#sanmos technically

[blorbohoarder]

take these doodbles i made

[vriedi]

Real

[hank-jank-wimbletank]

What’s gonna happen?

Here’s the basic rundown of what I have planned (but can’t start posting/writing on ao3 until the 24th, sorry for the delay): The first few chapters will be similar to how the chatness combat fic started, but things will take a more different turn! This will include ships such as Sanmos Christnarr (and technically Trickjeb too) Other things it may include: Crackpot being an unfortunate hopeless romantic for an aroace Phobos Auditor being shoved into a jar at one point Sheriff is being haunted and also owns a cat Hank and 2B having a father & son relationship Because this is my fic and I want plot relevance for things, there will be an oc of mine in here, I don’t wanna hear shit it makes things better, believe me. Do feel free to send asks about what I could do/add! I’m open to suggestions!!

[gh0styyt0astyy]

✨ Fall into my arms, and I’ll catch you. ✨

———————————

⭐️ [Summary] — Sanford is insecure. Deimos is happy to remedy that.

⭐️ [Warnings] — Angst in beginning, mentioned injury, sfw tickle fic, shipping (Sanmos); Don’t like, don’t comment. Just scroll on <3

⭐️ [Prompt/s] — n/a

uMMM… every time I write Sanford it’s always sad (not on this blog i hardly write him) so I , need to fix that LOL. so anyways heres some sanmos hurt/comfort food enjoy <3 gentle comfort tickles :)

ALSO HEY BIT OF A LONG ONE! <3

(And also if any of these topics may upset you then don’t look! take care of yourself :) )

key:

• Sanford

• Deimos

requests: open! (just give me some stuff to work with)

✨ Enjoy ! ✨

——————

Sometimes, there were days that Sanford would feel the waters of his head and thoughts start to boil. He could never fully drive them away, and that’s what drove him up the wall.

Like today. Today was one of those days.

Sanford wasn’t on the latest mission. Why not? He was nursing a nasty stab wound that an agent had, not so lovingly, given to him. Everyone had decided much to his dismay that it would be good for him to stay home.

Which, to be fair, wouldn’t have really bothered him in the first place. To him, the fact that there was no room for discussion is what tipped it off.

But it’s fine! He can manage himself at home just fine, he can clean his weapons, he can- fix up the truck! (No, nevermind. It’s hard enough to move his arm already.) … Oh! He could- um.. he could sit, and rebandage. Like he was told to do anyways.

…And it’s not like he was home alone, either. Doc was there too. He was the one, technically, manning the mission. So Sanford didn’t have the whole house alone, just some parts.

Sanford watched his feet scuff the floor, boots making that awful squeak noise against the poorly made concrete ground of the warehouse. (Yeah, piped up in a warehouse, living the life.)

“This is fucking boring.” He spoke into the vast nothingness of the… living room. (Term used lightly.) His head hung over the back of the sofa, and he stared at the ceiling before laying onto his side.

… How come the others still kept him around? He wasn’t much. He’s just some… average guy that got tugged into hell.

He didn’t have cool fire powers. He couldn’t make flames erupt from the tips of his claws. He certainly couldn’t manipulate the rock and ground to his every will.

He wasn’t a half MAG. He couldn’t tear down enemies in one minute, couldn’t lift debris and rubble. He didn’t have any electricity or lightening powers that could run through his veins.

He certainly wasn’t a necromancer. He couldn’t bring those long dead and gone, back to life. (And trust me, he’s tried.) He couldn’t make these- these fancy machines that did so much. He didn’t have much, if any at all, of any medical knowledge.

What did he have?

… A meathook.

A hook, and a lot of pure, stupid will. That’s all he’s known as. “The hook-wielding mercenary,” or, “the loud explosion guy,” or, his favorite, “Average background Joe.”

That’s all he was, an average guy.

Fuck... how troublesome.

Sanford pushed himself to his feet, holding his shoulder before holding himself, some attempt at self comfort. He hesitated for a moment, thinking, before eventually turning to the stairs—-

The door swung open, Hank and Deimos walking in- finally making it back from the mission.

“San!” Deimos called, a wide grin on his face. “Oh, man. You’ll never guess what-…! We found?” He stopped, looking Sanford up and down. Sanford noticed that, he cleared his throat and straightened up his back. “Hey, welcome back you two.” He said, a smile on his face. “What’d you find? Anything good?” He followed beside Hank as he asked the question, stopping when he felt a hand on his own.

“San? You doing okay?” Deimos was asking him, looking at him with those concerned, orange eyes of his.

The very eyes that Sanford fell in love with from the start, melted through his core and right through his ribcage- with a surrounding, comforting warmth in his chest.

He hesitated. “I’m alright, just tired. Now show me what you guys found!” He said finally, pulling away gently from Deimos’ grip.

Deimos’ eyebrows furrowed. Sanford didn’t think that he missed the hesitance in his answer, did he? Something felt off. Deimos knew that something was off. But he couldn’t put an exact pin in it. He’d have to do a little more digging…

“Sanford- San! Wait up!” Deimos called, quickly jogging up the stairs to catch his retreating boyfriend. “Not goin’ far, Dee.” Sanford called back, dipping into their shared room before falling face first onto the bed. Deimos quickly stepped in as well, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, lover boy.”

“Hi, Bug.”

The bed dipped, and Sanford moved his face from the pillow to meet Deimos’, a small smile on his face. “Hey, you okay?”

Ah. That dreaded question. “I’m fine, tired, arm hurts.” Deimos frowned, carding his fingers through Sanford’s curly, black hair. “I’m sorry, baby. Take a nap? I’ll be in here with you.”

Sanford shook his head, body making a small jolt when he just barely felt claws slide over his ribs. “Deimos,” he whispered, putting his cheek on the pillow. “Can I? You just seem… so sad.” Deimos said, a gentle and genuine tone in his voice that made Sanford almost tear up.

“…y-yeah, um.. please.” The claws slid up his ribs again, making him shudder as he felt Deimos climb onto his waist. “I’ll be gentle, promise.” And he was. He always kept those promises.

“..Mnh!” Sanford let out a tiny squeak, pushing his face into the pillow as he already started to laugh, gently. Deimos’ fingers gently dug into the skin of his sides, squeezing and tracing- poking and prodding. “You’re so lovely, you know?” He whispered, never removing his hands from Sanford’s sides. “You’re amazing. Strong, and resilient.” Another squeak filled the air for a moment. “Well,” Deimos laughed. “Unless you’re tickled. Then that’s a different story. But it’s cute, endearing.” He squeezed at Sanford’s hips. Not harshly, but enough that it was hard for Sanford not to laugh.

“Ghhk- D-Deihimos-” Sanford whispered into the pillow, shoulders tensing as he felt Deimos prod into his ribs again. “Hm?” He hummed back. “Ihit- nnehehe- it tickles-“ Deimos grinned. “Well, yeah. That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.” Sanford squirmed lightly, never pushing away. Instead, pressing himself into Deimos’ hands, any strength in him melted at Deimos’ gentle hands.

It was always a game of cat and mouse with Deimos, one that always left Sanford on the edge— never lingering on one of his ticklish spots too long, but enough that it got its fair share of attention. “Mm- EHEK- Dehehe-!” Sanford yelped suddenly, back muscles tensing as Deimos traced his tattoo and left little shapes. “God, I could listen to your laugh for hours, and never get tired of it.”

Eventually, Deimos’ hands travelled back down to Sanford’s ribs and sides, tracing his claws up and down- poking at random times and random spots. Squeezing little bits of flesh and occasionally leaning down to leave gentle kisses on his back, trailing up and down his spine.

“I love you,” Deimos said through a kiss. “I love you so much.” And when Sanford reached a hand back to grab Deimos’ wrist, he stopped.

Sanford sat up, putting his head on Deimos’ shoulder, holding his hands as he let out the left over giggles from the phantom sensations. “Are you sure you’re okay, hon?” Sanford opened his mouth to answer… and hesitated.

“..No, but.. mm. I don’t know, I don’t wanna talk about it. Not yet.” He whispered back, rocking with Deimos.

“That’s okay, love. Take your time.”

So he did, Sanford took his time with Deimos- he always did. Deimos always let him know he could take his time without judgement, without fear of ridicule.

Maybe Sanford was just an average person. But he’s one hell of a lucky one, to have Deimos- and Hank, and Doc.

Maybe being average wasn’t that bad.

[clownkillsyou]

[vriedi]

shitty mspaint doodle of 

[vriedi]

oops hes diseased with trickster now

[vriedi]

oops

[vriedi]

heehee haahaa hoohoo