#but maybe there’s still a way of keeping some of it if you don’t let specific expectations take too strong a hold of you
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How About a Nuke?
Part VIII / Part IX
(Completed) Series Masterlist
Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The ghoul x fem!reader
A/N: PLEASE READ, we have reached the end of their journey and I am so sad/happy/excited about it. I don’t even know how to feel honestly. I just want to thank everyone who has commented, messaged or reblogged this story. Your kind words and funny little depressed memes have been really uplifting for me. I was actually considering just giving up on this blog when I posted the first chapter. I haven’t had much inspiration lately or interaction I feel like, and you all have helped reignite that spark within me.
Summary: There’s something keeping you tied to Cooper Howard, an invisible string wrapped around you both. You’ve fought against it as long as you could but he’s not gonna let you fight for much longer.
It’s been a month and the bounty on her head gets bigger everyday. Normally the compound hires privately, they don’t like going through the agencies. He figures with Sylvie dead they’re struggling to find a new leader and they’re falling apart. Or they’re just desperate for her head on a stick.
He sees her face everywhere, crudely drawn images of her varying in their accuracy. In some she has a hat like his on, in others her nose is the wrong shape, or her eyes are all wrong. No one seems to have a good grasp on who she is. Out of curiosity and a strange need to know she’s still alive, he’s asked around.
There are different rumors as to where she’s hiding out. Some think she’s taken to hiding out in the caves near Filly. Anyone with half a brain knows that the area’s overrun by irradiated bears and other mutated freaks.
There are those that say they’ve seen her wandering through the sands. Following that lead had led him nowhere. He doesn’t know where she is and it’s driving him insane. She’s like a constant itch in the back of his mind that he just can’t scratch. Days and nights are spent thinking about her and he hates it.
He’s not sure what he’d do when he does find her. Whether he’d shoot her to repay the favor or just tie her up to keep her from leaving again. He’s conflicted on how he feels about her. He’s bothered that he feels anything towards her at all. And he knows that when she shot him, she was shooting to kill.
She had no way of knowing that he would heal from that bullet. She’d watched him bleed out on the ground and left him for dead. He was impressed, as much as he wanted to be mad, he was almost proud in a way.
Throughout their tumultuous lives and times together she’d always had to be guided by him. He’d shown her the ways of whatever world they were living in. She’d relied on him and he enjoyed it. The time had to come when eventually she wouldn’t need him anymore.
It’s outside of Filly that he finds the most accurate poster of her so far. She looks like she did in their first movie together. A proper outlaw, wanted all across the Wastelands for her crimes against a bunch of sick fucks. If he could kill Sylvie again, he would. He’d kill all of them.
Not that he’s condemning them because of what the compound’s doing. He’s dabbled in organ trade before, eaten people, he’s done a lot of fucked up shit. But he draws the line at trying to hurt her. He’s the only one who should be allowed to fuck with her.
He takes the poster down and whistles softly at the price under her name. It’s enough to keep him happy for a longtime. If he never wanted to take on another bounty he wouldn’t have to. Course, he was never in this for the money. A man’s gotta have something to entertain himself with at the end of the world.
He wonders if she’s even still alive. Maybe a Deathclaw got her a day after she left him behind. He could have walked past her corpse and never even known it. He folds the poster up and slips it in his bag. He doesn’t know why he bothers keeping it. Possibly because it’s the closest thing to her that he’s got, but he doesn’t feel like lingering on that thought for long.
He tugs his hat lower on his head and heads through the tunnel leading to Filly. He’s caused a lot of issues here over the years. Usually he kills most of the people who could identify him as an instigator, but he doesn’t feel like pushing his luck today. He needs more supplies and he knows Ma June won’t sell to him if he causes a fight beforehand.
It’s louder than normal today, more people rushing around. They’re all congregating around something in the center of the marketplace. He turns to the left, heading up the stairs to try and get a better look at what’s got everyone so excited.
“They found her!” A boy shouts, fidgeting in his spot next to him. He glances at him from under his hat and the boy pales before scurrying away from him. His lips turn up in a cruel grin and he finally gets a good look at what’s happening.
She’s kneeling in the middle of the marketplace, two Knights on either side of her. He’s more surprised by the fact that she actually has picked up a hat in her time away from him.
She seems to be playing into the outlaw routine more than he thought she would.
You’re embarrassed, honestly, that you let these two idiots capture you. Them and their useless little squires.
You’ve found odd jobs through the Brotherhood when they need assistance looking for relics of the old world. Though, you’re really not sure how much use a toaster oven can be to them, but they pay good money for it.
Once your bounty was posted and they figured out who you were, though, that stopped being useful. You can’t even hunt bounties because the agencies would just grab you and turn you over to the compound.
They clearly didn’t give a shit about women, you don’t get why they’re making this whole Sylvie situation such a big deal.
You had to bribe Ma June by buying some of her junk, but eventually she’d helped you find some work in Filly. The people here are stupid enough that they don’t recognize you when they see you. Most of them are high or drunk so the only thing you have to worry about is wandering hands and not stepping in the middle of their brawls.
From the patrons of the bar you hear stories about yourself. How you slaughtered the entire compound, even the children, which is so far from the truth you can’t help but scoff. Or how you apparently slept with a ghoul and you're carrying his mutant baby.
You don’t even know where they got that one from.
They also seem to think you wander through the sands, shooting anyone who gets in your way. It’s a comfort that no one seems to have caught onto you yet. But it’s also disheartening to know that all that’s left of civilization is a bunch of psychopathic idiots.
What happened to natural selection?
You know your stint in Filly is up when two Knights walk in, their squires struggling to carry their bags behind them. You pull your hat further over your head and duck behind the bar. You try to keep your back to them and let the old man, Marley, who runs the bar deal with them.
His shaky voice is cautious as he greets them, “What are Knights doing so far out here?”
One of their distorted voices rings out through the, now quiet, bar. “We got bored. Wanted to shoot some shit.”
You roll your eyes and focus on cleaning the cup in front of you. You spit into it, not enough water to properly clean it, and scrub at it with a stained towel. Marley hums, clearly displeased with the answer. You can hear his tottering steps approaching you and wince, praying he’s not going to do what you think he is.
He tugs on your shirt with a shaky hand and you slump forward in defeat. “Deal with these jackasses,” he mutters, taking drinks over to a different table.
You pour the only alcohol the bar has into two cups and keep your head down as you approach. “Heard that a woman took over for Knight Damien.”
One of them scoffs and shakes his armored head, “What the fuck is this world coming to?” You don’t know how they’re planning on drinking their liquor with the helmets on but you’re not going to ask stupid questions. You drop the cups in front of them, but your hand slips and one of them tips over into a Knight’s lap.
“I’ve got it, sire.” Their squire lunges forward and begins vigorously scrubbing their armor. Your face curls up in distaste and you’re about to walk away when a metal hand grips your wrist.
“Holy shit, it’s her!” Oh, you’re so screwed.
They’ve got a fucking leash on you, it’s humiliating. The scarred and dirt-covered faces of the citizens of Filly surround you. They’re all leering, shouting at you and begging the Knight’s to share in the bounty. But the Knight’s aren’t listening, they’re just congratulating each other.
“What do you think they’ll give us?”
One of them shoves their squire and he goes toppling into his large bag, feet flailing in the air. “Hopefully better fucking squires. I’m getting sick of this one’s stupid face.”
The squire kneels down and shouts in a shaking voice, “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, sire!” God, you really hate these people. You wished they would just shoot you. Having to sit here and listen to them talk was making your brain go numb.
The Knight’s distorted laugh rings out through his helmet. The other one glances over at you, “What do you think she did? I’ve never seen the compound this pissed off.”
“I dunno. Hey!” You know he’s talking to you, that they want an answer, you really don’t care to give them one. “What’d you do?” They stare at you for a moment and then he sighs when you don’t respond. He shoves his squire towards you and the kid goes stumbling over his feet. “Make her talk.”
He nods rapidly, head bobbing up and down. “Of course, sire.” Your hands twitch to your side and you give him a wicked grin as he approaches.
He’s debating going down there and trying to help her when the first shot goes off. He doesn’t even see it happen, he just watches as one of the squires drops to the ground.
Those who don’t want to get caught in the crossfire are quick to move away from the area, hiding in their shops or shoving past him to get through the tunnel. He heads down the stairs, taking his time and trying to figure out where the shot came from.
The second squire moves towards her and his head flies back, a hole between his eyes and his brains splattering across the ground. One Knight shoves the other one and points at their dead squire’s, “Did you not take her fucking gun?”
He’s been in those suits. He remembers how it felt, the power you get from being in them. How they make you feel like a big man. He also remembers how fucking slow they could be. She’s on her feet and running for cover before they can even start to grab her.
She dives behind a stall and tugs a knife out of her boot, sawing at the ropes around her wrists. He can’t reach her before the fighting starts. Someone in the remaining crowd shouts, “Grab her! Get the bounty!” And all hell breaks loose.
Someone runs at him and he shoots them before they can grab him. Shots start going off, the Knight’s mowing down anyone who tries to swoop in on their bounty. Everyone else is shooting blindly, just trying to get rid of the competition so they can claim her bounty as their own.
He ducks under the hail fire and slides next to her as she’s reloading her gun. She glances over at him and frowns, “Didn’t I kill you?”
He hears a shout and watches as some half-feral woman charges at them. She shoots her dead and turns back to him. He gives her a wry smile, “You want to do this now, sweetheart?”
She peers over her cover and surveys the chaos going on around them. She sighs and glances back at him, “Why aren’t you dead?”
He tugs one of his specially made bullets out of his bag and loads it into his gun. He lifts himself to his knees and aims at the weak spot on the Knight’s chest plate. They both watch as blood explodes out of the neck of the power armor, the Knight’s friend cussing as he watches him die.
“Next time,” she turns to look at him, “aim for the head,” he instructs. She glares at him before making her way to Ma June’s shop. He follows, not willing to let her out of his sight again, and she ducks behind the barrels of supplies in front of the shop.
“Clearly,” she winces as the Knight’s gun starts firing off again, “I’m not making it out of here on my own.” They dive to the side as bullets rip through the barrels they’re leaning against. They’re not gonna have cover for much longer.
He grins at her, “Sounds like you’re asking me for a favor, darling.”
The sounds of screams and bodies dropping is nearly deafening. A few feet away a bullet catches a man in the throat and he drops to the ground. They watch as he chokes on his blood and tries to claw his way to safety. Steps rapidly approach them and she turns to shoot a different man, his body dropping an inch away from them.
He turns back to her and his lips turn down, “After you tried to kill me? You want my help,” he laughs at her and she glares.
Before she can speak a voice rings out above them, “I got her!” He shoots at the woman on the upper level above them, half of her leg gets blown off and she tumbles over the railing, narrowly missing the pair.
He turns back to her, “You’re asking a lot, darling.”
“You’ve fucking shot me, twice. I’m not asking you for anything.” Her lips turn down in a sneer and she looks at him like the very sight of him disgusts her. “I don't need your help. I don't need you.” She glances back over her shoulder, surveying the gore and the bullets flying around them. She checks her gun and he sees just how little ammo she has left. “I’ll handle this myself.” She snaps the chamber of her gun closed and moves to get up. He grabs her wrist and yanks her back down, ignoring the angry expression on her face.
“Look, you might not want my help, but you need it, sweetheart. Just stay here.”
You watch as Cooper runs off, his guns firing before he’s even fully standing. You only wait a second before you’re running into Ma June’s and out her back door. She shouts at you as you barrel through her shop, knocking over her displays and shelves, but you can’t waste any time getting the hell out of dodge.
You’re surprised Cooper was stupid enough to think you would actually wait for him. The Knight’s had called for an air evac out of Filly and if you stay there any longer you’ll be back in the compound before you can blink.
You’ve spent a month evading them, you’re not about to let yourself get caught because of Cooper.
You can’t believe he’s not dead. It’s not like you’ve been losing sleep over killing him, but it’s been hard to cope with the fact that you killed the man that was once the love of your life. Seeing him again, though, you wished you had shot him in his smug face.
You’d forgotten, in the time apart, just how condescending he could be. He seemed to think you needed him to survive. You didn’t.
At best, he provided the comfort of company. Poorly.
Despite how much he undervalued you, you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You didn’t need him to save you. You would have figured your way out of there on your own, eventually. You’ve handled yourself a month in the Wastelands without him. You learned how to carve an existence for yourself out here and you did it without help.
You race into the woods beyond Filly, putting as much distance between you and the sounds of fighting as quickly as you can. The trees around you begin to shake, the ground vibrating and a swirl of dirt and leaves rises into the air and whips you in the face.
You look up and begin pushing yourself faster. One of the Brotherhood’s Vertibird’s is circling Filly. “This is not a hostile landing! Please remain calm!” You blame your distraction on the announcement.
You would have heard him coming up behind you if you hadn’t been listening to whatever the Brotherhood was saying. Rope loops around your arms and you’re yanked backwards. Your head thumps painfully hard against the forest floor, rocks scraping you as you’re dragged across the ground.
Cooper’s face appears over yours, a cruel smile on his lips. “Now, this seems awfully familiar.” He walks around you, boots straddling your waist and grabs you by the front of your shirt, yanking you back to your feet. “I thought I told you to stay put, sweetheart.”
You frown at him, shoving your leg up between his. He groans, doubling over while you shimmy out of the loose rope. “Honestly, after all the shit that’s happened you think I’m gonna listen to anything you say?” You step back from him, brushing the dirt off your clothes as best you can.
You sigh in frustration when you realize that when the Knight’s had grabbed you, you’d lost your supplies. Cooper looks up at you and scoffs, “Missing something?” You eye his bag on the ground and start to go for it. He pulls the hammer of his gun back and you glance towards him. You’d forgotten what a quick draw he could be.
He’s fully recovered now, eyes narrowed in on you and gun pointed right at your chest. “See, a bullet to the chest might not kill me, but I reckon it’ll do a hell of a lot of damage to you. Why don’t you back up for me, sweetheart?”
You let go of his bag and slowly back away from him. He keeps his gun trained on you and stoops down, throwing his bag back over his shoulder. Your eyes dart to the hat on his head and your lips curl up when you spot the hole you’d put in it.
Two hundred years and he’s kept that hat nearly pristine, you take no small amount of pride in being the one to ruin it.
“The Brotherhood will be swarming these woods in a few minutes. They’re not gonna be too happy about one of their Knight’s being dead. Come with me, I can help you out.”
You scoff, “Like I’ll ever trust you again. You’ve shot me, sold me, and left me for dead, Cooper.”
He huffs, eyes narrowing and lips curled in a sardonic grin. You can tell he’s getting pissed off. “The choice is yours,” he tucks his gun back in his holster and turns on his heels. You watch in surprise as he stalks away from you. You had fully expected him to put up more of a fight, it almost hurts that he left so easily again.
Then you hear the sounds of orders being shouted behind you. Metal creaking and stomping through the underbrush and you realize he hadn’t left but forced you between a rock and a hard place. You could follow him or let yourself get captured by the Brotherhood.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You risk a glance over your shoulder and spot a rapidly approaching party of squires. You run in the direction Cooper went and find him leaning casually against a tree, a satisfied look on his face when he spots you. “Don’t say a word,” you warn, shoving past him.
He glances at her from across the fire and finds himself feeling almost at ease for the first time in a month. It’s been a while since he’s looked up to actually find her staring back at him. She might look like she wants to kill him, but she’s here.
“You have to admit, we make a pretty good team, darling.”
She gives him an unimpressed look, “Yeah, Cooper, we’re so great at murdering people.” She looks over to the dead bodies of the raiders they’d stolen this camp from and shakes her head. “I forgot how much death you surround yourself with.”
“I surround myself with? Might I remind you, you fired the first shot, sweetheart.” Granted, he had shoved her out of her hiding spot and given her no choice about it.
Her head shoots up and she glares at him, “You made me!” She opens her mouth and he grins. He enjoys provoking her like this. Even if the last time he had she’d shot him because of it, but it’s fun to rile her up. She always gets so pissed off, it entertains him to no end.
To his disappointment, she closes her mouth and shakes her head, choosing not to engage with him. He sighs and rips off a piece of jerky. “When did you turn into such a wet fucking blanket?”
Her eyes flare with anger, despite that, he can hear how hurt she really is. “Maybe when you sold me!”
He tilts his head and runs his tongue over his teeth, “You ever gonna let that go? I told you it was a mistake. How was I supposed to know they were gonna breed you like a prize pig?”
She scoffs, the noise high pitched and shocked. She shakes her head and stares at him with wide eyes, “You are unbelievable.” He shrugs and takes a swig from the flask he’d stolen off one of the raiders. He’s not sure how they make their alcohol, or if they trade for it, but it’s fucking disgusting. He frowns at the flask and drains the rest of it before tossing it into the woods behind him.
She sighs and runs a hand over her face, her voice tired as she asks, “What’s the plan here, Cooper?”
He picks at his teeth and shakes his head, “With what?”
She leans against the log behind her and gestures at herself. “With me. What, are you going to wait for me to pass out so you can tie me up and send me back to the compound? I’ve seen the price on my head. I know how valuable I am to everyone in the Wastelands.”
He doesn’t know why what she’s saying bothers him so much but it does. “You really think I’d send you back there?”
Her face is devoid of anything as she responds, “Why wouldn’t you?”
It’s the bluntness with which she asks that, that bugs him. Like there’s no other possibility but him betraying her. Taking advantage of her while she was vulnerable and weak and then handing her over to the people who want her dead. He wouldn’t do that to her.
He didn’t go through all this fucking trouble to find her just to lose her again. He wants to tell her as much but she’s on her feet and grabbing her bag before he can. “Look, I appreciate the help today, but I’m not interested in starting this partnership back up again. I think it’s better if we just part ways.”
He whips his gun out before he can think about what he’s doing. She freezes, still bent over and eyes his gun warily. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, darling.” He can’t let her leave again. And maybe this isn’t the best way to go about it, but he doesn’t know how else to stop her.
“You gonna shoot me, Cooper?” She whispers, her own hand twitching for the revolver at her side. He stands up and grabs her wrists, ignoring the way she struggles against him. He binds her hands with his rope and he sits back down,
“I’m not gonna turn you in and I’m not gonna shoot you. But you’re not getting out of here that easy, sweetheart.”
Her eyes narrow in on his, her fists clenched tightly in anger. “I killed two men with my hands bound today. What’s stopping me from killing you?”
He shrugs, “Nothing. There’s nothing stopping you, just like there’s nothing stopping me. But I’m not killing you, am I? See,” he leans forward, “I’ve fought too hard and spent too much time looking after you to just let you go now. We’re in this together, whether you want it or not.”
Her lips split in a sneer and she throws herself down on the log. “You’re all the fucking same. You treat me like a goddamn dog that needs to be beat into submission. I’m not some misbehaving pet, Cooper!” Her eyes well up and her voice breaks, “You don’t get to just leash me and expect me to be okay with it.”
“I’m under no illusions that you’re happy here, sweetheart.” He runs a hand down his face and she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Then just let me go,” she’s bordering on begging now and his chest squeezes the longer she stares at him with those pleading eyes of hers. It’s not something he’s familiar with, this feeling, this longing for her to just shut the fuck up and stop making this so damn difficult for him.
“I can’t,” he mutters, wanting her to just drop it.
“Why not?” She snaps, dropping any pretenses of trying to get him to sympathize with her.
He surges forward and grabs her by the jaw. Her eyes widen in shock and he smashes their lips together, teeth clashing painfully. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about this kiss. Her teeth are ripping into his scarred lips until the taste of copper is spreading on his tongue. He groans, digging his fingers into her cheeks until her lips part.
His tongue probes against hers, the taste of his blood spreading into her mouth as well. She whimpers, the noise stirring something in him he’d forgotten about. There’s an old desire bubbling in him that’s making him blind to the rest of the world. He wants her, more than he ever wants to admit.
He’s wanted her for a long time before this and they both know it. How hard he’s fought against it, against moments like these. He didn’t think he was still capable of this feeling, this desire for her. But it’s consuming. She’s ruining him, running him in circles until he thinks he’s going insane.
But it’s not the same gentle passion it once was. It’s as twisted as he’s become. The desire to possess, consume, covet until she’s his and only his to do with what he wants. His teeth dig into her, letting her blood overcome the taste of his own. He groans, his free hand grabbing her waist and yanking her closer.
She tastes so much sweeter than he does, he wants to rip a chunk of her off and eat her whole. He’s so distracted he doesn't even notice her pulling out her gun until he’s shooting back from her. He lands roughly on the forest floor and groans, hands clutched over the bleeding hole in his gut. Pain radiates through his abdomen and he rolls onto his side.
He looks up at her in shock. She’s spitting their blood onto the ground, her bound hands wiping at her lips. “Asshole,” she mutters. She tucks her gun back in her holster and looks over at him.
His eyes are wide in disbelief as he struggles to sit back up. The movement causes another wave of pain and he hisses through gritted teeth, “You shot me!”
She rolls her eyes and gives him a blank look, “You’ll live.” He limps back to his own seat and lifts his shirt, watching as the hole closes over slowly and the blood stops leaking. She watches as he heals and sighs, “Unfortunately.” He tugs it back down and sighs at the state of his shirt.
“My shirt won’t.” He digs a finger into the hole and tugs on it, watching as it rips wider. Two hundred years he’s kept these clothes, she ruins them in a month. Un-fucking-believable.
“Sew it,” she gripes, still wiping at her mouth. “I can’t believe you just fucking kissed me,” she frowns and spits again, bits of crimson lingering on her lips.
He sighs and leans back against the tree. “Felt right in the moment.” It did, he wants to do it again. They’re even now, they’ve both shot each other twice. No reason for her to shoot again.
He wants to feel the way she shivers against him and moans into his mouth. She can be pissed all she wants but she kissed back, she can’t deny that. He’s sure if she wasn’t tied up she’d be a bit more receptive to him. Or maybe she just needs time to cool off after the whole compound incident, a month seems like a reasonable amount of time. Then again, women are so damn unreasonable.
She tugs a knife out of her boot and positions it between her knees. She places it between her wrists and saws at the rope until it falls free. She slides the knife back in her boot and tosses the ruined rope at him.
He catches it with a sigh and glances up at her. “Why didn’t you do that earlier?”
Her eyes are alight with a challenge, “I wanted to see if you would let me go yourself.” Well, clearly, he had failed her little test. “I wanted to see if there was even a possibility I could ever trust you again.”
He gives her an unimpressed look, slightly pissed off about his shirt. He never should have taught her how to shoot. If he’d known it would come back to bite him in the ass he wouldn’t have. “And?”
She gives him a disbelieving look and shakes her head. “And instead of letting me go, you kissed me.“ She throws her hands up in astonishment and glares at him. “Why the hell would you think that was a good idea?”
He smirks and revels in the way she shivers at the sight. “Well, darling, I’ve always been better with actions not words.”
“Yeah,” her voice is a challenge, eyes hard and jaw clenched tightly in frustration. He loves the sight of her all riled up. He loves it even more knowing he’s the one getting her like this. “What were you trying to tell me with that little display?”
He doesn’t answer her question, not wanting to just yet. “You liked it, didn’t you?” Her mouth snaps shut and she looks away from him. He laughs, leaning back and giving her a smug look. “You can be pissed off at me as much as you want, sweetheart,” the nickname rolls off his tongue like a taunt and she sneers at him. “But you want me just the same as you used to.”
“Do you like hurting me? Is that why you keep me around? You’ve been alone for two hundred years, Cooper. And for the majority of them you’ve harbored this hatred for me because you thought I had abandoned you just like everyone else.”
Her words strike a place deep inside him that has him on edge. She knows what she’s doing. He’s forgotten, in his time with her, that in the same way he can get under her skin, she can do it too. She knows him just as well, she’s just always been the better half of their duo. She never feels the need to stoop to the level he does. But she’s doing it now and it feels like a kick in the teeth.
“And I’m the only one that’s actually stuck by you.” She laughs, but there’s an underlying pain to it. She looks away from him and wipes at her cheeks and his fists clench within his gloves. “Is this your revenge? You think by torturing me you get back at everyone whose ever fucked you over. I’m sick of it, Cooper. I’m not gonna let you use me anymore.”
“I feel for you,” he forces the words out. He doesn’t want to tell her this. He shouldn’t have to tell her this. She should just stick with him, it’s what they’d always done, it’s how it always should be. Them, together. But she’s fighting against that, against him, so much that he doesn’t have a choice.
She’s backed him into a corner he doesn’t know how to get out of. “In a way I haven’t in a very long time. I can’t let you go. Don’t you get that, sweetheart? We’re in this together.”
She shakes her head and he sighs. “No,” she looks at him and just shakes her head again. “No, you don’t love me, Cooper, or you don’t want me at least. I’m not the same girl I was, that’s what you’re after. That idea in your head, of us together, that’s who I was. You were right, the Wastelands changes you. I can’t be her for you and I don’t want to be.”
He chuckles and she shrinks away from the sound in suspicion. “Newsflash, darling, I’m not the same man. I loved you a long time ago, sweetheart, but I’m not capable of that anymore. Not for the girl you were, anyway.”
She nodded, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked like she accepted the answer, but he could see beyond that, could see that she thought he was rejecting her. It hurt, she could hate him as much as she wanted, but that still hurt her. “Good,” she muttered, “she’s gone.”
“Well, good.” She shrank further into herself and he grinned. “You. You as you are now. That’s what I want. I don’t give a shit about who we were, the only person I’ve wanted since I’ve been out here has been you. You’re the only person I’ve met who can actually keep up with me. I don’t give a shit if anyone in this godforsaken Wasteland lives or dies, but I give a shit about you. You’re also the only one who can knock me on my ass.”
Her eyes darted to the hole in his shirt and a small grin came over her lips. “Haven’t been shot a lot, have you, cowboy?”
“No,” he chuckles again and grins at her, “I haven’t. Though, I am still pretty pissed about the hole in my hat.”
Her tone loses a bit of her playfulness and she glares at him, “You more than earned that.”
He acquiesces and holds up his hands in surrender, “Maybe.” She scoffs at that and rolls her eyes. “But I think we’re even now.”
“Barely,” she mutters, rubbing at the bruises on her wrists. She glances up at him and sighs, a surrender in her eyes. “But, it’s close enough now.”
He stands up and she eyes him warily as he throws himself down on the log next to her. He holds out a hand, “What do you say, darling, partners?”
She sighs and stares at his hand for a long time. He doesn’t mind, he leaves it there, hovering between them. He knows she’ll take it. “Deny it as much as you want but this is how it’s meant to be. You can keep fighting it or save us both some time.”
She reaches forward and tentatively wraps a hand around his, she uses it to yank him forward, their faces separated by an inch. “Shoot me again,” she whispers, “and I won’t miss the next time I knock you on your ass.”
“Oh shit,” you jump at the kickback on the rifle and nearly drop it to the ground. Cooper laughs and reaches around you, taking it from you.
“Maybe I should have started you off with something with a little less kick to it.” He props the rifle against the tree and glances over to the cans you’d been shooting at. Well, you’d gotten one out of five at least.
In all fairness this was the first time you’d ever handled a gun, you’re sure you’re doing fine for a beginner. He sucks on his teeth and looks at your targets. The serious look on his face cracks and he’s clearly trying to fight off laughing.
You shove at his shoulder, smiling, “Shut up. I’ve never used one of these things before.”
He picks the rifle back up and starts laughing now, “You mean a gun?”
You throw your arms in the air in defeat and slump into the patio chairs he’s dragged to the back of the cabin. “This is pointless, anyway.” He cocks the rifle and lifts it up to aim properly. In quick succession he knocks the remaining four cans off the fence. You roll your eyes at him, “Show off.”
He smiles and takes a seat next to you. You remain silent for a while, gazing across the yard and to the towering mountains across from his cabin. You appreciate him inviting you here. When you’d told him how overwhelmed you’d been feeling with all the new publicity you hadn’t expected him to drag you all the way out to his mountain home.
You wouldn’t have accepted if you’d known it was just going to be you and him. You’d thought he was bringing his wife and kid, too. Spending a long weekend playing house with Cooper wasn’t going to do anything in getting rid of your crush. It was just getting worse the longer you were around him.
Waking up everyday and having him be the first person to greet you was going to send you into an early grave. You swear your heart’s never beat this fast around anyone else. He seems to be the only man who's ever had you feeling this head over heels.
“I think it’s important you learn.”
You glance over at him, surprised at how serious he sounds. He’s still staring out at the mountains, but his gaze is distant. His mind is some place else. “Why?” You ask, voice quiet, afraid to spoil the moment.
He finally blinks, gaze darting down to his hands and the rifle still in them. “It’s easy for people to dismiss the war nowadays. They weren’t there, they didn’t watch as hundreds of good men and women died for them.” You frown, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’d been fighting on the frontlines. He’s so good at being a socialite, you feel guilty that even you sometimes forget he was a soldier before he was Cooper Howard.
His voice is heavy, the tension thick around the both of you. “They seem to think the war is over. I know it’s not, it’s just going to get worse. People can bury their heads in the sand as long as they want, but when the fighting is at their front door, what are they going to do?”
You reach out, hand covering his own. He finally looks up at you and you smile. “I appreciate it, Cooper.”
His eyes quickly look at your hand before looking back at you. “For what?”
You shrug, moving closer to him and lacing your fingers with his. You shouldn’t indulge yourself like this, but you can’t help it. He seems so sad and you only want to make him feel better. You just want to take care of him, the way he takes care of you.
“For always looking out for me. You’re always there, I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”
The sad cast over his face finally breaks and he smiles at you. His hand squeezes yours once, then again and he looks back out at the mountains without saying anything else. You don’t think he needs to, that either of you needs to. Sometimes you understand each other better without words.
You’ll always be there for one another.
You eye him warily and he holds the jerky out further. “Aren’t you a little curious?” He taunts, waving the jerky around in front of your face. You know he thinks you won’t take it. That he’s just screwing with you. He’s been doing this ever since you agreed to tag along with him. Teasing you at every given opportunity.
You snatch it from his hands and rip a piece of it off. It kind of tastes like beef, if not a little sweeter. There’s also that metallic radiated tang to it. You chew it slowly, savoring the slightly caught off guard look on his face. You swallow it down, forcing your face to stay straight and not give away how disgusted you feel right now.
He chuckles, leaning back and looking at you with something that seems like appreciation. “I hope you know that was ass jerky.”
You gag now, glaring at him and tossing the rest of the jerky at his smug face. “You’re such a dick.” You take a swig from your canteen and swirl the water around your mouth. It gets rid of the taste well enough but you’re never going to get over the fact that you swallowed a part of someone’s ass.
He suddenly gets serious, swatting at your arm and motioning to the front of the store. You crouch beside him, watching as a raider walks out of the front doors. You don’t get why they chose an old movie store for their hideout, but Cooper had it on good authority that they had a decent cache of supplies inside.
The last time you’d followed him into one of these things, you’d nearly died, and then he’d sold you. You’re still not fully trusting of him. The only reason you’re with him now is because you need extra security from bounty hunters after getting booted out of Filly.
If he wasn’t such a good shot, you would have never given him a second glance. Despite how much he insists the compound was an honest mistake, you find the trust slow to come. You’ll let him take the lead on this one, you’re not confident in him having your back if things take a turn.
He moves forward and you hang back, keeping watch while he slits the guard’s throat. He lowers the body quietly to the ground and you creep behind him, following him through the doors of the store.
This group is smaller than the last one you dealt with. Only five of them with no extra guards outside. Cooper ducks behind a dust covered shelf before they can spot either of you. You go to the other side of the store, moving slowly along the edge until you have a good shot.
You take out one man and Cooper manages to hit two more before they start firing off their own guns. You dart back behind the shelf, willing to let Cooper handle the last two. But one of them dives behind the shelf and grabs at you.
Another shot goes off and his friend’s body hits the ground while he rounds the corner with you. He’s got an arm wrapped around your throat and the barrel of his gun pushing so hard into your skull you can feel an indent forming.
It wouldn’t be hard to shoot this guy, you still have your gun in your hand. Cooper seems to realize that, too, from the questioning look he gives you. You drop your gun to the floor, you want to see what he’ll do.
Maybe you’re stupid, gambling with your life like this. But you don’t feel any fear, not from the guy holding you hostage at least. You just keep your eyes locked on Cooper’s. They’re so familiar to you, yet so distant. Like a stranger you’ve known all your life.
He slowly rises from the floor, hands raised in the air in surrender. “Alright, let’s just see if we can’t talk this out like gentlemen.”
The guy holding you jerks you roughly, gun banging painfully against your temple. You wince but remain quiet. “Stay back or I’ll blow her goddamn brains out!”
Cooper’s eyes dart from your face to the guy. He huffs, frowning and pursing his lips like he’s trying to think of a way to talk himself out of this. He could leave, he’s got enough time to make it through the door before he fires at him.
Or he could help you.
It’s the only reason you let yourself get caught. If he wants your trust he’s going to have to prove it. Cooper looks at you and a grin splits across his face. It’s like he’s read your mind, from the knowing look on his face you think he might’ve.
Then again, you never really needed words to talk to each other.
With a speed that never fails to catch you off guard his hand darts under his jacket and he draws his gun. He’s shooting the man before you even get a chance to brace yourself. Your body gets dragged back slightly by the dead weight but Cooper moves forward and wraps a hand around your shirt, tugging you into him.
Your hands shoot out, bracing yourself against his chest. He peers at you from under his hat and grins, “You didn’t really think I was gonna let you go that easy did you, darling?” Your eyes dart down to his lips, you feel like you can still taste him.
The timing of his kiss might not have been appropriate, but he certainly hadn’t made it forgettable. Nothing about him was forgettable. As much as you wished he could be. You hated yourself for still letting yourself fall into his trap.
Hollywood might have once labeled you as the most seductive actress of your generation, but Cooper had you beat. He kept you coming back even when you knew you shouldn’t. He had you wrapped around him and all you wanted to do was squeeze until he let you go.
You push off of him, ignoring how much you want to pull him closer. You move towards their pile of supplies, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
There are a few different posters set up in the old movie store that intrigue him. But the one that’s caught his attention the most is set up directly behind her. Her back is to it, so she hasn’t gotten a chance to see it yet, but it’s all he can focus on.
The Outlaw and The Sheriff
Their first movie together.
He looks at her and huffs out a laugh, she glances up at him for a moment before she begins rifling through her bag again. She looks like she walked right off the fucking poster, hat and all. She’s the spitting image of herself, but she seems so different.
Maybe it’s the eyes. The light there has changed, dimmed slightly from how it used to be. She used to seem so naive to the world, like a little lamb that just needed some guidance. Now, he wonders just how much of the world she’d seen before he found her. If maybe she had never been as innocent to it’s cruelties as he’d once assumed.
She stepped into this new role of hers just as quickly as he had. You didn’t just change that quickly without knowing already just how awful people could be.
“Sweetheart,” she looks up and he points behind her. She turns around and looks up to the poster.
She scoffs, moving to stand beside him, “I always hated how I looked in that.”
He glances over at her and shakes his head, “Probably shouldn’t show you a mirror anytime soon, then.” Her hands reach up to fiddle with the brim of her hat and she smiles, a real smile for once.
“No, I suppose not.” Her hands trace over her lips, he glances back at the poster. At that old signature of hers. She always had to have those red lips. “It’s so different,” she whispers and he knows she didn’t mean for him to hear. Her eyes glisten and he frowns.
He shouldn’t have shown her. It’s not like he enjoyed seeing those fucking Vault-Boy posters, he sure as hell hated seeing clips of himself. Why would she enjoy seeing who she used to be? Who they used to be?
Things used to be so simple. He loved her, she loved him. Now he’d fucked up so much he wasn’t sure she could ever look at him the way she used to. He didn’t want who she was before, he couldn’t handle that. This new her, well, he didn’t give her near enough credit.
But he wouldn’t hate seeing someone look at him like that again. Endless adoration and unflinching loyalty. He knew he would follow her anywhere, he’d realized that a while ago. He didn’t have anything in the Wastelands, nothing but hate and spite to keep him going all this time.
Now, he had her. He just needed her to realize that she had him just the same. She had him wrapped around her and he hated it and loved it at the same time. Hated her and loved her for it all the same.
He tugs his glove off before he reaches for her. He cups her cheek, thumb tracing over her lips before she turns towards him. His eyes meet hers and he smiles slightly at the familiarity and mystery to them. So much of her he recognizes and then there are these new parts he’s yet to discover.
He wants to discover all of her. Learn everything he can about her all over again, feed his desire to consume her entirely.
She pulls him in this time, her lips chapped and cracked. Her arms wind around his neck, yanking him closer and he tugs at her. She tastes as sweet as he remembers and it only makes him crave more. More of her, more of anything she’ll let him have.
She pulls back from him, pressing her hand against his chest, slowly backing him against the wall. He lets her ease him to the floor and she throws a leg over his lap. She settles herself above him, both her hands tightly grasping his neck, crushing their bodies together, eyes gazing intently into his own. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for in him but she seems to find it when she leans in once more.
She isn’t giving him a chance at control, she’s got a leash on him, pulling back anytime he tries to lead. He relents, following her as she slowly explores him.
He’s not sure how long this peace between them will last before one of them inevitably fucks up. But they’re stuck together now. It doesn’t matter what happens, he’s not letting her get away from him again.
She’s his, always has been, always will be. It’s been that way since before the fallout. He’s led her, guided her.
He had loved her as a different man. History always seems to repeat itself with them. As twisted as the world is, as twisted as they’ve become, they always seem to drift back together. No matter how much the both of them fight against it.
He’s giving in now, giving into her.
end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#fallout x reader#fallout tv series#how about a nuke?#cooper howard#the ghoul
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How would Dark-Yandere!Farmer react to finding reader taking Polaroid photo shoots of his retired senior dogs in silly clothing like sunglasses, hair clips, etc. Btw love your writing keep up the good work!🫶🏼
Dark-Yandere!Farmer x GN!Reader
TW - Readers def developing Stockholm Syndrome or something of the sort, nothing else though this fix is sweeter as an apology for the intense one last time about reader being punished. This was meant to be a qick paragraph or two as an answer but I got to deep into lore and this sweet scenario as it’s a side of him we don’t see much. Thanks for the idea glad you’re liking this blog❤️
I’ll proof read later
You’d expressed an interest in his old cameras after he let you rummage through a few boxes he’d stored away. In a box he’s got a old digital camera a Polaroid one and then a really fragile one that’s much older than the rest, you didn’t dare pick it up in fear it would fall adapt just by touch. Then at the bottom of the box, a few images, some developed film some printed. You recognised him in some home images or family portraits, he looked like a happy kid with a cheesy grin sometimes even pictured on this very farm but most of them look to be taken in a small town house.
It’s weird to imagine at one point he was just a normal kid, living a normal life, photos of him blowing out candles on his birthday or with some older family members reminded you that no ones born ‘bad’. Makes you wonder why he’s the way he is now, what happened?
A part of you wanted to take one of those sweet images of him as a child and hide it away, to uncover and re-remind yourself he’s not a living monster but a human and a kind one at times. To ground yourself when he gets angry and all you can see him as is a living demon. To set the aspiration that if he was once so -he can be again.
You recognised a woman from the images as his mother because he kept a image of her in the bedside draw, she looked loving and kind. But he’d never talk about her, answering your careful questions about her with “she was a good mother” or “she was an admirable woman” he seemed emotionally withdrawn about it so you didn’t push it. You figured since she’s dead he’s just remembering her face.
The rest of the pictures seemed to be from the building of this farm, dated on the back in scruffy hands writing, maybe by his father or grandfather. You could look through this pile of history for hours, not just to learn more about your captor but about the history of this place and the his family that he’s so reluctant to talk about.
The ladder to the attic creaks behind you and his distinct heavy boots land with a thud and groan on the ladder steps “what’s got you so occupied up here?” You felt like you’d been caught looking in something you shouldn’t have despite having permission “j-just these cameras, I had a polaroid camera once” you turned to him showing him the old camera, he now off the ladder and standing over you.
“Hmm, old thing -maybe older than us” he gently took it from you hands to inspect it “probably still works if you want it, not any use just sitting up here” he hands it back “thank you” you reply with a smile he waves you off and crouches down beside the box with you. He shuffles through it completely ignoring the images from his past and he rummages in search of something “No film stacks though, I’ll pick some up from town next time”
“Really?” You look over at him in excitement, he shrugs “sure” he stands up ready to head back down stairs “had I known you’d be so happy I’d have gotten you one sooner” he chuckles at your excitement over something so small.
To you it’s much more than a old camera to take up some free time when you get bored. It’s yours, you can control it, keep it for your own. You don’t have much things that’s yours anymore but the collections growing.
...
You’d basically forgotten about getting film for your camera as a week or two had passed. But he hadn’t, he returned to the truck once again being one of may shops he had to stop at. But this time he didn’t have heavy bags of stock or material and tools for the farm but just 3 small boxes that he could carry in just one hand.
He sat down in his seat and extended his hand to give you the boxed, you furrowed your brows in confusion until you read one of the box’s. A big smile plastered you face when you got to the word ‘film’ “that should be enough to last you a long while” “thank you” you grinned giving him a quick hug out of appreciation.
Once you both pulled into the driveway of the farm you had already thought up many picture opportunities, and you couldn’t wait to get to it. The car parked and he gave you the go ahead “You can finally get to your photography, take some pretty pictures” you practically ran to the house to retrieve the camera.
...
You’d been in the house for a hour or two at this point and he’d began to get a bit concerned, usually you’d come outside now and then or spend the afternoon in the barn playing with the animals. But no sign of you. He put the final nail into the fence he was fixing and decided to come check on you.
He got to the front door and could hear you laughing before even opening it “good boy Berty, you’re so handsome” his curiosity peaked at those words, he quietly made his way to the room you and presumably Berty the elderly farm dog was in and observed from the door frame.
There you sat, infront of Berty whose dressed up in various items and fabrics mimicking clothes. The camera clicks and your silent as you watch it develop, Berty still sits patiently. “We got the picture, look at how dapper you look” you praise him and he gets exited leaving all the items fall off his as he runs up to you to get pet.
“When I said pretty pictures I was envisioning landscapes or with artistic vision” he jokes still standing in the door way unable to not smile at such a bizarre but cute sight. You stand shocked for a moment, he’s not one to creep up on you, it when you see his amused smile you loosen back up. “This is artistic vision, and Bertys my muse, look at how handsome” you joke and show him the photo “it’s something alright” he almost laughs out.
“Hey, this is worthy of a museum, the composition the choice of colours the muse, it all tells a story” you continue to joke, he just shakes his head unable to wipe away his smile “as long as your happy, I guess” “I am, thank you again” moments like this you forget everything you went though and are able to exist in ignorance.
Those moments are becoming more frequent now especially since he’s began to become more relaxed, he wasn’t as authoritarian anymore, your sure if you pushed it he wouldn’t have a 2nd thought of going back to the way things were. There’s always that lingering threat but it’s not as pronounced anymore. You’re starting to see the love he has for you, sometimes unconventional and deranged possessiveness but moments like this, seeing him smile and joke you can delude yourself into believing he’s a normal partner.
He brings you in closer by the hips “you’re so cute” his grin is akin to the little boy in those pictures, you’ve seemed to restore a part of his childish cheer. He pecks your lips “I bet the barn animals are missing you, maybe you should take this photography session to them, I’m sure they’ll appreciate the attention”
And that’s what you did, dressed up the chickens though they didn’t stay still -the cows were great models -but a few animals tried to eat the accessories and clothing which made things harder. The farmer got less work done than normal that afternoon as he found it quite amusing and cute watching you through the cracked barn door trying to wrestle a bow onto a goat.
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Some Things Can't Be Taught [ZCL] (M) fic teaser
Description: In which you are failing college physics, and your childhood best friend offers up one of his friends as your tutor—except, there’s a little something he wants to learn from you in exchange.
Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst in some spots
Content Warnings: explicit, protected sex; awkward Chenle; reader is more experienced (Chenle is a virgin); reader and Chenle ridicule each other; use of pet name ‘baby’ (Chenle isn’t creative yet); oral sex (f & m receiving); alcohol consumption; maybe more to come
Release Date: 5.31.2024
Expected Word Count: 15-20k
Teaser Word Count: 530
Taglist: open! comment or send an ask to be added
Permanent Taglist: open! comment or send an ask to be added
Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!reader (features Dreamies, aespa Giselle & Karina)
Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)
Everything was normal until the next Saturday. You don’t usually see Chenle on the weekends unless there’s a party you’re dragging him to. Today, you hoped to relax your brain and take a day for yourself, but the knock at your door decided otherwise.
You open it, and Chenle stands there, looking as if he’s about to be sick to his stomach. Recoiling, you step back to let him in, and he enters without a word.
“Are you okay?” you ask. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I don’t want to be a virgin anymore.”
You flounder for words, unsure of how to handle this situation. “I thought you wanted a real opportunity—”
“Opportunities are made, aren’t they?” He wets his lips. “How do I…I don’t want to be fucking awful when I do find someone, okay?”
“Chenle, that’s a wild way to think of it. If you want to be with someone you love, and you’re in a relationship long enough to get to that point, the other person should be understanding—”
“It’s not a big deal. Societal constructs or whatever.”
“I…Okay. I’ll help you find someone.” Your brain whirls at the sudden switch, and you shift on your feet. “Are you sure?”
There’s a moment of silence, accompanied with him looking up at the ceiling briefly, as if there are words locked in his throat he desperately wants to let out. He curses under his breath and shakes his head.
“I don’t want someone random.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“This is so fucking embarrassing.” He laughs at himself and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t be weirded out by this. But I need to be with someone I trust, and you…you’re the only girl I trust.”
The shock hits you so hard, you’re almost knocked off balance. You knew Chenle had gotten more comfortable with you, but this stretches a bit beyond that. And before you knew he was a virgin, you wouldn’t have said no to hooking up with him.
“Me.” You gulp. “You want…to have sex with me.”
“Okay, now it’s weird.” His fists clench at his sides and he avoids your gaze. “Forget I came by, okay? I’m sorry that was so weird, we can just never talk about it again, and I’ll keep…being me, and—”
“Slow down, please.” You card your fingers through your hair and try to force the shock away. “I didn’t even respond. Give me like three seconds to wrap my head around it.”
He nods in response, staring down at his feet.
“So, you…you trust me. And because of that, you want me to take your virginity?” You’re still not completely caught up.
“Yeah, it sounded better in my head, I think.”
“Is that the only reason you want me instead of someone else?” you ask.
“What do you mean by that?” He plays with the bottom hem of his T-shirt. “But you’re not—it’s not like that. I trust you. We both know I think you’re pretty. I’ve learned a lot of…things from you, and I thought that maybe we could—”
“You want sex lessons.”
“Can you—My God, please don’t say it like that.” He cringes.
#nct dream#chenle#nct#nct dream smut#nct imagines#nct smut#chenle smut#nct scenarios#chenle scenarios#chenle fluff#chenle angst#nct dream x reader#nct dream imagines#nct dream fluff#nct dream scenarios
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ayyyy innocent!readerx graves part 4!!!!
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
✨Thank you again to the lovely @shotmrmiller for letting me work off of her original idea!🌟
NSFW(finally, lmao) - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI:
[lots of pet names, oral, again i’m REALLY leaning into how much of a virgin reader is, religion mention, pov switches, loss of virginity, unprotected piv (cumming inside), more of graves being just the absolute worst in both ❤️ and 💀 flavors (it’s all in his head. No harm comes to our dear reader), Phil talks you through it, this is 13 pages (5.9k words) of me absolutely lost in the sauce, so buckle up friends. a/n at the end!]
You fell the short distance out of Phil’s arms to the bed with a soft oof! You bounced up once before his pillowy comforter surrounded you, sweetly swaddling you like baby. You closed your eyes, catching your breath as you surrendered your body into the cool, linen-freshness swallowing your body. You hoped closing your eyes and a few deep breaths would stop the ceiling from spinning. You told yourself that your stomach was turning from nerves, nothing else.
You really didn’t want puke to be a part of your first time.
You opened your eyes as Phil ran his hands up your legs, making room to stand between them. Your dress was still rucked up to your waist, the shamefully wet gusset of your panties on display. The way he looked at you had your hands curing into the sheets above your head. It was so dark. It was like nothing you’d seen cross your sweet boyfriend’s face before. Like a wolf ready to pounce, tear apart, consume.
It worried you, but you were still hitching your knees around his hips, pulling him closer. His hands squeezed at your hips. His dark visage took on a little of his old self as his eyes dipped, a playful smile creeping across his mouth.
Why were you such a liar to yourself? He could never scare you. He excited you. Every single time.
Your breath caught in your throat as his hands smoothed up to, then over, your underwear. You expected him to rip them off. Instead, he circled your waist, urging you to sit up as he pulled your dress off your body.
“There y’go, baby. Hands up,” he said, an edge of his usual humor in his dark voice, as he finally pulled the tight pink thing off you.
He doesn’t watch where he throws it. Somewhere in the room behind him, you think. You don’t know either. You can’t make yourself meet his stare, focusing your wobbling vision instead on your hands clenched in your lap, of the warmth of his body pouring into the space between you. You know he’s staring at your exposed breasts. That’s all that matters to him. A soft whistle falls from his lips as he wraps his hands around your thighs.
You hide your blush by ducking your head into your chest, reaching up behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. He stopped you with a hand on your chin, making you face him.
“Leave it on, doll,” he says before hauling you in for another kiss.
You don’t know why, but this kiss felt so more intimate than the others. You’re flushed and panting against him as he holds your jaw against his, slowly stroking your tongue with his. Maybe it’s because you’re almost completely naked, his warm hands brushing down your chilled back. Oh, you could just about beg him to keep touching you. It could be how he’s got you pressed flush against him, your nipples hardening against the cool cotton of his button down shirt and legs hitched on his hips. His hard dick is nudging at your pussy through his pants, making you whine when he ruts just right against your clothed nub. It feels weird, like nothing you’ve felt before. Weird, but damn if some basal part of you doesn’t crave it.
He broke the kiss, peeling himself away to pick you up again, just enough to throw you to the middle of the bed. He gets right back into position between your legs as you settle back into the fluff of his blankets. You don’t know what to do now as he takes a second to shimmy out of his button down. What does he expect of you? Should you lay back? Before you can overthink, you fall back onto your forearms. He tossed his shirt off the bed, his hair all ruffled, white undershirt pulled up to expose the muscles of his stomach, as he turns back to you.
“Fuck are y’ gorgeous like this, darlin’,” he says staring down at you while unbuckling his belt.
You wonder if he can feel your legs shake. You feel a fresh blush flush down your body. You chew on your bottom lip, trying not to stare as he lets his trousers fall down to his knees before kicking out of them. There’s a muffled metal jangle as the whole lot falls off the end of the bed to the floor.
“Now where were we . . .” he mused with a quiet laugh as he crawled over you, pushing your back flat to the mattress before cradling your head to his for another kiss.
You thought it wouldn’t be so different, having him on top of you. You had been grinding against each other for going on hours at this point. You were slowly getting used to what he felt like, how your bodies slotted together best, how he touched you, and where it made sense for you to touch him. The addition of his weight, though? Amazing. You loved it. The feel of all of his muscle and bone, being free to feel each other’s skin free of clothing, it had you trembling underneath him. To have a whole person, let alone this powerful, muscled man, resting between your thighs, your chest squished to his as he sucked open mouth kisses under your jaw, had you clawing at his hair and moaning sweetly into the dark.
“Thas’ it, baby. Tell me how y’like it,” he sighed as he continued kissing down your neck, his hands running down your sides, forcing a bow in the small of your back.
You moaned a high pitched ah! when he placed a delicate kiss to your nipple.
“Oh. Y’like that, do ya? My sensitive little thing,” he asked sucking the little nub into his mouth.
You answered with a high-pitched keen, your hands pressed into the pillow above you. It did feel good. So good. Your body felt so hot and damp, sheets and hair sticking to your skin. He continued to suck at your nipple, every once and a while catching it with his teeth while playing with your other. He rubbed smooth little circles around it until it was hard, then pinched it, forcing a whiny, pained moan from you.
Why was he doing this? He would make you feel so so good you felt like you were floating, just to turn on a dime to bite or pinch you were you were the most sensitive, pulling you out of the moment. You didn’t understand him.
You looked down. He had that wide, wry, hungry smile. Eyes hooded and dark. Dangerous. You gasped when he suddenly looked up, catching your stare like a predator.
“Sorry baby,” he said syrupy sweet, giving your nipple a quick kiss. “‘m playin’ with you. I know. Don’t mean to. Gonna make you feel good.”
You didn’t understand what he meant until he slid farther down your body, pulling your underwear with him as he rocked up onto his knees. Your eyes quickly snapped up to the ceiling. You couldn’t help but tremble, knees knocking together until he pulled your panties past them. He took your feet in hand as he shucked them off you completely. There was a light sound as they hit the hardwood floor somewhere in the abyss behind him.
He threw one of your legs to the side with a hand on your knee, stopping you from closing it back by slotting himself deftly back into place. You heard him breathe out a shuddering breath as he finally got a good, full look at you. His hand swept down your leg from your knee, falling closer and closer to your aching core.
“Phil,” you whined, so muffled by your arms covering your face that even you barely heard it.
A hand pushed your arms above your head, exposing your tear-filled eyes. He stared down at you, pushing your arms into the pillow with one hand, his other coming to rest on your stomach, just above your pussy.
“Listen to me now, baby, okay?” he said lightly tapping your mons with his thumb, refusing to let you break eye contact. “‘m gonna make you feel good. You know that, right?” When you didn’t answer, he leaned down over you. “I’d never, ever, hurt you,” he whispered, nose nudging yours as he spoke. “Love you too much. Want you . . . want you to enjoy this as much as I will.”
You were shocked silent for a moment. Tears dried in the corners of your eyes before you were able to squeak out, “Love me?”
“‘course,” he said pecking a kiss to your bottom lip.
You wanted so badly to grab him, to hold him close, to force him to kiss you again because, well . . . did you really need a reason? He just told you he loves you! You’d hoped for months that what you felt - you were over the moon for him from the moment you met - wasn’t really just a crush, a passing summer fling. You wanted to know that he was just as serious about your relationship as you were. You’d worried that the summer would end, you would go back to school, he would go off to some exotic and exciting place halfway around the world and your relationship would slowly peter out.
Eventually, you knew, he would forget about you. After all, you had been denying his advances to make your relationship physical for a while. No matter how gentle they were or how nicely he took your refusals, you knew he would get tired of asking eventually. Guys were like that. Or so you’d been told.
But now, he’d said he loved you. With those words, all of your anxiety washed away in one clean wipe, like a wave washing up the shore. All was good in the world. It put your mind at peace. Your apprehensions dissolved into his feather-light kisses and gentle touches. The only thing you wanted was to hear him say it over and over again but your couldn’t. All you could do was uselessly clench your hands in his strong grip.
His fingers stroked ever so slowly down the seam of your pussy. He was treating you like a feral cat or an unbroken horse; with a light touch, soft words, and persistence.
“Breathe,” he instructed, nuzzling into your neck again to kiss at the spot under your ear that made you moan.
You did, pulling in a deep, shuddering breath that cleansed your need to cry. He placed another kiss on your neck as he let your hands go. Finally. You laced your free arms around his shoulders immediately, feeling him smile as he continued to mouth kisses over your pulse.
“That’s good, darlin’. Relax. Just like that,” he whispered as he ran his hand down your side, still soothing you.
A moan punched out of your lungs when he pushed past your outer labia with a single finger, stroking just once, top to bottom, through your slick folds. You were sloppy, dripping wet. His head collapsed into the crook of your neck, a muffled, “fuck” following. He didn’t move, you trembled as his finger swirled up to circle around your clit.
“Ah! Phil,” you whined.
“I know. I know,” he huffed breathlessly, lifting himself off you.
He looked down your body to watch himself rub tight circles around your nub for a moment. He groaned before pulling his hand away. You cried out when he stopped, but he left no time for argument. He was grabbing the backs of both your knees, repositioning you open and shuffling backwards out of your grasp, laying kisses down your chest and stomach as he went.
“Lemme, fuck . . . just lemme make y’ feel good, sweets.” His mouth working farther south until you could feel his breath tickle your pussy. “Make you cum, promise,” he whispered, his next kiss tonguing at the base of your clit.
Your back arched, a needy “oh!” punched from your lungs. He didn’t wait for you to respond to dive in, thankfully. You were beyond words, already shaking from nerves and pleasure.
“Want to taste you so bad,” he mumbled as he kissed slowly down the hood of your clit before swiping at the exposed head with his tongue, a spike of pleasure following.
The feeling was amazing, unlike any pleasure you’d been able to bring yourself. You’d experimented before, by yourself, of course. Always in the dead of night, when you were certain your parents were asleep. You would wake up hot, a dream you couldn’t remember troubling you, making you ungodly slick in your pajamas. You would guiltily snake a hand down your body, trying not to move or make a sound as your finger slipped through the sopping mess you’d made. Those stolen moments were always something you would think of again in church with burning cheeks: how you’d sinned and now you must beg forgiveness. Not that you thought God would care, but you never could bring yourself to completion. You couldn’t find that beautiful, spine-chilling, white-hot peak that so many romance novels described.
It made you worry, as Phil gently swirled his tongue around your clit making you shiver, because he was clearly putting in a lot of effort. You really didn’t want to disappoint him. Didn’t want his first intimate memory of you to be one where he couldn’t make you cum.
“Hey,” he whispered, pulling himself out of your pussy just enough to look at you down your body. You squirmed as he held eye contact while licking another swipe up your clit. “Clos’ y’ eyes. Breathe. Relax.”
After you did all three, exactly as he asked, he gave your hip a squeeze before nuzzling himself back between your thighs.
“That’s my girl,” you heard him say before the lewd, wet clicking of his mouth against you filled the room.
He continued to gently lick at you, drawing loose circles with his tongue before sucking your nub into his mouth. He continued that pattern: slow, patient movements with an ungodly endurance, until your thighs started to shake against his head. You had been here before. A lovely hot coil budding in your gut, wrapping tighter and tighter. But this time, it wasn’t stopping.
Maybe this is what you had needed all along: someone to take control and do all the work for you. Someone who wouldn’t stop to look nervously toward the door, or worry if someone down the hall could hear, or even think about if this was morally wrong. All he cared about was you. Your pleasure, the soft plush of your thighs around his head, your voice cracking as you moaned his name and rocked your hips against his face.
Phil wound his arm around your leg, pressing your hips to the bed with a firm hand on your lower stomach. He used his leverage to splay you open before diving back in at that relentlessly slow pace. You threw your head back, a string of breathy pants falling from your mouth until Phil reached up to place your hands on his head. Your fingers carded through his soft hair. He tipped his slick-coated face to the side to sneak a peek at your blissed out face as his tongue pressed up the side of your clit. Your fingers tightened, grabbing a fistful of hair, as a delicious tingle danced at the edge of your clit, right were his tongue flicked.
“So sweet. Taste so good, baby,” he said in a breathy whine.
You couldn’t answer, only able to buck abortively against the strong arm holding you down, hoping it would make him pick up the pace. He laughed before lowering back down. His actions became harder and faster: nipping at your hood at every rotation as his tongue flicked aggressively against your poor, exposed pearl.
It was frustrating. He was no longer pulling you higher and higher as effortlessly. Everything he did, no matter how good it felt, was just maintaining your buzz. You could feel your clit vibrating you were so close, but he wasn’t pulling you over. It’s like he was teasing you with that tingle in your belly, giving you just enough to keep you moaning, begging, as you fell into the hot wet swipes of his tongue, before pulling back to make you work for it all over again. It made you cry in frustration.
It wasn’t enough. You needed more.
Your eyes were screwed shut when he pulled away and asked, “What, baby? What-”
“More!” you squeaked. “Please, more!”
He nodded as he readjusted your body to sling a leg over his shoulder. You cried out as his finger pressed to your spit-slicked clit with a pressure that you’d never felt. Your hands just couldn’t compare to his. It wasn’t fair. Electricity shot up your spine as you shivered in his arms at the white-hot pleasure that flared out.
“That’s my girl. There you go,” he whispered as he kissed down your clit to where his finger worked in hard, tight circles. You bucked into each roll, your hole clenching uselessly against nothing. “There you go,” he repeated as you shuddered, tip-toeing closer and closer to that edge.
Want became your mantra. You could feel it. You wanted it. You want. You want. You want.
“Please, Phil. Please,” your voice a thready whine. “Want to cum, so bad.”
“You can do it, baby,” he cooed sweetly against your mons. “I can feel ya. So tight. Y’so close.” He laid a kiss on your clit before looking up to catch your teary eyes. “Cum for me,” he commanded, with a voice fucked out, rough, stern.
And, oh, did you follow him.
It was just enough. Like a breath blowing the head off a dandelion, it sent you scattering into a million pieces. You snapped beneath him, a scream tearing from your throat as your leg clamped down on Phil’s shoulder. Your fingers tore at his hair, the only thing grounding you, as you lost control of your body. You writhed against the sheets, struggling to draw in air as electrical pleasure fried your brain. It was beautiful at the top. A pure and white peaceful glow: no sound but your own breathy moans, no feeling but your boyfriend’s fingers swirling again and again over your twitching clit, extending your flight.
You never wanted to forget this moment.
You rolled your head to the side as over-stimulation hit, whining at the feeling of the cool pillow beneath you. A sudden jolt back into the real world. Phil stopped touching you without you having to tell him, which was nice. Your whole body went slack, dazed, pliant. You didn’t think you could form words at the moment even if you wanted.
Phil groaned as he rose up from between your legs. The sudden loss of his warmth made you whine again. You were struck with this intense, emotional need to keep him next to you. He’s yours, an animal part of your brain told you. Do not let him go.
It made you roll your head to the side and open you eyes. You were just in time to see him pull his undershirt off his head, wiping his mouth with it before rolling it down his arms. Your eyes widened at the dark design across his left pectoral, right above his heart. You looked up at him nervously, wondering why he never told you he had a tattoo.
“Yeah,” he said looking down at the eagle topped globe, an anchor roughly rendered behind it, swiping at it with his thumb like he wanted to wipe it away. “Got it when I was young. Stupid. Too much money,” he said with a small smile as he finally tossed his shirt to the side. He rubbed your hip as he looked down at you with a smoldering gaze. “Hope that doesn’t ruin anything.”
“No,” you whispered, head rolling back and forth as you suddenly found the courage to let your eyes trail down his body.
Good God, what a body he had. You knew he was fit from the tight fitting t shirts and shorts that fell just above his knees that he wore all summer. He had been on the edge of bulky when you first met him but had tapered down into a more lean physique through the long, lazy summer. His chest and arms were his pride, you’d gathered, from how he refused to let them go soft with the rest of his muscles. After all, he needed a place for you to rest your head, didn’t he? And how could he let himself not be strong enough to pick you up and carry you around? To have everything revealed to you, to see how his chest tapered into his waist, how his hips (now supporting your legs) poked above the band of his briefs . . . that he was rolling down his thigh with his free hand.
Phil didn’t break his gaze, drinking in the nervous, almost fatally curious, expression on your face as he took his time shuffling off his underwear. He went a little bit down on one side, just to the bend of his hip, then slid his hand across the elastic, ignoring his cock, to push the other side farther down. It was unnecessarily slow, but he loved teasing you. Loved watching you react even more. One of your hands was already clenched around nothing as it rest against your stomach. The other was plastered across your mouth. Your hand couldn’t cover how wide your eyes were, or how your eyebrows went from bunched in concern to halfway up your forehead in surprise.
It made him smile as he finally pulled himself from his briefs, revealing himself to you. Your eyes darted suddenly away, but you couldn’t smother the soft, “oh” that fell from you lips or the fresh blush spreading down your chest. It was delicious.
He took his time pushing his underwear down his muscled thighs, stepping toward you on his knees to get them shuffled down his lower legs. The time it took was no bother. Why rush when he had the most beautiful creature in the world right in front of him?
He held your legs open, petting your skin with slow, soft circles, as he looked at the glossy mess he’d created between your legs. It was amazing. You were wet from your bikini line to your thighs, and it was sweetly pooled in every crevice. He couldn’t help but reach out, running the tips of his fingers through the slick pooled around your clit.
“Phil-” you cried, covering your face with both hands.
You tried to jerk your legs closed too, but he was too quick. He caught them, forcing your knees back around his hips. This was as good a sign as any that it was time to move things along.
“Shhh, baby. It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning down on his elbows to hold you in his arms.
He had to peel your hands away from your face to get a look at you. There was no way he was going to miss out on how you looked through all of this. He knew this position wouldn’t be the most comfortable for you, but he couldn’t help but be a little bit more selfish. You would understand one day that your pain was worth the look he caught as his cockhead nudged accidentally against your clit, sliding effortlessly up through the combination of slick and saliva.
You just looked so helpless, so lost. It should have hurt him, how could you not trust him after everything he’s done so far? Nevermind the amazing orgasm he just gave you. But he was an adult: a man with a deep, dark, corrupted soul, so he understood. You needed him to continue leading you. Lucky you, leadership came naturally to him.
He wiped a line of tears from your lashes as he held your face in his hands.
“What’s wrong, darlin’? Doin’ okay?” he asked.
You shook your head yes, squeezing out fresh tears from your eyes as you gripped his hands.
“Just . . .” you warbled out, trying to catch your breath, “just scared.”
“Why you scared, baby?”
“It’s . . . is it . . .” you said trying to turn your head to look down your body to where he was pressed to you, cock barely humping through that sinful slick. “Is it gonna hurt?”
He let out the breath he was holding. “No, sweetie,” he said shaking his head. “Not if you listen and do what I tell you. You can do that, right?”
He added a little smile at the end and you smiled back with a nod, tears drying. He felt his cock pulse as he leaned down to kiss you. Of course you would be so good, do as you’re told, let him take care of you.
A path straight to hell, and you’re paving it with easy choices and good intentions.
He pushed further down to deepen the kiss, tongue laving over your lips until you tipped your head back with a sigh, opening your mouth, letting him in. It would be a good distraction for what he had to do next. He propped himself up with his free arm, reaching down to notch his cockhead at your entrance. It’s rough and sloppy, not being able to see where he’s going. The mess between your legs didn’t help either. He slid his cock around through your slick, coating his hand as he barely missing your vagina several times before an aggressive nudge of his hips popped it in.
It knocked the breath out of you. He felt you clench at the head of his cock, breaking away from the kiss with a breathless whine. He stopped you before you could protest.
He nuzzled into your neck and groaned, “Fuuuck, baby. I’m in. That’s it. I’m in.”
You still squirmed and whined. He should have known you would need more direct instruction.
“Listen to me, darlin’,” he said breathless, picking himself back up to look at you, nudging his cock around experimentally, trying to work himself further into that tight, heavenly chanel. “Look at me,” he commanded.
You stopped, opening your eyes. They’re rimmed with fresh tears.
“Gotta relax okay, baby? Or else it’s gonna hurt. Don’t wanna hurt you.”
He watched you let out a few shallow breaths, chest heaving with each one, before inhaling one deep one. You held the breath for a second before pursing your lips in a pretty circle, blowing it out.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said with a nod.
“‘kay. Now, listen to me,” he said leaning over you enough to let his hair brush over your face, mattress squawking as he pressed your legs to your chest. A low ohhh wringing out of your throat. Your heels caught on his hips. “Gonna push in a lil’ bit, but you gotta stay relaxed. Can’t clench, okay?”
Not that he couldn’t wait to feel you clenching around him. Fuck, he couldn’t even imagine how tight, how wet, how fuckin’ good, you would feel around him. He was pulsing just imagining it. You were his little virgin, after all. He was going to be your first and only and he was going to feel it, all of it.
“Let me know if it hurts and I’ll stop,” he said with a groan, forcing himself deeper inside.
You didn’t say anything, just wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, forcing his face down into the crook of your shoulder. He placed a kiss there, right on the chain of your necklace. He waited a few seconds as he held your hips, then finally began to pull his cock in and out just a bit. Good Lord, he was fucking you. Finally fucking you. A low whine, like a wolf or coyote howling far off in the distance, rattled in the back of your throat, almost too quiet to hear.
He pulled against your arms, breaking your weak hold easily, to look at you again. You looked tired. Fucked out and exhausted, with half-lidded eyes barely able to stay open. That sheen of glitter-like sweat was back, sparkling down the column of your neck and across your temples. You had let your arms fall over your head, and there they still lay, heavy against the pillow. His poor girl was tuckered.
“Okay?” he asked, trying to keep the movement of his hips smooth and shallow.
He’ll do whatever he has to now to have you enjoy this, however slow and gentle he had to be. It’s bait. He needs to plant himself in the back of your mind. That will get you to come back for more, to want to stay, stay here with him. That’s when he’ll work his magic. Ambushing you right when you feel safe. Catch his pretty little prey in his snare and never let you go. Unfortunately for him, that meant not blowing his load the second he felt your slick run down his shaft.
“Yeah,” you croaked. Keeping your eyes open and following his voice taking all of your sapping strength.
“Hurt?” he asked, picking up his pace, but not trying to force anymore of his cock in you.
Just have to get in a little more, he tells himself. Work her open a little more and then you can.
“No . . .” you said with a whine, letting your head roll to the side, eyes closing, as you fell into his comfortable rhythm. Phil watched as your breasts swirled in time to his thrusts. Such a pretty dance they did. He had to bite his lip from leaning down to nip at them. “Just a little sore.”
“Like you pulled a muscle?” he said with a smile, brushing the sweat-slicked hair from your forehead. “That’s normal, babe. You’re doin’ so good.”
You nodded back at him, cheeks flushing as he trailed his fingers down your face. You were so cute like this. He let his hand brush innocuously over the little silver cross in the hollow of your neck as he pulled it back.
What a good girl you were.
“‘s lot for your poor little kitty to take all at once, honey,” he said sweetly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. He was ramping up his pace as his own pleasure curled within him, his hips snapping into yours with a wet smack as they met. He felt himself push deeper and deeper into you, your greedy pussy swallowing everything he gave you. Before he knew it, fuck, he was right where he wanted to be. “Don’t you worry, you’ll feel all better by the mornin’.”
You turned to meet his mouth with a whine. He caught you, sealing his lips over yours as he pounded full thrusts into your wet hole. His need was clouding his mind, narrowing his vision to a pinpoint centered on the thought of his cock bruising your sweet little cervix. You opened your mouth, to scream or moan he’ll never know, but he was right there, prepared, diving in to silence you with his tongue. You clenched down on him as he smothered your voice and it had him seeing stars.
Not that he had to make this last any longer, but it just felt so good. He would have fucked you all night if you let him, pulling back as he came close to that peak, denying himself climax until the very end, until you begged him to finally cum in your sore pussy.
Later. One day, he told himself.
Tonight was the end of phase one. Tomorrow began phase two. It was the next step of the plan he had so carefully executed over the last couple months. If this went well, he was in the clear, golden. He sighed with contentment as you tipped back your head and moaned. He would have you, completely and finally. All he had to do was follow his plan.
He couldn’t ignore how badly he wanted to cum anymore. His cock was so engorged it was getting increasingly harder to pull out of you, especially now that you were clamping down on him every time he managed to nail you right in the cervix.
He pulled himself out of his head and let his body control the last of his actions. He pulled you into his arms, buried his face in your neck and whined out, “Fuuuuck baby. Fuck. Feel so good. I’m gonna-”
When he felt your legs wrap up around his back with a whine, he sent out one last message from the rational part of his brain: Don’t pull out. He could only hope the other side of him would obey.
He didn’t remember much once the endorphin rush of his orgasm hit. He felt you wrap your arms around his neck, and your heels bury into the small of his back. You might have even whined out his name. All he could follow was the play-by-play of those last few seconds after: ramming himself in as deep as he could, the feeling of his cock expanding within you, pushing back against those taut muscles, then he was lost in the rush of his seed pumping deep deep within.
He remembered a groan as he reluctantly pulled himself off, then out, of you. How small you looked, sweating and trembling against the sheets as he searched the bed for a blanket. He was still in a haze as he pulled your back to his chest, pawing at the blanket with no motor control in an attempt to share it between the two of you.
It felt amazing to finally have you here: falling asleep, skin to skin, in his bed. He let out a long breath, stretching his legs down the bed, as his mind cleared. He could still feel your heart pounding where he held you in his arms. How quickly you had surrendered to sleep. He buried his face in your hair and inhaled the last remnants of your fruity shampoo - or was it your body spray? he didn’t remember - through the sweat and sex in the air. Only then did he finally let himself doze off.
He needed all the sleep he could get. Tomorrow was a big day.
a/n: hello. it’s me. The girlie who ACTUALLY popped her cherry in her late twenties :) Also, sorry this took so long!!! I have no good explanation besides the fact that I was working on other things for lovely anons. I took a lot of time trying to get everything feeling just right and I still feel like it’s not great :( (i feel i will never write a good orgasm i s2g) but here it is! It’s also very loooong because i wanted all of the sex DONE and in one goddamn chapter. Anywho, hope you all like it!
#mw2#graves/reader#graves x reader#cod fanfic#starry writes#call of duty#cod mw2#maybe . . . one more chapter after this? idk we'll see. i do have plans tho :-)#maybe one day i will write sex positions besides missionary but today is not that day
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Hi, could I please request a collective scenario of the Phantom Troupe going on a first date with their s/o?
And if possible them going to choose a pet (arguably the more chaotic the better, but whoever animal works fine) with their s/o?
Thank you 🥰
Oh absolutely! I’ll admit to it now, these may be a little ooc but still, I love this idea sm. ofc I’m only gonna do Chrollo, Shalnark, Machi, Paku, Feitan and Phinks w the dates (though may return to this at a later date for the others) - p.s this won’t contain spoilers so for that one friend who knows me on here and reads my stuff feel free to read this.
(I’m including Hisoka and Illumi in this because that pet suggestion is perfect!)
Without further ado:
Chrollo
Where you go will just depend on how you know him. You know him from the Troupe? It’s anyone’s guess! Maybe he’ll take you out for the full shabam, maybe you’ll just sit cuddled up: reading. A candle flickering softly beside you as you rest against his chest, his voice echoing through you with every passing page. Your eyes grow groggy and you hear him chuckle, “tired sweetheart?” Your answer doesn’t matter much. You’ll remain where you are. Carefully perched on his lap as you drift off, his fingers playing absentmindedly with your hair. Suddenly, his attention wasn’t really on his book anymore.
Or, maybe you’ll just walk! You know who he is; probably where he came from he sees no reason to put up an act with you. A simple chat will do.
If you know him from one of his many escapades, know the him all dolled up and fake then you’ll probably wind up at a fancy restaurant. He’ll treat you to the works, the full 9*. You’ll be able to indulge in whatever you desire (and hopefully by the end of the night: him. Though his expectations are quite low on that.)
Can’t imagine him being very touchy on a first date, not unless he was properly invested. Like if you knew each other a while and the event wasn’t spontaneous I can imagine him being very cuddly. You’ve agreed to go on a date with him, this will not be the last and he’s certainly going to get what he can out of it.
So, if you’re a target that he’s had his eye on for a while, he’ll put up a gentlemanly front: butter you up. Try his luck as his arm comes to rest against the crook of your back, fingers running small circles agaisnt your hips. You’re practically glued to his side as he looks down at you with that oh so charming smile. Or how he insists on another bottle of wine for you both to share whilst you’re sat at the table, just to watch the way you trip over yourself. Each slurred word sending shivers down his spine. He’ll offer you a hotel in your inebriated state: walking you to your room, keeping you steady. A part of him (an alarmingly large part he notes) wishes to be bold and leave you a souvenir of your night together, the rest of him knows how to play this game. Knows better than that. He’ll leave it be for tonight, no use in moving too fast after all. You’re an investment. One he intends to make worth his while.
Aaaaand if you’re some lucky shmuck: he’ll see how the night goes. Truth be told, he’s using you. You were his pass for whatever caper he happened to be on the night you two met and since then you’ve been simply smitten. He can’t say it’s been a bother, you’re cute by all means considered and don’t impose on his work: so he humoured you. And now, you’re sat face to face as he spins another tale of his grandiose, noble lineage. You were so enthralled in his lies. The night would drag on and before you knew it, a swift peck on the cheek; promise for another and he’d be gone.
In terms of choosing a pet with an S/O Chrollo strikes me as the kind of guy who’d go for a cat. It’s not top docile but not some unruly beast. Plus, there’s the added bonus of letting it wander: it won’t demand attention at every second of the day. Just slink in and slink out every now and then. It’d probably be a stray, he has a tendency to like them more.
If we’re going on terms of expense? Lizards, you’d wind up with a whole bunch of expensive and equally exotic reptiles. A chameleon maybe? Just like him, it can blend into any crowd. A kindred spirit.
Feitan
A date? With him? Really? But why? That’s just a waste of time.
Unlike Chrollo, Feitan doesn’t do outside gigs often and especially doesn’t do anything that would involve getting touchy feely. So, likelihood is you’re a fellow trope member or at least someone who knows him well.
Still. Getting a date with him will be hard.
Obscenely so.
You’ll most likely stay at whatever base the Troupe had made, maybe play a game? Talk?
If he’s feeling up to it he’ll probably steal a fancy Chardonnay and light candles, it’s nothing too special but it’s a nice touch.
If he’s the one to suggest the date however. Oh boy, you best prepare good.
Feitan is an odd soul, he doesn’t really understand that you might not want to start the date with him brutally mangling a chauffeur. But, the rest of the night will certainly make up for that. You won’t be leaving his side: at all, like not once. Don’t even try it. His hand is glued to yours as he drags you through streets. He made an effort tonight, in a suit.
It’s anyone’s guess as to where you’ll wind up, most likely a store you’d expressed interest in, a movie you’d been talking about recently or a restaurant that you liked the food from. Either way it’s free for the both of you.
You may wind up completely alone on a candle lit dinner, flirtatious banter rolling of his tongue in drunken clumps if he loosens up enough (which is a big if)
He’ll bite you at least once throughout the date. Not even because he thought it would be romantic, he just wanted to.
Pet wise? Something small, that he can vary around. Probably a snake or a rodent. He’d say things like “Need violent. Help out.” Then you’ll catch him with his little rat nestled into his hood.
It’s not a pet for the both of you, it’s a pet for him. Which, you don’t really mind afterall it quells his little attachment outbursts
Phinks
Basic. I mean real basic.
He’s nervous as on a first date.
Will talk about himself a lot but he’s not trying to be rude (maybe)
You’ll most likely head out to a restaurant or a movie.
Unlike Feitan, Phinks may actually pay for his meal and the event’s expenses. Give the facade of a normal date and not a robbery.
If you know him from the troupe he probably won’t prioritise keeping up appearances unless you’ve expressed you want a normal night. If you don’t: it’ll be like every teen movie fantasy.
He had protested agaisnt your movie of choice, called it “bland” and talked of there “being so many better options.” But, you swear, with his eyes glued intently on the screen before you; his arm slung over your shoulder, you caught the occasional flicker of a smile.
Pet wise? Dog. This is just a fact, you’re getting a dog. Maybe a Labrador or a Cane Corso? He’s a sucker for loyalty and more than willing to put in the effort of caring for it.
Machi
“A date? But why? We spend enough time together here, don’t we?”
It’s not that she doesn’t want to go on one, she’s just aware that her presence as an on site doctor is important. (And values the money)
She’s perfectly capable of being romantic; this date will show that. When you inevitably get her to cave.
It’ll probably be a cafe, ice cream venue: something small. Unlike the others, she doesn’t try to blow you away with bold or tacky displays. The image will perfectly replicate a domestic scene.
The two of you, sat beside one another on a flimsy outdoor table. You’d ordered milkshakes, similarly to Phinks if you wanted normalcy she’d be more than happy to pay, occasional bouts of small talk drifted between the two of you. Eventually her hand found your own and the small talk fell to teasing, a gentle thumb caressing the back of your hand. “How’s your drink?” The question seemed off in the onslaught of flirtatious remarks, her monotonous front swiftly returning. She hummed at your response. “Want to try some of mine?”
If you refuse, she’ll simply shrug and return to the mismatch mix of small talk and romance.
If you say you do want to however, that’s a different story. She pushes the glass towards you; you lean in -tentatively- to grab it. Nothing much else happens: the flavours meet your tongue and your guard begins to lower. Suddenly, a warmth floods through you, as in a swift motion, Machi planks a kiss on your cheek. It’s nothing big, nothing bold. But, it lasts, a lingering knot in your chest. She’s had the effect she wanted and knows that. It was cute watching you regain composure: keep your guard up, she’ll be testing your reflexes again soon.
Pet wise I’m thinking a scavenger, like a fox or something. She’s not going to get a conventional pet, maybe on your way back home you catch a glimpse of orange? She’s enamoured with the thing in seconds.
Either that or a bird, she’d probably train it to help with her nensticthes. (not that she needs it)
Shalnark
He’s the one to ask you.
The date’s perfect, down to every detail. All tailored to your tastes.
He’s very cuddly during the whole ordeal so best be prepared.
The date itself would consist of a flurry of different activities, all scheduled to fit neatly into whatever time you had. If something were to come up that you seemed particularly fond of, he’d drop the rest. Instead, turning his attention to ensuring you kept on enjoying whatever it was you were both doing.
Shalnark strikes me as the kind of guy to want to go shopping for a date and likely wouldn’t be of shy of this fact. Bringing a small purse (mostly filled with trinkets and not actually money) to elude to his wants.
You’re ending the night with at least 1 set of matching items and him practically glued to you: one arm wrapped around your waste and another occasionally fiddling with loose aspects of your attire, bombarding you with questions: “did you enjoy yourself?” “Ooh, next time we should get XXX.” “Why’d you choose to wear this? Not that I’m complaining, you look stunning, just curious~”
Overall? It’s quite the fruitful experience.
Pet wise: Shalnark doesn’t really care, he’s always wanted to see how well he could look after a fish or rodent of some kind but has also always adored the idea of owning some big, fluffy creature. He’ll most likely wind up looking up pros and cons and running off of that.
Pakunoda
Restaurant date all the way.
Like Shalnark, she’s the one to suggest the idea to you.
She goes all out. And I mean all out. When you first see her, she’s stunning. Hair pristine, brilliant outfit, heels adding to her already towering height.
She’s not shy with compliments, her hand resting in the crook of your arm. Every word is picked with poise, with no doubt on sincerity.
The night is normal all things considered, she’s more than willing to pay and almost bends over backwards to ensure nothing ‘thievish’ happens.
The dinner would be lovely, you can’t help but note the meticulous care placed into every action. The seating giving you just the seclusion she needs to smother you with flirtatious quips. She’s good with her tongue as well, knows every which way, every which syllable to elicit the exact reactions she wants. The night would be one to remember; depending on the status of your relationship, might stay with you a few days longer.
“You like the food, love?” You mumble your response through a mouthful, nodding your head to accentuate your point. This earns a hearty laugh from the woman, “Mhm, I’m glad to hear it.” Her eyes don’t leave your figure for one second. She’d been like that all night, drinking in every aspect of your form, “Have I told you how good you look tonight?” She had, a lot, but the sentiment stood strong nonetheless.
Pet wise? Also a cat. Paku’s just a cat lady I don’t make the rules, probably a long hair. Like a Turkish Angora or Cymric.
Hisoka
Oh boy. Really? I mean, really?
It’s your funeral and I’m not even certain I can say that figuratively.
The date is anyone’s guess. Could be a restaurant or it could be something obscene like rock climbing, rollerblading, go karting. Whatever it is, it won’t be boring.
He’ll pick an activity that forces proximity, you’re going to be close for the whole night. A means of bonding if you will.
Hisoka thrives on attention and watching skill in action, so his ideal date would encompass both of those qualities. On one hand, you’re both pressed up against one another, full reign to do what you’d like (within account of public decency of course) and on the other, you’re showing exceptional stamina and strength in keeping up with him.
No shortage of flirting here folks, every other word will carry some lewd innuendo you’re sure not to miss.
By the end you’ll definitely have some marks on you, whether from him or the date itself is 50/50. If it is from the date’s activities however, he’d always be open to remedy that.
“I have to say, I’m quite impressed you know.” The words were hardly audible from your positioning, you were far more focused on keeping yourself upright anyhow. “If I’d have known you were this capable I would’ve suggested another activity.” There’s an underlying threat to his words, yet somehow the compliment (if you could call it that) leaves a pink hue upon your cheeks.
Pets. Hmmm, pets. Hisoka would need something that wouldn’t settle down, wouldn’t rely on routine so most domestic animals are off the table for him. Things that need specific conditions would also be a no. Overall Hisoka needs something that can keep up with his sporadic lifestyle, otherwise he’ll leave it behind. Which really leaves very little options on the table.
But, there’s a chance something might sweep him off his feet and I’d be willing to bet that’d be a spider or reptile of some kind, something that he knows could and would kill him. The thought of snakes and their incapability to love would probably excite him.
Illumi
Boring.
Very, very, very boring.
He does everything he’s meant to and I mean that he tick every little box. There’s no excitement here unless he has a job or someone does something.
And oh boy, you better believe you’re not walking out of there without at least something to show of it.
He is rather gentle with you, if it weren’t for his overall aloof demeanour you may be prone to calling it endearing. Overall, Illumi would be a rather: interesting case. Unless you somehow sparked something in him you’d probably be best holding off on the dates for a while. But hey! You tried right?
Pet wise, why would he need another? He has Mike. It’s a little too much responsibility with how much he moves around, though if he had to chose it’d probably be a rabbit. Why? He couldn’t say, has just always been drawn to them.
This is like my first time writing any of these characters other than Chrollo so I hope I did them justice-
#hunter x hunter#hxh#fanfic#chrollo hunter x hunter#phinks hxh#pakunoda hxh#shalnark hxh#hxh machi#hxh hisoka#hxh illumi#feitan hxh#chrollo x reader#hisoka x reader#phinks x reader#shalnark x reader#machi x reader#feitan x reader#pakunoda x reader#x reader#y/n#hxh x y/n#hxh x reader#asks open#writer#headcannons#Drabble#date night
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Reborn into BG3: Chapter 12
You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.
Chapter 12: You take a walk through the cellar in the blighted village. When the others catch up you say something that freaks out Astarion.
Word count: 2.6K
A/N: I was undecided if I wanted to post this >.> But what the hells.
You’re on your own, now. Just for a bit, thanks to Wyll convincing Tav you don’t need to be watched at all times. And with no more goblins between you and camp you’re able to be left alone to sort out…yourself, you guess.
You didn’t throw up again after leaving Ethel’s, but you may have done some crying as you walked in circles around the forest by the village. If it wasn’t for having to face the others you’d have run back to camp, pulled scratch into your tent and bawled your eyes out.
Though you promised to go back to camp you find yourself in the blighted village. You can't read the sign at the entrance but you know it says Moonhaven, and you try to memorise what you think the letters might be.
A little stop can’t hurt, you think. Anything to avoid a conversation about what happened. And you can collect the herbs that are in the cellar, along with anything else that might be useful. You take a small swig of the health potion to get the taste of bile out of your mouth and then stash it into your bag, since it’s now nearly empty after leaving your personal hoard at camp, and head down into the cellar. Whatever objects had been clinking in there remain a mystery–you still haven’t looked inside and won’t even as you add more to the pack.
As much as you had wanted to abandon your staff you took it with you. Necromancy or not, it could bludgeon someone should the need arise. And apparently it can cast light in a small radius around you because it does just that when you make it to the bottom of the ladder.
With a slight purple tint, the staff lets out an eerie glow giving you just enough light to see by. There’s a small buzz of energy through your body that you assume is the Weave. Not wanting to question things anymore, you get to work prying open the barrels and crates and find the herbs you’re there for. You circle around and pick up a couple health potions, a couple mystery potions to be identified later, and find the hidden lever. You hesitate before pushing it down, but curiosity gets the better of you in the end. You watch the shelves move and step into the secret cave.
Now that you’re aware of the phantom limb and what it has been reaching for, you can feel the dead weigh on your mind. You know where they are, kind of in the same way you could navigate your room in the dark. They’re permanent objects stuck in place, and should you so desire, you can reach out and move them.
“I guess I’m a necromancer,” you mutter as you pluck a bone cap out of the ground. “Awesome. Couldn’t be a wizard or a sorcerer or…wait, am I one of those?”
Wyll seemed to make it sound like a necromancer was separate, but it kind of was a subcategory of wizard.
You straighten and keep moving, turning the corner and finding the cavern. You ignore everything there and head for the mirror that waits beyond the wooden planks.
When you step up to it the staff's eyes glow violet again, and the mirror slides open. You sigh. “Necromancer it is, then.”
But…maybe there’s a clue to your identity in this place if you’re powerful or rich enough? You move inside and find the lab on the right, the paperwork scattered about, and logbooks. Or you assume they’re the logbooks—you can’t read, after all. Instead of flipping through them you head to the exit and find the rusty key on the shelves. Soon enough you’re standing before the first trap that lights the braziers, and risk the step. The room is filled with light as the fires blaze to life.
The Necromancy of Thay is just beyond the barred door, and this time you can hear it. It whispers to you, quiet little voices that speak in a language you don’t know. They’re distant, but like with the bodies of the dead you know where the book is.
It takes some strength to push the rusty key into the padlock on the door, and with some force you manage to turn it. The whispers quiet.
“A well hidden laboratory, wonder what it’s doing down here?”
You turn to find Tav, Wyll and Astarion walking into the lab. He still has both eyes, at least. After he outed Astarion you thought he might take the hag’s deal.
“How did you find this place?” you ask.
He only offers you a shrug, eyes darting around the lab in search of loot.
You relent, “I found the hatch and started looking around.”
Tav smiles and rests his hands on the back of his head. Maybe he’s just happy you aren’t ignoring him again, or running away. By the way his tail flicks at the air you think that might be it, and the reason he’s being quieter than usual.
“I followed your tracks,” Wyll reveals. Well, he did hunt down all sorts of beings as the Blade of Frontiers. “What have you found?”
“Creepy book,” you reply. They approach you, surveying the book and everything else in the small cage.
“Trapped, most likely,” Astarion says. He steps forward carefully and does something to the stand the book is on. It’s so quick you don’t have time to peer around him and get a good look at what “disarm trap” really looks like.
Astarion picks up the book, turning it in his hands. They begin to discuss what it could be when you remember the bracers that are down here. You slip away without a thought and find the nearby gilded chest, poking it before opening it. There are traps here, who knows what else could be rigged to explode?
When you open the chest you feel a wave of magic—Weave—come from it. It’s different from the warmth of the healing magic, somehow sharper, more demanding. You pull the bracers out and put them in your bag, nearly overflowing with loot now.
You turn to rejoin the group only to nearly run into Astarion on the level below you. You stumble back and catch yourself. “I think Shadowheart was right about putting a bell on you.”
He gives you a smirk, genuine, your surprise. A thought occurs but rather than ask it you bite the inside of your right cheek.
“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks. You don’t know what he’s referring to, considering the amount of surprises you’ve had lately. He goes on, waving one hand in the air. “Filthy rich, can’t read, enchanted clothing, and now, a necromancer.”
“To be fair, I don’t know anything about all of that.” You try not to sigh too hard thinking of what Auntie Ethel had said.
“I wonder what other secrets that little head holds…” he muses. It’s more to himself than you. “And you killed on my behalf, I’m flattered.”
“I didn’t mean to, though.”
“I know, that’s what makes it all the more entertaining. You, the picture of innocence, murdered a man for a vampire spawn. Ha!”
You furrow your brow, unsure how you could be considered the picture of innocence. But maybe that was only compared to those Astarion knew. It was your first murder…and only murder! Not first. Just the one, and only, murder.
Yes, you are rather innocent in the terms of this world.
Astarion pinches your cheek between two fingers, bringing you back to the conversation. “Don’t think this makes us even.”
“Okay,” you say when he lets go. You rub at where he’d pinched, shocked he touched you so casually. And not just that…his fingers are warm. “Uhm…”
Astarion quirks a brow. “Yes?”
“Can I ask you a question? About being a vampire.”
He leans his weight into one foot, crossing his arms as he eyes you warily. “I suppose.”
“Why are you warm? Shouldn’t you be, like, cold? Or room temperature?”
Astarion, for all his acting, is easy to read. His eyes widen as he steps back, arms uncrossing and held out before him like he’s trying to catch his balance. “What did you say?”
“Sorry, is that rude?” You shift on your heels. “I just thought vampires would be cold, with the…being dead, and all.”
“We are,” Astarion confirms, voice grim.
“But your skin is warm.”
“I assure you, it is not.”
“I literally just had your hand on my cheek. You’re warm.”
“I think I know what temperature my own body is!” Astarion huffs and walks away. You notice the bag that rests on his back has the weight of the book within.
You move down the steps as he paces, annoyed.
“What’s wrong, Astarion?” Tav asks.
You answer, “I asked him why—”
But you don’t get to finish it because Astarion wraps one hand over your mouth and the other on the back of your head, successfully silencing you. He says, “Nothing! Nothing at all. Just discussing what reward I might offer for valiantly saving me from a monster hunter.”
You roll your eyes. But having his skin on yours again confirms his heat. He feels like a living, breathing human. Why did that freak him out? When he releases you he gives you a hard stare that’s easy to understand. Shut. Up.
Wyll and Tav watch you, waiting to see what you say but you just shrug. “It’s not that important.”
Wyll frowns, but lets it go. For now. Tav bites into his bottom lip but keeps silent.
Astarion’s words remind you of something you’d like to forget. The Gur. You can’t even recall his name right now. Maybe you should have tried harder to keep Astarion away, or convinced them to not go there at all. But you didn’t, and there was no reset now.
You watch Tav flit about the basement collecting loot. It does little to help your mood, but at the very least you take comfort in the fact that they didn’t call you a monster for what you did. You promise to keep better watch of those chords in your head, the little phantom strings that connect to the dead around you. Because avoiding the dead is an impossible task, at least as long as you travel with Tav and everyone.
When you return to the surface the others are waiting by the well. You spot your bag of gold on Gale’s shoulder and hurry to take it from him, but he holds up his hands to stop you. “What kind of man would I be if I let an injured person carry so much weight?”
You’re about to argue but think better of it when the world sways a little. You manage to stay still, probably, and thank him instead.
“Oh, right,” you say, pulling the magic bracers from your other pack. “I thought you might want these.”
Gale takes the bracers. It’s then that you notice the bags under his eyes are especially dark—and you realize he hasn’t told anyone about his condition. As far as you know. The little lines that travel up the side of his neck and towards his left eye are darker, too.
Your thumbnail scratches at your staff as you wait for him to say something. Anything. Literally anything would be good right now because it’s been ten whole seconds of him staring at the bracers and that’s long enough of him being silent that the others are now looking.
“Gale?” Tav asks.
It jolts him out of his stupor. “Yes? Oh, yes.” He looks at you. “Thank you. Perhaps there’s something I must admit…”
Gale goes through his first speech about the orb, and then his second. It’s a lot to take in in one go, if you haven’t heard it all before. At the end he says, “I understand if you want to part ways—this orb, for lack of a better word, is immensely dangerous.”
Tav asks, “Why?”
All eyes turn to him, his head tilted with a smile on his face.
“Because I could explode,” Gale says slowly.
“So?” Tav points to each companion as he adds, “Shar worshipper, warlock turned devil, angry githyanki, infernal engine that could explode, vampire, necromancer with memory loss, and I’m sorry Halsin we’ve barely just met, but…uh, old?”
There are worse things to be said, about all of you.
“Plus we’ve all got worms in our heads,” Karlach says. “Oh, well except for…”
Gale lets out a small laugh. “Thank you. All of you. Now, even I’m getting tired of my own voice so shall we get going?”
The group begins their journey back to the goblin camp.
“I am not angry,” Lae’zel says, her voice almost a hiss. “At least not at any of you. The mindflayers, however…”
Halsin walks next to her, asking questions about the tadpoles and their magic, while Astarion and Wyll follow, then Shadowheart, Karlach, and Tav. You and Gale are last to leave the village.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Gale asks.
You hesitate too long before answering. “No.”
“You are a terrible liar.” He keeps his voice low as you walk, putting the bracers on his wrists. “But I consider that a good thing.”
You chew the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. They seem to consider your knowledge to be some kind of deadly premonition, so maybe you should lean into that. “I can’t really explain it.”
Gale smiles but it’s weak.
“We’ll find lots of stuff for you to eat,” you assure him. “Or absorb, I mean. Like those!”
You point at the bracers. He holds them closer to where you know the orb is tattooed on his chest, breathing deeply.
“And if we can’t find anything there’s always my boots, or coat.”
“You would offer me those?” Gale looks you up and down like he had when you’d first met.
You shrug. “Of course. Oh, do you need them now? Because I just need to sit down to get them—”
You lift a foot as you walk, nearly stumbling to the ground when Gale stops you. “No, no, I’m fine for now. I am just—very grateful to have such a generous companion.”
“It’s not really generosity if it’s something you need though,” you argue.
Gale smiles gently but moves on. “So what’s this I hear about you being a necromancer?”
Whatever emotion crosses your face makes him pull back and try to change the subject. Regret, maybe, or pain. You can’t focus on controlling your features with so much going on. “I don’t want to be…that. I can feel…I can feel where they are—like something is dragging behind me. It’s heavy, but easy. I don’t want it to be easy.”
“Just because something comes easily to you doesn’t mean you need to do it.”
You look up at him, unaware your gaze has been on the ground this whole time. “But I did it by accident. I can’t—I can’t exactly control it.”
“That’s no problem to learn,” Gale says, as if moving the dead was no harder than riding a bike. “Learn to control it, and don’t use it. Though if you can move a boar in your sleep you must have some considerably…powerful benefactors in Baldur’s Gate to deal with.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he says, “but if you can use magic without the intent, without the movements or incantations, then you hold a great power. And that is something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the wealthy elite.”
Chosen. Like Gale had once been of Mystra you too could be the preferred mortal of a god.
“Meaning there may be some unhappy people if I don’t use magic.”
“It’s only one possibility of many,” Gale assures you. “And until we know more I am happy to help you control your magic. I’m told I’m an excellent teacher.”
You twirl the staff between your fingers and laugh. “It would be an honour to learn from you.”
Taglist:
@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love
#reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money#reborn into bg3#astarion x reader#tav x reader ???#I keep forgetting about the staff to be honest#bg3 fanfic#bg3 fanfiction
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Dream’s Therapist
Parents
The session notes get longer and longer, so I decide to go over all of them again to decide on today’s topic of conversation.
Intake
Insomnia
Nightmares
Emotions
The client is on time (well, 35 minutes early, but my receptionist tells me he brought a book; she is certain it is “Le Mythe de Sisyphe” by Camus, and he reads it in French). When he comes into my office, he wears a black… robe? despite it being 25 degrees Celsius. Surprisingly, he takes it off though and hangs it on my coatrack. There is still no smalltalk, although he asks, very politely, if I could open the blinds a bit more since today, the room is too dark for his liking.
DT: I’d like to talk about your family today. How do you relate to them? (I notice immediate signs of stress and he looks at my paperweight) Take it, it’s fine.
Dream (He takes the paperweight and begins to fiddle with it, turning it over and over and over again): My family is like… a cosmic jigsaw. We should fit together perfectly, and I reckon we do. In theory. From a distance. To all you mortals. But you should never, ever look too closely.
DT: And why is that? What about your parents?
Dream (Silence ensues. It lasts for 9 minutes. I contemplate several times whether to cut it short but decide to let him sit with his thoughts until he is ready): They like to play a game of charade, I suppose. If we communicate at all, it is in cryptic symbols and metaphors….
DT: You like communicating like that, too, don’t you?
Dream (I notice a glare, quickly followed by a violent shake of his head): My father once gave me an hourglass with a note that read, “Your move.” I still have no idea what he was trying to tell me.
DT: Did you ever ask?
Dream (I notice the familiar eye-roll): No.
DT: Why not?
Dream: You would not understand.
DT: Try me.
(Another bout of silence ensues. This time, it lasts 10 minutes, and I decide to finally intervene—he’s not getting a lot of bang for his buck this way. I notice a moment too late I shouldn’t use the word ‘bang’ when relating to my clients, not even in my mind).
Maybe just explain to me what your parents are like.
Dream (I notice a slightly annoyed exhale through his nose): My father has a particular (he frantically turns the paperweight in his hands) …watch that is a source of contention, and he insists on synchronised cosmic events. Well, not really synchronised as you would define it I suppose but… (he shakes his head again). No matter. My mother has a thing for unravelling galaxies and the ensuing chaos. They are not a great match by any means.
DT: Doesn’t sound like it. Are they still together?
Dream: No. They have not been for a very long time.
DT (Divorced parents. It makes sense): And how did that influence your upbringing?
Dream (He laughs. It sounds… I have no clue what to think and try not to show it on my face. He truly sounds like someone who has forgotten how to laugh. I actually feel sorry for him. I remind myself not to show that on my face either): My father is Time, my mother is Night. Do you expect me to relate to them as my role models?
DT: (I notice bitterness that most certainly covers up some hurt and wonder if he tries to be metaphorical, or if he is diving down into the depths of his delusion again): Do you? Or did you at any point?
Dream (He leans back in his chair and spins the paperweight on his index finger. It keeps on spinning. I’m confused): How could I possibly relate to someone who prunes roses before they are fully in bloom and never even smells them? Or someone who permanently entertains herself with moonlight cocktails and star-shaped canapés? My parents are… unrelatable and exhausting.
DT: And is exhaustion all they make you feel?
Dream (The paperweight stops spinning, and the silence lasts for 6 minutes this time): No, they make me feel conflicted. (He didn’t say he doesn’t feel. Good.) My father… might have taught me something about duty and the weight of eternity. But I suppose I might have preferred warmth (he starts fidgeting with the paperweight again and briefly looks at me) over cosmic-level indifference.
DT (I am surprised at the sudden willingness to share his emotional landscape. I still don’t show it on my face. I hope): And your mother?
Dream (I notice a hard swallow before he gazes out the window. His voice is very quiet): My mother paints the skies with stars. But those… nights are lonely. She revels in the beauty of darkness and starlight but never touches the hearts of her children. She never dreams of us (His voice turns quieter still). Or of me.
DT: You don’t know that.
Dream (He looks at me again): Trust me, I do. Perhaps you should remember who and what I am?
DT (I decide to tread carefully): Yes, you told me you are the embodiment of imagination, dreams and nightmares.
Dream: Correct. And I know she doesn’t dream of me.
DT (That delusion is stubborn. As they are): If your parents never gave you what you needed, did you ever try to seek comfort or solace elsewhere?
Dream (I notice he holds on to the paperweight so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Even whiter than they are): For as long as I remember I longed for nothing more than just a fleeting touch transcending cosmic duty. (He looks at me through his lashes before he focuses on the paperweight again) Make of that what you will.
DT (I wonder what’s gotten into him today. The sudden openness is confusing. Not that I’m complaining): I don’t make anything out of anything. Let’s stay with those desires. (I notice he flinches) What do you truly want?
Dream: I… feel adrift. (He seems to think for a moment): Sometimes I envy you humans (Okay, I can work with the delusion). Your families argue about burnt toast and forgotten anniversaries. My family argues about the curvature of spacetime and the existential implications of your socks disappearing in your laundry. You have no idea how these things affect… (He stops himself) Never mind. You have simpler families—Sunday dinners, awkward Thanksgiving conversations, and no cosmic-level crisis before dessert.
DT (I decide to play): I think you might underestimate the crisis potential of our dinners.
Dream: Do I? (He actually smiles.)
DT: Yes. But let’s stop changing the subject (I notice he looks slightly embarrassed, which is surprising) and get back to your wants. If you had to choose one thing you really wanted right now, what would that be?
Dream (His voice is very quiet again): To escape the endless cycle. But my duty binds me.
DT (That took the wrong direction and definitely requires reframing. Change of tack): It seems to me that you think of yourself as a silent observer at times. Or as being responsible for other people and their dreams. At least that’s what I’m gathering, correct me if I’m wrong. (He just looks at me but doesn’t say anything) What if you dared to dream yourself?
Dream (I notice the deep frown on his face before he puts the paperweight back on my desk): It is not possible to dream beyond one’s destiny. And mine is not to dream.
DT: What if that weren’t true?
Dream (Silence again. Quite brief this time): That seems… like a tome bound in too many shadows.
DT: Did you ever notice you relate to yourself as if you were (I’m fishing for the right words here) a book, written by someone else?
Dream (I notice he shuffles uncomfortably in his seat): That would be assuming I had a story of my own, which I do not.
DT: And why would you believe that?
Dream (I notice he taps his foot. Six times): I trust our time is up?
DT: No, although we’re getting closer.
Dream: Good, I shall leave then. (He makes a move to get up)
DT: I’ve got homework for you.
Dream (I notice the eye-roll, but he actually stays seated): The infernal diary again?
DT: No. I’d just like you to reflect on a thought.
Dream (I notice the raised eyebrow): And what thought would that be?
DT: If it is truly paradoxical to allow yourself to dream while thinking you are responsible for other people’s dreams.
Dream: The former seems… highly improbable.
DT: Are you going to think about it though?
Dream (He gets up and looks around the room for a moment before his eyes finally connect with mine again): I shall, despite the very apparent futility of your… experiment.
DT: I don’t experiment with people’s thoughts or feelings. I just encourage them to step back and have a closer look at them.
Dream: I shall try to… forgive me: I will trust your expertise on the matter.
DT (I notice he actually has internalised our last session. At least to a degree): The delusional one?
Dream (I notice he really wants to suppress a smile, but it’s not working): No, the real one.
DT: Same time next week then?
Dream: Yes. And you may still use ink in your diary. For however long you deem necessary…
< Previous Session
#the sandman#sandman#sandman fic#Dream’s therapist#dream of the endless#morpheus#dream of the endless rp#Morpheus rp#father time#mother night#they very apparently suck#satire#tragicomedy#I’m so sorry#it’s impossible to stay lighthearted with this guy#queue
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for: @jasipereo, who told me i should
what: in the burning maze, apparently they fly off together after jason dies and nothing happens at all. this is the nothing.
wc: 1700
-
Piper had grown out her hair since Leo saw her last. He touched the ends of it, feeling the familiar softness between his fingers.
“Did you get taller?” she asked, voice strained from having cried so much. He didn’t see her expression; she was sitting in front of him on Festus, facing only the white sky.
“I dunno,” he said, because he didn’t. Time was strange in that other place. To him, he’d been gone for only a moment. As if he hadn’t been lost at all.
She leaned backwards. Without having to ask, Leo let the internal heat from his body migrate to her. They were just below plane altitude, maybe four or five miles in the air. It was cold, but he wouldn’t let her be.
Had Piper not been there, Leo would have pried the casket open and crawled inside to lie beside him. He was sure of it. The instinct was nonsensical, even desperate, and still it pulled him like water down a drain. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to see him with his eyes closed, as though he were only asleep. And Jason had always been a peaceful sleeper.
Back then, Piper’s iron grip on his forearm had anchored him. Maybe she felt the urge, too. Maybe they could have all fit inside. There, they could have dreamt as one, having found peace in a place where nothing could tear them apart. Together again.
“You did,” she replied. “Get taller, I mean. Just a little.”
*
Piper had a room in her grandpa’s ranch house that she hadn’t used since she was eleven. Leo inspected the off-white curtains, the stuffed animals on the bookshelves. She had a pink CD player and a Hello Kitty pillowcase. It was strange, confronted with the idea that she had lived a life before him.
He helped her unpack what little she brought with her. Downstairs, Leo heard Coach’s booming timbre, comforting in its own way. He and Mellie would stay in the guest room with Chuck, leaving Leo to fend for himself in the den.
“What’re you gonna do now?” asked Piper, folding two pairs of orange camp shirts and sorting them in a dresser.
Leo laid on her carpet, eyeing the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling. “Calypso wants to enroll in school. I tried telling her about the shithole that was secondary education, but she wanted to experience it herself. As for me, I’m never going back. S’one of the conditions I made for living at the Waystation.”
Piper paused in her folding. Then she started up again, this time with a pile of sweaters. She lingered on a blue one that read: Edgarton Day and Boarding School.
“I’m starting Tahlequah High next week,” she said.
“And I’ll make it to your grad party, beauty queen.”
He figured. Piper liked school enough; he knew she never missed an assignment at Wilderness. Meanwhile, Leo turned every packet he got into paper planes, letting them ride the Nevada gust out his dormitory window.
“If you’re not finishing school,” she continued, “what’ll you do? Help Hemithea and Josephine?”
“That’s sorta the plan.” Leo rubbed his eyes. The stars were too old to hold any glow now. “I guess… I guess I just want something to keep busy. Maybe teach shop for the kids for however long. After that, I don’t know. Being in one place too long… I’m not real good at that.”
“So no camp?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “No, no camp. You?”
“No,” Piper said, then laughed along with him.
He knew she didn’t mean she hated either camp, their friends, or their community—they only needed distance, measured and in moderation. Jason was everywhere, after all. Jason Grace’s lifeblood was the legacy of both camps. In a way, that was what had taken him from them. The gods had owed Jason ten times over and this was how he was repaid. There was nothing for Leo there, no loyalty, and Piper felt the same, even if only mirroring an inch of his resentment.
They ate dinner with everyone. Tristan still had some lost pallor, but his charisma was hard to chip at, especially when his daughter needed him. Toothless Chuck gummed around a piece of summer squash while the rest of them ate a hot meal cooked by a friend of the family. People had been in and out of the house all day; their fridge was stocked for the entire week. The McLeans had roots here. They were loved and welcomed. Leo and Piper had stayed inside her room like homebodies until the visitors had all left.
While Mellie put Chuck down for bed, Tristan and Coach cleared the table and washed the dishes. Piper told Leo that they’d probably go out on the porch and smoke some of her grandad’s tobacco pipes once they were done, a vice her dad failed to keep secret from her.
Snickering, they imagined Coach hacking a lung and ambled upstairs to her grandpa’s study. It was a small and cool space. Her grandfather kept a large collection of books of all kinds that ranged from Indigenous history to psychology to science fiction. Aside from the bookshelves, which weren’t as dusty as Leo would’ve imagined, there was a desk with a swivel chair and a large claw-footed single-seater sofa in the corner of the room, just by the window.
Leo grabbed a book off the shelf just for the fun of it and plopped down on the sofa. The words swam around on the pages. Even if he could read it, he doubted he could parse analytical biochemistry jargon.
“I used to come up here when Grandpa was doing his lesson plans,” said Piper. Tom McLean was a structural biology professor. “I’d beg for him to play with me, but he’d just say, ‘My love, you cannot have what you want the instant you desire it.’ I liked that. Not even then was it easy for people to say no to me. He was the only one.”
Looking out the window, Leo saw the shine of Festus’s metal in the darkness. The dragon was hunkered down in the yard, closest to sleep as automatons could get.
“I’ll leave in the morning,” Leo said. He rested his gaze on the horizon that bled into the night. “Calypso’s waiting for me.”
“I know.” Piper came over to him, gently pulling the textbook away from his grasp. It forced him to look at her.
A beat passed. “I’m sorry, Piper. About Jason.”
She smiled wryly, placing Clinical Biochemistry: Techniques and Instrumentation onto the side table. She asked, “Why are you saying sorry to me?”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She stood over him, the moonlight from outside overlaying her skin like a filter, the image of an aching spector. Her face was unreadable. Tonight, her eyes were one color, and it was borrowed, familiar: electric blue, as vibrant as the sky once a storm had cleared. His eyes.
Still standing, she raised a hand, placing it over his arm in an innocuous touch. “You loved him, too,” she said. Leo’s hackles rose, but it was true and—now that Jason was dead—harmless. “Leo, we weren’t together anymore. I broke up with him. After you died, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work it out. Work us out. Because without you, it was like… Like the lights had gone out.”
His hand grabbed her wrist, wanting to rip it away, but he couldn’t. “Wait. I-I don’t want to hear this,” he said.
If only she had never brought it up. Mellie had told him earlier in the day, with Chuck on her hip and wearing a worried frown. Piper and Jason had split some months ago. They never went further to explain, but to everyone who knew the two, it was apparent that it had torn at them.
“I thought,” she kept going, “that if you had come back, maybe Jason and I could have—with you… But we never got a chance.”
“Piper,” he said firmly, getting up from the seat to grab her shoulders. “You have to stop. I’m leaving tomorrow, at dawn. I’m moving to Indiana. I’ll come for birthdays, special days. We’ll see each other at reunions. I’ll Iris you—every day if you want! It’ll be good. Like we always were. Like we were before everything. Don’t do this.”
“You can’t stay,” she said. “I know. I know because it happened to me, too. It hurt to be with him because you weren’t there. And I know you see him when you look at me. What color are my eyes, Leo? Whose are they? He used to see yours.”
It had to happen, just once, even if never again for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t even their first kiss, which had happened a lifetime ago, on some forgettable rooftop in a place that never loved them. He shook a little as her hands came up to his neck, as though the cold affected him. His mouth tasted salt from her tears. Piper made small noises, gasping in increments when they could bear to part. They tumbled back to a bookshelf, some hard edges jutting against Leo’s spine.
It was important that he was the one to speak first. Not because he didn’t trust her not to compel him, but to prove that he knew she wouldn’t. Not for this.
“I’ll leave in the morning,” repeated Leo, thumb rolling down her jaw. “That’s hours away.”
*
Leo got up before the sun did. Oklahoma mornings were crisp and new, almost impossibly so. The fog in the distance cleared around the McLean property, grass dewing with small beads of fresh water. Standing on the porch now, Leo knew this would be a good home filled with love.
Tristan McLean saw him come out of Piper’s room. He didn’t react much, only telling him to be safe on his journey back. He’d also shaken his hand like a real man and said, “She’s stronger than I’d ever hoped.”
“Stronger than me,” Leo replied, smiling.
Seeing him, Festus crooned in happy creaks, shaking out his stiffness. As Leo took off, he could have sworn he saw the curtains in Piper’s window move. Just in case, he brought up his hand to wave goodbye.
#liper#jasipereo#valgrace#rrverse#heroes of olympus#hoo#fic#piper mclean#leo valdez#jason grace#< HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE YAYYYY
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Six Sentence Sunday
Happy Sunday everyone!! Thanks for the tags @blackberrysummerblog and @artsyunderstudy!!
This week I’ve done the big three: writing, editing, and ignoring my wips, with perhaps a bit more of the last one than I’d like. Most of my writing this week has been for an exchange fic for a different fandom, which I finally finished the rough draft of. Cue the celebration. However, even if I wanted to share anything from that, I can’t, it must remain hush-hush, but I am getting pretty excited to share it (and way more excited about receiving my own exchange fic back, this whole thing is very fun).
I’ve written less than 300 words on my COBB this week, and none of them are good, but I have gotten some editing done of Proof of Life. I can’t share any more snippets of the next chapter though because I’ve shared too much already. So instead, I figured I’d do a bit of a process post this time around, because I always love reading those. Check that out under the cut! (and i'm sorry this is long, i still have not learned brevity)
So my editing process isn’t too crazy, and is brought to you almost entirely by google docs comments. I also use the word ‘editing’ very loosely to encompass rewriting, revising, and proofreading. Sometimes editing means completely rewriting a scene/section, sometimes it just means switching around a couple of words or cleaning up a sentence.
Mostly, I try not to take everything so seriously, because I know that I could edit something forever and ever and never post it if I let myself get too carried away. So I try to keep everything pretty chill. So here’s my steps I go through for each chapter that I edit.
Step One: Reread the whole chapter. While I do this, I’ll leave comments on big picture things. “Maybe move this scene into the next chapter” or “The dialogue in this scene feels stilted” but I don’t add a lot of comments at this point. Once I’m done with this I’ll copy over any comments I had on the first draft or the beta reader copy over into the ‘draft two’ document.
Step Two: COMMENTS. Again, my fics are brought to you by google doc comments. I like to go through from the bottom up, reading scene by scene and leaving comments on pretty much every single sentence.
A lot of the time (read: most of the time) these are really vague like:
And sometimes these are more detailed like:
And occasionally these are compliments
Step Three: Once the whole chapter is filled with comments, I go through scene by scene (in whatever order speaks to me), and rewrite, edit, or fix sections. This part I find really fun, because I’m taking parts that aren’t good yet and I’m making them better. I love fixing things and getting rid of all the comments. It typically ends up being a lot of rewriting, but I always finish a scene feeling better about it then when I started.
For example, here’s the draft one vs. draft two version of a snippet from the first chapter of Proof of Life. This is one of the scenes I pretty much rewrote. Others look a lot more similar to their original versions.
Original:
Edited:
Step Four: Then before I post a chapter, I’ll read through the whole thing and sometimes find smaller bits to fix. Then I’ll run it through a grammar checker and ignore half of their suggestions in the name of ✨style ✨.
Overall, I feel like I have a pretty basic editing strategy and I’m really pleased with it. Even though sometimes I feel like more robust edits would make everything way better, it’s a good mix of fixing things but not spending too much time on it. I remember I spent like a month on editing the very first fic I posted at that was only 6k words. If I kept doing that for everything, I'd never post anything at all. With fanfiction, I know that y'all will be nice to me even though it's never perfect <333
Tags and Hellos!! (I'm unsure if we still need the spaces, but i've been burned too many times lol)
@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @m1ndwinder @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee
@onepintobean @prettygoododds @noblecorgi @hushed-chorus @angelsfalling16
@thewholelemon @monbons @shrekgogurt @brendughh @hertragedyconnoisseur
@beastmonstertitan @valeffelees @horsesarenotdeer @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs
@fiend-for-culture @rimeswithpurple @cutestkilla @alexalexinii @ileadacharmedlife
@arthurkko @rbkzz @skeedelvee @bookish-bogwitch @brilla-brilla-estrellita
#one day i will make a short wipsday post#today is not the day#listen to all my ramblings everyone#look at my screenshots#i just love the sound of my voice#proof of life#my writing#editing#six sentence sunday#carry on fanfiction#snowbaz
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YUCK
Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader
Genre: fluff, suggestive moments
warnings: mentions of illness/body fluids (snot, vomit), avoidant attachment from reader, Hoshi best boy
Length: ~2.9k
Note: more of this couples bc im crazy thank u @gyuswhore
series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f]
m.list
This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.
Two and a half months of hooking up with a guy who may or may not be a furry and things start feeling…comfortable.
You’ll pretend until the day you die that every time the weekend rolls around you won’t end up naked in Soonyoung’s bed. Or your own. Usually it is your own because he has more roommates than you and yours leaves to stay at her boyfriend’s until Monday night which means there is no need to keep quiet (which you and Soonyoung both struggle with but you refuse to acknowledge that fact).
It allows for many nights bent over the kitchen counter, Soonyoung’s chest hot against the back of your thighs as he works you up with his mouth. Or occasional nights on the couch after you both are too into each other to make it upstairs to your room, planted firmly in his lap while pinning his hands to the cushions. There's also the nights he drags you straight to bed and demonstrates exactly what all the pictures you took while tucked away in the privacy of a gross bar bathroom did to him.
You’re pretty sure Soonyoung has picked up on your game by now because instead of asking ‘if’ he’s taken to asking ‘when’ he can come over. And it's annoying that it doesn’t really annoy you at all.
Soonyoung comes over on Friday nights and leaves Saturday afternoon, except when he shows up on Saturday mornings and stays well into Sunday night. Or the occasional weekend where you remember who you are and show up on his door and leave three hours later with cum still drying on your thigh as you walk past his roommates still pregaming in the living room.
Except now it's Friday and you’ve got nothing on your mind except for the inside of a toilet bowl and the cool tile of the bathroom floor.
Call it food poisoning or maybe the flu, but you’ve been in and out of sleep since the early hours of dawn. Shivering on the floor, the only company you have is a pile of dirty clothes. Even the crack of light under the door is too much stimulation for your illness-racked brain to tolerate.
“Y/N?” your roommate calls from the other side of the darkness, out in the hallway where it's safe from whatever curse is making home in your gut. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home? I don’t mind.”
“I’m fine,” you groan. Your words couldn’t convince the deaf but you try anyway.
She responds but it slips right past because another bout of nausea takes hold.
You manage to fall asleep at some point, clammy on the floor with aching hips. Maybe an hour or maybe ten minutes. It doesn't really make a difference because you still feel like shit when the door opens and the hall light burns through your retinas.
“Hazel, I said I’m— What are you doing here?” you croak from the floor.
Soonyoung stairs down at you, face soft with something that might be worry but it’s probably just the fever melting your brain. “You look like shit.”
“You always know just what to say.” The usual snark isn’t there, replaced by a pathetic helpless whine of discomfort because all you want is to curl up and die. “Did you come to insult me or…?”
“Hazel let me know you were sick and usually sick people need medicine and soup so I brought that and this tea my mom used to give me as a kid.”
“Are you trying to cure me so you can get your dick wet?”
“No. If I wanted to stick my dick in a Petri dish I feel like there are easier ways to go about it.” He kneels right next to you like he isn’t the slightest bit concerned about catching the plague brewing in your immune system. A cool hand cups your cheek, thumb gentle at your temple where a dull throb has haunted you all day. You lean into the comforting touch without much thought. “When was the last time you showered?”
“I don’t know. Like two days ago?”
“Yeah, I can smell that. Alright my little germ cell, let’s get you cleaned up.”
His arms snake under yours, dragging you from the floor even with your muscles limp. It takes more maneuvering but you don’t bother helping. If he wants to play not-so-sexy nurse and patient then that's his problem. The warmth of his sweater is welcome though.
“Is this some weird fetish thing?” Nose buried in Soonyoung’s chest, it comes out in a jumble. “Because I can’t handle this and the furry stuff.”
“Yes, caring about your health is a fetish for me. Really gets me off knowing you’ve been a good girl and taken your vitamins.”
“I knew it.” you whisper. “I’m not calling you daddy if that’s what you want.”
Soonyoung laughs and the movement sends another bolt of pain through your skull. He tuts over your responding whimper and what may be his lips press to the side of your head briefly. It’s warm and comforting, the beat of his heart lulling you into the first satisfying rest since you woke up. Your hands bunching the front of his shirt are desperate for anything to keep you steady.
Thankfully, he doesn’t release you while setting things up for a shower; accommodating for your weight with a slow shuffle and more placating coos against your hairline every time you protest a sudden jostle. The chill of the bathroom fully sets in when he pushes down your sweats and shucks off your snot stained sweater before tossing away his own. If you weren’t barely functioning it might even be impressive that he’s kept you in his arms the entire time.
“If you’re trying to fuck me, I hope you don’t mind snot.” You blow your nose against the curve of his neck just to be a bitch.
You feel more naked under the stream of water than you ever have, which is ironic given you’ve had Soonyoung face to crotch more times than you can count. Something about the non-sexual nature of nudeness, feeling the least sexy you ever have while he scrubs you down with gentle hands, turns your stomach more than before.
“I’m not trying to fuck you,” he laughs again; a thousand volts straight to the heart. “Don’t worry.”
You pop out of hiding, hurt by the idea. “You don’t want to fuck me?”
Soonyoung’s face is soft, cheeks round and hair already damp to his forehead. He isn’t disgusted by the puke on your breath or the sweat matting your hair. Or if he is, he hides it well. “I always want to fuck you but right now I’m trying to make sure you don’t die.”
You dive back into his shoulder, mind numb to anything beyond the silky feel of hands washing away days of ick. You’ve felt his hands on almost every part of your body but right now they lack the characteristic urgency from those moments where you can’t get enough of each other quick enough. He’s touching you the way he does in the glow of the moon after you’ve both been satisfied, when Soonyoung thinks you’re asleep and you let him as every curve and dip and hill of your body is covered in gentle strokes like he’s committing you to memory.
“I can do that on my own,” you argue.
The facts aren’t stacked in your favor right now but it’s the principle: you don’t need him to take care of you. You can handle it on your own. He’s only here because you let him.
“Oh, I know. Now close your eyes so I don’t get soap in them.”
He cups your face, thumbs rubbing away the sweat that's been caked on since morning. Then it’s a rough washcloth doused in the scent of your face wash but you swat it away in favor of the calluses on his fingers. If you weren’t a dead woman walking he’d never get a chance to be this close.
How is it more terrifying for someone to wipe away your boogers than let him see you naked multiple times a week? A question knotting your stomach into tight pieces as Soonyoung hums some tune you don’t recognize like he’s more than happy to do so.
Your brain stops working after so long; too exhausted from everything to think more about what this all means. Not even the familiar flat press of his front against yours can incite a response beyond content. All the world shrinks into the pitter patter of the water swirling around the drain, and the parts that are warmed by Soonyoung and the parts that are waiting to be.
When you come back to awareness, the waters off and he is whispering something into your clammy forehead.
“Hmmm?”
“I said, it’s time to get out.”
More shuffling gets you back into your room where the mattress takes your weight while he digs around for fresh clothes. You roll onto your side, clad in a towel and nothing else, resound to fall asleep then and there.
“Alright, arms up,” he commands.
You try to pull away, diving back into the pillow soaked from your hair but Soonyoung gets you up at the waist, maneuvering stiff limbs patiently.
“Do you have an armpit fetish too?” you ask with the collar stuck around the top of your head.
“And you call me a freak?”
Next is pants, and it takes a few tries for you to even consider being helpful. Soonyoung lifts each leg individually, working the fabric as far as he can. Then a few dramatic grunts from coordinating your entire body weight but you’re back in a clean pair of pajamas and tucked under the covers. Soonyoung didn’t rise to any more of your snide remarks about being naked. He simply avoiding your bare skin like it’d burn. Not even his favorite thing about you (boobs) gets any attention, just a few chuckles and more kisses into your temple.
You melt into the plush mattress, hidden beneath a pile of blankets from the cruel world that cursed you with new realizations you're not prepared for just yet.
Eyes closed the entire time, you hear Soonyoung leave without so much as a goodbye. In theory it’s what you want. Exactly how you prefer; you alone, him somewhere you can pretend all the confounding feelings don’t exist. You didn’t even want him to show up in the first place, but now that he’s been here and you’re horrifically aware how nice it feels to have someone take care of you. You miss him.
And as soon as the pit opens up, you hear someone shuffling down the hall coming towards your room.
“Alright, once you eat something you can sleep.”
The thought of food tightens your stomach more than the fact he didn’t leave you but he’s right. You need fluids and you’re not strong willed enough to get them yourself.
After the first few bites, you feel a little more human and less like a walking sack of shit. With it, the discomfort of this entire ordeal rears with a new vengeance.
“Why are you here?” It sounds like an accusation.
He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Because I like you.”
Soonyoung says it matter of factly, the same way the sky is blue and water is wet, while shoving another bite into your mouth.
You’re too exhausted for a fight right now; not with the only person making a real effort to keep you alive, but the instinct is strong after years of low expectations and plenty of disappointment.
“Why?”
“Because I just do.”
Your eyes meet over the spoon. He doesn’t look annoyed or perturbed or even angry. He likes you whether you like it or not.
“I don’t date.”
“Okay,” he agrees, wiping at the spill dripping from your chin.
“You aren’t gonna argue?”
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and your need for confrontation with it. “You don’t wanna date? That’s fine. I’ll take whatever I can get, even if that’s spoon feeding you on your deathbed.”
You take the next bite before commenting, “You’re so weird.”
“I like you too. Now open up for the airplane.” He makes the noise and the medicine twists your brain into actually finding it funny. “How are you pretty even when you’re blowing your nose on my shirt?”
“Deal with the devil.”
He passes you a cold cup when you brush away the remainder of the soup. One sip is all it takes.
“How did you know I like the orange Gatorade?”
“I asked Jun to give me June’s number and she gave me Hazel’s number and I asked while I was at the store.”
“You went through all that trouble just to buy me the right Gatorade?” you snort.
“It really wasn’t any trouble.”
It isn’t but it’s more than anyone else has ever done for you. The fresh wave of nausea has nothing to do with your cold.
“I’m tired,” you tell him.
The mess is cleaned up in silence. You pretend to fall asleep and Soonyoung lets you until he’s shoving more medicine your way.
You shake your head, failing to refuse because Soonyoung is doing that dumb airplane nose again and when you cough up a laugh he shoves the spoon in your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow.
Then he’s up and you watch through heavy eyes as he gathers his things. You’ll blame it on the drugs loosening the clutch you have on your emotions later.
“Where are you going?” you ask with faux apathy, negated by the fist tangled in the hem of his sweatshirt in case he evaporates away.
“Home. Unless…you want me to stay?” A tug at the sweater is your answer to that horrible thought. “Oh, thank god – I was getting sad.”
You roll over, offering him your back to curl around. The muscles tensed around your spine soften when he does.
I sleep better when you’re here.
You won’t tell him that but Soonyoung stiffens for a moment and the fear you’ve said the wrong thing creeps in where fatigue hasn’t rooted just yet. But a kiss to your covered shoulder and a hand under your sweater, flat against your stomach so you stay as close as possible calms the thoughts enough you can drift off.
It’s strange. Having the heat of his body at your back without the limpness of a good fuck still coursing through your veins to thaw the parts that hate pillow talk and the stickiness that come with it.
What's even stranger is that you don’t really mind it all. If anything, it’s actually pretty nice.
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© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.
#svthub#kvanity#kwon soonyoung#hoshi#kwon soonyoung smut#hoshi smut#seventeen smut#seventeen fanfic#svt x reader#soonyoung x reader#hoshi x reader#svt#svt smut#seventeen#seventeen hoshi#hoshi flufff#svt fluff#seventeen fluff#soonyoung fluff#kwon soonyoung fluff#🫡 highvern
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Out of the Sea, Part 1
Summary: He needed your help, and you couldn't let him drown. Now that he's back he doesn't need your help, just you. Your body. Your everything. Both of you spent the years desiring and obsessing over the other. Now that you've reconnected you want to teach him the ways of the ocean, and he wants to teach you the ways of him. Will this be a matchmade in heaven or in sin?
Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader
Rating: mild
Warnings: language, brief depictions of drowning, naïve reader, dirty thoughts, naked reader, mentions of claiming, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 3.6K
Series Masterlist
*dividers created by @firefly-graphics
“Boy!” The young boy flinches back away from the edge of the boat, staring back at a sun worn old man. Boat life had aged him far older than the years would suggest. “Don’t step close to the edge. Don’t you know what’s down there?”
Taking a step closer to the edge again, he peers down into the blackened water. He couldn’t fathom what could be in the depths of the ocean, much less this odd little place the man called Emerald Cove. “Aye! I said don’t step close to the edge. Do you swim?”
“No, sir.”
“Stupid boy. Your father is a right old git for sending you out here. If you fell in that water, you’d be gone. There is no saving you. Many a man has sunk straight down to the bottom, but it wasn’t because they couldn’t swim. You know what it was?” The young lad shakes his head no, and an odd feeling to peer back into the water comes over him. “I see it on your face, you hear it don’t you?”
“Hear what?” He asks sheepishly. His skin crawls, and he takes one timid step to the edge. Hearing isn’t exactly how he would describe it. It is more of a longing. Something is calling him towards the water.
“You’ve got that look to you. That itch. Usually they don’t claim one so young. There’s mermaids in these parts. They’re not beautiful creatures. They’re demons. Luring men to their watery grave. All those men that have drowned in that very water. It’s because they were chasing tail they weren’t meant to have. They like it here because the water is too deep. It hides them,” he isn’t sure what chasing tell is, but he knows that something is needing him to look in the water.
The old man was crazy and had seen far too many movies. That much the boy knew. There is no such thing as mermaids. It is just a ploy to get him to step away from the edge. He knows he should, but still something is edging him closer. It isn’t a sound. It isn’t an itch. It’s a need to see. “Go on, and look. I’ll be right here to keep you from falling overboard,” the man cackles and it sounds like he swallowed more than alcohol, but the entire bottle. Letting each shard of glass create scars that make his voice so scratchy and raw.
“Go on,” he urges yet again, and the boy takes a careful step closer. Every inch he gets closer, it feels better. Like part of him is being complete as he peers over the edge of the boat. He’d got on this rickety ship and pretended it was a pirate ship and he was held captive. But now all he wants is the water. The ship led him to where he needs to be, and it’s job is done. The water is all that matters now, well, more what is in the water.
Now his imagination takes him to a place of being made to walk the plank. Gazing into the water in the distance and realizing where it got its name from. Such brilliant shades of blue and turquoise mixing and making it appear like emeralds, but the where the boat resides is a blue so dark it gave the impression of being black. Letting his eyes focus on the darkness just below him, and he stares. Stares too hard that his eyes play tricks on him.
Staring too long, and at nothing. The old man was crazy. There is nothing but fish down there, maybe some sharks or dolphins. But mermaids didn’t exist. It was an old seaman’s tale to keep their men from jumping off the ship in a fit of delirium. Living at sea could make the best fisherman crazy.
Others were too scared to venture out here, and the captain knows this is the best place to fish because it hadn’t been pillaged by other fishermen already. He sees a glint of something not quite right. The light must have reflected off a fish’s scale oddly, but he leans over the boat. Gazing even harder. The fish had to be massive, and a color he hadn’t seen. Reflecting different shades of green and purple.
“Aye!” A rough hand lands on his shoulder, and he’s pulled back roughly. “Do you realize what you were about to do, boy?”
“Grandpa, I was just looking in the water,” the boy argues. He was almost there. Almost to his destiny. He knows the water holds secrets, just not what.
“No, Ari. You were just leaning so far over the boat that you were about to fall in. Go help your uncle, and stay away from the edge. No matter what, don’t go near the edge, you understand?” Ari looks up at his grandpa with a mix of confusion and a frown on his face. He didn’t want to help his uncle. He wants to stay right here and try to get a glimpse of the fish.
“And for fucks sake, tell your mom I said you need to learn to swim before you come back on my fucking boat!”
A young Ari takes a look around the deck, thankfully seeing no one around. It has bothered him all day. This itch never stopped, and it was sinking down into his skin, caressing over his bones, and he had to look. There is no other explanation, he needs to know what lies beyond the darkness. He saw something.
Maybe it was an exact reflection of the sun in the right place, but he doesn’t care. He has to look. Taking a deep breath, he glances around again before his bright blue eyes find the still water. It’s blue black color is eerily still. Leaning over the boat as much as possible. A part of him feels goofy that if it was a fish it would have swam away already. Hours later it still wouldn’t be there.
But the need to see and know is too strong to ignore. He walked around feeling like something was missing. A part of his soul is hiding below the deep dark surface, and he needs it. Needs to grasp it in his hand because it belongs to him. Looking into the darkness more than the sun. A darkness that should swallow him whole.
Cold.
Too cold for swimming. And he couldn’t swim.
Suffocating.
Ari sits up in his bed in a cold sweat. Chest heaving with every labored breath he takes as his meaty hands run through his hair. Gulping air instead of the icy cold water he had inhaled all those years ago, but that dream always woke him up. And he could never remember anything past the suffocation and chill of the water.
Some would say it was an obsession, and it was. How else do you explain a small boy that couldn’t swim washed up on the shore of Emerald Cover, and no recollection of how he got there? The only evidence that someone had brought him to shore was an odd pearl necklace that he kept hidden that day. Now he never removes it.
He reaches his arms above his head as he gives a big stretch. Yawning while scooting himself to the edge of the bed. Wearing only that pearl necklace that lays in between the valley pecs. His constant reminder that he forgot something. Someone. Or it was all in his head. But someone had to have saved him.
“Ahh!” His cousin, Frank, screams before slamming the door. “I just saw your dick.”
“You jealous that your dick pales in comparison to mine?”
“Are you jealous that I woke up with a girl gagging on mine?” Ari rolls his as he reaches for a pair of pants. There was nobody in the bed with Frank, unless she snuck in before they set sail. Hiding until now. “You know, if you want to enjoy sea life you gotta get started early. Can you swim now, baby boy?”
“You know I’m bigger than you now, little bit?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t,” Ari slings the door open. Towering over Frank who smirks up at his younger, but larger cousin, “Well you did almost drown. You even got a little trinket to show for it,” he gives the necklace a little tap before his face falls immediately. “You know I’m just kidding.”
“You know that this isn’t a joke to me. Our grandpa is carrying on about mermaids, and I fall into the water, can’t swim, and manage to be washed up on the cove shore, can you make that make sense? Especially since I had this.”
“You really need to get out and smell the salt water. They don’t exist. Grandpa was an alcoholic loon.”
“He was babbling on about a fucking call, and hearing them. How many sailors have drowned in the cove?” Frank shrugs his shoulders, turning around to head up the stairs. “Frankie, I’m not crazy.”
“Then what or who did you see?”
“I don’t remember,” it’s the same answer he always has. Never can remember the moment from being in the water to being on the shoreline. “But she was real.”
“She?” His cousin looks over his shoulder at him. “You went from you don’t know to a she? Your mom is right, you’re a hopeless romantic, but you spent your entire life chasing after a woman you aren’t even sure is there. What color was her fin? How does one fuck a mermaid? And maybe if you got laid you wouldn’t be dreaming of a ghost,” Ari has fucked many times. Sex isn’t his issue. It’s the fact that those women were never his savior.
“When are we getting to the cove?” Ari asks, irritated that no one ever took him seriously. He only had a vague memory of that day. Cold darkness, and then warm scratchy sand, and…there was a woman, no, a girl. He’s sure of it.
“We’ll be there before lunch. Please, don’t lean into the water this time. You’re too big, and you will definitely sink to the bottom unless your titties can be used as a flotation device. Or maybe a pink mermaid will save you.”
“She wasn’t pink,” he blurts out without thinking. Gasping before he closes his eyes, and he gets a clear flash of a girl around his age grabbing hold of his arm, while pleading to someone that she couldn’t let him die.
“Daddy, please!”
“Stupid human, they deserve to die if they can’t leave us alone.”
“But he’s just a boy. What if I wasn’t released from the net?” Her violet eyes shine up at her father before he grabs Ari’s arm.
“Hey,” Frank snaps his fingers in his cousin’s face. “What happened?”
“She wasn’t pink, and I’m not crazy. I need to get to the cove immediately.”
You sit on the beach, staring out at the rising sun. A practice you have done every day for too many years. Sitting and waiting. Wasting your life away, so your father said. Most of your kind had migrated away, but you stayed. Dried yourself out every morning so you could sit and wait. Talking to rocks and the coconuts. Becoming worse than a hermit crab.
“Ugh,” you sigh, collapsing back onto the sand as you squint into the sky. You hoped that he would return, and now you feel you’re just wasting away on an island all alone. You don’t know how much longer you can possibly wait.
You wonder if he even grew up, or even if he likes the water. Does he think about you like you think about him every single day? Waiting in this stupid ass uncomfortable sand when you should have your fin, and enjoying the fucking water. Standing up, you stare at the horizon as you start to take slow calculated steps towards the water.
Today is the day. If he didn’t return, you couldn’t live in solitude like this anymore. You’d migrate to where your kind is. The moment the sun set you would be gone, and you’d wonder forever if that boy would ever return. Living in solitude isn’t the way you wanted to spend your life.
You’d become crazy thinking that this is all you were going to have. You wanted a life, and love, and seeing how he wasn’t coming back, you’d settle for just friendship, and maybe passion.
Looking out into the distance, you tilt your head as a mirage comes into view. You had finally cracked, and had begun to see things. Standing there for far too long before you yelp, and run off into the tree line, keeping your eyes trained on the ship, and the man.
He is beautiful. They didn’t make men like him, even in the ocean. Tall, thick, muscles so hard that his shirt seized, looking like it would pop off at any moment. Hair that you desire nothing more than to run your fingers through it. And your belly heats up, and these stupid things called legs start to clench together in an unfamiliar way.
He is too far away to know if that was your boy. But if that boy grew up to be this man…you didn’t know what you were going to do.
—
Ari sees a figure standing on the beach, and starts moving around quicker, “Frank, hurry your skinny little ass up!”
His cousin scowls, looking around his shoulders at his ass, “It’s not skinny. I have a nice ass, thank you very much.”
“Just hurry up, I see her,” Frank doesn’t want to give into his cousin’s incessant obsession with the girl he believes saved him twenty years ago. “Frank!” Ari screams again as her body runs into the tree line. “Fuck,” he grunts before diving into the water.
“I hope you can swim now,” Frank sighs before doing the job himself. “Chasing women from the water. Fucking nerd. I shouldn’t have even brought him with me.”
You look in horror as he jumps into water, and start to bolt out of the trees. If that was your boy then he couldn’t swim, and you wouldn’t allow him to die this time either. Stopping when you see him swimming perfectly before retreating back into hiding. Humans can learn to swim, and maybe your boy did. Maybe this isn’t your boy at all but this one in the water is making you feel even more.
Biting on your lip as he emerges from the ocean, he throws off his shirt, and you sigh. It looked perfectly fine clinging to his damp skin, but looks even better laying on the sand. His golden skin glistens with the salty water, and he shades his eyes, looking in your direction. And you zero in on his chest, it is your boy. Your necklace hands low on that glorious chest.
“I won’t hurt you,” he calls out into the trees, exactly where you are, and you shudder. His voice is deep. He’s no longer a boy. He might not hurt you, but the banging of your heart through your chest will. “My name is Ari,” that is a lovely name. You never got it before. You whisper it to see how it tastes on your tongue. It’s perfection.
“I was a young boy, and nearly drowned here, and…I’ve been trying to get back ever since,” it really is him. You aren’t crazy, and he did come back. Still carried your token that claimed him as yours. He thought about you just as much as you thought about him. “Please, you don’t have to be scared.”
Inhale. Slowly exhale.
Ari gazes at you as you slowly emerge. His cheeks become more rosy as you step out of the shadows. His eyes betray him, and he doesn’t want to look at your body, but it is on full display. Your tits pert and peeking through your hair, while your legs frame your core, and he feels the urge to drool. Struggling to not look to hard, but fearing to look away.
“Holy shit,” Ari remembers that he isn’t exactly alone when his cousin speaks, and you scurry off into the woods. Cursing under his breath when he turns to glare at Frank. “That was no mermaid. Why is there a naked woman on the beach?”
Ari doesn’t respond, only grabs his shirt from the ground, and starts to jog towards where you went. Moving aside branches, and getting smacked in the face by a few until he sees you cowering on the ground, but your eyes shine brightly up at him.
Squatting down, he holds out a hand to you. “I don’t want to hurt you? Can you speak?” In lieu of answering, you nod your head. “So you understand me?”
“Yes,” you choke out, covering your mouth quickly with your hand. You hadn’t heard the real sound of your voice in years.
“Do you know who I am?” You nod enthusiastically, and with a smile. “You grew up.”
“You, too,” your giggles make him smile. Genuinely smile. And then you get onto your knees, and your tits sway with every move you make. He strains, begging his body to remain calm as he watches you crawl on all fours. Getting right in front of him before standing to your feet, and your hand presses against his chest, over your necklace before your eyes roll up to meet his own, and his body trembles.
“Are you okay?” You ask, scared that he overexerted himself in the water. Grabbing his hand to place on your chest. “See, breathe like me.”
“I’m sorry,” his eyes fall to where his hand rests, but instead he is looking at the way your tits rise and fall with every breath. “It’s a shock to see a woman naked on the beach.”
“Naked?” You run that word over your tongue a moment before tilting your head to smile at him. “Are you naked?”
“Would you like me to be?” Damn, he knows he shouldn’t have said that considering you seem confused about the concept. “Your…well, tits are right there.”
“Tits?” You understand some things, and others not at all. “Show me my tits.”
“Fuck,” he groans, looking back at your chest. “You have no clothes.”
“Because I have none. Do I need them?” not to do the things he wants to do to you, you don’t. He can’t say that to you. There’s an odd innocence about you that makes him want to protect you. Frank wouldn’t be an issue, but he doesn’t want you corrupted by the world. The only corruption would come from him. “Ari?”
“Where did you come from?” His hand moves to your wrists as his fingers rub over the odd violet patches on your skin. Giggling again makes your tits wiggle too close to his face, and when he gives you a specific look, a hunger that food couldn’t fulfill rumbles in the pit of your being, and you feel so — empty. “Are you okay?”
“I feel tingly,” you whisper, and those blue eyes cast down your body, and your body clenches. “I don’t understand.”
“Does it hurt?” You shake your head no, because it doesn’t hurt, you just feel without. “Where…?” Grabbing his hand you pull it between your thighs, and your body hitches. A deep moan releases from his throat, and you mewl. Waiting on his sight to meet your own. “Do you have a name?”
“Adria,” good. He can’t be so close and personal to you if you didn’t have a name. He’s weak staring at you. Your body is on fire, and he feels you throbbing on his hand, but it all feels so wrong, but only because you didn’t understand. And still didn’t care that he is feeling you in such a private and vulnerable place. “Ari?”
“We should get you dressed,” he removes his hand from your body, and holds up his shirt he discarded earlier. “Here,” it’s a struggle to speak when he thinks of covering you up, but he slips his shirt over your head. The wet fabric clings to your body, and leaves little to the imagination. “Do you live here?”
“I do now. My family migrated away years ago. I’ve waited for you. You’ve waited on me, too,” you don’t form it as a question, just press your hand up against his rippling chest. “It was worth it.”
“Is this where you want to stay?”
“Are you staying?” You innocently ask. He smiles, shaking his head no. “Then no. I’ve waited many years for you, Ari,” it may take time, but soon you will claim him with more than just a piece of jewelry. He would be yours, you could feel it throughout your body, into your bones, and into the legs that still didn’t feel right. He needs to be yours in every sense of the word. You want to encapsulate his life. He belongs to you.
”How do I make you mine, Ari?”
“I’m sure we can come — up with some ideas. I guess you need to meet my adopted cousin, Frank. Come on,” he doesn’t know how Frank is going to react. “Can you swim?”
“I shouldn’t go into the ocean. You see…”
“I know. I think I’ve always known what you are.”
“I suppose it’s time for you to claim me,” Ari clears his throat, looking up at the sky. “In whatever way you deem best,” Ari stares after you as you walk away. What was once an innocent boy’s life being saved is now a horny man given an open door to claim you. Dangerous games. Even more dangerous is the fact that he and Frank have been left to their own devices for a few weeks just to get here.
This is either going to be the time of your life. Or the time of theirs.
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#out of the sea#ari levinson#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson x fem!reader#ari levinson x female reader#ari levinson x y/n#ari levinson x you#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson fanfic#ari levinson fic#ari levinson fics#mermaid#mermaid au#frank adler#chris evans#chris evans character
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If you’re so smart, then why are you dead?
To start, heres a list of scientists that some characters were named after:
Lisa Meitner (physicist, bad bitch)
Otto Hahn (physicist)
Kurt Gödel (mathematician) (shawn was sort of correct with the pronunciation)
Robert Goddard (physicist)
William Shockley (racist)
I thought this was an accident because James seems to snicker after but apparently it was planned by Dulé’s stand in Gyle (Gile?)
Gus really should have known this was Avogadros number if he took any kind of chemistry.
Were they originally going to have Shawns mom a cop too and thats why he said he was born with “an extra normal amount [of paranormalevolance]. Two cops to be exact.” I have a vague memory of someone mentioning it on a commentary.
I wish they had let Juliet have a little more participation in the solve and therefore the victory. Or better yet, gave her a separate case to solve on her own so we saw her really get a win under her belt. She could still ask Shawn for advice, or maybe while he’s doing his whole psychic episode bit to give her a clue she solves it without him, and Shawns left standing impressed. But also, you’re telling me that she wasn’t the primary when she went undercover at the sorority??
The way Dulé says “i never got carsick a day in my life!” ABSOLUTELY SENDS ME
But what really made the Gusters keep him from going? Was it just their overprotectiveness? Was shawn really his only friend? Are they still trying to protect him from the truth?
Somehow i got it in my brain that Shawn was responsible for Gus not getting in. I think i headcanoned that so hard i made it feel true lol i thought Shawn knew the whole time (i mean he must have seen Gus practicing and being extra anxious about something) and he somehow convinced his parents that Gus wouldn’t have been happy there. maybe part of that was true, but little Shawn just didn’t want him to go.
Either way, if the Gusters were actually concerned about quality of life, then they chose Gus’s happiness over his success which is such a juxtaposition to Shawn and his dad.
Or maybe they visited the school and saw a kid getting shocked and said fuck that.
Here’s another instance of Gus looking for where he went wrong in life. If only he’d spelt aggiornamento correctly, if only he’d gone to Meitner. Gus seems so unhappy with himself, and theres this underlying narrative happening that Gus might actually be depressed. Like in 9 lives when he’s convincing himself he’s happy, or in down the stretch when Shawn says Gus needed a victory more than him at the moment. This poor guy spent so much of his life being told he would go far, that he could do anything, so when he didn’t, he felt like a failure. And I don’t think that was his parents fault necessarily, i think he put that pressure on himself, simply because it was expected. He was the gifted kid who burned out, and now he’s settled into something safe, reliable, and unfulfilling.
Then you have this chess match with Shawn and Henry and we see Shawn demonstrate his own genius. But the juxtaposition here is that shawns pressure was external. Shawn also had the potential to go far but that ultimately isn’t what he strives for. Shawn just wants to have a good, fun life. Probably because his dad sucked the fun out of everything (let the kid call the knight Dwight, jesus henry).
Sidenote: I’m obsessed with finding this blonde guy in the background now haha
#there shouldve been a certain level of guilt felt that they didn’t save him though :/#shawns mind is an enigma#because he is a genius but its like hes decided thats boring im here for good times and ice cream#and i love him for it#shawn semi predicting that if he grew his hair out long he’d look like a teen and then they gave james a long wig to play himself as a teen#psych#psych tv#psych usa#psych rewatch#shawn spencer#burton guster#shawn and gus#james roday rodriguez#james roday#dulé hill#dule hill#carlton lassiter#juliet o'hara#timothy omundson#maggie lawson
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Online & Anonymous 6/16
Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.
Odd year = Bradely's POV and Even year = Jake's POV
>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)
>>Jake chatting (italics)
2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010
2011 – Bradley
What he hadn’t anticipated, from taking Natasha through what he’d like her to do if anything ever happens to him, that she suddenly thinks he has something serious going on with Jas. He supposes telling her she needs to let someone know if something ever happens to him does make it sound serious, even if they’re… not? It’s definitely a line that they’ve crossed though, which seems weird, considering he doesn’t know what Jas looks like or what his name is, but it doesn’t make what he feels about him any less.
The idea of not being able to talk to him, of not hearing from him ever again, causes a clench in his gut and he knows he’s got emotions all tangled up in it and that when he realizes he loves him. Five years of talking with him online, having cybersex regularly, and it’s legitimately the longest sexual relationship he’s ever had. It’s the only relationship he’s ever had, weird as it might be and he suddenly wants to talk to him about it. Desperately.
>>I just realized that I love you.
>>Is that weird?
He doesn’t get a response for a few days and he tries not to overthink it. He knows Jas isn’t on leave, they’ve gone this long without chatting before, it doesn’t mean anything bad, he’s just deployed somewhere and he isn’t just ignoring him. He can tell the messages haven’t even been seen, but it doesn’t stop him sending a follow up message.
>>Sorry if I’ve made it weird.
He has to keep repeating it to himself, Jas is just busy. A reply finally comes nine days later, not the longest that’s gone between them by far, but it’s definitely up there in the last couple of years since they switched to using phones.
>>Dude. What part of me telling you before about the idea of you dying freaks me out.
>>I love you too.
>>But yeah, it is weird.
>>I don’t care if you don’t though.
>>I don’t care. At all.
>>Just sort of realized that even with all the hooking up, you’re the guy I keep coming back to.
>>Yeah?
>>Should I feel honored?
>>Maybe? Just don’t have any other relationships.
>>Not sure if you’d want to call what we do a relationship.
>>Not like it’s exclusive or anything.
>>So what? We’re young and we aren’t physically together. I don’t care.
>>I’ll call it a relationship if I want to.
>>The way you talk about being with other guys turns me on.
>>Same.
>>So are we going to share a photo of our face now or something?
>>We’re both still under DADT.
>>Yeah. Sucks.
>>But to be honest I kind of like the mystery.
>>Still? It’s been five years.
>> The novelty hasn’t worn off?
>>I don’t think anything about you could wear off.
>>Sweet talker.
>>When I want to be.
Bradley grins, because the playful back and forth is something he enjoys with Jas. He really does want to put a face to the name, to the body he’s come to appreciate so much, even if it’s only through the tiny screen of his phone.
>>One thing though. You find a guy you think you might want to give it a real shot with don’t let what we have hold you back.
>>I’d rather give us a shot first, before some random guy that just happens along.
>>I thought we were going to meet up soon?
>>Yeah, I guess we better start trying to figure that out huh?
>>I guess we better.
They work through their schedules, periods of deployment and there is only an eleven day period in November when they’re both on leave, and they currently don’t have plans for that leave to be in the same place, but it’s far enough away that Bradley’s already considering flights.
>>I’ll come to you. I’ll be the guy in uniform at the bar.
>>Along with everyone else if we pick a military bar. Which we won’t be doing.
>>How about we pick somewhere half-way? It’s not like we have family to visit.
>>Yeah, okay. So just throwing a dart at the map or what?
>>How about we consider just one of us travelling, keep the costs down?
>>You just said about meeting half way!
>>I’m just throwing ideas out at this stage.
>>I’m okay with either by the way.
>>November is only eight months away.
>>Holy shit.
>>God I’m excited to meet you.
>>Yeah, me too.
… … …
Of course, now that they’ve picked a date time seems to slow down to a snail’s pace. He and Natasha are lucky enough to currently be stationed in a squadron together, along with a handful of others he knows well enough to share a drink and a game of cards with. Working with them is easy. Easiest of the lot is Bambi, one of the other few female aviators who he and Natasha met in flight school. Like everyone she’d assumed he and Natasha were a couple; although she knows better now. She was one of the first of them to get her call sign, night landings not agreeing with her and her rough landing making a loud enough bang to rattle the jaws of the crew on deck. Bambam was already taken, so of course he’d suggested Bambi. He likes to think she’s forgiven him.
A short period of shore leave finds them sitting in a little restaurant, hours ticking down until they’ll have to back on the carrier and he just sits back and enjoys his coffee. Then the waiter comes over to see if there is anything else they might need and the look he gives Bradley is quite blatant in that he’d be interested and he can’t help but be flattered, the guy is very good looking.
“Jesus, do you flirt with every guy who looks at you sideways?” Bambi asks, her eyes following the waiter.
“Only the ones not in uniform,” Bradley murmurs quietly, eyes narrowing to remind her to keep it quiet; because he can’t be too careful, can’t assume there aren’t eyes and ears willing to report him. Bambi rolls her eyes and he hates that she doesn’t take it seriously.
“Really? For some reason I doubt that, you’re kind of… promiscuous.”
Bradley shrugs, because he doesn’t think he is, not compared to some of the guys. When he’s deployed he doesn’t usually fuck around, far too paranoid about being caught. His career is more important to him then getting laid. Even when he has taken the occasional risk it’s only been because the risk was very very low, given all the signs telling him the other person was risking just as much, if not more.
“I like sex. And it’s not like I can settle down with anyone. Can you imagine? DADT and me trying to bring my boyfriend into base housing? I’d be out on my ass before you could blink. Ink wouldn’t even have time to dry on my dishonorable discharge papers.”
“Wait, you have a boyfriend? Since when?”
He freezes, running his mind back over the words he just said.
“I, uh, I guess? I have someone.”
“He’s totally your boyfriend. You two talk almost every day,” Natasha says, and her voice is barely above a whisper, but she also looks bored with the whole conversation.
“Yeah, we do.”
“And they’re okay with you, just, sleeping with other people?”
“I… yeah. I mean. I haven’t since we talked about it. But, yeah. I tell them all about it. Plus we haven’t actually met yet.”
“Oh my god, you have an online boyfriend? How do you know he’s not an eighty-year-old man. Or a woman?”
“Because he sends me pictures pretty regularly. And he has a gorgeous body that doesn’t resemble that of an eighty-year-old man, or a woman.”
Both Natasha and Bambi suddenly seem interested and Bradley rolls his eyes.
“You’re both perverts.”
“You’re the one receiving them.”
Bradley guesses they have a point there, but also finds he really doesn’t care.
… … …
Of course there are rumors that he’s sleeping with both Natasha and Bambi, which they both think is hilarious, although he wishes they could maybe be less amused. They do both imply that they have slept with him, but are now nothing more than friends, which helps calm his uneasiness, until he hears one of the guys in the locker room make a comment about them using Bradley as their cover for their own relationship. He’s going to say something –
“You’re just jealous they don’t invite you to join them!” Machado calls out and Bradley’s head shoots around. He’s not had much to do Machado, he’s one of the younger guys. but he’s smiling that calm unbothered smile and he nods at Bradley and he nods back, wonders what the hell he thinks he’s actually doing with Natasha and Bambi. He gets his answer soon enough, Machado sidling up to him later that day in the mess hall.
“So, you say you’re only friends. They say the same. But if I ask her out would it be… a problem?”
“She really is just a friend. My best friend though. Which is maybe worse than being an ex of mine, because I love her like a sister and she’s pretty much the only family I have so… tread lightly but good luck. You’ll probably need it.”
“Okay. Thanks. I think.”
Bradley gives him a wink and slap on the arm, wonders if he should immediately go and find Bambi and Natasha to be able to gossip about someone else’s love life than his for once.
… … …
The envelope is waiting for him when he hits land, and he groans. He received enough of these now to know they’re new orders. He’s meant to have three weeks of leave right now, before his next deployment, but this could change things. He runs a finger under the flap, cursing under his breath when he gets a paper cut and he sucks on his finger as he reads it through, stomach sinking as he reads.
“Fuck. FUCK!”
“What’s wrong? They’re just new orders right?”
“I was going to meet Jas in November. And now I’m going to be in fucking Afghanistan,” Bradley swears, papers crumpling in his hand, scrubbing at his face with his other hand.
“Oh. Shit. Of course. I’m sorry…”
For the first time he wishes he could just call him and talk to him, tell him how sorry he is. One thing he is glad for, is that Jas will at least understand what it is to get new orders, will be used to the whims of the fucking military to just move people to wherever they’re needed. Plans for something in six months’ time are of course ones that would usually be easily rearranged, except when someone else’s plans also need to be taken into account.
>>I just got new orders.
>>I leave for a seven-month deployment next month.
>>June through January.
>>I am…
>>I’m so sorry.
>>Fuck.
>>AFG.
It’s a flurry of short messages, he’s not able to construct something longer, more coherent and heartfelt. It’s also the closest he’s come to telling Jas exactly where he will be, but unless he is deployed to the same area
>>Well shit.
>>That sucks.
>>Be safe.
>>Always.
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i am once again asking for a flayed!Steve fic you can take it however and wherever u want to I just wanna see some angsty :3
gonna do the aftermath from the first flayed!steve fic.
“pick up, pick up, pick up, fucking pick-“ “hello?”
“nancy! steve’s back, but he’s- he’s been flayed. he- he was trying to choke me tonight.” absentmindedly grazing your fingertips over your sore throat where you can feel the bruising starting to form.
there was shuffling on her end before her voice came through, “where are you?” “steve’s house. i was searching the woods and then i saw his car in the driveway and he opened the door… he seemed normal but also loss of memory.”
“okay i’m on my way. jona-“ and the line cut off. the strom was getting worse. the harrington house was cloaked in darkness, none of the lights working.
with slow, shakey legs you brought yourself back up the stairs and down the hall to steve’s open door. before you called nancy you made sure to seat steve on his desk chair and managed to find some duck tape and used the whole roll on his torso, wrist, and ankles. you couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.
he was still unconscious, you think. maybe he’s just playing his game, pretending to be one thing when he’s actually another. maybe he heard the call and is just waiting for the right time to-
“you sure are a vision.” steve’s voice but distorted broke the silence. your heart stopped beating and your blood went cold. eyes slowly dragging to his face, the dried blood matted some of his hair to his temple with two thin streaks sliding down his face to his chin. “no wonder he keeps worrying about you.
“let him go, you monster!” screaming at steve’s face. all it did was grin devilishly and chuckle demonically. “no, i quite like this one. planning to keep him even after his body decayed.”
“well we stopped you before and we’re doing again. you don’t get to keep our loved ones hostage.” wishing nancy could hurry up, maybe bring a gun with her. just for safety.
“oh but you won’t trust him the same if i leave. there will always be that sneaking suspicion that i’m just lurking around a dark corner…” he then ripped his binds free and lunged for you.
#erin writes#erin’s blurb requests#a 1k special#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington au#steve harrington fic#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington angst#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem!reader#flayed!steve harrington#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic
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My friend from Seattle Mike and I have this kind of spooky relationship where he reaches out with something for me after his prayer times. He’s a deeply spiritual person who helps vulnerable, marginalized people be well in their body, mind and spirit. He’s such a good guy. We aren’t close friends but it’s been happening for years, when I need to hear from Gcd the most, Mike shows up in my Facebook messenger. He even wrote about it in his book. It doesn’t happen with any of his other acquaintances. It even happened the night of my first mammogram and when I found out the tumor was bigger.
So when he let me know he was in town to give a talk to a group of people from a church, I decided to go. I haven’t been around Christians in years, pretty charismatic ones, I have a rocky relationship with that group and they always make me feel a little uncomfortable I’m not really a Christia, I don’t think I ever really was but there is some thing that deeply resonates about the Holy Spirit for me and always has since I was little. I just don’t understand all of the other stuff around it, so I stopped going to church because I just felt like I was using it and using all the people who build such a lifestyle and have such a commitment to it. I felt disingenuous and I’ve always felt super uncomfortable and organized religion as a result.
I was in Seattle Thur-Fri and decided to triple check the time of the gathering and realized it was Saturday morning, not evening – so I was able to change my flight to take a 6 AM flight home to make sure I could drive the hour for the 10am start. I got up at 3:45 AM to make sure I got to the airport so already a long day before I even got there.
I walk in and it’s this guy’s apartment and there’s maybe 15 or 20 people there. I don’t know anyone, they are mostly Chinese or Korean – obviously part of the very specific community, very Christian. I felt uncomfortable, but it was so great to see Mike, and people were generally nice. Some people had actually flown in from other places to hear Mike and I teased him for being kind of a big deal.
The pastor of the church was there and Mike ended up giving kind of a talk back-and-forth. I was immediately annoyed that the pastor talked so much and didn’t give Mike a chance to speak. It was an interesting topic - identity - and the question and answer time I talked a little bit about how I found it very easy to hide from myself in church culture – that I actually didn’t deal with my pain, it probably didn’t have anything to do with the people around me, but more about me wanting to hide and not having a commitment to change and to do that. Ultimately, I found Church mostly very lonely and i’d experience the most personal growth through my friends who were atheist. I was careful not to blame them, because I don’t think it’s their fault – it just wasn’t my place, it wasn’t my way.
The discussion then moved to a concept called soul ties – the person that you feel a connection to that is keeping you stuck in growth, the conversation that you constantly have in your head and always talk about. The groove you can’t get out of in your mind. So we broke up into small groups and talked about our soul ties and prayed for each other – I was a little uncomfortable, but was with the sweetest young man and an older woman who again, wouldn’t stop talking. She wasn’t vulnerable at all, she was exactly the type of person who did a lot of scolding about Harry Potter and witchcraft and blah blah blah. I was totally annoyed. When it was my turn, I talked about my soul tie I wanted freedom from and they prayed for me – and in the quiet the young man Leo said “Diane, I think God wants you to know that he trusts you.” I have no idea why, but that hit my heart so loudly and I burst into tears. I’m still processing why.
After lunch, there was a time for prayer. I dug in stubbornly and told myself that I’m not going to ask for prayer, that if I was meant for it, somehow it would come up in the room with all of these strangers. I had this picture of the paralyzed man from the Bible being dropped down by his friends, and even though those weren’t my friends, that was the only way I was going to be prayed for. There’s something about having cancer that you want to tell everybody and you don’t want to tell anybody all at the same but when you say it – it’s a real party stopper. It almost feels kind of manipulative to talk about it.
So the pastor asked, “who would like prayer?” and immediately this random guy said I just feel like we need to pray for Diane”. Remember, I don’t know any of these people they were total strangers – I looked at Mike and asked if he had said anything and he looked bewildered and said no. I absolutely burst into tears in the whole room to me and I told them what was going on – they gathered around me and prayed, and one of them said Diana’s like the paralyzed man that was lowered down to be prayed for- that actually happened.
I said all of it out loud how I feel like I’ve done this to myself, and I’ve hurt my friends and my family and a process. All that guilt and shame just poured out and the fear of being mostly alone during the treatments. I told them I was not going to ask for prayer but that I had the picture of being dropped down on the mat in that room. I think they were all freaked out as I was
Afterwards, I met two women from my area who could go to a local church. I grab their numbers. I’m still pretty suspect of Christians and their role in this world but I think two things can be true at the same time. Regardless, it was a remarkable experience, and between that and the peace of being in Seattle I’m as ready as I’m going to be.
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It’s wild how so many people are fundamentally incapable of recognizing queer characters unless they explicitly say the words, “I’m gay” on screen
#like season 1 and 2? sure maybe you can overlook Will’s queercoding and believe it’s just a result of the bully’s homophobia#season 3 is a huge stretch but it’s hypothetically possible to believe will is just a late-bloomer or asexual#but how on earth do you watch season 4 and still genuinely have no idea will is gay?#and this is not a rare occurrence#it’s astonishing how many people you have to literally explain the van scene to cause Will’s sexuality never crossed their mind#you didn’t see him staring longingly at his best friend the entire season?#some people’s minds are so aggressively heteronormative that they assumed will had a crush on el#and even after noah has explained that will is gay 50 million times#people still are confused and think it came out of nowhere or they quickly forget#somewhere there’s a fan who doesn’t keep up with stranger things news and doesn’t really use social media#a fan who is the exact opposite of chronically online#who hasn’t heard about NOAH coming out let alone Will’s sexuality#who will walk into season 5 and be utterly flabbergasted when Will comes out as gay (let alone when Byler happens)#and they’ll say that Will being gay is a huge plot twist they never saw coming#and they’ll be 100% sincere#and that’s truly baffling to me#do people think shows just randomly include melodramatic rain fights where ‘it’s not my fault you don’t like girls’ is said for no reason?#do people think the show went out of its way to show wills rejecting the attractive girl in his class cause they were in a silly goofy mood?#I genuinely wanna know what goes on through people’s heads when they have no gaydar or media literacy#even today there are people who still think romantic stobin should happen and think that Robin isn’t really a lesbian#will byers#byler
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