice was the way his eyes darkened as you groveled, his pants growing tighter.

His gaze returned to your face, and out of the corner of your eye you watched as he moved the gun from his lap into his hand. You half expected him to point it at you next, but you let out a very audible sigh of relief when he set it on the couch beside him. It was completely out of your reach now, but he could still easily grab it. 

He loosened the grip on your jaw, still holding it, but no longer digging into your flesh painfully. “I won’t stop you next time,” he growled, and it took you a second to register what he was saying: he won’t stop you next time because you’d be dead as soon as you began to reach for it. 

You nodded as best you could. “Good,” he’d lost the threatening tone, but his voice was still gravely and raspy. “Now, where was I?” His eyes flicked down to your lips, and you sure they were swollen and shiny. “That’s right.”

Like nothing had happened, he returned to his ministrations, teeth grazing your bottom lip again. You hesitated when you set your hands back on his thighs, gaining more confidence when he didn’t stop you. In fact, he was actively encouraging your explorative touches, a pleased noise rumbling his chest as your fingers trailed up his thighs. 

Another swipe of his tongue and a particularly harsh bite had you gripping onto him, barely able to find purchase on the thick material of his pants. You desperately needed air, but he held his grip on your jaw, seemingly unaffected by the issue you were having. Did ghouls need to breathe? It seemed like they didn’t, because he had yet to tear his mouth away for air once as he first kissed you. 

As your hands reached his belt, it was then he finally tore away, a groan leaving him. Sucking in as much air as your lungs could handle, you ran your touch across the prominent bulge. You felt the hand on your jaw go lax, falling to his lap. “You gonna take care of that?” He was giving you another out, giving you an opportunity to stop you from doing something you could regret. 

Rationally, you knew you should stop here, and pretend like this didn’t just happen. You knew the version of you from the Vault would do that. But this new part of you, exposed to the Wasteland and the savagery of the surface world found that you wanted to continue. Besides, you were probably going to end up getting killed in the next few days; why not have some new experiences before your time was up.

You didn’t respond, you simply began to undo the buckle of his belt. You couldn’t get the thing off of him, so it just rested open on his thighs. “Oh, you’re filthy,” he chuckled, spreading his legs even further apart while leaning back against the couch. “Go on, sweetheart. Let’s see what that mouth’s good for.”

This also wasn’t your first time in a situation like this. You’d only ever done it once, but you apparently weren't too terrible at it, as he frequently requested for a second time, but you always turned him down. You kinda wish you hadn’t now, wishing you had more experience now, but a part of you knew that this was about to be incredibly different from anything you would’ve experienced in the Vault.

With hands that you prayed weren’t incredibly shaky, you pulled down the zipper of his pants. He kept his eyes locked onto you the entire time, darkening even more as the unzipping noise hit his ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him, no matter how hard you wanted to. Something about his expression had you locked in, and you shifted again. 

“Don’t let me stop ya,” he rested his arms along the backside of the couch, and you realized you’d just been sitting there. Steadying yourself, you slipped your hand into the confines of his pants, underneath the waistband of his briefs. You heard him let out a small hiss when your fingers brushed over his cock, and you desperately wanted to hear him make more noises like that.

It took a bit of maneuvering before he was free, head brushing against his navel. The skin was pocked like the rest of his body, which you were expecting. What you weren’t expecting was how long he was, much longer than your previous encounter.

Before you could let nerves disarm you, you moved closer to him. Bracing your hands back on his thighs, you kissed his tip, and you heard his hiss again. Sneaking your tongue out, you ran it up his length, pressing another kiss when you reached the top. “Don’t tease,” he growled, tangling his gloved fingers back into your hair. 

When you took him into your mouth, he let out a noise that sounded like a laugh and a sigh, the grip on your hair growing painful. It didn’t deter you, rather it drove you wild, and you took as much of him as you could. When he hit the back of your throat, you had to stifle the urge to gag. Taking the rest of him in one of your hands, you began to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks. 

You couldn’t see the way his eyes locked onto his cock leaving and entering your mouth, but you could hear the small grunts he made in tandem with the movement of your head. He kept his hips surprisingly still, but his fingers were somehow getting even tighter, as if all of his restraint was being poured into his grip, and it was on the verge of snapping. “You can take more.” It wasn’t a question, and you felt his press down on the back of your head when you had him fully in you.

Startled, you tried to make a noise, but the vibrations just went straight to his cock. He groaned, louder this time, and he didn't let up. “Relax,” he bit out, and you tried. You really did. Taking as deep a breath you could, you forced your muscles to relax, your hands going back to his thighs. Tears sprung to your eyes as you really tried not to gag, but a garbled sound still left you as he pushed himself further down your throat. 

“Fuck,” he drawled out, “just like that.” It felt like five years had passed before your nose was finally pressed into his skin, his cock fully sheathed down your throat. Tears dripped onto his skin, but he didn’t seem to feel them. Your scalp stung as he lifted your head up, and you took in a shuddering breath, your lungs screaming for air.

You didn’t have a long reprieve before he was shoving you back down again, and even though the intrusion wasn’t new it still caused you to make an awful noise. It took him pulling you off again for you to realize what he was doing; he was fucking your mouth, using it for his own pleasure like you were just a toy. The realization had you moaning, the discomforts becoming an afterthought as he chased his pleasure, your own growing. 

Your Vault-Tec suit was becoming unbearable arousal tightening in your core, and you snuck a hand down between your legs, trying to touch yourself through the thick material. It didn’t help, but you still tried anyway, desperate for any sort of relief. The Ghoul laughed, not letting up the way he moved your head. “Oh, sugar, is suckin’ my cock gettin’ you bothered?”

Your head spun, the new nickname and the crude words making you dizzy, and you let out what you hoped was a confirmatory sound. He only huffed in response, and you could tell that he was starting to get close to his release. His hips had started to buck, albeit slightly, and his groans had turned to unintelligible moans. 

He cursed again, and you were barely able to glimpse his head roll back, hat hitting the ground. He didn’t care, continuing to fuck your face, and you desperately ground against your hand. “So good, fuck,” he panted, and you let your eyes flutter shut.

They shot open when you heard him moan your name, but you had little time to appreciate the way he said it. He pressed down hard on the back of your head, holding you there, your nose pressed flat against his body. A plethora of curses fell from his lips as he came, his cum spurting deep down your throat. 

He let go, hands falling to his sides, and you removed yourself, coughing and gasping for air. Your cheeks were wet with tears, your jaw aching, but it was the best pain you’d ever felt. He stared at you with lustful eyes, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

Holy shit. You were tired, but you wanted more. But you weren’t expecting him to do anything else tonight. This wasn’t a partnership; he’d gotten his release. You’d need to deal with it on your own. 

So caught up in what you were expecting, you gasped when you felt his lips graze the corner of your mouth. His hand cradled your cheek, leather growing damp, and you felt his lips brush the tears that had fallen on the other cheek. You realized he was licking your tears away, and when he registered that you noticed he chuckled, muttering something about not wanting to waste water. You let out an airy chuckle in return, still not fully wrapping your head about what had and what is transpiring. 

“Guess one good thing came from that mouth,” he teased, referencing his earlier threat. He tugged you up, and you stood with knees shaking like a fawn. You’re certain you looked like a mess but he either didn’t care or really enjoyed it. 

You really had no idea what was going to happen next. You observed him with wide eyes, and you couldn’t help the bewildered look when you saw him stroking himself, still rock hard like he hadn’t just come. He chuckled when he saw what had caused you to react. “One good thing ‘bout bein’ a ghoul,” he rasped. “Stamina.”

His own raked down your body, honing in on the way your thighs pressed together, and they flicked back up to your own. “Take it off.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, the zipper on your suit quickly becoming undone. Even though the air was hot, it still felt nice against your hot skin. He didn’t blink as you undressed, eyes clocking in every new inch of exposed skin. Tugging it down your shoulders and off your arms, you let it fall to the ground, the material pooling at your ankles. 

Left in only your bra and underwear, you kicked the Vault-Tec suit off your feet, and you stood there, unsure. “All of it,” he continued, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

As you reached for the clasp of your bra, you watched him lean forward slightly, eyes watching you like you were the most delicious meal he was about to devour. Tossing the garment beside you, you reached for the waistband of your underwear. He raised a hand, making your halt, your fingers barely looped under the band.

With two fingers, he gestured you forward, grinning when you complied easily. His hands batted away your own, and you felt he begin to peel it away himself. He was almost eye level with your navel, and you felt his breath caress your stomach. It was like he was unwrapping a present, the way he ripped it down your legs, and it fell around your ankles like the suit. 

You were hardly able to kick it away before he pulled you onto his lap, your hands bracing against his still clothed chest. The couch made a very audible noise, on the virgo of collapsing, but neither of you seemed to hear it. One of your legs straddled his thigh, your bare center pressed against his pants, no doubt soaking the material.

 “You’re wearing too much,” you found yourself commenting, and you felt him chuckle. He took his hands off your waist, holding them in front of you so you could clearly see him take off his gloves, tossing them by his gun. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, realizing that that was all you were getting from him. 

You weren’t complaining, though, when his bare hands touched you for the first time. Along with the marred skin, his fingers were calloused, years and years of harsh life, fighting, and shooting making them so, but they were the best things you’d ever felt touch your soft skin.

He seemed to be having similar thoughts, humming appreciated as he felt your body, fingers dancing up your sides. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, and you sighed as he continued his exploration upwards. Worn hands cupped your breasts, fingers toying with your perked nipples, and you unconsciously pressed your chest forward. “Look at ya,” it felt like he was mostly talking to himself, “you ain’t gotta mark on your body.” You felt his mouth graze your breasts, lips ticking you as he spoke. 

You jumped when his teeth made contact with the delicate skin of the top of your breasts, and he chuckled. Moving lower, he took one of your nipples between his lips, his hand making sure the other one was receiving the same attention. His tongue flicked, sucked, and the occasional nip had you crying out, jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. One of your hands settled on the back of his head, the other sneaking back between your legs.

With that surprising speed, he caught your wrist, not even tearing his mouth away from you. You let out a noise of complaint, and you could feel him grin. His hands left your breasts, settling back on your waist, and you felt him begin to rock you back and forth on his thigh. With every rock, your clit ground against the tensed muscle, and you let out small moans, small waves of pleasure crashed through your body.

When he felt you begin to move on your own, he let go, returning his touch to your breasts, playing and massaging them as you got off on his thigh. His mouth trailed up your body, leaving a trail of small kisses and ginger bites, your once smooth skin now slightly indented. Having been worked up for a while, you felt that you were growing close to release, his ministrations bringing you closer. 

He was at your neck now, and he bit particularly hard at the thick tendon there. He laughed when he felt your hips begin to rock harder, and you felt his tongue smooth over the bitten skin. “I-” you tried to speak, but an airy whine from your throat cut you off. Your thighs were trembling, and you could feel the damp patch that had formed on his pants, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed right now. 

“You close, sugar?” Not trusting your voice, you nodded instead. “Fuck, yeah you are. C’mon, let me feel ya,” he groaned, mouthing at your neck. 

It only took a few more rolls of your hips before you came, his name tumbling from your lips as a loud cry, pleasure igniting all your nerves. Your stubbed nails dug into the back of his head, and he growled. Your whole body was trembling as you rode out your high, only ceasing the movement of your hips when it became too overstimulating.

A shocked laugh left you, and you slumped forward. That seemed to be the last straw for the couch, the furniture collapsing beneath the two of you. It nearly caused to tumble off his lap, but you felt his hands secure under your thighs. He stood, holding you like you weighed nothing, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his body. 

He eased you to the ground, the sand digging uncomfortably into your skin, causing your back to arch off the ground to avoid feeling it. You couldn’t help the gasp you let out when you watched him shrug off his jacket, tucking behind you wordlessly. These small glimpses of humanity you’d seen from the Ghoul, like when he saw the crib, or when he gave you a way lead you to believe that maybe he wasn’t as bad as you originally believed him to be.

Well, you still hated him, and you were still his captive, but you realized that he wasn’t a complete monster. It was moments like this, where those high walls he’d built to survive in the Wasteland began to crumble, and you could see glimpses of the man you assumed he once was.

He didn’t give you much time to reflect, though, because his lips were crashing against yours, and all thoughts disappeared. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, and you could feel his cock pressed against your folds. He didn’t press in though, and you whined against his lips, moving your hips as best you could to try and get him to move. “Whatdya want, sweetheart?” He murmured, nestling his head in the crook of your neck. 

“You,” you gasped out.

“I’m right here,” he chuckled a bit, and he still didn’t move.

Groaning, you ground against him again, trying to get him to just push himself into you. He groaned, yet he still didn’t move, his resolve stronger than you anticipated. “Fuck me, please,” you choked out, and you could see him smirk in satisfaction. 

He didn’t respond, and you felt him press into you, sheathing into you with a single thrust. Similar noises of pleasure escaped both your mouths, and your fingers wove into the fabric of his shirt, desperately trying to find something to grip onto. He stretched you out so well, and you gasped when you felt his hips press against you. He was so deep inside of you, father than any other person you’d taken to bed, and it overwhelmed you in all the best ways.

“Sugar, you feel incredible.” You babbled something in response, and you hated how proud he looked. He didn’t give you time to adjust before he was setting a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours. The sound of skin on skin and your cries of his name filled the room, and you swore if you gripped any tighter on his shirt that it would rip.

Small puffs of air tickled your neck with every thrust, whispers of your name hidden in the gasps. Fingers dug into your waist, most likely going to leave marks in the morning, your once smooth skin littered with marks of him. You couldn't see what your body looked like right now, but you had a pretty damn good idea, and the picture you visualized in your mind had you clenching around him, causing him to falter, albeit it only for a second.

Despite the slight overstimulation you were feeling, you could feel another orgasm begin to form, slowly but surely. Letting go of his shirt, you grasped at his face, pulling back up for another breath-stealing kiss. You were so caught up in the way he continued to thrust into you and the way his mouth slotted against yours that you failed to notice the way one of his hands left your waist. 

You broke the kiss with a startled yet pleased nosed when you felt his fingers begin to work at your clit, rubbing fervent circles into the sensitive nerves in time with the thrusts of his hips. “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groaned out, and your head hit the ground, barely softened by the jacket and the sand. 

His name had turned into soft pants, unable to form a coherent thought as he relentlessly fucked you. The added stimulation brought you closer to the edge, and you tried to let him know you were getting close. “Go ‘head, lemme feel ya,” his accent had been cranked up to a hundred, and in any other situation you would’ve found that funny. 

With a final cry of his name, you came again, your vision going white as you temporarily spaced out, the pleasure too overwhelming. When you came to, he had pulled out of you, leaving you empty and shivering. You watched as he stroked himself a few more times before he came all over your stomach.

It was only the sound of breathing in the room now, both of you just staring at each other as you calmed. Relaxing on his coat, you watched as he stood, tucking himself back into his pants as he did. Closing your eyes, you focused on your breathing, jumping when you felt a cloth on your stomach, wiping away his release from your skin. 

He didn’t say anything, tossing the cloth to one of the corners of the room when he was done. He placed your clothing beside you, before sitting and resting against the collapsed remnants of the couch, head rolling back. 

Groaning, you broke free from the post-orgasmic haze you were in, sitting upright. Both pleasure and pain still lingered in your muscles, making your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Slipping on your undergarments, the dampened fabric of your underwear was incredibly uncomfortable, but you gritted your teeth and ignored it. After putting on your bra, you debated putting on the Vault-Tec suit, but the idea of putting it back on made our overheated body cry. 

The Ghoul watched you as you redressed, thinly veiled desire and interest flicking in those eyes. You were now sitting upright on his jacket, and you got up onto your knees, freeing the garment and holding it in your arms. Scooting towards him, you held it out to him with shaking arms, almost like a peace offering. His eyes didn’t leave you as he took it, setting it beside him.

Before you could decide that it was a bad idea, you sat down next to him, shoulders brushing. If he was surprised, he did a good job of hiding. Exhaustion returned, and you felt your eyes begin to flutter close, head bobbing as you struggled to stay awake.

It was your turn to be surprised when you felt him pull your shoulder down, resting your head in his lap. You were even more surprised when he draped his jacket over your shoulders, the material thin enough to not overheat you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes, but he avoided your gaze, staring at the half-standing wall in front of him.

“Rest. We’re leavin’ at sunrise.” His voice was hoarse, back to that commanding tone from earlier. 

Getting as comfortable as you could, you let your eyes shut, sleep beckoning you. You had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow, but as you felt his fingers comb delicately through your hair, you knew that he was no longer going to be following his original plan for you.

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside. 

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

.

.

.

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

 Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 1: Language of Lust (Voice Kink)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: The first thing art of my third Kinktober challenge, let’s go besties!

Tags: voice kink, language kink, oral, scratching, gratuitous German, aftercare

Word Count: 4.3k

The Masterlist

You tried to understand Medic, you truly did. He talked about his experiments at length, and anyone could see how passionate he was about them. Still, he often forgot that not everyone understood the medical jargon that he did, and you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt him. The last thing you were able to understand was something about the superiority of the mega baboon heart when compared to the average human’s. It was all downhill from there, but as long as he kept talking, you would keep listening, nodding along. The truth was you loved to hear Medic talk, and the reasons weren’t entirely innocent.

“Now this part gets a bit complicated, are you paying attention?” Medic asked, gesturing towards a rough diagram he had scribbled on the back of some paperwork. As far as you could tell, it seemed to be detailing how one would successfully prevent the human body from rejecting animal organs, specifically the uterus, for some reason. Usually you wouldn’t question it, but you felt it would be wrong to let him keep going on if you truly didn’t understand. Plus, it might mean you get to hear him talk for longer.

“Oh yes! Of course I am,” you said. “But just in case, could you run it by me one more time?”

Medic sighed, smiling fondly at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “I am starting to think you just enjoy hearing me ramble, mein schatz.”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice the soft blush that colored your cheeks. He had no idea how well he had just read you. “Maybe I do,” you said, trying to keep your tone as casual as possible.

“Well, I appreciate that. Not many are willing to listen to me go on like this. However, you don’t have to pretend to understand for my sake.” You noticed a hint of sadness in that statement. You knew how it felt to enjoy something, especially something weird, and have no one to share your interests with.

“I don’t have to understand to see how passionate you are about it, and I like it when you get worked up.” You paused for a moment before realizing how that sounded. “When you’re excited, I mean. Excited about your work.”

Medic chuckled. “Is that so? I have always wondered what you enjoyed out of these conversations we share.” He got a bit closer to you, looking you up and down like an intriguing specimen. “And while I do believe you like seeing me happy, I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, perhaps a bit too quickly. You kicked your legs nervously, hearing the metal operation table you were sitting on creak slightly as you did.

“Let’s see,” Medic said, leaning in, studying you. Suddenly, he started touching you. It was entirely innocent, nothing that wouldn’t be done during a normal physical, even if it did leave goosebumps all over your skin. You started giggling uncontrollably when his fingers lingered on areas that he knew were ticklish. All the while he made mock ‘observations’ about you. “A slight flush, perspiration on the brow… excellent bone structure!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, growing more confused by the second. “What the hell does my bone structure have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Medic said. “But based on how much redder your face just became, I would say you like it when I compliment your appearance.”

You stared at Medic, finding yourself at a loss for words. He held your gaze, and you looked away first with an awkward laugh, feeling like he was staring right into your soul. Was this really happening? Was this Medic’s way of flirting?

Placing a hand on your cheek, you found that it was indeed warm. You also probably should have been unnerved by Medic’s comment, given his track record with skeletons. In fact, he had once detailed how he planned to one-up that particular achievement with something he lovingly referred to as ‘the circulatory system heist.’ Honestly, he probably wouldn’t be satisfied until he managed to steal every major organ system in the human body at least once, preferably leaving his victim alive in the process.

Finally, you responded. “It’s not just the compliments. Truthfully, I just like hearing you talk. You have a hot voice.” A moment of silence was all it took for you to realize what you had just admitted. Shit. You had gotten too comfortable. You had said too much, and of course, your immediate response was to stammer your way through a desperate, panicked stream of consciousness. “I mean nice! You have a nice voice, in a normal way. It’s, uh- unique, with the accent, you know? Yeah, that’s it. You would make a good narrator.”

Real smooth. Perfectly executed. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

He had, in fact, suspected many things. An expression flashed across Medic’s face. First came realization, and then surprise. You weren’t sure whether you should be proud of the fact that you actually managed to surprise Medic, of all people.

“You like my accent?” He spoke with a certainty that implied he already knew the answer. You wished you could blame it on Medic being observant, but the fact was you had basically outed your massive crush on the team doctor in a moment of weakness. The only thing to do now was own up.

“Maybe,” you said, just above a whisper. You’re face was so red, and you felt hot from the blood rushing to your face. “I do have a bit of a thing for it.”

It was definitely more than just ‘a bit of a thing.’

“I am surprised. Usually when it comes to accents people go for the French, or the other romance languages,” Medic said, looking you over like you were a subject to be psychoanalyzed. It made you feel so small, even though you had the freedom to leave whenever you wanted. Not that you would. You liked where this conversation seemed to be going, even if you were embarrassed by how it was initiated.

“I guess I just have unique tastes.” There wasn’t much more of an explanation for you to give. You weren’t quite sure when you developed a thing for accents, let alone Medic’s in particular, but the human brain worked in mysterious ways. While you satiated yourself with the occasional foreign nickname he had given you, there was a part of you that occupied lonely nights with thoughts of how it might sound if he were to moan against your ear, whispering sweet nothings in a language you barely understood.

“I hope that this isn’t the only reason you come to visit me,” Medic said. “I actually thought you enjoyed hearing me ramble about exotic animal parts and Medigun technology, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking, ja?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reassured him. “I guess you could say I came for the accent and stayed for the sordid tales of grand theft skeleton.”

That at least got a laugh out of him. “Well then, I suppose I can’t be too hurt, liebchen.”

Damn it. Your blush had just begun to calm down, too. “That’s not fair!”

“Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem with my little pet names before. In fact, I think you liked them very much.” His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on you in a way that reminded you of a wolf tracking its kill.

“It’s different now that you know,” you stammered, struggling to keep your composure as you held his gaze.

“How so, schatz?”

You huffed. Now he was just doing it on purpose. You weren’t going to humor him with an answer if he was just going to keep teasing you- until you felt a breath against your ear. “I asked you a question, mein engelchen. I expect an answer.”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered. You hadn’t even realized how close Medic was getting. Now his arms were on either side of you, gripping the edges of the operation table. He probably noticed the way your body stiffened and the way you squeezed your thighs together. Even so, a part of you worried you were being too presumptuous. Was this really going where you thought it was going? “Medic, what are you doing?”

“I thought that would have been obvious,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m giving you what you want, if you’ll let me.”

“Seriously?” you asked, trying not to be too embarrassed at how the word came out as more of a shocked squeal.

“Only if you want to.” Medic backed away to look you up and down. He still wore a knowing smirk, but there was a hint of sincerity behind it that let you know that if you wanted this to stop, it would stop. You didn’t want that though. You had dreamt of a moment like this, and here it was, being offered on a silver platter, or rather, a silver operating table.

Before you could think, almost as if on instinct, you leaned forward and kissed him. You felt him startle, jolting against you slightly before he melted into the sinfully short kiss. You looked up at him with glassy eyes when you parted. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Looking up at him like that, you were irresistible. Medic leaned down, kissing you hard. He was much rougher, biting at your lower lip until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him against you. He moaned into your mouth as you grounded against him, cursing the layers of fabric that remained between the two of you.

“Medic, please,” you gasped when you parted for a breath.

“How about you beg for me in my native tongue?” Medic said. “After all, I know how much you love it.”

“I don’t know how,” you whined, not even caring that you sounded utterly pathetic. Your voice was already quivering and besides a heated makeout, nothing had really happened yet.

Medic’s gaze softened. You were adorable when you were frustrated. “I’ll teach you, liebe. You know how to say please, don’t you?”

“Bitte.” You responded with some confidence, having heard Medic say it before, usually when asking for assistance on the battlefield.

“Very good. Now, repeat after me, ‘Bitte, lass mich deinen Schwanz lutschen.’” He spoke slowly, and you repeated the words at the same pace, occasionally struggling around the pronunciation that felt foreign on your tongue.

Medic smiled, and you took that as a sign that you did well. “What does it mean?”

That smile twisted into a smirk. “It means, ‘please, let me suck your cock.’”

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you knew you had just turned a much deeper shade of red. Perhaps it was a bit naive of you to think that what you had just said would be anything other than lewd. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Can I?”

“Certainly!” Medic’s swirk widened, his teeth glinting in the harsh light of the infirmary. His eyes tracked your every move as you dismounted the table, pacing around him until he was leaning back on the steel surface and you were knelt down in front of him. His ever present gaze made you shiver. Reaching for his belt, you paused at the buckle, glancing up at him nervously. “Go on, liebling.”

You nodded, wasting little time unfastening the belt and unzipping his fly. With some finessing, you eventually freed his cock, working him up with your hand. The way he groaned at your touch made you squirm, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to quell your arousal. You were quite proud to find that he was already half hard.

It wasn’t long before you could get to work with your mouth. You licked your lips until they were reddened and wet. The noise he made when you simply dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock was maddening. You had fantasized about what it might be like to hear him moan, to watch him come undone with your touch, but nothing could compare to the real thing. You needed to hear more.

Little did you know, Medic had thought about this before as well. He had wondered how you would look on your knees, lips parted and ready to take anything he gave you. You took it so well, too. Your mouth was tight around his shaft, and you did such delightful things with your tongue that made him grip the edge of the table and pulled shaky groans from his lips. “That’s it, keep going, liebchen. Du machst das so gut, you’re so good!”

You shuddered, a low moan escaping you. Although it was muffled, Medic immediately took notice. Your muscles were taut, and you seemed to double your efforts, bobbing your head faster and working your tongue against him. Something he said had certainly motivated you. ‘A praise kink,’ Medic thought to himself. ‘This will be fun.’

“Do you like it when I call you good?” You would have nodded if you weren’t otherwise occupied. In fact, you were so wrapped up in your current task that you barely heard him. He didn’t seem to need any further confirmation though. Medic weaved his fingers into your hair until he had a tight grip close to your scalp. “Let’s see just how good you can be for me then. I want to feel your throat tighten around me.”

He pushed you further down onto his cock. Every move was gentle and gradual. Medic paid attention to your reactions, pausing whenever he felt you gag, letting you adjust until eventually you managed to take him as deep as he hoped for. You were held there, breathing slowly through your nose as you felt his cock press into your throat. Your tongue continued to massage the underside of his cock.

“Sheiße,” Medic cursed softly. His grip on your hair loosened, and you took the opportunity to start bobbing your head again. Only now, you could take him to the hilt on your own accord. Instantly he was gripping the edge of the operating table in a white knuckled grasp. “Oh gott, liebling! That’s so good!” He was panting, and you loved it. Every sound that came out of him was breathy and high pitched, almost sounding more akin to whimpers than moans. “You’re doing so well, meine gutes mädchen, my good girl!”

Of course the praise wasn’t about to let up. You moaned around his cock, doubling your efforts. You were a good girl, you were his good girl, and you wanted to prove it with every fiber of your being. For a moment, you thought you could be content to simply bring him to completion right there, your own pleasure be damned, but it seemed like Medic had other plans. You felt a harsh tug on your hair, pulling you off of his cock. You gasped, the sound quickly turning into a whine.

“Sorry, liebchen, but with the way you were moaning…” He paused for a breath. Medic’s expression was pained, as if he didn’t want to make you stop, but forced himself to. “I was getting much too close, and I still want a chance to fuck you properly.”

You immediately jumped at that, almost literally, as you hoisted yourself back up onto the table with surprising speed. The metal had gone cold, cold enough that you felt it through your clothing, causing you to shiver. Speaking of clothing, you were still wearing far too much of it. At least that’s what Medic seemed to think. He quickly stripped you of your pants and underwear, only allowing your top to remain, to ward off the chill of the metal.

Medic took in the sight of you slowly, relishing every detail. Your legs were spread wide and inviting. Oh, you were positively soaked. He ran a finger over your sex and it came back wet and shining. The gesture left you shuddering. It seemed you were sensitive to even the smallest touch. This was going to be fun.

“Please, please fuck me!” you whined.

“You can’t withstand a little teasing, liebchen?” Medic laughed, letting his hands caress your inner thighs, so tantalizingly close to where you wanted to be touched, but just out of reach. “Don’t worry, you’ll have what you want, but first, beg for me properly.”

“Bitte!” you cried, recalling your earlier lessons. “Bitte, Medic!”

“You remembered! Very good.” He dragged you forward to the edge of the table, sliding his cock against you, past your entrance and up to your clit. So close, so agonizingly close. “Now let’s add some new vocabulary. Say, ‘bitte, fick mich.’”

“Bitte! Fick mich!” You didn’t hesitate like before. There was no need to speak slowly and sound out words. Desperation apparently did wonders for your pronunciation.

“Perfekt.”

Medic’s cock was coated in your arousal, twitching against you. He was just as needy as you were, he was just better at hiding it, but there was no need to resist anymore. In one quick thrust, Medic lets you feel every inch of him. The noise you made was animalistic. You clung onto his arm, pulling at the sleeves of the white coat that he still wore. You didn’t even mind- the uniform was starting to become part of the appeal.

He groaned, thrusting slowly, savoring the feeling of your warmth around him. You watched, enraptured by the way he buried himself within you. “So good,” he muttered. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “Is it good for you too, meine liebe?”

Medic stroked your cheek gently, his gaze softening. “It feels good. Fuck, Medic! Please fuck me harder!” you gasped, bucking your hips uselessly.

That moment of gentleness faded as soon as it arrived. Medic gripped the edge of the table for leverage as he fucked you against it. The metal creaked beneath the barrage, but it wouldn’t give away. This table was built to hold the likes of Heavy, there was no way it would buckle. Any other surface very well might have, though.

“I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time,” Medic groaned, his voice low and his breathing heavy. Even now, he tried to take in every feature, committing the image of you taking him so nicely to memory. Everything from the gentle bounce of your chest to the way you bit your lower lip in a vain attempt to smother your own moans would be a detail he could call upon during lonely nights. “If only I knew sooner that you were so smitten with something as simple as my voice.”

Suddenly, his grip shifted to your waist, pulling you forward to meet his thrusts. You keened, feeling him drive deeper into you. He rocked his hips against yours, letting you grind and adjust to the newfound depth.

“Medic,” you began, struggling to catch your breath enough to speak. “Medic, I want- oh fuck!”

“What is it, liebchen?” He paused, letting you regain enough composure to speak. “Go on, tell me what you need.”

“Just keep speaking to me, please, until I come,” you pleaded.

“What would you like to speak about?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Anything,” you said, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “And could you maybe do it in German?”

“Natürlich, kleine Taube. Ich glaube, du willst es härter, ja?” Now unable to understand him, the ferocious pace you were subjected to came without warning. You held onto the edges of the table, feeling the metal dig into your fingers as your grip tightened. Medic’s fingers pressed into the softness of your waist. You gasped when his nails dug in as well, adding a delightfully painful edge to the pleasure. “Das gefällt dir, nicht wahr?”

The pain was gone almost as suddenly as it began. You whined, unable to hide how much you had enjoyed the rougher treatment. It wasn’t long before you got another taste. Medic’s hands moved down to your ass, his nails leaving little crescent shaped indents in the supple flesh there as well. You were starting to pant, mouth agape and gasping as he suddenly lifted your hips upward.

“Gott, du hast so einen schönen Arsch. Das nächste Mal sollte ich dich von hinten nehmen.” This new angle proved to be very effective. You were much louder like this, his cock hitting all the right spots. Medic knew that if he were to simply touch your clit right now, you would be coming for him in seconds. However he wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.

Your moans were music to his ears. Should any of his fellow mercenaries pass by the infirmary right now, it wouldn’t be hard to determine just what was happening. The thought managed to rouse some envy in Medic. Your sweet sounds were for him alone. Perhaps it would be better to quiet you down for now. Leaning down, he pressed his lips roughly to yours, muffling your noises. You still whimpered between kisses, but they were soft and subtle, just barely loud enough to reach his ears.

“Magst du es, wenn ich dich küsse? Soll ich weitermachen?” he murmured, stealing another soul reaping kiss. This was quite liberating, being able to say whatever he wanted to you, only to watch you melt at the sound of it every time. “Du musst nicht antworten. Es ist für mich offensichtlich.”

You rolled your hips to meet his. He felt the way your muscles flexed under his hands, and he knew you were close. You whimpered and gasped, haphazardly bucking against him, chasing the last bit of sensation that would tip you over the edge. Your expression was a beautiful mix of desperate frustration and overwhelming pleasure. It was a sight that brought Medic dangerously close to losing control. Realizing he was reaching his limit, he finally showed you some mercy, knowing that the look on your face when you came would far outweigh anything he had yet seen.

“Komm für mich,” he groaned. One hand splayed out on your lower stomach, his thumb reached down to rub quick circles over your clit. You may not have known German, but you could most certainly infer what that meant. You shuddered, back arching, letting out a harsh sounding moan as your orgasm overtook you. “Du fühlst dich so gut an. Ich komme- scheiße!”

Now that you had reached your peak, Medic’s inhibitions seemed to be gone. He chased his own climax, thrusting into you roughly and unevenly. When he finally went still, you had practically gone limp beneath him, overstimulated and teary eyed. When he came you could have sworn he was even louder than you were. You almost wondered if he was playing it up, given your affinity for his voice, but on the other hand, Medic was loud and proud in most situations. It would only make sense that he was a bit of a screamer himself.

When he finally came down from his high he noticed how you were trembling. It was clear that your body was overwhelmed. A few tears managed to spill down your cheeks, even as a blissed out smile remained on your face. You probably didn’t even realize you were crying. Medic withdrew carefully, making an apologetic sound when you whimpered at the sensation.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he said, stating the obvious. Medic observed you for a moment, making sure you were alright, before you suddenly found yourself being hoisted against his chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist for stability as he lifted you off the table and carried you towards an offshoot of the infirmary. Before you could ask where he was going, or how the hell he had the strength left to carry you like this, Medic opened the door to reveal a small, but cozy room. This was clearly his personal quarters. It made sense that it would be part of the infirmary.

“Why are we here?” you asked. Your words were soft, as if raising your voice above a whisper might shatter the pleasant afterglow that had began to settle over you.

“It is quite late. The least I could do is let you stay the night.” Medic laid you down on the surprisingly plush mattress. This was luxury compared to your barracks. You stretched out before burrowing into the blankets letting them engulf you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For all of this. That was so good.”

“I had fun as well, mein Täubchen.”

That pet name was new. He had used it a few times tonight, but only now did it pique your interest. “What does that mean?” you asked.

Medic smiled softly. “My dove.”

“Oh,” you said, too flustered to say much else. Being compared to one of his beloved pets felt nice. It made you feel delicate, like something to be cared for.

“You blush so easily!” Medic said with pure glee. You almost expected him to pinch your cheeks. “I will definitely enjoy this side of you, liebe, so easy to tease!

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, trying to brush it off, even though you knew your face was practically glowing with the flush that you were sporting. “Maybe we can do more tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”

“Of course. This was quite an eventful day.” Medic kissed your forehead, an oddly tender gesture after all the rough treatment. “Get some rest. I will join you once I’ve cleaned up in the infirmary.”

Medic left and you closed your eyes. When he returned just a few minutes later you were already asleep, snoring softly in your sanctuary of pillows and blankets. He had never seen you so relaxed before. You murmured something unintelligible when Medic slipped under the covers beside you, whispering for you to go back to sleep as he draped an arm over you, feeling your body press closely against his in the peaceful darkness.

[jellieland]

It's just like them, thinks Martyn, miserably, To want to make these things stick.

He's always been an "act first, weasel your way out of any potential consequences later," kind of guy, so immediate, painful and permanent consequences to his recklessness strike him as unfair, unwarranted, and quite possibly a personal attack.

But, well. Here he still is anyway. What's he going to do about it?

His ankle burns where the baby zombie clawed at it. His legs ache from the dripstone, and the dripstone, and, yes, the dripstone again, and also walking off Mumbo's house and perhaps slightly misjudging his landing.

His ear keeps ringing and most of his right side stings from the creeper that decided, quite rudely, to sneak up on him and then blow up directly in his face about half a second before he could raise his shield. And the gravel later on, that he'd seen falling but still not managed to avoid, hadn't helped with any of that either.

He can feel blood dripping down his back in no less then five separate places, along with his arm, his shoulder, and the side of his head—that last one bled a lot and got onto his bandanna which was pretty annoying, actually—all from his many encounters with what he thinks were probably, at a conservative estimate, about a billion skeletons.

He doesn't quite glare up at the Secret Keeper. The healing they'd given him had been too much of a relief for that; his vision had stopped swimming, that head wound had stopped bleeding so much, and it was significantly less painful to walk. But the look he gives them is certainly glare-adjacent.

"You do know injuries aren't supposed to stick around like this, don't you?" he mutters, bitterly. "I know you like twisting stuff, but this is ridiculous. It's unnatural, is what it is!"

Someone snorts behind him.

He turns, and he sees Cleo. Neat, meticulous stitches are visible across their skin. Martyn hasn't met many people with scars before, but she's one of them.

The only new one is what looks, ironically enough, like a zombie bite on their arm, entirely healed over.

"It's really not that hard to deal with if you're just patient," she says.

"Ah," he says. "Well. That's my problem right there, then, isn't it?"

"It certainly looks like it," they say, amused. They're laughing at him again. He can't even be mad, since all in all, he totally deserves it.

"Yeah, alright," he says, a bit indignant just for the sake of what remains of his pride. "No need to rub it in! I hope you realize that if healing just worked normally, I'd be doing really well, actually."

"Hmm. Right, you do tend to throw yourself off of cliffs, and then try and work out how you'll save yourself on the way down, don't you?" She gives him a knowing look. "But look on the bright side—when you do die, you'll get to be perfectly healthy again for... I give it ten seconds. After that, you'll start making decisions."

"Hey, I'll have you know I went to the Nether for ages, and got out without a scratch on me that I didn't have when I arrived!" he retorts.

"Oh, so you can be careful, you just choose not to be?" They raise a judgemental eyebrow.

"Well... I mean." He half-shrugs, then winces. "I mean. Yeah. Yes. You know this about me."

There is a brief pause. She gives him an unreadable look, eyes catching on the blood seeping through his shirt. "...Yeah. I guess I do."

He glances over at the Secret Keeper again, bold and unmoving against the unnaturally darkened sky.

When he looks back, Cleo is still watching him. "You didn't even bandage those, did you?" they ask, with a touch of what most people would think was disdain. "Let alone stitch them up."

"I mean, no? It's not like it'll do anything, is it?" he asks, taken aback. "The good old 'Powers That Be' want us to bleed, and they want us to keep bleeding! Who am I to argue?"

She narrows her eyes as though she doesn't quite understand his point. "I'm not saying that would fix it. I don't think any of us are going to live long enough for that method of healing to work." They shrug. "Would make it hurt less, though."

Now it's his turn to narrow his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she says. "At least, so I've heard. For me, it's mostly about making sure I don't start physically falling apart, because it's really inconvenient when that does start happening."

He nods in acknowledgement. "Well, maybe I'll give it a go if I have the time." It all sounds a bit far-fetched to him. Much better to spend time working towards completing the next secret task he gets, or persuading people to give him the healing they have to spare, rather than losing hours on something that wouldn't actually help him in the long run.

(Maybe it's an echo, maybe it's just who he is, but Martyn's time is precious, and he is not giving it up for something so monotonous. Who would find that interesting?)

"Alright," they say. "If you're sure. But no one else is going to do it for you, you know."

He snorts. "Cleo," he says. "You're funny." She, of all people, should know he's already well aware of that.

"Right," they say, dryly. "Well, unless you want anything else I think I'm done here."

"Nah, not really." he says, then pauses. Frowns.

As unconvinced as he is, she really didn't have to say that to him. She deserves at least something in return.

"I will say," he says delicately, "if that advice really does help. You should probably keep it to yourself. You know. Death game, and all that."

All at once, their expression turns cold. "I think it's my business what I choose to give up, actually," she snaps.

Martyn's eyes briefly flick over to the Secret Keeper. "I mean..."

"No. I meant what I said." They cross their arms. "It's up to other people what they choose to do with it. But what I give them is up to me." She glances at the Secret Keeper, and then back to him. "No one's ever been able to tell me what I owe, or don't owe, to anyone." They smirk, and give him a piercing look. "You know this about me."

"...Yeah," he says. "I guess I do."

There is a short silence.

"Well!" He claps abruptly. "I won't keep you!"

"No, you won't," she says. "I'd best be off. This might come as a surprise, but I do actually have better things to do than hang out around Grian's creepy rock all day."

"Fair, fair." He chuckles, and raises a hand in farewell as they leave. "See you around."

Once she's out of sight, he goes back to staring at the Secret Keeper.

It's quiet.

"They're doing pretty well this time, huh?" he says. "If she keeps going like this, she probably won't get another happy ending, will she."

The air is very still, here. It's as though the place is trapped in night, even when he can see the sun in the sky.

The Secret Keeper does not answer him.

"I know you, though," he says. "You won't let it be all about being careful. That would be boring."

The thought nags at him that Cleo hasn't sounded as though they'd found any of this boring. Surely there had to be more to it than what she'd said? There had to be.

If there wasn't, then what was the point of all this pain?

He shifts, and his shoulder twinges, and he hisses quietly with frustration.

"Things already stuck," he says, unhappily. "They already stayed. I thought that was obvious."

The rock just stands there.

Judgemental. Impartial. It's impressive how it can manage to be both.

Martyn sighs heavily, and winces, and turns away. He looks towards his extremely small, entirely copied base, and a place where the sky is capable of letting in the light.

He pokes gingerly at his head wound. It's shallow, but painful.

"Maybe just this one," he mutters. "Could repurpose my bandanna. Although I guess I should probably wash it first. That would be smart." He wipes at his face. "If I don't then blood's going to start getting in my eyes. But not in a cool way, just in a way where I'll fall in a ravine by accident or something."

Nobody responds. That's ok. He hasn't exactly endeared himself to anyone, recently.

In a game that's even more about trust than usual, there's a part of him that doesn't mind being a lone wolf, as it were. At least for now. Harder to stab someone in the back if you don't let them get behind you, right?

He can make this work. He'll just have to adapt. He's good at that, usually! He just has to find the angle.

After all, he may not be patient, but he is persistent.

And he suspects being a liar will come in handy, for this one.

[mothiepixie]

Heyo sorry to bug. I am just curious on how you think your head canon of the skeletons would react to seeing Motti in a Virgin killer sweater. Sorry if it was asked already. Its my current fixation lol. Thank you for your time.

oh me oh my, luckily it has not be asked before 🫶😌

🔞

Sans: Wow. That's new. He's not entirely sure what to do with himself, but he's starting to feel a little warm under the collar. He's trying not to look at her disrespectfully but his eyelights can't help but wander over the curves of her exposed back. He feels a little tense and his smile stiffens a little tighter than normal. Were her curves (especially her butt) always that prominent? He can feel himself sweating.

Big Red: He immediately stiffens and takes Motti's silhouette in. He doesn't know what to focus on the most and he can feel other parts of himself stiffen up too. 👀 He doesn't take too long in purring compliments and encasing her against the wall. He takes no time whisking her away to the bedroom.

Swap Sans: Was most likely preoccupied with something and dropped whatever was in his hands. Pulling at the scarf around his neck and his eyes darting anywhere but her outfit. Motti turns around coyly and his eyes are glued to her back and why do her curves become even more beautiful in that sweater???? The sweater is so impractical, he thinks to himself but also thanking whoever the hell invented it. He thinks about it for WEEKS.

Boysen: His stare could very well burn away the fibers of that sweater. It takes everything in him not to sweep off the items on his desk and take Motti right then and there. Instead with one finger beckons her closer before pulling Motti on his lap and his hands playing with the soft folds on her back. Motti comes stumbling out of his office later with hair askew and bite marks littering her shoulders.

Dream: I think his mind short circuits although part of him was prepared for something coy when he felt Motti entering the room and feeling her mischievous feelings. But nothing could have prepared him. He's still outright a gentleman and compliments her, but he is oh so strained about it. His polite smile felt forced. Images of her pretty frame flashes in his mind at very inconvenient times for the months coming.

Cross: He turns into a plum and becomes speechless. He really doesn't know what to do with himself and feels very caught off guard. If Motti touches, either innocently or not, Cross is not opposed but his eyes are shut because he doesn't trust his body combusting before anything happens.

Farmer: Just like Classic, he's trying to play it cool and not at all hot and bothered. It almost disappoints Motti, until she turns around and he appears behind her. His hands slither into the opening, running along her hips and his thumbs pressing into the dimples above her bum. But before she can even comprehend his touches and his teeth against her bare shoulder blade, he's over in the field pruning like nothing happened. Motti is the one flustered.

Nightmare: It ends up on his floor. End of discussion.

[apuff]

my predictions for wwwyf:

the whole band does the family guy death pose on the ground for the entire time slot instead of playing music. the crowd immediately gets lost trying to sing along without them and at some point it devolves into people shouting random parts of songs they like (this is especially funny for the songs that are definitively not in the black parade)

the previous thing but an event coordinator peeks on stage, pokes a few people with their shoe, and starts frantically making phone calls in a hushed but distinctly panicky voice

the concert starts like normal, but quickly devolves into a slapstick comedy performance of looney-tunes-esque injuries to reference the many injuries mcr sustained while doing the original black parade tours and music videos

mcr isn't on stage at all and the only thing you can see is vocaloid-style hologram skeletons doing the skeleton dance

i am in a completely different city at goodwill shopping for pieces of my halloween costume right at the time they start playing the breakdown in mama. as this is my favorite part of the whole black parade, i abruptly keel over from a heart attack in the middle of the store because of the transcendent power of band autism. in the decades that follow, no one will ever be able to understand the cause of my death, but let it be known that if you strain your ears to listen in the graveyard at night, the black parade can be heard quietly, almost inaudibly so, echoing from my headstone.

there isn't any comment about mcr5 the entire time. because we are conspiracy theorists, we take this as a tacit confirmation that mcr5 will infact be happening imminently

at certain points throughout the tracklist, random, or rather seemingly random, lyrics are changed by a letter or a word. this is enough to draw people's attention, and as it turns out, if you type all the changes made into a search engine, the singular result aside from people theorizing about it on reddit is an unknown, sketchy website that looks like it would instantly give you 500 malware and die. the website displays only a single picture of realistic human skull. when you inspect it, hidden amongst the code is a very different type of code, a cryptic string of letters and numbers. as it turns out, this text is actually instructions that have been put through WWII-era war encryptions. when translated, this text gives driving directions. if you follow its commands starting from the wwwyf grounds, you'll be taken on a downright frightening drive through some of the most backend streets & drug dealer houses & decrepit graveyards in the entire southwest. once you're thoroughly lost, then and only then will you be able to find the warehouse. this warehouse is a laburinthine mess of ancient relics, long-lost props from music videos, several very authentic looking vampire corpses, a few questionably stained revolvers, killjoy masks, rubble from the world trade centers, vintage marching band uniforms, a shocking variety of weapons, and finally a single edison tin foil cylinder. survivors from the warehouse later state they felt an overwhelming presence and could have sworn they saw a shadow in the corner of their eyes. after several months in the intensive care unit and several more months in both physical and mental therapy, these brave souls will place the cylinder, with shaking, scarred, and weak hands, into the phonograph, from which, after a torturous second of silence, will echo the first sweet notes of mcr5.

they accidentally point the pyrotechnics at the audience. oops!

some gay shit happens idk

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Introducing... 8 am in the (fucking) neighborhood

Papyrus is back with the groceries.

Unfortunately, his Karen neighbor is still mad at him for ruining her perfect white wall.

Alas, Papyrus is in trouble once again! (or not).

You can read it down the line or on AO3:

8 a.m in the neighborhood

Papyrus finally had his groceries. After a long morning that almost felt like an entire year, the house was finally in sight. He took a look at the clock in his car. He had to meet with Undyne at 2 p.m., which meant he would have to leave at precisely 1:38 p.m. to be on time. It would leave him plenty of time to clean the groceries and wait by the door until it was time to leave.

The skeleton turned at the end of the road to park in his alley. Or at least he intended to. Because he had to stop almost immediately.

His two bins were in the middle of the alley again.

Oh no. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Please, please just leave him alone…

A terrible knock on his window made him jump out of his bones. He looked up in disbelief. Here she was once again.

His Karen neighbor.

Papyrus tried to keep his cool. Everyone said he was the most patient monster they had ever met. So he was going to honor them and be patient with her as well. He could do this. He was the Great Papyrus after all!

He forced a smile and rolled down the window.

"DEAR NEIGHBOR, WE MEET AGAIN! IS SOMETHING WRONG?"

"Something wrong? You dare to ask me if something is wrong? You ruined my wall!"

Papyrus turned around. Ah, yes. He almost forgot the amazing crack he made in that horrible perfect clean white house of hers. She was just dramatic. If he closed his eyes hard enough, no one could notice it.

The skeleton rolled his eyes. Where was he? Ah yes, being patient. He was the great Papyrus and according to Tumblr, he was supposed to be nice and always smiling, because cute boys can't be sad or have a bad day. He couldn't betray his Tumblr fans. He needed to stay in his role. Hum… What would his Tumblr fans do in these types of situations?

Oh!

He knew!

"RUINED IS A BIG WORD. YOU COULD EASILY HIDE IT. I SUGGEST YOU PUT A PRIDE FLAG ABOVE IT AS WE ARE IN JUNE, THE PROUDEST MONTH OF ALL!"

Well, for sure, Karen didn't expect that. Her face turned from angry to disgusted very fast. Did he say something wrong?

"You are one of them?"

"THEM?"

"Those people who are identifying to helicopters and wearing pink thongs in the streets. Don't you think you did enough already? You're going to contaminate the children with your… Ideology. We're respectable people in this street, you can't just show your pink string to the children and call that an identity. That's absolutely disgusting."

Papyrus shuts his mouth in a loud bone noise. He took a deep breath, then made a slow turn towards the screen of his phone, hanging to the opposite window of his car.

"DEAR TUMBLR FANS, I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS AS I WILL BE OBLIGED TO USE A LOT OF STRONG WORDS IN THE NEXT FEW SECONDS THAT ARE NOT VERY PAPYRUS AT ALL BUT HOLY FUCK. EXCUSE ME FOR A SECOND."

"Who are you even talking to? Do you hear voices?"

Papyrus forced a huge smile and met her eyes.

"JEEZ LADY, YOU ARE SOMETHING ELSE. I KNEW YOU WERE A RACIST FUCK ALREADY, BUT THAT'S EVEN MORE FUCKED UP SOMEHOW. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING? DO YOU THINK THIS IS A NORMAL THING TO SAY TO SOMEONE? DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT EDUCATION WHEN YOU HAVE THE LEVEL OF EDUCATION OF AN OYSTER."

She gasped loudly.

"I am not an oyster, you sick asshole!"

"THIS IS NOT THE POINT! YOU COULD BE A MOLLUSK OR A CRUSTACEAN FOR ALL I CARE, THIS DOESN'T CHANGE ANYTHING: YOUR OPINIONS ARE DISGUSTING, HURTFUL, AND DISGRADING. INSTEAD OF BEING JEALOUS OF ME AND MY GROCERIES, WHY WON'T YOU BUY SOME DECENCY TO THE GROCERY STORE? IT'S JUST TWO MINUTES DOWN THE STREET."

"I will talk to your brother about your behavior! If I can't make you realize how wrong you are, maybe he will! I can't believe how immature you are! What a shame for your kind! And gay with all of that! Poor, poor children! What an example you are for them!"

"FIRST OF ALL, I'M NOT GAY BUT ASEXUAL AND AROMANTIC. SECONDLY, I AM AN ADULT AND CAN TALK TO MYSELF. AND LAST…"

"if it can help, i don't identify as a helicopter but i for sure wear bright pink thongs. they're cute." Sans said from the first-floor window, watching the drama show playing in the street. "also, my bro is right. he's not gay. i am though. need something else?"

Karen opened and closed her mouth in shock, like a dying goldfish. She then let out a scream of rage and left, raging. Sans lazily waved goodbye at her as Papyrus, very satisfied, flipped his two middle fingers in her back. Anyway. He still had groceries to clean.

Maybe the day wouldn't be so bad after all.

Fuck Karens.

[argisthebulwark]

Severed Ties Part Two: Why You Came Back

summary: Time heals all wounds and somehow, you will find your way back to each other. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. Part One: Why You Left feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Erandur, Teldryn, Vilkas, Farkas, Rune, Arnbjorn warnings: none, bit longer than usual.

Between all your duties and missing Brynjolf, it took time to find a comfortable rhythm. There was no escaping each other even after you put an end to your romantic involvement, only breaks coming in the form of jobs halfway across Skyrim. Through everything you worked together to get the Guild back on its feet. You entrusted Brynjolf solely with its care when Nocturnal came calling, reminding you that the Skeleton Key’s rightful place was in her temple.  The Twilight Sepulcher drained your body and soul. Exhaustion sapped at your strength when you shuffled out, unsure how you were going to get back to the inn. Riften was another beast entirely. Chilly fingers shook at the prospect of your bed being so far away, ready to risk it all for a short nap in the forest.  Brynjolf was planted a few paces away, hood thrown back and worry in his eyes. Your heart stopped at the sight. You’d never seen him so far from Riften. He took one cautious step as if you were a wounded animal, like you'd bolt if he came too close.  Collapsing into his arms felt like home. Strong arms carried you when your muscles failed, tears springing into your eyes when he tucked you safely into his chest. You gulped back the words you hadn’t said in ages when he buried his nose in his hair, turning to carry you home. He'd left all duties behind to be there for you when you needed him most. “I promise, love. Nothing’s gettin’ in the way of you and I again. Sorry it took me so long.”

Tales of Miraak’s reign of terror over Solstheim slowed, the island calming and hesitantly returning to its normal life. It had been years since you’d left Apocrypha and you could only hope that he’d found the answers he’d wanted so badly or at least some form of peace. The last memory of him still pained you but you’d never forget it - robes wrinkled where he crouched over the ancient desk, eyes wild and fingers stained with dark ink.  Being back on Nirn was a blessing and a curse. You had settled quite easily into your life but there was a constant nagging need to hear every rumor about him, to keep up to date on what he was doing. Your home was comfortable but quiet, interrupted by a harsh knock on your door.  Seeing him again stopped your heart. His eyes were wide, blessedly free from the mania you’d come to know. The mask and gloves were gone, robes traded for simple armor. There he stood, the man who had forgotten you suddenly standing on your doorstep, that lovely voice saying words you’d craved to hear.  “I gave it all up. I gave up everything to stand here and ask you for another chance and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, My Dragon.” 

You didn’t recognize him in such normal, simple clothes. Erandur, who lived in robes befitting a priest and Mara’s regalia, took the empty seat across from you in the tavern. His fingers quivered when he offered you a hand, hope bright in his eyes when he introduced himself.  “I had to come over here, I couldn’t stop staring. You’re stunning.” His attempt to sound nonchalant sent a nervous giggle bubbling out of you. “Can we put the past behind us and start over?” “Start over?” You didn’t release his hand and he didn't pull away, heart swelling when you saw his smile. All else was forgotten when you felt Erandur’s tattooed fingers climbing up your wrist.  “I am just a man who very badly wants to kiss someone he saw across the crowded tavern. Nothing more.” 

A compromise. That’s what he’d proposed. Teldryn sat at your table, eyes sparkling when he took in the house you’d built. It was far from the bustling cities, trees insulating you from the noise of nearby farms. After parting from Teldryn it had become a safe haven from the rest of the world. You’d never admit that building it with your own hands was fueled mostly by spite.  He’d come with apologies and offers mingled together in a practiced speech. Some time at home, some on the road, all of it spent together. It was unsettling how easily you trusted him again after all the time spent apart. His helmet rested on the table when Teldryn met your eyes and for the first time he looked unsure of what to say. His mouth opened, closing again and you caught a glimpse of that annoyed furrow between his brows you’d missed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to settle down in one place, but I could get used to this slow life with you. For a while.”

Loving Vilkas was easy, you’d never truly stopped. Learning to be gentle with one another was difficult. You struggled to learn how to look past your relationship and see Vilkas as more than your partner, acknowledging his role in the Companions. He worked on seeing you as more than his Harbinger, viewing you as his partner once again. It was a slow process - taking breaks and setting boundaries, but he was worth it.  During the day you worked, creating healthier avenues for conversation. At night you were partners, nothing more. No work talk was allowed between dinner and breakfast. In those evenings you found one another again, softening and loving each other as you had so long ago.  “Remind me, Harbinger. Am I permitted to kiss you during working hours? Are we allowed to sit this close, or are you worried I’ll distract you?”

Breezehome had been yours before Farkas entered your life. It was your refuge during the evenings when you couldn’t bear Jorrvaskr’s halls or the memories they held. A cool breeze whipped through your hair when you walked home, masking his footsteps until he appeared at your side. Neither one of you said a word when he took your hand, falling in step with you and allowing you to guide him to your doorstep.  It didn’t happen all at once. Rather, it was small changes that slowly altered your life. It took work for Farkas to summon the confidence to live for himself, extracting his sense of self worth from the Companions. You reminded him that it was a balance, leaving wasn’t permanent. Dinners were often spent in Jorrvaskr before retreating to the peace of your home.  “I didn’t think I was anything more than a fighter. Didn’t think anyone would want me to be more.”

Each day felt like a new opportunity for growth. You watched Rune from a distance hoping that he would make peace with his past. You didn’t want him to give up but it was too painful to love someone who lived entirely in the mysteries of what could have been, as if you were only allowed to love part of him.  Luckily, Delvin and Vex had an endless catalogue of tasks that no one else wanted to complete. Jobs in other holds, jewelry to be stolen in Whiterun and planted on some poor sap in Solitude, the occasional trip to confer with the Dark Brotherhood. All the travel was good for your mind, allowing you time to think through everything far from him. Falling into your cot you stared up at the Cistern’s ceiling. Watery light from the early morning sun reminded you that you’d stayed up all night again. It had been difficult to sleep with Rune cramped into your tiny bed but without him the space felt too empty. His footsteps were silent when he knelt beside your bed, his warm hand on your shoulder the only warning that he was there.  “I’ll never give up, not entirely. But it isn’t worth losing you over. Just give me some time, please don’t forget about me.”

Arnbjorn consumed your every thought. Despite your best efforts to appear cool and indifferent you couldn’t take another moment. It was fairly easy to avoid him during the day, but every evening you struggled to not look at him through dinner. After all the others had left in search of bed or prepping for their assignment you found yourself alone with him, a few drinks deep and blood heating under the weight of his gaze. Too drunk to be embarrassed by the stumbling way you explained how badly you wanted to be loved by him again, how deeply you wanted him to love you. You didn’t want to be a replacement for the love he’d lost. Cheeks burning and tears spilling you gasped out the least graceful declaration of love and how much you missed him.  Your name on his lips had never sounded better. Soothing kisses and careful hands sufficed when words failed. You knew he wasn’t comfortable vocalizing softer emotions. Arnbjorn’s lips were on your forehead, fists balled into his armor when you dragged him closer.  “Just need you to trust me, okay? It’s only you. My past is my past, no changin’ it. I just need some time but I promise it’s only you.”

[egg-witch]

As usual I am thinking too hard about the biology of fictional characters so. Thoughts I am compelled to share about Boothill below

Canonically he has synthetic, blue blood. This would cause his skin tone to seem quite strange and greyish. Extra so if he's as pale as he is in-game but this would still be apparent with most darker skin tones as well. Man's gonna be looking a bit like a zombie

The intent here is debatable but I also choose to interpret that same line to mean that he does *not* have a synthetic heart - the original's still in there, just running on new juice

Related to this and also the fact he can seemingly have a bullet explode in his mouth without serious repercussions I am going to assume that his skull and whatever else would be left of his skeleton have been enhanced or replaced (having human bone marrow in there making new blood cells would likely mess with things if they replaced that whole system)

This is very funny to me because it seemingly means instead of just putting his brain inside a whole synthetic body the doctor went to the trouble to keep his original face, despite replacing/augmenting his teeth, eyes, tongue and, one can extrapolate, his entire damn skull. He was ready to give up everything except his pretty complexion I guess...

(Unless his face *is* synthetic and intellitrons just have no desire for a realistic human face with the capacity to emote? The rest of boothill's body seems flexible in a way that would suggest a good synthetic equivalent to human skin, so... it's plausible)

Speaking of, I really do not subscribe to the idea that he can't feel anything from the neck down. Do you know how hard it'd be to do anything as a human with a meat brain (or even as a robot for that matter) without any haptic feedback? If they have the technology to make him a whole new body that has equal or better mobility and general function than the old one then they can make it feel things, I promise. Probably not in all the same ways human flesh can feel things, especially if a lot of it is rigid plating, but it'd still be conductive to heat and electricity at least

I know the reason his model is that way is bc it's just a different texture on the same default character model, hence it bending and stretching like a soft body - building, rigging and animating a humanoid body that truly moves like a rigid machine would be an absurd amount of work and also limit the visual design, his canon design straight up would not be able to move or work if all those parts really were rigid no matter how you approached it lol. but it is very hot and looks cool which is what really matters. so I've settled on most of the "plating" being tough but still somewhat flexible, not actually metal but an advanced synthetic material of some sort. and then material more like an artificial skin between joints and in the parts that need extra stretch and flexibility. he's harder (and heavier) than a human but he's not a tin can

Based on screwllum's dialogue that he can and does eat regular food (but the phrasing implies that he could also eat other stuff? And there's that exchange from one of the light cones where ruan mei makes a joke about him having to drink machine oil) and the implication that the doctor who gave boothill his new body was an intellitron, I think boothill must have something similar - he can still eat normal food but also process other things. Idk if the fuel hatch on his back is a redundancy then or what. Could just be that nobody anticipated he'd think gasoline tastes good lmao

(side note while it's kinda implied in game that his weird tastes are a result of an augmented mouth and tongue I like to think he was always like that. He was eating rocks out of the garden as a kid and licking rusty old coins and stuff u can't convince me otherwise)

(also this is getting off track but this guy clearly has some kinda fixation on like. machinery. I think even though he did it for unrelated reasons he thinks his cyborg body is very hot and probably also has a little bit of a thing for intellitrons ngl. which is interesting given his history and the associations one would first assume he'd have with that kind of technology and aesthetic, but. can't fault a guy for knowing what he's into)

Whoops this got super long

Stay tuned for the sequel, "KC analyses boothill's personality way too seriously"

[sociopathicartist]

heyy!! I was wondering if you could do a fluff (romantic) oneshot in which Sans (UT) has a gothic gf who is actually really sweet, kind and caring towards others despite the way she expresses herself. I'm just really curious as to how that dynamic will play out in their dating life ^_^

LUV LUV LUV UR WRITING BTW

hey! thank you for requesting, i’m gothic in style so i loved getting requested this! i scrambled through a lot of ideas, but thought doing this in a letter format would be the best for showing the full dynamic that sans loves instead of cramming tons of info into a single scenario one shot. hope you enjoy it!

baby,

i’m not too sure why i’m writing to you this time. i guess all the smiles and loving comments you give me whenever i write to you have finally got ‘under my skin’, and i’m writing you another letter right now, probably to be slipped into one of your bags or under your pillow for you to find.

i know a lot of people give you weird looks for the way you dress. i know the barrage of compliments you get when we go anywhere out in public annoys you, but i also know that you accept every compliment anyway despite wanting to be left alone because you don’t want to be mean, and you don’t want to fall under the stereotype that people place on you by just giving a small smile instead of a loud, outgoing thank you.

you’ve never said that to me directly, but i’ve been with you long enough to know how you feel.

i never really understood why people thought you were scary or mean for the way you look, figures they’d think the walking skeleton was scarier, or the seven-foot robot they watch on tv who has a chainsaw that can come out of him at will.

i never thought you looked scary, and i never had the fear that you were going to insult me whenever i asked you for directions down the street where we first met. why would i look at you differently for the way you look whenever everyone looks so different all the time? isn’t it a normal thing to be different?

even though you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen (even if you turned into a worm, which yes, i’d still love you), it wouldn’t matter to me if you woke up tomorrow and decided to change your entire look. your looks aren’t what matters to me, even though i do like the cool eyeliner you wear or the t-shirts you have with bones on them.

i’ve never been loved by someone like the way i am by you.

i can’t get your alluring voice out of my head, and every time i roll over in bed to see the silly letters and doodles you’ve given me that i have pinned to my wall, i can’t help but be reminded of how much i love you. (even though i never forget, baby.)

it makes me so happy to see how much you hang out with papyrus, and how genuinely you treat him. i love seeing you chill out with our friends, and how happy and relaxed you look. i love how you’ve never made me feel dumb for not knowing certain human traditions or cultures, and how you just explain them to me and give me easy reminders when i forget something important.

even when your black lipstick leaves kiss stains on my skull that are hard to rub out, and when you steal my jacket to wear whenever you’re upset or missing me, i’ll never take away from how amazing you are.

maybe i’m gushing a bit too much. it’s a lot easier to write this all out rather than say it directly to your pretty face.

i just want you to know that i’ll never look at you differently for how you dress and that i’ll never be embarrassed and ask you to tone down your makeup or outfit for when we go out. i can’t wait to hang out tomorrow and wrap you in a tight hug, listening to your pretty voice as you tell me about how your day was.

i think i’m going to save the other mushy stuff for a later time. i just wanted you to be able to read this when someone gives you a weird comment or makes a snarky joke. maybe it’ll help you remember that some short skeleton out there thinks you’re the coolest (and hottest) creature to walk on this earth.

i love you, and i’ll be thinking of you always.

- sans.

[hufflefluff-stuff]

102 is quite a line 👀

Maybe an Ominis line 👀

tho I'm lost on a scenario, you got free reign on that!

Ooooo yes!! This reminds me of some angsty audio I heard on tiktok with Ominis saying "it's rotten work [about himself]" and MC replying "not to me" so that's the vibe we're going for.

MAJOR spoilers for endgame stuff ahead!

102) "I am damaged."

[Request more Angst/Horror prompts here!]

........

"I am damaged..."

That's the first thing you heard Ominis mutter to himself when he thought he was all alone in the Undercroft.

He hadn't realized you were there as well, quietly studying your books and trying to feel like a normal student for once.

Ever since you attended Hogwarts as a late bloomer, things were anything but normal from the get-go.

After saving the school (and more or less the entire wizarding world) from certain doom at the hands of Ranrok and Rookwood, you hoped to end this year on the best note possible. It was hard given all of the friends you've lost along the way, but a lot of good came out of it, too.

Ominis was one such example. Despite the rocky start you both had when he caught you sneaking out of the Undercroft that fateful day, you managed to make amends and grow closer together.

You never thought that same snobby blind boy who threatened to report you to the headmaster would be the one to confess his feelings for you.

It was in the days following you winning the house cup for [House], and when you finally had a moment alone to talk to him, he finally made his move. His way of courting you was so sweet and eloquent--fitting for the Slytherin from such a privileged class.

Of course other students had eyes for you, too, but Ominis loved you for who you are and not for your ancient magic and reputation as a "hero". Going on different adventures with you and Sebastian made him realize what kind of person you truly were:

An unreliable "acquaintance" of his best friend who reeked of distrust in the beginning, turned to a kind person who was always by his side through thick and thin in the end.

Now that you two have officially become a couple, you managed to coax him into accompanying you on more excursions both inside and outside of the castle.

Although he couldn't see the beauty of the world and all its magical creatures, you described it to him how ever you could--whether it's a Thestral resting underneath the ribcage of some enormous beast's skeleton, or the charred corpse of a spider you've just slain with Incendio. He loved how you spoke of them regardless of the scenario.

On top of that, you've taken up to helping more people in the local hamlets and villages, with Ominis reassuring them that he's not some cruel and mean Slytherin from the Gaunt family, and that he genuinely cared for their concerns.

However...your latest mission ultimately had taken a turn for the worst, and you had some serious regrets on taking your boyfriend along for the ride.

It seemed to be just like any other poacher camp you've shutdown. But the locals informed you that this one in particular was in charge of trafficking beast skins...or selling beasts to butchers.

You urged Ominis to discreetly free the creatures from their cages, taking out the nearby guards with Petrificus Totalus, while you ambushed the poachers on the other side of the camping grounds. But you both failed to realize that some of Rookwood's goons were among their midst, seeking to avenge him and make it very clear that you'll never be safe again.

He had every intention to murder you; you were just protecting yourself against his Killing Curse, though of course his gang wouldn't understand that. They just saw you and began throwing whatever spell they had at their disposal.

You took most of them down with ease, while Ominis finished freeing the last purple toad and rushed to assist you in the fight.

But then he stopped upon hearing three distinct things that would forever haunt him: A dark wizard shouting "Crucio", the sparks of electricity crackling in the air...

And your brief, yet painful, screams.

Despite his wand detecting only you and the one ashwinder casting the curse, he was frozen on the spot, unable to bring himself to move forward and save you. It was like somebody had casted Petrificus Totalus on him.

He could have taken them out right away, but...he was terrified.

Suddenly he felt like he was back in the Slytherin Scriptorium, where Sebastian had to cast the same curse on you in order to proceed forward--something Ominis had tried in vain to protest against.

He knew he wasn't there, it was all in his mind, yet all he could think about were your screams.

Then he thought about the screams of those innocent muggles he watched his family torture...before he remembered his own screams after they tortured him for refusing to use the curse, not giving up until he finally relented.

The rest of that moment was a blur, but at some point you managed to yank out a Mandrake from your bag and stun the ashwinder long enough to use Expelliarmus and lacerate their legs with Diffindo.

While that shrieking plant made Ominis briefly deaf, too, it snapped him out of his trance, bringing him back to reality as you rushed over to him. You fled the campsite together on Highwing's back, drinking some wiggenweld on your way back to the castle, not speaking until you were safely on schoolgrounds.

That all happened yesterday...and he was still quite distressed. He didn't seem comfortable talking about those events too much, and you couldn't blame him. So you left it be, apologizing for the stress you caused, and tried making it up to him with a trip into Hogsmede.

However, this morning you didn't find him in the Great Hall or anywhere in the Slytherin Section. Not even Sebastian knew of his whereabouts, assuming you "lost" him; fortunately there weren't many places that your boyfriend frequented.

The Undercroft was your next best guess.

Yet it was empty when you arrived, much to your annoyance.

You figured Ominis will eventually turn up here, so you transfigured a sofa out of some pile of armor and decided to catch up on your studies. But obviously it was hard to focus on the texts when all you could think about was him..

At some point he finally arrived, and you nearly jumped up to ask where the hell he's been...until he started mumbling rather concerning things to himself, apparently unaware of your presence.

Then you noticed he didn't have his wand in-hand, feeling the walls and eventually sitting down on the floor, leaning against one and curling up. He certainly knew the Undercroft's layout well enough to not need it constantly, but his behavior was still extremely concerning.

Especially his remark about being "damaged", which had you gravely worried about his physical well-being.

"Ominis, what do you mean by "damaged"? Are you hurt?"

"MC..?! Oh, Merlin..d-didn't realize you were here." Although startled at first, he quickly calmed down upon hearing your voice and approaching footsteps. "I'm alright. I was just...th-thinking up some poetry. You know, Thakkar has been giving me some really good advice-"

"Wow, you're a worse liar than I ever was," you chuckled lightly, kneeling down in front of him. "You know he's away on a family trip, right?"

"......."

"....Ominis?"

His silence worried you greatly, especially as he suddenly hid his face in his arms, now unwilling to look at you for some reason.

"If you wanna hide from me, love, Disillusionment is more-"

"D-Do...I even deserve to be called that anymore?" He mumbled in a trembling voice that made your stomach sink.

"....huh? Of course you do." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What's going on? You can be honest with me. If...I did something to upset you recently, I'm sorry-"

"No. You...d-don't have to be sorry about anything. It's me who should be the sorry one."

"Darling, what do you mean-?"

"Stop. Please. I-I think the proper term is "bloody stinking coward". I could have stopped that ashwinder f-from using the Cruciatus Curse...he was right there and I could have done something! But I didn't!" Ominis began to ramble, unable to stop his voice from shaking and rising in volume. "I-I stood there like a bumbling half-witted mooncalf wh-while he tortured you!"

You frowned slightly, gently setting your hands on his arms as you finally understood why he was so distraught. "Ominis, you were occupied in freeing all those beasts. You can't be in two places at once, and I'm not angry at you for that. And besides, the curse didn't hurt me badly this time. I know it scares you, but...."

However you trailed off as he lifted his head, and your heart cracked in two upon seeing the tears streaking down his face like rivers of salt water.

Only now did you realize what he meant by feeling "damaged"---and it wasn't in the physical sense. But the emotional.

"That's exactly my problem...I was too scared to do anything." He shuddered. "Wh-Who just stands by and...and lets their fears of the past consume them?! And nearly gets the love of their life killed because of it?!! That's something only a broken person does, MC...someone who's far too damaged t-to stand up for-"

"Don't say that. Nothing about you is "broken" or "damaged"." You pulled him into your arms, feeling him fall completely limp against you. "You are the furthest thing from either of those."

For a few moments, he was silent as he absorbed your words. But when he tried to respond, all that came from his lips was something between a gasp and a loud sob. He choked out an apology for losing his composure so quickly, though you just hushed him.

"Shhhh, it's okay." You held him tighter than ever, keeping one hand on the back of his head. ''Just let it all out. I'm not going anywhere, my love. And I mean that..I still love you."

With trembling hands, Ominis grasped onto your cloak, tears soaking into your shoulder as he allowed all of his emotions to spill. His sobs echoed freely in the Undercroft, not caring about anything anymore; not even if Sebastian were to walk in right now.

After all that's happened this year, it was just too much for him to keep locked inside: he lost his oldest friend to the Dark Arts, Anne was likely never going to reach out to him again....all that he really had left was you.

Yet he felt like none of his experiences made him any stronger, unlike you--who also lost so much and, at the same time, gained great powers that allowed you to protect those dearest to you.

But who would be there to protect you?

That's where Ominis came into the picture, wanting to fight for you after everything you've done to save Hogwarts. His worst fear was losing you forever anytime you went off on a dangerous mission. So he actually insisted on going out with you more often to put his mind at ease..plus he wanted to be sure you're not doing something too reckless.

But if he was only going to freeze up every time some dark wizard merely spoke the incantation of a certain Unforgivable....then how could he ever hope to save you when you needed him most?

He felt pathetic and useless, essentially forcing you to figure out how to escape that situation yourself while he stood there like some idiot.

What if you didn't conveniently have a Mandrake tucked in your bag? What if you had been in too much pain to grab it?

What then?

At that point, he felt like he was too broken to be with someone as strong as you. This relationship was done for, he believed, and sooner or later you'd grow tired of his cowardice and resent him for not stepping in.

He thought you were going to break it off for sure now that you see how "difficult" he was being.

But that was far from the truth. You didn't shun him or demand an explanation for why he acted the way he did. Instead you let him cry in your arms--something that no one in his life offered when he was at his lowest--staying here in this safe haven together and reaffirming your love for him.

He didn't know whether to feel grateful or selfish.

"I-I tried, MC..I..I really tried to help you." He wept, his face now buried in your neck. "But I guess I'm...just doomed to hurt everyone around me. That's all I'm good at."

"You're not doomed to live that way, Ominis. You haven't hurt me at all, and I know damn well you'd never hurt anybody on purpose."

"Really? T-Tell that to my family...we were monsters who tortured and killed muggles for fun-"

"They did that for fun, not you. You're not a monster like them. I know this because you refused to follow in their footsteps. And by Merlin, I'm glad you were a stubborn child..even after all they put you through." You softly spoke, kissing his head as you felt his arms tighten their hold around you. "All I see now is someone who's even stronger than them, with a good heart that would've won him a spot in Gryffindor for sure."

"....w-with Prewett, Weasley, and all those twits? I don't think so.." He chuckled lightly, sniffling as he rested his head on your shoulder and fell quiet. He felt a lot calmer than before, sighing tiredly. "..I'm sorry. I-It was never my intention to burden you with this, love. You already deal with so much. I just wish I...could've been just a bit stronger for you."

"Don't worry about me, okay?" You smiled. Even though he couldn't see it, you hoped he'd at least imagine it. "I saw how sneaky you were around those poachers. You petrified them before they even knew what hit 'em."

"Of course. I had to do something, right?" He huffed, although he smiled a little bit.

"You did great, darling. If the beasts could talk, I'd say they'd be thanking you over and over. You saved their lives. They probably think you as their hero."

"I thought it was that Hufflepuff girl's job to be the "hero of beasts"...but I don't mind that title, too."

A calming silence fell over you two, save for Ominis' light sniffles. But eventually he was the first to let go, his hands reaching for the sides of your face moments later, wanting to ensure you weren't injured at all.

You helped guide him there, your skin growing warm at his touch. He felt around for any recent scarring or bruising across your flesh, being grateful that he found nothing of the sort.

Meanwhile, you kept smiling as you observed his own face. Although he looked like a complete mess after all that crying, he still managed to appear quite handsome in your eyes.

You knew he desperately needed that outlet, and you were happy he finally confided in you.

At the end of the day, you'll love him no matter what.

[kivaember]

the dagda dlc in smtvv reminded me that i started to write a nahobino nanashi oneshot aaaaaaaaaaaages ago when vanilla came out in 2022... rereading it again and wondering if i should finish it. i loved writing nanashi and dagda bouncing off each other...

anyway excerpts below:

-

All Nanashi could see was sand. 

It was bright; a searing gold that half-blinded him, streams of it wisping across the shifting dunes from a constant, dry wind. Nanashi squinted against the glare and the grit clinging to his eyelashes, and tried to orientate himself. He felt… groggy, and weird, like his body was both too heavy and too light for him. Pretty standard when he resurrected from a particularly nasty death; Dagda had to rearrange organs sometimes and pad missing muscle and…

Speaking of. 

“Dagda?” he mumbled, and cringed when his voice came out all rasping and strange. There was a bizarre reverb to it, and he ran his hand over his mouth - and froze.

That… did not feel normal. 

Kid, Dagda piped up abruptly, his voice utterly flat. What did you do.

“Why’re you blaming me?!” Nanashi complained, his hackles raised instantly. He didn’t do anything! He… thinks. Did he? They were in the Yamato Reactor place, then… hm, something happened and… ah, Nanashi can’t really remember. Whatever, it probably wasn’t a big deal. They’d find out where they were eventually.

He felt an upwelling of utter disgust - then confusion. Wait, that wasn’t his confusion - though he was pretty fucking confused - that was- 

“Wait,” Nanashi scrambled onto his feet, clumsily, pinwheeling his arms and blinking rapidly to clear his fuzzy vision. His entire body felt out of sync, and he drew his hands close, squinting at them. 

…

These weren’t his hands. 

Nanashi closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them. 

…still weren’t his hands. 

We’ve become a Nahobino, Dagda muttered. He said the word like it was a particularly juvenile insult, far too beneath him to utter and he resented Nanashi for making him say it. Of all the things…

“Can you please explain to the poor, stupid human?” Nanashi asked, his gaze travelling up his (???) arms. Briefly, he wondered if he was in Dagda’s body, but the proportions were all off, and the brown, stylised armour was far sleeker and different. It was like, Nanashi but in Dagda’s armour, but less… pointy. 

Kind of reminded him of Danu, actually- 

It’s a god’s ‘true form’, Dagda sneered. Hn, true in that it is the form mortals initially envisioned us as, before YHVH stole our Knowledge. It makes no difference to me. A prison is a prison, powerful or not.

“So, why am I in your armour and…” Nanashi lowered his arms, twisting around to see that, yup, he had Dagda’s dorky scarf-cape thing too. 

You got something to say about my fashion sense?

Nanashi jumped slightly. “Hey! We agreed on no mind-reading!”

You’re practically bellowing your thoughts in here, kid. I can’t ignore them even if I wanted to.

Nanashi immaturely thought of the dirtiest thing he could think of (a faded and suspiciously stained page from a ye olde porn mag) - and yelped when his hand abruptly swung up and punched him in the face. 

“OW! SONUVA-!”

As a Nahobino, Dagda purred, his presence and voice slinking along his thoughts like a mangy cat, we share a body. You’re more of a puppet than you were before. So step carefully, kid.

Nanashi scowled and gingerly rubbed his jaw. His fingers trailed the sharp, jutting edges and he mapped it out, Dagda’s threat immediately forgotten. It felt like his entire lower jaw was covered in some sort of guard, but he could feel where the metal - bone? - merged into the rest of his face - which felt like it had skin, thank god. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had a creepy skeleton face like Dagda. 

Kid, Dagda growled. He radiated irritation like a nuclear reactor core. 

Nanashi quickly moved his hand away from his face in case Dagda decided to poke his eye out or something. “We need to find a mirror.”

Over there, Dagda said curtly, and Nanashi grimaced when his head snapped to the side like an invisible hand had forced it to turn. City ruins. One of them might still have glass in its windows.

Nanashi obediently walked in the direction Dagda indicated. It was - weird. His legs felt a little longer than usual, and what were with these heels?! He knew Dagda wore them tall but Nanashi hadn’t realised how tall until he was trying to strut in them - in sand. In deep, shin-deep sand. He didn’t walk so much as he flailed and staggered his way over to the ruins like a drunken nekomata. 

Stop being an idiot and walk normally, Dagda grumped. 

“I’m sorry but I’m not used to walking in high heels in the desert,” Nanashi hissed back. “If it’s bothering you so much, why don’t you try walking us over, huh?”

Dagda prickled, but Nanashi felt the disconcerting sensation of his body being hijacked. It was like - well, it was like being a puppet, an invisible force marionetting his body to smooth out its gait and murder-strut over to the collapsed buildings despite the deep sand. Nanashi could do nothing but blink, unable to command a single muscle in his body until Dagda deposited him directly in front of a cracked, filthy window and relinquished control. 

“What the fuck,” Nanashi said. 

It looked like him. His face was mostly the same, but his entire bottom jaw was now some weird, armoured skeleton jaw, and his eyes were such a poisonous green they glowed brightly. His body resembled Dagda’s, but the armour was sleeker, more proportioned for him - but it also made him look like a wooden doll. Behind him fluttered twin tails of Dagda’s dark scarf, but they felt… Nanashi frowned and concentrated. The scarf tails twitched, and its frayed edges morphed slightly into claws - two extra hands, apparently, in sentient scarf form. 

Nanashi processed, and said, again, “What the fuck.”

-

(THEN SMTH SMTH THEY RUN INTO NAHOBINO RIN)

-

“So, wait…” Nanashi ogled the strange creature before him. “You two want to be partners?”

The human blinked slowly at him. He didn’t emote much, but Nanashi was used to parsing expressions from Dagda’s stone-cold skull - this ‘Rin’ wasn’t that difficult to figure out in comparison - and it was clear that he was both confused and concerned. 

“Yes?” Rin said. “Isn’t it the same for you?”

Dagda made a low, scoffing noise. He was still glaring dramatically across the desert’s… horizon (did it count as a horizon when it curved upwards?), but as always he was unable to stay out of a conversation if he could be a petty bitch in it. Nanashi made sure to think this thought extra loudly, and was rewarded with a very sharp mental poke that felt like Dagda spiritually speared his brainstem. 

“...well,” Nanashi said. “It's difficult to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” 

“He’s my puppet,” Dagda sneered, turning towards them with dark, intent eyes. “He’s my Godslayer, and he kills who I order him to kill.”

There was a brief, taut pause where Dagda glanced from Rin to his towering ‘partner’, who stared back just as intently (but with a lot less murder vibes). Nanashi could almost feel Dagda’s decision to be a dick.

“And you two are climbing high on that list,” Dagda finished in a low, threatening rasp. 

Nanashi rolled his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Basically,” he interjected, “he’s too lazy to do anything himself.”

Dagda slowly turned towards him, pinning him down with that death glare. Sucks to be him, Nanashi was immune.

“A terrible backseat driver, though,” Nanashi continued, holding Dagda’s glare with a smirk so sharp it could cut diamonds. “Can’t handle any sort of criticism, won’t be caught dead putting in more effort than quipping a useless taunt, never outgrew his edgy teenager phase-”

Dagda clamped his hand down on his head, forcing him downwards into a low bow and his neck to strain at a painfully awkward angle. Nanashi grunted, grabbing Dagda’s wrist, but the god was unrelenting. 

“I should just snap your neck,” Dagda grumbled, but, as Nanashi was beginning to realise, he was all bark and no bite when it came to him (so long as Nanashi was useful as a Godslayer, that is). 

There was a quick flash of blue light that flickered across the ground and over his and Dagda’s feet, followed by a soft ‘ffwsst!’ of raw energy cutting the air. 

“Oh?” Dagda purred. “Looking for a fight, are you?”

Wait, were those two going to-!? 

“It’s fine!” Nanashi quickly yelped, and he smacked Dagda’s arm frantically in a ‘let me up!’ gesture. Dagda ignored him. “Dagda’s harmless! For him, I mean! He just revives me if I die so it’s fine!”

“What,” the other human said, flat and cold. 

“As I said, he’s my puppet,” Dagda sneered. “He’ll die when I order him to die, not before, and not after.”

Why was Dagda like this?! Seriously!

“I’m gonna snap my own neck in a minute if you don’t stop being difficult,” Nanashi hissed. “And I’ll stay dead too! See if you ever get a Godslayer as good as me again!”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself,” Dagda huffed, but he did let him go, so Nanashi chalked that up as a win for him. 

“‘Don’t think too highly-!’ Ugh, you’re such a brat!” Nanashi snarled as he straightened up, roughly clawing his fingers through his hair to fluff it up where Dagda had flattened it. “Who’s the adult here, huh? It definitely ain’t you!”

Dagda just gave him a ‘stop throwing a temper tantrum in the milk aisle kid you’re embarrassing me’ glare, but Nanashi just ignored him, pivoting to the communicatively healthy demon-human pair (god what a thought) fused into one being again. Rin was sort of but not quite glaring at Dagda, looking like he was unsure on whether he should intervene or if this was normal for them (it was, unfortunately). 

“You wanna swap?” Nanashi asked, jerking his thumb at Dagda. 

“...no thanks,” Rin said a bit stiffly. “He looks too high maintenance.”

Nanashi barked out a mean laugh - and swiftly ducked out of the way of Dagda’s grasping hand when the old grump went to scruff him. Not seriously scruff him, as Dagda didn’t pursue when Nanashi danced out of range. The god just settled for trying to liquidise him with his poisonous stare alone. 

“Is this…” Rin began slowly, reluctantly extinguishing his energy blade. “Normal for you two?”

“Our relationship is built on professional pragmatism,” Nanashi said honestly. “Though, the professional bit kinda slides here and there.”

Dagda almost felt approving, which was utterly bizarre to feel. Nanashi gave him a weird look and instantly Dagda self-corrected, pushing a sludge of feelings through their new yet highly unwanted connection that made Nanashi feel vaguely oily and gross. What a disturbing experience. 

“Stop doing that,” Nanashi grumbled. “I’ll lick you.”

“Keep your disease ridden tongue away from me, kid, unless you wanna lose it.”

-

(SMTH SMTH THEN AOGAMI AND DAGDA TALK ABOUT THEIR RESPECTIVE HUMANS)

-

“-he’s been a pain from the start,” Dagda finished sourly. 

Aogami didn’t respond, not that Dagda expected him to engage in his ‘why humans are pathetic, part one’ rant. Watching this synthetic demon interact with his ~partner~ was downright nauseating at times, but also morbidly curious. Was this what humanity really craved? The gods and demons they unwittingly imprisoned being their friends? Or more, if the vibes he was sensing between those two were right (ugh, why was he surrounded by demon fuckers). 

But then Aogami said; “I think you’re actually quite fond of your human.”

If Dagda was cursed with the human affliction called ‘breathing’, he would’ve choked. As it was, he just stared at the synthetic demon with every dreg of bitter disdain he could muster in his body - which, admittedly, was infinite. A lesser demon would have cowered away from such concentrated hostility being laser beamed directly into their skull. Unfortunately, Aogami either had nerves of steel or was socially braindead, as Dagda’s rancid vibes just bounced right off him.  

“Do you disagree?” the synthetic demon asked mildly. 

“I,” Dagda said loftily, “feel many emotions towards my Godslayer, but fondness is not one of them.”

“You protect him and offer guidance.”

“I am ensuring my investment actually crosses the finish line,” Dagda sneered, jabbing his finger aggressively in Aogami’s direction. He wished he was closer so he could poke out his eyes. “I’ve poured too much of my precious time and effort into this kid for him to just- get himself killed in this backwater world. The gods here are pathetic and unworthy of even being target practice-”

Aogami bulldozed right over Dagda’s rant-building momentum. “Gods have nothing but time. You can easily replace him.”

Dagda… paused.

He hadn’t expected such logical callousness from this otherwise bleeding heart of a robot companion. He crossed his arm (not defensively) and narrowed a suspicious glare at him. Aogami’s expression hadn’t changed or twitched. It made him infuriatingly difficult to read. 

“...I hate wasting my time, no matter how infinite,” Dagda said, but even he knew it was a weak defence. 

“It would be more efficient for you to abandon Nanashi here, and return to your own realm, as gods are not bound to specific worlds as humans are,” Aogami pointed out, his tone still perfectly mild. “Remaining here with him, trying to return him to his original world, is ‘wasting time’.”

it isn’t, Dagda almost said, but narrowly held it back because… 

He had waited a long time for his Godslayer, and not because he had slim pickings. Dagda had lurked at the mouth of the human netherworld, watching the species parade in droves into that mysterious place beyond even a god’s reach. He hadn’t extended his hand to any one of them, because they had been grey, washed out things - weak, spineless, unworthy. A few had the spark of defiance here and there, but the rough life of Tokyo had turned them brittle, and death was the final blow that broke them. 

Nanashi, though…

The kid had come barrelling at him like a wrecking ball, his eyes bright with viciousness and his tiny fists clenched in aggressive fury. Nanashi had been fully prepared to lunge at him, to chew his throat out like he had fucking rabies - he blazed with the desire to live, to keep on living, to claw and bite and scream his way into life even if he had to throw himself bloody against the gatekeeper. Dagda had taken one look at him and just thought ‘you’.

Death broke humans, repeated deaths shattered them - it was unnatural to them, to die and live and die and live again. Nanashi endured it, though, because he was just too fucking furious and stubborn at the world. Maybe Dagda saw a little of himself in him, this angry slip of a thing, too small to do anything because the world was so big and he was so insignificant, unless…

Dagda was a hypocrite, he knew. He preached to never rely on others, but here he leaned on Nanashi, even if it was just as a useful tool. Nanashi leaned on him for life and strength. They were both pathetic in their own way, but Dagda was self-aware enough to acknowledge his own hypocrisy. So long as he achieved his goal, did it really matter if he was a fucking liar to himself? 

So, yeah, maybe a bit of protectiveness over his investment had spawned. It didn’t matter. ‘Fond’ meant something entirely different to whatever shit Aogami had concocted in that warped little brain of his. 

“You think worthy humans just grow on trees?” Dagda drawled. “You think any of them are like our humans? Sure, I can ditch the kid… but I’d be waiting around for another few hundred years to find someone equivalent. It’ll be faster in the long run to punch a hole through reality and drag the kid through, kicking and screaming, back to where he belonged.”

[vergess]

Quick question from one of the rare millennials who never played pokemon. Whats so special about pokemon Z? I'm seeing a lot of people excited about the announcement but it feels like a Very Different Excitement to just a new region/new game? Am I reading too much into it?

Okay, so pokemon games normally come out in pairs (A and B) with a sequel or DLC later (C). Red and blue, and yellow. Ruby and sapphire, and emerald. Etc.

Out of all 10ish generations of pokemon, they only deviated from this pattern one (1) time.

Pokemon X and Y, my favourite generation, had no sequel, no dlc, nothing. We all knew the sequel would be called Z. There was a Z legendary. There were plot hooks. The entire gimmick of the name was 'the games are in 3D so we named them after axes.'

There was silence.

Then Sun and Moon came out, and we all had to accept that Z was never going to happen. C'est la vie.

AND NOW 11 YEARS LATER MY BABY IS COMING HOME FROM THE SKELETON WARRRRRRRRRRR

(Also my favourite pokemon Furfrou only appears in gen 6, so she's back for the first time in ages ahahahahaha)

[swampstew]

Spoiling Eustass 'Captain' Kid

500 follower milestone achieved ~ thank you to all the lovely folks who like my content enough to follow and constantly support. You are all beautiful beans and I so appreciate every single one of you. As promised, here is the Spoiling Captain Kid bedtime story. Enjoy spoiling our mans♡

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: None! Fluff piece with GN Reader, SFW (with some suggestive spice) but as always my content is only for ADULTS.

Minors DNI you will be blocked

Being with a man like Eustass Kid is anything but easy. His ambitions, his temper, his sardonic and gluttonous personality – all highly guarded walls to keep trespassers away. His reputation and his crew as his guard dogs to keep anyone from getting too close.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t love in his heart. For Killer.

The crew.

For you.

He hadn’t meant to fall for you but he did before he could articulate what he was feeling. By then he was in too deep. Couldn’t get you out of his head, his bed, or his heart.

A Captain has duties and Kid is a busy person. Between strategy meetings, communicating with contacts in the Underworld, commanding the crew and Victoria Punk, his time in the workshop, and everything else in between, you could see that his day-to-day schedule was running him ragged.

You had enough.

No man, not even Eustass Kid, is immune to burnout. Working out the details with Killer, you plotted a day of pampering and relaxation for the aggressive redhead. Whether he wanted it or not.

The ship is quiet. Too quiet. Kid’s suspicious scowl grew deeper as he walked around. Normally when the crew found a port to dock at, there would be stragglers around the deck nursing hangovers. Not today. He first noticed when he woke up and dragged his feet to the kitchen to grab you and him some water.

Now you were gone too. What the fuck!

Slightly jumping from the bathroom door suddenly swinging open, you stand before him in a cute little outfit that made his eyes dilate. He shook his head out of those spicy thoughts.

“Where the hell did everyone go?”

“Killer gave everyone a day off with a rotating skeleton crew to guard the ship!”

“The fuck? And he didn’t run that by me first?!”

You shake your head at him, “It was decided amongst the Commanders, Killer and me.”

Kid did a double take. “You all did what now???!”

“Everyone has the day off. You included. Now get changed, your itinerary is all filled up.” You pass the handwritten schedule into his flesh hand.

The vein in his forehead throbbed as he looked over the sheet.

Morning – Self-care start with breakfast provided. Full body treatment to follow.

Afternoon – Hot springs and lunch after. Nap optional.

Evening – Banquet with after party. If the Captain behaves, he’ll be provided with an additional gift.

“If I behave?” he growled, lowering the sheet from his face.

“Yep! Try to wear something a little casual since we’ll be out of our clothes a lot.”

That swiped the scowl off his face to be replaced with a grin. A grin he kept on his face as you both strolled through the island lazily. Kid is almost unrecognizable wearing shorts and a muscle tank top, his trademark goggles traded in for a pair of large, tinted sunglasses with golden rims. The day is bright and sunny, not too many people out on the streets, and his lover hanging off his arm – not a bad way to start his imposed day off.

When you reached your destination you almost had to pull Kid inside.

“We’re here stop dragging your feet!”

“You didn’t say anything about a nail salon!”

He much preferred to paint his nails himself, even after he lost his left arm he insisted on trying to use his power to create a normal sized-scale prosthetic. While it was manageable, it was nowhere near as precise or cleanly done as when he had both organic arms.

“Who cares? They get paid to do a job no matter how crusty your toenails are!”

“Y/N I AM NOT CRUSTY!!!!!!”

In the end you manage to pull him in. Kid remains entirely silent; face flushed as he sits in a leather chair that also had a massaging feature while his feet soaked in a heated tub. The manicurist quickly removed and painted his nails on his right hand while an adventure drama played on a screen, not once daring to speak aloud. Even the visual transponder snail seemed nervous, the screen slightly rippling on the edges.

You came through the door carrying a platter and two bags hanging from your arms. While your feet and back experience the same treatment as Kid, you hand feed him donut balls and ripped off pieces of bagels. He even has you lift his iced coffee for him to drink so he doesn’t have to move his body from the pulsing chair.

Nails freshly done and bellies satiated, you both head to the back of the salon. Through a heavy glass door, you both find yourselves in a spa house. Kid quirks his hairless eyebrow at you.

“Look, I’d normally take care of you myself but you’re…particular with how you like things done and I’d rather not get yelled at. Humor me and I promise you’ll feel stress free and relaxed and maybe add 5 years to your lifespan ok?”

With a grunt he gently shoves you off to the side in annoyance as he walks up to the receptionist. To Kid’s horror, he is to be subjected to a hot stone massage, a full facial, and then dipped into salt-rich mud for gods only know how long.

He enjoys it even if he tells you he hated every second.

Your room is next to his while you receive your own massage and you could hear his pleased growling and muffled moans as the massage therapist worked out kinks from his back not even Killer or you could work out. You didn’t hear him object to the facial and you thought you might have even heard him hum when the specialist told him they didn’t know why he needed it on his flawless face. That made you scoff; you were just trying to spoil your man – and on your own dime, thank you very much! Kid is ANYTHING but a cheap date.

Nothing could prepare you for how utterly out of character Kid looked while he reclines in the mud bath. The Dead Sea mud is known for its purgative and restorative properties. It exfoliates and tightens skin, eliminates harmful bacteria, and nourishes the skin and scalp.

Healing qualities aside – Kid is covered entirely in mud save for around his eyes. Even his hair was thoroughly coated. You hold back a laugh and sink your body next to his, working the nutrient rich mud over your skin and hair. It’s only an hour but time feels eternal in the chamber, the harmonic sounds of tuning forks and melodic singing bowls being rung as you both slipped into a tranquil, meditative state.

Free from the mud, its only logical that the next stop is a hot spring. After another rinse, you both settle into a private heated pool and enjoy each other’s company. Your bag held a bottle of champagne which you had the staff chill, and you were now making bottomless mimosas. A heated bath plus alcohol equals a nice buzz and a voracious appetite. After your soak, you take the lead and bring him to a delicious restaurant where you watch Kid devour meal after meal. You are always impressed with the bottomless pit he called a stomach.

“I’m not a child,” Kid scoffs once you come back to the ship. “Don’t need a nap.”

“You might not but I do! We had a busy day and I’m full from lunch. If you want to just cuddle that’s fine too.”

Ever the edgy punk he is, he turns red at the mention of cuddling and throws the clothes he took off directly at your face. He ends up cuddling anyway. And once your lulling breaths signaled your descent into sleep, he swiftly follows, holding your warm body snug to his.

Hours pass quickly and when Kid wakes up he’s pleased to see you curled up on his chest. He plays with your painted fingers until the sounds of hunger rumble from his stomach to his chest, waking you up.

“Finally! Been dying to eat but SOMEBODY was trapping me down.”

“M’mm soo sorry your majesty,” you grumble with side eye, getting up from the bed and beating him to the bathroom first.

If there’s one thing you know about the Kid Pirates aside from their…rabid violent tendencies…is that they know how throw a party and banquet. The deck is filled with dining tables displaying mouthwatering dishes, roasted meats, and tons of liquor.

Killer got the band together for live music and it warmed your heart to see how amiable Kid is when he truly let loose. Not that the crew never got to see that side of him, just that those moments were far and few between with how demanding finding the One Piece is. And trying to take down the powers of the world.

Choosing to focus on the present, you dance along with the crew as the music flows, drinking, and having fun. You find yourself in Kid’s lap as you eat and talk shit with the others, he keeps a close grip on you with the occasional affectionate squeeze. You manage to steal a glance at him and see he has the happiest smile on his face as he looks down at you. A lovely image that makes your heart flutter and return his smile. Not at all rolling your eyes as he gently grabs your chin and turns your face around.

When the night is over, Kid playfully throws you on the bed with a wide smirk on his face as he crawls over your body.

“Alright what’s my gift?”

“Under the bed.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, “Oh you mean an actual gift? That wasn’t an innuendo?”

“I bought you an actual gift that’s going to change your life.”

He snorts at that but then looks under the bed for his gift. Pulling out a gift bag, he sits down next to you and looks inside. A confused look on his face, he pulls out a sleek, gun-looking mechanism.

“You planning to shoot me or something?”

“In a sense.”

The bewildered look he gives you makes you laugh aloud.

“It’s a massage gun! There are different shaped pieces that you can interchange to fit the massage and area you want to target. Let me show you, take off your vest.”

He rolls his eyes but does as you say, “Doubt this teeny tiny toy can do anything of significance.”

The massage gun comes to life with a low buzzing hum. You attach one of the heads to the nozzle and brace yourself.

“C’mon get it over with already! I hate waiting for dissapo—OH MY GODS!!!”

By the time you’re through with him, he’s a drooling pile of putty laid out on your lap.