#but stuff still bothers me from time to time
Note
Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.
As A Dog
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader
Word Count: 7,085
Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.
Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.
I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!
Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.
He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.
Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.
"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.
He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.
"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"
She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.
He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.
That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.
The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.
His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.
"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.
Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.
"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.
"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.
The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.
"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.
"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.
His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.
"Leave him. He'll be fine."
"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.
"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.
"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.
She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.
"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.
"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.
"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.
"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."
That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.
Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.
True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.
What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.
When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.
It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.
It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.
The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.
"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."
"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.
"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"
He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.
"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.
The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.
She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.
When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.
For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.
By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.
But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...
And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.
She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.
"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.
He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.
"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.
He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.
"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."
When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.
She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.
"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.
Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.
"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"
He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.
A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.
There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.
Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.
She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.
When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.
Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..
He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.
"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.
Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.
"Prove it."
She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.
"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.
Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.
By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.
It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.
Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.
"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."
His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.
She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.
In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.
The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.
He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.
"Take that shit off."
Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.
"Suck me." he growled.
While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.
The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.
Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.
"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."
She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.
He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.
It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.
He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.
"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.
The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.
Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.
What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.
He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.
On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.
He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.
"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.
This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.
"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.
Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.
"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.
Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.
Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.
She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.
"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.
As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.
He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.
For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.
Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.
Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.
He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.
Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.
He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.
If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.
His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.
"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.
"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."
"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.
"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."
She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.
"Good girl." he murmured.
#cooper howard#the ghoul#cooper howard smut#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv show#fallout prime#ghoulcy#vaultghoul#submission
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Sunbathing
Before the outbreak there's a girl who keeps teasing Daryl.
Daryl's pov. Angry Daryl. Daryl and named OC. Kind of dirty.
18+ You're responsible for the content you consume.
First post nerves.
Of course she was here! She was everywhere he fuckin’ went. It was like she knew when he needed space and had some sick twisted need to devour what little time he carved out for himself. That stupid fuckin’ Mather's girly is just laying out by the river bank, arms beneath her head like she owns the whole god damned river and the sun is shining down on her over the tree tops like it agrees with her.
Picking up the fishing pole, Daryl's fist tightened around it, his face screwing up in anger makin’ his whole head hurt twice as much. He lets everyone walk all over him, but not anymore, not today. Especially not stupid Mercy who parades around in her dumb tiny shorts and ugly cut off shirts.
Taking the pole over to a shady spot he throws himself down, landing with a grunt. Digging through the little box of feathers he keeps in a tin till he finds a few small ones to tie on. If Mercy is watching him behind those dark glasses of hers he can't tell, not that he was lookin’ anyway. Not that he cares.
He cast the line, sticking the pole in the ground to light a cigarette and wait. She hasn't said a word and it's so unlike her that he thinks she has to be asleep. It's the only time she ain't asking him a million questions or trying to order him around. He stamps out the first butt and lights another. Takes him nearly all of the second one before he can hear the water trickling by beyond the anger pounding around in his head. Takes him even longer to realize his line has too much slack. The reel clicks quietly, a familiar lullaby that usually helps empty his head but not this time, not today.
Mercy still ain't talking. It's the longest they've ever been around each other without her at least sayin’ hi and now it's bothering him. He came out here for peace and now her silence is eating him alive. Not like bein’ around her does him any good. Never has, not even when they were kids. Just to try and take his mind off of her he starts reeling in the line, puffing on the smoke between his teeth but the harder he tries not to think about her the more he does.
That girl sighs and it draws his attention away from his half hearted attempt at fishing. She's still just layin’ there, knees now bent. Her shorts are digging into the upper parts of her thighs making little dips there that make his fingers itch to touch. She's just some annoying girl that he doesn't even like.
Then she moves again, rolling to her knees in the dirt, dead grass clinging to her back she's digging in a small cooler. Picking out some red white and blue ice pop she stuffs the wrapper inside before flopping back down on the ground. Still, not a single word out of her. She sick? High?
The more he looks at her painting her lips with the cherry end of the ice cream the more he's bothered by her silence because he can't help but see something else in his head. The way her tongue swipes across her bottom lip collecting the sticky sweetness there makes him tense in a way he shouldn't be around her but can't seem to help.
“Why ain't you sayin’ nothin’?” He asks. It just sort of bubbled up.
She takes her time answering sucking on the end of it making a soft lewd noise that makes his dick twitch. “Thought I talked too much Dixon?” there isn't even any anger in it. She's acting like she isn't even bothered by him being there watching her suck half the ice cream in to her mouth like she suckin’ cock.
“You do.” He drops the spent butt on the ground, his fishing pole forgotten.
She hums again around her snack, lips making a slurping noise around it like they do on titty channels that come on late at night. “Want me to ask you how you got that shiner?” She turns her head to look at him and if she notices him move his leg to hide his half chub she doesn't say.
Mercy runs a tongue along the underside of it catching drops of it before it can land on her tits and he's silently hoping she misses just one. Then his dick is coming alive thinking of her swearing the melted sugar water across them, swirling the red end over a nipple until it's rock hard. He don't need to be thinking about her like that but he can't look away.
She sits up holding in her mouth, cheeks hollowing around it and he swears she's doing it on purpose. No, she knows what she's doing and this–this tease is secretly eating up the attention. Mercy grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She isn't wearing a bra or even one of her bright colored biking tops, no, she isn't wearing anything at all now ‘cept them frayed shorts of hers.
“Put your shirt back on Mercy!”
She lickin on the end for a moment, watching him watch her. He can't not think about how her ice cream is smaller than his dick. “Stop actin’ all mad.” She drops her head back.
Stop actin’ mad? Stop actin’ mad! She's doing this to fuck with him cause he doesn't wanna talk to her. He can see it in the way she smiles at him before biting off the last of the cherry flavor. Knows it when she leans back on her elbows to push her tits out on full display. She does all this shit just to fuck with him and he can't even figure out why! She treats him like he's nothin’! Tryin’ to push all his god damned buttons! Fuck her and fuck this!
He has to readjust himself as subtly as he can just to stand up. Even being mad at her doesn't stop his cock from throbbing, doesn't stop the ache. Then he's mad all over again because this is Mercy he's thinking about. Bitchy, awful, needy Mercy who comes over and smokes pot with Merle. The same girl who laughs whenever his brother calls him some stupid girl's name. This same girl who tries to lay against him on the couch when Merle leaves to go get more beer because she's lonely.
He's shaking his head. “I ain't in the mood for your shit. ‘M goin’ home.” He hates her. Hates the pink strip of colored hair that falls over her shoulder. Hates the way his brain has already memorized the trail of blue melt that's dripping on the swell of her breast and racing for her dusky nipple.
“If you stay–” she shouts loud enough for him to hear. “I'll let you touch em'.”
He even hates himself at this moment because now his feet are planted in the ground. Needing a distraction he lights a cigarette he doesn't even smoke. “The fuck you think I wanna touch your tits for?”
Mercy shrugs. “You keep staring.”
He snorts a breath of air through his nose. None of it even means anything to her, she's just messing with him. Always messing with him and he was tired of being nice. “You're the one who whipped em’ out to get me to look. What did you expect?”
Her face twists up. “I'm sun bathing asshole! I was the one who was here first!”
“And you ain't pretending to give the world's shittiest blow job with that thing?” He takes a hit off his cigarette nodding to the sweet melting in her hand. Her face is turning red, the tips of her ears are burning in embarrassment. He's turned the tables on her, called her out on her little game and she can't take it. Some distant part of him feels an inkling of pride at that. Her lip curls and he's moving towards her one slow step at a time.
“I changed my mind. Get fucked!” She throws down her ice cream in the grass.
Letting out a soundless laugh he's next to her now. Daryl's looking down his nose at her, the blue melt finally falling off the tip of her breast. “You wanna suck cock? Here it is.” Then he's grabbing himself through his jeans.
He blames the fact that there's no blood left in his head for why he's acting like this. That he needs her good and pissed off and disgusted all so she'd quit trying to get on his nerves all the damn time. He wants her to hate him as much as he hates her. Only, she ain't pushing him away. No, she's licking her sticky lips as she looks up at him behind those big ugly glasses.
“What? Can't figure out how a belt works?” He asks her. He's goading her to yell at him, but she hasn't yet. He sticks the smoke in his lips bending down to grab her hand. He pushes her fingers against the buckle when he stands back up. “C'mon! You want it so bad you're going to have to take it out yourself.”
Mercy bites her bottom lip as she twists to sit on her knees in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest when she begins to tug on the strap and he nearly laughs. She was so desperate she was actually going to suck him off. She's silent for probably the second time in her whole life as she undoes his belt.
#daryl dixon#twd#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dix pov#daryl x oc#the walking dead#firstpost nerves#i'm working on it#kinda dirty#daryl pov#short
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A list of the specific chronic illness/disability-related things in Saiki K that resonate with me personally
(Your mileage may vary, my experiences are not universal, I recognize that some of this is kind of a reach etc etc)
The limiters
Saiki’s powers have grown too strong for him to control, and before the creation of his limiters they were out of control and causing a lot of damage. Some examples cited include accidentally destroying his house in his sleep and having telepathy that reached all over Japan (something I imagine was many many times more distressing [disabling] than his current situation) The limiters weaken his psychic powers and keep them somewhat in check. It’s not perfect, and he still does have problems, but the situation is much worse without them.
This reminds me of the medication I take to keep my immune system under control. Before I started it, my immune system (thanks to MS) was causing lots of issues for me: it took the vision in my left eye, made it difficult to walk and use my arm for a few months, caused horrible leg spasms, et cetera. My medicine helps keep things in check and hopefully prevents future damage... But nothing is perfect. Of course, it’s a monthly shot instead of silly pink balls on my head! So that's a plus 👍
The way he struggles to control his body after Nendo removed his limiter unexpectedly
After being hit with a shock to his system at the sports festival, Saiki struggles harder than usual to control his strength. We see him frustrated with this as he’s eating, his hand trembling as he holds his chopsticks. He tries to power through, but the issues don’t resolve.
I’m fortunate to usually be pretty functional most days (I do have my bad days though lol). However, when I go through significant stress - either mental or physical - it makes a lot of issues pop up that usually don’t bother me. Balance issues, vision stuff.. And hand tremors. Like, I was at a sushi restaurant after getting overheated at the pride festival last year struggling a lil with my chopsticks laughing at myself like “this is just like Saiki at the sports festival…”
Developing new powers unexpectedly
A major source of stress for Saiki is being unpleasantly surprised by a new psychic ability. In the series, we see this a few times. The most notable to me is the time leap ability. He wakes up having accidentally traveled 20 years in the past (soon after it is revealed that his limiter has a defective part). Afterward, we learn when he’s stuck in the time loops with Nendo and Kaido that this time leap ability has been coming back randomly since then “As unexpected and frequent as getting the hiccups”. He spends the entire chapter trying to get control over this ability so he can continue his day as planned. In another chapter, his limiter is malfunctioning and he develops a series of useless powers that he cannot control. Clearly, the limiters are preventing new powers from developing (see my first bullet point!!)
So, another thing about conditions such as mine is that you really can just wake up one day and have some weird symptom you’ve never heard of before! I remember not long after my first big attack I was at Walmart and I just noticed that my index finger was completely numb, and it stayed that way for weeks. One time, my upper lip twitched constantly for like a month straight. Of course, more than just the relatively silly symptoms can and do pop up like that, too. For example, I had these really scary, uncontrollable spasms on my left side (paroxysmal kinesigenic dyskinesia) that happened several times a day for about a week. For a LONG time afterward I would be terrified of them coming back. It's still in the back of my mind but I'm not losing sleep over it anymore at least. Reading those panels above re: the time leap stuff reminds me a lot of that time!
Neuroplasticity and the power remover device
When Kusuke is explaining how the power remover works, he talks about how the brain rewires itself around damaged areas to compensate. The device is designed to more completely destroy the areas of his brain responsible for the psychic abilities. Of course, the device ultimately did not work permanently. The damage it did to his brain was quickly compensated for, and the abilities returned.
When small areas of the brain are damaged (such as… due to a neurodegenerative autoimmune condition), over time the brain can often restructure to work around it. It doesn’t mean that those areas are healed, and the process is often incomplete, but that rewiring can (completely or partially) restore abilities and function that was lost in the damage. They don’t say that explicitly in the series, but that’s surely what is happening to Saiki in the final chapters! Except, you know, in a magical shonen manga way.
Resistance to the idea of needing help
After Saiki uses the power remover device, he loses his abilities and is suddenly much weaker and less capable than he was before. He was used to being extremely independent, but this change has brought him to a place where he cannot do everything on his own anymore. In the library, he struggles to get a book off the top shelf and in the process is reminded of his new limitations. He says to himself “What am I doing…!? Just get used to it already!” After the bookcase is tipped over onto him and Nendo protects him, Saiki is upset about having to be protected when he never needed it before: “I’m so useless now…” Nendo helps him realize that getting help from others is normal.
Helping each other out is one of the most fundamentally important parts of being human, but it can be hard to accept that support sometimes. This is especially the case when you’re thinking about the prospect of needing more help than you used to. I'm fortunate to be relatively unaffected most of the time so far, but I'm still grateful for when the people I love are understanding and don't make a big deal out of it. I hate the idea of being burdensome so I'm just gonna cross my fingers and hope things don't get worse lol
Conclusion: Saiki is just like me for real and I'm DEFINITELY not projecting my own problems into him at all...
we're ignoring the 20k word fic I wrote where I blatantly projected my problems onto him for seven chapters
thanks @justmagicalgirl for encouraging me last week to post this 👍
#this has been sitting in the drafts for almost a year so enjoy#been a little shy to post it because I've convinced myself that 'nobody asked' lol#saiki#saiki kusuo no psi nan#tdlosk#lmfaoo whooops I didn't mean to hit 'post' yet but i guess now is as good a time as any 😅
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I have been following you guys for awhile and have had so many fuck customers moments but last week I had the one that takes the cake because I thought I was about to die. I figured it was worth submitting.
For some backstory, I'm a graphic designer at a signs & awards shop. We do A LOT of different stuff for A LOT of different people/companies. (Including vehicle wraps, this is important for later.) I had been working with a set of customers (3 guys, also important) with a design for a while and they were being difficult. Nitpicking everything, wanting me to use copyrighted images, not understanding that I am not a magician and cant just poof exactly what they want into existence. I need TIME to do things and they aren't my only customers. They also don't have emails so all proofs were done by them coming into the shop.
So last Thursday I woke up with a terrible sore throat after going to bed feeling like garbage the night before. I'm super prone to strep throats so I scheduled an appointment at 8:30 am to get a test done. I could have scheduled earlier but I knew the customers were coming by at 8:00 am to see the designs and I wanted to be there.
I clock in at 7:45 am and have everything ready for them. By 8:20 am they have still not shown up and I can't wait any longer to head to my appointment. Thankfully I tested negative and when I got back to work by boss told me they were in at 9:30 and wanted to talk to me about the design and would come back by at 3:00 pm. I said cool and went about my day.
At 2:00 pm I get a call from my husband saying he was injured at work. He is a PE teacher at a school for kids with behavior issues so it's not unusual that he has an injury however this was a head injury and the on site nurse is going to take a look and make sure it doesn't need stitches and stops bleeding. Cause you know head wounds.
At 3:15 pm, my guys still haven't shown up. My husband is cleared as not needing anything immediately but is calling the company's workman's comp to get stuff sorted. He can't drive so he has a coworker drop him off at my job. He's chilling with me while I keep working and he takes care of the calls. Around 3:45 he realizes the head wound is still bleeding some and he needs to go to the walk in. I head out at 4:00 pm and my boss says he will take care of the guys if they bother to show up. My husband ended up needing two staples and is doing fine.
The next morning, I get to work around 7:45 am. There is a white truck, our company truck and a couple of my coworkers cars in the parking lot. Because we do a lot of vehicle wraps its not unusual for there to be vehicles dropped off overnight so I think nothing of the white truck. But as I am approaching the door and pulling my keys out I hear some doors slam and a male voice say "Not getting away from us this time!"
Guys, I thought I was about to die! Who says that to a woman alone in a parking lot? I spin around prepared to chuck my coffee and run when I realize it's the customers. I glare at them before turning back around and heading in the door. After I clocked in I had my boss wait on them. I also handed the order off to one of my male coworkers because I am not messing with them anymore. You can't blame me for not being there when you consistently miss appointments and then scare the shit out of me before I am even clocked in.
Posted by admin Rodney
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The guideline to all of the most interesting posts on Doll.
Howdy! I've decided to create this catalogue of Doll's centered content to allow all of the character's fans to reliably find interesting discussions regarding her depth, psychology, role in the story, insights, free time, head canons etc....
As well as various shout-outs to my favourite content creators on this side of the community! (Note for said content creators: if I've inconvenienced you, or made you feel uncomfortable by citing your names on this map, just make me aware in the comments and I won't bother you ever again, as well as erase your names and material from this post)
A quick introduction (skip this part if you are here just for the list)
The reason why I wanted to make this, aside from having a reliable way to look up all of my work, is for the same reason why I started to write articles on Tumblr; you see, I've actually been part of the Murder Drones fandom ever since episode 6 dropped, and Doll quickly rised above the others and became my favourite character of the show.
So naturally, I started to search for some analyses done on my fave, I searched and searched and searched...... and just couldn't find any, aside from one quick @scottmemelordstrashpile (general and usually justified Murder Drones critic, not really focused on a singular aspect of the show) defense comment on a post that God only knows what it was about and where it went.
I kept looking at the specific tag over and over for more than a year, and eventually, I got fed up and wanted to leave the community, especially after reading this YouTube comment:
... Yikes. Luckily for me, I've eventually found out about @melissa-titanium , which finally satisfied my need for someone who shares my passion for the russian worker. She had a pretty good view on her character, which came in handy for me, since, despite me loving Doll intensely, I could never quite put my finger on exactly why and was afraid that it was just her cool presentation and that she was actually a shallow character.
Yet I still wanted more, and asked for more. And then, someone instilled an idea in me: to be the one who provides for more. So, I started planning how I wanted this to go, and came up with a couple of ideas....
Then Episode 7 dropped, and..... yeah. It's definitely the most mind bending episode of Murder Drones to date.
After her death, it felt like Doll really exploded in the tag discourse, not as much as the rest of the episode, but Doll was finally treated as someone (past) important.
At least to me; if I joined the fandom at the height of episode 3, I can only imagine that she was more of the talk of the town than my first impressions were.
But now, with all the useless stuff out of the way, here's what I've managed to gather across my research. Feel free to suggest more interesting things and I'll add them to the list.
All that is mine:
The early days
Asks for Doll's defense
Doll is Wakfu's NOX?!?
Masochism
The fun stuff
Failure girl guide
Nori x Yeva against Uzi x Doll
The Murder Drones RPG
Doll's resurrection: pros and cons
The doorman and the russian
Khan and Doll's scene appreciation
The serious analyses
The russian worker drones tragedy
The show's flaws represented through Doll
Different views on her death
Ship parallels
V and Doll; trauma, mental disorder, and low empathy
My masterpiece
The most important piece of Murder Drones content ever made.
And now, with all of my stuff out of the way, it's time to talk about
The big two.
@melissa-titanium and @dreamii-krybaby are the two biggest blogs to go to if you want interesting takes on Doll and her supporting cast; in particular, Mel and Dreamii are almost singlehandedly responsible for the popularization of the Noll ship and the character of Yeva respectively, as well as partially clearing up some of the misconceptions present in the community regarding certain aspects of the show.
Mel is someone who follows his passions whenever they take him, that currently includes Mob Psycho, Dungeon Menshi, and Dragons if you are interested. He has a very charming writing style and is always happy when people send or tag him into any Doll related post.
Dreamii is someone with a very balanced view of the show and its elements, she is not afraid to criticise the aspects that she likes, and she has a love/hate relationship with Doll, unlike the one that she has with her parents.
Stuff from @melissa-titanium (mainly a N x Doll blog)
Introducing Noll
Happy smile
Insides spilling out
They also have a dedicated Discord server, but I don't think I'm allowed to share the link, so just go to their page and you'll find it there.
Stuff from @dreamii-krybaby (mainly a russian roulette blog)
Family theme
The point of her death
Doll's father
Others
Here, in no specific order, I've put the names of other content creators and some of their work.
Stuff from @rad10active-ketchup (artist with a particular taste for Rebecca)
Too sudden
Stuff from @eveledoze (great artist)
Platonic Doolzi
Stuff from @nyaifyz (they describe themselves better than I ever could)
Doll's pain
Stuff from @yakkuo13 (another artist and Doll fan)
Trying to cope
Stuff from @hjansetv (artist)
Short hair Doll
Stuff from @txttabloid
Uzi's foil
Stuff from @sparklesnake23
A cry in the void
Shout-out to Tirkras, who's not among us anymore :'(
I hope it's just a mistake and they come back.
Look up @scottmemelordstrashpile for various MD related things.
@cmicy has been posting Doll's drawings everyday in anticipation of episode 8.
@biscu1ts made this beautiful gallery .
The @crimson-solver is a new Doll RP blog that answers questions through the russian cannibal's mouth.
@thecoolersolver and her alt @russian-with-a-button is also a big Doll enjoyer, they like to get into arguments with @cyn-bot , a Cyn RP blog. Since I'm talking about them, I might as well credit @lizard12323 , @desgn8n-n , @rebecca-babe , @kittydragondraws , @serial-designation-v , @serial-desigation-vee , @serial-designation-en , @scaredk1tty , @electronix-arts , @blahash , @uzibrainrot and @the-iron-general .
🇬🇧 If you are Italian, check out @zarit-not-here , so that we can start to build our side of the community together.
🇮🇹 Se siete Italiani, cercate per @zarit-not-here , così che possiamo iniziare a costruire il nostro lato della comunità insieme.
@solarspinel has made... This thing which I don't know what to tell you about.
Here's a cool post by @lesslie-sass .
Appreciation (this post was originally made by @zehecatl , but I couldn't find the original so I used the Dreamii reblog, sorry anon).
@md-confessions is a user centric blog where people leave their confessions regarding various aspects of the show.
User @miuleen made this little piece of angst over here, which just so happens to go in conjunction pretty well with this analysis over here by @sisterpaw125 .
@robotthing is a troll.
I hate the argument that Murder Drones is kind of sexist , but I won't deny the fact that it's an interesting read.
And finally, last but not least:
A brief moment of appreciation for @dragons-hoard-of-fandoms . They don't create anything really, but their sheer dedication to reblog every single piece of Murder Drones Tumblr everywhere at any given time had to finally be congratulated.
#murder drones doll#uzi doorman#serial designation n#md yeva#md confessions#rebecca from murder drones#md nori#khan murder drones#serial designation v murder drones#russian roulette#murder drones cyn#rp blog#murder drones art#doll fanart#character analysis#essay#md fanart#md fandom#italiano#angst#murder drones spoilers#murder drones episode 7#wakfu nox#theory#mob psycho 100#dungeon meshi#murder drones doll's dad#dragons#appreciation post#murder drones episode 8
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Am I the asshole for being really uncomfortable when my friends cuss a lot and talk in a vulgar way in small family restaurants with little kids around, and stepping outside to wait for them to finish talking?
🗣️🍔
So basically I have a couple of really good friends that my husband and I go out to eat with who swear a lot. I cuss too, just... Not in front of kids I don't know in public places! Last week we went to a dessert place with families with young kids and while we were talking and eating, they were just... Swearing a lot. Motherfucker, racial slurs (slurs they can reclaim, but still), all of it. I quietly brought up several times "hey, there's kids here" because they were being kinda loud and I 1) was embarrassed 2) didn't want to get kicked out of the restaurant for making other guests uncomfortable or something. It's something I'm kinda anxious about I guess. When they didn't stop I excused myself and just waited outside, because by that time we were done eating and just talking.
It happened again today at a different place, but the difference is was this was a place where I know my coworkers eat, and we work with kids at my job. So again, I asked quietly and politely if they could not cuss in front of all these kids at 3 in the afternoon and they just ignored me. Several times. Eventually I stood up and my husband frowned and asked where I was going, and I explained (again, in a low voice because making a scene is the opposite of what I'm trying to do) that they keep cussing loud enough for these small kids to hear and it's bothering me so I'm gonna step outside. He got irritated with me and asked since when I started caring about that. I always have, he's just not been paying attention. So I sat outside with my drink and waited for them to finish talking, since we were done eating, again.
Of course, in public places kids are going to hear cussing and stuff, its on TV and whatever their parents are letting them watch unsupervised on their iPads, but I feel like it's still common courtesy to not cuss so loudly in a pastel colored family restaurant in the middle of the day where a family could reasonably expect a peaceful meal, right? Like, if I were in a parents shoes I'd be irritated at these weird yahoos in the corner, right. So AITA for removing myself from an uncomfortable situation?
#aita#am i the asshole#reminder to ask ONE question in your submission#we will be answering the one at the end because the header question is about emotions
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It's a thing I already knew but all your beautiful analysis really made obvious (to me) how much of a grudge holder vale is. That man is never letting it go he's gonna hold his grudges into his grave
you know, I do think this is an interesting issue, because I'm not sure this is true of all his grudges. just sticking here with the grudges he accumulated in his capacity as a competitor, rather than just his general approach to life or whatever... how you judge this will kinda depend on how you feel about the 'reconciliation' he's experienced with some of his rivals - and whether you read the whole thing as sincere or not. now, personally I reckon he still dislikes biaggi, but also you are allowed to just dislike people so I'll give him a pass for that. some of the others, I'm a little more convinced by the whole reconciliation schtick
let's get valentino's take:
interesting that he mentions those three together, isn't it? and like, he's still not messaging biaggi or inviting him to his home - "even with max" kind of tells you all you need to know - but the other two? they said some proper nasty things to each other over the years!! I mean, the casey rivalry, there's some remarks from both sides where quite frankly I think I would struggle just a touch to get over it
I don't know, obviously this could all be pr stuff, but I kind of feel like... y'know, why bother? it's 2022, you're retired, who gives a fuck? sure it's a good look to be all magnanimous, sure it can be a bit of a way of twisting in the knife to the guys left in the cold, but also, who would care if you don't play nice? I think especially with jorge, you surely don't need to do all that, inviting him to your home and dancing with him... (which, again, some of the spats those two had...) and with the casey rivalry, if there's one guy who's still hung up about what happened between the pair of them, it's obviously casey (speaking of blokes who can hold a grudge). maybe this is giving valentino too much credit, but personally I buy it's more or less sincere. there's nothing to really indicate he's still particularly bothered by any of their past disagreements - he's basically going for the 'all's fair in love and motorcycle racing' approach. he knows he was an asshole, he accepts they were assholes too, whatever, that's how these things work. he's generally a fan of drama in rivalries, unsurprisingly, and he was happy enough to contribute his fair share - but he does see it as fundamentally being part of the game
to point out the obvious, check out who he's left out: sete and marc. that's where he can't let go of the grudges... because it's not about the offence itself as much as it is about the betrayal. this is the thing with valentino, right, it's about what kind of bond you had with him. if you weren't his friend in the first place and then piss him off as a rival then, y'know, whatever. obviously he's going to be vicious in trying to get back at you, but also he's really not going to waste his time feeling too aggrieved by it. I mean, think about how all the bullshit between him and casey dropped off sharply post-2012... from valentino's end anyway. think about how jorge and valentino pretty quickly got on again whenever they weren't fighting for supremacy within yamaha. they weren't friends in the first place, then they were enemies for competitive reasons for a while there, then it's over and valentino is basically happy enough to call it bygones
but... if it's a certain kind of bond you had with him and then you wrong him... that little mental list of all his past grievances, all your past transgressions, that's where it comes in. that's where he ices you out. denies you any emotional warmth. ensures that any interaction going forward is conducted entirely on his terms. where even any public 'reconciliation' won't truly be sincere.... or, certainly he's not going to forget what happened. if something else happens... it's like you've always got the potential of triggering this lingering resentment, in a way, where all that past stuff is still primed and ready to be called upon. he certainly doesn't just let it go
or, as he puts it in his autobiography:
Biaggi and I never talk to each other. I mean, we've never had a real conversation, anything that's lasted more than the requisite time to insult each other or put each other down, in the nastiest way possible. In any case, I don't hate him. It's true, we've never been friends, but hatred is something different, and that's too serious a word to describe our relationship. Far too serious. No, we have a reciprocal antipathy. No doubt this is a result of what we do for a living and the fact that we both want to win every single time. And perhaps it's also a function of the fact that we have very different personalities and very different ways of seeing things. Still, I don't think this means we hate each other, as some journalists have written. I think I could feel hatred for someone, but only for someone far worse than anything Biaggi has done. For example, if I were betrayed by a friend, then, yes, I could hate him.
But Biaggi will never betray my friendship for the simple reason that we are not, and never have been, friends. Our relationship is very clear: we compete on the track - outside the track, each goes his own way. You could say we detest each other cordially.
... I mean. he said it, not me. and given this book was first published in '05... biaggi can't betray his friendship because they were never friends... I'm not saying he's thinking about sete, but it has to at least be a possibility, right? he's talking about one rivalry here and refusing to even mention the other... and the one he's refusing to mention is the one where he was friends with the other bloke. I don't know, maybe that's reading too much into it! and anyway, even if this passage wasn't really about sete, it's obviously still revealing. "detest each other cordially" is essentially what he was doing with casey and jorge (or from his point of view in any case, not entirely sure they'd agree with that). the grudge comes when he feels let down by you... and then, yes, he'll never let it go
of course, he's willing to set aside his grievances for a while if there's sufficient motivation for him to do so. in 2009, when he had so definitively won that rivalry with sete, why bother kicking up a fuss? in 2016, quite frankly it was just too much, and it was getting to the point where it was obviously hurting him too. on the one hand there was the media furore that had been going on non-stop since sepang, on the other hand it was also hurting his own approach to racing. there's reports from the time how visibly aggrieved he still was in the first few races of the season, and it took until they got back to europe for him to... y'know, have fun again. it's not sustainable to be walking around with a constant dark cloud over your head and broadcasting burning resentment towards your two main rivals. certainly not for someone like valentino - he needs to be having fun! the slight rapprochement needed to happen, in a way, because otherwise those years would have been even worse for everyone involved. but that doesn't actually translate to forgetting any of those grudges. this is about convenience more than anything else
goes to show, really... most of the time he doesn't take these things personally. I talked about it a bit in this post, how maybe it's also something that changed over time for him: the question of whether he was willing to develop these kinds of bonds in the first place with competitors... because he does possess a certain level of self-awareness in terms of what these kinds of rivalries are like and what they do to interpersonal relationships. ideally, you don't want to be hurt by a friend like that, right? better not to have that kind of emotional attachment with your competitors in the first place. how unfortunate it'd be if all those years after sete the circumstances aligned for him to see a competitor as something like a friend again... because, after all, those are the only people who could betray him. those are the only people where he thinks he could truly hate them
#this response kinda got away from me a little bit but I wrestled it to a stop before it really went on a tangent#we were this close to a sepang 2016 sidebar#anyway listen I restricted this to how he conducts himself *in competition* for a reason so y'know. I do think it's a difference#ugh this is tied very closely to another post in my drafts that ideally I'd link to but one of these has to be posted first so#anitalianfrie#valentino rossi#rosquez#kinda maybe#//#4693#sg15#i do frequently think about casey messaging valentino about his daughter btw....... kills me a little#but also again when I get to the casey thesis this is like a big pillar of it - this slight disconnect within casey#he was still slagging off valentino the rider on a 4hr podcast like a year after he's sending him a bunch of messages about his daughter#he's still slagging off valentino THIS YEAR. they're very funny to me. I can buy valentino can separate these things out#but casey? very interesting of him#I think it's actually kinda notable how little valentino has relitigated past grievances post retirement when compared to his rivals#With One Notable Exception. I do feel like at a certain point of fame and success you should try and be above this kind of thing#but I mean there is a universe where valentino is calling casey weak for laguna or whatever in 2024
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Hey, I'm not sure if your taking requests at the moment but if you are could you write a billie eilish fic, fem reader who struggles with ocd. I know everyone who had this, experiences this completely differently. For myself I'm constantly paranoid about germs and someone breaking into my house. I'm constantly checking if doors and windows are locked and hiding spots in my room where someone could hide just to feel safe, and making sure my room is clean 24/7 which gives me a bit of stability. I wash my hands alot, I hate touching door handles so I always pull my sleeve up to cover my hands. To make myself feel more safe, I tap an abject made from wood 4 times. I know that sounds stupid but in my mind that's the only thing keeping me safe. I just need some billie fluff, she reassures us that we are safe.
Thank you so much ❤️
as long as i’m here, no one can hurt you
relationship: billie eilish x female reader
warnings: panic attack, fluff, comfort, ocd
word count: 1816
summary: as a kid you’ve always dealed with ocd. one night when you come home from date night with billie, something’s seem off.
a/n: i’m not exactly familiar with ocd, but my roommate has it so she helped me write this! i based it off the things mentioned in the request and stuff my roommate went through. part of this story really happened in real life, and her (my rommie’s) boyfriend was there with her. shout out to my love lucija 🫶
ever since you were a kid, small details bugged you. whether it was someone not washing their hands after they come in the house, or jumping on the bed with their shoes, or even not double checking the lock, there was always something that bothered you. something that you just had to double check. when you were with your friends, it never affected them, really. but when it comes to relationships, where you share a house with them, you had to be extra cautious to fulfill your desires. you had to not double check, but triple check the locks, you had to make sure your partner was clean of germs, you had to make sure everything was in place for you to continue your day care free.
so when you started your relationship with billie, you warned her about your habits, and how sometimes you can be a bit overprotective. it was nothing too serious though! you were just looking after her anyways! billie totally understood, as she went through some mental issues before too. every time there was a reason to panic, billie would soothe you and make you feel okay.
it was day like any other. after days of planning, billie could get a day off to spend it with you. because of this, you guys decided to go to a restaurant, a restaurant that wasn’t too crowded because of billie’s status. it had been a very successful night, you and your girlfriend were having fun and you both were enjoying yourselfs as you eased into the conversation. you guys ate well, paid and got out of the restaurant. chatting towards the car, billie got the door for you before going behind her car to hop in. you were roaming through the glovebox looking for sanitizer, and when you found it you applied it all the way up to your wrist, rubbing it in thoroughly. then you turned towards billie, who was settling in to the car and offered her some, which she took. she knew now that you would have trouble holding her hand before knowing she’s free of germs.
the ride home wasn’t quiet, and you had a nice conversation. both of you were laughing after a night out; yet you were tired just wishing for a night where you could cuddle and fall asleep in each others arms. the car slowed down as you arrived into the driveway. you grabbed your stuff before opening the door and getting out of the black car. billie went beside you and held your hand as you walked towards the door. billie pulled out her key, and while both of you stud there by each others side (billie still trying to unlock the door), you let your head fall to her shoulder. billie pushed opened the door, and before you went in billie got up on her tiptoes leaving you a small peck on your forehead. you were immediately filled with love from her small acts like this, only making you blush. she pulled you in by your hand, and into house. she let go, walking in to take off her shoes before slipping into her soft slippers.
meanwhile, you also got off your shoes as you looked around. that’s not right, one of billie’s coats was on the floor instead of the coat hanger. it was summer, there was no reason to go out with a coat, so she couldn’t have tried it on. also she went out with a crop top. that wouldn’t fit her. you looked around to see if there was anything else. usually, your keys (which had a long string attached to them) were on top of the shoe cabinet, in a small bowl where other misc items where places. yet they seemed to be on the edge of the table and not the bowl. something was out of the ordinary. you looked through the door into the living room, where billie leaned onto the edge of the couch, texted someone. the bookcase wasn’t in order, and random books where placed on the floor in a stack.
something was seriously wrong. nothing was like how you left it. maybe it’s just a coincidence, you thought to yourself. “billie?” you yelled into the living room as you placed your shoes into their corner. “yeah babe?” she responded, looking up from her phone and to the left towards you. “did you check out some books before we left, possibly?” you said, as you placed both of your hands on your waist. billie looked towards the small bookcase, mostly filled with law books. “mhh, nope. why whats up?” she said turning back to you. you stared into the books in despair. “did your mom and dad come over to drop something off today? maybe when we were out?” you inquired. billie didn’t quite pick up on what you were in about. “no. they would have told
me. hey, y/n is everything okay?” she asked, tilting her head to the side a bit. “yeah. just wondering something.” you replied. you got out of the living room and went to the hall. you started walking towards the bathroom.
on the way there, you picked up the plastic bat billie had from an old photoshoot. you had convinced yourself that someone had broke into your house while you were away. you couldn’t comprehend how you could let such a thing, even after making sure everything is locked and closed. you took small steps, bat it hand. with tiny steps and a sharp turn you flicked on the bathroom light, making everything visible, everything but an intruder. you glanced around the room once more before exiting, not forgetting to close the light.
you made your way down the hall to the guest bedroom that was on the right of your study. turning on the light, your eyes searched the room for anything out of the ordinary to find nothing. you checked once more, around the blind spots and such. you held the plastic bat up high as you entered your study, the light was left on which was something you always check before you leave. something was definitely wrong and you had just proven it. the law book on the desk was opened. you entered deep into the room to see which page was on. the page was an old subject, you hadn’t studied since last semester.
still staring at the room you walked backwards. you held your bat up high, ready to hit whatever came you way. you slowly backed out of the room, until… “babe.” hearing the familiar voice, you quickly turned in fright. your acts were cut off as you met billie’s well known ocean blue eyes. you looked around you. putting the bat down, you let it clank against the ground. you make long lasting eye contact with each other. billie stood still watching your acts. she seemed calmed. your eyes flashed between the hall and her.
this felt too much. had you got something wrong. you felt fear. you felt your hands start to shake and your chest started tightening. you started panicking with the thought of putting your girlfriend at risk. you looked around the room in worry. all of this was probably visible. “babe?” billie asked you, her two hands went up to your arms, holding them. you felt her warmth as you hyperventilated. this happened from time to time, billie knew how to treat it. “baby?” she said a bit louder now. her hand went up to your cheek, lightly tapping it to get your attention. “hey… breathe with me y/n” she said, still looking up to you, into your eyes. but you were too busy making messed up scenarios. you finally looked back at billie when you felt her light touch on your arm, the rubbing motion got you out of your mind.
billie started gesturing at you to breathe accordingly. with her hand, she signaled where to inhale and exhale, as she did the exercise with you. you slightly calmed down with each passing moment. only to realize the panic you must’ve put your dear girlfriend in. everything was a bit too overwhelming at that moment. you knew that billie would be scared for you. it was the last thing on your list to make billie upset. you felt a tear run down your face, as billie cupped your cheeks with both hands.
“y/n…” she said, caressing your cheeks. your hands started shaking once more.
you broke down right there in her very arms. tears streamed down your face as you sniffed your nose in between. she held you, making you feel safer with small phrases such as “i’m here with you” or “you’re safe with me” or “nothings out of order”. everything she said made you feel a bit better in recovery from that moment earlier. she drew shapes on your back with her fingertips, the was she knew you like it.
“baby… you know nothing could have happened. we’re safe here. as long as i’m here, no one can hurt you.” she said running her hands through your hair. “it’s such and unlikely thing to happen. you don’t have to freak out. i know it’s hard for you, but just trust me you’ll be fine.” she says. you let your head out of her shoulder. still, you hic in between your sniffs. you stare deep into her eyes as she gives you a warm smile. you once again bury yourself into her shoulder, continuing crying. “y/n it really is okay. all of those things have explanations.” she says, reassuring you once more.
“i’m sorry” you murmur into her shoulder. she pulls you by your head and pulls you into a short kiss. “it’s okay, mama.” she says, smiling at you. she reaches both of her hands on your cheeks to wipe away your tears with her thumbs. “you don’t need to apologize. you did nothing wrong.” she continues. you smile back, cheeks burning as you feel how red it could be right now. you place your forehead on hers, closing your eyes. she pulls you in for a small peck.
later that they while you’re in bed, reading your book, billie comes in the room and leans against the doorframe. “hey babe, wanna try these fruit that finneas and claudia left by earlier? theyre something called starfruit or like carambola or something.” she says holding plastic bag. “i’ve never heard of them but they are amazing. living for them right now.” she continues. “oh they stopped by? why didn’t they come in?” you asked billie. billie turned to face the plastic bag. “oh, they left them while we were out. you know how finneas has a spare key?” she said as moment of realization hit both of you. “oh you’ve gotta be shitting me.” you say as billie starts to laugh.
#billie eilish#billie eilish fluff#billie eilish smut#fanfic#spotify#hit me hard and soft#hmhas#don’t smile at me#dont smile at me#wwafawdwg#when we all fall asleep where do we go#happier than ever#hte#ilomilo#male fantasy#wildflower#billie eilish x y/n#billie eilish x reader#billie eilish x you#billie eilish x fem!reader
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Hello again, Arkaix! 👋 I was just wondering to ask - and I hope it’s not too much of a bother - if you by chance had any tips on drawing hands? Hope this sentiment doesn’t come off as odd or anything, but I have been personally using artworks like yours as references/inspiration more often when it comes to hand stylization as I draw more and find a better flow in improvement. I typically study yours because I really like the way you (seemingly from what I’ve observed) are able to keep things very well-flowing with each other but also relatively simple but still convincing in a cool shaped and cartoony way, everything usually seems to fit into each other near-perfectly due to the simplicity and flow of the direction of the fingers and hand posture
(Hoping these little scribble-annotation-things make better sense at what I’m getting at, heheheh)
I was just wondering if you had any tips on how to practice hand stylization such as this? Like especially the way they look so different from: different angles but typically make sense and flow well. With my personal art/art style I’ve been trying to get at the more “expressiveness and shape language work wonders” approach at things as I always admire those types of cartoons, and your drawings always seem to be very expressive in the way they’re posed. Apologies if this ask feels like a lot or a big ask or something like that, just curious if you had any personal insight on this type of stuff.
Thank you for reading my little cartoon-and-animation-nerd ramble/study/ask lmao, hope whatever your time of day is is going well/goes well in the near future!! 🫰
Aaaaa sorry I saw your ask only now w(ﾟДﾟ)w
Ok first of all, I'm honored that someone got inspired by my drawings, akkdjrjdkehdjejw *giggling* but if you really want to learn how to synthesize the beauty of hand gestures I've got two words for you:
Milt Kahl.
That man is a legend and a big inspiration for me. Whenever I feel lost I go back to study how he stylizes hands in the films he worked on. Just look up: "Milt Kahl hands" on google and you'll find his works (here's an example⬇️)
I'm still learning, but I usually try to remember these things in particular when drawing hands:
I encage the fingers in an outline to see if I like the general shape
I follow arcs
sometimes I group the 3, 4 and 5th fingers together and let the index finger take the lead
I try to take a photo of my own hands in the required position to study it
Hope this sketch helps ⬆️
Also ✨✨here's a video that explains really in depth how to study hands ✨✨
You're already doing a good job by focusing on Shape and Flow like you said. I hope this can help (o゜▽゜)o☆
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Special Delivery
Based on this very patient nonnie’s requests: “I was thinking about Steven Grant x male reader. Like something very and super fluff with him, cause I love him so much and I love fluff stuff with him”
Original asks here, here , and here - tysm nonnie!
Summary: You're making a delivery to the museum's gift shop and the cutest gift shop clerk has to sign for it (It's Steven, of course)
Pairing: Steven Grant x m!reader
Word Count: 724
Content: fluff, flirting, meet cute, not beta'd
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
“Stevie, if I have to ask you one more time to answer the back door bell, I swear I’ll take the shipping fare out of your paycheck.”
Steven’s entire body tenses as his supervisor’s grating voice echoes across the museum gift shop.
“Right. On it, boss,” he amicably musters with a cheesy mock salute, grumbling a curse under his breath as he shuffles off the sales floor, through the swinging door marked “Employees Only”. Rummaging around for his keys, he groans as the bell rings again, signaling what’s likely to be an impatient and possibly rude delivery person.
“Just a moment,” he sighs, checking each and every pocket for his keys, hopelessly tossing his dark curls out of his eyes as he finally produces his keyring. “Could’ve sworn I left those in my jacket,” he murmurs, attempting to remember the past twenty-four hours, vaguely realizing he could not, in fact, remember much at all.
Then the bell trills again - insistently. One, two, three times in a row.
“All right, hold your bloody horses…” Steven trails off, yanking the door open, eyes going wide at the sight of you.
Dressed smartly in your delivery uniform, you chomp on your gum, reaching up to cheekily tip your cap to the flustered gift shop clerk.
“Doorbell broken?” You casually ask, popping your gum. “Must’ve rung half a dozen times.”
“So sorry,” Steven rushes to apologize. “Bit of trouble finding my keys. Come right in.”
You chuckle warmly, rather than condescendingly, as the shorter (and very cute) man reaches for a box to help you unload.
“You know, they pay me to do that, mate.” The corner of your mouth curls as his bright brown eyes go wide.
“Oh god, sorry. Wouldn’t want to break anything.” Steven almost jumps back, pulling his hands closely to his chest - a gesture so adorable your heart trips over itself. “Just wanted to help, is all,” he adds.
“Appreciate it,” you sincerely reply, but…noticing the rosy hue creeping across his cheeks, you chance a wink, nodding down at his name tag. “Steven.”
“With a V,” he chuckles, a bit flustered. “Steven with a V. That’s me.”
“I see that,” you smirk, pointing, once again to his name tag. “Can’t really make deliveries if I can’t read now, can I?”
The thing is - everyone calls Steven the wrong name. Everyone. Stevie, Scotty, ‘hey you!’ The fact that you read his name tag and winked... Maybe you winked?
Steven probably imagined that. "Right, em, guess I'll get out of your way then." He makes a circular motion with his hand. "Sure you have a whole system going. Sorry to bother."
"No bother," you shake your head, expertly offloading a huge palate of shipment with astonishing ease.
Steven wets his lips at the way your uniform shirt fits your arms and chest. "Must be new here..." He finds himself murmuring.
"What's that?" You pause, slinging your arm over your dolly full of boxes.
"Oh, em, haven't seen you 'round. Must be new," Steven repeats, snapping out of his distracted stare. Returning the favor, he reads your name from your uniform shirt tag.
"New route," you explain, pivoting the dolly up with your foot, ready to move it again, but you pause - eyes raking over Steven's adorably hunched body. A mess of dark curls, and purple circles under eyes with secrets and stories to tell. Hands with long, lovely fingers drawn carefully to his chest. Still...he's handsome. And kind.
To most people, you're invisible. But Steven's noticed you. "Gotta say. I like the view." With another well-timed wink, you chomp your gum and carry on with your task.
Once you finish, you have the gift shoppist electronically sign your tablet. "I will see you later, Steven with a V." You smile warmly.
"Every Monday and Thursday!" He exuberantly quotes the delivery schedule to you, as if you aren't aware.
"All right. Thursday then." Pulling your work glove off your hand, you take a chance, crossing over the line of professionalism. "Nice to meet you...Steven." You extend your hand for a shake, completely right about how it would feel to touch him.
Yeah. You're glad you've left your number scribbled on the top box. Maybe he'll call you before Thursday. If not, you'll make sure to write it on his hand next time.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Steven Grant-Centric stories
Moon Knight Masterlist
Main Masterlist
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
#moon knight#steven grant#steven grant x reader#steven grant x m!reader#steven grant fluff#steven grant of the gift shop#steven with a v#special delivery fic#happy pride
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Previous | Beginning | Next
(Transcript under the cut - Click Pics for HQ Version!)
@thebrixtons
Magnolia House, Holan (10:58pm)
Alfie (text message): I’m home. I’ll wait for you in the living room. Don’t come home too late.
Alfie: You’re home early. I thought you’d stay at the party longer.
Catalina: Huh? Oh. Wasn’t in the mood for it. I’m tired.
Alfie: Are you okay? Do you feel sick?
Catalina: I’m fine. Just really really tired.
Alfie: Let’s get inside then. I’ll run a hot bath for you. We can watch Simflix tonight too if you want.
Catalina: That sounds great. You’re a lifesaver.
Alfie: *chuckles* I try, my dear.
Catalina: What’s on the menu?
Alfie: “Crash Landing on You”, “Dr. Cha”, “King the Land”, and-or “The Red Sign”.
Catalina: Isn’t that Carlos’ movie? I thought we already watched it.
Alfie: Yeah, this one is the sequel to “The Red Dress”. We haven’t watched it yet.
Catalina: Hmm, we can go for that one then.
Alfie: Aight. Your wish is my command~
Catalina: *inhales deeply*
Alfie: What are you doing?
Catalina: Nothing. You smell good by the way. Are you using a new cologne?
Alfie: I didn’t. It’s just the shower gel you got me last Winterfest. I’ve been using it everyday.
Catalina: Really? I never noticed it before.
Alfie: L-Lina—
Catalina: Shhh~
Alfie: Y-you said you were tired.
Catalina: I don’t feel tired anymore.
Alfie: But the movie—
Catalina: We can watch it later. I want you, now.
Alfie: Wait, hold on—
*rustling sounds from the kitchen*
Alfie: *yawns* Lina?
Catalina: Alfie? Did I wake you?
Alfie: Yeah. It’s four in the morning. What are you doing up?
Catalina: Sorry. I was just very hungry. I had to look for something to eat.
Alfie: You could’ve woke me up. I can make something for you.
Catalina: You seemed tired. I didn’t want to bother you.
Alfie: It’s not a bother. Next time just wake me up.
Catalina: Hm, okay.
Alfie: You’ve been acting weird lately.
Catalina: Why’d you say that?
Alfie: First of all, what we did earlier…rarely happens when you’re “tired”. And second of all, you’re eating my onigiri. I thought you hate sushi.
Catalina: Onigiri is not sushi.
Alfie: Okay, but you don’t usually like onigiri too.
Catalina: Whatever. I’m hungry, okay? We don’t really have any leftovers from yesterday.
Catalina: What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Alfie: Sorry. I was just thinking.
Catalina: About what?
Alfie: About what Dira told me. She said you’ve been getting stuff you don’t usually do when you guys went out to eat. And she told me that you complained about your chest being tight at the fitting too?
Catalina: Urgh. It’s nothing. She’s just overthinking it.
Alfie: Is she though?
Catalina: Alfie, everyone in our family knows we’re trying for a baby now. So they could be seeing these “symptoms” as a sign because they’re excited.
Alfie: I mean, what if they’re right?
Catalina: But what if it’s not? I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.
Alfie: It doesn’t hurt to try, right?
Alfie: Look, I know you don’t want to disappoint anyone. I understand that.
Alfie: But it wouldn’t hurt for you to get a test and check it first. If it’s positive, great! We’re having a baby. But if it’s negative, it’s okay. We can try again.
Catalina: I…I’m scared.
Alfie: I’ll be there with you. I promise.
Catalina: Can you give me some time before I check it? I still have a few days before my period is supposed to come. I don’t want to jump the gun yet.
Alfie: Of course. If that makes you feel better.
#ts4#sims story#sims storytelling#ts4 story#sims 4 story#ts4 storytelling#sims 4 storytelling#ts4 royal#ts4 simblr#ts4 legacy#ts4 edit#ts4 roleplay#ts4 screenshots#WRTStory#WRT: Part 3#Story Arc: After Ever After#WRTCollab: Alfina#Sim: Alfie#Sim: Catalina
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War is Over (and what have we done?)
Part Five
Paring; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)
WC; ~8.8k
Summary; where was Graves in all those months he was gone? What brought him back?
Warnings; just some general internal turmoil, brief imagery of death, implied human trafficking when including the context of past chapters, a lot of self doubt/feelings of betrayal. Tame compared to my usual stuff tbh
A/n; I hate dialogue. Also the moon phase mentioned in the beginning is what it would have been in-game for that mission too :3
---"I'll crawl home to him"---
You arrive a few hours later, according to the ticking clock above the bed—knife still embedded into the plastic face and all, he hadn't bothered to remove it, even after all this time—and at that point Phil had started to believe Venn had chickened out. That, or she just didn't bother telling you.. perhaps she had forgotten. All were of an extremely low probability. He should know better by now than to doubt her.
Even now, only a few weeks later. You looked so.. so drastically different. Phil takes stock, compares your current form from when he had last seen you all those weeks ago—had it been weeks? Phil didn't even know what day it was.
Drifting. Up, down, and across every inch of your concealed form. Something foreign pulls at the hardened strings of his heart—strands of silk toughened up by years upon years of repressed emotion and poorly dealt hands—at the sight of you. Standing tall and confident, as if he can't see the strain buried in your shoulders from the effort of holding yourself up, keeping yourself from crumbling to dust right before his eyes. And he swears you've lost weight, a noticeable difference in the amount of muscle mass wrapped around your bones, even under all that clothing.
When his gaze meets yours, taking a peek into the torn and frayed patchwork of your soul, all he can feel is the stinging reminder of you wishing him dead. Telling him you'd hoped he'd died all those months back; suffocated by his own lungs.
And it's like the past decade of getting to know you, watching you open up, never happened. Wound so tightly, that all that progress is dumped right down the drain; he isn't sure if he'd ever be able to tear down those walls again. Not this time. He scrambles brick by brick to reach the top, but you're too fast, replacing those crumbling stacks with bolts and iron at an alarming rate.
He can't see over the wall anymore, it's too high to reach, too steep to climb. And he fears he may never have the honor of reaching that softer center ever again, barred by thick metal and scathing words.
“You wanted to see me?” Hell… you even sound different. Cool and collected on the surface, but there's an edge there that tells Phil you're not as put together as you are trying to appear to be.
“I did.” But now that you're here, he can't remember the script he'd spent the last week constructing, so delicately, in his mind.
“Well,” you drawl, lifting your arms and gesturing widely. Dropping back down to your sides with a dull smack. “I'm here.”
Are you? Phil doesn't think so. Not really.
Your eyes are the only thing on display, and just a year ago Phil wouldn've prided himself in the fact that he could read you so well. But not anymore.
He can't see that lighthouse shining through, guiding him through the night. There's nothing there. The lamp has run out of oil, and the keeper died months ago.
You're right here, and yet Phil has never found you to be so out of reach.
Who would've thought; his savior, and the one who had damned him to the fiery pits of hell, were both the same man. It felt almost poetic.
Phil thinks he had made peace with his death. Sure, this hadn't been what his younger self had imagined when the topic of death was brought up; still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, believing himself to be near invincible.
He had never been particularly religious, even after being forced to sit in those church pews and listen to some old man drone on and on about shit his child brain didn't care to make sense of. Bored out of his mind, but only sitting still, behaving, because doing the opposite meant taking over his younger sister's chores for the rest of the day.
Phil still couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of fucked-up retribution or some shit like that. Paying for the sins he'd committed within his lifespan, and so on.
And he wasn't just speaking of the blood that permanently stained his hands, no, he was thinking of you. Always you.
You and those endless pools of warmth that made up your eyes, always a slight glimmer in them when you looked his way. You and those rough, work-hardened hands, always so soft and gentle when you handled him. Like he was something delicate, something to be cherished and protected. Him the altar and you the devoted worshiper knelt before him, praying for the mercy of a god who never answered your calls.
And that laugh. Like nothing else he had experienced before, a blessed thing he was granted the honor of witnessing. Of having directed his way. So rare, but so carefully captured and sealed away in Phil's heart when he heard its boisterous sound.
The main reason Phil had never really connected with the religion he was raised into was, even though they were the same people who preached about community and loving thy neighbor and whatever the hell, they were also the kind to shun and exile those they deemed unworthy. Those who didn't fit into the cookie cutter shapes chosen for them before they'd even taken their first breath.
He had completely dismissed his family's religion entirely when, after one of the members of his church discovered him getting a bit too cuddly—nothing more than an innocent hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should—with one of his male classmates, they were outcast from the very same church he'd practically grown up in. And Phil would forever be thankful for having parents who stuck up for him to the very end, he doesn't think he'd ever seen his dad so thoroughly pissed off than when going after a churchgoer who'd slung a few cruel choice words at a younger Phil.
And Phil can't help but feel he knew this was how it would end when he made the decision; like some cruel method of justice.
So, while he no longer considered himself aligned with any specific religion, Phil still held onto that deep-rooted fear of something. Of damnation and redemption. And in that moment, as his heart began to slow and stutter in his chest, when his head felt too heavy to hold up, and the simple task of breathing caused his chest to burn, he did something he hadn't done since middle school. Something he never thought he'd do again.
He yearned for forgiveness; begged and pleaded until black swallowed up his vision whole.
Phil doesn't remember when the world had gone dark; doesn't think he had even fought against the pull. Willingly, had he responded to the siren's call through the waves crashing in his ear, a sound so alluring he would never even consider resisting, one that held a certain likeness to your voice.
What he does remember is the sudden gulps of stinging ash in his lungs, shocking his system into alertness, and the touch of oddly cool hands pulling at his shoulders. Hard, sandy earth beneath him, but he can't look up, can't peel his eyelids open and take a glance at his savior when those hands disappear. Only to wrap a pair of arms snug around his waist and continue dragging him over jagged stones and bits of metal.
It's not until Phil abruptly feels a lot cooler than he did moments ago that he's finally able to force his eyes open, a gasping breath kick-starting his heart back into motion.
And when he looks up, dazed and more than a little out of it, what he sees nearly steals his breath away once again.
Smoke wafting off your uniform in waves, dancing with the remaining embers still shining bright in a sea of black like stars in a night sky. It should be terrifying, but it's not.
Because Phil cannot see how the material clings unnaturally to your body, his brain is too fogged up still to notice the torn patches in your clothing. Blood stains the dark fabric into a deeper shade, trickling from gouges in your skin and dripping onto his.
All he sees is that perfect, unmarred face of yours. Mask pulled down and out of the way as you pant for breath; the flesh warmed a more intense reddish tone than usual, but Phil didn't register that, unable to yet comprehend that what was once untouched would soon become scarred and disfigured within the next few hours.
And with the setting sun positioned behind you, glowing almost like an angel's halo to frame your head, he had never been so enraptured by the sight of you as much as he was in that moment.
It's clumsy and uncoordinated, taking a few tries to even get the limb to function, but he manages. Reaching up to gently cup the jaw of his savior, his guardian angel, to feel that familiar warmth against his skin.
Only to have his wrist snatched out of the air by your still gloved hand, the hold a little tighter than normal, held for a second before being dropped carelessly onto his chest. And Phil doesn't have the energy to lift it again.
“You breathin', sir?” Comes your once angelic voice, now sounding like someone had shoved a saw blade down your throat; scratchy and not at all the soothing rumble he was used to, a strange shiver alighting his nerves at the sound.
All Phil can muster up is a strained, grunt-like sound in response. But that seems to be more than enough for you as you stand back up from your crouched position, sigh, and look over the ruined training grounds.
There's a hard set to your jaw, and Phil begins to feel something akin to fear. An emotion he doesn't think he could recall ever feeling around you if he tried.
“Good enough.” You huff, leaning back down to wrap your strong arms around his waist. Dragging him like a ragdoll to a more secluded, out-of-the-way spot just outside the remains of the designated training area.
He can't fight it, can bring himself to move or speak or do much of anything, really. Laying limp in your hold and letting himself be hauled away.
Phil considers that whatever method of exfil you had prepared must be this way. He doesn't remember making any plans like that with you and the others. But why else would you take him here?
Those hopes are crushed when you prop him against a fallen log, the remains of Alejandro's base now just barely out of sight, then pull away.
“This should be fine,” you mumble to yourself, cold gaze studying him briefly before darting back to where you two had come from. “Mhm. They shouldn't patrol this far.”
“-nant?-” Crackles through your radio before Phil can muster the energy to ask you what you meant by that. The feed is distorted, the device had probably been damaged sometime during the fight, but it's clearly a panicked voice speaking on the other end. “-Lieu-en-t? Are- y- there? Pha-nt-m?-”
“2-3,” you respond, voice level. “I'm here. Problem?”
“-N-o, no problems, sir-” Kip, 2-3, says. A little calmer now that he has heard your voice. Phil watches the scene through blurry eyes. “-We got- he's- Viper is stable-”
“For now.” You mutter bitterly, switching the radio back on to reply with, “Give me a sit-rep, 2-3.”
“-V-enn’s got ‘em lo-aded up-” a pause. “-a quarter left, sir.”
A quarter left. Even in Phil’s muddled up state, he knows what that means. It meant three-quarters of the soldiers he had taken with him were dead. Too many to feasibly count. So many bodies left unidentified, in enemy territory.
“-How-re yo-u and the- c-mander, Lt.?-” Phil would've said something if he could. But his vocal cords are paralyzed and his tongue feels like it's constructed of pure lead.
“I’m breathing.” You joke, your slight amusement is obvious even in such a bland tone. At least to Phil it is.
“A-nd,” if Kip notices, he doesn't mention it. “-and the commander?”
You spare one glance down at his slumped, barely breathing form, gaze shut-off and distant, and a cavernous pit of dread opens up in Phil's stomach.
“KIA.” You grunt, eyes narrowing down at Phil. And he may as well be, to have you look at him like that.
Kip doesn't respond and you click your radio off. And it's as easy as that, as if Phil, your co-founder, your friend, you lover, meant nothing to you.
You turn and leave, and Phil doesn't even possess the ability to call your name.
The next time he wakes, Phil doesn't think he's been colder in his damn life. And he's done his time in deep dive operations in the frigid hellscape that is the wilderness of remote foreign bases just past the Bering Sea.
It's dark, stars and the illumination of the moons’ waxing gibbous all the man has to light his way.
For a prolonged moment Phil doesn't even consider pushing himself up from his current pathetic, slumped over position against the decaying log. Would it even be worth it? He had nothing but the singed clothes on his back to call his own, not a weapon he can use in sight. Not even a pocket knife up his sleeve or a heart nestled in his ribcage.
Phil has experienced his own fair share of betrayal within his lifetime; ranging from small, nonsense instances with his little sister, to slightly bigger ones like with the church; then there were the more prominent, glaring ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. From before he started this damn company, freshly enlisted, and only a year later when he met you.
With shitty, high ranked officers who didn't give a single fuck about what happened to him or his squad—not that that had changed much after being taken under the watchful eye of General Shepard. Freezing to death in bumfuck nowhere Russia, or nearly drowning in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean.
You had been there for every single one. Such a constant in his life; a steady, unmovable force by Phil's side no matter what happened. Even before he'd fallen for you, before you became more than just a friend. Like two peas in a pod, you two.
There was no you without him, and vise versa, the soldiers you two worked with knew it too. They were always sure to throw in a teasing jab now and again, asking the typical “trouble in paradise?”, when you were spotted away from each other for more than a few hours.
So forgive Phil for being a bit melodramatic, because, out of all the people on this godforsaken planet, he never expected such a thing from you.
Maybe he should have. He wouldn't be on the verge of catching fucking hypothermia in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.
Phil tries to think back, to push past the pounding in his skull to recall even a moment that would have given away some sort of clue to your betrayal before it happened. Maybe he could've prevented it if he had just looked closer.
But no. There's nothing. If anything, Phil recalls you being a bit more.. clingy, before this whole thing started. In your own way, of course; he's pretty sure you would rather be caught dead than let someone catch you hugging him or, heaven forbid, holding his hand.
Your neediness manifested in standing just close enough to him that any shift in stance or movement caused your shoulders to brush together; getting up in his personal space and staying there.
Maybe that was it? Maybe you had been so unusually affectionate because you'd planned on betraying him. And Phil was just too blinded by the sudden influx of your undivided attention to see it; he's starting to consider that that may have been your intention all along.
To distract him with your attention, to hide your true intentions under the guise of gentle words and adoring eyes.
Phil gives it a few more minutes, shivering his ass off against that damn log, before he finally gives in and decides to stand. He wasn't dead—yet—and by staying he was nothing more than a sitting duck in shark infested waters—which was a weird saying, wasn't it; how could the waters be infested when that was a shark's natural habitat?
Traveling under the blanket of night provided him with the highest chances of survival, even if it meant he was constantly on the verge of freezing to death. Under the dark, star speckled sky, he was, for the most part, safe from the prying eyes of enemy soldiers. It would be much more difficult for them to spot him under the protection of a waxing moon than, say, the full, all-encompassing concentrated power of the fucking sun.
So he gets his hands under himself, weakened arms trying their damnedest to force him to his feet. Phil takes a moment, leaning against a strong, tall tree that was luckily rooted right beside its fallen brethren.
The last time he had put anything in his stomach was yesterday (?) morning before they had been so rudely interrupted by the 141 boys knocking on their—or, really, not theirs at all—front door. And after an afternoon like that, all his energy was beyond drained. It's a surprise Phil was still standing—not that he was exactly doing a very good job at that—, though, to be fair, he wasn't new to going lengths of time without proper sustenance. It was a byproduct of the job, of the life he led, after all.
Phil can't do anything to rectify his current hunger right now, so he has no choice other than start getting some miles between himself and the wrecked base next door.
Signing, he looks down, spotting a small dagger lodged into the tree he'd been resting against before. Huh, at least you hadn't left him completely defenseless.
Knife secured in his boot, Phil begins the long trek to who knows where. It's not like he could just make his way back to company HQ, now could he? Not when it was so damn clear he was an unwanted face there.
The chipped watch on his wrist reads o-five-hundred, giving him about an hour until sunrise. Phil has already made pretty good progress, if he did say so himself. And the Vaqueros base has long since faded from his view; leaving Phil to now wander aimlessly through the harsh Mexican terrain; traversing over dry, crumbling rocks through a sparse forest, avoiding sudden drop offs and twisted roots on wobbly legs.
Phil had detoured around the broken city of Las Almas, a certain brand of discomfort crawling up his spine and settling heavy across his shoulders at the mere thought of passing through the ruined city. The barest glimpses of it he'd gotten bore the harsh reality of cobblestone roads still bathed in watery crimson, the familiar color splattered over everything within reach; streaked over stone walls and staining the clothes of bodies still laying cold, face-down in the streets.
One look at the carnage left behind and he'd nearly doubled over from the sheer force of the sudden churning of his stomach. Expelling the bile building at the back of his throat would only end in the burning of his esophagus from his empty, acid-filled belly. There were likely valuable resources left behind in the town, something to aid him in his solo travels, but he quickly dismissed the idea at the sight.
He'd rather skip this city and continue to walk with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the knife in his boot then be forced to face that massacre.
Phil hopes, come morning, the very same people he'd stabbed in the back take the time to ghost over the town and dispose of the mess he'd left behind. To reap the souls of those innocent civilians and treat their bodies with much kinder hands than his own Shadows had.
Phil was really getting tired of waking up to people dragging his ass around.
Well, judging by the way, at least this time around, there were no sharp rocks digging into his spine and the fact that this ride was.. quite bumpy, it appeared Phil was being carried this time. What an improvement.
And while he should probably be very concerned as to who, or what, exactly, is carrying him from point A—aka, where he'd likely had passed out again—to point B, the man can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy for it.
Instead, he's in a bit of a daze. Wondering how in the everloving fuck this damn country jumped from near freezing in the night, to scorching hot temperatures that could rival the damn devil. All Phil remembers leading up to this is him cursing the damn sun with his whole chest, feeling like his freaking skin was melting off, then somehow finding himself face-down in the goddamn sand—when had he made it into the damn desert??
And now he was here.
Being carried to God knows where, still sweating profusely under his clothes—how his body still had the capability to sweat when he was already so dehydrated, was beyond him—and too tired to do anything more than lay there.
Phil must've drifted off again at some point, because when he wakes again he's no longer moving. Instead he's flat out on his back, a hard surface beneath him not unlike the old bunks he'd slept on when he was a newbie, and his entire body feels like one giant ass bruise. An all encompassing ache that traveled from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes—as if, now that he was finally resting, his entire body had collectively agreed to seek revenge on his overused muscles.
Distantly, he can hear the chatter of a man and a woman speaking in hushed voices, muttered Spanish drifting from somewhere to his left.
Every instinct that had been ingrained into him screams at Phil to launch himself up and either attack or make a run for it. He does neither, too exhausted to even move or open his eyes, much less to try and stand.
He ends up dancing on the fine line between consciousness and slumber while the two strangers talk, presumably, about him. Lingering in that peculiar space where you're not quite awake, but you're not sleeping either; able to hear and feel, but not aware enough to get up and move.
Phil chose to use that time to attempt to listen in, see what all, if any, of the words he could catch. He wasn't going to pretend to know more than he did, as Phil really only knew the more simple Spanish phrases from his time in highschool when it was a required course. He picks up the usual filler words, a few pronouns, something that sounds much like ‘the American’, and the suppressed voices briefly increasing in volume, rushed, before quieting. Then silence.
With nothing to stimulate his brain, Phil once again falls into a fitful rest.
Power? Is that what this had been about? In all the years Phil has known you, he never would've thought of you as the type. But could that have been what you were after the entire time? And all these years you were just biding your time, waiting for the best time to strike.
How could he have been so blind, how did he not see this coming? The person closest to him, a man who knew more about Phil than any single other person to exist. He should've seen this miles away before it hit him like a fucking freight train.
This is why you had to turn on others before they had the chance to flip the blade on you first—a lesson Phil had learned oh-so long ago. After all this time, how the hell had he forgotten that?
Which is why, the second Phil has the capacity to, he bolts upright and does his best to regain his bearings. A little dizzy, body shaky, limbs trembling from a lack of nutrients, but no longer in the fetal position at least. As aware as he physically can be.
Somewhere between blinking away the blur obscuring his vision and forcing himself into a fully seated position, Phil hears the two voices again
Faint at first. Then growing louder. Closer.
Phil's eyes, still unfocused, dart around his surroundings.
A room. Closed off with only one door, and a window too small for his body. Below him is some sort of flimsy cot placed in the corner furthest from the exit, one that's metal frame squeals with the slightest movements.
Getting distinct now, one woman and one man, just as before.
Phil's hand shoots down, patting his boot; heart rate skyrocketing when the man realizes the knife is missing. His crutch, the only thing he'd possessed to defend himself beyond his own bare hands. It was gone.
They'd taken it from him.
Closer, closer, closer still. The door opens, hinges creaking as a tall, heavy set man walks in; black, cropped hair and a well kept mustache are the first things he notes. And Phil can immediately tell that, even if he were standing, there's no way this guy wouldn't tower over him.
That is a problem. Not because Phil hasn't taken on much large men than himself, but because he usually managed such a feat when fully put together and decidedly not when half-starved, dehydrated, and barely conscious.
While the man approaches Phil with a certain air of caution, the woman, on the other hand, stays behind. Leaning against the doorframe, watching.
But not afraid, no, there's nothing to hint at fear in her intense gaze. Long, dark hair pulled up and tied in loose updo, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth set into a firm line. And still she appears to be more curious, or concerned, than fearful; perhaps a bit heedful, but that's as far as it goes.
The man, surprisingly, seemed much more on guard than his counterpart. To be fair, and give the poor guy some credit, he was the one tasked with coming closer to Phil. And Phil, in all honesty, was not of the.. low-risk variety.
Not that the two would know that, all identifying parts of his uniform were either torn or stained, but it's always safer to be wary of strangers. And given Phil's appearance—dirtied, bloody, and cowering like a caged animal ready to strike at any given moment—he obviously wasn't just some random guy who they'd stumbled upon.
Come to think of it, Phil wondered what they thought had happened to him, or why he was out there—wherever he was when they found him—in the first place.
Beyond that, who were these people? Why did they bring him here, why not just leave him, a complete stranger and possible danger, where they'd found him instead of risking their lives carrying Phil to their home? At least they'd been smart enough to check him for weapons, for their sake.
Which begs the question; were these people just plain stupid, or did they trust enough in their own abilities to put him down if need be?
“So,” the man begins, now within a few feet of where Phil sits. Spine straight, chin lifted, and arms crossed much like his partner; posture firm, aiming to appear confident. “You military?”
Oh, what could have possibly given that away?
“Sorta.” Comes Phil's stilted reply.
To Phil's great unsettlement, the man smiles. Only a tiny thing, a barely twitch at the corner of his mouth before it's gone.
“Where am I?”
The man hesitates, and the woman chimes in with a few uttered words of Spanish again.
“Not too far from the border, a few hours most.” when Phil doesn't respond, the man continues. “Name's Eric and this,” he tips his head slightly in the woman's direction. “Is my wife, Sofia. We have.. decided to help you back onto your feet.”
Another murmur, then Eric corrects with an, “if you want.”
Lovely. Now it didn't sound as much like he was being held hostage.
“Y'all want to.. help me?” Phil asks, skeptical as he flicks his gaze between the two. Trying to decipher any double meaning, any sort of threat veiled under these too-good-to-be-true words. “...And why would you do that?”
“My wife was a field medic, and me a soldier,” he begins. “We know what a person looks like wounded.. not only physically.”
Oh, so they wanted to be some sort of great savior or some shit? Give Phil some weird form of therapy? He didn't need that, he didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not these strangers who knew absolutely nothing about him.
Eric must sense something off about him, because he immediately rushes to continue. “Like it or not, we are your best option. You go out there? Try to get home in the state you are in? You will die before the sun sets.”
Phil wasn't quite sure he'd be opposed to that.. but the man had a point. He couldn't seek his revenge if he were dead, now could he?
“I won't stay long.” Phil asserts, sitting up a bit straighter with a challenging glint in his eye.
“Of course not,” Eric agrees easily. “Just until you are better. Maybe a few days, yes?”
Phil shouldn't, he should get up, tell these people to go fuck themselves, and get as far away as he possibly can. Even if that means, come morning, he’ll have succumbed to the elements- “Okay.”
“Okay.” Eric offers a smile and Phil isn't quite in his right mind, but he swears that man, this complete stranger, has some of the kindest eyes he's ever seen.
A few days turns into a month, and a single month becomes four. Phil learns a lot about the couple he's been staying with.
Learns that Eric was telling the truth and that they both had met in the field; apparently the man had been outright refusing treatment so that his fellow soldiers could get it first, claiming it to be nothing more than a light scrap. According to Sofia—from what little Phil could gather with the language barrier; though narrowed eyes and flailing hands are pretty damn telling no matter the language, Phil supposed—it was most likely a lot worse than Eric let on.
Only when Eric had conceded and pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the long, jagged scar that began at just below his collar bones then traveled further, larger than the tugged down fabric could show, did Sophia give a satisfied hum. And Phil could tell from the gentle way she looked at Eric as he spoke, this woman wholeheartedly adored that man—he had to look away after a moment, feeling out of place, like Phil was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.
Phil also learns that the couple is very active in their little community, often volunteering for social events and making whatever donations they could to the local church, and more specifically the program involved directly in helping children in need.
The two had discovered many years ago, after they left the service, that neither were capable of having children. And while it did put a strain on their relationship for some time, the couple loved each other too much to let that fact tear them apart. Instead, they dedicated their time and whatever leftover funds they had into helping provide for the few orphaned kids in the area.
They even had some adopted children of their own, ones now grown and dispersed around the country; attending college and creating families of their own.
At some point, Phil had been baffled by how utterly good these people were, he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to be found by such genuinely kind people, ones who knew nothing of him or his crimes. They would hate him, surely, either cast him aside or turn him in to local authorities. Who would then hand him over to federal.
He was a criminal on the run, something that had taken Phil a while to come to terms with.
A thing he had realized on the very same porch steps he was setting on right now in month two. Eyes on the horizon as the hot, late spring sun faded in an array of nostalgic warm tones of red and orange, of yellow and pink. Dressed in clothing a few sizes too big; the ones he'd donned when he had arrived far beyond salvageable.
A small, child sized soccer ball rolls to his feet. Bumping against the toe of his boot, quickly followed by little feet stomping over to where Phil sat. Picking it up, Phil cradled the ball in his palm, offering it to the boy running over to him with a soft smile.
One of the orphaned kids; has a sister only a year younger than himself, something Phil knows not because the couple told him, but because he'd started doing some volunteer work himself—with Eric and Sophia’s encouragement. It helped keep his mind wonderfully empty, able to concentrate on the now rather than past or inevitable future.
It also helped remind Phil why he'd even joined the military in the first place, what his younger self had aspired to be all those years ago.
Phil had been able to reflect on a lot over these past seven months. Given the opportunity to think on why he did what he did, who he wanted to be. And, most importantly, you.
After months upon months of denial, cursing your name before he went to bed each night. Reminded of you by the absence of a warm body curled up behind his own; the lack of a soft, rumbling voice murmuring a sleepy goodnight before you'd fall asleep with your face tucked away in the place between Phil's neck and shoulder. The gentle puffs of your breath ghosting over his skin and the secure weight of an arm draped over his waist, luring him to join you in the depths of dream land.
Always making him feel so warm, so safe, in that perfect in between, just after the sun set and right before it rose again. For a few hours you were his. For a few fleeting hours he had you all to himself; he had someone.
Someone more than the names of all the men he'd killed, ingrained permanently in his psyche no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; something more than a pen and himself up against stack after stack of paperwork containing nothing but political bullshit Phil couldn't care less about.
For that brief time Phil had belonged.
But now.. now he had nothing.
He wasn't a commander here, wasn't a soldier. Phil didn't have the responsibilities he'd had to manage back home at base anymore. He should probably be grateful, it was a stressful life.
But.. but he still wasn't quite.. anybody. He was nothing but the stranger who'd appeared in town out of nowhere. Who was silent and kept to himself, who barely even left the residence he'd been so lucky to be offered a place in. Not unless he was doing some volunteer work here and there.
He had nothing; he was nothing. Phil used to hold the reins of dozens who'd act solely with his interests at heart, and now he didn't even have an army to command. He wasn't anyone anymore. Not here.
At least, if he went back, he'd have something. Something more than this endless repetition of kindness he didn't deserve. You'd hate him, surely, after what he had done.
To you, to your friends, family, fellow soldiers. Phil was supposed to be a leader, someone who those under his command looked to for guidance. Someone dependable, someone trustworthy.
It was, again, sometime ago on these same steps, where Phil had the grand revelation that maybe, just maybe, you hadn't betrayed him. You were just doing what you thought was best for yourself and the rest of the company. It was in everyone's best interest—except his.
Phil had pushed you too far, stretched you too thin. Even though he knew how fragile delicate vulnerable-
Even though he knew damn well how you used to be, the cavernous depths of your own mind Phil had single-handedly had to drag you out of kicking and screaming several times over.
Phil knew all of this, and yet he still did it. Never considered the consequences his actions would have on you—or the others, but you were more important—, never stopped to consider your own feelings on, well, anything. On what your opinions were for improving the company—even though you two had built it up from the ground up, together—, or what applications to accept, or whatever it was that you two had going on that was surely more than friends and co-founders did with each other.
He'd pushed and pushed and pushed- and Phil had broken you.
Snapped you in two.
So, at the very least, if he went back, Phil would have someone to hate him. Anything from you was better than being nothing. Even if it were hatred; he just needed to be someone again.
Just needed to belong.
“You can't stay here.”
Phil turns his head slowly, the sun now barely a sliver as darkness overtakes the sky. Stars begin to join the moon in illuminating the town.
“I'm sorry?” He asks, spotting Eric standing on the porch behind him. A somber sort of expression painting his features.
Eric sighs, rocking on his feet briefly as his hands move to tuck into his pockets, seeking warmth as the lack of sunlight drops the temperature by several dozen degrees.
“I don't mean- I am not kicking you out,” the man clarifies, looking off into the distance. A bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “But you are not happy here, are you?”
It's a rhetorical question, and Phil, too, turns away, looking back towards the sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. The sun had disappeared completely, and Phil instead looked to the moon.
Now a completely different phase from that fateful day where you'd abandoned left him against that log. So long ago, and yet Phil swore he could still smell the smoke burning his nostrils and scorching his throat.
He was lucky to have not borne many scars from being trapped in that tank; he didn't want to know how you'd fared.
“You miss them.”
“What?” The words break Phil out of his trance, brows furrowing, but he doesn't turn back around.
“I don't know if it is a family or something else,” Eric continues. “But you miss them. This is not the life for you; you still carry that.. spirit I only remember having during my time in the army.”
“I can't go back.”
“Because you think they will not take you?”
“I,” Phil barks a hushed, humorless laugh. More of an exhale of air than everything, bitter and leaving a foul taste on his tongue. “I do not belong with them anymore, sir. They don't want me, I can promise you that.”
“So grown,” Eric chides, coming to sit on the same step Phil was on. “And yet still so damn naive.”
It's not cruel, but it does have Phil opening his mouth in protest, only to snap it back shut again with a huff.
“You don't know what you're talking about.” He grits out, mouth forming a small pout, an ache of something opening up in his ribcage. A void, once full, overflowing, almost, but now so, so empty. Starving.
“Did you even consider, maybe,” Eric continues on with the same patience he'd had all those months ago. “..they miss you, too?”
Phil swears his heart stops just then, slow, stuttering to a halt before ba dum.. ba dum.. it gradually starts back up again. A frog leaped, lodging itself in his throat, suffocating him, echoing the beat of his heart.
Eventually, he manages to croak out, “They don't.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
And Phil doesn't have anything to say to that, so he doesn't. Continuing to gaze up at the moon as if it held all the answers to his problems. Wondering if, maybe, you were looking up at it too.
“I will not pretend to know what you are going through,” Eric hesitates. “What you are running from. But.. but you cannot stay here, it's killing you. Sophia and I can both see it.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Phil forces out. “you don't understand. He is stubborn, he is childish, and he is- he was. You wouldn't understand.”
“You are talking about this man like he's dead,” observant, are we? “And yet he is not, is he?”
You may as well be. “No.”
“Then maybe it's not too late.. maybe..”
Phil could feel hope sparking in his chest at the man's words, and he immediately crushed it between his fists.
“It is.” Phil says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It is too late.”
A sigh. “But you're right. I can't stay.”
The distant sound of a coyotes’ howl and the rustling of leaves fills the space between them as the conversation lulls to a stop. It's peaceful out here, much more so than any base Phil's stayed on, and even before that, far quieter than a house full of gentle chatter wafting in from the living room, or the sounds of childish glee from his sister's bedroom when she had a few friends over. Drifting down through thin but sturdy walls; both a perfect ambiance to listen to while he did his homework at the dining table.
Nothing compared to the heartwarming sound of your laughter. Of your soft, rumbling voice; always so quiet, even when just chatting in his office or while overseeing the Shadows honing their skills in the courtyard.
Quieter than his family, but louder than the silence between you two when you would give him the cold shoulder; a sea of rage hidden neatly within a show of blank stares and empty words.
He misses you.
You didn't do anything wrong.
Why did he break you? When did he break you?
Was it just the incident all those months ago? When he'd forced you to shoot down people who, just the day before, Phil had told you to treat like family? Like brothers?
Or was it something far before that? Something you had been holding on to all this time; keeping caged within your heart instead of taking it out in him.
He wishes you had taken it out on him. Maybe then he wouldn't be considered KIA by his own people, men and women and all alike, whom he—and you—had practically raised as his own?
Anyone who tried to proclaim that Phillip Graves didn't care about his soldiers, his Shadows, was just flat out wrong. A piece of his heart, of his soul, had been ripped out of him when one of his squads died in that botched mission Shepard had sent them on. Ambushed by Russian PMCs. Now that had been one very dreaded set of paperwork; writing down the names and cause of deaths for people who he knew, his friends.
He hadn't even been able to tell their families what had happened to them when they came knocking on his door. No closure for any of those grieving relatives, phone calls day and night. Endless sobs and askings of why, why can't you? And my baby gave their life for your cause, but you can't even do me the honor of explaining why they're buried halfway across the world instead of with their family?
“Where will you go?” Phil had been so lost in thought, he'd entirely forgotten Eric was still beside him. Five months ago and that would've never even been a possibility.
He was losing his touch. Would he even be useful back home?
After all these months, surely not.
When the silence drags on a little too long to be comfortable, Phil murmurs a delicate, “I don't know..” then, “maybe I'll go back after all.”
Phil does, in fact, not go back.
Instead he finds himself staying at an apartment complex just a few cities away. Like a coward.
Phil had left that night, before the sun rose again, and without saying goodbye to the couple who'd let him stay with them for a little over four months. He's only left a little note as thanks.
Also, like a coward.
But Phil decided to embrace this sort of cowardice, at least for now. It's not that he couldn't just go over to the ol’ base, pop in and say hello to the people whose lives he had ruined- of course he could!
He could do it right now if he wanted. He didn't want to.
Phil could just pack up his shit—it had been fairly easy to retrieve his emergency fund, held in one of the many banks he had an account or two with; for security, of course—and skip over to that familiar town, take a few turns down some back roads and bam! Back home he would be.
Back home.
…
..would it still be home?
What if his Shadows hated him now? What if you'd turned them against him? Couldn't even stand the sight of him? Would they kill him then and there upon first sight?
Or would they detain him, torture him maybe?
Either way, Phil couldn't risk it. It's been a few weeks since he left Sophia and Eric's residence, and he's no more motivated to go back to you his old stomping grounds today than he was all those months ago.
He can't imagine which would be worse; seeing that look of disgust, of simmering hatred in the Shadows’ eyes or your own.
Phil tries to keep his mind blissfully blank every moment of his waking hours. Preferring more to spend his time sleeping, but when he could not do so anymore, when his legs ached with the need to move and his stomach rioted in the name of it's hunger, he would have to get up.
Reading, listening to a radio, sometimes even adding the background noise of the old TV in the corner of the living room whenever Phil needed to complete a simple task such as eating or another.
As of right now, he was doing just that. Only this time.. this time it doesn't work. Swirling around the remaining bits of cereal in the now sweetened milk, gaze drifting up from the little floating pieces to the window before him instead.
Thinking. Thinking of you. Because there wasn't any time where Phil wasn't thinking of you. Even with all these distracts, meant to keep his mind off his old life, off what he used to have, off you.
It didn't work. Not when it came to you.
Wondering what you could be up to right now. How you were faring commanding an entire army of your own—or however many were left—, how you were handling all the politics that came with such a job.
When you two shared ownership, Phil was always the one to handle the people, scheduling meetings and dealing with generals and such.
It's been months, surely you were handling this fine on your own. You didn't need him, there was no reason for Phil to go back. Nothing more than his own selfish reasons.
A little over ten months now, it has been. Phil shouldn't bother you. You were dealing with it perfectly fine, he'd bet.
There was not a single excuse for him to assume you didn't have everything under control, for him to swoop in like some sort of savior.
Sure, you'd always been a bit.. off kilter. But who wasn't in this line of work.. right? It was only to he expected after what you had been through, or what little you had told Phil.
He knew you didn't like crowds, didn't even like talking for that matter, hated interacting with the stuck up higher ups most of all, of course. Everyone did. But Phil knew you could also reign yourself in if need be.
Well, that was unless something threw you off center. It would have to be something huge, something life-changing for you to really-
Oh, fuck.
The metallic crash of his spoon bouncing off the ceramic bowl and clattering against the floor doesn't even register in Phil's mind. Not even the sweet milk that goes splattering everywhere pulls him away.
He'd broken you. He'd left you alone. Left you alone with her.
Fuck staying here, lying to himself and avoiding any and all subjects that reminded him of you. Reminded him of what he had lost.
Maybe if the event almost a year ago had never happened, and even if Phil had still been removed from your day to day, it wouldn't have been a possibility.
But you were broken. Shattered. Vulnerable.
And for someone like you; that was a concoction that spelled nothing but bad decisions.
Phil left a few hours later. A single stuffed backpack and a rental car all he took with him in his haste.
He hoped he wasn't too late. Hoped he hadn't broken you too much.
Maybe you were able to resist her offer.. maybe there was still a part of you left that knew it would bring nothing but your own destruction.
Maybe.
Standing before you now, with those empty eyes and stiff posture, Phil knew something was off. More than he had assumed before. Sure, he knew you were a bit fucked, had always been a bit fractured, but Phil had cared for you all the same. Knew there was something more to you beyond that rough, off-putting exterior.
But now, the way you covered yourself head to toe, the little twitches and fidgets you tried so hard to conceal—but Phil had been able to identify them then, and he still could now—, now it was obvious. There was no hiding it.
“You're..” Phil begins, hesitant. “Different.”
You scoff, something in those clouded depths flickering. “You've said that before.”
“No, no, Phantom-” he winces, noting the way the name has your right hand—concealed in a glaringly different glove than the other—twitches, fingers curling slightly in one, quick movement, at the name. Your head ticking a bit to the left.
“You are.. not yourself.”
“Is that all you had to say?” You grit out, gaze narrowed, voice more a growl than the gentle rumble Phil was used to. “You called me down ‘ere again to tell me I'm “different”. As if it hasn't been almost an entire fucking year since you last saw me.”
A step closer, another fidget. “People change, Graves. Just because you can't, too caught up in your own damn ego to care, doesn't mean others don't.”
Phil can think back on that little insult later, pick another time to lick his wounds. Right now he needed to know. Needed a confirmation.
“Just tell me-” he doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. He needs to know. “You told her no. Please, for Christ's sake, tell me you said no.”
Phil can hear the way your breathing hitches briefly, see the way you try to shift your posture impossibly straighter. “I don't know who you are referring to.”
A part of Phil shrivels up and dies in that moment, frozen in time as you basically confirm what he already knew. What he knew and yet so desperately hoped he was wrong about. Hoped and prayed you'd be strong enough.
He was wrong.
“Oh, Phantom,” He breathes, right when his body kicks back into motion again. Unable to hide the pure, unfiltered grief in his croaked out words. “What.. what have you done?”
Phil never gets to hear your reply, because right then there's a frantic knocking at the door. Panicked or enthused, Phil cannot decipher.
It catches you both off guard, heads snapping to the person who hurts through the entrance. Not bothering to wait for an okay to come inside.
“Alik? What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, glaring at the newcomer.
1-5 comes to a halt right in front of you, breathing heavily from the exerting of running from wherever the hell he'd come from. Phil feels himself stiffening, waiting for something, anything to happen.
“Sorry, sir,” Alik pants. “But this couldn't wait.”
“Spit it out.” Phil cuts in, seeing how you tense and ready to go on one of your rare—or maybe not rare anymore—tangents.
1-5 barely spares Phil a glance before locking eyes with you once more, unflinching.
“Viper,” he says, chest still heaving. A single word, a single word that bore so much weight within its five letters. “He is awake.”
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Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Next
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#this man is so in love w reader its unreal#wasnt my intent in the beginning#but it wrote itself#call of duty#cod x male reader#male reader#call of duty x male reader#call of duty x reader#reader insert#gay#phillip graves x male reader#graves x male reader#phillip graves
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the officialized Dadstarion request:
I was thinking that Astarion is trying to teach his moody pre-teen dhampir how to fight and she’s not having a good time, because why would someone as strong as her bother with mortal weapons, let alone some knives. But Astarion is pretty set on teaching her how to defend herself in a way that has her rely on skills other than her inherent dhampir powers.
There’s definitely a clash of opinions but both slowly get where the other is coming from—Astarion who was weak and had to learn how to be strong; his kid—born strong having to come to terms with the fact that strength isn’t everything
Thank you, hehe ✨
Ooof, I finally made it! Hope you will enjoy the story about how to train your dhampir!
If you wonder who is Nris and how he ended up in the Ancunins' basement, you can read The Dead, the Half-Dead and the Undead (but you don't have to).
Synopsis: Astarion teaches Alethaine how to fight
Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, necromancy, father-daughter relationship, Tiriel is being a bitch, slice of life
Alethaine's age: 11
Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
Alethaine drops her bag on an empty chair and yawns, showing her dhampir fangs (and causing a tiny human child next to her to flinch).
The teacher, an elderly tiefling with a broken tail, explains the town’s kids things so basic that the dhampir already knew them when she was four.
Unfortunately, there is only one person in the whole Daggerlake who has decided to teach the local kids at least something, and once a week, a bunch of children aged eight to fourteen gather in a small hut to listen to the tiefling bragging about the “good old days” and also learn some basics of math and Infernal.
“What are you doing here?” a dwarven girl, Rutha, whispers. “I thought your dad locked someone in the basement to teach you...magic stuff!”
“Nris knows no shit!” Alethaine answers. “All he teaches me is how to draw stupid runes and sigils and he can’t even raise a dead dog from the dead!” She stumbles. “Wait! How do you know dad locked someone in the basement?!”
“Everyone in town knows Astarion kidnapped a dark wizard,” Rutha shrugs. “He’s been there for how long? Does your dad feed on him?”
Alethaine bites her lower lip. It was supposed to be a secret along with her necromantic abilities. A year ago she accidentally revived a dead kitten. As if the gods had decided that elf-dhampir wasn't enough and also gave Alethaine an innate talent for necromancy.
Sorceress.
That’s what Alethaine Ancunin is.
Her dad, Astarion, faced and solved this problem in his own manner: he brought his daughter a teacher. Nris, a poor necromancer whose soul had been sold to the devils. Astarion broke the necromancer’s pact but made him sign another. Nris was supposed to teach Alethaine necromancy while hiding in the basement of the Ancunin’s house as long as his service was needed.
“No, he just lives there. And he is a useless piece of shit!” Alethaine says in her normal voice as the human boys who sit in the front row start arguing with the teacher calling him a demon.
“Why is that necromancer still there?” Rutha exclaims.
“I AM TIRED OF YOU LITTLE FUCKER!” the teacher yells and drags one of the boys to the board.
“Because of my mum!” Alethaine answers. “Dad wanted to get rid of Nris in a week. And you know what happened? Mum went down to the basement, looked at the necromancer, and yelled that he owed her money!”
“How so?”
“OH, YOU WANNA A FIST FIGHT?!” The tiefling roars at the ten-year-old. “YOU WILL GET A FIST FIGHT!”
Alethaine got closer to Rutha.
“When mum was twenty, he gave her a quest to retrieve some magic item from some ogres. She did find it, but the ogres broke her hand in two places. When she came back, Nris refused to pay and Mum had to stay in a temple till she fully recovered. So, Dad calculated the interest since it’s been almost fifty years ago and also the moral damage – and now Nris is staying till he pays back by teaching me!”
A wooden chair flies over the girls’ heads and smashes against the wall.
“YOU MOTHERF –” the teacher suddenly remembers he is in the room full of children and switches to Infernal. The insults pour down on them and Alethaine takes a piece of paper to write down at least a few words. Who knows, maybe she will need to make a devil cry one day?
“Slow down!” Alethaine yells back. “I am taking notes!”
Someone in the classroom joins the screaming match and Alethaine’s head starts aching. Acute hearing causes more trouble than common people think.
… When Alethaine leaves school (if one can call it that), it’s still afternoon. Usually, the dhampir helps the healer with the herbs – the halfling doesn’t see in the dark of the underground tunnels and can’t walk up the walls, so Alethaine has been helping her since she was five. Kelma pays her and the dhampir often has some money to spend on herself, especially when traveling sellers visit Daggerlake or her parents take her to Secomber, a bigger city fifty miles to the West.
Alethaine takes the stone stairs and walks to the underground part of the town. The dhampir has no idea why Kelma prefers to live there without dark vision, but it seems like she is perfectly fine in the shadows.
“Oh, you are early today,” Kelma says, seeing Alethaine entering the yard.
“The teacher fought the smith’s daughter.”
“Ah, he’s drunk his own brains with fire whiskey. I have no work today, Aletha, take a day off.”
“Don’t you need anything?”
“Do you want to help me clean the hut? I can give you the rugs to mop the ceiling,” the healer chuckles.
“Nope.”
“I thought so. You know, Alethaine, you were always a bit lazy. Tiriel would come to me asking if it was normal for an elf to sleep as much like you did.”
“Kelma—” Alethaine groans.
“Oh, and I remember you absolutely refused to walk when you already could. Why bother walking if mum and dad carried you around? They have been spoiling you rotten, especially Astarion!” Kelma laughs.
“You know Kelma… I will busy myself with something!”
“Good, Alethaine. Tomorrow, I will need your help to carry sacks around.”
“The teacher wants to give us a test in math tomorrow.”
“Do you care?”
“No.”
“Then I expect to see you at noon,” the halfling takes her pipe out and smokes.
Alethaine closes the fence. She doesn’t want to go home – Tiriel will try to force her to learn magic from Nris. And not because she really thinks he can teach her anything, but because she wants compensation for what the necromancer did to her fifty years ago. To her daughter, Tiriel has never come across as vindictive;now Alethaine thinks her mother will rip the throat of anyone refusing to pay for her services in battle.
So, the dhampir goes further into the underground tunnels.
This part of the town is completely prohibited for the town's kids, but Alethaine has been going there since she was little. The tunnels are a part of some ancient temple that disappeared into oblivion millennia ago. They spread further and further under the ground, nearly reaching the Underdark.
And the whole place is deliciously creepy.
Alethaine jumps on what looks like a part of the wall, spreads her arms as if she needs to keep her balance and walks forward.
The sounds of the town fade as the girl explores the dark place.
Alethaine Ancunin sees the world in shades of gray. She senses the presence of creatures full of warm blood and skeletons buried beneath the stones.
Skulls can tell a lot if one knows how to make them talk…
Someone grabs Alethaine from up above. She smells fresh blood and senses the familiar embrace.
“Dad! Let me go!” She laughs as Astarion holds her a few feet above the wall.
“Hm? Should I?” he chuckles. His shirt is blood-stained and his skin is unnaturally warm.
“Yes! Dad, let me go!” Aletaine insists and he immediately puts her back.
Then, Astarion jumps on the wall and now they stand in front of each other. Alethaine smiles and hugs him.
“I thought you didn't want me to hold you?” he mocks her, patting her back.
“I don’t like being held upside down!”
“It’s actually ridiculous because it’s natural to walk like that” he sits at the edge of the wall. Alethaine joins him. It’s about twenty feet to the solid ground and it would concern Alethaine if a fall could do any harm to her.
Well, it still can. When Alethaine was eight she had a nasty fall into a crevice and broke her leg. She crawled back using her spider climb and then went straight home. It took her longer with a broken leg and she ugly cried because there was no one around. By the time she arrived home, her leg had already healed thanks to her regenerative abilities, but it didn’t mean the whole experience was less horrifying for the little dhampir.
Alethaine remembers entering the house, all dirty, with a blood-stained dress, without one boot, hair dirty and messy, limping (because the leg hurt as hell) while her parents were talking in the kitchen. Now that she is eleven, she suspects she witnessed Astarion drinking Tiriel’s blood.
She knows her father dines on her mother’s blood. She also knows that it involves adult things she isn’t supposed to see.
“How was school?” Astarion asks, taking his daughter’s hand. Alethaine’s skin is as pale as his.
“I learned how to swear in Infernal.”
“A rather practical skill!” he laughs. “I had a fight with a behir. Rather horrible beasts. And their blood tastes… weird”
“Do you drink any blood?” she suddenly asks. “Like, will any living creature do?”
“Blood is blood,” Astarion shrugs. “I can feed on fleas and worms as long they are alive.”
“Ew! Gross!” Alethaine cringes and her father smiles. There is something bitter about it, but Alethaine doesn’t know why.
“...your mother's blood tastes different from that of any...,” he sighs dreamily and Alethaine covers her pointy ears.
They sit in silence for a while.
“You need to be careful,” he says. “There are many dangers in the tunnels and also in the woods.”
“I can deal with danger! I am a dhampir!” She bares her fangs and then takes a boulder that weighs almost as much as hers and tosses it into the air like a rubber ball. “I can rip their throats and break their bones. And I also know dark spells!”
“Alethaine, you are eleven. You aren’t invincible. I want you to be careful.”
“What for? I can fight an ogre if I need to! I am a Dhampir and a necromancer, I already know more than this filthy man you locked in the basement!”
Astarion’s face gets a serious expression.
“You know more than him, princess, because he is a wizard and you are a sorcerer. He taught himself all the things you were born with. But it doesn't seem like you know how to use these skills.”
“I will be fine!”
“All right then,” Astarion chuckles.
Aethaine turns around and suddenly a cold grip closes on her throat. Astarion’s eyes glow red.
“Dad…”
And then he jumps from the wall dragging her with him. In a heartbeat Alethaine finds herself restrained on the stones with her father’s knees on her ribcage and his dagger against her neck.
“So, where is your strength and where is the necromancy?” he asks softly. “If I were an enemy, you would be already dead.”
Alethaine pushes Astarion and he lets her go. The anger awakes something feral in the dhampir, the predatory side that screams “kill the vampire,” and she jumps on Astarion.
KILL THE VAMPIRE.
Only to be thrown away.
Astarion moves gracefully, holding daggers in his hands.
“Cast a spell.”
“But—”
“Cast at least something, princess, since you are so proud of your abilities!”
Alethaine raises her hand. For a brief second, her fingertips prickle, and a green ray strikes Astarion.
And nothing happens even though Alethaine is sure he has been hit.
“What do the drunkard at school and the moron in the basement even teach you…” Astarion mutters. Now, he looks just disappointed. “I am undead. I am immune to necrotic damage!”
“Fuck,” Alethaine says.
“Fuck indeed. Did I hurt you?”
“No, I am fine.”
Astarion kneels in front of her. “Princess, you are not invincible. Many things will want to hurt you. And if you don't know how to protect yourself, you will die. And you’d better pray you just die in the blink of an eye not feeling anything. Because there are things worse than death. Being trapped by a hag. Being a slave in the Underdark. Getting your memories and personality erased. Turning into a disgusting monster. You can’t turn into a vampire, that’s for sure, but dhampirs are our worst enemies. Your mother and I released seven thousand bloodsuckers into the Underdark and who knows how many vampires are there now. And if they learnt you exist, young and innocent, they will want you dead before you become a menace.”
Astarion hands her a dagger.
“You need to learn how to fight.”
**
Alethaine is tired, dirty, and angry.
Every time she thinks she understands how to use daggers in a fight, she somehow ends up on the ground over and over again.
Or against the wall.
Or with a blade against her throat.
Or face down with her father pressing a knee on her back.
And over and over again she is forced to stand and try again.
Her bones have been broken at least thrice. One time she even lost consciousness after Astarion pushed against a boulder. She woke up in a second and tried to bite her dad but instead ended up in a pool of dirt once again.
“You are dhampir!” he encourages her. “You are stronger than I am! You don’t have my weaknesses! You can take me in a fight!”
“Who said that,” Alethaine sniffs and tries once again.
And again.
And again.
“I am tired,” she pouts. “And hungry. We can try again later!”
Astarion looks at her and nods.
The moment he turns around, Alethaine snatches the dagger and stabs his hip forcing Astarion to fall down with a short cry.
She pulls the blood-stained dagger and jumps on him, pointing the weapons at his face.
Astarion stares at her in shock and then starts laughing.
“You did it! Gods, Alethaine, you did!” He sits up and hugs her. “My ferocious little princess, you took me down!”
Alethaine looks at his hip which has already stopped bleeding.
“It was fun,” Alethaine admits as they return home.
“I suppose you enjoyed the part when you threatened to cut my perfect face?”
“It was fun to fight. I want to know more about fencing!”
“I will teach you, don’t worry. You will challenge evil vampire lords to duels and end their pathetic lives!”
Alethaine smiles holding her father’s hand.
“I will tell Nris you are tired,” he says when they approach home.
“Dad… about that… Could you please send him away?”
“Your mother wants him to stay.”
“And I don’t! The whole point was for him to teach me, not Mum to get her revenge!”
“All right, I will talk to her,'' Astarion promises. “Now go and clean yourself before eating.”
Alethaine spends an hour in the bath washing off the dirt and sweat. She hears her parents talking but can’t decipher their words.
When she finally returns to the kitchen, Tiriel hands out a plate with dinner in front of her.
“Kitten, so you really don’t learn anything from Nris?” the red-headed warrior asks.
“The drunk tiefling at school teaches me more!”
“Great. I am tired of having a stranger in the house. Besides, we need the basement for something else!” she suspiciously winks to Astarion and the vampires grins.
Alethaine pretends she didn’t hear that.
Tiriel goes downstairs. Something slams against the wall.
“Wake up, moron!” Tiriel yells.
“What now?” Nris grunts as the barbarian drags him upstairs. “Oh, hello creatures of the night. You’ve decided to eat me and end my sufferings?”
Tiriel pushes him to the table. The necromancer looks pathetic – he wears rags, reeks of cheap ale, and the symbol of Thay on his chest is covered with the remains of his last dinner.
“You know, I really needed those ten gold back,” Tiriel grabs his short hair as if she wanted to slam his face against the table. “I was twenty, I was all alone, no soul to care about me and the only thing I wanted was to do my job and get a fucking reward!”
“Mum, I am still a minor!” Alethane protests.
“Kitten, I am well aware of your skills in insulting others!” Tiriel returns back to Nris. “So, imagine me crawling back from that disgusting cave with my hand broken in two, bleeding and tired, only for you, Nris, to take the item and cast me out like a cat on the streets!”
“I am sorry! Tiriel, I’ve already apologized! Astarion, tell her!”
“Nris, there are only two people in this world I care about and neither likes you,” Astarion keeps sharpening his dagger.
“You apologized only because you realized your well-being depended on me, a once poor stupid girl who couldn’t read! Fuck off, I don’t want to ever see you again.”
Nris stares at her with horror. “You let me go? Just like this?”
“Well, not exactly,” Tiriel takes his right hand and breaks the bone with a disgusting cracking sound.
“YOU BITCH!!” the necromancer cries out. “FUCK!”
Tiriel grabs Nris’s collar and drags him all the way to the front door to throw him out like a drunk client in a tavern.
Alethaine looks at Astarion.
“And mum is supposed to be the normal one?” she says.
“Your mum allowed a vampire to bite her, what are you even talking about…”
Tiriel walks back and sits at the table, taking her portion of the food.
“And now you two tell me why you look worse than I did after working for that piece of shit!”
**
Astarion goes downstairs to the basement. The place reeks of the necromancer even though he has left.
“We need to burn everything down,” Tiriel says, looking around.
“Darling, I am not ready to move anywhere, especially after an arson,” he hugs her and teases her left ear. “But now, the basement is all ours!”
“I actually got tired of wishing for Alethaine to go for a walk every time we want to have sex. Do you remember how easy it was before? Whenever and wherever we wanted!”
“Acute dhampir hearing be damned,” Astarion sticks his hand inside Tiriel’s waistband. “But she can’t hear us from down here; is your desire for justice satisfied?”
“Oh, absolutely! But you’ve made a pact with him, haven't you?”
“I did. So, if Alethaine needs him for something he can’t say no because otherwise his former masters will come for him. He really did need to pay you back then!” His left hand traces along her curves.
“I was hurt and lonely,” she pouts. “It was a cold autumn, and I had to sleep on the floor of the temple of Tyr. I imagined someone hugging me to fall asleep.”
“Hm? Was it an elf with short silver hair?” he chuckles.
“I imagined him with long hair like your people usually have,” Tiriel sticks her neck out, inviting him for a bite.
Astarion pierces the skin and Tiriel’s blood gushes down his throat.
Her blood is unique, no other sentient being can compare. Even small droplets of it satiate him, make his heart beat, and warm his skin.
He lets her go before pushing her on the floor.
“I love you,” Astarion says, getting rid of her clothes as she unlaces his trousers.
“I love you, too,” Tiriel answers, tugging him as close as possible.
--
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What do you think of the theory that Cody Burns (Rescue Bots) is a reincarnation of Onyx Prime?
Not my cup of tea personally. I am not a big believer in the whole "bots being reincarnated as humans" thing, at least as a general rule. I can see why people came up with this theory, but I am of the belief, the much like Rafael and his magical ability to understand Bumblebee, Cody Burns is just an outlier.
Maybe he was around energon and it affected his biology. Perhaps he is just one of those odd folks who Just Know Things. Or maybe growing up on an island filled with all sorts of wacky things just made him more chill about stuff and aliens from space. Who knows.
If Onyx were to be reincarnated as anyone, I personally think that he would most certainly return as one of his beasts. Be it Predacon or Beastformer, I firmly believe that he would come back as one of the creatures he helped shape. But barring that, I see no reason for him to have bothered becoming human of all things, especially considering the time between the Allspark being put in a jar and sent away and the birth of a human child. I don't know, its just a tad loose for me.
Still, the thought is neat, and if a fic did it right, I would read it!
#lets try some writing mumbles#transformers#maccadam#transformers rescue bots#cody burns#onyx prime#tf headcanons#transformers prime
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So this post is going to be a bit rough and rambly but… I don’t know how we put this genie back in the box.
Do any of you remember when I’d freshly left the abusive relationship I was in and I read VORACIOUSLY, trying to figure out how I’d been taken in by such an awful person? (I vividly remember telling my dad about her saying I’m sure I’m gay because on my previous relationships with men I never thought I was in love, but this was so intense… well. I still wasn’t sure but I wondered if it might be.)
I read stuff like Why Does He Do That? and I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me. I also read things like The Sociopath Next Door and one of Hare’s books on psychopathy. I’m pretty sure my ex just had BPD, and I hasten to say even there that I have known many other people with BPD who I emphatically don’t think would treat me the way she did. I was trying to make sense of her, not trying to condemn anyone with a label I don’t have. (There are prosocial psychopaths, too.)
Mostly I was trying to make sense of her lack of remorse. She presented it as sexy and exciting—oh no, I don’t ever worry about taking kink too far, I don’t care what people think of me, I never give someone who wronged me a second chance.
I now see these as huge red flags and worried about them even then, but I tend to be someone who obsesses over whether I’m giving people a fair shake, so the idea of getting with her sounded like a fun vacation from scrupulosity.
It was actually “surely the leopard won’t eat MY face,” but I didn’t see it then.
Anyway. Around that time I got into a lot of arguments with people here who felt that putting too much stock into those books was inherently ableist.
The things the books said about lack of empathy, about how someone who lacks empathy treats even close loved ones as objects of use and not as full people, resonated with how I’d been treated by someone who professed to care about me. But it ruffled HARD the feathers of people for whom “lacking empathy” just means “beepy boopy, but not uncaring.” I have no solution to this—I think they’re two different phenomena that unfortunately have the same name (on tumblr. Not sure they do offline.)
Any double way. One thing I kept coming across in that research was the specter of the sociopathic leader. A charismatic public figure who charms a whole community or nation, and once they do that, rule with an iron fist.
The appeal was eerily similar to why I’d latched on to such a gross girlfriend. “Don’t you ever just want to go ape shitt,” basically. What if you don’t have to care? What if you get to put yourself, your family, your tribe, America First?
Doesn’t that take a load off your mind?
Those weird leftists who don’t understand God or gender or American exceptionalism… what if you don’t have to understand them anyway?
What if all you have to do is win?
My books said THAT is why we should continue to think of sociopathy as bad and people who have it as predators. Not because human rights stop mattering if someone isn’t neurotypical but because the attitude is infectious.
A person who thinks that way by default, if they’re charismatic (and many are), can EASILY get someone who doesn’t think that way to start wondering why they bother with perspective taking and empathy and remorse anyway.
Dehumanization is a virus, and people like that are carriers. The more power they have in a society, the more virulent the strain.
Do most people eventually snap out of it? I mean I’d better think so, my sister in law is German.
But how long does it take?
That I don’t know. And that’s what makes me think Trump might win.
And why I continue to think fighting ableism is important but ALSO to think acting like empathy is superfluous is playing with fire.
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Need You Close Pt. 2
Josh Kiszka X Danny Wagner
Slash fic.
WC: 4k+
Warnings: 18+ Only!, Minors DNI, Slash, Explicit Sex, M/M, Male Masturbation,Edging, Cum Play.
Another installment of friends that fuck 🤭
A @lipstickitty / gracev0609 collaboration
It was late and they were tired, the cabin lights of the tour bus were dimmed softly and each man's curtain was shut tightly. Unbeknownst to each other Josh and Danny were doing the same thing, at the same time, thinking about the same thing. Josh lightly skirted his hand down his stomach, his fingertips leaving a tingly sensation that amplified the growing need between his legs. His sweatpants were shoved down to his thighs and his cock was hard and ready pulsing against his abdomen. With a shaky exhale he opens his photos, finding the folder that kept his pictures from the last time he slept with Danny. He bites his tongue, stifling the moan that wants to escape when his eyes meet the sinful image of his cum decorating the hair of Danny's lower stomach. Wrapping his fingers around himself he gives his length a light stroke, enough to satiate the ache that has been building in his stomach all day. Unaware his friend Danny also had his sleep pants pushed down to his knees. He stuck his tongue out, clamping his teeth down onto his tongue as his fist picked up speed. His eyes were focused on his phone, following along with the sinful image. His eyes processing the erotic image of Josh's length, covered in creamy lube, penetrating his hole.
His eyes scrunch shut as his fist stops pumping, as he brought himself to the edge once more. He looked down at his cock, tip flushed red and leaking. As he calms down a lightbulb turns on in his brain. The man he's fantasizing about is laying in his bunk, a few feet away. Danny clicks on the button at the bottom of the picture, Share, and clicks on Josh's contact photo. He doesn't bother typing a message, the meaning is clear. I want you. A split second later another image from the set they took that night appears from Josh. They sent them at the same time. Muffled through the curtain he hears Josh giggle. Softly at first, but the laughter is contagious. What are the odds? He quickly joins in on the giggles, one slipping through his lips as he gives himself a few tugs to keep himself hard. He swipes over to the itinerary, his eyes scanning for hotel arrival time. Bringing up his text thread to Josh he types away.
1:35am Danny: The itinerary says we should be at the hotel in 2 hours, you wanna?
1:35am Josh: Text me your room number. I'll drop my stuff off and come right over.
1:36am Danny: Yeah you'll be coming alright 😉
Danny smirks when he hears Josh cuff a laugh, desperately trying to keep it down. A few moments later Danny thinks of another text for Josh.
1:41am Danny: You still have that cum lube right?
1:42am Josh: oh so you DID like it!
1:43am Danny: I think you know how much I liked it Josh…
They leave their conversation be, getting back to the task at hand. His eyes find the other pictures Josh took, his imagination running wild as his hand pumped furiously over himself. He felt his stomach clench, the fire burning low in his belly, Danny knew he was about to cum. He sets his phone down on his chest and grabs the small washcloth he took out from his suitcase, covering himself with the fabric. One more stroke of his practiced hand he burst, cumming into the soft material as images of Josh's naked body danced behind his eyelids. As he floated back down to Earth he smirked to himself as he heard the muffled gasps and moans of Josh reaching his peak in the bunk across from him.
With it being so late when they arrive at their hotel, almost everyone had been asleep or close to it in their bunks, and were all more than content to go straight up to their rooms for the night. Soft, sleepy, mumbled ‘goodnight’s are exchanged and all the guys go their separate ways to turn in for the night. As soon as Jake and Sam are out of sight, Josh drops his sluggish, tired facade and starts speedwalking towards his door.
He lets his bags drop down onto the bed, digging in the pocket of one of them for what he knows is secreted away in there. He breathes a little ‘aha!’ when he’s found it, letting the bottle of the creamy liquid rest on the bedside table while he changes into fresh pajamas. Even though he knows they’ll be coming off as soon as Danny’s door shuts behind him, he still wants to freshen up for him. He hurriedly brushes his teeth in the bathroom and looks himself over in the mirror. As soon as he’s dressed, lube hidden away in his inside jacket pocket, he carefully shuts the door behind him, not allowing it to make more than a barely there ‘click’ as the locks engage.
Knowing that he’s working on limited time until Josh is at his door, Danny rushes around the room, setting his things down neatly where they won’t be in the way. He makes sure not a single pillow on the bed is out of place, knowing damn well neither of them actually give a fuck about the pillows- he just wants it to be as nice and inviting as possible when Josh comes in without making it seem like he’s trying too hard. He slips into what he knows is one of Josh’s favorite things to see him in- some form-fitting grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips, and a cut-up tank showing off his beautifully sculpted torso. He leaves his hair down for the moment, knowing Josh likes to watch him tie it back in the heat of the moment. He quickly brushes, rinses with a little mouthwash and glances over his reflection, making sure he’s ready.Not long after comes Josh’s soft tapping on the door, excitedly Danny crosses the room and opens the door for his friend, pressing him up against it with a sweet kiss as soon as it’s swung shut.
“Mmm, hi.” Josh mumbles against Danny’s lips, arms winding around his waist.
“I heard you on the bus, you know. Wanted to come in there so badly…” Danny whispers back, nose running along Josh’s jawline.
A small squeak emanates from the back of this throat,”I wouldn't have minded… maybe next time?”
Danny smiles into his neck, he can feel Josh's breathing pick up, and he cups his hand against Josh, his cock already hardening.
“Eager for me aren't you?”
Danny places hot wet kisses to the sensitive skin on Josh's throat, feeling him twitch and continue to harden under his palm.
A breathy,”Always,” slips from Josh's mouth.
Danny backs away, and Josh can feel his body crying out for more of his touch. He motions to the bed silently telling Josh to climb into it. Danny follows, pulling his tattered shirt off as he approaches the end of the bed. He smirks at the sight of the bottle of lube that Josh placed onto his nightstand,” You remembered it.”
Josh slides his oversized t shirt over his head from his seated position in the fluffy comforter,” I wouldn't forget such a request. Especially for you Danny.”
Danny crawls up the bed, pushing Josh to his back. He looms over Josh, his curls creating a curtain shielding their faces, Josh looks up at him, his eyes round and full of adoration.
“Ya know Danny, I kinda have a little crush on you.”
Danny barks a laugh, his eyes squinting,” I'd hope so! We keep ending up in bed together, I'd hope you'd have at least a little crush on me.”
Josh cranes his neck up, captures Danny's lips between his,” I want you. Want you to fuck me this time.”
“Yeah? How do you want it, Joshy?” Danny says in a near growl, tongue coming out to lick a broad stripe up the side of Josh’s neck.
Josh’s voice comes out as a whimper, Danny invading all his senses, “Ruin me. Please, daddy?” big doe eyes staring right into Danny’s. Danny’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, reeling himself in from what he really wants to do in that moment- fuck him until he can’t remember his own name. Which he will do, especially if Josh wants it that way- but he’s going to have his fun first.
He crashes his lips to Josh’s again, a sharp nip to his plush bottom lip making him gasp out a moan. His hands wander all over the expanse of Josh’s chest, trailing down his waist leaving little goosebumps in his wake. One of Josh’s hands moves to palm Danny over his sweats, feeling him already hard and aching for his touch. “You’re so hard,” Josh murmurs against Danny’s lips, “is that for me?”
Danny hums, fingers roaming over the bare skin of Josh’s abdomen. “You know it is.” He tangles one hand in Josh’s curls, tilting his head back exposing his throat to litter with kisses. One bite to the sensitive spot behind Josh’s ear has him whining Danny’s name, hips involuntarily bucking against his in a desperate attempt to gain friction. Danny gently squeezes Josh’s shoulders and Josh takes the hint without any further prompting, dropping to his knees in front of the bed before him.
As soon as his knees touch the carpet, he’s placing kisses and love bites over every inch of Danny he can access, letting his fingers play with the waistband of his sweats. His thumbs hook into the sides, sliding the material down as Danny raises his hips to make it easier, leaving Danny fully bare, all tan skin and rippling muscle against the stark white comforter. He takes Danny’s achingly hard length in hand, slowly stroking from base to tip while he litters the plush tip with soft kisses, just barely letting his teeth graze the underside. He pulses in Josh's grasp,he moans,” Do it again. Use your teeth again, felt nice.”
Gently Josh takes him deep into his mouth, softly raking his teeth up the length of his cock. Danny's breath shudders out as he moans, his back arching into Josh's touch. He leans up onto his elbows, his eyes dark and his hair messy,” Bite it a little bit.”
Josh's eyes flick to Danny's, wanting confirmation. Danny nods his head, as Josh's teeth press down on the swollen head of his cock. He applies gentle pressure, not enough to really hurt him.
Danny's jaw hangs slack, and he throws his head back in a moan once he feels the sensations of Josh's tongue swirling across his slit. His hips buck and immediately Josh eases the tension he has around his cock and he pulls off of him,” Like a little pain? That's really hot Danny.”
Josh stands and pushes his sweats off, letting his cock spring free, Danny pulls at his arm beckoning him back into bed,” Come on, get up here, gotta get you prepped. God, I wanna ruin you already.”
He lays down on the center of the bed, spreading his legs allowing Danny to get situated in between them. Carefully Danny lays down on his stomach, and spreads Josh's legs even further.
Josh speaks up, his eyes glued to the ceiling fan above him,” It. Uh- it shouldn't take too long to get me prepped. I had a plug in on the bus…”
A smirk grows on Danny's lips as his fingers trace soft circles against Josh's entrance, the hole still slightly slick with residual lube.
“So dirty Josh, fuck. Is that why you couldn't keep quiet baby? Hips rocking to feel that delicious pressure where you needed it while you fucked your fist.”
Dannys cock throbbed, pulsing as it was nestled in the sheets, the imagery and dirty talk was egging him on too.
Josh hands him the bottle of cum lube, now mostly empty,” Gonna have to get more soon, can't be out of your favorite,” he teases as he squirts a small amount on his fingers.
“Wait! I wanna flip over, wanna grind while you finger me.”
Danny sits up, allowing Josh to get into the position he wants, hitching one leg totally bent and open as he flexes his hips into the mattress. Danny lays beside him, pressing his hot length into Josh's thick thigh as his lubed fingers find his entrance once more. Gently he eases them in, resistance less than he remembers it being from before.
“All the way Danny, I can take two.”
Danny trusts him, having his pointer finger join his middle. In and out he finger fucks him in time with his thrusts. His mind spirals as his eyes hone in on the creamy lube gathering around the base of his fingers. The visual appearing like he's finger fucking his cum back into him.
Josh’s moans steadily grow louder and needier, the feeling of Danny’s fingers stretching him out simultaneously too much and not enough. He curls his fingers just right and Josh’s need overtakes his patience, “more. Please, I need more,” his voice shakes a bit as his hand maneuvers behind him to tightly grip Danny’s wrist.
He slows the pace of his hips rocking into the mattress when Danny retracts his first two fingers, pushing back in with the addition of his ring finger. The additional stretch comes with a slight sting that’s instantly forgotten as soon as Danny finds that sweet spot again, his body practically melting into the bed as he abuses that spot.
It doesn’t take long for Josh to speak up again, begging for more, “Fuck, please- I’m ready. I need you, need your cock.” he whines, hips pushing back into Danny’s fingers like even his body was pleading for Danny, outside of Josh’s control. Danny leans down and kisses over the small of Josh’s back while he slips his fingers out of him and coats his length in the slick, creamy fluid.
“Turn over, pretty boy. I wanna see your face when I fuckin’ ruin you.” Danny growls, mouth moving a little lower to leave a trail of kisses along the swell of Josh’s ass before sinking his teeth into the softness of his inner thigh.
Josh flips himself over and Danny has to just take him in for a moment- lips kiss-swollen and slick from being licked and bitten, eyes dark with pure lust, cock flushed red, twitching and leaking where it rests against his stomach. “Fuck.” Danny groans, unable to resist- he leans in and sucks Josh’s swollen tip between his lips, flicking his tongue over his slit, savoring the taste of his precum on his tongue. Josh gasps, back arching at the unexpected sensation of Danny’s mouth.
“Daddy, please!” Josh cries out, hips thrusting without intending to, sending his length further down Danny’s throat making him force back a gag. Danny’s strong hands grip both Josh’s hips, pinning them down to the bed eliciting a pitiful whimper from Josh’s lips. Danny takes the hair tie wrapped around his wrist between his teeth before haphazardly tying his mane of curls back, little tendrils escaping here and there framing his beautiful face.
“Needy boy just needs to be taken care of, huh? Couldn’t even wait for me, had to fuck yourself on the bus like the desperate little slut you are. I bet you imagined it was me deep inside of you too, didn’t you baby?” He taunts, crawling over Josh’s body taking his own cock in hand lining himself up. Josh's eyes roll and clamp shut, the pleasure of Danny sliding inside of him instantly removing the bratty thoughts. Danny stills once he's buried inside, letting Josh adjust. He peppers little kisses on the damp skin of his forehead and his nose,” Feel okay?”
Josh pants, hips wiggling, clenching around him,”Please move! I need it fuck I need it.”
Gently he rolls his hips forward, and Josh claws at his own chest, nails digging into his soft pectoral muscles,” You feel so good!”
Danny grits his teeth as Josh clenches around him, already greedy. Josh's hand snakes down, grasping himself already desperate.
Danny slows his hips, his clean hand coming up to pet Josh's hair back,” Slow down baby, you're working yourself up already. Just feel me, you know I'll make you feel good.”
He takes some steady inhales calming himself,”You're right. I know you will.”
“I need you to stop clenching so hard, or it'll be over before you know it.”
Josh continues to relax his body,” There you go, there's my good boy.”
He picks up the pace, his hips rolling at a steady in and out his tip nudging against the spot Josh loves so much.
Whines and moans freely flow from Josh's lips,” More Danny please! Touch me.”
Danny stills once more, grabbing the bottle of lube, theatrically dripping it onto Josh's tip. His eyes flick to Josh's face and he sees his cheeks reddened and his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Do you like that Joshy? Want me to stroke your pretty cock with your cum? It'll feel so, so good. I wanna be covered in it, all hot and silky on my skin. Does my pretty boy want to be edged? Get so, so close to bursting, making you beg for me to let you go?’
Danny smiles as Josh cries and whimpers beneath him, the word yes spilling from his lips like a mantra. Danny situates himself up on his knees, pulling Josh's hips into his lap, one of his hands holds his hip in an iron grip and the other loosely strokes his length. He can't help but grin when he feels him already pulsing in his hand. His hand increases speed along with his thrusts, pushing him closer to the release he's going to deny.
“More! More Danny, please please please!”
He increases his speed and pressure once again, railing him into the mattress. Danny looks at Josh, eyes full of love and adoration as he desperately thrashes underneath him.
“Stop! Stop! I'm gonna cum, stop!”
Danny removes his hand letting his length fall back against his stomach watching it swell. He slows his hips, leaning forward kissing Josh softly as he comes back from the edge of release. Despite knowing Josh like the back of his hand and having complete faith in his own ability to know when Josh is ready to keep going, Danny still waits for the cue from him before starting to move again. “You’re such a good boy, Josh. Telling me when you’re close so you don’t cum without permission.” Danny coos, leaning down to steal a kiss, chuckling softly when Josh’s lips try to chase his own after pulling away.
The amount of time it takes for Josh to be teetering on the edge of coming undone is much shorter this time, Danny’s cock pounding into him relentlessly effectively pushing any other thoughts out of his head. His eyes flutter as Danny reduces him to nothing but a needy, whimpering mess, no longer wishing to serve any purpose other than being a warm place for Danny to put his cock. When Danny’s hand wraps around Josh’s length once more, Josh’s eyes snap open, a high pitched moan tearing from his chest. “Don’t! Fuck, wait.” He breathes, squeezing Danny’s hand in his own, stopping his movements. Danny freezes, awaiting further instructions, worried he may have pushed too far. “If you touch me right now I’ll cum. Please, I wanna hold on for you.” Josh begs, the fucked-out tone in his voice the sweetest sound in Danny’s ears. Danny’s hips still as well, opting to let Josh fully recover before he starts up again, not willing to let the fun be over just yet.
At Josh’s soft, breathy ‘okay, now’, Danny’s hips resume their rhythm, rocking in and out steadily, gradually building up his pace. “Fuck, you feel amazing wrapped around my cock like this. So soft, so warm, so fucking perfect.” Danny moans out between thrusts. By edging Josh he’s also denying himself and his desire is roaring through him now, blind to anything other than the incessant need. Josh’s eyes roll back and he can barely even register the noises both of them are making with the overwhelming pleasure rolling through his whole body.
“Danny-“ Josh groans, any coherent thought long gone as he nears the brink once again.
“You close, pretty boy?” Danny croons, teasing his thumb over Josh’s tip making him shudder.
“Y-yes, fuck, stop!” His eyes are screwed shut and his breathing is labored, abdomen decorated with his own precum as well as the little droplets of lube that Danny had dripped on him. Josh lets out one long exhale as he comes down from yet another denied high, part of him wanting to cum but the other part wanting to see how far Danny is going to take it.
“Tell me Josh. Does it feel good?” Danny grunts, trailing his fingers across Josh’s chest before pinching a nipple.
“Push them up for me,” Danny says, grabbing at the sides of Josh's pecs, smushing them together like a pair of tits. Josh's hands take over, keeping his chest squished, giggling,” There's not that much there!”
Danny smirks, lowering his face to his chest, nuzzling into his soft squishy skin, before placing his mouth over his hardened nipple. His tongue swirling wet circles around the bud,” Fuck! That's good!”
Danny can't help it, his body is aching for relief, his hips start pounding into Josh, he starts chasing his high while his mouth worships his chest. Josh can barely hold on either, being denied too many times tonight.
Pitiful whines and cries escape his mouth, his head thrown back into the pillows. Red blotchiness covers his cheeks, neck and chest. A pool of sweat has gathered between his makeshift cleavage,” If you don't stop I'm gonna cum…”
Danny's breath is labored, his hair frizzy and disheveled,” I want you to Josh, I'm close too.”
In between gasps Josh pants out,”I want it in me this time,fuck, fill me up Danny.”
As those words leave his mouth, Danny's eyes roll and the only thing left on his mind is pleasure. His hips continue their grueling pace until they're stuttering, and Danny groans. Noise ripping deep from within his chest as he meets his end, emptying his hot load inside of the beautiful man beneath him.
The unique sensation of being filled is what drives Josh completely off the edge, his cock swells and bursts as his hips buck. White ropes of his release paint his stomach as his hand squeezes and milks out the last few drops he has left.
His body feels numb, his mind is hazy floating along on a cloud. Josh shivers as Danny's hot tongue comes in contact with his sweat cooled skin, lapping at the few dots of his mess that have splattered further up his chest. He shivers again as Danny's middle and ring finger swipe through the puddle on his stomach, gathering it. His jaw hangs slack as he watches him bring his fingers around, stuffing his own back entrance with Josh's mess.
A high pitched whine slips through his lips,”Danny…. So fucking hot.”
Danny leans down, capturing Josh's pouty lips between his own,” Gonna pull out now baby.”
As gently as he can he pulls his now soft length from his abused entrance, his eyes hone in on his mess dripping from his fluttering hole,” Wanna see it Joshy? I can take more pictures.”
“Please…”
He takes the few steps towards his nightstand, leaving Josh blissful in the middle of the bed. He's sure his limbs feel like jelly.
“Spread your legs wide for me,” he says zooming in and taking a few pictures.
“Can I take a video Josh?” Asking with his finger hovering over the record button.
Breathy he replies,” Yeah, that's fine.”
After hitting the button he watches as his hole clenches, trying to keep his mess in. Without thinking too much about it, his hand gathers what has dripped out, and he gently pushes it back inside.
“Good boy, keep it there.”
He stops recording, putting his phone back on his nightstand, and plugging the charger in. Josh, barely coherent, asks,” Can I stay? I don't feel like getting up, I don't really know if I can right now.”
“You know you're always more than welcome to stay.” Danny turns on his heel, going to the bathroom to get him supplies, a hot washcloth and the bottle of Tylenol.
When he gets back to the bed he smiles, Josh not moving an inch,”Gonna clean you up and then you've gotta sit up and take these. I didn't exactly go easy on you.”
Josh sighs and the warm damp cloth caresses his sensitive skin, cleaning up the mess the best it can.
Begrudgingly he sits up in bed, grabbing the water and pills Danny has in his outstretched hand,” Thank you. My lower back is sore already.”
Danny juts out his bottom lip, he was hoping to avoid causing him discomfort,” Come. Lay on me and I'll rub your back.”
Danny gets in bed, getting comfortable and opening his arms to let Josh lay in them. The smaller man's body fitting perfectly against his own, he brings his palms to the small of his back, kneading the sore muscles. He can feel him melting against him,” You did so good for me Josh.”
Danny's hands wander, rubbing his soothing touch over his shoulders, and his hips.
Josh places soft, barely awake kisses against his neck, whispering,” Thank you for taking care of me. I love you Danny.”
Danny turns his head, pressing his lips to the shaved side of Josh's head,” I love you too Josh, I'll always take care of you.”
The labels on their relationship didn't matter, Danny would always be whatever Josh needed he was so easy to love.
#gvf#josh gvf#josh kiszka#danny gvf#danny wagner#gvf fanfiction#gvf smut#greta van slash#greta van smut#greta van fic#greta van fleet#josh kiszka smut#danny wagner smut#josh x danny
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