#my brain just did not want to cooperate

[akirakirxaa]

[ blend in ] receiver tries to blend in at the ball and remain unseen, but sender notices and approaches them

[Ball/Parties Prompts. Decided this is the perfect prompt for the Solus x Valeria meet cute, so y'all get an early sneak peak. :D ...Early as in I haven't started writing the fic yet so I'm going a bit out of order. xD]

Valeria milled about in the ball room. It was a grand affair, decorated with more flowers and banners and garland than she could even fathom at the cost of, let alone the price of importing said flowers from warmer climes. Ladies muttered to each other behind fans and scarves, dressed in impeccable gowns that flowed about them like large, heavy clouds. The men clumped together, suits all blending together like a flock of birds, switching between laughter and seriousness as their various topics called for them.

No one had approached her thus far. The families of lower status assumed she must be of a higher standing, and the higher status assumed the same in reverse, she imagined. She smoothed the front of her own gown, a rather dated garment that once belonged to her late mother, and accepted a fizzing glass from one of the servants bustling about the room with trays of food and drink.

Just look like you belong and no one will be the wiser, she thought to herself, taking a little sip. No matter the danger or how temporary, it was nice to escape home for a few hours and have some fun. There were so many people here that she felt much more secure in her virtual invisibility than when she was planning this in the first place. She watched various couples spinning around the ballroom in time with the quartet performing at the head of the room.

One of the spinning couples twirled just a little too close then, one of the two slamming into her shoulder and knocking her off balance. Her glass slipped from her grip - I was enjoying that, she couldn't help thinking grumpily as it smashed on the floor- and in her attempt to regain her balance, stepped on her dress hem and tumbled to the floor. So much for acting like I belong. How embarrassing.

"Are you alright?" Valeria jerked her head in the direction of the voice to find a tall and rather well decorated man with black hair, just shorter than chin length, offering his hand. She glanced him over, trying to place him from what little she knew of the elite. White streak in his hair, bright gold eyes, the sheer number of medals and ribbons...

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Valeria tried to reason out if it would be worse for her to be found out by the Emperor himself or to instead commit the insult of running for her life. She wasn't given the choice in the end, though, when he took her hand and pulled her to her feet when she hesitated.

"I don't think we've met," he tilted his head just a bit as he examined her.

"W-we haven't," she stammered, rapidly running through the list of excuses she had prepared for...well, not this scenario but in case someone engaged her in conversation. "I'm a bit of a recluse honestly. Normally not one for big affairs."

"I see. May I have your name?"

I can't give him my real name! she panicked. If he finds out I snuck in I may as well be signing my death warrant. Why didn't I think to come up with a false name to begin with?

"J-just call me Val," she managed to stammer out. Only her friend Noelle called her that, and she knew that the hyur woman would never give her up. His eyes flashed, and she wondered if he knew she was...well, not quite lying but not giving the whole truth either.

"Well, I do so love this song, would you honor me with a dance?" He asked smoothly, giving her hand a little tug towards the dance floor. I was trying not to draw attention!

"I, uh, of course," she stuttered, too far in to back out gracefully now. "The honor would be mine." A pause before she remembered. "Your Radiance."

"Now, now, let's not muddy this up with titles and addresses," he gave her a charming smile and he was going to be the death of her, she swore. "Just Solus is fine."

"Yes, your- Solus," she agreed quickly, and as he pulled her out onto the dance floor she couldn't help but wonder what she'd gotten herself into.

[puppppppppy]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[mosspapi]

Gonna b honest. I kinda preferred being actively and pressingly suicidal to whatever the fuck I've got going on now. At least then I knew what I could do to keep myself reasonably safe. Whether I'd do it is another question entirely but at least it was cut-and-dry and made sense. Idek what my brain is doing atp, much less what it needs from me

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

oh you know it's bad when i've been reading one (1) YA book for ten (10) days...,...,.

[princess-adronitis]

.

[dagasinfilo]

man trauma healing really is a fucking

[teaboot]

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

[ef-1]

I applied to a prestigious law program/scholarship and I need your positive energy, prayers, vibes, manifestation all of it

[badolmen]

Blehg

[hemlock-dreams]

Horny brain! Activate!

Just wanted to write a scene of Spidey finally getting to indulge his colossal oral fixation. Wade volunteers as tribute! So here: 4k words of pure filth.

---------------

Wade's back hits the wall. He's out of breath, body thrumming from the adrenaline, pulse a hummingbird beat against his chest.

Spiderman has him caged against the rooftop access, an inky blot in the darkness, an electric shadow pressed up against Wade. Their masks are halfway up, and Spidey's tongue is halfway down Wade's throat.

Spidey drops his head to the crook of Wade's neck, leaving a series of sucking kisses that make Wade ache in the suit. "I win," he says, smug as shit, but Wade can't fault him for it.

It was a good fucking chase and an even better fucking fight. He just wishes he could keep the bruises.

"Yeah, you did," Wade pants, grinding against Spidey's dense body. It's amazing, a perfect end to the night, except Wade's not ready for it to be over. "Where I come from, winners get a prize." He says, hoping it doesn't come out too desperate. Or maybe just the right amount of desperate.

Who the winner is in this situation is really up for interpretation, but Wade wants to think they can both get what they want.

Clearly, they're on the same wavelength because Spidey grabs the tail end of the thought and runs with it. "I've got some ideas…"

The dark, masculine purr of Spidey's voice makes Wade want to lick into his mouth, so he does, groaning when Spidey lets him have it. It feels so unbelievably good to let himself want without compunction, to take what's on offer without having to break off pieces of himself to pay for it.

It has the strange side effect of making Wade unusually generous. Borderline pliant—especially when it comes to his favorite spider.

"Oh, yeah?" Wade asks. His vision is already starting to sparkle, body twitching under Spidey's hands from the venom. Wandering hands inevitably end up on Spidey's magnificent ass, squeezing hard, knowing he can take it. "You know what they say. Sharing is caring."

A hand comes up between Wade's legs, palming the erection that's been there ever since Spidey tackled him across a fire escape three blocks ago. He's not gentle, either. Wade pushes up into it, shuddering when the pressure doesn't let up.

Fuck it's good. But he's more interested in what's Spidey's got cooking.

"Here's what's going to happen," Spidey starts casually, cool as a cucumber. Wade's heartbeat picks up immediately. Spidey always has spectacular plans, especially when they involve Wade. "I'm going to get on my knees, and you're going to fuck my mouth. My prize, is going to be swallowing you down— as many times as you can take it."

The words hit Wade like a nuclear fucking blast, evaporating all the air in his lungs. He doesn't even pretend to think about it; just shoves his hands between their bodies and starts yanking at his suit like it's offended the honor of his house and name.

“I haven’t done this before,” Spidey’s voice is thick with anticipation, and the way he watches Wade unbuckle his suit, licking his lips like there’s a five-course meal waiting in Wade’s pants makes his hands shake. “But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

His mouth brushes under the edge of Wade’s mask as he confesses, licking the seam of the merc’s lips before continuing down his chin. 

“Tell me,” Wade grunts, fingers clumsy as he tries to get his fucking zipper to cooperate- difficult when Spidey’s fangs scrape over the sensitive skin of his jaw, little pinpricks of pain and pixie magic that make his trapped cock scream in the suit.

“Been thinking about how it would feel on my tongue,” Spidey indulges, panting wetly against Wade’s neck. “Thought about holding you down and stretching my throat around you, wanna swallow till I’m sore-”

Wade tears the zipper clean off with an unhinged sound. Spidey huffs a laugh, something about being impatient, but he's far past caring. Fuck patience. Fuck the suit. Everything between him and Spidey’s ravenous fucking mouth needs to fucking disappear. 

It takes a few drugged, desperate seconds to summon the coordination, but Wade finally manages to pull out his dick, hissing in relief as he palms the throbbing length of it. He’s already painfully hard from the chase. The thrill of being so thoroughly roughed up has him leaking against the blood-slick leather of his glove where he twists it around the head. 

Spidey bats it away with a low, possessive growl that makes Wade forget to register the tired knee-jerk stab of shame about his scarring. All attention is devoted to the sight of Spidey sinking to his knees with inhuman, predatory grace, and the heavy curl of his hands around Wade’s hips, coupled with the sharp glint of his venom-streaked fangs, has his dick jumping like he’s been electrocuted.

Fuck, fuck— Spidey hasn’t even done anything, and Wade's on the verge of begging.

“C’mon, Fangs,” he pleads because shame is on vacation right now, fisting the edges of Spidey’s suit and spreading his legs as far as the leather will allow. He tries to flex his hips, but it’s no use. Spiderman is carved from marble, his hands immovable from where he’s anchored Wade. 

There’s barely two inches between Spidey’s mouth and his dick, but it might as well be a fucking mile. He glances up at Wade, and his smile is hungry and a little manic, tongue pink and lurid as he swipes it across his fangs.

“I’ll probably hurt you,” he whispers.

Wade’s brain rattles in his head. “Promise?” He begs, breathless because just the thought of it has him panting like a bitch. 

That was apparently the right thing to say because Spidey laughs and gets with the fucking program.

It’s been a while since Wade’s been on his knees for anyone. Even longer since he’s been on the receiving end, but given Spidey’s hungry enthusiasm, Wade expected to be halfway down the man’s throat by now.

But predicting Spiderman is an exercise in futility because instead of going to town or doing any of the normal things people do when presented with a cock, he bypasses it to press his face to the base of the shaft, inhaling through his teeth in heaving gulps.  

Oh, that’s right. 

It's been mentioned once or twice, how Spidey can taste Wade on the air, that their constant proximity means he can parse the merc’s flavor apart from the rest of the ambient soup of the world. 

Wade doesn’t know what that really means, but he doesn’t care because Spidey rolls his face against Wade’s skin, breathing deeply, fingers convulsing around the merc’s hips in fits.

It’s both blisteringly hot and strangely chaste— like Spidey is feeling Wade because he’s pleasing to touch, using his body to satisfy all the little urges he’s had to keep tucked away, just because Wade makes him feel good in some bone-deep way.

The feeling unfurls, rolling outwards till his legs are trembling. His hands scrabble against Spidey because his grip is the only thing keeping Wade from freefalling.

“Jesus, Slick,” Wade pants, trying to swallow around the sudden lump his throat, “You’re gonna fucking kill me, come on.”

“Pot. Kettle.” Spidey breathes, in time with Wade’s spiking pulse, “You’ve been driving me crazy. The way you fucking taste, you have no idea-”

Wade really doesn’t. He’s extremely fuzzy on what keeps Spidey here, but he’s not dumb enough to call his bluff, not when his gorgeous hunter leans back and rolls his tongue over the head of Wade’s weeping dick, groaning like the merc is doing him a favor.

The first real touch of his tongue has both of them shivering, and Spidey suddenly descends on Wade like a man starved. He works his lips over the head of his dick like it’s the world’s most delicious lollipop, leaving tingling iridescent trails in his wake as he kisses down the shaft.

Wade is transfixed at the sight, pulse rabbiting as Spidey traces over the scars with his tongue, dipping into the grooves like he’s trying to ingrain them into his memory by mouthfeel alone. 

It’s the hottest fucking thing Wade’s ever seen. In fact, he wishes he could permanently pluck out his own eyes to make sure it’s the last thing he ever sees. Then again, maybe it's good he can't because there’s no way he’s missing the sight of Spidey chasing a drop of precum like it’s vital to his survival.

“You taste so pretty,” Spiderman slurs like he can read Wade’s mind, or maybe taste it on his tongue— punctuating the statement with a debauched kiss to the leaking tip. “So fucking perfect, wanna keep you here forever.”

The praise goes straight to Wade’s head, hips jerking uselessly against Spidey’s iron grip. “You can,” he sounds pathetic. “As long as you want, all yours.” And he is, fuck, he is— for as long as long as Spiderman can stand him. 

“Yeah?” A pink-slick tongue laves the underside of the head, tracing the throbbing vein there. Wade’s vision crackles; it’s so intense, “Whenever I want?” There’s something deeply satisfying in the way his fingers dig into Wade’s hip, ten sweet points of bruising pain that makes his dick weep.

“Yeah. Anytime, anywhere,” Wade promises fervently, sounding like the lovelorn maiden he is. He’ll let Spidey blame it on the venom. 

That gets him a crooked grin, pleased. Spidey purses his lips around the head of Wade’s cock, content to linger, pressing torturous little licks into his slit. 

Now, Wade is a well-known masochist, but apparently, he’s got a limit. “C’mon, Fangs,” he moans, twitching against Spidey’s mouth, heart jumping when the head of his cock hitches one venom-slicked lip high enough to see teeth, “Let me in.”

That earns him a heartfelt groan and a shiver. 

“I want, but-” Spidey hisses, rubbing his lips against scarred skin. Lips draw back in a facsimile of a snarl.

Wade pulls at Spidey’s shoulders, impatient, “Your teeth? Trust me, baby, it's all I've been thinking about. I want it.” Wade’s cock is literally jumping at the sight. Want doesn’t even begin to describe it. 

Wade needs it; needs to see that pretty needle-lined mouth wrapped around his cock before he wakes up behind whatever dumpster he’s offloaded his body. 

Spidey stares at him, breath coming out in harsh gasps.

"Please," Wade begs, and it must be convincing because Spidey twitches forward in an aborted movement.

“Show me,” Spiderman says, then shakes his head, sounding unhinged, borderline feral. “No…Make me.” 

The demand practically creaks under years of habits born in response to having fangs that don’t retract.

Jesus, he really hasn't done this before, has he?

The thought of being the first person to sink into Spiderman’s virgin fucking mouth drives him crazy. Wade isn’t delusional enough to believe he’ll be the last but fuck, he wants to make it so good that Spidey keeps coming back-

He remembers to tear his gloves off before fisting one hand into the back of Spidey’s mask, tugging hard, forcing the man’s head back until his neck is a pale, elegant line in the dark.

His gorgeous little spider doesn't even flinch; he just leans into the pain like it's a gift. The explicit show of trust sends all voices roaring, and the intensity of Wade's desire takes him by surprise. Violence, lust, love, all the lines blur until Wade can't tell the difference between wanting to fuck Spidey or kill him— whatever it takes to permanently mark him as Wade's.

Spidey chooses that moment to swallow, knowing that Wade's eyes follow the motion like a man possessed. Fucking tease. Wade's going to ruin him.

“Poor itsy bitsy spider,” Wade's voice is a velvet growl as he settles his other hand around Spidey’s jaw, reveling in how the simple touch makes him shiver. Has anyone else ever reacted like that to Wade? “Spent your entire life with that hungry mouth muzzled, huh?”

Wade doesn't wait for Spidey to confirm. He can already imagine the man's civilian life, a sad snapshot of carefully regulated emotions filled with close-lipped smiles and pursed grins. A real fucking shame because Wade recognizes a repressed slut when he sees one. Something, something birds of a feather.

“Don't worry, baby,” He slides his cock up and over Spidey's mouth, watching the wallcrawler jerk and pant as he spreads all that shiny venom over his cheeks, pushing up against the edge of his mask, “I'm going to pry you open just to see how soft you are inside.”

Spidey grits out a wounded noise, jaw hard enough to chew through gravel. He’s drooling through clamped teeth, venom, and spit trailing down his chin in rivulets. He wants it, bad, and Wade wants to give it to him.

Spidey just needs a little coaxing, and the challenge of it, combined with Wade's frayed impatience, makes his touches mean.

“Thought you wanted this?” Wade cruelly squeezes his fingers deep into the bone, right where the hinge is, just to watch Spidey flinch and take it. “Don’t tell me you chased me through the city just to pass on your prize?” 

He presses his cock against Spidey’s closed mouth, pushing past his lips to rub against his teeth and catch against his swollen gums, right up against the sensitive glands.

It must feel intense because Spidey shakes and whines, muscles spasming under Wade's fingers as he struggles to fight years of conditioning.

“Was it all talk?” He taunts, pulling back just enough to watch Spidey fight his grip to chase him. “Is it too much for you? Maybe I should put it away-”

It’s a bluff because Wade is fucking desperate, but Spidey’s jaw flexes in response, loosening just enough to unleash a furious growl. 

“No?” Wade pretends to think about it long enough for Spidey’s grip to turn dangerous. Wade's hips might be splinters by the end, but that’s just icing on the cake. “You want it?” 

“Yes,” Spidey chokes out, and Wade gives him a brutal little shake,

“Then, open up.” His voice is all malice, the way it gets when Wade's face to face with a target he’s looking particularly forward to taking his time with. “Let me break you in.”

That does it. A full-body tremor rolls up Spidey’s entire frame, and slowly, very slowly, his jaw begins to relax. 

What a perfect, fucking freak.

Immediately, Wade pushes his fingers into the soft hollows of Spidey’s cheeks, forcing his jaw wider, crooning in pleasure as he watches bruises bloom under pressure. “That’s it, Slick. Open up those pearly gates, lemme see what heaven looks like.”

The fangs really are pretty- long and graceful, and absolutely drenched, gums swollen around the base of his canines— hypersensitive, if the way Spidey is twitching is any indication. His mouth is plush and bright pink, a salivating mess when Wade jerks his head up for a better look.

His cock throbs at the sight, and Wade reached his limit about two paragraphs into this whole thing, so he starts pushing, dragging the leaking tip past Spidey’s criminally soft lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand shaking around Spidey’s jaw. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Wider, that’s it, yeah-“

Spidey makes a garbled, incoherent noise that makes Wade want to slam in. His spider is breathing hard and fast, hands tight across the merc's hips; Wade has to fight for every goddamn inch, earn every shallow, torturous slide into that glorious mouth.

The wet, needy sound that accompanies every slide is addicting.

“That’s it, baby, keep that mouth nice and loose for me. Let me give it to you, fuck-” he’s working his hips in little jerks, just dragging the head across Spidey’s drooling mouth, fighting not to come before he's given Spidey his damn prize.

Wade goes deeper each time, teasing both of them when he pulls out and dips back in, little thrusts that have Wade’s nerve endings sparking. Fuck, fuck, he needs more—

"Is that all you can take?" It's supposed to be a taunt, but the words come out twisted, desperate. Wade needs to get deeper; he needs to carve out a space in Spidey's body just for him.

Spidey makes a frustrated, guttural noise around Wade’s cock as he tilts his head. The new angle makes his fangs look obscene, like two gleaming daggers poised over the head of Wade’s dick, and his voice pitches embarrassingly high at the sight.

“In, wanna see you take it.” Panting breaths, Wade pulling as much as he can, pushing his hips at the same time, but there's no fucking give to Spiderman. “Come on, come on, c’mon, c'moncmoncmon-”

Spidey shifts, and Wade feels his jaw pop under his thumb, the final piece of resistance disappearing as he finally leans in, and god- Spidey's mouth is a fucking revelation, all scorching heat, so wet there's almost no friction, just a long, dripping, sinful slide.

Wade hears himself whine, a perfect counterpitch to Spidey's low animal groan.

It's too fast, especially given Spidey's inexperience, but the promise of bruising that beautiful throat from the inside out burns all of Wade's gentler impulses.

And Spidey sounds so fucking pleased, like Wade is everything he ever wanted, sinking further and further like he can't bear the thought of pulling back— like the weight of Wade's cock is more important than the air in his lungs.

“C’mon,” He’s babbling, comically delirious even to his own ears, leaking every thought right into Spidey's greedy mouth, “Take it, take it, sweetheart, it’s yours, all of it, anything you need, Slick, please—”

He's so close. The world is starting to go hazy, the wet sound of Spidey's mouth, the bruising grip around his hips, the chill breeze over his stomach, everything blurring together to tease the most monstrous orgasm of his life.

Right as he's about to tip over the edge, Spiderman retreats, and Wade nearly breaks his own fingers trying to claw him back over his aching dick. Wade's throat burns, loud and incoherent, a wash of white noise against the coming tide.

It doesn't seem to matter, or maybe it does, because Spidey just breathes deep and sinks all the way to the root, and the resounding crack of Wade's skull against the wall is nothing but a delicious accent to the absolute tidal wave of pleasure that swamps him.

Time turns to spaghetti, and by the time Wade floats back up, it's to the sight and sound of Spidey shaking, whining around the thick length of Wade's cock, nose pressed against the bone. He sounds pained, like he's hurting, or—

“Jesus, Jesus, baby, did you just-?” Wade shudders, staring down at Spidey's kneeling form in disbelief.

Spidey just makes a raw, broken noise, sounding as fucked out as Wade feels. He swallows, then nods.

His hands haven't moved from Wade's hips.

"Where did they make you? Fuck, you're so, —just— fucking perfect. You're gonna kill me," Wade chokes out, hoarse, twitching against the soft meat of Spidey's throat.

Spiderman seems to take this as advice because instead of pulling off, he sinks even further until his face is completely pressed up against Wade's abdomen.

It's immediately too much, and Wade scrabbles at Spidey's shoulders, hissing as his body instinctively tries to retreat.

He doesn't go far because Spidey fuckin’ snarls around Wade’s cock in protest, and Wade suddenly finds himself pushed against the wall hard enough to grind his spine into the brick. He’s pinned, completely immobile, save for his mouth- which is still running a mile a minute, 

“Fuck, baby, Jesus, you're a fucking lunatic—!" His voice cracks as Spidey inhales him, taking the entirety of Wade's shaft like he's going to find the meaning of life at the base of it.

He stays there for a long time, immune to the desperate, inarticulate noises tearing out of Wade's mouth. Wade's cock hasn't even had a chance to go down, and thanks to Spidey, is almost painfully hard against the back of his throat.

Enthusiasm aside, Wade knows he needs to ease up. Spidey can't be getting enough air— but Wade can’t pull back, not when he feels the tips of those fangs threaten him when he tries. Instinct paralyzes Wade, but the sound that Spidey makes, a low hum of warning, vibrates through his cock and all the way up his spine.

Those teeth press close, locking tight enough to be unnerving. There's no pain, not yet, but the threat, the mere idea of it, sends Wade's brain right into the fucking stratosphere.

When his ears turn back on, it’s to the sound of his own babbling, out of his mind on a heady cocktail of terror and pleasure, "Fuck, Slick, your fucking teeth, yeah do it, do it, do it, do it—" Wade’s voice is wobbly, wet as he shakes from the overstimulation.

Spiderman doesn't let up, forcibly pushing Wade deeper into the wall as he speeds up.

Spiderman pulls back and sinks down, dragging the sharp points of his teeth across Wade's cock over and over and over, carving shallow lines of blistering pain and pleasure that coil in the mess of his brain until they're indistinguishable from one another.

Wade is suspended, writhing in pure, terrifying sensation, and the sounds being punched out of his chest are humiliatingly small and honest. 

Spidey’s venom is shimmering on his skin, coursing in his veins, sinking into his fucking soul and staining the ragged thing electric pink. His entire nervous system feels like it's been doused with gasoline and set on fucking fire.

It's too much. Every inch of exposed skin feels flayed. Wade's cock is just a raw nerve, and Spidey’s mouth a fucking black hole, sucking every single thought out of Wade’s head with incredible violence.

“Fuckbabyfuckican't—" But he wants to, wants to give it to Spidey, but there's just no way, he can't.

Spidey doesn't give a shit about Wade's limits, because he pries one of the merc's hands from his shoulder, and Wade valiantly scrapes half a brain cell off the floor to pay attention when Spidey presses the bare palm to the side of his neck—

Everything slows down. Oh fuck. Oh fuck-

Then Spidey swallows and squeezes, and the feel of his fangs pressing in, his throat distending around Wade’s cock, under his palm-

That’s it. Game over. Wade’s entire body locks up, muscles convulsing as Spidey wrenches his second orgasm from the fucking pits of hell. He comes so hard his teeth ache. It lasts for centuries, time stretching and wringing out every drop of pleasure until Wade is whiting out, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’s not sure he ever really comes back down; just floats just over the precipice of consciousness, just low enough to hear his own overstimulated whimpers as Spidey swallows around him, just like he promised.

For the first time in ages, Wade's head is blissfully silent, and he basks in it for as long as he can.

Eventually, the world begins to filter in, but Wade's body still feels languid, lacking the telltale bite he associates with general living.

Cracking his eyes open— when had he closed them?— Wade is treated to the sight of a very satisfied, very smug spider.

"Fucker." He manages, voice broken and rough with affection.

His legs are completely fucking shot, and the only thing stopping Wade from buckling to the grimy cement are Spidey's hands holding him to the wall, keeping the entire bulk of Wade's considerable weight like he's nothing.

His thumbs are stroking over Wade's hipbones.

It's hot. It's...it's...

He runs a soft hand over the fading bruises on Spidey's jaw and gets a sweet kiss on his knuckles in return. Wade's heart does something funny in his chest, but the accompanying feeling isn't funny in the slightest.

Then Spidey nips the thumb, grinning wide, a little drunk and a lot vicious. The broken rasp of his voice straight up rewires the pleasure centers of Wade's brain, “Again?”

Wade feels the addiction forming, physically impossible but there all the same. And like every substance abuse story, Spidey is going to eat Wade alive from the inside out.

What a way to go.

"Yeah," Wade grins. "C'mon sweetheart, let's see if you can actually kill me this time."

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 1

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Notes: Descriptions of DA scenario, mentions of drug use

Part 2

You tried to go over every thing you did throughout your day that might've caused your boyfriend to be so upset but couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was because you didn't stay up to wait for him to get home last night, even though you gave him till midnight. Or maybe you left some dishes in the sink that he had to clean up.

Either way, his anger was inconsolable and you knew better than to even utter a word as he slammed the doors and walked around the house with a hard set scowl on his face. You just took shelter in the kitchen as you nervously cleaned out the fridge, tossing the expired condiments away.

"This house is always such a fucking mess! You spend at least half the day here, you'd think it would look spotless!"

You knew he wasn't really mad about the cleanliness. You deep cleaned the house every single day till it was shining, he was just projecting. You weren't sure whether to respond to his outburst or just let it go but didn't even have time to make a decision once he came walking into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of your neck raised and your face heated up in anxiety as he stood there staring at you.

That's when you noticed the all too familiar state he was in. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing, slight sweat forming around his brows. He was high.

"What are you doing, huh? Throwing shit away? He said, grabbing the box of leftovers you had saved from a few days ago. "What if I still wanted to eat this? Were you going to bother to ask me?"

"I- uh- it's from a few days ago. I didn't think-

"Exactly! You didn't think! Just fucking throwing away whatever you want!"

You weren't expecting the box of expired food to be thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest, sticky noodles getting in your hair and falling into your lap.

"This is my fucking house! My fucking food! You don't get to throw away anything unless I say you can!"

You had barely recovered from food being thrown at you, you didn't realize he made a moved in on you and grabbing your arm tightly, jerking you up to your feet and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchen, the momentum causing you to lose your footing and fall to the floor.

Your senses were kicking into overdrive as you scrambled to your feet just as he grabbed a jar of pickles and launched it in your direction. It shattered on the wall besides you and you felt the sharp pain of small glass pieces cutting your skin.

You had never seen him this out of control before. There was something behind his eyes that scared you more than normal and you knew you needed to get out of his path of blinding rage. You made a run towards the hallway, him chasing you close behind but you managed to close and lock the bathroom door just in time.

"Oh, you wanna play this game now? Ok."

Your breaths were heavy, so much adrenaline flowing through your veins it almost made you woozy. There was a moment of silence, making you think he had walked away but was completely mistaken once you watched the whole door shake at the impact as he attempted to break it down. Another slam and you saw small cracks forming in the middle of the only thing keeping you safe.

You made a split second decision to escape through the window, sliding it open and trying your best to undo the screen that didn't want to cooperate. Another slam.

You looked behind you at the battered door and knew it could only hold maybe one more before he was able to get through- so like a rat trapped in a corner, you began banging on the screen until it popped off, quickly pulling your body to climb out, scraping your hips on the ledge in the process.

The gravel floor did no favors for you as you landed awkwardly, but at this point you couldn't feel anything. Or at least your brain wasn't giving you any time to register the pain. Springing to your feet, you ran out to the front of the house, your first thought to take the car but realized the keys were inside.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing on his porch going through his mail, seemingly looking like he had just gotten home from somewhere. You had heard rumors from some of the neighbors that he worked for the government or something, giving you some hope.

You began running over to him, not daring to look back to see if your boyfriend was chasing you or not.

He has seen you coming over and immediately looked concerned, putting his mail back in the mailbox and practically catching you in his arms once you reached him.

"Please. Help me- my boyfriend. H-he's gonna kill me."

You were crying now, trying to form sentences when he asked you what happened but couldn't.

When you spotted your boyfriend walk out the front door of your house and look over in your direction, a bat in hand your heart stopped.

"Please. Please," you pleaded, hiding behind his tall frame and holding onto his quarter zip for dear life.

"Here, get inside," he said, opening his front door, the both of you entering as he walked over to his kitchen counter where a gun, badge and handcuffs were set. He grabbed the gun and cuffs, clipping both of them on his waist band and turning to you.

"Stay here."

You nodded obediently and watched him walked back out. He didn't close the door so you were able to watch everything from the moment your boyfriend began waving the bat around crazily towards your neighbor to him pulling out his gun and pointing it at him.

"Get down on the ground!"

For a second you thought your boyfriend wasn't going to listen as he stared at your neighbor with fury but seemed to be coherent enough to drop the bat and put his hands in the air, looking over at you.

"Just you wait, bitch. You'll get yours."

By now, everyone was either peeping through their windows or standing on the sidewalk, nosey to see what all the commotion was about as your neighbor pushed your boyfriend to the floor and handcuffed him.

It wasn't long before multiple cop cars showed up, taking over the scene. Your neighbor made his way over to you and offered you a hand, making you realize that you were sitting on the floor, frozen to the spot, hugging your legs.

"The officers are going to want a report but I want you checked out by the paramedics first."

You took his hand but relied all on him to pull you up as your legs felt like jello. The feeling of relief and sadness overtook you as you fell into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Instead of being pushed away and teased for it like you were used to, you got pulled in tighter and long strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warm protective embrace.

He let you cry like that for a little until you calmed down enough to walk with him outside to the ambulance that was waiting. He didn't leave as they had you climb inside and lay on the stretcher so one of the paramedics could clean up the small cuts around your arm caused by the glass jar.

"How long have you lived there?" he asked, from besides you on the bench. You hoped he didn't feel guilty for not catching the abuse sooner.

"Not very long. He's been there for years but I just moved in about a few months ago. I don't usually leave the house since I work from home so that's probably why you didn't see me too often," you answered, wincing as the antiseptic touched your raw skin.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hotchner....I'm actually busy at the moment but you can reach out to my Communications liason, Jennifer Jareau at the office....yes of course....goodbye."

"So you're names Hotchner?" you inquired, wanting to talk about something to keep your mind off the stinging pain.

"Aaron. Hotchners my last name."

"Nice to meet you Aaron. I'm Y/N," you greeted, offering your hand for a shake. He took it with a small smile and shook it gently.

"I wish it was under different circumstances but I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you. I appreciate you by the way. You handled the situation really well."

He did that half smile again and played with his hands, almost nervously.

"Well unfortunately I deal with a lot of high stress situations like that so it was almost second nature."

"Cop?" you prodded, wanting to know if there was any truth to the rumors.

"FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be specific."

He didn't go into anymore detail than that but that was more than enough for you. So he's an Federal Agent. You literally couldn't have picked a better neighbor to run to.

- - - -

After the paramedic was done cleaning you up and you gave your report to the officer, Aaron came over, hanging up the phone.

"I know the house is technically not yours but he won't be back anytime soon and I'm sure you need to get cleaned up and everything. I'm gonna give you my card, I wrote my personal cell number in case you need anything but also feel free to come over if my car is in the driveway."

You took the card, reading his slightly sloppy writing and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you again Aaron. Really, you're a lifesaver."

He pulled you in for another hug, surprising you but you accepted it happily.

"No strenuous activity until those cuts and bruises heal," he advised seriously, making you laugh. You both pulled away and it took you a second to actually walk away, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his safe presence but you did and went back into the house, ignoring all of the mess and taking a long needed shower, thinking about everything that happened.

[theemporium]

Hello!!! May I request a berry daquiri prompt 47 with Max Verstappen? Thank you so much and congratulations on 10k !!!!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

47. "You heard me. I want you to sit on my face."

.

Max Verstappen was never shy to say what was on his mind. 

People tended to call him blunt, and it was a fair observation. He was blunt and direct and he said what he wanted, and he meant it. He didn’t see the point in beating around the bush, in wasting everyone’s time when there was a quick and simple way to say it. 

It was why he tended to clash with the media. It was why the team always appreciated him in debriefs, honesty and efficiency something they could always expect from the Dutchman. It was why you appreciated your relationship with him so much, in comparison to your past partners. 

Max always communicated well. 

He told you what he liked, or what he didn’t like. He told you when he was upset, or when he needed some space. He told you what was on his mind, or what had been lingering if he hadn’t seen you in a few days. 

And that extended to the bedroom. More specifically, the boy’s openness to exploring new things and positions and telling you exactly what he wanted. 

Kind of like right now.

“What did you just say?” You eventually blurted out, still sat on your boyfriend’s lap. Moments ago, you were grinding against the bulge in his shorts and moaning his name and doing your best to unbutton the fancy shirt he had worn for a team event that night.

Now, you were frozen and dumbfounded and half-naked on his lap, looking incredulously at your very relaxed boyfriend.

“You heard me,” Max said, with his hands planted firmly on your ass giving you a small squeeze. “I want you to sit on my face.”

You blinked. “Me?” 

Max’s lips twitched upwards. “Is there someone else in the room I don’t know about?”

“I–” You truly believe your brain had stopped working, stopped cooperating with you. “What if I…suffocate you?” 

“That’s kind of the point,” Max snorted, flashing you a smile that eased the tightness in your chest but the nerves tickling under your skin. He tugged you closer, his nose brushing against your jaw as he spoke. “I get your pretty cunt on my face, all for me. And those pretty thighs of yours squeezing me. And get the best fucking view of you falling apart on my tongue.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands squeezing his shoulders. “Max, I–”

“You looked so pretty riding my lap,” he continued, his voice a little lower. A little rougher too. “Imagine how much better you’d look on my face, falling apart as I eat you out like a fucking feast.” 

“That sounds—” You swallowed harshly. “Nice.” 

His smile pressed against your neck. “Just nice?” 

“Really nice,” you breathed out, a little whiny as his teeth scraped along your sweet spot. 

“Glad you agree,” Max hummed before he pulled away, grinning a little at the disapproving noise you let out. He playfully slapped your ass as he pulled away, watching you with eager eyes. “C’mon, baby, lemme get a taste. And keep the pretty skirt on, I wanna make a mess of it.”

.

[dualityvn]

Keith would turn to hypnosis or brainwashing to make us love him if he’s fully snapped…?

Could I maybe please request a drabble about that por favor 🥹

Sweet Vacation

CW: kidnapping, brainwashing, fork harassment

Word count: 1345

You ignored the first signs that Keith wasn’t doing well mentally. When he’d turn his back to you at night and sob silently, you’d pretend not to hear it. When he’d spend his evenings staring out the window for hours on end, eyes glazed over, you’d find things to busy yourself with. 

It did annoy you when he put a tracker on you. The fight that followed only made things worse. He became constantly paranoid, asking to hear your voice every hour you weren��t home, having breakdowns when you so much as left the room he was in. 

There was no doubt that he wouldn’t accept it if you tried to break up with him. You never bothered to start the conversation. You simply packed your things one day, blocked his number and left. 

Unfortunately, he’d used more than one tracker. 

- - -

You awaken to an unfamiliar hardwood floor, head pounding and limbs stiff. So stiff, in fact, that you aren’t able to move them. Your eyes shoot open as you tug on the ropes tying your limbs to the chair you're sitting in. 

The room you’re in is unfamiliar, a lavish living room with wooden walls and a large fireplace. A sweet, mind-numbing fragrance catches your attention. Possibly, the herbs burning in a bowl on the coffee table before you. All the curtains are drawn, so you fail to see anything outside. You can’t remember how or when you got here. 

The sound of footsteps approaching brings your attention to the closed door. Keith appears from behind it, looking much more frazzled and unkept than usual. His hair is a bit messy, he’s not wearing the usual concealer under his eyes and his collar is askew. 

“My love! You're awake!” He rushes over to you. 

“Keith! What the hell did you do to me? Where am I?!” 

He shushes you as he caresses your cheek. You want to scream at him, fight against your restraints, yank yourself away from his touch. But for some reason, as soon as those thoughts enter your mind, they fade away. 

“Everything's alright, dear. You're safe now. I'm sorry about the ropes, but there was no other way. I'll take them off once they're not needed anymore.” 

There is nothing sane in his gaze. His eyes are big and alert and his smile is too wide for comfort. 

“Where are we?” you ask, much calmer than you'd like. 

“Somewhere where nobody will bother us! Don't worry, it's just the two of us.” 

You don't know what he's done to you, but your fear, anger and alarm are all much too mild. 

“Oh! I've made you lunch! Let me grab it for you before it gets cold.” 

He rushes off through the door, then returns with a plate of food and a fork. The sight and smell of it makes your stomach grumble. For how long were you out? 

“I hope you like it! Open wide!” Keith holds some of it out in front of you. 

Thoughts of turning away or refusing the food pass through your mind, then leave just as fast. You reluctantly open your mouth. 

Even when he's crazy, he manages to make infuriatingly good food. You do not complain about being fed the entire plate. If you want to try to get out of this situation, you'll need the energy anyway.

“You ate everything! Good job!” he praises you cheerfully. 

Then, he looks down at the fork in his hand. His eyes flicker between it and your mouth for a moment. Until they eventually settle on you as he brings the fork near his face and licks the part that's been in your mouth. Once his tongue reaches the tips of the tines, he sticks them entirely in his mouth. 

You stare at him, dumbfounded. Before you can say anything about it, he sets the fork back on the plate and turns to leave. 

“I'll bring you a glass of water! Can't let you get dehydrated!” 

What the hell was that? How far gone is he? 

You finally get your brain to cooperate and attempt to struggle against your bindings. Unfortunately, they're tight and secure. Looking around, you can't spot anything sharp enough to cut them. 

When Keith returns, he's brought back not only your glass of water but also a small satchel. You eye it curiously as he helps you drink. 

And once it's done, he sets down the glass and opens up the satchel. It's full of herbs, some of which he places in the bowl with the others. That mind number scent hits you again. Any thought you'd had of escaping is beginning to blur.

As if reading your thoughts, Keith answers. “Just a little something to help you relax! I know you're probably quite stressed.” 

He puts the satchel away and picks up a book instead. “How about I read you something? That way you won't be bored!” 

You want to say no, you want to reason with him, ask him to let you go, convince him none of this is necessary. But none of it leaves your lips. 

“Okay,” you say instead. 

- - -

It's been two days since Keith locked you up in this house. He's fed you and kept you hydrated. When he's not been taking care of you, he's been keeping you entertained or simply chatted with you. 

Perhaps it's your fault you've ended up this way. You ignored the signs that he wasn't doing well. You weren't a very good partner overall. 

This morning he made you heart shaped pancakes with strawberries. It was kind of cute. 

Perhaps you don't need to escape, perhaps he will snap back to reality and release you himself. The two of you aren't good for each other. 

- - -

Four days have passed since Keith brought you here. He untied you from the chair but kept your wrist handcuffed to his to make sure you don't run away. 

It's a pretty nice vacation home. Apparently you're in the mountains. The view from the balcony is stunning. Although it gave you a bit of a fright when you woke up here four days ago, it isn't so bad. 

Keith still insists that you let him prepare meals, despite you being able to help now. You can't believe you treated him so coldly before. When he discovered you had bruises on your wrists from the rope, he cried and kissed them better. 

At night, when you get ready for bed, he asks if he can cuddle you. If you say no, he keeps his distance. When you do give him permission, he holds you tight and whispers that he loves you. He smells sweet, a bit like burnt herbs. 

- - -

It's been a week since the start of your little vacation. You took a walk through the forest this morning, hand in hand with your beloved boyfriend. He told you about the plants that grow here and which ones are safe to eat. He's so smart! 

When you got back, you made lunch together. He’s been a bit down and anxious the past few days, but today he was in good spirits. Though he still won't tell you where he got the new perfume he's been wearing. It's so sweet, it makes you want to hold him close constantly. 

Now that it's evening, you're both sitting on the couch, cuddling as you watch TV. Keith holds you against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. You feel safe here. 

“I love you,” you murmur. 

He stiffens at once. Thinking there must be something wrong, you pull away to look at him. A mixture of shock and joy battles on his features. 

“I love you too!” Tears are spilling from his eyes. 

You laugh and cup his face, holding it still so you can kiss away his tears. Your boyfriend is so sentimental. His hand brushes over your chin, silently asking you to lean down. His lips quiver against yours, soft and uncertain. You press in lovingly. 

Even the taste of his lips is sweet.

[ghoulphile]

no use cryin' over spilled milk | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.8 k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, frottage, lactation kink, pregnant!reader, fingerfucking, praise kink, breast play, the ghoul calls reader pretty mama, he's a pervert who wants to lend a 'helping' hand ➥ summary | based off this ask; oops being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby 🥺 (this is just me trying to insert a lactation kink somewhere i'm sorry) ➥ notes | uhhhh pls let me know if i missed anything, my brain is dribbling out my ears (its 3:44 am and i have work at 8 am rip) but the parasites persist. i'll do the tag list when i wake up ❤️ masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Going topside wasn’t an easy decision.

In fact, bile bitter regret often lingers in the back of your throat - a lump that stifled the air in your lungs.

And while you might’ve been bioengineered to survive better under these harsh wasteland conditions, every time you find yourself in a less than ideal situation, you're catapulted headlong into paralyzing self doubt; alone and rudderless.

No one lives in the vaults - not truly.

Birdie (and the others) warned you of what awaited beyond those lead-lined walls. But you couldn’t abide spending the rest of your life trapped in a cage, albeit a gilded one.

Not anymore.

Oh no, you wanted to feel a real breeze instead of air pumped through the HVAC. Experience the sun baking warm into your skin like fresh bread instead of the artificial heat of the UV lamp used for mandatory light therapy sessions. Complain about the chafe of sand in your shoes and hear the crunch of dirt under foot instead of a hollow clunk of sterile metal.

To witness first hand all the sights, sounds, and smells this world offers. 

Only… you didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Nor did you expect to be pregnant when setting off into the great unknown on your own (a definite oversight on your part [you really shouldn’t have had one last hurrah before hitting the road]).

Through trial and error, motion sicknesses that swing into crippling nausea as manic energy - your first taste of true freedom! - dwindled into dragging fatigue, you found a happy medium. None of which would have been possible had it not been for the most unlikely of companions.

Ghouls; who knew, huh?

Sure, you’d heard of them from the rotating door of visitors that found themselves at Vault 4, but you’d never seen them. While you grew up surrounded by visible mutations, seeing the battlefield of his body was off putting; how a person could survive a patina of burns and patchwork slices without unraveling at the seams was beyond you.

And kind of frightening.

But he took it in stride, introducing himself as Ghoul. Refused to divulge anything else of substance no matter how much you poked and prodded.  His life pre-bomb was a complete mystery filled with plot holes and unanswered questions (which is exactly what he preferred).

You learned to be comfortable with his meandering conversations, and all the words he spoke that said much of nothing. And what you did glean, you did so through observation alone. 

He was alone - had been for a very long time.

He was very old - one of the last of his kind.

And he was, in his own way, very kind - at least by wasteland standards.

“The fuck you doin’?”

Pausing, you stop mid push and hover awkwardly on your hands and knees. The vault suit pulls taut across your hips, pinching behind your knees uncomfortably. Your toes squeak in your shoes, socks thoroughly soaked through with sweat.

It’s been unseasonably hot (or it’s the hormones). Whatever the case, this is the first semi-decent lodging you’ve camped in for weeks, and you’re not about to miss an opportunity to freshen up.

And maybe find a way to soothe the building ache in your tits - flesh swollen tender and nipples rubbed raw.

“I’m just, uh, gonna,” you motion towards the back of the house, the askew bathroom door clinging to its hinges by a corner, “y’know, f-freshen up. See if they don’t still have some water.”

The Ghoul scans you up and down, gimlet-eyed. “S’that so?”

You huff, your knees starting to ache.

Being five months pregnant throws your center of gravity for a loop, the atmosphere weighing extra heavy on your bones. It doesn’t help that the baby’s decided sitting directly on your bladder with a foot tucked under your ribs is the best position.

“Didn’t know I needed permission to take a piss now,” you snipe. Usually, you try to reign in the hormones but the day’s been too long and you’re in pain. Anyone would be a little snippy (right?). “Can I do that on my own or do you need to watch, Mr. Ghoul?”

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze glinting from beneath the rim of his hat as he tips his head. “Better watch it, sweetheart,” he says. “Otherwise, I might have’ta wash your mouth out with soap.”

Pushing yourself up with a grunt, you determinedly ignore the raspy chuckle that follows as you waddle towards the bathroom. Cussing him out all the while in your mind.

While he’s been ‘nicer’ today - stopping for extra breaks, even packing it in several hours earlier than usual because he noticed how weary you looked - he’s still an asshole.

The toilet’s gone, the tub’s tipped sideways, the linoleum’s cracked, and closing the door sounds like a pack of howling mole rats but its functional. When you catch your reflection in the spider web fractures of the mirror, you grimace.

The wastes have certainly left their mark on you. Gone is the prim-and-proper vault dweller, replaced by a gremlin of a woman Overseer Benjamin would surely scowl at.

A true ‘surfie’ now.

“Great,” you groan, scrubbing a palm over your face. “Just - ugh!”

You’re caked in grime, a steak of dirt smeared across the bridge of your nose. Mysterious stains darken the blue fabric, the golden stripes of your suit an off-putting grey.

Your hair clumps in greasy chunks. You’re glossy with sweat, and while your curves have plumped up over the last few months, you didn’t realize just how much until now.

The vault suit’s always been tight - now it clings and creases in unflattering places. And there’s nothing you can do about it, unless the Ghoul is willing to spare a sewing kit.

You could let the waist out some…

What the hell am I gonna do if he won’t? There’s no way I’ll fit if this baby gets any bigger. Shit, I look like a fucking sausage. Your hand cradles the side of your stomach, stroking over the bump with a frown. This is all your fault, you little parasite.

“You better be so fucking cute - the cutest goddamn baby in the wasteland. Or I will riot.”

Tugging down the zipper over your breasts is heaven, the swollen flesh spilling out of the parting fabric, no longer compressed. It’s almost enough to make you cry as you struggle to tug the lycra off your shoulders, the fabric putting up a fight.

After some awkward contortions that pull uncomfortably at the muscles of your shoulder blades, you manage to wrangle yourself free.

The temptation to burn the stupid goddamn suit is almost too much to resist, but then you’d really be traipsing around the wasteland in the nude and just… no.

Peeling off your undershirt is another story altogether, the soft cotton feeling like sandpaper as it scrapes over sensitive skin. Your nerves tingle with awareness, bolts of pain shooting through your nipples with every shift.

Quick like a bandaid, you think, taking a steadying inhale.

It’s a miracle you don’t scream.

Tears cling to your lashes, your nose running as you toss the shirt to the side with one hand and cradle your chest with the other. Sure, you’ve had tenderness with your period but this kind of pain? A whole new level.

You almost don’t know what to do with yourself.

How is this fair - aren’t you suffering enough?

Sniffling, you peer down at your tits and gingerly cup them with your palms. Swollen hard and warm to the touch; a heavy weight crushing your ribs.

Do I really have to milk myself like a fucking brahmin? Another bolt of lightning crackles through your nerve endings as if in response. Fine. God, this is embarrassing.

Only any attempt at touching your nipples produces pure agony, shards of glass biting into delicate skin.

No matter how slight your touch, no matter how gentle your fingers - it doesn’t work. Leaves you more distraught and in pain than when you began as inflamed nerve endings crackle and burn.

And when the tears truly start, the dam breaks. It’s not long before they drip down your cheeks in fat rivulets, your breath hitching from you in pathetic little exhales.

Your fist shoves against your mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds, teeth sinking into your knuckle until you leave sore indents.

But you should know better, not only does the Ghoul have heightened senses (he’s taunted you constantly with this fact like the asshole he is), but he’s uncannily perceptive in a very annoying way.

You don’t hear the squeal of the door, but you do sense his presence behind you; the rad warm burn of his body as he stops a scant few inches away. You feel his breath against the nape of your neck, the barest brush of his chest as he inhales.

“You ready ta stop bein’ stubborn?” he hums. “I thought I told you not ta wait s’long.”

Your voice warbles from you, “G’way.” You curl into yourself, shoulders hunching as you hang your head. “Don’t need your help.”

The Ghoul snorts. “Cuz you doin’ so well on your own, huh?”

“I resent that.” You shoot him a weak glare, the animosity ruined by the crumble of your lips. “I really, really do.”

You hate always having to rely on him, so desperate to prove that you can take care of yourself only to have every effort to do so thrown back in your face.

Shit, you hate how right Birdie was, “Honey, you won’t last five minutes on your own. Please stay here with us where it’s safe.”

“Well, maybe so. But pickers can’t be choosers, sweetheart,” he shrugs with a languid roll of the shoulders. “Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilled milk. C’mon, the longer you wait, the worse it’s gon be.”

“I just - you don’t understand…”

He reaches around you to set his hat on the sink, the dwindling light of twilight creeping in through the holes in the roof to bathe him in its bloody light.

He looks like a grotesque demon that clawed its way from the depths of hell. It gets your pulse thudding, electric awareness an unwelcome visitor as it roosts behind your navel.

“I understand plenty. Now, let me.”

Not an offer - not really.

More akin to a demand, one wrapped up pretty like a gift. You’ve been here many times before, and while the Ghoul proffers his help under the guise of not wanting to hear your bitching and moaning, the hungry gleam of his eyes as they rake over your face say otherwise.

If it’s one thing you’ve learned in your travels with him, it’s this: he is entirely self-serving. He offers because he wants to suck on a set of pretty tits. If you happen to cream your panties while he does, well, he counts it as a win-win.

Quid pro quo.

And what you hate more than how utterly correct everyone is about life on the surface, is how needy he makes you. How desperate and dumb and dripping he’s got you by the end, drunk off the flick of his tongue and the rasp of his touch.

Because it’s so hard to be strong in the face of pain when the solution is right there; open-palmed.

“...Fine, just don’t - don’t leave marks this time, okay?”

A slow waking smile creaks across his face, and he says, “I ain’t makin’ any promises, sweetheart.”

Your stomach swoops, and your thighs clench.

Shit.

Scarred lips work over tender flesh as a talented tongue flicks and swirls over the bumps of your areola, the tip digging into your nipple and drawing the swollen nub into a hot mouth. You whimper, arms tossed over the Ghoul’s broad shoulders.

Cold ceramic digs into the base of your spine, your body crowded back against the sink as he plasters himself to your front. Cuts off any escape routes and refuses to let you squirm away from the overwhelming sensations as he suckles.

Heavy palms grope at the plush curves of your hips, fingertips digging into the fat.

His lips pop off your nipple with a sticky smack. “Always taste s’fucking good,” he groans against your sternum. “Got the prettiest set a tits in the wasteland.”

“Hnn! N-Not so hard.”

While you say that, you don’t mean it - not really. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, clit swollen and aching for friction. Your inner thighs are a mess of slick, your vault suit caught around your knees.

He never touches you below the waist directly (some boundaries still exist between you two), but at this point in your pregnancy, you’re so sensitive a gentle breeze could set you off.

“Heh, ain’t you know lyin’s a sin?” he says.

A scarred cheek drags over the swell of your breast, the rasp of rad burn alighting your nerves. Bolts of desire ricochet down your spine, fizzle like Nuka Cola on your tongue. He presses an open mouth kiss to your nipple, his tongue flicking out to massage the tender bud.

At the taste of your skin, his cock twitches where its grinding against your thigh. You feel him through his ragged pinstripe slacks, his shaft a thick line of heat.

It’s probably the hormones (you refuse to admit its anything else) but just the thought of touching him, of sinking down onto his erection - feeling how fucking good he’d stretch you out and fill you up - makes you dizzy.

You pant, your voice distinctly whiny when you say, “Please, d-do something. It still hurts.”

His grin reminds you of the mongrels roaming the wastelands. “Sh,” he hushes you. “I got you, sweetheart.”

The tips of his fingers brush along the side of your swollen stomach. Your heart flips in your chest, your breath catching as he follows the contours of your body, reaching down to brush over the skin of your mound. This is new, he’s never done this before. It’s simultaneously as arousing as it is terrifying.

“Can smell how wet you are for me,” he says, tone low and gruff. “You gonna be a good girl for me, ain’t you?”

“I-”

Then his mouth is slurping at your tit, his teeth biting down on your nipple gently as those strong fingers dip between your thighs. Blunt nails scratch through your pubic hair, a calloused pad swirling circles around your slippery clit. Your hips jump, your head rolling back between your shoulders as a loud moan rips itself from your throat.

You arch back so far your belly presses against the Ghoul’s, your tits smothering his face.

You think, half deliriously, it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a nose otherwise you might’ve broken it.

“Shit, that’s so - oh, fuck, please, please, please!’

Your legs widen to make room for his hand as yours fly up to grab his biceps, nails biting into the rough leather of his duster.

His tongue flutters across your areola. “C’mon, pretty mama, give it ta me.”

“Oh.” Sparks dance behind your eyes, your knees shaking as the Ghoul strokes over your folds, tests your wetness and the give of your cunt as he plays with your entrance. “Right there,” you gasp. “I’m gonna…”

He grunts, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.

The sharp bite of pain shoots through you, deepens the kindling warmth behind your navel that steadily builds and builds and builds. You feel on the very edge, nerves plucked like the keys of a piano.

So close you can taste it.

Then a tingling starts in the tips of your fingers.

Burns its way up your arms to settle in the weight of your chest, pins and needles pricking across the skin of your tits, lancing through the swollen buds of your nipples.

You tremble, the relief bringing tears to your eyes as tears the heaviness releases in a warm flood, your milk letting down to flow into the Ghoul’s eagerly pulling mouth.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he moans, chasing after the taste by nuzzling into your chest. His cock ruts against you. “Took you’re sweet damn time, didn’t you, darlin’?”

Your head spins, hazy thoughts scattering like confetti.

Endorphins simmer through your veins as you float on a cloud of cotton softness. Reality seems worlds away, your vision blurry as you focus on the points of contact between your bodies. The stretch of his fingers plunging into your pussy to stroke over the front wall.

Mouth slack, your hands creep up the Ghoul’s arms to trace over the sides of his neck, watch the dance of your fingers over his skin. “It feels s’good,” you slur. “Please don’t stop - wanna cum just like this.”

“Heh, wouldn’t dream of it.”

[ladybirdswritings]

Pretty Thing - Cooper Howard (Ghoul) x Reader

Summary: You’re a shiny, pretty prize worth more caps than can be counted on ten hands altogether. There’s something special about you, and the Ghoul is determined to figure out just what it is.

Notes: I’ve been wanting to write for this cowboy for days now and I’ve finally come around to it. Cowboys are my specialty lately <3. Lmk if u love this and I’ll write more (feel free to leave me lots of comments and interactions, I love those!!)

A03 | masterlist | next chap

pretty thing…

“Well lookie here, seems you vaulties ain’t as perfect as you promise to be, huh?”

A furrow of chocolate brows, offense and confusion from sweet Lucy MacLean. This vault promised development in weaponry that the new world had never seen before. It was a thing of storybooks, the kind of thing her dad told her right before her head hit the pillow.

Now, here she was; and it wasn’t a caged weapon she was staring at… no, but rather a caged person.

“This violates all of our policies…” she muttered softly, worry stitched in her soft features as she looked on at the mangled cowboy beside her.

“Tsk tsk, sweetheart. You oughta be more careful with trustin’ these shit-eating freaks. Ain’t you learned your lesson first time round?”

Lucy sighed, falling to her knees and grazing a warm hand against the metal. She looked on at you with pity. Weak, hazy you.

How did you end up in this predicament? You didn’t know. You didn’t remember.

It was as if the entirety of everything you’d ever known was only stitched within your brain in jagged, disorderly flashes. This had to be one too. A flash.

A vault dweller and a ghoul, side by side.

It was most certainly a flash.

“What do we do, coop?” The brunette wondered, doe eyes gazing up at the mangled creature. He only smirked.

“We split. You find your precious tin-man you can’t stop yappin’ bout… and I’ll snatch up this dyin’ cargo. Comprende?”

Lucy had come to trust him, and maybe it was a stupid thing to do. Reality was, though, he’d kept her alive this far. Maybe she owed it to him to follow orders. With a huff, she parted— and then?

It was just you and the ghoul.

Heavy footsteps circled your metal cage, like shark to labored minnow. You were far too exhausted to pick up those pretty eyes of yours from the ground they gazed at.

Chains wrapped round your wrists and ankles, cold metal burned against your spine and cheek. There were two ghouls in your peripheral vision, and each one was the same amount of horrifying.

The footsteps halted, and suddenly the mangled, noseless blur was clear as day before you. Kneeled to your level, observant— cold.

“Well well— look at you, huh? Pretty thing. Now I understand takin’ precautions but damn, sweetie. That’s a lotta chains, hm? What’s so scary bout’ you?” He whispered the last part, thread laced finger lifting to slowly push a loose locket of hair from your dampened face through the cage.

You blinked, forcing your gaze upward so to try and meet his eyes. It was exhausting.

He observed you like you were a foreign object, a diamond in the radiated rough.

“I’d wager to say that you’re just the weapon we was lookin’ for, ain’t you?”

God, he didn’t know just how right he was.

If there was one certain thing you could remember clear as day, laced through the flashes, it was your powers. Each and every one of them, laying dormant now.

You were far too poked and prodded, too drained to even think of lifting a finger.

“Been doin’ this for centuries, pretty thing. Centuries and I ain’t ever seen this kinda experimentation on a little fawn. Hm. Guess you was just unlucky.” His breath was warm as it hit your face. Musing and eyeing your exhausted, slumped figure. Observant, taking his time. Your keepers would be coming soon— he didn’t seem worried.

“Tell you what. You look like you gon’ make me lots of money. So you’re comin’ with me. Don’t you worry, I prefer ropes stead’ of chains, sweetie. You’ll be nice n’ comfortable.”

The more he spoke, the farther away he sounded. You were aware he was a ghoul, that much was certain. Yet even so, no part of his voice, no part of his fading threats were even a little bit startling. No.

His voice was a soft yet strong southern drawl and god— it was far more comforting than the chains and cement floor you’d always known. Perhaps that’s why you let the exhaustion overtake you. Perhaps that’s why you closed your eyes.

Did it matter why? No. All that mattered was that you did.

The rest was a blur. The last thing you remember? Frayed ropes being wrapped round you tight as you were freed from your chains. Mangled, coat covered arms lifting you from the cement and golden teeth pressed against your aching ear to whisper:

“C’mon now, pretty thing…”

Then?

Slumber…

¿to be continued?

[urwritethanks]

Someone said that if this was just a Netflix show he would have ate her out at the ending of EP 2. And let's just say that's what inspired this.

Anyway, hello 👋🏾 Yes I am shamelessly joining everyone in the excitement for this show. Did I start the show at 11pm? Yes. Did I then proceed to immediately start writing this at 2am? Yes. And you know what? I have no regrets (it's now basically 5am).

This is obviously an interpretation in an alternate timeline/universe. Dont get your panties in a bunch. Also my writing is not perfect. This ended up being longer than anticipated but apparently thats my m.o. I rarely get inspired to write so I wanted to just get it all out. Enjoy!

The glass shattered as it hit the floor.

Hee Joo could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands were clammy and she felt out of breath.

How could she be so silly? How had she walked into this mess? 'A fire .. my god' she thought. 'Was he hurt?' What if at this very moment he was in the hospital? She'd known since last night something was wrong. She'd felt it in her gut.  That was why she had waited for him. Only exhaustion had allowed her to sleep. Now hours later she wished she had done something, anything. But what could she have done? Everyone saw her as useless. What could she do now? She needed to-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the door lock. 'He's here!?' She thought in equal parts shock and relief.

The news in the background continued as he came into view. She was expecting him to be disheveled but she still was not prepared.

His shirt had soot and dirt. His hair looked as though he had been running his hand through it all night. His eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep. But more than that, they were filled with emotion. She had never seen him.. so affected.

He stalked toward her. Instinctively she stepped back only to come in contact with the table. She almost gasped when his hands found her waist and lifted her to the table. He must have lost his mind last night. In all their years of marriage she could count on one hand the number of times he'd touched her this way.

Her breath was caught in her throat. She stared at him stunned.

"Lately, nothing makes sense" Sa Eon said.

"There can't be a Hong Hee Joo I don't know about."

Hee Joo's brain was not working. She couldn't think straight with him this close. What did he mean?

"I need to find out" he continued, eyes shifting to her skirt "which one is the real one".

She knew. She knew before he moved what he was going to do.

"Right now, you're my only lead. So cooperate."

He reached for her skirt. Lifting it two inches before instinct had her stopping him.

He was really going to do it! Oh my, why had she gotten herself into this situation? How would she keep him from doing this now? When he was so determined. And why was she..getting turned on. Maybe it was how close he was to her. Maybe it was because it had been years since she had been with someone. But she knew the truth was it was his eyes. The way they seemed to be staring into her soul. The way they were showing so many emotions. Anger, confusion, frustration ...lust.

Was she imagining that last one?

"Do you want to take it off, or should I?". He had fisted her skirt. She stared at him chest rising and falling as though all the oxygen was gone from the room.

She didn't know what came over her. Before she could think about it her hand continued where he had left off.

His eyes never left hers the entire time. While a moment ago he was almost desperate, now it seemed as though he had all the time in the world.

She lifted it just enough to reveal what she knew he wanted to see. The material bunching in her lap but still covering her under garment. Slowly his eyes shifted down. Where ever his eyes touched felt like fire on her skin. She saw the moment he found her mole. His jaw clenched  and when she looked down his hand which had fallen beside her leg on the table was balled into a fist.

He exhaled loudly "I see.. so this is the real Hee Joo." His hand lifted. Finger tracing a circle around the mold. She felt that movement deep, her stomach clenching.

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until his commanding voice said "Breathe". Before she could think she breathe in and out in a huff . God why did she always listen to everything he said?

As she continued to breathe the circles seemed to be getting larger. Covering more area on her thigh. Was she dreaming? She must be because he reached to lift the skirt higher revealing more and more skin. This is exactly what dream Sa Eon would do. Only in her dreams, dreams buried deep down could this be happening.

He only stopped once her centre was exposed. The skin tone underwear was now clearly visible to him. She watched him as his eyes feasted on her. She saw him swallow and he murmured something that even her fine tuned ears did not pick up.

When he reached for her she came back to herself and grabbed his wrist. His eyes found hers. Searching. She must have been doing a terrible job of hiding how much this was affecting her because whatever he saw in her eyes had him smirking and then he leaned forward and captured her mouth.

She gasped into the kiss. Then it was a flash of tongues and breathe. Her mind was spiraling not able to keep up or put into perspective what was happening. Sa Eon kissed exactly how she expected him to.  He directed and she was more than happy to follow his lead. One of his hands found her jaw and he maneuvered her head to deepen the kiss. Her hands found their way around his neck and into his already messy hair. This man was talented. He kissed her as though he was thirsty and she was the last drink of water on earth. He kissed her as though he had been wanting to do this for the last three years. He kissed her as though she was his.

When she broke the kiss, breathing heavy he simply shifted to her neck, her clavicle. The low vee of her shirt allowing him access. Her head fell back as she gave him more room.

Suddenly she felt his fingers on the outer edge of her panties. At the same moment his mouth was doing magical things to a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. She shifted on the table humming as his fingers made their way to her entrance.

"I haven't heard this much sound from you in a long time" he paused whatever he was doing to her neck to say. "Maybe I should have done this sooner".

His finger was now working circles around her clit. Rather than go back to kissing her neck his eyes found hers as she slowly began to lose herself to the sensations. They were having a conversation without words. When his finger entered her she gasped and closed her eyes.

"Look at me" he said. Her eyes fluttered open to find his lit and studying her. He began to move his finger in and out. She bit her lip and her head fell back.

"Look at me" he reiterated. And his commanding tone coupled with a second finger joining the first had her head snapping back up.

"You will watch."

Suddenly his fingers left her and in a swift move he grabbed the waistband of her panties and ripped. Then before she could recover from that his hands moved her thighs further apart and his mouth found her, his tongue hot on her most private place. She was so stunned she didn't have a moment to feel exposed. Then sensation began traveling through her body.

She was getting more and more wet as he continued. His tongue feasting on her sensitive clit then moving to her entrance. The more wet she got the more he lapped, groaning and tightening his grip on her waist. Her thighs began to tremble and with each lap of his tongue she fell a little further under his spell. When his tongue entered her, her hands gave out and she fell to her elbows. Her eyes almost closed until she remembered what he had said. When she looked down she found him watching her as his tongue continued to torture her. She couldn't believe this was happening. How had they got here? Watching her watch him seemed to do something to him, as his onslaught became more ferocious she could only hold on for the ride.

He knew everything about her. He made it his job. Nothing could put all his skills to better use than his wife. And maybe that is why finding out he may not know her like he thought he did these last few days was driving him crazy.

All he could think about was her safety. But more than anything he was angry. Angry that this stranger who had no right to had seen her. Taken her hostage! Had her photo to leer over! It made him feral.

All he had wanted to do after last night's events was set eyes on her. Make sure she was safe. But when he'd seen her all his plans flew out the window. Suddenly he needed to know,  was she his Hee Joo?

Now with his head between her thighs, her hand fisting his hair and those breathy noices she was making (which were quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds) he knew she was.

He loved her taste and the more wet she got, the happier he was. He watched as her eyes glazed over as she gave in to everything he was giving her.  She began to shift her hips now, unconsciously chasing her orgasm. What she didn't know is he would give her anything she wanted.

Now as he watched her, her eyes seemed to be begging him, a tiny furrow in her brows and he was more than willing to oblige. He shifted, his mouth again finding her clit while his fingers entered her again. He pulled, hard with his mouth and thrust his fingers at the same time. Her thighs tightened around his head. He sweeped his tongue from her clit to her entrance a satisfied groan low in his throat. That also seemed to have an effect on her. He picked up the pace his eyes finding her again. Not wanting to miss a moment of her pleasure. He felt and heard the moment she came. Her core quivered and released a rush of moisture. At the same time she gasped loudly and bucked her hips. He knew it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes trained on him. He could swear he saw them get two shades darker.

For several moments she didn't breathe, suspended in the pleasure her body was giving her. He continued his onslaught until she came down. The hand in his hair going slack and a rush of breath finally expended from her. She seemed to sag onto the table. As much as she could anyway as she tried to keep her eyes on him.

He kissed her one last time reverently. When he glanced up he could see the panic and confusion beginning on her face. Her hands went up to cover her face and she laid on the table.

He adjusted her skirt back down to cover her. "Get cleaned up" he said. Knowing if he even tried to talk about or explain this it would go in one ear and out the other.

"I'm going to take a shower; then I'll make you breakfast and we can talk".

She was shaking her head before he was finished.  Her fingers shifting so she could peek through.

He left her like that, making his way to his room to shower. He knew she was even now probably trying to find a way to get out of speaking to him. But make no mistake, he had gotten a taste and he was far from satisfied.