#he's so sweet and such a do-gooder

[stormcallart]

Halsin❤️

[tender-rosiey]

The sukuna with a shy daughter was sooo good. I loved it! Can we have more of them where its just sukuna and his baby girl in different situations and theres a lot of people and he has to deal with his brat?

peasant food — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: i am a big fan of sukuna with a shy daughter so i am super glad you like it too

right now, you’re standing beside your dear husband sukuna who stands with his arms crossed, watching with a frown as your daughter hands out food to the poor.

you almost let out a giggle, but then you feel his hand squeeze your hip in warning.

you huff in protest; however, he doesn’t let you dwell on it for long, as he hands you a necklace he just…acquired from somebody.

your little girl, on the other hand, with her wide eyes and gentle smile, kneels by a villager, offering him a bowl of rice.

“here you go,” she says sweetly, her tiny voice almost drowned out by the village noise. “you must be hungry.”

sukuna’s brow twitches as he clenches his jaw. “what in the hell are you doing?” his deep voice rumbles, earning a few fearful glances from nearby villagers. they recognize him, of course. the king of curses himself.

nobody dares to approach.

d/n looks up, flustered by her father’s glare. “I’m giving them food, papa. they’re hungry,” she answers, trying to keep eye contact, but she gives up half-way through and looks away.

sukuna’s eye twitches. “you’re supposed to cause pain,” he growls, leaning down with his arms crossed, looming over her tiny form. “not make people happy.”

you stifle a chuckle, placing a gentle hand on sukuna’s arm. “she’s just being kind,” you murmur, amused by his growing frustration.

sukuna throws you an incredulous look before turning back to his daughter. “kind? they don’t need kindness. they need fear, suffering. let them be hungry.”

“but… papa, that’s mean,” she protests, her little face scrunching up, and her lips wobble a bit. “they’re sad because they’re hungry. don’t you want them to be happy?”

sukuna steps back, his face twisting in disgust. “no. I don’t want them to be happy,” he replies right away. the coldness in his tone is enough for the nearby villagers to flinch.

you shake your head, eyes flitting and watching some of the villagers finally scramble away.

he looks at you with a small click of his tongue. your daughter, however, just looks up at him with innocent eyes, blinking slowly like she doesn’t understand why he’s so upset.

“b-but I like it when people smile,” she insists softly, handing another bowl of rice to a small child who hesitantly approaches. “it feels… nice.”

sukuna groans, running a hand down his face in sheer exasperation. “you’re supposed to be a curse, not some…do-gooder.”

he looks at you as with a quick side-eye.

“I think it’s sweet,” you say, shrugging lightly. “she’s got your stubbornness, you know.”

sukuna glares at you, then back at his daughter, who continues to hand out food, humming happily.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, watching her with narrowed eyes. “you’re lucky you’re my daughter,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms again.

your daughter stands up after giving away the last of the food, her face glowing prideful but still timid, as she tries to convince her father with her point of view. “see, papa? they’re happy now.”

“you’re impossible,” he grunts, reaching down to ruffle her hair, though he tries to hide the fondness in his movements. the sharpness of his look returns a little as he says, “this doesn’t mean I approve.”

your daughter nods cautiously, before fidgeting with her fingers. ultimately, she decides on something. “do you want some rice, papa?” she asks softly, holding up an empty bowl.

sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I don’t eat peasant food.” he straightens up, glaring at the remaining villagers who are brave enough to linger nearby.

with just one look, they scatter, leaving the streets eerily quiet.

“but it’s nice!” your daughter insists, her voice earnest as she pouts slightly, her cheeks puffing out in frustration. “please, papa?”

you can’t help but chuckle at the sight of her trying to negotiate with him, and you lean in closer, nudging sukuna with your shoulder. “maybe just a taste? for her sake? please, honey.”

sukuna’s brows furrow in thought, and he glances between you and your daughter, who is practically bouncing on her toes with hope.

he crosses his arms again, acting indifferent. “fine. just a small bite. but I’m not doing this because I want to. understand?”

“okay!” your daughter replies, earnestly, her face lighting up as she dashes to a nearby vendor who is still watching with cautious interest.

sukuna watches her go, shaking his head. “unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice now. it’s more of a begrudging acceptance.

“who would’ve thought you’d have such a kind-hearted little girl?” you tease, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“she’s a curse’s daughter, not a saint,” he replies, but there’s a softness in his tone that you recognize.

his gaze follows your daughter, who is now engaged in a small conversation with the vendor about the best rice. “she should be causing chaos, not handing out food like some charity.”

you laugh lightly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “maybe this is her form of chaos. besides, look how happy she is.”

sukuna’s expression shifts, and you can see the conflicting emotions playing out on his face. he wants to be frustrated, to be the fearsome king of curses that everyone knows him as, yet here he is, watching his daughter bring joy to others.

your daughter returns, bowl in hand, and holds it up proudly. “here, papa! just a taste!”

he takes the bowl and raises it to his lips, taking a small, measured taste of the rice.

“well?” your daughter prompts, her eyes wide with anticipation.

he chews slowly, contemplating the flavor as if he’s analyzing a potent curse. you can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the taste against his own expectations.

“it’s... not terrible,” he finally admits, and your daughter squeals with delight, jumping up and down.

“see? I told you!” she exclaims, surprising sukuna as it is the first time he has seen her so excited. “it’s good, isn’t it?”

sukuna shoots you a look that says he’s still not convinced, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly, revealing a hint of amusement. “you’ve successfully managed to corrupt my child,” he mutters to you.

“awesome,” you grin, “do I get a reward for being able to corrupt like you do, my husband?”

he rolls his eyes then presses a firm—borderline aggressive—kiss to the top of your head. you pull away and frown, “you tryna squish my head or something?”

“you ask for affection, but can’t handle it?” he tilts his head, a slight smirk on his unfairly handsome face.

“🤏🤏🤏🤏🤏”

“huh?”

“mama, how did you speak in drawings?”

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do not copy or plagiarize

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[hitomisuzuya]

Practicing safe words with softdom Scara 🥺

scaramouche x fem reader. smut. fingering. orgasm denial. creampie. degradation. praise. safe words. softdom!scara.

honestly, this request is quite unique😌 i have never written something like this before.

you really are something else. scaramouche is a very, very passionately aggressive guy. he knows this. you may not have thought safe words were mandatory, happy to let him have his way and be as aggressive as he wants. but he thought you should have them, just in case.

safe words add an extra degree of trust that made him weaker for you.

scaramouche's fingers were slowly pumping in and out of your pussy, curling into your sweet spot with an accuracy that took your breath away. a burst of pleasure rocketed right to your throbbing clit, making it hard for you to buck your hips into his fingers for a moment.

his cock pulsed watching you reach up to tug and pinch one of your nipples in a fit of submissive lust. "use your words, tell me how good my fingers fucking into you feel," his electric eyes were trained on your every inch and shudder of bliss.

a soft whimper escaped you, his fingers deliciously stretching you apart, flicking into your sweet spot. "your fingers feel so so.." your legs shook as his thumb slowly circled your clit, your body twitching with the impending orgasm he'd been building up so agonizingly slow, "so good!"

the sweetest, shameless moans reached his ears. just watching you get off on his fingers alone just might bring him to cum right there. "adorable," a smirk curled on his lips, "are you going to cum, slut?" he applied extra pressure with his thumb.

you reached down and stroked his wrist appreciatively. "yes, yes, i am going to cum!" you whimpered, grinding your clit on his thumb.

"you know the rules, what do you say if you want to cum?" scaramouche commanded, scissoring your walls apart as he raised an eyebrow at you.

the gentle command in his tone sent a shiver up your spine, right down to your clit. "stardust," you moaned, waiting on abated breath for the approval you always crave him. it was a struggle for you to remember the safe words you'd discussed with him earlier.

it was a pleasure for scaramouche to deny you your orgasm. he has to keep you teetering on the very edge until he saw fit. the more your body was tense and wracked with the need to cum, you would surely remember your safe words then.

if you want to cum, that is.

he generously hooked his fingers into your sweet spot before cruelly pulling them from your weeping cunt. you squirmed, whimpering in protest. your desperation made his cock harder.

scaramouche was quick to get on top of you. his hand hovered over your throat for a moment, enjoying the way your breath hitched in your throat in anticipation. "fuck, you are being so fucking good for me," he moaned shakily, holding you down as he pushed his cock inside of you.

your walls tightened around his cock hearing his praise. "am i being a good girl? am i? am i?" you babbled as his cock kissed into your sweet spot with dizzying accuracy. he always had this ability to keep you right where he wanted, under his thumb and falling apart on his cock.

scaramouche put a hand on your cheek, skimming his thumb across it as you it into his hand. "yes, yes you are," he purred, bending your knee up towards your chest. "do you want to know how you can be an even gooder girl?" the way your pretty eyes lit up is utterly intoxicating to him.

"h-how?!" you moaned, tilting your head back on the pillow feeling his thumb brush against your throat. his cheeks flushed at the action. you really are being so incredibly good for him. he pulled out half way, pleasure shattering your senses as he bottomed out again.

"remember what to do if you want to cum. your cunt is suffocating my cock, you want to cum so badly," he moaned, a satisfied tingle rippling through him from deeply he was fucking into you. "i don't want to accidentally break you. open that pretty mouth of yours and say the word."

"echo! it's echo!" you cried out, your hips bucking into his. scaramouche delivered a rewarding flick on one of sensitive nipples, making you mewl in pleasure.

"good girl," he praised, and that was what made you break. it was almost embarrassing how hard and fast you were cumming on his cock. scaramouche captured your lips in a deep, open mouthed kiss. there was even aggressive passion in the way he forced his tongue into your mouth.

but that action alone didn't completely stifle the whimper keening from him as he emptied himself inside of you.

[muniimyg]

omg u should definitely do a scenario where oc is on some kind of business trip away from zion and jk and they are both sulky or arguing w each other all the time and they facetime oc (although with her taking off work for a year it might be too late for this but it could always just be an in the future thing!)

jungkook feels defeated.

he’s over it.

he’s fucking done.

it’s well past zion’s bedtime and he has tried everything. from stories, warm milk, even a short lullaby—still, zion is tucked stubbornly under the covers, his little face buried in the pillow.

jungkook sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, when his phone buzzes. it’s a facetime call from you.

he swipes to answer, and your bright smile fills the screen, the familiar warmth in your eyes immediately lifting some of the stress from his shoulders.

“hi honey,” you say softly, “how’s it going?”

jungkook groans, turning the camera to show zion pouting into the pillow.

“he won’t talk to me. he won’t even look at me,” jungkook says, voice laced with frustration. “he only wants you.”

you laugh lightly, shaking your head. “isn’t it past his bedtime?

“that’s the least of my problems,” jungkook whines. “i genuinely think our son hates me.”

you gasp. “you’re exaggerating.”

“i’m not.”

taking jungkook’s stern face seriously, you sigh and attempt to put things into perspective for him.

“honey, you two are too alike… that’s the problem.“

zion’s little head lifts at the sound of your voice, his big eyes peeking out from the pillow.

“mommy?”

“hi, baby,” you say, your tone softening instantly. “what’s going on? are you giving daddy a hard time?”

zion pouts. “he’s mean to me.”

jungkook’s eyes widen. mean to him? when? in between playing with him, feeding him, and bribing him with ice cream and new toys—mean fits in where?

you snicker at jungkook’s reaction. “zion, you have such a big heart. i know you do, my love. i think you can make some space for daddy for be in it.”

“but why?”

“zi, i love daddy… so i want you to love him too.”

zion fidgets, his face scrunching up as he mumbles, “fine…”

“zion…”

“i don’t know, mommy! i just… i miss you. i don’t like it when daddy reads my bedtime stories! it’s boring. he can sing good but he doesn’t even know the words to my favourite songs!”

your heart melts as you watch him pout, and jungkook sighs, clearly sharing the sentiment.

“zion, you know daddy is trying his best, right?” you say gently. “and i love him very much, so i need you to be nicer to him, okay?”

zion shifts, looking guilty.

“i’m sorry, daddy,” he whispers, glancing at jungkook through the screen. “i don’t know why i’m being mean… i just miss mommy a lot. she’s gooder at bedtime than you.”

jungkook softens, his earlier frustration fading.

“i miss her too, buddy,” he says quietly, reaching out to rub zion’s back. “but we gotta be a team while she’s away, right?”

zion nods slowly, finally sitting up. “okay… i’ll be nice now. i’m too sleepy to be mean.”

you smile, warmth spreading through you at the sight of the two most important people in your life working it out.

“that’s my boy. thank you for being so sweet,” you say, and then look at jungkook, who gives you a grateful smile.

“we’ll be fine,” jungkook reassures you, his voice softer now. “just… hurry home, okay?”

you laugh, nodding.

“i’ll be back before you know it.”

jungkook looks at you, gaze soft and heart full. he knows you’re right, but he kept help but feel uneasy. he truly misses you.

“goodnight, honey. i love you.”

you blow him a kiss and then lower your camera angle to your baby bump. smiling, you pat your tummy.

“goodnight honey. we love you too.”

[messylustt]

I just finished the Miguel fic and its not bested YET my standers are HIGH. With that being said i have a hobie blurb/fic idea

goody reader! who hobie swear he cant stand (he's obssessed)

you angelllll and this scenario for hobie—ugh it lives rent free now THANK YOU my sweet anon

GOODY-TWO-SHOES AND BRITISH PUNK — hobie brown + reader: just hobie pushing away the fact that he’s obsessed with you, by finding your goody nature “annoying”.

marks no warnings. just a bit of banter. wc 1.6k.

When you joined the spider society, everyone thought of you as ‘sweet’ and an all in all ‘do gooder’. Many found it endearing, while Hobie claimed to think the complete opposite.

Even though his mouth was saying things like “ya could ‘ave aimed that web better.” And “maybe try catchin’ the evil guy next time…ay?” His body had always stayed close to you.

He said things regarding your ‘sweetness’, pinning it as ‘no good’, it won’t help being overly sweet while fighting bad guys. And god did you being a little ‘do gooder’ and following the rules piss him off the most.

But even after all those confirmations in his head he found himself looking for you, standing next to you in de-briefs or when a few of you would just hang out. It was always when you were in a group—Hobie was near.

And right now as you listened to Jess speak on the new ‘villain of the week’, you felt a presence beside you. As you glanced to the left you saw Hobie, standing, hands in pockets, as he acted oblivious to his own body’s movements.

He had moved closer to you. In his head he brushed it off as him just making sure you were listening and paying attention to Jess’s words so that you wouldn’t fuck anything up this time. (Not that Hobie ever does pay that much attention himself).

Hobie had never been a nitpicker, but when it came to you he noticed all the details. He could almost tell you your own body’s habits before you even realised them yourself. Like the little nose scrunch you’d do when you were bored. Or the tilt of your head, signalling that you were really trying to listen. Or even the press of your lips, showing that you were just…thinking.

He didn’t pay much attention to his reasons for taking such close notice though. No. Because he's sure that the sole reason (only one) is because you've always annoyed him.

“So please….” Jess is saying. “Please don’t touch any of the guy’s gadgets.”

Then the debrief is over, and you’re getting to your feet, having jumped up onto a ledge. Hobie can’t help but watch as you began to walk towards a portal. “Careful there luv…woul’n’t want you to get ahead of yourself. Maybe ya should stay back this round?” Hobie walks backwards, leaning his head slightly to the side as he moves to the portal.

You press your lips together, eyeing him. What is she thinking about?—Hobie thought to himself, eyeing you back, as he continues to speak. “To be good at ya job, ya gotta loosen up on those rules, ya do know that…right?”

“You say that like you think I’m wound tight.” You say, slowly walking with him—his feet still walking backwards as you walked forward.

He raises a brow. “Aren’t you, luv?” He tongue began to absentmindedly play with his lip ring, dragging it slightly between his teeth as he neared the portal. Then he’s leaning back, and falling through it, you not far behind.

The portal had opened up over a high sky, resulting in you both falling. Hobie tilted his head, watching as you faced each other, skyrocketing down. You spare him a tilt of your head, before your web is attaching to a building as you slip away from his line of sight. And Hobie doesn’t know why but his lips had began to twitch up.

Shooting his own web out, he swung to a stop on the building, where everyone else resided. And of course, he yet again moved closer to you.

Directions were given by Jess as the spider variants all went their separate ways. "Nah, you're comin' with me." Hobie says, grabbing your arm as he pulls you towards the edge of the building. "I thought I bothered you too much..." you mutter more to yourself.

"What was that?" Hobie asks, but you just spare him a "Hm?" before you're web slinging to the next building. Hobie scoffs, copying the action.

Soon you're both swinging past buildings, and when Hobie attaches his web to where yours was gonna go, your face actually displays a slight scowl. Hobie raises his brows—effortlessly swinging backwards. "See...I knew ya were fakin' ya sweetness." Hobie comments through the wind.

"And when were you paying so much attention to me for you to know that?" You call back, slipping past him as your hand slightly brushes his guitar strap. He doesn't like the feeling that crawled up his neck when you brushed so close. He was the one who initiated the closeness, and you having barely touched him made him quickly follow you.

Then you're both swinging almost together, Hobie's gaze stuck on your relaxed posture. "Ya did learn from last time right, luv?" Hobie asks, to which you lazily glance at him.

"That wasn't my fault." You say, slipping through a narrow gap. Hobie went over so as not to scratch his guitar. "Ya can't be that blind...can ya?"

"You know, I've never understood why you act like this." You say, coming to a stop on a lower building and gazing down, spotting the gadget wearing anomaly. Hobie fluidly stops beside you as you both crouched down. But as you stared at the anomaly, Hobie stared at you.

"Act like what?" He asks, feeling a strange urge to pull your mask off. Why did he want to see your expressions when he was talking to you?

You glance at him. "Act like you hate me. Maybe you do...but I just can't pinpoint an exact reason why."

"Aw..." Hobie coos. "Scared not everyone is fallin' for ya goody-two-shoes act?"

"It's not an act. And I am not a goody-two-shoes." You slightly huff out.

"Yeah ya are..." Hobie hums out, almost sounding amused. "You always follow the rules, being a dottin' little helper to Miguel."

You look back to the anomaly. Jess had said to wait, as backup, so you do, trying your best to ignore a now closer hobie. "And you always do that...can't find a reason for it either." You mutter.

"Do what?" Hobie shifts closer. You turn your head, eyeing him. "That. Coming close."

"Maybe I'm scared you might do something overly heroic, just to get into Miguel's good books."

"Hobie being scared? Now that's a first." Hobie's surprised to hear the clear sarcasm in your voice. "And what makes you think I'm trying so hard to get into Miguel's 'good books'?" You ask.

"Ya are always the first to accept missions." Hobie says, and he hopes you don't notice his slight jealous tone. "And Miguel seems rather pleased with that."

"Maybe because I'm doing my job?" You ask, finally glancing at him again. And Hobie can't help but swiftly grab your mask. He wanted to know if you were bored, thinking, or actually listening to him.

"Hobie..." You say, reaching for your mask again. "I need that."

But Hobie just pockets it in his jacket. "Nah, Jess won't need us. She's too prideful and...usually completes missions..." He eyes you like he's hinting at something.

"I'm sorry—but when have I ever not completed a mission?" You have a slight frown on your face. And Hobie grins under his mask, liking seeing your expressions. Especially because he's been able to get new ones, like a frown and a scowl.

"Last week." He answers, fiddling with your mask material in his pocket.

You groan. "I told you, that wasn't my fault."

"Hm..." Hobie's eyes had begun to grow distracted in your moving mouth, noticing the details...yet again. The way they would slightly part when you were confused. You were confused now, so Hobie got a chance to see a fraction of your teeth. Why was he focusing so hard? And maybe if his mask was off, you would see exactly where his gaze was trapped.

"Hobie." You say, noticing he had stayed silent for a little too long. "Hobie." You shuffle closer to knock his shoulder. "Can I have my mask back?"

But he just began to shake his head. "Nah...I think I'll keep it." He then stands, looking down at you. You quickly get to your feet also, eyes narrowed. "Why? I do actually need it."

Hobie just shrugs, feeling thoroughly amused with the whole situation. You go to reach for his pocket, but he easily dodges. "This is really not the time." You mutter, trying again. But Hobie just moves around you.

You then swiftly shoot a web, aiming for the inside of his pocket, but hobie snatches the end, yanking you towards him, making tumble to a stop against his chest. And you can feel the slight rumble of a chuckle, making you quickly stand straight, only for your breath to hitch.

Because now his mask is off, and he's extremely close. Now you can see his eyes dart, fully absorbing your details, and you actually grow to feel a tad nervous. "Can I please have it back?"

"Back to the fake sweetness, are we?" He asks, his gaze now stopping on your lips.

"It's not fake." You mutter out, moving to step back, but Hobie tightens his hold on your web, keeping you still. "What are you doing?" You ask, a slight groan of annoyance edging your tone.

Hobie tilts his head, acting as if he isn't doing anything, as his finger comes out to just brush your collarbone through your suit. You don't know what to do, as you stare at him. He'd never been this close, facing you, at least. He's always been behind you or beside you. And now as his tongue comes out to lick his full lips, you find your gaze getting caught up in the action.

"I'm not a goody-two-shoes..." You choose to say, still slightly hung up on the nickname.

"Yeah...ya are." Hobie repeats, this time quieter. "...but it's..." You narrow your eyes on him. 'It's' what? "It's kinda cute, luv."

Your eyes widen. "W-what?"

"Hm?" He quickly hums, before he's webbing away, making you spin to gaze after him. "Hobie!" You call, as you quickly web after him.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[roguishcat]

Augustarion Day 6 - Cream

Pairing: the reader (You) x Astarion

Tags: just silliness and fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Excerpt: “Oh, goodie! Someone in need of a rescue,” Astarion whined and threw his arms up dramatically. “What is it with people falling over themselves to get into trouble just so we can play hero time and time again! Let’s just go,” he said with an air of an overtired toddler.

A/N If you want to be on the tag list, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment. ❤️

Day 1 - 🍓, Day 2 - 🌊, Day 4 - Mythologies, Day 7 - Underwear, Day 14 - Protective, Day 15 - Shirt that goes hard

It started with you craving some pastries. The four of you were making your way through the city when you caught a whiff of something sweet, delicious and so very tempting. You kept on walking at first, because you were on a budget and new armour for Karlach was more important than letting your sweet tooth dictate your purchases. But then your stomach made itself known, to your embarrassment.

Gale smiled and pointed in the direction of the bakery. “Seeing as we are nowhere near Elfsong, how about indulging in some baked goods? I, for one, wouldn’t mind having a sweet butter bun or two.”

Well, that was a different matter entirely! If it wasn’t a senseless purchase but rather something to improve morale, who were you to refuse?

“And I find your blood tastes just a little sweeter if you enjoy yourself, dear,” Astarion whispered into your ear.

“Oooh, I’ve heard about this place!” Karlach pushed the door open, “it’s meant to have the meanest, best damn apple pie in the city!”

Looking around, you wondered why Karlach was excited about the place. The bakery looked like any ordinary bakery except for one detail. It seemed to be suspiciously empty of any people. You listened carefully. There was shouting and thumping coming from the direction of the kitchen. Something seemed off.

“Oh, goodie! Someone in need of a rescue,” Astarion whined and threw his arms up dramatically. “What is it with people falling over themselves to get into trouble just so we can play hero time and time again! Let’s just go,” he said with an air of an overtired toddler.

“We can’t leave!” you frowned, bow at the ready as you took a step in the direction of the commotion, “they might need help!”

“Well, then some other do-gooder is welcome to come by and- hey!”

Ignoring Astarion’s protests, you burst through the kitchen door, the rest following close behind, to be greeted with a most peculiar sight.

Kobolds pranced around the kitchen to the dismay of the baker and a woman who appeared to be his spouse, the latter’s face almost puce as she shouted at the wretched creatures to leave. The kobolds seemed to think that her shouts and the weak, spluttering spells aimed at them were a nice accompaniment to their meal. They mostly ignored the couple and seemed to be quite content to gorge themselves on the pastries and cakes and, cream, cream, cream and more cream! What did not get eaten got carelessly thrown at the floor, the walls and the owners. There was a great big glop of custard on the baker’s cheek and his wife almost slipped in the puddle of jam on the floor.

Astarion doubled over in laughter.

“Oh, this was not what I expected to see but I definitely needed this!”

“Oh hush,” you admonished him, feeling your own lips twitch as you fought a smile. “We have to help them.”

“The kobolds?”

You gave him a deadpan look.

“Right, so how should we go about this one, soldier?” Karlach shouldered her axe with a frown, “can hardly use most of my attacks.”

“Yes, in such close quarters and with this much flour in the air, a single spark will set off an explosion. Most magic might prove too destructive. I doubt that us destroying the building in an effort to drive the kobolds out will be received with thanks,” Gale frowned.

“Perhaps we could try to reason with them?” you suggested weakly. The idea was not without its merit. You did have a somewhat successful chat with the kobold at the Circus of the Last Days.

“Are you proposing to hold a conversation with these base creatures? Oh, I have to see this,” Astarion grinned, giving you a shallow mocking bow and motioning for you to proceed with the entertainment.

That bastard. Sometimes you could not believe that you let him get away with being such an ass.

You cleared your throat loudly, which garnered no reaction from both the battling parties. It took Gale briefly casting a Silence spell on the kobolds for them to realise that you and your companions were even in the kitchen. All inhuman senseless eyes turned to you as the creatures adjusted their stances, clearly seeing your group as a bigger threat than the baker and his wife.

“Right. Can somebody please tell me what is going on?” you motioned at the destruction.

“We give money for treatos!” kobolds screeched, each wanting to be the first to complain.

“One gold piece! It was not enough for all the buns that they demanded from us!” the baker protested loudly.

“You give no treatos, so we take treatos!”

“Oh, and just look at all the damage that you have done!” the baker’s wife lamented, wringing her hands and being quite understandably upset.

“Next time, you remember to give treatos. We give money!” the kobolds defended themselves, tongues flicking out of their mouths, shaking their scaly fists as they shouted about the great injustice that was committed against them.

“So how are you planning to defuse this one, darling?” Astarion leaned closer to you.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?”

“Very much.”

“Any chance you might want to contribute to the conversation?”

“When you are doing so splendidly? I don’t think so.”

The kobolds seemed to have decided that you were not on their side and started gathering whatever buns and cakes that were not destroyed. Their ammunition in their hands, they attacked in quick succession. Karlach and Gale were fortunately out of their range, but you and Astarion found yourself swiftly covered in jam, and cream, and sticky dough. Astarion roughly pulled you down behind an overturned table, the second barrage missing you by an inch as you dropped to the floor.

“Argh, just look at me! Will the horrors never cease!” Astarion flicked a flaky piece off his shoulder and into your face. “This is all your fault, you know! If only you did not have some kind of hero complex, we would have grabbed some cakes and been on our merry way. But noooo, we have to get involved!”

“Oh, shut it,” you hissed, “how could I have known this would happen?”

“Rule of thumb, if you see people in trouble, you walk away!”

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“You have jam in your curls.”

The look of pure horror on Astarion’s handsome face was just the revenge you needed.

“Gale! Slow spell!” you commanded, hoping he could still hear you over the cacophony of shrieks and cries.

“On it!”

You heard the incantation and dared peek from behind the table. The kobolds were still on the offensive, but their movements were sluggish, as if the air thickened and they had to fight against it.

“This is your last warning, you little rat bastards! Either you stop this, or we are going to turn your asses to stone and sell you to Popper!”

“Popper? You tell Popper? No tell Popper!”

Apparently, you mentioning the kobold from the Circus of the Last Days did the trick, as he was the law and order when it came to their community in the city. You rubbing shoulders with Popper, the best and the greatest of them all, was reason enough for the kobolds to regret their actions, renounce their fiendish ways, promise to never set foot near the bakery, and hastily make their way out of the kitchen.

Finally, there was silence. Complete blessed silence. Beautiful silence that lasted for a grand total of ten seconds before it was broken.

“Oh, these horrible creatures, I thought they would never leave!” the baker’s wife wiped her eyes as she tried and failed to hold back tears, “However can we thank you?”

“Coin always works best,” Astarion chose that moment to speak up.

“What coin?” the plump woman bawled pitifully, “we didn’t have the chance to sell anything!”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shot Astarion a look full of admonishment, “we were glad to help.”

“But of course we were,” Astarion rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “It was a pleasure to be of service,” he mocked and marched out of the room, muttering something derogatory under his breath.

The walk back to Elfsong was uncomfortable and silent. You were hungry, sticky and quite frankly not in the mood to entertain one of Astarion’s moods.

You knew that he was right, in a way. You didn’t have to help out everyone you came across on your journey. You could have looked the other way, turned a blind eye. But that wouldn’t be you. So, he would just have to deal with it!

You loved Astarion, faults and all. But if he berated you every time you chose to do a kind turn and made you feel small and stupid, then perhaps he shouldn’t have chosen to be in a relationship with you. Because you would do anything for Astarion, but you refused to change who you were on the off chance you would get a smidge of approval from him.

When you opened the door to your shared room at first there was complete silence. Everyone was trying and failing to keep a straight face as they looked at the damage done to you and Astarion.

“Oh, shut up!” Astarion shoved past Shadowheart, making sure to leave traces of cream and jam on her as he pushed her out of the way.

“I see you clearly fought a great, formidable foe today,” Lae’zel quipped sarcastically, “at least tell me that you were the victors.”

“Argh, so not in the mood to talk about it! Gale, could you do the talking, please? I just want to wash and sleep,” you grumbled and dropped your bow and arrows near the trunk. You could not wait to get out of your clothes and into a bath.

“Certainly, my friend,” Gale wanted to pat your shoulder, but then decided against it, not wanting to get whatever was on you onto himself.

It took several changes of water for you to scrub yourself clean. You were bone tired and prickly when you finally settled in, choosing to sleep alone rather than in the bed you and Astarion have been sharing pretty much ever since you started staying at Elfsong. You heard his annoyed huff from across the room and squeezed your eyes shut. If Astarion had a problem with your sleeping arrangements, he could shove his complaints in any orifice of his choosing. In spite of being worn out, it took hours of tossing and turning for you to finally drift off.

You were woken up by sunlight spilling into your eyes through the gap in the curtains. Rising and groggily rubbing your eyes, you noticed that your living quarters were empty, the others apparently deciding to let you sleep in and having gone out hours ago. You flopped back onto the bed and stretched out your sore muscles. Perhaps yesterday’s humiliating display was worth it if you were given the chance to have a lazy morning. But then you remembered your fight with Astarion, and your smile turned sour.

You heard the door open and shut as the subject of your musings came into the room. You quickly turned away and pretended to be resting, not really sure what to say to him. You felt the bed dip as he sat on the edge.

“Darling, I know that you are awake. Will you look at me, please? I come bearing treatos.”

And he did. He held a tray laden with butter buns, delicate little pastries, fruit tarts and an assortment of other mouthwatering, freshly baked delights.

“The baker sends his regards and says that you, as his favourite customer, can be assured to have a discount for life. So, dig in my sweet! I got you the coffee you like to go with it.”

You sat up and looked at your vampire, worrying your bottom lip with blunt teeth. Cautiously, as if not unsure whether you will accept the gesture, Astarion took your hand into his, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them gently.

“I think an apology is in order. I- I do get annoyed that you spend your energies on creatures who, quite frankly, don’t deserve you giving them a moment of your precious time. Someone odd and pathetic that you pick up on the roadside and decide their cause is worth fighting for.”

He put a cream puff onto a plate and handed it to you, long cool fingers brushing against yours. You took a tentative bite without breaking eye contact. It was lovely, not too sweet, delicious and flaky. Astarion brushed a speck off your lips with his thumb and cupped your cheek tenderly.

“But then I realised that at some point I too was an oddity that you chose not to leave behind. A creature who did not deserve your protection, just seeking to take advantage of your kind nature at the time. Recognising your worth and how truly wonderful you are as I got to know you.”

You felt something warm and pleasant bloom in your chest, Astarion’s words making your shoulders relax as you all but melted into his touch.

“So, no matter how aggravating you may be, and how you drive me up the wall with your selflessness, I do not want you to change. You are perfect in every way.”

And then you thew your arms around your vampire and kissed him, all the worries and troubles seeming insignificant as you got lost in each other’s touch. You felt Astarion release a shuddering breath against your lips as he deepened the kiss.

All was well in his world. You were his and he wanted you, faults and all. Even if that meant that he had to spend half the evening getting various foodstuffs out of his curls.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[foolsocracy]

What intrigues you about Garth so much?

Also thank you for showing him much needed love

This is a good question because honestly, i'm not even sure what got me into him in the first place. I spent around 4 months getting into DC and mostly sticking to the bats, then boom. Garth.

I think he hits a lot of notes for me that I like in a character, and honestly he's fun to read when he shows up in comics. He really means well and is a sensitive do-gooder, but can also have a bit of a temper and strong beliefs that he will defend. He also does a good job of rounding out any cast or ensemble they throw him in, which I appreciate. Plus magic! I love magic.

Of course I'm a sucker for a tragic backstory with some magical elements. Merman Lancelot I will love u forever. Abandoned, left for dead prince with latent, insanely powerful abilities only unlocked after being Put Through It? what's not to love.

Personally I also think its insane that there has been nothing done with the fact that he lived on his own and stayed alive from infancy to ~8-10 years old. HELLO thats a gold mine. idk I think about that aspect of his character and his relationship with Aquababy a lot. I think its sweet that even though he has nothing to work off of with no parents to speak of (to his knowledge) and being scared of getting replaced by the blood son, he still loves and takes care of that little baby.

I also love that one issue of titans 1999 where he leads the team. He's a capable, compassionate guy who's good at what he does. DC why did u take it all away..... bring him home

[playstation-dreamcast]

guys, wanna see the commission I wrote for @nshtn !!!!

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Summary: After a long day at the lab, Wesker comes home with a terrible migraine, and you run him a bath to help him feel better :) Warnings: Some slight Yandere themes and possessive behavior, but for the most part this is pure, SFW fluff!

Wesker never would have called himself an “obsessive” man before. Driven, focused, compulsive even, sure. But never obsessive. He wasn’t quite sure when that changed, but he knew that at some point it had. And it had everything to do with you. 

Today had been long. It wasn’t often he left you in your shared home alone, but he knew he was on thin ice after the last time you had been to the lab with him. He spent hours coaxing you back into his arms after you saw the true nature of his research, and realized he wasn’t the do-gooder looking for cures that you thought he was. If you had seen what he was working on today, you would have been packing your bags for sure.

Not that you would ever actually be able to leave him. No, he was sure that you both knew that you were in  far far too deep for that. But, you being complacent in your imprisonment situation made things a lot easier, for all parties involved. He preferred you that way, anyways. Your love had always been so much sweeter when freely given. 

Still, a part of him had wished he had dragged you with him to the lab today anyway, if for no other reason than because your presence just made the day easier. He could feel the tension headache forming at the back of his skull. A soft sigh of relief left him as he entered the home he made for you. He shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his heavy boots, more suited for a battlefield than they ever were for lab work.

He wasn’t shocked when you didn’t come to greet him. Your reaction to his work with the plaga had been…less than ideal. He expected you’d be cold to him for the next few days while you processed it all. Still, he felt your absence acutely in the silence, and it set him on edge. He was used to you talking about, well anything really as you took each other's coats off and made your way to the shower to wash the day off. It had become one of the comforts he didn’t even realize was a comfort until it was gone. His fingers twitched with the need to grab. pull. hold you. 

This headache was quickly becoming a migraine. He decided to just call the day here and head to the bedroom, hoping to find you there, and crash for the night. He rubbed his eyes  from under his sunglasses as he opened the door, struggling not to flinch at even the soft light of the bedroom.

“Al?” your sweet, soft, voice called and instantly he felt his shoulders relax- even if it was just for a fraction of a second.

He removed his hand from his eyes and gave you a soft smile. You looked so adorable, curled up in his blankets, reading one of the books he bought you, in the bed you shared with him. Safe, was the primary word that came to mind. “Good evening Dearheart, I trust that you had a good day?” he asked.

You ignored him. “What time is it?” You asked as you checked the alarm clock on your nightstand. It was only 3:30. “You’re home early.” You noted. It wasn’t like him to ever leave work early. 

He nodded in acknowledgement, not even really bothering to change out of his work clothes before collapsing into the bed. Not like he worked with any samples today. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I left early,” He explained. 

He suppressed a smile as you placed your cool hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. “You don’t feel warm,” you muttered, “Another migraine?” 

“Heading that way.” He said, pulling you against his chest. You didn’t fight him. You were good like that. He closed his eyes as he focused on your breathing, and the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his own. The world was slowly starting to feel right again. Having you by his side, safe in his arms, was the only way he could feel human whole these days. His soul craved you, and no matter how much he may resent that fact, there was no changing it now.

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, and looked at him through your eyelashes. “You smell like the lab.” You pointed out.

He gave a humorless huff of a laugh. “No doubt. I’ve been in it all day.” He muttered, closing his eyes to try and block out lowlights of the lamps in your bedroom. You hummed and patted his chest, silently requesting to be released.

He held you tighter. No, he wasn’t ready to let you go yet. He just got you back, and you couldn’t even give him five minutes? Ungrateful little-

“Al.” You said softly, patting him again, “I’d like to get up.” He held back a growl. He wanted to tell you no, but…your voice was so soft, and tender. And he knew you still weren’t happy with him. He was trying to sew you back to his side with a very delicate thread, and he had to be careful where he pulled. 

So he sighed as he let you go, scowling softly as you got up. He didn’t open his eyes, but he did notice you turn off the lamp for him, and listened as you padded into the ensuite bathroom. 

🧬🧬🧬

“Al…” your soft voice cut through the darkness. How long had it been? Had he fallen asleep? “Albert.” You said a bit more forcefully this time, placing a gentle hand on him

“Yes Dearheart?” He finally said, not removing the arm from over his eyes. When did it get there? 

“I, uh…I ran you a bath.” You whispered.

He lifted his arm and finally looked at you. Someone took off his sunglasses, he noted. “Did you now?” He asked as he sat up. 

“Mmhm” you nodded as you led him to the bathroom. The fresh scent of a douglas fir hit him as he walked in, followed by the realization that the bathroom was only lit with your candles. Fine by him, overhead lights were his enemy at the moment. He stretched out his neck to try and relieve some of the tension there, and as he did you moved to start undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Albert made no move to stop you. He’d always liked when you undressed him. He smirked as you undid his belt, a familiar smirk you knew all too well, joined by a small chuckle.

You couldn’t help the flush that came to your cheeks. “Shush.” you reprimanded.

He returned it with a condescending smile. “I didn’t say anything.” He pointed out.

“You didn’t need to.” You giggled softly as you finished undressing him. Wesker gave your face a loving caress before going and sinking down into the lush bubbles of the warm bath. He was taken a bit by surprise by the jets being on, but quickly came to appreciate them as they started to work the stress knots out of his back. 

He didn’t hide his near lascivious grin as he watched you undress. He knew the big bath tub was worth the extra money. His eyes followed even your smallest movement as you got yourself ready for the bath, and lowered yourself into the water next to him. Migraine or not, Albert was quick to pull you close to him, kissing your neck and grinning into your skin at your soft giggle. 

Your hands naturally found his hair, carding it in a way that almost seems like muscle memory. His face was still in the crook of your neck as he dragged his teeth over the seemingly permanent bruise he left there. Any time it started to fade, he’d sink his canines into you again, revealing in the way you gasped maybe a little bit too much. It was a sacred ritual for him, as well as an idle pass time. He adored the way you looked covered in his marks, the evidence of his presence in your life almost impossible to ignore. 

You hissed a little as his teeth found their home in your neck. He held you tighter, delighting in the way you squirmed as he suckled on the delicate skin there. He pulled back to admire his work, only letting up once he was satisfied that his mark wasn’t going anywhere. Ever the perfectionist. 

“Oh, I almost forgot!” You muttered, moving over to the other side of the bath and to the basket of products you kept there, “I wanted you to try this.” You said as you held up a jar.

Albert took a second to read the container in your hand in the dim candle light, his cat-like eyes doing a lot of the heavy lifting here. “A face mask?” He asked, voice unamused. 

You nodded, “A hydrating face mask.” You clarified for him. 

“And why would I need that?” He questioned. Despite what one might think, Wesker wasn’t big on the whole “self care” thing. He took care of himself of course, but just washing his face at night felt like a more than adequate skin care routine.

You moved back to him. “Because they feel nice,” You explained, “And it’s not a crime to do something just because it’s fun every once in a while.” He found your word choice near comical, all things considered. As if he had ever cared about what the law said before. Still, He closed his eyes, letting you gently apply the mask with your fingers.

He wasn’t expecting the coldness of it, but, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome either. The scent of what could only be described as “clean” mixed with the fir of the candles and the lavender of the bubbles, and Wesker slowly came to the realization that his jaw was unclenched. Now, he had always been a man of science, but some small, secret part of him was sure you had cast some sort of spell to make that miracle happen.

Or, maybe it was just the way you lovingly applied the mask that made it happen. The tips of your bare fingers gliding over the apples of his cheeks and down his nose. You even earned a little huff (That you were reasonably sure was supposed to be a laugh) from him as you booped the tip of his nose.

He heard the soft tap of the container being put to the side, and felt you move behind him. “Now what?” He muttered, careful not to move his mouth too much and disrupt your work, as he leaned back into you. 

“Now we wait.” You informed him. Joy. Despite how often he found himself doing it, Wesker had never been a fan of waiting. He was willing to do it to reach his goals, and could in many ways even be described as a “patient” man. Still didn’t mean it was one of his favorite activities. 

He nearly jumped when he felt the warm water cascading over his hair. He hadn’t heard you pick up the cup to do so, but he definitely heard you chuckling now. “Sorry,” You said, though anyone could tell you were most definitely not sorry, “I should have warned you.” 

He gave an annoyed hum in response, leaning back into you. He was much more prepared for the water this time, and even found himself relaxing as you wet his hair. He heard the soft click of a shampoo bottle opening, followed by the feeling of you working your fingers into his hair. A soft, contented sigh left him as you massaged his scalp. He’d never admit it outloud, or even to himself for that matter, but the feeling of your hands in his hair would always be his favorite feeling in the world.

He tried to remember the last time he felt safe enough with someone to let their hands get this close to his neck while he had his eyes closed. Maybe William? And even then, it was mostly just that he trusted Birkin not to kill him while he slept. If he woke up to his hands in his hair, well…for one that would have been a very awkward conversation to have with Annette, but beyond that he probably would have punched him on reflex alone. 

He had never felt the need to keep his guard up that high around you though. You had always been so gentle, so sweet. A soft bunny that had no idea it was playing with ravenous wolves. Perfect for him to model the “comfort” action off of, for lack of better phrasing. He wasn’t sure when it changed. It happened when he wasn’t looking, it went from just another experiment to something more.

He felt that twinge in his chest again. The one he only got when he thought of you. The all too familiar and uncomfortable contraction that reminded him that no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, to run away from the fact, he still had a human heart. A human heart that beat in time with yours, for yours. A human heart that was always more yours than it ever was his. 

You were rinsing the shampoo out of his hair now, careful to make sure you got all of it out. His eyes were still closed. “No one’s ever washed my hair before.” He muttered.

“Yeah, that's not shocking to me,” you said, already working the conditioner into his hair, “All things considered.” It was more of an observation to himself, but- he did say it outloud- so he shouldn’t have been shocked by your commentary. He’d never been particularly open about his childhood with you. Mostly because he couldn’t bear the horrified, heart broken look in your eyes when he told you some of the lighter stories. Still, with the little information you had it didn’t take a giant leap of logic to figure out that Albert had spent his younger years isolated. Alone. 

Touch starved. Maybe that was why he always leaned into your touch, even the slightest graze. Why he insisted you be in his lap at all possible times. Why he could never really let you be that far away from him. 

Why he got jealous of any of the other researchers you spoke to. Why he had to know your location at all times, beyond just “wanting to make sure you’re safe.” Why you had become his own personal chew toy, covered in more “love bites” than you could ever hope to cover. Maybe he was just touch starved and making up for lost time. 

His hand found your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You were both shocked it took him this long to do so. You flinched a little as you felt his nails did into the tender skin, but knew better than to say anything at this point. Wesker's love had always come blood soaked and tinged with pain. You were fairly sure it was the only way he really knew how to love.

His grip loosened before doing any real damage though, so progress was being made on that front. It was just a slow process. While you waited for the conditioner to set in his hair, you grabbed one of the soft rags from the towel bar, wetting it before gently wiping the mask away. He raised a hand to rub his cheek when you were done. You were right, his skin did feel noticeably softer.

Or maybe it was just the placebo effect. Who knows. He opened his eyes slowly, smiling as he saw yours looking back down at him. “Hello Gorgeous.” he hummed to you, smile growing as he watched your face warm up.

“Hey Handsome.” You replied, brushing a stray hair out of his face, “Close your eyes again.” You instructed. For once he did as you said without a fuss, letting you rinse the conditioner out of his hair. “Are you feeling any better?” You asked softly.

He has almost forgotten about the migraine entirely. “Much.” He confirmed, looking back up at you. Normally, he preferred you in his arms. But, he could get used to the inverse too. “Some days I feel like I don’t deserve you, my Dearheart.” He mused, taking your wrist and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. He relished how flustered you got as he did so. He always knew exactly what to say or do to get you worked up, and it was a sight that never got old for him. 

“Come on Al, don’t say that.” You shook your head at him, “We both know that’s not true.” 

His grin only got wider. He loved it when you played his game with him. You both knew the thought that he wasn’t absolutely entitled to you had never once crossed his mind, let alone the thought that he might not deserve you. But, you’d both hide behind the nicer interpretation of your words. “Will you be staying in the bedroom with me tonight?” he asked.

He didn’t have to put any emphasis on the “with me” for you to feel it. You had slipped off to sleep in the guest room last night after he had fallen asleep. An act of defiance that he would normally never let slide, purposefully ignored. He knew you were struggling with what you had seen in the lab, and had learned from you to give space when things such as this happened.

But you both knew he was tired of giving space. And it hadn’t even been a full twenty four hours yet. You were quiet for a moment, before you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be in there with you tonight.”

“All night?” He didn’t mean for there to be that much edge to his voice, but after a long day he was done masking.

You nodded again. “All night.”

He smiled, reaching up and pulling you down for a quick kiss. “That's my good Bunny.” He praised, eliciting a delightful smile from you. You were still his, no matter what you had seen in that lab. You’d always be his, the red string of fate tangled and twisted around your necks, keeping you together no matter the circumstances. 

The water had gone tepid, and the froth of the bubbles had long since dissipated. He stood, holding out a hand to help you up. The bath was drained in favor of a quick shower, mostly to rinse away any remaining suds. As you stepped out, he wrapped a warm fluffy towel around you, a tender act that you returned in kind. 

You brushed his hair, telling him it was part of the “full princess treatment.” He allowed it, if for no other reason than it was yet another reason for you to play with his hair. He insisted on brushing yours as well, saying you deserved the “full princess treatment” just as much as he did. And yes, it was a thinly veiled excuse to play with your hair. 

Relieved from the migraine, the two of you were able to indulge in a movie to continue winding down for the night. He still insisted on cooking, being very vigilant of your diet. Nutrition was important, and he was a pretty good cook all things considered. He happily made your favorite before settling in to watch…

Whatever it was you put on. Honestly, he wasn’t really paying attention. He was far more occupied with the adorable pet on his lap, showering you with kisses and affection. Wesker was a fair man, he returned the treatment given to him. To the best of his ability. And he was more than happy to lavish you with his attention and praise. He didn’t realize just how much he missed you today until now.

He wasn’t going to do that again. If today had been any indication, even when you were scared of him, you still wanted to take care of him. Perhaps he had underestimated your tolerance for his work. Maybe you just needed to see more of it. Build up a tolerance via exposure. You’d come to see things his way eventually. You’d have to.

Before you knew it, he was holding impossibly close, against his chest, in bed, as if he was scared that if he let up you might disappear. A not impossible outcome, considering the night before. He buried his nose in your hair, getting lost in the familiar scent as he seemed to hold you just a little bit tighter. “I adore you, Dearheart.” He finally mumbled to you. 

 “I love you too, Al.” you promised, reaching out and turning off the lamp for the night. 

______________________________________________________________________________

A/N: AHHSDFHCDHIUHDVHV9UPAH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH IT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY!!!!!!!!! Thank you, so so much for commissioning me to do this, it has in fact, made me smile bunches! I just love writing for my lil Weskee.

Bonus! The song that has the lyric the fic was named for: Human Zoo - Aphrodite, Your Electric Sexiness ft. Will Wood (Animated Lyric Video)

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Little Words

gif link

So on my good playthrough, the party scene with the "my little treat" happened but the teasing was so sad cuz Astarion looked so sad puppy then my tav looked like a sad puppy and now here we are with this fic

Rated: M

Warnings: angst but i swear it soft at end i swear

"I love you." The false face of sincerity hurts, the way his voice becomes sweet hurts, the way his eyes take in your surprised expression. You didn't expect him to say it, to say it like that, to leave you aching in a way both familiar and terrible.

"Isn't it… A little too soon?" Why does your heart ache? You know he would not feel the same as you, you fall too easily… Sure he was the one who took your virginity, allowed you to feed from him, and vice-versa, but you needed to be guarded over your heart not counting the ways you loved him— Could love him.

"Well, it can be true, only for tonight." His voice was so soft, matching the way he soothed you as he guided you through your few bliss with his fingers. Your hand grips the fabric at the end of your shirt, you feel hurt. "Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all of my favorite lines at you," Back to his usual self, "I'd rather we got to experience each others' full portfolio talents once again." As if nothing matters.

"That… That isn't funny, Astarion." Your trembling voice is not something he thought to hear, to see your gaze lower and to the side. He has teased you before! Where is the shy giggle, flustered expression, or even gasp followed by a nudge for him to stop embarrassing you?

Astarion blinks twice then slightly laughs, "Come now, it's just a bit of fun between friends." Because you both are friends, you told him that. He is your friend, a confidante like Shadowheart. "My sweet?"

"No, sorry, never mind." You aren't feeling so good, "You enjoy your evening." It should not hurt this much, technically you knew what you were getting yourself involved with that charlatan… Yet, this hurts.

You try not to think about your Sire, about the man whose honeyed words landed you an eternity in darkness and blood. But he slips into your thoughts, into your nightmares, and the trauma of being not only his victim but his personal pet vampire project lingers.

Maybe later you will apologize to Astarion later for being so pitiful; you know his bed will find another to warm it… You have no right to feel envious either because you are just a dear traveling companion, a favorite one, nothing more.

Which shouldn't upset you, it actually is nice to know he thinks highly of you despite you both being on two different moral compasses.

You are a good person, too good for this world in Astarion's eyes. A do-gooder with your heart on your sleeve, a light many of your companions are drawn to.

Astarion would snuff it out so you felt his misery, to share the pain you haven't endured in your short years as a vampire.

You don't sleep. The party is fun, you enjoy it very much. Committing the smiling faces, the drunken laughter, and the way your heart swells seeing that even with your curse you can still do some good to memory.

Dawn slips into the darkness banishing the shadows, and you do your silent prayer to Lathander.

"There you are!"

You finish then look up at Astarion who sits beside you, close to you, "Good morning." A sweet smile you offer him.

"I missed you." He leans in close, "Leaving me all alone last night. You made me worried." You lean in the rest of the way to share the warmth of the sun you had soaked in.

"I'm sorry." Soft, gentle, sweet. Your eyes don't match your smile that wades.

"Was it something I said?" Usually, his flirtatious lines have you in the palm of his hand, yet last night you looked so heartbroken.

His eyes follow your hands that rest on his then trace his nimbled fingers, "You say the most beautiful words and it leaves me," You frown as you lace your fingers between his, "Wishing we met sooner." The heartbreak in your voice is enough to have Astarion bury his face in your hair to hide the surprise on his face. You expose your heart to him so easily, painfully at times.

He has been as ginger with your fragile heart, a tortured creature who is hanging on by a thread of their humanity. The fellow spawn envies you at times, to have such hope inside an un-beating heart.

"I will only take what you give me. It was selfish of me to expect more without asking." You take the blame for your behavior last night, "I am a hopeless romantic, loving you comes as easy as writing a poem about it."

"Darling," You smile at him with ease, eyes he can see himself in, and heart on your sleeve once more, "You are… Sweet." Too good for him. Your confession is adorable while also laying out for him a clear boundary he can fall back on.

How strange. To not be pressed for more than what he is willing to give. It leaves him flabbergasted, confused at the way he pulls you closer to him, in control.

Too good for him and this whole camp.

[tacitoru]

You can feel the bed dip behind you, Suguru straddling your prone form over the duvet to rest his weight on the backs of your thighs. He leans forward, tucking his face into the juncture of your shoulder and placing his lips by your ear so you have no choice but to continue to hear out his pitiful plea.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he all but moans, poking you in the sides. “Satoru isn’t that bad."

"Satoru?" The name rolls around your sleep-addled brain like marbles in an empty jar. A first name? The man above you hums in agreement and settles more weight on your limbs, effectively pinning your legs to the mattress. You keep your eyes closed, hoping he'll give up and go away. Hoping your icy, sour attitude is enough to thwart him off and encourage him to sleep next to his newfound (old?) friend on the sofa.

Dozing in and out of sleep every few seconds while your boyfriend continues to cajole you, you're quickly brought back to the present with a quick nip to your ear. You groan, "Ow!"

"-And you can help him if you want, you’re good at that sort of thing!”

“What sort of thing?” You grumble, feeling your resolve slowly crumble from his persistence alone and the sensation of gentle fingers tracing the space between your ear and hairline. If Suguru has learned anything in his short time with you, it's how to butter you up.

Even turned away from him, face half mushed into the mattress, you can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he whispers, “Being sweet.”

His touch disappears and a chaste kiss is placed beneath your ear. “And patient,” Another placed just beneath your jaw. You attempt to squirm from the constriction of Suguru's legs and the thick blanket to no avail.

“And generous…”He leans back, only to pull back the duvet and expose your upper body to the fan-chilled room. He's met with no resistance when he slides his massive hands up your hands, worming their way under the material of your pullover to rest at the top of your ribcage. His index finger brushes the underside of your breasts with unspoken intent. "...And good."

His touch lights up nerves on the skin of your abdomen, causing your breath to shutter. You’re silent for a moment, but Suguru Geto prevails. He knows any minute now you’re bound to give in, not entirely immune to his charms and...and other means of persuasion no matter how cold of a front you put up. No matter if it never really leads anywhere. It’s been barely two months and he knows well enough by now how to push your buttons.

"How do you know him again?"

He groans petulantly, pushing his forehead into the crease between your shoulder blades to pout into your - his - shirt. “Do me a solid, just this once?" Soon enough, you feel his fingers gently trail from their almost innocent position at your sides to the waistband of your shorts. He doesn't venture far, fingertips dancing just below the curve of your hips.

"Just this once, huh?"

“Need a little incentive?” It’s said with a smile you can’t see.

Teeth graze your earlobe again. To your chagrin, you flinch in his hold, warmth tingling down your spine at the prospect of something a little more substantial than the continuation of his do-gooder reputation and fruitless teasing. Finally, you relent with a sigh, inclining your hips into his embrace and cursing your weakness.

“As long as he leaves in the morning.”

“Promise.”

[sinisterexaggerator]

Summary: Nick Valentine hardly ever leaves your thoughts, but you're barely on his radar. Your infatuation takes a rather interesting turn; you're caught red-handed in his bed, wearing candy apple lipstick and a freshly laundered dress. What is to become of you? Will you be able to confess your feelings, or will you run away instead?

Warning: NSFW / 18+ for masturbation/being caught in the act, kissing, cunnilingus, fingering, mild wire play, angst, drama, "love" confessions, and sass.

Word count: 5.9K

Notes: I may make a part two for this after "you" get to know each other a little better. I don't see Nick letting just anybody play with his innards all willy-nilly, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Read on Ao3

It wasn’t an eyesore, and neither was the Synth who owned it, luminescent neon laid out in letters, an arrhythmic fluctuation in voltage causing a delay in current every three point five seconds—you had counted.

How could a man with the last name Valentine—whose brand was marked with a heart pierced by Cupid’s arrow—not see the underlying machinations from which your attention spurred?

He was a detective, no less, unable to work out your motivations, not understanding that every nuance—every quirk of your lips, every gleam in your eye, every smile—was for him, because of him, and that you had long ago fallen for his wit, his charm, his mind, and for his heart.

A man who wasn’t a man—thrown together in some lab—though that needn’t be your concern. It mattered little if he was flesh and bone or biomechanical, though his kind was greatly feared and for good reason.

Nick was different, he was a diamond in the rough of Diamond City, shining more brightly than even the Valentine Detective Agency’s ostentatious signage. A do-gooder who never tired, a being whose higher purpose rested not with himself, but with others, giving more to the people of the Commonwealth than they rightfully deserved.

For all the hate, intolerance, and ignorance Nick dealt with on the daily, he dished out love, empathy and acceptance in equal measure, though he was not one to take an insult lying down.

He was also passionate; fiery beneath a calm and collected disposition, his habitually stoic makeup a steadying force and welcomed counterbalance to the restless biome that flourished within these walls.

It was when he spoke to you the first time that you became enamored with his personality, whether artificial, finding him to be bold and charismatic. He had asked what brought you to the neighborhood—you were a trader who lost your caravan, your guards, nothing left but the caps in your pocket. 

Luckily for you, a man named Arturo Rodriguez had been contemplating the idea of extending his hours for quite some time, his competition employing a salvaged Mister Handy named Percy to sell goods even in the dead of night—it was a case of being in the right place at the right time, one you were thankful for.

It became engrained into his subroutine, these evening visitations, Nick sharing bits and pieces of his history with you for a lack of customers, though oftentimes short and sweet as he kept himself busy. There was always a new crime to be investigated, or a new case to be solved.

Truth be told, the detective was worried about you—a solitary woman—being out there by your lonesome at such late hours. All kinds of riffraff ushered themselves in off the streets, not caring what time of the day it was.

Diamond City was a safe haven as much as it was a magnet for undesirables, those men and women of ill repute that made life difficult for hardworking people just trying to get by. Security could only do so much; it was common for slime to slip through the cracks, portions of the city less fortified than others.

Still, Nick felt Arturo ought to be ashamed, getting a broad to do his dirty work. Little did he know this job had been a godsend, or that you were tougher than a two-dollar steak and twice as hard to chew.

Call him a gentleman, but Valentine, on more than one occasion, had gone out of his way unbeknownst to you, changing his route home simply to check in on your stall. 

“Workin’ hard, or hardly workin’?” Nick had inquired, the corner of his mouth creeping upward to indicate his offhanded chiasmus was merely a good-natured tease. 

“You know me,” you had answered back, “total slacker.”

“Stickin’ it to the man, glad to hear it,” he would drawl, voice dry and deadpan yet soothing to the ears. Even though Nick was cordial with Arturo, he didn’t mind having a joke at his expense.

“Doing my part,” you replied, wishing he’d step closer, wishing he would stay and chat a while.

“Stay out of trouble, doll,” he’d warn, tipping the brim of his hat; you were in awe at how a single monosyllabic word could drive you toward such filthy imaginings as you were then, reveling in that passing instant he had paid you mind.  

Mission accomplished, Nick would wander off to park himself at the Agency, unaware that for the rest of the night your mind was wholly occupied by impure thoughts—and it was all his fault. It was ridiculous that a simple term of endearment expressed so casually could nearly short-circuit your human brain, yet here you were.

Could he make love to you if you asked? Would he touch you if you begged him to? 

You supposed his existence was an adventurous one, wishing you could participate in something other than this humdrum life, though you assumed you ought to be grateful you were alive at all.

But it unnerved you—angered you to no end— to hear the drivel that oozed like poison from out the mouths of bigots when they spoke of Nick Valentine in his absence. They declared he was not sentient, that an intelligence such as his was naïve to think of itself as self-aware, as if they were any more autonomous than he, choosing to act of their own free-will by way of insults and disgraceful slurs.

Arturo had been accommodating, allowing you the top floor of his home until you could get on your feet. Such things were heard from rooftops, echoing beyond thin strips of sheet metal to leech its way into your ears. You roosted, enjoying the wide-open view of the sky and the clouds drifting by, only for your mood to sour, tempted to shout obscenities at the offender—usually Myrna— from your place in the dark.

You valued Nick’s company despite the rumors or the gossip about the Institute, ignoring the fact he was a Synth. You wondered if something was wrong with you, finding your short exchanges to be a thousand times more stimulating than any discourse with your neighbors—Valentine’s smile alone was worth more than all the caps in the world.

You often daydreamed about his cybernetic eyes looking down at you from your place atop his mattress, bright as sunbeams, imbued with radiant golden light. They were the windows to his soul—and you were convinced he had one— no one could tell you otherwise.

Then, more questions came. Could man love machine? Could machine love man? Ethical quandaries that knew no bounds. Those of narrow minds might call it an abomination in the eyes of God, while for others it might cause confusion, or effectuate ridicule.

Somehow, none of that would matter, not if Nick returned what was undeniably blossoming into not just admiration, but desire. Could Synths feel desire? Could androids dream?

And the man did flirt, if only feigning attraction, but not with you—you did not assume you were boring or undesirable, but you carried yourself the opposite of Piper, or even his assistant, Ellie. These women were always present in his life, women you tried not to be jealous of, though the ease with which they spoke, the familiarity of their years together ate away at you, knowing you might never reach the level of intimacy you so craved.

Besides, nothing good came of getting close to someone in this day and age, yet you wanted to be—scared of heartbreak, of them being stolen from you too soon, or of being sorely disappointed should they show themselves to be something other than what you thought them to be. There were risks at every turn; you had to decide—would you ever be brave enough to tell him how you felt?

Then, one day, you heard about the love between Ms. Edna and Mr. Zwicky, a robot and a human getting married of all things—it’s what prompted you to stand outside Nick’s door right this very moment, staring long enough at the glowing, heart-shaped outline for it to be burned into your retinas.

The sun was sinking just beyond the wall, Diamond City winding down as its citizens took shelter in their homes or closed up shop—it was thankfully one of your nights off.

You couldn’t get it out of your head, the very idea of a single touch, a single kiss—an affectionate word shared, a smile meant just for you. To make him smile would be the most gratifying thing of all. Too often Valentine looked glum, his thoughts weighing on him, dragging him down along with all the horrors that came with living in a post-apocalyptic society.

To kiss it away, to ensconce him in your embrace—to make him forget he wasn’t human, if only for a few minutes—your heart raced at all the possibilities, all he had to do was let you in.

You assumed a knock was in order, deep, slow breaths doing little to calm your nerves. You had adorned a dress for the occasion, something someone had traded for extra ammo. It was soft blue in color, and in relatively good condition. Ultimately, it was clean, and that was all that mattered to you. Arturo had no use for it, so it had wound up in your possession. Now you would wear it to confess, though you were nervous, a wellspring of anxiety having burgeoned behind your ribs.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” you had asked yourself, fingers curling as you raised your arm. After a few more seconds delay, you made a move to rap against the door, painted red to match the sign out front. There was just one problem—it opened before you could, Ellie’s eyes widening as she jerked a step backward, the woman obviously on her way out.

She said your name, denoting her surprise. You would quickly apologize, already on edge.

“Sorry, Ellie, I—” You paused, averting your eyes to stare at the ground that had suddenly become so interesting. “I was hoping to see Nick,” you bashfully admitted.

The woman quirked a brow, amused for some unknown reason, as if she was in on your little secret just by the way you carried yourself. You attempted to straighten up, offering her a smile to throw her off your scent; you weren’t sure that it was working, though she was kind enough not to comment.

“He stepped out a few hours ago,” she informed you, “but he should be back any minute. You can wait here if you like, but I promised Cathy I’d go have a drink with her.” Ellie gave a halfhearted laugh, “apparently she needs a night out away from her husband.”

“Al-all right,” you managed, supposing Nick was hardly ever “home,” what with being hired for everything under the sun from finding missing cats to tracking down murderers—you only hoped for his safe and swift return.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” she offered, holding it open; you timidly stepped forward, Ellie giving you a small wave on her way out.

It was not until that moment you realized you had never stepped foot inside Valentine’s Detective Agency, something you felt ashamed of—maybe he assumed you had no interest in his work. The thought caused a frown to form, but you didn’t want to lose track of why you were here, though finding no harm in taking a look around.

You were respectful, not having it in you to snoop or pry, no matter how many folders lay open or scattered about his desk. There were copies of old newspapers, the latest from Publick Occurrences, rusty filing cabinets, overloaded cardboard boxes, and clipboards with scribbled notes attached.

You spied holotapes of unknown origin, scraps of memorabilia from times long since passed. Items you could only guess at—clues, maybe? Not to mention an assortment of tools, perhaps left over from Nick’s days as a handyman—he’d told you stories, though the idea made you uncomfortable, somehow—the Synth reduced to making household repairs when he was a being of such remarkable intelligence.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, having found yourself sitting at the man’s cluttered workspace. You stared at the painting before you, a tranquil forest scene that had been tarnished by years of grime and dust. A half-smoked cigarette in a nearby ashtray caught your eye; you surprised yourself by picking it up, placing the filter between lips painted a pretty candy apple red, having decorated yourself with a little lipstick for the occasion—you could hardly think of a better time to wear it.

The stale scent of nicotine invaded your nostrils, its taste pungent on your tongue. You struck a match against its book, wanting to experience something that had graced Nick’s synthetic lips, if you couldn’t do so firsthand.

Smoke drifted toward the ceiling, diffusing in loose curls above your head as you exhaled, feeling yourself becoming aroused by your salacious daydreams. You leaned back in Nick’s chair with a faint smile, closing your eyes to more clearly picture his face.

Your free hand groped your own breast, teeth biting down on tender flesh, imagining what it might be like for Valentine’s mechanical fingers to touch you; would it feel cold like metal, or warm like machinery? Sharp like the point of a knife, or smooth like purified silver?

You sighed with longing, chest rising and falling as you stared at the ceiling. You took another drag, finding the burn to be unpleasant as the cigarette reached its end. You bent forward and extinguished it in that same ashtray—Nick would never know the difference—forgetting your lipstick would leave a stain behind.

You normally weren’t one to smoke, feeling slightly buzzed upon standing, riding the tiny high the nicotine gave you as you spied a small space off to your right; you had yet to explore it. There was nothing to keep you out, no locks, no warning signs; you tiptoed forward, as if committing a crime that warranted the use of stealth, peeking around the corner to find a staircase, and a bed.

You glanced upward through the cracks in the floorboards; another mattress was positioned above you, but the personal effects scattered about on the bottom floor let you know this was Nick’s corner, the file folders and spare fedora on his nightstand giving it away.

You snatched the hat, twirling it over in your hands. It was one you hadn’t seen him wear too often, but that was in better condition than the one he sported on the regular, having the bold idea to place it directly on your head.

Of course, there was no mirror to admire yourself in.

You would just have to use your imagination, skimming the rim with two fingers, just like Valentine. You tipped the brim to no one, spinning once to let the full skirt of your pre-war dress swirl around your calves. Feeling pretty, you plopped down gracefully on Nick’s bare bed, wondering if Arturo might have a spare set of sheets you could gift him—did Synths sleep, you wondered? Did Nick lie here awake at night, staring at this same ceiling as you were now?

You sighed, tipping the hat lower, catching onto the unusual scent embedded within its fibers. You pressed your nose against faded leather, inhaling deeply of this strange fragrance, idly twisting bits of clean cotton, not used to wearing something so delicate and fancy; it felt odd, but the texture, the softness of the dress suited you.

This hat smelled like tobacco; ozone; coolant. Like a musty bar mixed with cigarettes. Like metal; like something organic; like wet earth after a radstorm—all things that in combination were uniquely Nick. It pulled a sigh from your lungs, loins aching for the Synth worse than ever, wishing that Valentine might show himself before you chickened out.

You thought to leave the bed; unpredicted were the moves you made to hike your dress up, legs spreading open as you gathered the excess bits of skirt into a fist. You held it to the height of your navel, exposing yourself before you had any real grasp on what you were doing, sliding the palm of your hand past your waist and hips, introducing two fingers to the elastic hem of your panties.

You grinned a little grin, feeling unlike yourself; naughty, for lack of a better word, inching your way beneath its thin layer to brush against your clit. You cooed a little sound, hips gyrating gently as you got comfortable, one of your two fingers gliding down, taking up a measure of your slick.

You massaged that part of you just begging for it, pinpricks of pleasure causing your nerves to tingle as the sensation traveled, extracting a subdued moan from bowed lips. You had the nerve to giggle, entertained in more ways than one, letting Nick’s hat fall flat against your face as you breathed in deeply, working that excitable nub in slow circles, taking your time.

You were just getting started, body reacting in tandem with your touch, exhilarated beyond comprehension at this singular act of bawdy desperation. You were where you always envisioned yourself to be, though now you conjured up something else—what some might call an abject fantasy, one where you explored the body of a robotic man to your heart’s content.

Smooth, hard flesh, or pliable and soft, warm against you, or cold like ice. Exposed wires and eyes stolen from the crown’s of angels, twin halos you would kill a man to see up close. Lips too kissable for one who wasn’t human, tongue and teeth all there, or between your legs. Metallic fingers, dexterous and nimble, the other good for groping all your biologic parts.

You were so close already, wondering if you might in some way be able to please him back. Would he have a cock you could stroke or suck? Could you dig around inside him? Could you find a button, or perhaps a jumble of loose wires to fondle, one that would make his machine-parts whir?

You covered your face more thoroughly with one arm, the fedora hiding you from your own shame. You pushed your hips into the bed as you felt the onset of an orgasm building in the seat of your belly, almost there, almost—

“Say, am I interrupting something?”

You practically screamed, throwing the fedora off with such speed it hit the bed and bounced. You shoved your dress down, embarrassed beyond belief, mortified as much as you were frightened, your heart racing as you pushed up off the Nick’s mattress and ran for the stairs. He had been so quiet—maybe there was a way out of here, up there. You would never live this down.

“Hey, now,” Nick chided, his voice taking on an austere quality that caused a bout of horripilation, the micro hairs on your arms standing at attention; the Synth had locked the fingers of his good hand around your wrist, pulling you back down to his level before pressing your body against the wall of his abode. He tilted his head, studying you with rapt attention and an almost morbid curiosity—he doubted you were some kind of adrenaline junkie, or even an exhibitionist for that matter.

“You think you can just waltz in here and use my bed to pleasure yourself without some kind of explanation? I’ve seen some things in my day, but this takes the cake.”

You could not face him, averting your eyes. His accusatory gaze was powerful, the catalyst for your tears, tiny droplets threatening to roll down your cheeks as you stammered a reply. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t—”

“—You didn’t mean to masturbate?” Nick questioned, a sardonic tone lacing his old-world, Midwestern accent. “I find that hard to believe.”

There was a pause, Nick’s metallic fingers grasping you by the point of your chin. He gently guided you to face him, tears and all, his voice softening as he realized how sorry you seemed to be, though he was still skeptical.

He called you by your name, addressing you calmly, “at least be honest with me—this how you get your rocks off, or is this some kind of special occasion? If Ellie was here—”

“—she was the only who let me in,” you whispered, Nick so tantalizingly close, yet you were beside yourself in self-abasing horror at your own actions—how could you have been so stupid!? Of course he would find out, sooner or later—he was a private eye, a damn good one! Not to mention this was his place of business, his assistant trusting you well enough to behave yourself. You suddenly felt worse than before; you were sure he had seen everything.

“Huh,” Nick snorted, the gears of his artificial brain beginning to turn toward another direction. “Why the hell would she go and do a thing like that?"

You took a breath and gulped, finally having the courage to look, to get lost in the depths of  those parhelic circles he called eyes, wishing to speak, to find the right words, yet it was nearly impossible with the way he had so easily ensnared you.

“Cat got your tongue? Beginning to wonder just how many lights are on upstair—"

You steeled yourself; you kissed him rather than giving an explanation, wondering if this was another thing you would come to regret, though sparks danced behind your eyelids—worried for one moment they might be real, some side effect of physical contact—Nick forcing you off to where your back was returned to its spot against his bedroom wall.

They had been warm; his lips were warm.

“Oh, I get it now. You came here thinking you’d shoot your shot, but when I wasn’t home you got carried away in some sick fantasy, is that it? Decided to rub one out,” he derided, laying your sins out before you so coldly that your lip trembled; you struggled to break free.

“Valentine, please—"

“Could have just waited for me,” he offered; you froze with bated breath, his words having taken an unexpected turn—could he be serious, or was he simply toying with you as punishment?

“Gal like you isn’t exactly hard on the eyes…”  

“You’re not upset?” you asked breathily, chest heaving, wide, round eyes searching his for confirmation.

“Upset you thought you could get away with this,” he muttered, brushing his mouth against yours, Nick’s skeletal hand holding your chin steady. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine that he would indulge you, feeling yourself melt against the solid brick of his Diamond City home. “Not exactly a secret you fancy me; can read it all over your face, just never thought you’d have the guts to do a thing like this.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you pleaded, your own hand lifting, exploring the texture of his tattered coat, rising higher to caress the portion of his flesh still intact just below the fissure that extended beyond the brim of his hat. “Then why didn’t you say something? I only meant to tell you how you make me feel,” you whispered, eagerly returning that kiss, introducing your wet human tongue to his.

“How’s that?” he asked, ignoring the first part of your question—he wasn’t about to tell you you’d have to make the first move, he didn’t have to—his inviolate hand sliding down the dip in your waist to rest against your hip. He gave it a squeeze, aware of his own strength, applying just enough pressure to excite you, no more, no less.

“Ravenous,” you exclaimed, hiking your leg, encircling him to draw in close like you were playing the part of some wily seductress in a pre-war film. You emitted a dulcet moan, digits inching across the back of his head, taking the time to kiss Valentine more deeply in your lust.

Nick was quick, supporting your ass in his firm grip, securing your leg as he pressed his inorganic frame against yours that was supple and pliant; he met your hunger head on. “Good thing I know a trick or two.”

You shivered with anticipation, despite the Synth being almost hot to the touch. Silicone fingers disappeared up your long, flowing skirt, but only after he was sure you were both comfortably entangled.

Valentine kissed a question up the side of your neck toward lipstick-laden lips. “You wear this for me?” he asked, motioning his head toward your bartered dress.

“Y-yes,” you stammered, grasping his tie, feeding your words directly into his smug mouth. “Wanted to look pretty for you,” you conceded.

“Only thing more lovely than a bird in blue is a woman who wears her confidence like a second skin. Tell me you didn’t walk in here thinkin’ you could pull me, or are you just a nightingale pretending to be a peacock, flaunting your feathers, yet too afraid to show me your true colors?”

You were floored; you could not answer, having hoped that you could sway him, but doubting your plan from the get-go. You dare not tell him, too shy to admit your shortcomings, and too proud to acknowledge he had hit the nail on the head. Instead, you stared unabashedly, even as your cheeks burned, swallowing down the knot in your throat as you remained transfixed on eyes that glowed like candles in the dark.

“Too bad,” Valentine teased, rousing you from your stupor by way of calculated movements beneath your dress, “Suppose I’ll have to find out the hard way.”

Your breath hitched as the tips of faux fingers thoughtfully guided your panties to one side, Valentine expertly trailing his forefinger through your excess to the top of your slit. The Synth grazed the swollen sheath of glands pulsating adamantly between your legs, finding his rhythm, administering just enough friction to get a rise out of you, as intended.

“Nick,” you gasped, the fingers of one hand still cinched around his tie as the fingers of the other clawed into false flesh. He slid back down, following that happy little trail of slickness, its viscosity registering as wet against microscopic sensors, Nick’s index finger delving into something so moist, so soft.

“Speak to me, sweetheart. Tell me how long you’ve dreamt of this; tell me this isn’t some dime-store hookup you’re using to scratch an itch; tell me this means somethin’, I dare you,” he growled darkly into your ear.

You could only whimper as he worked you, aiming for the seat of your pleasure, Nick’s thumb running concentric circles around your turgid clit in perfect unison with that part of him that was introducing pressure to your G-spot. You had the gall to rock your hips, balancing like a flamingo on one leg, though he held you close between himself and the wall, not once allowing you to think you might stumble and fall.

“Always think of you, where you are, what you’re up to,” you breathed. “Never leave my mind.”

“What else?” he asked, brazenly steeping another finger, your soaked cunt riding both together as you shamelessly kept undulating your pelvic arch, already so near to climax.

“Dreamt of kissing you, making love to you. Wanted to know what touching you might feel like, warm, co-cold,” you moaned. “If you could ever want me back, if y-you knew just how much I adore you, how much I wish to be the one to make you smile…”

“Is that right?” Nick titillated you toward orgasm without any extra effort, feeling yourself spill out all over him as you vocalized to the heavens, Valentine not relenting until you were spent. Then, he retracted as simple as that, lifting you up, the Synth forcing you to wrap that other leg around him in order to carry you the few feet between him and the bed.

“And did you ever think of what you’d do if I didn’t have the parts?” he began, tossing you carefully onto the mattress. You watched in longing as he shucked his trench off for it to slide down the length of his arms, gathering in a pile at his feet.

“Fuck. It wouldn’t matter,” you insisted, sitting up on the palms of your hands. “It wouldn’t matter,” you repeated more urgently, adjusting to crawl forward, unable to keep yourself from him now that you had a taste.

“And what you’d do if I didn’t reciprocate?” The hat was next, tossed haphazardly off to the side.

You gaped at him, unable to come up with a satisfactory response, scouring his pleasing form from head to toe with your eyes, admiring his shoulder holster, his weapon of choice, and the suspenders that dug into his shoulders.

“I’m more machine than man; typically… disappointing to dames like you. But I’ve got nothing to hide, and I mean that literally,” he quipped, loosening and discarding his tie. What he did next surprised you, Valentine placing one knee on the bed. He pushed you backward, fitting himself right between your thighs.

“Never stopped me before,” he muttered, coercing you to lie back. In the blink of an eye, he had slipped your panties down and off, flipping the tail end of your skirt up and over your lap, exposing the soft mound between your legs.

“It’s like riding a bicycle,” he commented; how to go down on a beautiful woman was not something he would soon forget, no matter he wasn’t in the body he was born with.

You gasped before settling into a melodious moan as he swiped his tongue across your sensitive bud, Nick noticing you were tuned to the key of C, a low-frequency tonal sound that made his robotic brain buzz with something akin to happiness.

Before you knew it, he had buried himself, embedding his articulate tongue in your tepid core. Responsive biosensors did their job of transmitting physiological data concerning the presence of chemical compounds that happened to be coming into contact with his face; the detective was well aware of what that meant without having to overthink it, appreciative of the way you writhed against the bed.

“Valentine,” you mewled, arm reaching, fingers stretching to caress a hinged jaw made of filaments and wires, more unbidden tears finding their way to your eyes.

“Kiss me,” you implored, exploring the sharp contours of his inhumane face, the actuate planes and angles, the rough textures, the smooth remnants, the electrical undercurrent that hummed beneath the surface of his pseudo-flesh, causing you to cry out as he obliged, but not in the way you had expected.

Nick lapped at your cunt like it was a second mouth, attentive to every little move your body made as it wriggled and quivered, spasming with each long lick. He showed no mercy, relentlessly fucking you with his spongy tongue at a slow and steady pace, brushing the back of an alloyed finger along the cut where hip met thigh.

“Please,” you tried again, though in your heart of hearts you did not want him to stop. He refocused on your clit, being oh-so careful as he slid a single metallic digit into your wet pith, tensile fibers remaining elongated so as not to maim and injure, but to experiment, your pelvic muscles clenching around him as he began to suck.

“I can’t,” you professed, unable to elaborate, to stop your mounting orgasm. Your back arched as your hips bucked upward to meet his all too talented mouth, forcing a sound out of you that was reminiscent of pain but indicative of pleasure as you came a second time that night, Nick withdrawing his hand, his carbon-ferrous finger, pulling back to look you in the eye.

“Sweetheart, did I—”

Valentine flexed his unsheathed digits, composed of bare metal, his forefinger saturated and glistening, yet he was worried. His painted brows quirked upward as he rose to meet your face, his palm fitting itself around the curve of your waist, as gentle as can be.

He stared into your soul with those penetrative, aureate eyes, wishing you hadn’t of done that. Wishing he hadn’t of done that—it had been just plain ignorant on his part, but he didn’t figure you’d go and move so suddenly. And truth be told, you were beautiful, a thing too good to pass up. He wasn’t exactly a hot commodity these days, though a part of him—the inhuman part—didn’t think he was worth it.

Still, it was a difficult thing to just give up when he had urges, needs, wants, desires—or at least he thought he did. It was hard to tell where the real Nick began and Synth Nick ended, but for now he was experiencing an emotion that was real enough to give him pause.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his mood turning toward something serious, Valentine wondering if he had caused anything irreparable. He didn’t think he could live with himself if he’d gone and hurt an innocent—especially like this—despite the fact he wasn’t exactly alive to begin with.

You did not answer, studying the change in his demeanor, observing as his tough guy persona disappeared to be replaced by the sweet, caring man you had grown to cherish over the past few months.

He was two sides of the same coin, but you had known that going in, purposefully trailing your fingers across denuded metal toward a gathering of thick red wires, caressing the coils between the gap in his neck with the utmost tenderness.

“I’ve never been better,” you promised, appraising the look of quiet bliss that overtook him, realizing this sort of thing might be his little secret—he came back to himself just in time to put a halt to your investigation, the Synth oddly silent as he searched for something deep within your eyes.

“But I want to make you feel good,” you offered with a genuine pout, but Nick held fast to your wrist, going back to how this whole game had started. His apprehension was clear, the detective reading like an overdue library book. You couldn’t help but feel a little sad, a little disappointed, instead climbing onto his lap, draping yourself over his sound thighs.

“I don’t let just anyone poke around inside me—what makes you think you’ll make the cut?” he asked, slipping a stray bit of hair behind your ear in a gesture so human it made your heart ache.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Nick.” It was the truth.

He’d redirect you for now, but you couldn’t blame him— you were surprised that you had even gotten this far.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he replied. “Tell me something about yourself. What do I need to know besides exactly how you taste?”

You smiled, assuming that one day he might trust you well enough to return the favor.

Baby steps. You could be patient. The only thing that mattered was that at that moment, you had him to yourself.

“I once killed a Yao guai with my bear hands,” you joked, taking the time to notice just how many kiss marks you had left all over him—time to add one more, just to play it safe.

“There they are.”

“What?”

“Your true colors.”

Your lips spread into a mischievous grin.

“On second thought, I think I’m going to need a drink for this.”

At least he hadn’t kicked you out yet.  

“That’s fair,” you said.

[pixies-love-envy]

Updated!! Pixies-Love-Envy Introduction

About Me

I go by Peach (She/They) but I’m writing under the name A. T. Mitchell

I’m a professional nanny based in the US

I love reading and writing, and I’m a dedicated book collector. I have over 400 books in my library, and my goal is to have 1,000 books.

Writing

I’m using this blog to post about and document the progress of my romance novel. I’m also hoping to get honest opinions about it from people who don’t know me personally.

I’m also writing a portal fantasy and I’m using this blog to document my world building.

Current WIP

Too Sweet Masterlist

Summary: March is an optimistic do-gooder on his way to Redwood University to start his master's degree. He's far from home and misses his brothers deeply, but he still feels like the world is at his fingertips. Cricket is a high school dropout going nowhere fast. Her toxic ex won't leave her alone, and she's deeply unhappy with her job as a bartender at a tavern frequented by Dungeons and Dragons larpers. They can't help but feel drawn to each other, but is he too sweet for her?

I’m uploading completed chapters of the story on Wattpad but it’s just the first draft so I expect when I’m ready to self publish after several drafts it will be VERY different lol.

Read the Story Here

Nights of Chaos Masterlist

Summary: When Andromeda was eighteen her big sister, Orion, mysteriously disappeared. Five years later she’s a private investigator obsessed finding out what happened to her sister. Andy is grasping for straws and is about to give up when she remembers the stories Orion would tell her about a world called Nykhos. Her sister claimed to have a journal that transported her to the other world whenever she wrote in it. She always thought the tales of her sister’s journeys there were made up until she writes in the magical journal and ends up in the fantasy world of her childhood.

It’s just a Narnia-esque idea that still requires a well thought out fantasy world. So, It’s a long ways off from a first draft.

[stardewremixed]

First Kiss with Shane

@hellhoundmaggie requested a first kiss scene with Shane. He was the first guy I romanced in SDV, mostly because it was easy to in the beginning and I wanted that first-year flower dance so badly. 😂 🌸

🎈 In case you missed it - First Kiss with Harvey. 🎈

While Harvey holds a special place in my heart and is generally my go-to husbando, I didn’t want to leave my “first SDV squeeze” in the lurch. I’m trying to expand my experience with writing romance in general. Hope you enjoy. It’s a freakin’ novella. Haha. I don’t do short, and I wanted to show how he fell in love with the Farmer, and she with him. 

This is female farmer x Shane = first kiss. This one might be a little more PG. 

😉❤️‍🔥🔥

Sweaty palms. Greasy hair. Chubby cheeks and legs. Is this what she sees in me?

Shane stared bleakly at his own reflection in the refrigerator door. It was quiet. Nearly noiseless in the back aisle of the stark JojaMart. A lull in the daily traffic around 4pm on the dot. When his shift ended.

Shane pressed his forehead against the glass, grumbling to himself about his infinite lack of progress on losing weight. Ever since he started going to therapy and quit drinking, he felt confident that his life would turn around. Like magic.

However, life outside the rehabilitation center was much harder than he remembered. He was still stuck in the same dead-end job. He was still bumming a room off his aunt with his piddly rent And he was still rather plump around his abdomen. 

Every time Morris ordered him around, in that pompous high London accent, Shane wanted to give up. To give in. To snatch a beer outta the cooler and gulp away his frustrations.

Instead, he settled for cussing under his breath, and resolving to keep his head down. At least until he could find another job. No one seemed to be hiring in this dying town. The recession was still hitting hard. And he knew he was lucky to get his old job back after nine months in detox and rehab.

It was worth it. It would be worth it. He convinced himself as he puffed a lazy strand of hair out of his eye and continued stocking cartons of overprocessed milk, nothing like his aunt’s fresh bottles or the farmer’s delicious cheeses. 

While he was still grossly underpaid, Shane worked out the math. In six more checks, he could repay her. The Jolly Rancher. Just thinking about his silly little nickname for the farmer lady to the north gave him a warm feeling. The kind that alcohol used to give him, only better, more real. Her smile was sweet.

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When she first arrived in town, Shane genuinely disliked her. All her bubbly, bouncy, jolly persona encroaching on his flat, boring, grumpy existence. He had cultivated a philosophy of "me myself and I" and was perfectly content being alone, sulking into a pitcher of beer at the end of the night. But not really…

Her jovialty grew on him, especially when he would see her around town, helping people out. At first, he figured she was just another city do-gooder come to convert the backwater people to a more modern lifestyle. But her joy and kindness was genuine. Even when he yelled at her to go away, she still murmured a heartfelt apology for disturbing him and then brought him freshly grown peppers or tomatoes the next day like nothing had ever happened.

The Farmer purchased cows from Marnie so she could make her own specialty dairy products. He was seriously impressed. Because what city girl just ups and buys cattle? 

Sometimes when he was restlessly tossing and turning in bed (and if was honest, lonely), Shane would wander around in the wee pre-dawn hours. He always seemed to make his way to her ranch. Most of the time, she was out in the barn milking the cows and talking to them like they were her babies, with just a lantern illuminating her soft face. She was so beautiful. 

Raising cattle was no simple task. He knew this from watching his aunt. And Marnie had horses, pigs, goats, rabbits and chickens to think of too. He wasn't sure if the new rancher in town, with little to no experience (save her degree in veterinary medicine), was stupid or brave. Over time, he determined she was the latter.

Out searching for a lost cow in a thunderstorm. Not thinking about her own welfare. Only wanting to reunite a terrified animal with its herd. 

Fixing fences after wolves knocked down the back posts time and time again. Her fingers bleeding and scarred because of her lack of self-awareness sometimes. And chasing of “’dem there wolves” with sheer willpower... and... a big stick. 

Rebuilding the barn from scratch when a wildfire spread down from the mountains. She saved every single one of those animals. And needing treatment for smoke inhalation because she went back in for the tiniest frightened newborn. 

He remembered the time she got kicked in the head by one of the cows. Shane was so worried about her, even if he wouldn’t admit it when he carried her to the Clinic. Thankfully, it was only a minor concussion. (And it was an excuse for him to deliver Marnie's special basket of goodies to her twice daily so she didn't have to worry about feeding herself during her recovery). 

The rancher struggled for a whole year, after arriving in the Valley. But even when things went wrong, she was up and back at it the next morning with a lightness in her heart and step. It. Was. Admirable.

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Shane resolved to do better. To be better. She made him think about how things could be different if he wasn't a self-sabotaging jerkwad. The number of times she dragged his sorry ass home after getting plastered at the Saloon was too high to count, even if it was out of her way, even if she said she didn't mind. She wanted him to be okay. To be safe. She said so.

And she half pushed, half dragged him to the Clinic the night things got really dark. When he faced the edge of the cliff and thought "No more!" When he thought death would be a welcome reprieve from his pathetic life. 

She never judged him. She didn't enable him like his aunt. She didn't fall apart into a puddle of tears like Jas. She didn't lecture him on the evils of his ways while twirling his moustache like Harvey. Okay. Shane chuckled to himself. Maybe that last part was an exaggeration and unfair to the good doctor.

She. Simply. Cared. 

Through her actions. 

In the beginning, it was little things. A happy hello. A robust handwave. Then she started pulling up a barstool next to him in the Stardrop. She would ask him about his day and he would always answer the same way. But "go away" somehow morphed into a sarcastic "just peachy" and then eventually a half-hearted "fine, you can sit there." Once she jokingly called him Peaches. 

He didn't want to be bothered with her questions and idle chatter. He didn't want to listen to her ranching successes and woes, retold in a much-too-chipper voice. He didn't want to know about Bluebell and Daffodil and Daisy, how Mister Munster was nursing a hoof injury and how Mrs. Butters was expecting her second calf. Why did she think he cared about such details?

But it grew on him. Those rosy, ruddy cheeks, enjoying a hard-earned glass of whatever Gus had on tap. The way her eyes lit up and sparkled when she talked about her animal friends. The way her pale pink lips pouted when she lost a game of Journey of the Prairie King in the saloon arcade. Again. 

Shane found himself drawn to her energy. And he found himself missing her on the nights she didn't stop into the Saloon. Which was a rarity, but did happen.

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Shane knew she was someone special when he would watch the entrance door, breath caught, hoping she would breeze through, and then she didn't. Two days in a row. He started to feel disappointed, but brushed it off. Three days. He started to get concerned. On the fourth night, he went looking for her. And that's when he learned she was sick.

He practically broke down her door when she didn’t answer. 

“Aww you were worried,” she laughed weakly, and coughed. 

She looked rather pitiful, bundled under the blankets, hair sticking to her cheek, eyes droopy and dark. She thought Marnie would have told him. His aunt had sent a few of her ranch hands to help their neighbor out while she was under the weather. so her cattle weren’t forgotten 

No, Marnie never did. He suspected it was because she didn't know it would matter to him. But it did matter. She. Did. Matter. 

Without a word, Shane went to the kitchen and returned with a cool towel. He didn't even think. He laid the back of his large hand against her delicate forehead. He could've sworn the little Miss Jolly Rancher blushed. Or maybe it was the slight fever she was running. She audibly sighed as he placed the wet cloth against her burning cheek, closing her eyes and mumbling her thanks.

He wanted to know the last time she ate. She grunted and said something about some cereal earlier that morning. She didn't know for sure. She had slept most of the day. He promised he would be right back. 

She told him not to bother, as she struggled to lift her body off the bed, propping up by a shaky elbow. He insisted she lie back down. She was a stubborn one. Her protestations didn't last long as her head was too foggy to think straight. He microwaved a bowl of soup. She tried to sit up again, and he fluffed her pillows so she could prop up.

Her grip on the spoon wasn't firm, her trembling hands an indication of just how weak she was. So he caught the escaping silverware and lifted the soup to her lips. She turned red as a hot pepper, but he eased her with a surprisingly tender words, "Please. Let me take care of you for once, Miss Jolly." His own face and ears were probably red too. But she accepted.

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Since then, he began the habit of calling her "Miss Jolly." She flushed every time, but he enjoyed flustering her. It was nice… to care… about… someone.

She returned the “favor” and called him Peaches. At first, jokingly, just to annoy him. But over time, even the ridiculous fruity nickname grew on him. She was invading his thoughts and heart and he couldn’t stop her. 

He knew he had to change. He had to get better. Alcoholism was a disease that had ravaged his life and he was ready for something better. He couldn’t live like he had been any longer. She had changed everything for him. And he wanted to change in return. 

Disappointment smacked cold. He had researched so many places. But the one place that seemed to fit his needs and desired treatment plan was out of reach. Prohibitively expensive. He sold his dad’s watch. His car. He worked longer hours. Maybe in a few years he could make up the difference. 

She knew how much he wanted this... and how badly he needed this. Every glance at his savings account wanted to drive him to the bottle, the hopelessness of a solution just out of reach because of his crappy medical insurance. They wouldn’t cover it. Even though he was pretty sure Joja was the reason he drank so heavily. 

No, that wasn’t true. It was his own insurmountable guilt. Of surviving the accident. When they didn’t. Of leaving Jas without a respectable father figure. Or a mother. He didn’t even fight when the courts wanted to give him jail time. 

His aunt got a lawyer and gave him a place to stay when he got out. She helped him put together a resume and practically shoved the application for overnight backroom clerk in his hands. He had to face the music. He wasn’t cut out for any other job. And it was basically a glorified “stock boy.” 

Approaching middle-age, recently released from prison, and overwhelmed with a crushing lack of self worth, Shane interviewed and got the job. He should be grateful. But the hours were grueling and monotonous. Customers were rude. Employees were ruder. Except that Sam kid. He was a ball of sunshine. And his boss was sucking the life outta him. 

So he drank. He drank to forget. Because he couldn’t forgive himself. And every time he looked at Jas’ little pained expression, he drank more because he felt... so... damn... worthless. 

The Rancher changed things for him. He felt more positive. He got up earlier. He brushed his teeth. He combed his hair. He put on his uniform for the world’s lousiest low-paying job and went to work hoping things would be better. 

Faced with the inability to actually “get better” was... frankly... terrifying. What if he went back to being that same old pathetic blob of a human again? After ten agonizing days, he finally confided in the one person he knew he could trust. His “Miss Jolly.” 

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He couldn’t believe he had been moved to tears. She surprised him... again. With her thoughtful generosity and selflessness. She promised to pay for the difference. Whatever he couldn’t afford. She told him it wasn’t a big deal. It was a VERY BIG deal! She still had some of the inheritance money from her grandfather. What she hadn’t spent on fixing up the farm. 

“So I don’t get those gingham curtains I’ve had my eyes on for the past month,” she quipped. 

It was serious. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t accept it. It was too much. He didn’t like the idea of being indebted. He was stubborn. He could refuse. 

But she was more stubborn. She insisted it would be a loan, not a gift. He could pay it off over time. Without interest. Or he could work it off - sweat equity - on her ranch. Maybe with those chickens he liked so much. 

In the end, he caved. He packed up what little he could take with him. And she walked him to the bus stop. Kissed his cheek. Squeezed his hand. And said the words that simultaneously made him laugh and warmed his heart.

“Go get ‘em, Peaches.” 

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That was a year ago now. When he came home, she threw a big surprise party for him. A few people from town, his aunt, Jas. And she never looked more beautiful. She even found chicken shaped balloons. Because... what guy doesn’t want balloon animals from the girl he’s crushing on? 

Crushing on? He smirked. I sound like a middle schooler. 

He split his time between the market and her ranch. Gradually spending more and more time on her farm. Gathering eggs before his shift. Feeding chickens on the way home from work. Sipping peach iced tea in the shade of her porch and thinking this life wasn’t half-bad. But he wanted more. 

She started bringing by lunches on his longer shift days. Homemade sandwiches and fresh-pressed juices and handpicked peppers. The kind that burst with sweetness or that spicy kick he needed to get through the rest of his day. 

She learned to roll her own dough. Once a week, on hot summer evenings, she would make him pizza with her own special spicy red sauce. Wearing that cute little red and white checkered apron around her jean shorts and just below the edge of her tank top. Too hot to be standing around the stovetop making pizza sauce or the oven to bake the dough. But she did it for him. Shane looked forward to it after a long and grueling Saturday shift. 

He still stopped at the Saloon most nights, but now it was just to drink soda and share a pepper poppers appetizer. Gus started bottling root beer, made from bark and flowers and herbs from around the Valley. It wasn’t alcoholic. And it was an acquired taste. Getting better with time. 

She would breeze in and offer suggestions and feedback. Shane enjoyed watching the two “play” squabble over the choice of leaves. The kindly saloon owner and the girl he liked collaborating to make him a refreshing drink became a welcome nicety. 

Most nights, they didn’t stay long. Heading out for long walks around town. Shoes scuffling along cobblestones. Kicking up dirt on wooded paths. Kicking off on the beach to feel the mushy sand. Talking about nothing important, but always special. Any time with her was special. 

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have a friend like her. To have a woman of her rare caliber show him any attention at all. She got past his defenses and he welcomed it. And deep in his heart, Shane knew - this was love. 

With today’s paycheck, he could finally take her on a proper date. Somewhere out of the Valley. Someplace where they could have fun together. He felt the excitement and nervous anticipation rising in his chest. Somehow he fumbled through an “ask” on her front porch this morning, managing to invite her to join him... if she wanted... at the bus stop... around 5pm. He had tickets to see the Tunnelers play. 

Shane finished his shelf, glancing at his watch. Ten past four. Just enough time to get home, showered, and changed. He disposed of the empty boxes in the dumpster and delivered the cart to the back room. Opening his locker, he hung his apron on the hook. Instantly, he felt lighter. Like that thing was a noose around his neck. A ball and chain. He really needed a new job. And in fifty, no, forty-six minutes, he could see her... 

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"SHANE!"

The shrill obnoxious tone pierced his moment of peace. The voice could only belong to one person - a holllow husk of a corporate shill, even more unlikeable than him, if that was even possible. Shane frowned, his eyes clamping on the store manager barreling toward him at full speed. 

“A whole second shipment came in just now,” the man grunted. “Like I need this when I’m short-staffed, as always,” he offered an exasperated sigh. 

I can’t imagine why... Shane thought to himself, bemused. The boss was insufferable. Always barking orders. Never praising his team. Paying peanuts. Polishing his baby - a silver Rolls Royce in mint condition - parked in the only covered spot in the entire Joja lot - every night - instead of doing paperwork like he should. How was he still employed? No one at corporate cared. 

“Not my problem, Morris,” Shane replied. 

“No, no, no,” Morris fluttered his short arms. “It is your problem. I need you to stay late and help Sam empty the truck.”

The man continued to ramble something about “this is why I pay you” and “you think you can do better somewhere else?” He badgered Shane about his “work ethic,” even if Shane had been a near model employee since returning from rehab. Even if his former colleagues actually welcomed him back, much to his shock. Shy little Claire even commented on how he was “different” than before.

Shane had been nominated for employee of the month, no doubt, angering Morris. The man had it out for him. Sticking him on graveyard shifts. Making him mop baby puke in the aisles. Forcing him to attend a “hospitality” seminar so he could learn to be nicer to, in Morris’ words, “bored housewives who somehow like your prickly personality.” 

Morris, a man who prided himself in appearance, with his neat little bow tie and perfectly ironed jacket, couldn’t believe how the ladies bought more after a rough encounter with Shane. It was good for business, of course, and Morris would take all the credit. That hospitality seminar wasn’t cheap, he constantly reminded Shane. Like rehab hadn’t made him a better person already. Or his relationship with little Miss Jolly. 

“They just fawn over your monotone delivery of the daily sales,” Morris droned on. “Yoba only knows why. You haven’t been educated at the finest university this side of the Pond with an impeccable taste in... well, everything.” Morris puffed his chest. 

“I just don’t understand why they giggle at the register about the ‘handsome’ stock boy when they could have me recite the daily sales in Shakespearean English for heavens sake. Well, no matter. I can use what I’ve got. You.” 

The man thinks I’m a frickin’ pack of meat. 

“Now in order to have sales, we must have stocked shelves. And in order to have stocked shelves, I need to have you stay longer. Because shelves don’t stock themselves... and what are you staring at?” 

Shane rubbed his jaw, catching his reflection in Morris’ little glasses. Could I really be that handsome? Morris wasn’t wrong. The market had been a little busier than usual in the mornings and around lunchtime. Shane came back from breaks early sometimes because customers “requested” him. He could reach the “tall” shelves. 

But he wasn’t that tall. And most times, he needed a ladder. Unlike Sam. But even Sam told him he had been relegated to “cute” because the female patrons wanted to check out the new guy (on the ladder) because Shane possessed a look of danger and mystery, and had that "hot dad bod."

Like that’s really a thing I wanted! Shane rolled his eyes. It's all a little disgusting. Being oogled. Because what? Dangerous? Dad bod? I’m just me. There was only one gal he wanted checking him out. And he needed to get going if he was going to meet her. 

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“No can do, Boss,” Shane removed his Joja cap and hooked it alongside his apron. “Got plans tonight.” 

“No, no, no,” Morris’ voice grew tight, his eyes becoming tinier. “That won’t do. You must cancel your plans.” 

“Do I get overtime?” Shane asked, half-distracted by the photo occupying the inside of his locker. 

It was the only thing he had ever decorated with at work. A photo of him and Miss Jolly at the Moonlight Jellies festival about a month ago. It was the one time he actually thought he was photogenic. How could he not be happy? With a gorgeous gal by his side, smiling and laughing as the photo was taken, a woman who believed in him, rooted for him, and cared for him. Shane’s expression softened as he thought about how much she had impacted his life. 

“You know what?” Shane ripped the photo from his locker wall with gusto. “I quit.” 

“Are you even listening?” Morris was saying. “And no, I’m not going to approve overtime. You left early by one minute the other night. One minute!"

"And one time last week, you were late by three minutes. I will not approve overtime for someone who nearly runs over a flock of geese with his bicycle and is late to work."

"If you’re going to keep up with this lazy attitude of yours...” he huffed and straightened his jacket. “I may have to reconsider my decision to rehire you... even if you bring in the ladies... I mean... sales...” 

“What?” Morris’ eyes grew wide as saucers beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and then his expression darkened, as if Shane poured bitter coffee all over the plates. “You cannot quit. Are you joking?” 

“Well I do, and I’m not,” Shane shoved the old rusty lock that never latched properly into the other man’s hand, a smile crossing his face. “With pleasure.”

Shane waltzed out of the soul-sucking store, leaving a dumbfounded former boss as the double doors whooshed behind him. He closed his eyes and took a big gulp of sea-salt air and sighed. He felt free. 

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When she met him at the bus stop, his heart skipped a beat. She looked radiant in the setting sun. Her eyes sparkling like stars. And her sexy little denim skirt was a nice touch too. The way her hips swayed ever so slightly on approach. He forced his gaze upward. 

"Hiiii... Miss Jolly. I'm glad you decided to come," he greeted, his tone a bit stilted and formal. 

What am I doing? He rubbed the back of his head.

"Of course, Peaches. I'm excited," she grinned. "This will be my first game."

"You'll love it!" he replied, wrinkling his nose at her childish nickname for him. And I will too with you by my side.

"Is that cologne?" she asked when she reached his side. 

Her fingers curled around his hoodie strings as she closed her eyes and took a whiff. "I like it." She grinned and winked at him. "A bit spicy."

"Yeah yeah," he murmured and ushered her onto the bus, but he hopped up the step behind her, feeling a little lighter on his feet.

"You're in a good mood," she remarked as they wandered toward the back of the bus. 

The atmosphere was charged. Rowdy. Everyone seemed excited for the Tunnelers game. He nodded to a few familiar faces before settling in next to her seat. The back was better than the front. Cool kids sat in the back. What am I? In the sixth grade? 

Still he was relaxed. Smiling even. She repeated her statement as if he didn’t hear her the first time. Damn straight  I’m in a good mood.  Because I get to spend time with you… maybe even tell you how I feel tonight… He decided the overcrowded bus wasn't the best place for that confession. The vehicle lurched forward and so did the conversation. 

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"I quit my job."

Her eyes widened and a slow smile played at her lips, drawing his attention to them. I bet they're juicy. He had fantasized about kissing her, ever since she planted one on him at this very bus stop twelve months ago when he shipped off to rehab. Out of respect for their “business arrangement” and friendship, he held off on the liplocking, but it didn’t mean he still didn’t wonder what it would be like if he had just turned his head to meet her mouth that night. 

“Good for you,” she laid a hand on his shoulder. 

Her gentle touch bringing him back to reality and away from his lustful la-la land. 

“I knew that place was killing the light in you. I just wish I could've seen Morris' smug face when you finally told him."

"Light in me?" he repeated, ignoring the statement about his ex-manager. 

"Yes," she slowly slid her hand up to his cheek, blushing a little while she moved. "You look better. Brighter."

"That's just the shower talkin'," he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"No, it's you, Shane," she replied, dropping her hand far too soon for his liking.

He wanted to beg her to keep it there, against his cheek. But present company dissuaded him, and he remained silent, nodding his thanks. The way she said his name... he bounced his leg a bit in nervousness as the bus bumped along the road... it made his knees weak and his head clouded. 

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"Did I miss anything?"

Shane descended the last step, returning to their seats in the stadium, snacks in hand. The game was tied up, the teams neck and neck in their scoring with each other. It was one of the most thrilling games he had ever seen in person. Even more exciting because she was there. With her incessant questions about the rules. Her exuberance at the Tunnelers' first goal. Even the little wrinkle around her eyes when she didn’t understand what was happening. He loved every minute of it.

And he loved explaining things. Even if he worried about boring her to death with his encyclopedic knowledge of gridball, he couldn’t stop talking. This was something he loved and he was sharing it with the woman he loved... even if she didn’t know it yet. 

"Only the announcer making bad jokes," she smirked. “And that guy...” she pointed to one of the pros. “...doing a silly little dance for the fans.” 

“Yeah, he’s known for that,” Shane laughed awkwardly, feeling a small twinge of jealousy that another man had caught her eye. 

“Not that he’s any good at it,” she laughed too. “Not like our little grooves in the Saloon.” 

“Oh?” he quirked a brow. “By the way, I got us some nachos. I asked the vendor to add some hot peppers… just like we like it."

"Like we both like it," she said in unison. "Thanks,” she snagged a chip and did a deep dip into the sauce. “You should've let me pay for snacks since you paid for tickets and the bus fare."

"Naw, we're on a date," he shrugged. "The guy pays. Plus, I wanted to."

Shane averted his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. "Did I tell you how much… I l…love…. Gridball?"

She stopped and looked at him as if surprised by his old-fashioned thought. I shouldn't have been so careless, he grimaced. Then he immediately wished his face wasn't so readable.

It was a date. A real date. But somehow they slid from acquaintances to friends to best friends and then... somehow something more, without ever defining the relationship.

Did she want parameters? Did he need a label? Were they... ever going to be what he hoped to be if he ever got his head out of his ass and asked her for real? 

"Yes, only the thousand or so times on the bus," she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And I knew you played in high school.” 

Just like that, she slipped back to a more neutral topic. And he mentally flogged himself for the missed opportunity. 

“Yeah, blowing out my knee pretty much killed my chances at playing pro,” he said. “Doesn’t stop me from enjoying the games though.” 

“Have you ever thought about it?” she inquired. “Going back. Maybe the minors or even just a pick-up team. I bet you looked great in a uniform,” her eyes twinkled mischievously. “And I wouldn’t mind the view of you in those white pants.” 

Red flooded his cheeks. Is she messing with me? How does she do it? Go back and forth between friendzone topics and flirtation? She made it look effortless. She was toying with him. She had to be. Dancing around the subject. Hoping he would ask. Or was he imagining things? 

Her hand hovered dangerously close to his side. Brushing the hem of her skirt. Nearly touching his shorts. He gulped, feeling flattered, but strangely unprepared for her seductive little smirks. He handed her the soda he fetched, and she thanked him, gulping back the liquid as if it were a small instead of a large. Saying something about all the cheering making her thirsty. 

He was the thirsty one. Eyeing her up and down and wanting to close the distance between them. Taking it from flirty friends to... faithful lovers. He never wanted a woman more than he did right now. To devote all his love and passion and energy and goodwill into being there for her just like she had for him. 

For the whole second half of the game, he nursed his cola. Distracted by her every move. The way she would raise her heels in anticipation of a score and lower them back to the ground when they didn’t quite make it. The way she spoke with that happy voice of hers, the kind that could lull him to sleep or rally him to make his best efforts. The way she repeated back facts she was learning about the sport, that he had literally just taught to her that night. He was completely mesmerized... so much so... he forgot to actually watch the game. For once, he liked the distraction. 

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When the Tunnelers scored again, she nearly flew off the ground, wildly cheering for their unexpected interception. He caught her hand as she was jumping back down. She squeezed it and continued whooping and shaking her fist victoriously in the air, never taking her eyes off the game. It was now or never.

"Hey," he said loudly to be heard over the stadium noise. "I've been meaning to tell you… thank you.” 

“For what, Peaches?” she said, teasingly. “Did you see that? How many yards was it? Seventy-five? Eighty?” 

“I mean it, really,” Shane cleared his throat, leaning closer to her ear. “ For sticking with me through everything."

She turned to face him, her expression growing more serious. 

"My… anxiety… depression… you know," he continued, fumbling over his words. "The alcoholism… I mean, I wasn't exactly the funnest person to be around back then."

Did I just use the word funnest? He rubbed the back of his head, hoping to read her expression, but for once, he couldn't.

“You do that... when you’re nervous,” she remarked. “That head rub thing...” she reached up and ruffled his hair. “It’s... cute.” 

“Uh...” Shane trailed off. She was not making this easy. But he needed to say the words aloud now or he never would. 

"You… uh… still helped me. You've been a really… good… friend to me," he shared, and then immediately regretted his word choice.

"Oh," she said, quietly.

Was that a flicker of disappointment in her eyes?

He hurried his words. "Anyway this is your first gridball game, huh? Well? What do you think?"

Smooth, Shane. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Changing the subject again, you frickin’ chicken.

"Oh…" she said, glancing back to the field, sounding a little confused. "Fun. I guess, Pelican Town seems pretty boring in comparison. Unless you count Sam's punk rock blaring at 11pm, breaking noise ordinances." She forced a chuckle.

Is she…? Am I imagining things?

"I'm surprised," he replied. "Didn't you move to the Valley to escape the noise of the city?"

She's looking at me again with those beautiful heart-melting eyes. He rushed through his words.

"I mean… don't get me wrong. I totally understand. My life in Pelican Town is pretty bland, you know. And now that I don't have a job, I gotta find something meaningful to do with my time again. A guy's gotta eat, right? Heh?"

"I was thinking about that," she replied, without looking at him. "I think it would be nice to have you around full-time."

"What?" he blinked.

"I've got one ranch hand now to help in the back pasture and one that helps out with the milking and all, but if I'm looking to expand, and if they ever take a sick day, I could use some extra hands," she continued. "Maybe your hands?"

I couldn't. Possibly. Was she blushing?

"You've already… done so much for me," he hated the hesitancy in his tone. "I… uh…"

She ignored his last comment. "This would be a business thing. We could do it temporarily to see if you like it. And if it's a good fit for both of us. I can be a bit of a…" she narrowed her eyes, mischievously. "Hard taskmaster."

"Oh? Yeah I've heard that from your current employees," he smirked. "But you are still a jolly one."

"Yeah…" she smiled, almost shyly, tucking a hair over her ear. “Your Miss Jolly.” 

The noise level in the stadium increased near ten-fold. All he could think about was how she said the words. She was begging him, wasn’t she? Walking right up to the brink and leaving him there? He reluctantly ripped his gaze away from the farmer to the field.

"Gah!" he screamed, his volume matching the crowd. "The Tunnelers are on the attack."

"Yes! Yes!" she shrieked. "Oh my Yoba! Final seconds. They're gonna…" she jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "They're gonna break the tie."

"GOAL!" they yelled in unison. 

He never felt so happy. He was going on six months sober. He quit his horrible job. The farmer was offering him another one so he could see her every day. And he got to watch his favorite team in the world in the closest game in history with his favorite person in the world. Sharing this moment together meant everything.

"Thank you Shane!" she said, trying to catch her breath. "This was the best evening ever with you!"

"I know, I know!" he exclaimed. "Probably one of the best moments of my life."

Before he could stop himself, his lips were against hers. Surprise flickered in her eyes. All he could hear was the thudding of his own heart. She was flushed. The warmth of her lips. The taste of root beer. The delight overwhelming the alarm bells. He took a step or two back, stumbling as he came to his senses.

"Oh?" he gasped for air. "Uh… um… sorry. I guess I got carried away there. Maybe I had one too many... sodas. All that sugar. Ha!" 

Shane reached up to rub his head like he always did when he was nervous, just like she had noticed. Except this time, she strutted toward him, confidence in her eyes as she grabbed that hand and tugged him down. As they kissed for the second time, he felt her melt into his arms as she offered a faint “finally,” barely audible amidst the roar of the crowd. 

Encouraged, Shane grinned, hoisting her off the ground. She giggled and kissed him more fervently. Maybe he didn’t need words. Maybe he only needed actions to show her how he felt. 

And she was reciprocating. A dream come true. Their eyes remained locked in a loving gaze as he pulled back from her lips. When he finally set her down, he breathed heavily. 

"You really do love the Tunnelers?" she teased, disentangling her hands from his hair. 

"No," he shook his head, determined not to let this moment go by. "I really do love you."

"Come on, we'll miss our bus outta here," she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the exiting crowds.

“Wait,” Shane pulled her back for one more greedy kiss. 

She happily accepted, but he felt a fleeting ping of sadness even as they kissed in the stairwell, people pushing around them. He wondered if she even heard his confession. Maybe it's too soon? We just had our first kiss. She probably didn't hear me.

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When they reached the parking lot, the reality of what had just happened still sinking in, they were too late. The bus huffed away with a puff of smog. They had just missed their ride back to the Valley. And there wouldn’t be another one until morning. If he hadn’t been so carried away and enamored by his date, maybe they would’ve left the stadium sooner. 

“Guess we should call a taxi,” she broke the silence first. “Or... actually... find a hotel.” 

“A hotel?” he repeated, his ears perking at the thought of sharing space with her. 

"Yes," she replied, without skipping a beat. "I mean, if we're gonna be stuck together in Zuzu overnight, we should get a hotel. A taxi ride would be really expensive and I don't think we have enough time to get across town to catch the train."

"Oh right," he said softly. "Uh… I can't let you pay for a hotel too."

"It's no trouble," she pulled out her cell phone and started scouring the internet for places. "And a hot shower sounds nice after all the sweat and grime of us in there,” she nodded back toward the stadium. “...jammed in like sardines."

"Uhm…" he blinked rapidly. You're a grown man. Get it together.

"This place looks nice," she showed him a picture after a minute or two, while he awkwardly plopped on the edge of the sidewalk. "And it's got a 4-star rating." She sat next to him, dropping her hand on top of his. “Oh look it’s got an in-suite jacuzzi.” 

"Uh… sure," he shrugged, uncertain about what to do with his hands that so desperately wanted to kiss her again. "Well, that definitely was a good game."

"Yes, and it's going to be an even better night, because it doesn't have to end here," she smiled sweetly. “Since we’re getting a hotel,” she winked. 

“Oh yeah... and we won too,” he stammered. “The Tunnelers, ya know?” 

“No... no, I didn’t. Really? They did?" she smiled sarcastically, and leaned closer. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“What?” he gasped, feeling shocked as her blase attitude toward his favorite team. 

“I mean, it was great... and all... and their win was pretty spectacular,” she acknowledged. “But I feel like I won the lottery with you here.” She interlocked arms with him. “Did you mean it? Shane? When you said you loved me?” 

So she did hear me! And the way his name fell from his lips caused his heart to soar and he found his confidence. 

“Yes, I meant it. I love you,” Shane replied. “But I wanted it to be special. Better than this... stranded in a parking lot with trash all over the place.” 

“It is special,” she replied. 

“But it wasn’t perfect,” he grimaced. “I was planning on telling you when we got back... when I walked you back to your place tonight.” 

His head felt hazy with love and desire as she kissed him again. This time, she draped a leg over his, pressing against his chest. He audibly moaned, leaning into the kiss. His hand naturally slid down her back to help her balance, and he squeezed softly, like he had wanted to for a long time. She matched his intensity with a clutch of her own, and he groaned again, reluctantly breaking their touch. 

“I don’t need perfect, Shane. I just need you."

His heart leaped from his chest as she continued.

"I love you too. I want you.”  

“Ahhhh... then let’s get to that hotel,” he said, the heat of her breasts against his chest creating a near uncontrollable fire within him. 

“Fine,” she playfully pouted. “I’ll behave... Hot Stuff," she fanned herself. “...for now... since we’re in public.” 

“Believe me,” he replied with a heavy sigh, feeling a healthy growth between his legs. “I want you all to myself.” 

She giggled and tapped her phone. "Done. Got us booked.”

“That fast?” 

“Yes, It’s only a two and a half block walk. Now… shall we?" She jumped to her feet and darted away briskly. 

“Someone’s impatient!” he smirked. “What if I had said no?” 

“I wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

“Oh really?” he liked teasing her as she brought out his confidence. He started into a jog away, passing her on the sidewalk. “Well, I’ll see you soon.” 

“Shane!” she laughed and chased after him. 

Of course, he let her catch him. She playfully punched his arm, but then lingered. She was beaming. And he was too. Shane took her hand, looking down at the woman he loved, and smiled, brighter than he ever had in his entire life.  She loved him and wanted him… just as he loved and wanted her. 

 “Shane?”

He wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulder. Tonight, he was going to make her fully his, and he would be fully hers. 

"Yes, my Miss Jolly.” 

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Sweet Little Killer

Ghoulcy | Cooper x Lucy | post S1 | touchstarved | hurt\comfort | angst | sometimes he's an asshole | there was only one bed | overprotective and jealous Ghoul | eventual smut

Those big eyes, Cooper thought, his anger rising. Those big eyes of hers were glistening with tears, and twice as pretty for it. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men with those soulful eyes of hers. If she did, she was damn well making those tears brim on her dark lashes on purpose, trying to wrap his withered heart around her pretty little finger.

As Ghoul and Lucy journey across the wastes to New Vegas both of them learn a helluva lot more about each other, and circumstances and mutual attraction drive them into each other's arms.

Start with Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO

‘Just how big is a radscorpion?’ Lucy asked Cooper in a quavering voice.

They were marching across the sand, east into the rosy dawn. Dogmeat, full of energy and happy to be on the move, was running laps of them, her ears pricked forward and tongue lolling out. To Lucy’s disgust, Cooper had fed the dog a breakfast of ass jerky.   

‘Oh, all sizes,’ Cooper replied, sweeping the horizon for any sign of movement. He wanted today to pass without any Vault-Tec, Knights, Enclave, or other miscellaneous bastards getting in his way.

‘Will I see one before it sees me?’

‘I guess you’ll find out, sweetheart,’ he replied with a grin.

Lucy scowled at him. ‘You’re not making any of this easier.’

‘Was that my job? Sorry, I must have missed that in my contract when you paid me for my very expensive services.’

Lucy glowered at his broad back and kept walking. Was the man never not sarcastic?

She saw what looked like scuttle marks in the sand, the kind an eight-legged creature might leave. A creature that was as long as her arm.

Lucy swallowed hard. Oh, good golly.

They passed by a ruin that had collapsed sometime in recent months, and debris was scattered on the sand. Lucy lifted up a pipe about three feet long and the thickness of two thumbs. It felt good in her grip. Not too heavy that she couldn’t swing it, but it could do some damage.

The ghoul gazed at the pipe in her hand and then gave her a nod so slight that she almost missed it. Her heart lifted. He approved of something she’d done.  

‘First one’s yours, vaultie.’

Her heart sank.

They didn’t have to walk for long to find the radscorpion that was as long as her arm. In fact, Lucy suspected the ghoul had led them straight to it. 

He turned to her with a grin and folded his arms as the furious invertebrate scuttled toward them. ‘Have at it.’

Lucy licked her lips. ‘Any tips?’

‘Don’t get stung.’

‘Gee, you’re a real help.’

Ghoul stepped back to watch. A radscorpion could only stab with its stinger every few seconds. If the girl was smart, she’d dodge a strike and get in a few hits with the pipe. But he wasn’t convinced she was anything more than a book smart little do-gooder.

The radscorpion struck out three times before Lucy got over her fear enough to remember that she had a weapon. Wincing, she slammed it down onto the critter. It took a nasty hit, but struck out again. Lucy squealed and leapt back. Her surprise turned to determination, and she landed another hit. The radscorpion twitched, and then died.

‘Ha!’ Lucy exclaimed, breathing hard. 

Cooper smiled to himself. There she was, the little killer he’d seen for an instant as she’d ripped off his finger with her teeth. He liked that girl.

 ‘Here.’ He tugged a knife out of the holster on his belt and passed it to her, hilt first.

‘What’s this for?’ she asked, examining the enormous blade. It was the same length as her fingertips to her elbow. 

He dug in his saddle bag and pulled out a cloth, tossing it to her. ‘Get that stinger out of its tail. You can get twenty caps for a radscorpion stinger sac. Sometimes more.’

While he stood over her, Lucy cracked the tail open and cut out the sac and wrapped it in the cloth bag. She’d done this all by herself, and it felt oddly satisfying.  

When she looked up, the ghoul was chewing on some dried meat, and her smile vanished. He nodded at the radscorpion.

‘Don’t forget your breakfast, unless you’d like some ass jerky.’

Her stomach was rumbling. Anything was better than people. ‘Just think of it as cornmeal porridge,’ she muttered to herself as she cracked open a scorpion leg and ate the soft, clammy meat with her fingers. Thankfully it didn’t taste of much.

The day was a series of radscorpion kills. All hers. It seemed to Lucy like they were zigzagging back and forth across the desert, wasting time on these pointless kills. The lead pipe was heavy. The makeshift bag of stinger sacs on her shoulder was even heavier. She was exhausted, her arms were aching, and her vault suit was splattered with venom from strikes that she’d only just escaped. The ghoul hadn’t lifted a finger to help.

Lucy was in a low mood as they approached a settlement. It must be safe enough because the ghoul shouldered his way through groups of people into a marketplace.

He nodded at a stall. ‘Go sell your shit over there.’

The stinger sacs earned Lucy one hundred and eighteen caps. She stared at the quantity in surprise. The ghoul hadn’t been lying to her.

As she carried them back to him, she eyed him warily.  ‘I suppose you’ll want most of these.’

He was leaning against a wall with one foot propped up. Lazily, he drawled, ‘Me, sweetie? Why would I touch your caps?’

She blinked in surprise. ‘Really?’

‘I ain’t your keeper. Go buy what you need to cross the wastes without keeling over. And get rid of that fucking Vault-tec suit.’ 

With a ghost of a smile on his lips, he watched her moving through the tiny marketplace, picking through the clothes and other items. For a moment she disappeared behind a curtain, and when she emerged, his foot nearly slipped off the wall. She looked...better. Much better. 

Lucy was pleased with her finds. A pair of slim fitting pants with pockets down the side. A couple of tank tops and several pairs of underwear that might not be new, but at least they were clean. A backpack, a water canteen, several cans of cram and some of vegetables. Everything was scuffed, worn, or repaired, but it was hers, and she’d bought it herself with caps she’d earned.

The ghoul was taking in her new look with his head on one side. ‘Well, look at you. A proper surface-dweller now.’

There was a rare note of approval in his voice. Lucy felt her face flush and her heart beat a little faster, though she didn’t understand why.

‘C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.’ He led the way into a saloon bar, and then turned to her and asked, ‘Would you like whiskey, or whiskey? Choices ain’t much around these parts.’

Her attention was snared by the sight of something behind him. A board of wanted posters with sketches of people and amounts for their capture.

‘Wait, is that you?’ Lucy seized his shoulders and turned him so that she could examine the board and his face at the same time.

Cooper felt a strange pressure in his chest as Lucy left her hands right there on his shoulders. His muscles were tingling beneath the weight of her hands. What was this weird sensation? He didn’t like it.

He didn’t move.

‘You’ve got the highest bounty on the board,’ she remarked as she finally stepped back and let go of him.

‘I should hope so,’ he said scornfully, moving toward the bar and ordering two whiskeys. They came in small glasses, and he nudged one toward her with his knuckle.

‘Drink. You’re a real bounty hunter now.’

‘Radscorpions count as bounties? I thought that was scavenging.’

‘Tomorrow we’ll call it scavenging. Today, you’re a bounty hunter.’ He clinked his glass against hers and knocked back his drink.

He hoped that his words would make her smile and he searched her face as he swallowed. It did. There was a glimmer of pleasure on her face as she took a tentative sip of her drink.

His stomach felt warm. It was probably the whiskey.  

‘What exactly are you wanted for?’ she asked.

There was interest in Lucy’s eyes as she gazed up at him. Cooper felt like he was standing in a bar in the beforetimes with an ice-cold martini in his hand and basking in the attention of a pretty woman.

Lucy took another sip of whiskey, and then licked an amber droplet of the alcohol that ran over her finger. The discoloured finger. The one he’d taken such pleasure in making her watch as he’d lovingly cut it from her hand.

Maybe he should feel guilty about that.  

He didn’t.

His little vaultie was starting to toughen up.

A smile slid over Cooper’s lips and he rubbed his jaw. ‘This and that.’

‘Colour me intrigued.’

He gave a modest shrug. ‘You can breathe in the wrong direction and you get on the bad side of the Enclave. They don’t like anyone who ain’t a government sycophant.’

‘But you did more than breathe in the wrong direction,’ she guessed.

No adoring movie fan and no martini ever felt and tasted as good as having Lucy’s undivided attention and interest. Truthfully, he had no idea why his face was up on that board, but it could be for any number of killings.

They were standing close together, both of them leaning on the bar. ‘What will you tell people when it’s your pretty face up on that board?’

‘Me? I’m not a wanted woman.’

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and he watched her do it. Just about every man in the place was watching her do it. Not a wanted woman? 

You sure about that, darlin’?

Cooper tapped the bar for another whiskey, and the bartender refilled his glass.

‘If you say so.’ Cooper knocked back his second drink, and then turned to face the room. Moving his duster aside to expose the gun at his hip, he glared from one staring man to the next until they all took the hint and turned their attention away from his vaultie.

Across the room, two working girls flashed him smiles and waves. Forced smiles. They knew bounty hunters usually had caps to spare and they were desperate enough to try and take them from a ghoul.

Lucy noticed the women paying him attention. ‘If you’re in the mood for some company, I can wait here.’

She really thought he wanted to leave her side for an awkward tumble? ‘No need.’

‘No need? Oh, do you mean you can’t? Sorry, I don’t know much about ghouls.’

Cooper’s head reared up. Outrage expanded in his chest. Lucy assumed that he couldn’t get it up? That as well as losing his life, his home, his daughter, and his looks, he’d lost that as well? ‘Hold up a second, sweetheart. Are you implying that I—’

‘Ghoul!’

Past Lucy’s shoulder a man was striding toward him with a big, stupid grin on his face. A man in his thirties with lanky blond hair and a bandolier of bullets across his chest.

Cooper’s hand clenched in a fist. For fuck’s sake. He stepped around Lucy, keeping her behind him. ‘Kody.’

Kody was another bounty hunter who liked to chew Cooper’s ear off every time they crossed paths.

‘Hey there. Who’s your friend?’ His eyes landed on Lucy. 

Lucy opened her mouth to give Kody her name, but Cooper spoke before she did. ‘She’s nobody. Let’s get a table, I’m tired of being on my feet.’

He felt twin pricks in the side of his neck as Lucy glared at him. He bought what was left of an open bottle of whiskey, about a third of its usual contents, and steered Lucy and Kody over to a quiet corner of the room. Kody wouldn’t leave him the hell alone until they’d had a drink together and he needed to keep an eye on Lucy in case someone tried to grab her.

‘What are you doing out this way?’ Cooper asked when the three of them were settled with Dogmeat under the table.

‘I’m headed over to Hasting’s place. He put word out there’s bounty work.’

‘Is that so.’

‘How about you?’

Cooper stared at the other man in silence, and then nodded at Lucy. ‘Mail order bride. Taking this one to some rich man who owns a ranch.’

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. Her expression said, I will kill you.

Kody turned to Lucy with what he probably thought was a charming smile. ‘Oh, honey, you don’t need to do that. Ghoul can leave you with me and I’ll take care of you so good.’

Cooper felt the back of his neck bristle. He was pouring another round of whiskey and put the bottle down with a thud that made all their glasses jump. ‘Don’t look at my bounty, Kody.’

‘Ghoul’s sensitive today,’ Kody said to Lucy with a grin.

‘Is that what you call him? Ghoul?’

‘The Ghoul. This man’s infamous around these parts.’

Cooper threw back his whiskey, reached down to his belt and yanked out his knife. Kody’s hand was flat on the table as he continued to talk to Lucy with that stupid smile on his face. Cooper slammed the knife point-down into the table, right through Kody’s hand.

Kody screamed and stared at his bleeding, impaled hand, his fingers flexing. Lucy gasped. The whole bar stared.

Finally, people were looking at something that wasn’t his vaultie.

‘What the hell, man? Have you lost your mind?’ Kody cried.

‘Maybe I have,’ Cooper said through bared teeth, and twisted the knife. Bones cracked in Kody’s hand and he screamed again. Kody wanted to pull his hand away, but that would mean ripping it apart.

Lucy was breathing fast and shallow, her eyes huge. ‘Mr. Ghoul, please don’t—’

‘Why are you lying to me, Kody?’ Cooper asked, not taking his eyes off the other bounty hunter.

‘Shit. Shit. How am I meant to work if you destroy my gun hand? I ain’t lying about anything, Ghoul. I swear.’

‘You’re not going to Hastings’ place, because Hastings ain’t home. He’s a wanted man. Are you fried on chems, or are you just that fucking stupid that you didn’t notice his face on that board behind us?’

Kody glanced behind them at the wanted board, and his anger deflated. The man started to look scared. ‘Ghoul, I didn’t try to take her from you. I wasn’t going to. Just let me go.’

Deadly, cold anger swept through Cooper. ‘Oh, that’s all right then. You can go.’

Kody glanced at the knife sticking through his hand, waiting for Cooper to pull it out.  

Cooper didn’t move. ‘I said, go on.’

‘Don’t make me rip my hand open. Please, man,’ Kody begged.

When Cooper still didn’t answer, Kody started to whimper. ‘I can’t—I didn’t—ah fuck.’ He looked desperately at Lucy, sweat on his brow. ‘I’ll split the caps with you when we reach New Vegas. You don’t need to put up with this asshole.’

Kody was still looking at his vaultie. Someone had put a bounty on her, and it must be a lot of caps if Kody was willing to double-cross him. Dogmeat was out from beneath the table and barking frantically. Cooper viciously twisted the knife again.

Kody screamed, and then drew a gun. Cooper knocked Kody’s arm upwards so the bullet fired through the tin roof and the gun went tumbling from his hand. He was distracted for a moment as Lucy flinched and fell off her chair, giving Kody the chance to punch him in the guts. With the wind knocked out of him, Cooper yanked the knife out of the table and drove it through Kody’s throat.

Kody crumpled to the ground with a gurgle. Cooper braced his hand against the table, wheezing as he dragged air back into his spasming lungs. He stared at the dead man in disgust. Fucking prick, going after Lucy right in front of him.  

Lucy was sprawled on the floor. Cooper bent down to help her to her feet, checking her over for injuries. Blood was trickling from her grazed elbow. His vaultie was tender. That would leave a bruise. With a gentle swipe of his thumb, he wiped away the blood.

‘That must hurt.’

‘I’m okay,’ she said softly. Breathlessly. So close. ‘Thank you. For um, not letting him take me.’

Cooper went still. Lucy was pressed against his chest with her hands on his shoulders. He was holding her. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman. A lifetime. He’d been another man then. If he’d met Lucy before the bombs fell, he would have made it his business to coax a smile to those pretty lips of hers. Just one smile that he could store away in his heart. Too bad everything was different now, and the only reason she was clinging to him was because she was terrified.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, genuine worry in her eyes.

Cooper frowned at her strange question. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah, he hit you.’ She gently placed her hand over his chest, feeling the ridges of his ribs and stomach muscles. Her fingers stroked him through his clothing, sending shivers through his body. What in the hell was happening to him?

How did he ask her never to stop without sounding like a crazy man?

Cooper forgot how to breathe for a moment, and then started again with a shudder.

Lucy heard it and lifted her eyes to his.

She smelled sweet and was soft in his arms. That curve of her waist that he’d been admiring all day as she’d beaten radscorpions was supple in his gloved hands. What was sweeter than the only woman on earth touching him like he was precious rather than the wreck he really was? The only woman that Ghoul had noticed on earth in two hundred years, anyway.

‘Oh, I’m fine, darlin’,’ he murmured, his gaze traveling along her jaw and down her throat.

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You don’t sound sarcastic. Are you sure you’re all right?’

His gaze dropped to the corpse on the floor and reality came flooding back. If bounty hunters were coming after them, there was no place they were safe. Daddy MacLean must have put word out that he wanted his daughter. Every gunslinger around would be trying to take Lucy from him.  

No, he wasn’t fucking all right. Cooper seized both her wrists and gripped them tightly, growling into her pretty face, ‘You listen to me, sweetheart. Don’t think about wandering off for even a second unless you want to be delivered straight to your daddy wrapped in a bow. From now on, you’re going to do everything I say, and I ain’t letting you out of my sight.’

_

Cooper. COOPER. Lucy thinks you can't get it up. What are you gonna do about that??

Read Chapter Three

[raineandsky]

#87

The hero shoves the villain into a seat at an agency desk in cuffs and abandons them there. The most of the outside world they’ve seen since they got here a month ago. “Where’s my supposed visitor then?” the villain snaps.

The hero ignores him in favour of walking back through the agency. Naturally.

They’re starting to suspect this is a test—left alone, apparently waiting for someone, the double-doored exit right in front of them? Come on—when the hero returns with someone in tow. Young, an absolute nerd, and not in cuffs. A citizen. 

The villain scowls as the hero gestures him into the chair opposite with a lot more grace than the villain ever gets the luxury of seeing. She has to keep up appearances to the innocents, they assume.

“Hello,” the civilian opens. Oh, he speaks like a nerd, too. This should be interesting.

“You have half an hour,” the hero says, pointedly aiming it at the civilian. “I’ll come back then.”

He nods and with that she’s off. The civilian adjusts his glasses on his nose for a moment. The villain stares at him in the hopes that they can unnerve him into submission.

“I’m studying psychology at the city university,” he says after an awkward pause. “I’m in need of a case study for my dissertation. I thought someone like yourself would make a good person to examine for my report.”

Clearly he’s had that little script written up somewhere. He throws them a smile, lopsided with nerves, and the villain scowls in response.

“I thought human experimentation was frowned on with the do-gooders,” the villain says shortly. That breaks the civilian out of his clearly practised speech; he positively blanches at the insinuation.

“Wh– I– It’s not experimentation.” The last word comes out like a swear—hushed, spat out like a bad taste. “I’d like you to be the subject of my dissertation. I want to be a therapist, you see.”

“A therapist,” the villain echoes flatly. “What, you’re going to CBT me into being an outstanding citizen?”

The civilian laughs, slightly. He seems like he’s not entirely sure if he’s meant to laugh at that. “If you’re open to it.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

The civilian leans back with a huff, resting an open notebook on his knee like a journalist. “So, where’d your interest in crime start?”

“Do I not get an incentive?” The villain tuts with dramatic annoyance. “You want me to tell you my tragic backstory for free?”

The civilian sits with that for a moment. His pen taps rather irritably against his book. Then, a ghost of a smile, a lot less lopsided than before and a lot more confident than the villain likes.

“If you give me something of note I could” — he waves his hands about rather broadly — “theoretically advocate for you. Prove that none of this is your fault and get you released.”

The villain was expecting him to offer a bag of sweets or something. That’s not an incentive to talk, it’s a goddamn reason.

The villain clears their throat. Shuffles on their rickety little chair. Heaves a deep breath.

“Well,” the villain starts, and everything that comes out of their mouth after it is a lie.

Why wouldn’t it be? This kid’s stupid if he thinks a villain is going to let him pin them down as a person. Besides, they don’t need to be studied—they like crime and they like doing it even more. Not exactly a mysterious case needing to be psychoanalysed.

The civilian hangs onto every word though, the naive kid he is. He scrawls notes furiously the entire time the villain’s talking, nodding enthusiastically and asking more questions here and there. The villain entertains him as much as they entertain themself.

“Half hour’s up,” the hero drawls upon her return. The civilian hops up with half a notebook of scribbles and a beaming smile. The villain would feel bad if they cared.

“Thank you, [Villain],” he says brightly, clearly ecstatic to have a villain on his side. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’m excited to work together.”

“Pleasure’s all yours,” the villain says plainly, and with another unsure laugh the civilian turns on his heel and sets off. The hero takes on the brave duty of lugging the villain back to their dingy little cell.

The villain has no intention of changing, of course. The civilian’s little project will be a fun way to pass the time. If they just make note of the tale they’re weaving, they can tell him the most ludicrous stories and he’ll fall for them hook line and sinker.

Makes for good entertainment in an agency prison, after all.

[bedoballoons]

@aleksai42 thank you for this idea!! I hope you enjoy!!<3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

A/n: Modern School AU! Part 2! Requests/asks open!!

{༻~What type of classmate/bf they would be~༺}

(Includes: Diluc, Gorou, Itto, Alhaitham, Venti, and Childe!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Diluc:

Classmate:

Diluc would be quieter than most, preferring to sit in silence as he listens to the teacher and not partake in the whispers of the other students. In fact most of the time he has nothing to do with his classmates, unless someone's being picked on or in some type of trouble. Whenever he sees something like that he'll step in, making himself known as a hero to the select few he's helped and one that doesn't require any thank you afterwords, walking away as soon as he knows the person's safe.

Boyfriend:

After the two of you started dating, you realized he had a lot more going on in his life than you had originally thought. He's a classic gentleman, holding the door open for you after walking you to school, carrying your books cause he knows they're heavy, and giving you a kiss goodbye whenever you part ways. His absolute favourite thing though, is when the two of you are alone, cuddled up together, his arms holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let you go.

𑁍༄Gorou:

Classmate:

Gorou is a bit of a teacher's pet, he has good grades in every class, follows every rule to the letter and keeps others out of mischief. He has really sweet personality, but because he is such a do-gooder he often gets bullied. He doesn't let that get him down though, in fact he always seems to have a good attitude. He can't pick a favourite class, they're all his favourite...though he really enjoys being outside.

Boyfriend:

He's honestly a ray of sunshine the second he sees you, getting a little hyper and talking faster than he normally does, usually saying how much he missed you. He absolutely loves when the two of you picnic outside the school, especially when you read aloud to him or you study together. Whenever you're walking somewhere his hands in yours, swinging your intertwined fingers gently back and fourth in time with your steps.

𑁍༄Itto:

Classmate:

Itto is considered, the tall class clown. He's pretty popular, telling jokes in the middle of lessons or answering questions so wrong everyone has to laugh. He's...not the brightest, getting low grades in most classes, but he makes up for it with his charisma and dedication to the things he enjoys. His favourite thing about school being his mechanical beetle fighting club, it doesn't have a lot of members, but that's never stopped him from having fun.

Boyfriend:

As soon as the two of you started dating your life became so much better, he was funny, sweet and he loved you so much. Sure he got into some childish messes you had to help him with, but he made it up to you tenfold. Planning adventurous dates, getting you gifts (some sillier than most) and absent mindedly complimenting you all the time, because in his eyes you're truly incredible.

𑁍༄Alhaitham:

Classmate:

He almost never speaks, to the point most of the class assumes he's mute, until a question he finds particularly intriguing arises and then he could spend a hour describing the answer. He's intelligent beyond his years and most people envy him for it, making alot of the class dislike him. He doesn't really care though, he'd prefer to spend all day reading books then discuss anything with them anyway.

Boyfriend:

He's not great at showing romance at first, not because he doesn't want to but because he simply doesn't know how. After a couple months though, the two of you find a rhythm and he turns out to be surprisingly good at being a boyfriend. He shows up early to walk you to school, holds you whenever he's reading (so very often) and whenever you two bicker, he's extremely careful to never hurt you. You're truly his favourite person and he'll do whatever he can to keep it that way.

𑁍༄Venti:

Classmate:

He's extremely charismatic, chatting with everyone at least once and going with the flow to avoid arguments. His favourite class is music, he can play almost any instrument, but his favourites are all string based. He also enjoys theater, though he's pretty good at being in plays he prefers to be the narrator, telling the stories in such a way that captures the whole audience.

Boyfriend:

His love language is touch, meaning he's always holding your hand, hugging you whenever he can and cuddling up to you during lunchtime. He leaves you origami paper birds in your locker and desk, each one a little poem for you. He also enjoys singing to you, especially when you come to one of the plays he's in and you're in the front row, he can't help but sing right to you, especially when it's a love song.

𑁍༄Childe:

Classmate:

Childe is slightly confusing to his classmates, he seems nice, always laughing and joking around, people even see him walk his younger siblings to school...but there's something about him that gives off a bad boy vibe. No one can really put their finger on why he seems the tiniest bit like a villain but everyone agrees that there's a reason. His favourite class is p.e., he really enjoys competitive games and is even apart of a sports team.

Boyfriend:

He loves when you show up to his games, it makes him work even hard to win and when you cheer it makes him confident he can do anything with you there for him. He brags about you often to his teammates and whenever you two are walking through the halls, his arms around you. He loves your kisses, begging you for them whenever you two have been apart more than a day. He also really enjoys when the two of you watch his siblings together, it never seems like a chore with you both there and after everyone's gone to sleep, he can cuddle up with you at last.

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ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day!*⁠.⁠✧