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moondirti · 3 days

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ghoap x nanny! reader / 18+ / previous ft. surveillance. handjobs. voyeurism. mild s/m. dirty talk.

They check up on you when they can.

Price wasn't exaggerating when he doled out the mission details. It's a tough one. Grueling. The type that necessitates four flights a week and days of little to no sleep, the men fuelled on nothing but a snow-balling urgency to get it done. The target is a slippery fuck, with connections that transport him across the globe at the first sign of conflict. They come close to apprehending him only once, and nothing comes of it but the exacerbated threat of nuclear war as the bastard starts to squeak like a cornered mouse. Gaz has a near constant migraine. Soap stops being fun around the two week mark, exhaustion slowing his tongue. Ghost grows more unhinged with his kills, punching blades through the throats of anyone who dares get in their way.

But still, they check on you.

Isla occupies a quarter of their headspace at all times; half when they don't have to dedicate their focus to the operation. It's the longest they've ever spent away from their girl, the withdrawals hitting them like a bag of bricks. They do whatever's necessary, then, to tune into the nanny cams they have set up around the house, lest Johnny cries about the way her hands dimple when she uncurls a fist again. Or worse – before Simon forgets what tethers him to humanity.

They find the two of you are always doing something.

Which isn't a surprise. You had mentioned your background in early childhood education; they just thought that it'd been a device to impress them. But it's clear that you're eager to put your degree to use when they see you setting up yet another enrichment activity for their daughter and encouraging her to engage.

The first time, they had just arrived on base. It'd been five hours since they've seen you last and already, Johnny had pulled his phone to log onto the monitoring app he had installed.

Sure enough, you were in the same overalls they saw you in last, Isla changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas after her bath. You had her set on her play mat, but replaced the dangling toys for newer, more colourful ones. As she reached for them, you would sound out the shade in a high-pitched voice and grin excitedly when she'd babble back, as if aaaah! meant green.

He felt his heart tug something fierce, caught between endearment and unease at missing out, before getting dressed for debrief.

The third time, you let them know you could tell when the nanny cam is in active use. Not accusatorially, of course – it unfolded in a way too innocent to be anything but a whammy on their part.

They were in a humvee on exfil after being ambushed by the local army – soldiers with blood money lining their pockets, tasked with dispatching the bloodhounds that keep sniffing their patron's trail. Simon had watched a little boy get caught in the crossfire and decided it was imperative to check if Isla was okay, despite her being hundreds of miles away and off anyone's radar.

You're the first thing he saw, carrying the weight of a huge plastic storage container filled with water. In it, there were several rubber animals that inspired a fit of squeals somewhere off screen. You had laughed, a little out of breath, and he remembers the relief that flooded his chest at the dual sounds. Like the cold lick of waves across scorching sand.

As you'd passed by the camera, you stopped and crouched so your face would be in view.

"Isla likes splashing around in the water. I'm thinking of getting her a paddling pool." And you lifted the container as if you would ever need to justify the way you take of their daughter. "Hope you guys are well."

Johnny murmured from beside him. "Forgot aboot th' status light."

The seventh– ninth– maybe twelfth time (having lost count), it was just in time to catch you on your way out with Isla in tow.

They'd tuckered down in a shitty motel, awaiting the next word from Laswell, all four of them in one room. Gaz had been given the bed as consolation for the torn tendon in his knee, and Price had claimed the couch with nothing more than a growl about his back needing it. Thus, Ghost and Soap found themselves on the floor, the latter man tucked under his partner's arm, the other occupied with checking in on the porch feed. The time difference made it so that it was midday where you were.

You were dressed – and Simon recalls it as clearly as the day you met – in a green wrap skirt and tulip hat, their darling girl in a shade of pink that complimented its petals, sat on your hip as you struggled with her buggy. They forgot to give you the run down on unfolding it before they left, too overwhelmed with everything else to pay mind to the little things.

Johnny had jumped for the two-way talk function immediately, tapping on the little mic before clearing his throat.

"There's a latch under th' left arm. Flip it 'n' it shuid unfold automatically."

You jumped, pausing to face the porch cam with wide eyes. "Oh– Oh my god. Haha," Following his directions, you were able to get it open with little fuss. "that is so embarrassing. Pretend you never saw that."

Simon had his balaclava on, uncomfortable with going bare-faced in an unfamiliar room, but Johnny still felt the soft smile splitting his cheeks. Its warmth was unmistakable.

"Nonsense, lass. 'twas cute."

You bloomed at that, wiggling a little in place. Though the flustered moment hadn't lasted long, for Isla's mouth fell open at the recognition of her father's voice, chubby hand reaching out in its direction.

"Bldha! Pffffpp."

"That's right, baby! That's Da." You waddled closer to have her inspect the strange contraption hooked above their mailbox, turning your attention back to them. "We're going on a narration walk! Isla's gotten so good at recognising animals because of them. But it was so nice to hear from you. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Gah!"

Simon locked the phone when neither of them could muster a response, emotion rushing their throats like white-river rapids. Hot tears seep into his side, a pair of misty eyes buried in his ribs.

"I know. I know, Johnny. S'alright. We'll see 'er again soon."

Now, he's made good on his promise.

All three rogue missiles located and dismantled in record time, meaning their slimy target could no longer use them as a shield. He'd been in shackles within the next day, wrangled somewhere in Istanbul and shipped off to a maximum security prison in The Hague. The task force left no loose thread untugged, which took an extra day but will be worth it in the long run. Price promises to reward them with a round, on him.

They're on their way back to base when Johnny tunes in a final time.

He's sure that Isla is asleep by now, confirmed by the baby monitor that focuses on the sprawled form in her cot. It would be best to exit the app and doze off like the other men – lord knows he needs it – but he can't help the itch to look for you too. To click through every channel, his curiosity unquenched, until–

Ah. There.

On the couch, bare legs stretched out along its length. A throw blanket tangled between them, one bent at the knee to support the book you're currently fingering through. The sight alone is enough to make him salivate.

But then he notices the thin material of your top.

Practically translucent. No doubt made for bed. You aren't wearing a bra, either, and the darker shade of your nipples practically flaunts itself through the fabric. They're too soft to protrude and cast a shadow on your breasts, but he's still able to get a good impression of what you would look like nude. Some part of him wilts with guilt at the shameless voyeurism he's subjecting you to.

Another part sends blood to the weight between his legs.

"Bleedin' Christ."

"Hm?" Simon grunts, disturbed by the restless pace of Johnny's heart. His head lifts off his shoulder, blinking warily to clear the silky gossamer of sleep threading his eyelids, before focusing on the grainy footage on his partner's screen.

"Ghost." He whines, hips bucking in desperation when the larger man does nothing. They haven't had the chance to relieve themselves since that night at the motel, and even then it had been a messy frotting as they tried not to disturb their sleeping comrades.

"A'right. Off to the bathroom with you, then."

He doesn't turn off of the live feed even as they cram into the compact space. Though he should. He needs to. Not because you're aware of their surveillance – you're far too engrossed in your book to pay mind to the blinking red light on the nanny cam. But because only depraved men gets off to unsuspecting hens, especially the ones they hired in good faith to take care of their child while they're away.

It's a dirty, dirty thrill that roars through him as Simon wraps an arm around his waist, palming his hard-on through his trousers. And it's a dirty thrill he wants no part of.

"Practically leakin' in your pants, boy. First time you see a pair of tits?" In the small mirror before him, he watches his pants get pulled down past his ass, underwear stained a deeper swatch of blue where his tip spits prespend.

It might as well be the first time, way he's humping Simon's hand like an over-eager mutt. Though he can't manage to choke it out through the rough groans pressing his vocal chords. Instead, what escapes him is a pathetic mess of trembling letters. "S'not... fookin, not– not–"

"Shhh, it's okay. She's jus' so pretty, yeah? Can't help but chub up and beg me to rub your aching cock, wishing it was her darlin' hand wrapped 'round you instead. I know."

"Nn, nae, Sim- Si– I wouid never... Ah!"

It's dry. A little raw. He makes no effort to lube his calloused palm to help it glide easier along Johnny's length, but he knows his boy better than he knows himself sometimes. That he needs pain when he's doing something bad like this, or else he'll lose himself to the guilt. A little bit of penance for the Catholic.

"Don' lie to me. Y'can't. But tha's alright," He pulls the foreskin off the head of his uncut mass, kneading a bit into his frenulum to watch the way white oozes against red. "I think about it too."

"A-Aye?"

"Hm. Think 'bout ya swallowing my cock while I sit 'er on my face. Bet she tastes sweet, like nectar. Jus' look at the thing." Which he does. You're seated a bit differently than you had been before. Less liberal. Wound up tight, with your nose buried in your book and your toes curled beneath your feet. Surely captured by some tense plot line or the other. "Would make you clean her cunt after I pump 'er full. Or vice versa, if she's into tha'."

"Yer a-aff yer heid... Fuck, I cannae–"

"That's it, Johnny. Let go, boy." Simon's strokes keep at the top, tugging in short, rough movements over the phone. The blanket now covers you fully, but it's no matter. The image of your breasts are now seared into both their minds, an array of fantasies unfurling before them, each nastier than the last. "Jus' like that."

Thick ropes of cum streak over the screen and sink countertop. It's weeks worth of pent up frustration, a culmination of despair and desire as a stuttered moan claws up Johnny's throat. The hand leaves his cock only when he starts shooting blanks, clenching tight at the overstimulation.

Simon makes him lick the mess off his palm.

(And unbeknownst to them, they'd hit the mic on their way to the bathroom.

You'd heard the whole thing.)

#oops!#my finger slipped #ghoap x reader #ghoap #simon ghost riley x reader x johnny soap mactavish #fic ༄ miss magic #call of duty #ghost x soap #simon riley x reader x john mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley x john mactavish #simon ghost riley x johnny soap mactavish #simon 'ghost' riley x reader x johnny 'soap' mactavish #simon 'ghost' riley x johnny 'soap' mactavish #x female reader

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suguann · 23 hours

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Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.

He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face.

(More than likely, he’s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)

“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”

A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.

“So? Let them stare.”

Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids.

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.

And then Mio kicks the ball into—

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.

The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.

It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips—

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.

That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.

“Were they?”

“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”

Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter—

“Where’s Mio?”

A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.”

You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.”

And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”

(Who knows?

Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.

(How it was probably always going to come back to this.)

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.

#gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #jjk drabbles #jjk x you #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #fem!reader #.things i write

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tinalbion · 2 days

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'𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝' ||

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: The Ghoul x fem!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄! Minors, DO NOT interact! Smut with plot, oral (male receiving), blowjob, vaginal fingering, cowgirl, penetration, creampie murder, canon typical language

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 8k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: I saw someone mention that they think the Ghoul hasn't had sex in 200 years, (their personal headcanon) they figure he would be a little bit rusty. So this is what stemmed from that post, which isn't exactly too on point but it's something! This is for you!

It had been hell in the Wastelands as you struggled to survive, but you were always a tough one and managed to make it on your own, though using that experience you gained only made you stronger, smarter, and less likely to be taken off guard. Well, you had thought so, but life managed to always try to surprise you.

The Ghoul came and changed all of that.

You happened to run into him by complete accident as you were scrounging for scraps, anything you could sell or trade in, and there he was, walking by without a care in the world as he readjusted the saddle bag on his shoulder. You saw him, but he didn't see you, or so you thought.

It was funny how most ghouls on the surface had all but withered away and turned feral, but this one seemed to have a purpose, your eyes focused on him for a good long while as he was searching for…something. You weren't sure what exactly, but you still watched him to pass the time, especially since he was one of the most interesting people you'd seen out here in a very long while.

He stopped and looked straight at you like he knew you were there the entire time, and your heartbeat quickened. What would he do? Would he rob you for what you had? Shoot you for fun? No, he didn't do any of that, he just stared for a long moment, tilted his head as the brim of his hat covered his stare, and then went on his merry way.

That was the first time you saw him.

The second time you'd met him wasn't too long after. You were making your way around once again, in search of jobs, and you'd frequent local bars, or what passed as bars nowadays, and you'd been drinking a cheap bottle of probably piss, and he had walked in. The entire room went silent save for a few who could have cared less about a Ghoul's presence. Not a lot of folks cared for them, saw them as less than people, but you didn't have an issue, just with the ones who posed a threat.

He sauntered up to the bar, slapped a folded piece of paper down, then took a seat. The jingle of his spurs echoed in your head as he sat there, his intimidating aura radiated off of him to the point you were too afraid to look anywhere but stare at your drink. he must have sensed your unease and he shifted, staring at you, his eyes glared toward you in sunken sockets, his prominent brow furrowed.

There was talk amongst the bar again, more hushed than it had been, but it was there all the same. You heard the stranger's voice speak up this time, but you focused so hard on anything but him that it seemed to be muffled talk with the bartender. Your eyes flickered over to look at his hands, which rested on the counter, gloves covered his hands as he remained as calm as ever while he tapped his digits against the defaced wood.

“Well, sweetheart, maybe you could point me in the direction of someone who has a damn sense of what they're sayin’ to me, ‘cause I'm havin’ a difficult time finding anyone who doesn't seem to be hidin’ something.”

You turned to look at him in surprise and stared for a moment. “What?” You asked.

He scoffed. “I said, you seen this fella?” He slid the paper toward you, it was now unfolded with a sketch of a man you think you saw a few nights ago in this same dive.

You nodded and looked up at him for the first time, staring into his eyes, and they pierced yours, stunning you for a moment. “Yeah, saw him here, was talking in the corner with a few other men, but I didn't stick around long. They were being loud and bragging about some bounty they were taking on,” you explained.

The Ghoul listened, took in your words, and then craned his neck back toward the bartender. “See, now I come in here askin’ so nicely for some information, and here you are hurtin’ my feelings.”

The bartender shot you an annoyed glare and then stared back at him. “Look, I don't want any trouble in my bar, and I get a bunch of people in and out of here, ain't nothing special about some bounty hunter, we get loads of you guys.”

The Ghoul didn't like that response from the man, so he leaned further onto the counter and slid the empty glass toward him. “Top me off, and I'll be on my way.”

You turned away from the Ghoul and tried not to get more involved than you already were. You had a feeling that once he left, the bartender would cut you off, shoot you probably, who knows. So you scooted out of your stool and threw your caps onto the counter, then turned away to make your way out. Once you left through the doors, that's when you heard the sound of a gun go off, and you were thankful you got out of there when you did.

Where you'd go next, you weren't sure, but sticking around the area would be an awful idea, so you decided to get as far away from the dive as possible. As soon as your feet touched the ground, the door swung open.

“Leavin’ before you could miss all the fun?” His voice called out to you, his boots heavy on the wooden stairs as he walked down toward you, and the jingle of his spurs echoed behind him.

“Figured it wouldn't be smart being inside where I could get shot, as much as I'd like to stick around, getting injured ain't fun.”

“You know more than you're lettin’ on, sweetheart, and I ain't in the mood to play games. Where can I find him?”

You figured you had nothing to gain or lose on this man, this bounty wasn't in your interest nor was being around the fool, so you figured you'd give him what he wanted. “Overheard him saying something about a hideout in the middle of the Mojave, said it's fortified with turrets, but I don't know how true that is.”

The Ghoul stared at you, obviously suspicious of your willingness to hand over the information, but he didn't argue. It almost seemed as if he were debating what to do with you from then on, but if your information proved to be wrong, he figured he could just find you again and shoot you.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off, once again making his way across the desert to find his bounty. You figured that would be the last you’d ever seen of him, or at least you had hoped so considering he kind of scared the hell out of you. Truthfully, not many people did anymore, you’d seen a lot in the wastelands that you wish you hadn’t been exposed to mostly for your own well-being. But not much scared you or disturbed you anymore, though something about the Ghoul gnawed at you, it was a fight or flight response at best.

Of course, that was not the last you saw of the Ghoul.

The third time, you had a bad feeling that he was thinking the worst. Maybe he figured you were following him around the wastelands, that you coveted whatever he had, but it didn’t even cross his mind. When his eyes landed on you in a settlement trading post miles from where you’d last seen him, questioning some poor sucker who looked like he was trying to pull a fast one on the bounty hunter, and you had just kept on walking. He wouldn’t notice you, you were sure of it.

“Well if it isn’t my little informant from that shithole dive in the Mojave,” he said loud enough for you to hear.

You paused and looked over your shoulder, smiling nervously. “Oh, it’s you. You uh, find that guy you were looking for?” You asked him, trying to remain calm.

He cocked his head and wore a smirk. “Course I did, and your information was well worth it, glad I didn’t have to hunt you down, too.”

That was the closest to a ‘thank you’ as you’d ever get, you’d take it. “Anytime,” you hummed with a small two-fingered salute and turned back around, trying to get out of the vicinity.

The Ghoul released the man that he had gripped by his shirt and pointed harshly at him. “You keep your ass right there, I’ll be back for you. We ain’t finished yet.” He turned to walk in your direction and caught up with incredible speed. “Where you goin’, sweetheart? You seem pressed to leave whenever I show up.”

If this was his form of flirting, you weren’t sure, but you did seem to want to leave quickly whenever you saw him. “Oh, no sir, it’s just I’ve heard about your reputation and I’d rather not mix myself up with any of that,” you said straightforwardly.

This made the Ghoul chuckle to himself as he stepped in front of you, not allowing you to advance any further away from him. “You either one lucky gal or possibly a lucky charm,” he mused with a mischievous smile. “You work in bounties at all?”

Your eyes shifted from his to the ground, thinking of your response. “I thought about it, but I don’t have that sort of…command a bounty hunter has. I got different skills, though.”

“And what kind is that?”

You cleared your throat and looked up at him. “I mean no offense, but why are you asking?”

This made him chuckle again and he couldn’t help but try to size you up as you seemed so on the defensive. “Just friendly conversation is all.” That was obviously a lie, but he was definitely curious about you and how you just seemed to be there whenever he was.

Now this made you laugh and you nodded. “Sure, I suppose even someone with your reputation could be seen as friendly,” you quipped. “But I am just… a nobody. I just do what I can to get by.”

The Ghoul wasn’t sure how to read into your answer, but there was something to you. “Well, Miss Nobody,” he began as he grabbed the folded piece of paper from his pocket, “since your observance was so spot on last time, why not go round two for two? You seen this lowlife?”

You grabbed the paper from his hand and unfolded it, then grimaced at the photo. “Unfortunately I have, but this one is a bit more of a pain in the ass to get to. Runs with the Triggermen, they have a lot of solid hookups, so I wouldn’t just expect to go in guns blazing and think it ends there. But I saw him sniffing around Filly some time ago, probably doing more chem running.”

Again, he stared at you curiously. “You sure do know a lot of stuff for bein’ a nobody,” he pointed out with a low voice.

“If you’ve been around for as long as I have, you get to know quite a lot of you seem unassuming and blend into the background.”

“Around as long as you, huh?” He was mildly curious and almost amused by the wording.

You just nodded and looked around the area, and you noticed that a lot of the people seemed uneasy by the Ghoul’s presence, and you figured it wasn’t due to the fact it was because of what he was but who he was. “Look, again, you can’t just walk right in. If you’re looking for him, isolating him and taking him out alone is the best option for you. Not like you don’t know what you’re doing, I just don’t want you to end up dealing with more of those idiots.”

“What, lookin’ out for little ol’ me, Miss Nobody?” He asked with a sarcastic bite to his tone. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried,” you said matter-of-factly, as if it was the furthest thing from your mind. You wanted to call him out on how ridiculous that sounded to you, but you knew better, so you kept your mouth shut and just offered the man a sigh. “Good luck though.”

And once again, you were walking away from the bounty hunter in one piece, still with a feeling of dread lingering in the back of your head while you faced your back toward him, trying to get as much distance from him and the trouble he would bring.

Yet there you were only days later, laying in your makeshift bed in a rundown shack you took over, and you were thinking about him for some unknown reason. Why, you had no idea and wouldn’t even try to linger on the idea, you just figured it was curiosity if he'd gotten ahold of the bounty he was in search of. But there had been other moments of weakness you had that had him at the center of your attention, and it came over you when you'd people-watch, which was a good habit to have for someone like you. Your eyes would wander, curious if you’d see him again as you ate the questionable food you bought from a vendor, your thoughts miles away.

Because you’d been so distracted, you hadn’t heard the footsteps you’d grown familiar with approach you from behind, the jingle of the spurs rang out. Your eyes had been glued to the scene below as you sat on a higher ledge, legs dangling off the edge while you chewed the tough iguana meat on a stick. There was a sudden ominous feeling beside you, so you happened to look up and see the Ghoul leaning against the railing you sat between.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, your tone a bit more enthused than you initially thought.

He looked down at you and gave you that devious smirk he was so keen on wearing. “If it ain’t my lucky little rabbit’s foot,” he teased. “Once again, your word has proven useful. You sure are an interesting specimen ‘round these parts.”

You focused your attention back out toward the crowds of people, smiling at the compliment. “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You brushed it off, not wanting to be indebted to the bounty hunter, even in words.

“Quiet modest, ain’t ya?” He commented. “No matter, Lucky Girl, took down the entire faction of the Triggermen with your help.”

You looked up at him in surprise. “You what?!” You were stunned that he just casually dropped such news, it was a huge deal considering a lot of the chem running was definitely put to a halt transiently. “I knew you were a kick ass bounty hunter, but this is… Unheard of.”

“Hell, I ain't gonna lie to you, although you don't go tellin’ anyone I said this, but you're one hell of an informant. Wouldn't mind havin’ you around.”

“I don't think having me around would make things easier,” you pointed out. “Getting shot at is something I'm not fond of, plus I'd only get in the way, trust me.”

“What if we made a little deal, then? You get protection, a cut of the money maybe in exchange for information?”

“That's… generous of a bounty hunter of your stature…” you pointed out, unsure of this decision. There had to have been some hidden agenda behind it, there was no way someone like him willingly traveled with companions because they gave him a bit of an advantage.

“It's not an offer I extend to many, especially since you seem much more reserved than most.” Whether this was a compliment or not was to be determined, but you did live up to that notion. “I just feel that you're a lucky rabbit who I can't allow others to exploit.”

“So you wanna exploit me first,” you said with an unsure smile.

This made the man’s smile grow even wider, he liked the way you could talk to him without cowering like most others did. You spoke your mind. “Now I wouldn't call it exploiting, I'd rather call it a business proposal.”

“What's stopping you from killing me when my luck runs out, then?”

Now this was a question for the ages, one he couldn't quite answer as honestly as the others. But it was a valid point regardless. “I'm sure I'll find a use for you, ain't worried about that.”

“Forgive me if I'm not jumping at the opportunity,” you replied with a chuckle. “Honestly I don't really have much going on as it is, so if you can manage to have me around, then I suppose I could help you out.”

Why did you accept? That was something you hadn’t really put too much thought into, you barely knew this man except for the rumors and stories you heard about him through word of mouth. How could you accept this so easily? You pushed the nagging thought in the back of your mind and just settled on survival, this is why you did a lot of dubious jobs in the wastelands.

You held out your hand and offered for him to shake it as your eyes met his.

With a moment of hesitation, he reached out his hand and shook yours, the difference in your textures had sparked something against your skin, and you shivered. It wasn’t an indication of disgust, but you felt an odd sensation that tingled up your spine.

“Guess we have a deal, then,” the Ghoul replied with a smile.

“I suppose we do,” you agreed.

Many months had gone by, and you two had become unstoppable with your knack for getting information and his knack for taking down even the biggest bounties. It was the talk amongst the raiders, the mercenaries, and the other bounty hunters. Many opposed you and wanted you out of the picture considering you made the Ghoul all the more dangerous than he already was, but you were untouchable when he was around. He knew what he had in his presence and he knew many would covet it, so he became possessive, a trait you didn’t think anyone, let alone this man, would convey toward you.

You couldn’t leave his sight for very long in fear of being hunted down, but you didn’t mind having the company. It beat being alone so much, and you were living in comfort, or in your case, as comfortable as it could get. The Ghoul never stayed in one place for too long, and it was a lifestyle you'd been accustomed to, so it wasn’t too farfetched. Whatever chem that he would inhale regularly from turning feral had come in abundance ever since you came along, so he decided that his lucky rabbit’s foot wasn’t going anywhere, but that was a front overall.

Deep down, despite the way he lived his life here after the bombs dropped, there was an emptiness, and he tried to fight the desire to fill that void for the longest time. Running into you piqued his curiosity and offered him an outward motivation more than anything, but slowly over time, he began to truly enjoy your company. He’d never admit it to you or anyone else, but the way he fought for you to keep you safe spoke louder than anything he could verbally say.

It had been almost a year traveling in the Ghoul’s company when you found yourselves in a quiet time between bounties. You’d just gotten your weapons upgraded and some better clothes that didn’t have as many holes and tears in them, it had been a good haul you and the Ghoul pulled in with this contract.

You both sat beside a fire you’d built and drank the slightly cold bottle of Nuka-Cherry you managed to get ahold of from part of someone's collection, you wouldn't soon forget the heartbreak in their eyes when the Ghoul offered for you to raid their collections after tying them up and bringing in their bounty.

The Ghoul stared at you from across the fire, watching you carefully as you lay on the ground, staring up at a book you managed to find in an old shop. It helped pass the time between jobs, but you seemed a bit distracted as you read the same paragraph over and over again. You also had a good sense of when he was staring at you, so without looking away from the page, you smiled.

“If you got something to say, I suggest you say it before I reread the same page again,” you teased, then turned your head to face him.

He didn't budge, he remained fixated on you as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes focused on you but he hadn't said much since you arrived in the small rundown shack.

You waved your hand at him and looked as if you were waiting for him to speak. “Radroach got your tongue?” You laughed and went back to your book, but that's when he decided to speak up.

“Nah, just curious.”

“About…?”

“You.”

You scoffed. “Me? Nothing to be curious about, really.”

The Ghoul stared at you, wondering if you'd let your mysteriousness slip. “Course there's somethin’ to be curious about. Haven't told me nothin’ about you since we joined up.”

“I could say the same about you,” you pointed out, deflecting. “Didn't think we had to sit in a circle and share icebreakers.”

He scoffed and shook his head at your words, but he didn't seem at all annoyed by your jokes. “Well, suppose we all have things to hide.” He looked away from you and surveyed the perimeter, making sure you two were still alone.

You turned your head to look at him and then pushed yourself up, spun to face him, and sat with your legs crossed as you placed the book off to the side. “Okay, then, what do you wanna know, like how I could have lost a limb when I was eight because I ran out into the road and wanted to get onto a trolley? Or what about-”

The Ghoul let out a sigh, one you had grown to know very well, but it only made you laugh. “Okay, fine, fine. What do you…wanna know?”

His eyes, the most human-looking eyes you’d ever seen on a ghoul, stared into what felt like your soul as he sat back and thought of a question. “What happened to your family?”

You swallowed and let out a sigh of your own, but you figured one day someone would ask, so you braced yourself for whenever it came. “We lived in Shady Sands, it was nice, I loved it, I remember being really happy. Till we suffered the bombing. It took out my parents and my brother. My brother saved my life, if it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.”

The Ghoul didn’t give condolences, he didn’t feel awkward now that something heavy had come up in conversation, but there was understanding in his eyes now that he had some understanding of who you were.

“I do what I can to survive because they wanted me to, so I mean… I know I’ve done some things people would consider horrendous, but I’m not that person anymore who shies away from it. They’d understand, I think.” You stared off at the flickering embers of the fire, and the pain swept through as you thought of them, your family. You didn’t like to do it, you were sure they wouldn’t recognize you anymore, that you weren’t the person you used to be. But times changed, and people changed.

The Ghoul cleared his throat and gestured toward the horizon. “Radstorm rollin’ in, we should get inside the shack,” he huffed and stood from his seat on the ground, then kicked out the flames of the fire. He gathered his things while you did the same, packing up your things and stuffing them in your pack, and you hid inside while you fortified the area as best as you could.

The storm wouldn’t bother him much but he knew that you weren’t immune to what he could withstand, so he ushered you inside and made sure that there wasn’t anything cracked or damaged that could allow any of the radiation to filter through.

“Should be good till it passes,” he grumbled as he looked out the partially boarded-up window. “Shouldn’t be too bad for you, smoothie,” he teased, knowing you would appreciate the nickname that most ghouls called humans.

But you didn’t laugh or joke back in return, your mind was elsewhere as you stared through the board in the window, the rolling green clouds pushed through and made their way toward you.

He walked up beside you and contemplated what was to get your attention, so he placed a gloved hand carefully on your elbow, which caused you to turn and look at him in confusion. “You good?”

You nodded even though you weren’t sure if you had been alright or not, but he wouldn't understand, he wouldn't want you, you figured. A small smile tugged the corner of your lips and you shrugged. “I'm alright.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he warned as his eyes narrowed and he knew you well enough now to read your body language, he could see it all over you. “My lucky rabbit ain't too happy, I can tell.”

“You don't gotta worry about me,” you assured with a small wave of your hand, dismissing the thought completely.

His hand was now on your arm, resting there comfortably while it tightened its grip slightly, and this was only the second time he'd ever put his hands on you in such a tender way. You'd thought about the first time it ever happened, and you thought for a long time about it, how good it felt. You'd wanted more, but you knew that would be crossing the line.

“Sure I do, you always looked out for me despite not knowin’ a damn thing, you just blindly followed me. I ain't used to that kind of loyalty, but I ain't gonna take it for granted neither,” the Ghoul explained. “Now, tell me what's wrong.”

You sighed and continued to stare out the window. “If I did then you'd leave, cowboy, trust me.”

Once again, he scoffed, mainly at the cheesy nickname you gave him, but also the ridiculous notion that he'd let you out of his sight. “Ain't gonna happen, bunny,” he shot back, using the nickname you hated but secretly loved hearing him say.

“If I say it, you can't get upset.” The rumble of the storm neared closer, the colors turned darker in hue and flashed a bright green, illuminating your skin through the cracks of the window. “Promise?”

The Ghoul nodded and stared down at you, waiting for your ‘profound confession’ that you were too afraid to say aloud.

“I've been… lonely for quite some time while on the move, and sometimes it's just a feeling I get, but… When you touched my arm, it felt nice.” You swallowed, your mouth dry from the nerves. “I know it's a lot and I wouldn't suggest it with anyone else, but, we've known each other for a year now, and if you had any… urges, a craving of intimacy or anything, I could…help.”

The Ghoul was in shock by your statement and had no idea how to react, so he remained standing beside you in complete silence as he stared down at you. You refused to meet his gaze and couldn't look him in the eyes after that, afraid that he'd belittle you or cut you off altogether.

“It was an idea, a stupid one at that, but it doesn't have to change anything between us, we can drop it and pretend it never happened. No harm, no foul.”

And still, he continued to remain there, rooted to the spot as he played your words over again in his head. Finally, there was something that clicked in his head. “You're sayin’ that… you'd want to get… intimate… with me?” There had been offers given to him through the years, and there had been times when things were rough, but having you here right now telling him you had more than just a quick fuck in mind was not what he was expecting to hear. What was going on in his head, you wanted to know.

You finally turned to him, your expressions carried the shame, the embarrassment, all of the feelings you'd been suffering through during his silence. “That's what I'm saying. It's just like our proposal of helping each other out, it's just another version of that, if it's easier to look at it that way.”

The truth was he hadn't been intimate in a long, long time. It wasn't something that came naturally to him anymore, it was but a distant memory of the time he had back on this earth before everything was destroyed. But you offering something like that, you of all people, it was a deliciously tempting offer that he maybe shouldn't refuse.

“A proposal,” he reiterated as his hand slid up your forearm slightly, his eyes flickered down to your face to gauge your reaction.

You smiled warmly at his attempt, and maybe it was an odd offer, but it seemed he was considering it. “We don't have to–”

“I ain't done this in… a very long time, bunny. I ain't the kind of ghoul who can supply that lovey feelin’ you're lookin’ for.”

“It doesn't have to be that, exactly. Besides, you already offer me protection, this would be just… an added bonus.”

He thought about it, truly thought about it, and the rumbling outside was drowned out by one thing that pushed forth in his mind: you.

“I ain't sure how–”

“I could help,” you offered with a soft tone, wondering if he'd allow such a thing as you took a small step closer. “Again, we don't have to do anything, it was just something that passed my mind. No harm done.”

The Ghoul's hand pulled at your arm, which made you look up at him, questioning his intentions as his gaze went from hard and stoic to softened and tender. It was a strange look to see on his face, but you welcomed it nonetheless. You stepped closer to him, filling the gap between your bodies as you lingered for a moment, but he closed that space and looked down at you in a new light. He tried to channel that human side of himself when he was known as Cooper Howard. It was an old name, an ancient person that hadn't existed in years, but he was buried deep down within him. He had his moments of weakness, which belonged to the man he used to be, but maybe if you were here to remind him what it felt like… how could he refuse?

“You ain't gonna tell a soul about this…” It wasn't a question, it was a warning.

“Of course not, cowboy, our little secret,” you assured him with a smile.

That’s all it took to allow him to delve into that buried side within him, his hand lifted and gently placed it on your shoulder, then slowly skated down to your collarbone. He caressed the softness of your skin, allowing himself to become acquainted with your body slowly but surely, all while trying to remember how to make this enjoyable for the both of you. It was a learning curve, but the way you'd already begun responding to his touch only urged him to continue.

You began to shrug out of your jacket which left you in your semi decent tank top, which clung to your body and accentuated your natural curves and dips. The Ghoul couldn't help but watch you eagerly, getting lost in the way you were taking things slow on his behalf as his hands slid around your waist. You wouldn't pressure him, or rush him, you'd allow him to do what he wanted as he explored what made you tick and what turned you on.

Soon, he had guided you toward the floor where you laid out your blanket in an attempt to make it as comfortable as possible. Per his request, he had you lay back while he hovered over you, his hands easily removing the rest of your clothing –with your assistance, of course.

Seeing you there in just a bra and underwear was a lot for him to take in, but he swallowed that image of you and couldn't find the strength to take his eyes off of you. “Damn, sweetheart…” He muttered as he grabbed you, squeezed you, and did what he could to lose himself in you. He wasn't sure what to start with first, so he looked to you for guidance.

With a smile, you grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to you, looking into his eyes while you smiled softly. “Is it okay if I help?” You asked softly.

The Ghoul didn't speak, he just nodded in response and hovered closer toward you, but when you captured his lips between yours, it was a surprise to be sure. He pushed himself firmly against you, keeping himself propped up with his arm while he placed the other around your neck, his fingers softly stroking your jaw as you kissed. His tongue pushed past your lips and swirled around in your mouth, but that smile he wore just made you feel all the more turned on by him. While you kissed him, your hand guided his toward your inner thighs, allowing him to feel how you'd already soaked through your underwear.

He was impressed by how turned on you'd been and he'd done close to nothing, so to feel his handiwork, he slipped two of his fingers beneath the hem and slipped them through your slick. “Fuck, darlin’, you're so wet…”

He wasn't sure if you'd want him to touch you more between your legs, but your hand was already guiding him to push those fingers inside of you, curling into your cunt.

“Oh fuck, cowboy,” you sighed against his mouth, your eyes closed while you felt your body tense from the touch. It had been ages since you felt this good, and he'd barely begun.

While he dipped his fingers deep within you, he could feel himself growing painfully hard, and he thanked whomever above for the fact he still had his equipment to work with because soon he'd need to bury himself inside of you. He wasn't sure what was taking over right now, but the way you moaned out and moved your hips in tandem with his hand was a lot to handle for him. He'd want more, needed more.

“Want me to keep goin’...?”

“Yeah, like that,” you begged while your hand began to rub circles against your clit, helping yourself get to that point where all you could feel was the growing sensation that burned in your lower belly. It had been ages since you had someone pay attention to you like this, but the way he moved his hands seemed that he hadn't been prepared for something like this.

“Hey, cowboy, want me to… show you some attention?” You offered softly, smiling up at him as you pushed yourself up, leaning on your elbows.

He slowed his actions and slowly curled his fingers inside of you, watching as your face fell and you lost your thoughts, only focusing on his ers. fingers inside of you. His hollowed eyes stared at you and considered your offer. Was he ready for something like this? He was silent while he tilted his head, looking over your body as you lay there before him.

Wordlessly, he sat back and shifted his weight on his legs, allowing you the space you needed to do what you needed to do. He didn’t say a word as he watched you fumble with his gun belts, but it was entertaining to watch as you seemed more nervous than he was, yet internally, he felt the urge to panic. But he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction, not even you. He pulled off his other glove slowly, watching your eyes as you stared intently at the action, and he was curious if you liked his hands and how your gaze would be so fixated on them.

“C’mon then,” he said as he slowly shrugged out of the weathered duster jacket, “you gonna give me some attention or were you just talkin’ big?” He always poked at you, toyed with you, and loved seeing how you reacted. Most times you paid him no mind, you just knew he was a big talker with the actions to back it up, but now, you were the one who could show him just what he needed.

When you leaned forward to go for his pants, you took notice of the body language he displayed; how his body tensed up whenever you’d touch him, how his breathing became almost nonexistent whenever you leaned in close, or how it seemed that he was too nervous to even lay a hand on you. It was fine though, you were helping each other out and that’s all you hoped you could do, so you didn’t leave him in suspense as you allowed him to spring free from his pants. You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you first started, but it definitely wasn’t this, and you wouldn’t complain. A smile crept on your lips as you stared at him, your face lowered ever so slightly between his legs, wanting any sign of consent or objection. When all he did was stare, your tongue darted out to moisten your lips while your hand slowly grasped him.

He tried not to let the feeling catch him off guard, but to be touched like that after so long, hell, he was in heaven. His breath caught and he sucked in a deep breath while your mouth slowly lowered onto him, the warmth and wetness that traveled down his length sent shivers up his spine while he tried not to groan out loud. Slowly you lowered and raised your mouth on him, your hand following closely as you stroked him. He lurched forward for the first few deep plunges you made, but after that, he was almost putty in your hands while he leaned his head back and allowed himself to indulge in the way you were making him feel. His hand instinctively traveled to the back of your neck, then slid through your hair as he grabbed a handful of it. He wanted you to go faster, to bring him over that edge of the high he was chasing, but was that the right thing to do?

As if you understood what he was feeling, you picked up your pace and went faster, your mouth and tongue worked expertly together, until after a bit you pulled your mouth off with a slight pop, and you noticed how the Ghoul convulsed at the loss of your mouth. You weren’t sure how this would play out, but all you could think of was how much you wanted to feel him split you open.

“Can I ride you?”

This was a question he hadn’t expected. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want to ride you, you know, sit in your lap and do it like that, is that okay?”

Oh, that’s what you wanted, damn, he was so out of touch with this and didn’t mean to look foolish, but with simulated confidence, he shot you a smirk and patted his half-bared thigh, beckoning you to him. “Then c’mere pretty thing,” he huffed.

Smiling, you crawled over to him and straddled his lap, your eyes never leaving his while you grabbed his cock and steadied it. You both watched each other as you lowered yourself onto him, and you couldn’t recall who made the loudest moan, you or him. The feeling of him stretching you out after being so empty for so long was a feeling you wanted to hang onto, it was the way you slid onto him with slight difficulty that caused you to bite your lip a bit harder than anticipated.

Feeling the way your walls clung to him, pulled him deep inside of you while you sunk deeper into his lap, you were afraid to move in case he was in over his head, but you reached out for his hands and placed them on your breasts. Soft words of encouragement like, ‘Touch me, please,’ and ‘Go harder, I’m begging you,’ had helped him enormously. You guided his hands across your body by showing him what you liked and what you wanted him to do, so he took that as his cue and allowed his fingers to skate across your supple skin. The difference of texture against you had lit a fire beneath your skin, feeling how rough and calloused he was as his fingers grabbed you firmly at your hips, his nails digging slightly into you.

He sucked in a breath of air again and groaned out. “Fuck, you feel damn good,” he murmured while he allowed you to fuck yourself on him. He got the feeling of your rhythm, the way you bounced on him as you lifted yourself, then fell back onto him as he pushed himself deep within you. You could feel the intense pressure of him pushing himself against your cervix, but the sting of being stretched was still prominent, and that’s all you could focus on.

You cried out when he finally stopped you from moving and held you in place firmly, both hands planted on your hips while he thrust into you as the heels of his boots dug into the ground beneath him. “Oh my god,” you whimpered out, your hands placed on his ravaged chest, trying to keep your balance while he helped you out.

The coil in your belly was tightening so much that you thought you’d explode, but you curled forward against him as you reached between your bodies and began to rub yourself, to which he marveled at the noises that came from your mouth. So he opted to push your hand aside and tried to replicate the movements you made against your clit, sloppy but small, tight circles with the pad of his thumb. If this was ecstasy, you never wanted to come back to the harsh reality of the wastelands again, you could get used to being here night after night with him like this, you loved the fantasy you began to build in your mind.

“I ain’t gonna last like this,” the Ghoul warned between ragged breaths, one hand on your breast that popped out from your bra while the other was still holding onto your hip. His thrusts became inconsistent, signaling that he was close.

“Please, cum for me, oh shit-” It was difficult to string together a full sentence, your thoughts were muddled while all you could focus on was that bliss that filled your body.

You wished you could have gone longer, but you were hit with a powerful wave as your orgasm washed over you, and that tightly wound coil snapped inside of you. Your body hunched forward against the Ghoul’s chest while your hands lay flat against his abdomen, trying your best to catch your breath while his hips jerked, and with several more hard thrusts, he let himself go and pushed himself deep inside of you, holding his cock in place as he released what he’d been holding in. His bourbon-colored eyes held your gaze as you both sat in silence save for the heavy breathing, your hearts pounding within your chests as you remained stuck together, the glistening of your skin from the sweat that caused your hair to cling to your face… It was charming, beautiful even, to him.

When you finally had the energy to shift off of his lap, you pushed yourself onto the blanket as you lay beside him as he hiked up his pants, barely putting any effort into moving himself as he allowed himself to lay back, partially laying on the destroyed wood floor, halfway on your blanket. You both didn’t say much after that, but you kept looking over at him, your eyes drinking in the sight of him while it seemed he was lost deep in thought.

Maybe he regretted what you two did, but you knew you never would, you two had an understanding of one another. One that many others probably wouldn’t understand, but it didn’t matter if they did, you were content with having this for yourself, just a small slice of heaven you could recall when you wanted to escape the harshness of reality. This wasn’t about love, no, it couldn’t be, this was just something to take the edge off for you both.

The Ghoul had been looking at you while you spaced off, your eyes fluttered close and then snapped back open. You were exhausted, but you were forcing yourself to remain alert. The storm could pass any moment now, or become worse, you needed to-

“Hey, you should get some sleep,” the Ghoul instructed as he sat up, looking down at you while he rested his arms on his knees.

You grunted in protest. “What if we need to move because of the storm?”

He just scoffed at your response. “You’ll be fine, little bunny, just rest. We got a while till it clears, we ain’t gonna be caught off guard.” He leaned back a bit to stretch his limbs, allowing that calmness to wash over him.

You wanted to fight him on it, but you were just too tired, you could feel how heavy your eyes were becoming, so you yawned and sighed instead. “Alright, fine, but if anything happens… wake me.” He nodded in response, but you reached out and gently touched his arm, pulling his attention back to you. “Whatever this was, I had a good time tonight, so thank you, cowboy.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Sure, didn’t know what the hell I was doin’ after so long, but thanks for not callin’ me out too harshly on it.”

You shrugged and decided to pull some of your clothes back on despite feeling the dampness from the sweat, or the stickiness from your shared orgasms. “Ain’t no shame in it, cowboy, so long as you had fun…” you smirked as you balled up your jacket and placed it under your head. “Plus it seemed you caught on eventually.” Your voice faded slightly while your eyes closed, but you were still listening to him breathing, your body closer toward his to feel that sense of comfort you grew to appreciate from him.

After a moment, your breathing slowed, and your chest rose and fell gently while the Ghoul stared at you, admiring you in the sickly glow of green that illuminated your silhouette from outside. He smiled a little to himself while he twisted around to reach for his coat, then gently draped it over your body. He was surprised at himself for acting the way he was, but you weren’t awake to see this side of him, the side he hid from everyone and most days himself. While you slept, he kept watch as best as he could until he felt the same firm grip of sleep that slowly took hold, and as he leaned back against the softness of your shared blanket, his smile grew.

He wasn’t sure what the future held for either of you, but after tonight, the Ghoul had a strange feeling that things would be more interesting between you both, but for now, he’d bask in the feeling that this evening brought.

287 notes · View notes

ghoulfuckersincorporated · 1 day

Note

imagining ghoul just being completely dazzled by vaultie reader….their beauty, their clean teeth and nails, their skin…the softest, smoothest skin he’s seen in hundreds of years. he could hardly remember how it looked til now.

he’d watch over you while you slept by the fire he made with such fascination, studying your features like this when he knew you wouldn’t be able to raise an eyebrow at him and he could allow himself to be relaxed and let down his tough guy wall (after all, you only just met a few days before).

and when you roll up the pants of your suit one day in the heat and expose your legs…he sees they’re perfectly waxed (who knew they had that in the vaults?) and it takes everything he has not to just reach out and touch them.

Smooth Skin

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller

Word Count: 3,109

Warnings: smut (18+), sexual tension, masturbation (male), mild somnophilia, very mild angst.

Summary: Cooper's new companion is beyond distracting.

Notes: Another excellent submission! I have had VERY similar thoughts about how people in the vaults would still adhere to so many old grooming practices that had long disappeared from most of the Wasteland. It would be such a weird thing for non-vault dwellers to see, and not being able to maintain them would be quite the shock for vault dwellers.

Also, this poor old man wouldn't consciously recognize the feeling of "arousal inspired by a specific person" if you beat him over the head with it. It's been about 200 years since he felt it.

Cooper was beginning to wonder if he'd been screwed.

Holding the deeply familiar vial up to the light once more, he gave the liquid contents a shake, examining the consistency, the color, the weight. For the half dozenth time that hour, he lifted it to the open cavity in his face where his nose once sat, inhaling deeply, testing for any unfamiliar odors, ultimately finding none. Lifting the solution to his lips, he tasted it, once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth with deep suspicion.

Everything seemed to be normal about the latest bunch of vials he'd acquired, at least on the surface. However, he was beginning to worry that he'd been given some sort of dud batch, and now he was starting to dissolve into some sort of ferality.

But this didn't feel like the dozens of other times he'd cut it close over the years, when his chest constricted, fighting for every breath as his mind began to cloud with aggressive thoughts, making him feel ready to lash out at anything that moved. No, he could breathe just fine, and he didn't necessarily feel aggressive, but he did feel oddly tense and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem like anything had changed about his treatment.

Then again, something else had changed pretty drastically over the last few days.

Standing in the baking sun, he waited impatiently for the little vault-dweller he'd inexplicably managed to become attached to to finish her business, infinitely more fidgety than usual. He scanned the horizon with uncharacteristically anxious eyes, his boot tapping in the dirt.

"C'mon, Vaultie! Move your ass!" he called, harsher than he intended, but when the girl came scurrying up out of the ditch, he offered no apology, simply jerking his head in the direction they'd already been headed down the road, waiting for her to get a step or two ahead of him so he could follow, watching her closely.

Very closely.

The old cowboy prided himself on his ability to analyze people, to figure things out about them long before they were disclosed. It had proved an immensely useful skill over and over again. This girl, however, confused him. The pristine cheeriness of her was unsettling, making her stand out clear as day against the dingy, angry, consuming Wasteland.

He didn't trust it, frankly. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was genuinely selfless and kind simply because they felt it the right thing to do. She was definitely hiding something, concealing her true nature, but at least she was good at it. Besides, he'd be lying to himself if he said part of the reason he allowed her to tag along with him wasn't that he didn't want to walk past her pretty little corpse on the side of the road in a few days...as if there would be a corpse leftover. At least, a recognizable one.

Ahead of him, the girl caught her boot on a crack in the ancient asphalt, sending her stumbling; his quick reflexes kicked in almost instantly, and he yanked her back by her suit sleeve, sighing when she cast a sheepishly apologetic glance his way. He rolled his eyes and gave her a small push to keep it moving, watching as her hair swished back and forth with her movements.

How many decades had it been since he'd seen a woman with long hair? Maybe it had even been a century, or more. Most women in the Wasteland kept their hair cropped fairly short; easier to care for, less for someone to grab onto if you were attacked. Shampoo was still fairly easy to acquire, but only because most people didn't have consistent access to enough clean water to bathe with. Hair could also be sold in some cases, and many people found themselves desperate enough to do something like that in this world, unfortunate as it was.

But this girl, her dark curls hung down to her waist, flowing down her back and shoulders elegantly, or laid along her spine in a neat braid when she got especially red and sweaty. It was so shiny; he wanted to run his fingers through it for some reason, so badly that when she'd bumped into him their first day of travel, her view obscured by the dark curtain, he didn't even think to scold her, too busy willing himself to not thread his fingers into the soft strands. When he was close enough, he noticed that it smelled like wildflowers.

He'd met her just outside Filly. Where she was headed, a few settlements northwest to find an aunt or a sister or a grandmother or something, wasn't the most perilous route she'd shown him on her Pip Boy (in a very surreal conversation where she'd treated him like he was any other man), but she was already showing that she wasn't truly equipped to make it there intact. Hell, she had flagged him down for directions, in a move that had made him genuinely wonder if he hadn't done too much Jet that morning. That little maneuver wouldn't get her killed with him (at least, on the right day) but it would quickly get her robbed or worse with many others.

His first instinct had been to leave her to her fate, but he found that he just couldn't leave her there on the side of the road, that blinding white smile, those big, round eyes, her basically pristine vault suit making her stand out like a sore thumb. Begrudgingly, he had agreed to let her walk with him to where she was going.

She tired rather quickly compared to him, his condition making thermoregulation much less of a concern. His soft new companion, however, was unaccustomed to the sun, to the heat, and was often too exhausted to continue in any real capacity by the time the sun set. The nights got cold, colder than it seemed she'd anticipated, and she chattered her way through that whole first evening; each subsequent night, he'd built a small fire to keep her warm through the coldest part. It annoyed him immensely, having to expose them in the dark like that, but, oddly, he found that he equally disliked watching her shiver on the ground.

"Do you think we could stop for a while?" she asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to turn to him and nearly slamming into his chest in the process. His hand braced on her shoulder, slightly shoving her aside so they didn't collide; the hand that touched her tingled when he pulled it away, and he cast a quick glance at his palm.

"You're really pushin' it today, kid. You know that?" he growled, his tone dripping with unconcealed irritation. They could easily get at least a few more hours of walking in before the sun went down, and once she stopped walking for the day, it was hard to get her going again.

The way her eyes widened at him before dropping to the ground actually made him feel guilty, flooring him just a little. He held his face in its usual neutral mask.

"I'm sorry." she murmured, chastened. "I'm just not used to walking so long in the heat."

Immediately, he rolled his eyes, though whether he was rolling them at her or at himself, he genuinely didn't know. Casting his eyes further down the road, then around where they'd stopped, they fell onto a clutch of old, dead trees and rocks, a small amount of shade gathering there. It was well concealed enough, he supposed.

"Fine. We can stop over there. But we're gonna get a few more miles in today, at least, so don't get comfy."

Flashing him those perfect teeth again, she quickly made her way off the road and threw herself down at the base of the largest tree, hiding from the sun as best as she could. He took the opportunity to dig some food out of his bag, have another smoke or two, and reflect on his choices, his back to her by and large as he watched the road.

"I didn't know the sun was so bright." she huffed after while, her tone almost petulant. "Or so hot."

He turned back to her, a slick reply about her general naivete locked and loaded, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her sat there on the ground, tugging off her boots and socks. Folding each sock into a neat little ball, she tucked them into their corresponding mate and sat them aside, stretching her legs out in front of her. Quiet, he watched her roll up each pant leg to her knee, as high as the cut of the material would allow, reclining back in the small patch of shade she'd found.

Those toned, smooth calves that peeked out at him were the most intriguing thing he'd seen in a minute, his eyes practically glued to the exposed skin. There was a softness to her that he thought didn't exist anymore; in her supple body, the way she actually held a little extra fat from years of being fed and safe in a vault, the soft, clear expanse of her skin, her clean, manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, he found himself deeply wanting to reach out and wrap one of his hands around her ankle, the other running up the taut muscle of her leg. He shoved the feeling down and turned back to the road, fidgeting.

A while later, the sun was dipping behind the horizon, but still frying everything it touched when she finally spoke again.

"Do you wanna get going soon?" she called, tone much more relaxed than before.

He turned to look at her again, having avoided doing so for over an hour, her sleeves rucked up to her elbows as well, and shook his head.

"Nah. Might as well just bed down here and get some sleep. Good a place as any, I guess. I wanna cover some real ground tomorrow." he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. "Get your rest, princess. If you can't keep up tomorrow, I'm leaving your ass behind."

She shot him a look, somewhere between evaluating whether or not he was serious and rolling her eyes as his continued unpleasantness, but she didn't respond outside of a simple nod, sinking back down onto the ground and closing her eyes. Once the sun went down fully, he went around gathering up dried sticks and brush to build a small fire, setting up near where she was obviously quickly falling asleep, curled up on her side and using her backpack as a pillow.

Cooper kept watch for a few hours as it quickly darkened, the girl falling soundly asleep as he sat polishing his guns. Eventually, he grew bored of weapon maintenance, and his eyes were drawn to the girl lying a few feet to his side.

He leaned closer, allowing himself to inspect her face closer than he'd had a chance to thus far. Walking behind her all day allowed him plenty of time to study her silhouette, her gait, the dancing length of her hair. But her face was always hidden, and when she turned to face him, he felt unable to look her in the eye for too long without that itch creeping into his brain, sending him searching through his pockets for his inhaler.

Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at her without worrying about being caught, it finally dawned on him, though, not immediately:

Fuck, she was beautiful.

And she was, and would have been if he'd met her in another life, too, each feature of her more appealing than the next. That long hair had been braided back away from her face, the length of it coiled like a snake along her back as she snored ever-so-lightly, her head sitting crookedly against her backpack. Before he could even think about it, his hand had already been tugged loose of his glove and reached out to softly pet at it, the strands silken under his bare fingers.

When did he get so close to her?

He thought back to her exposed legs, now hidden back away beneath her pant legs, kicked most of the way back down to assist in keeping her warm, and thought about how there had been no hair there. Many aspects of grooming that had once been normal were long lost to him, but that was certainly one of the biggest ones. He had completely forgotten that women once generally shaved the hair from their legs, and how big a deal it was considered when they didn't. He'd thought it was a silly thing to expect then; now, it just seemed like a sad thing to fixate on, with all that had been going on at the time.

However, that didn't stop him from imagining how smooth, how silky her legs would feel if he ran his hands along them, how high the smoothness would go until he would be able to feel the presence of downy little body hairs, the likes of which he hadn't had himself in centuries. Would they start at her knees? Or would he have to feel all the way up to the tops of her pillowy thighs to feel them? He remembered, vaguely, that some women would shave between their legs, too, and wondered if she did that as well.

Why was he thinking about what was between her legs?

His brain was so foggy the longer he looked at her, his one free hand quickly moving to dig his inhaler out of his pocket, taking the longest drag he could take off of it. It didn't clear his mind, didn't stop him from feeling like he wanted to touch more of her, to lean close and smell her, taste her. A hard shudder broke down his spine, and his cock set to throbbing in his pinstriped pants, his teeth gnashing. He was anxious to get to the next big settlement so he could buy new vials; he was convinced there was something wrong with these ones.

Regardless, he could breathe fine and didn't feel like a threat to the girl, necessarily...so his attention shifted, rather sourly, to his aching erection, now straining against his thigh.

It wasn't that he never masturbated; he was still a man beneath all the rads and rot, and his sex drive had never fully died, only dwindled down to a single flame whose presence didn't usually draw any attention from him. But it wasn't something he relished in, no more than eating food he couldn't really taste anymore to sustain himself or feigning sleep to allow his legs and back to rest. It was simply another need that had to be met on occasion; a quick tug at himself, not thinking of anything in particular, until he spilled onto the ground and went on with his life. It never needed to be more than that.

Now, however, his entire gut was aflame, the smell of her filling the air and further intoxicating him, his still-gloved hand moving to press against his cock through the fabric, the feeling leaving him arching his hips slightly up into his own touch. He wanted so badly to touch more than her hair, but knew that it wasn't advisable; the girl slept more soundly than anyone in the Wasteland, it seemed, but if she were to wake up and find him touching himself beside her, who knows what trouble there would be?

He couldn't touch her, but that didn't mean he couldn't study her, running his eyes over each part of her over and over again as the light and warmth of the fire slowly died down. He was tracing curve of her breasts and the way it flowed into the little roll of her belly for the umpteenth time, grinding hard against his hand, by the time the flames died down completely. She'd curled almost completely in on herself, hiding her face against her hands, and he wished he could look closer at it again as he slunk closer and closer to the edge.

As if she could read his mind, she suddenly rolled onto her back, resettling quickly as her head slid fully off of the bag. The mild highlights of the moon played along her face and torso, her plush lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would make that sound for him if he touched her just right, and, embarrassingly, that thought was enough to put an end to him.

The orgasm that washed over him granted some mild relief, his spend pooling in a sticky mess in his pant leg as he let out a few quiet heavy breaths, the hand that had been touching her hair scratching lines into the dirt, but it was bittersweet. In the haze afterwards, for the first time in a long, long time, he thought about Barb, about the way she would sigh his name when she came apart, about how soft and warm she would feel against him when he held her close after they made love. The deeply buried pain behind his breastbone that had started the day he'd found out the truth about her kicked up once more.

Sitting in the dark silence, a hard edge of discomfort and annoyance steeled up his spine, leaving him still in his ruminations until the uncomfortable feeling of the mess in his pants became intolerable. Letting out a huff, he shifted away from her and walked a few steps away as quietly as possible to clean himself up as best as he could, shame thick in the crisp air. When he finished, he dug into his pocket for an angry cigarette, jamming it between his thin lips and turning back towards her to face away from the breeze as he lit it.

But when he looked at her once more, really let himself look at her, he felt that pain in his breast soften, her soft skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she slept, peacefully unaware of anything but her blissful rest. It wasn't something he saw often. When he sat back down beside her, grabbing for his loose glove in the dark, he sat close enough that the outside of his thigh touched the arm under her head, pulling on his lit smoke absentmindedly as he continued to study his little companion. Her even, steady breathing was quite soothing to him, actually.

He was still going to buy a new set of vials.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #submission #I hate titling so much #fallout tv show #fallout prime

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vizslasaber · 24 hours

Text

UNDERSTANDING ──── echo.

summary: in the middle of the night, echo finds you, hurt and exhausted and in need of an apology.

pairing: arc trooper echo x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none! just a sprinkling of angst and grief.

a/n: i love echo so much & im so glad he’s okay as of the finale!! this takes place sometime around the early seasons, but after the season 1 episode “cornered.” also, i listened to waves by chloe moriondo while writing this!

You’re not sure what to think of Echo.

Most of the time, he’s quiet. When he does speak, it’s usually to enforce a rule, remind the group of their current plan, or to keep Wrecker in check. You’ve seen his softer side, with Omega and occasionally his brothers, and it’s rare but honestly endearing.

The thing about him that most irks you, however, is that he never wants to seem to interact with you.

Officially, Hunter is the group leader; ever since Clone Force 99 accepted you into their squad, that much has been clear. You’re the only non-clone—or “natborn” as the others refer to you—living on the Marauder. It’s been several months since you saved Omega from bounty hunters on your home planet of Pantora, and now, you’re as much a part of the Bad Batch as anyone else.

Except, you’re not a batcher. Not really.

Despite how much you care for your squadmates, it’s easy to feel separated from them at times. Easy to feel different. Most of the others have picked up on this by now, and often go to great lengths to make you feel like one of them.

Not Echo, though. He seems—wary of you, almost, and you’re not sure why. Once, you brought it up to Tech, who simply waved you off with one of his shrewd, knowledge-filled comments. “You are new here, you know. Some people are simply slower to open up than others.”

You, however, know that’s not the case. You’ve seen Echo with his brothers, and with Omega. He can be kind, and funny, and even angry. But to you… to you, he’s nothing but quiet.

For some time, you tried your hardest to be yourself around him—to crack your usual sarcastic jokes at his expense, to be friendly, like you are with the others. But the constant avoidance and clipped answers leave you increasingly confused and hurt.

So you withdrew from him, too.

It still bothers you, sometimes. But you’ve learned to brush it off.

Now, you sit in the cockpit, feet resting against the control panel. A ration bar—one of the good ones—rests in your hand. Every so often, as you watch the blue glow of hyperspace streak past the viewport, you take a bite of the ration bar.

You’re on first watch. Someone has to stay in the cockpit to oversee the ship’s journey back to Ord Mantell—and, since you still can’t fall asleep in hyperspace, you keep volunteering for the job. The cockpit is mostly dark. All the lights are off, and the viewport is dimmed. Anything brighter reminds you of how sleep-deprived you are, and so you’re content to sit in the blue gloom.

Leaning your head against the headrest of the pilot’s chair, you close your eyes. Your entire body feels heavy with exhaustion, but every time you try to drift off, the rumbling of the ship’s hyperdrive jerks you awake.

The sound of footsteps startles you. You open your eyes, leaning around the back of the chair to inspect what little part of the ship’s corridor you can see. You can hear the sounds of someone moving around by the small common area, but you can’t tell who it is.

Tech’s probably experimenting again, you think wryly, and settle back into your comfortable position.

Soon, though, the footsteps grow closer. Someone enters the cockpit with a tired sigh, placing something on one of the chairs nearer to the door. It sort of sounds like Hunter, but with the similarity between everyone’s voices, you can’t be sure.

The footsteps halt suddenly. You look up to find honey-coloured eyes surveying you with apprehension. In the dim light, awash with blue, you register the glint of a cybernetic headpiece.

“Oh,” you say, blinking up at Echo, “hi.”

Echo only grunts.

You frown, looking down at your hands, at your half-eaten ration bar. “It’s late,” you say quietly. “You, um—you should get some rest.”

When Echo answers, you don’t look up. He says, voice low and gravelly with sleep, “I slept for a couple hours.”

Slowly, you nod, fiddling with the foil wrapper of the ration bar. The cockpit falls silent; you wait for Echo to leave, but he stays still, his shadow falling over your tired frame.

You want to ask why he’s still here. You want to be rude, to ask him to leave so you can have some peace and quiet. But truthfully, he isn’t saying anything, or causing any disturbances, so instead you hold up your unfinished ration bar. “You want a bite?”

Echo blinks. It seems to take him a moment to process your question. Then, to your faint surprise, he nods. “Thank you,” he says as you hand him the ration bar wordlessly.

It’s a peace offering, of sorts.

He sits in the co-pilot’s chair and takes a hesitant bite, chewing slowly. You see his expression brighten—probably at the realization that this is one of the good ration bars, the kind that Hunter always says not to hog—then return to his usual neutral one.

You watch as he swallows. He hands you back the bar, holding out his hand, but you don’t take it.

“Why… why are you here?” you ask quietly.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Echo drops his arm and breaks eye contact, looking almost embarrassed. Or maybe even ashamed.

Still, you wait for his answer. Several long, painful seconds pass before he says anything. When he speaks, it’s like he’s forcing out the words.

“I wanted to—” he pauses. His flesh hand fiddles with his metal one. “I wanted to apologize.”

You feel your breath hitch. Staring, you try not to gape. “What?” you say, whispering without meaning to. “I don’t—”

“I’ve been horrible to you,” Echo continues, voice steadier. “I didn’t mean to be so… withdrawn. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I… I hope you can forgive me.”

Instead of acknowledging his apology, you bite the inside of your cheek with uncertainty, then cross your arms over your chest. One of the others must have put him up to this. Probably Omega, or perhaps Hunter. Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “Who sent you?”

“No one!” Echo replies hurriedly, then presses his lips into a thin line. “I mean, Hunter told me that you—he said that—” He sighs. “I didn’t realize it on my own. But I came because I wanted to.”

You blink, cursing yourself when you feel your eyes sting. With a start, you realize that this is the most Echo has said to you since you joined the squad.

Taking in a breath, you wring your hands anxiously. “I just… I just don’t understand why.” You shrug. “You’re not the same with me. Not like how you are with the others.”

Echo swallows. “It’s not—”

“I just want to know what I did wrong.”

At that, Echo falls silent. Guilt permeates the air, enough that you can feel it.

“Hey,” Echo says, kinder than you’ve ever heard him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes, like lava, or maybe liquid gold, bore into you. It almost hurts to look.

“This,” he continues, gesturing to the space between you, “is not your fault.”

Against your will, a lone tear slips down your cheek. “So whose fault is it?” you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the ship’s engine

It’s obvious from the look on Echo’s face that he’s thinking of something—or someone—specific. Despite how much you want to, you don’t push.

You just wait.

“It’s my brother,” Echo finally murmurs, and you raise your eyebrows, quickly cycling through the rest of your squad. Hunter, Wrecker, Tech… maybe Crosshair? You can’t think what any of them, even the one who’s no longer a member of your group, have to do with you.

“Your... brother,” you repeat dumbly.

“Yes.” Echo nods. “Fives.”

Oh. A fellow soldier, then. Probably from before the war ended… and probably long dead.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you hastily wipe your cheek with your sleeve. “What—what about him?”

“You…” Echo shakes his head, then lets out a humourless chuckle as he turns to look at the viewport, at the swirling blues and whites and greys of hyperspace. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “You remind me of him.”

You blink.

Truthfully, you have no idea what to say to that. Luckily, Echo continues, saving you from having to come up with an answer.

“Your sense of humour, I mean. The sarcasm, the jokes.” He shrugs, and the light from the viewport catches on his cybernetic headpiece, glinting in the otherwise dim cockpit. “And… and the way you know people.”

“‘Know people’?” you echo, confused. “I’m not following.”

“You understand people,” Echo says, and finally looks at you again, eyes impossibly sad. “Somehow, without ever having experienced what others have gone through, you understand their pain—and you feel it with them.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them again. “Fives used to do that too.”

And suddenly, as though a switch inside you has been flipped, it all makes sense. “And that’s why you’ve been avoiding me,” you realize, and Echo winces. “Because I remind you of him.”

“See?” The barest hint of a smile graces his lips. “You’re doing it now. And you’re not even trying.”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“I’m sorry for everything,” Echo says. “I am. It just…”

“Hurts,” you finish, and Echo blinks, surprised. You smile softly. “I know you too, you know.” Reaching out, you take his flesh hand, gently prying it open and taking the ration bar. As Echo watches, you split the remaining piece in half and hand one to him. “And for what it’s worth—I forgive you.”

The shadows colouring Echo’s face suddenly seem lighter. He smiles, then—really smiles.

You take a bite of the ration bar and smile back.

Taglist | Navigation

TAGS | @sweetsunflowerkisses @sarasxe @buckethead-over-heels @frietiemeloen @leotatombs @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hoeneyhoeney @idoubleswearimawriter @burningfieldof-clover @captain-rexs-babygirl @living-that-best-life @readeity @itspauvr @my-own-oracle @xlovingheartsx @seriowan @leotatombs @blueberry-9-pancakes @lucyysthings @idoubleswearimawriter @burningfieldof-clover @captain-rexs-babygirl

#star wars #tbb echo #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo x you #arc trooper echo #bad batch echo #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #star wars the clone wars #arc trooper echo x reader #arc trooper fives #sw tcw #sw tbb

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kaaaaaaarf · 2 days

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Saturday Snippit

So many people have tagged me in wonderful snippits lately! Thank you to @fruityindividual, @lynxindisguise, @quillkiller, @pupmotif, @messrsage,

@hiddenmoonbeam, @squintclover, @emjayeingray, @imsiriuslyreading, @sommerregenjuniluft and anyone else I may have missed!!!

To be honest I haven't really been writing much, but I've been working on my fic for the @marauderswithpalestineproject and I feel pretty good about it so far! My prompt was university, remus and sirius get paired for a project and obviously remus ends up doing the whole project but he doesn’t care bc he’s had a fat crush the whole semester:

Remus opens his notebook to grab a piece of paper for Sirius to write his number on, and immediately turns a shade of crimson never before seen by the human eye—at the top of the page in bright purple pen is MR REMUS BLACK. Panicking, he rips it out and shoves it in his mouth. Sirius watches the proceedings with a mix of shock and amusement—and something else Remus can’t place underneath. “Uh…What’s that you’ve got there, Remus?” “Nrthringk.” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, what was that?” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Remus is either going to have to swallow the paper or spit it out. He isn’t sure which is more mortifying. He starts to chew. Sirius snorts, hiding a smile behind his hand as he reaches out to grab the notebook Remus wordlessly passes to him with the other. Remus watches him scribble what he presumes is his phone number, before closing it and handing it back. “Well, I can honestly say that this has been an absolute delight, but I’ve gotta go—I told James I’d help him with some French homework. I promise to never speak of this again if you promise to help me pass this class?” Remus nods vigorously, relieved, “Mhrmrm.” Sirius smirks at him, waving as he turns to head out of the classroom, “Perfect. Night, Remus.” As soon as he saunters into the hall, Remus runs over to the waste bin at the front of the room, gagging as he spits out the now pulped paper. He takes a long pull from his Nalgene, swirling the water in his mouth in an attempt to rinse out the embarrassment along with the taste of ink. He’s about to finally leave when he thinks to open the notebook to check if The Sirius Black actually gave him his number. He thumbs through the pages and chokes when he sees it. Written in Sirius’ looping, elegant script is, 555-574-4741 MR SIRIUS LUPIN.

np tagging: @kaleidoscopexsighs, @moon-seas, @colgatebluemintygel, @brigid-faye and anyone else who wants to share!! Tag me if you do <3

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #MWPProject 2024 Fandom Initiative

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prone-to-fleeting-obsessions · 17 hours

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Dating Veritas Ratio hc's

Out of all the hsr men, I'd imagine he'd be the most irritated figuring out he has a crush

A crush? A stupid little manifestation of his irrational emotions???

He'll stew over it a while, picking it apart like the most complex of equations, his stoic expression not wavering

So what if he's around you often? So what if he unconsciously seeks you out, it doesn't mean anything...

He'll hammer that narrative over and over until it becomes truth, or as close to truth as his mind will allow

You'll act like a married couple, though

He'll scold you without any real irritation, eyes narrowing as he pulls you closer to just fix the problem himself

A leaf in your hair? Your sleeve unrolled? Coffee stain on your shirt?

Honestly, how could you be such a careless mess...

Wait, no. No don't go, you're his careless mess—

It'll become a new normal to just have him occasionally once over your appearance, looking for things he can fix and doing so without a word

He also takes it upon himself to make you a healthier and more rounded person

No you're not eating garbage calories for the third meal in a row, yes you are drinking a full glass of water as he reads you excerpts from his book on how quantum chemistry applies to theoretical engineering under Nous's 63rd law of imaginary quantum information science, and there will be a quiz after so pay attention

If asked about why he's often seen by your side, he'll usually answer with a glare and an insult, commenting on the lack of even borderline decent conversationalists around

You're probably not really going to get an actual confession out of him, because that would force him to admit defeat to those annoyingly persistent feelings that just won't leave him be

If you take the initiative of backing him into a corner, you get to watch him flounder a bit, an expression of agitation and a growing warmth throughout his whole body as he skirts the topic with overly complex excuses

He's a big fan of doing different things in the same space, talking isn't necessary

Occasionally, when he remembers you're still there, he'll glance up from his book to see how you're faring, before getting back into it

He has a bit of a staring problem, in a way

It's just that he's so up in his head often, usually easily loosing sight of his surroundings, and you just happen to be the most pleasing thing to keep his eyes on

He'll look away when he notices you staring back, but it's not long before you feel his eyes trained on you again, as if studying every little movement as he works out equations in his head

Of course he does need alone time, usually spent reading in the bath

But that period seems to be getting shorter and shorter as his focus is constantly broken by unconditionally looking around to find you while deep in thought

He will absolutely use you as a blank canvas to throw ideas and thoughts on if he can't work through something in his head

By explaining it to you in mind numbing detail, he'll usually run headfirst into the solution, and it's a treat to watch his eyes widen ever so slightly as he pauses, immediately thanking you curtly before moving straight to writing

Your sense of curiosity is his favorite trait, the one he wants to nurture and encourage you to feed

He's not expecting you to be as smart as him, that would be an impossible expectation, but he will not allow you to give in to ignorance, to get in the habit of complacency, as it is the enemy of growth

He's an intimidating figure to most, both from his status and sharp tongue, so it's not uncommon for low-level scientists with something to prove to seek you out

Sometimes to get information on him, sometimes to test your intelligence, as if trying to prove themselves better than the company the great Dr. Ratio chooses to keep

He's quick to nip that in the bud, though

His crossed arm stoic faced glare would scare away anyone who isn't keen on being picked apart verbally

He'll claim it's all to avoid tainting you with their idiocracy, and that you really shouldn't keep such company

Tries to use selfish logical excuses constantly to get things he wants from you

"I've already chosen your hotel room for this trip, it'll be next to mine so I don't have to travel as far to compare notes in the morning."

"Honestly. You're coming with me to dinner so I won't waste my time working around your schedule later."

"No. You are absolutely not going to get a closer look at those monsters because I'm not cleaning up the mess you'll no doubt get yourself into by being so reckless."

"You're really going to waste your valuable time entertaining those IPC buffoons? They have more credits than brain cells. Stay here, lest their ignorance rub off on you."

He means well, under the insults and unapproachable demeanor

And, at a certain point, he really can't imagine the rest of his life without you close by

#honkai star rail #hsr ratio #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #hsr ratio x reader #my hcs #lowkey he's even intimidating to write for

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carmensbloggg · 19 hours

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976-EVIL

ᯓ★ j. maybank x female (kook) reader

synopsis : jj has been obsessed with reader since the moment he first saw her. one day he plucks up the courage to talk to her, to his surprise, all goes well

warnings : use of y/n, language, all in 2nd person, not proofread

a/n : i love jj x kook reader so much they have my whole heart

Crack a smile and wave

It doesn't scare me away

Hit the brakes

I feel like cruising with you too

“Look, it’s your girl,” Kie half jokes as she points towards you walking into The Wreck. JJ’s head immediately snaps up to look at the pretty girl that had just walked in.

The first time he ever saw you was on your way back home from school. He could tell because you were still dressed in your uniform; skirt rolled short, socks pulled up to your knees, tie wrapped perfectly. Everything about you looked so flawless. There was one thing though, your mascara had run down your cheeks, your eyes were glossy and your nose was red. You had bumped into him and were quick to apologise as he helped stabilise you. You were gone as quick as you came and he thought he would never see you again.

Boy was he wrong.

The second time he saw you was at a kegger on the boneyard. You were with your friends at the shore, anyone looking at you would see you all were clearly intoxicated. JJ wasn’t looking at your friends though, he was only focused on the light pink dress that adorned your curves. Your plush thighs that were on display, your tits that almost spilled out the top of your dress. Your platform flip flops that made you appear taller, only by a few inches. Your lip gloss that reflected in the moonlight as you laughed with the girls around you. You shook some hair away from your face, allowing it to flow freely in the wind. He thought you were the most pretty girl he had ever seen as he kept a close eye on you. He had no intention whatsoever of going over to you and introducing himself, you were drunk and probably wouldn’t even remember him. His eyes remained on you the whole night, making sure no one approached you and that you were safe.

The third time he saw you was at Midsummers. John B had told him to give a note to Sarah Cameron, and you being a kook was there too. You were crying, once again, and running away from Ben Madden. JJ watched as Ben tried consoling you and failed as you slapped him and ran out the doors into the house, assumingly going home. He wanted to help you, he really did, but he knew you wouldn’t want a pogue like himself to calm you down.

And that brings us to the fourth time, right now at The Wreck. He should’ve expected it honestly, where else would a kook girl go on a Saturday? Nevertheless, he enjoyed your presence and the ability to watch you. His friends however, do not enjoy when JJ watches you. Pope has told him countless times that his ‘need to protect you’ is not healthy and Kie just hates that you distract him so much from their plans without even knowing. John B doesn’t seem to care, but he does get annoyed from time to time when JJ ignores him. Obviously the boy doesn’t mean to do it on purpose, you’re just so captivating.

“JJ,” Kie sighs before Pope chimes in. “Are you ever going to actually talk to her? Or just stare at her whenever she’s around,” Pope asks rhetorically, every one of course knowing the answer. “I can’t talk to her, she’d probably get scared and walk away, and then everyone would know JJ Maybank has no game,” his head rests in his hands as sadness makes itself clear on his face. “This is depressing,” Pope deadpans and JJ lays his head on the table.

Just as silence falls over the table, John B catches you looking towards JJ. “JJ, dude, look up,” he shakes his friend, making sure you’re still looking. Confusion washes over your features as John B tries so desperately to get JJ to lift his head up. JJ reluctantly raises his head and groans a “what,” to John B, who simply nods in your direction. Thankfully you’re still looking at JJ and the confusion washes away when he smiles and waves at you. You softly smile back and wave to him before returning to your own conversation, occasionally sharing more glances with the blonde a few tables over from you.

“JJ Maybank has game after all,” JJ smiles to himself. “You should talk to her,” Kie pushes him, only to be turned down. “I can’t, she’s with her friends,” he makes up an excuse. “Who cares? Go on, go,” John B pushes further, until he eventually gives in and walks over to your table.

He stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before clearing his throat. Your conversation comes to a halt at the suddenness of his presence. “Hi,” you smile softly up at him. “Hi,” he chokes out. No one says anything and you’re left making eye contact for a few seconds before you decide to speak up. “Is everything okay?” you nervously laugh a little at his shyness. “Oh, shit- sorry yeah, um a few minutes ago I smiled and waved at you and you smiled and waved back,” he begins to explain. “Yeah,” you smile and nod, recalling the moment shared. “And uh, now you’re talking to me so I was just wonderin’ if I scared you, but I’m guessing I didn’t because you’re still here,” his nervousness radiates through his tone. “You’re asking if you’re scary?” you almost laugh at the poor boy. He hesitantly nods, only now realising he had no plan whatsoever with this. “Scary? You? Not a chance pretty boy,” you giggle, surprised a little at your sudden boldness. A light red hue takes over his face as he slowly nods. “Can I get your number?” he manages to get out, he’s not really sure how though, the only thing in his mind is your words. “Mhm, of course,” you smile as you write your number on a napkin and hand it to him. “Thank you,” he says as he makes his way back over to his fiends.

“JJ Maybank has game after all,” he repeats as he waves the napkin in the pogue’s faces.

After about 15 minutes, your friends decide to leave, but not you. Confidence surges through you as you make your way over to the blonde pogues table, already planning the words in your head.

“Um, hi,” you nervously state to him and his friends. They all greet you, JJ being the last to do so. You recognised Kiara, you were friends with her during her kook year. “I was wondering if maybe I could go home with you tonight? If that’s okay with you of course,” you ask JJ, expecting a no in return. “Uh, sure, yeah, that’s fine, the house might be a little messy though,” he warns you. “That’s okay, messy is good,” you nod, being reminded of your own house which always looks like it was bought yesterday.

Obviously JJ isn’t going to take you back to his own house, god knows what his dad would do or say. The Chateau is really his only option here. “Yeah, of course, come on, we’re going now anyway,” he smiles, getting up from his seat and taking you out into the Twinkie.

“JB you okay to drive?” JJ questions as he throws John B the keys. The boy just nods and you and JJ get in the back. He slings an arm around your shoulder before introducing you to his friends. “So, that’s John B, that’s Pope and you already know Kie,” he points them all out and you nod along, saying hi to each one.

Eventually you make it to ‘JJ’s house’ and you’re shown to the guest bedroom JJ’s room, where both you and JJ sit on the bed. “Pretty nice house,” you comment, looking around. “It’s actually not mine, it’s John B’s, he just lets me crash here,” JJ admits to you. “Oh, do you think he would mind if I stay the night?” you ask, not really wanting to go home. “Probably not, he doesn’t really care,” the boy nods as you both slip into mindless conversation about anything and everything to do with your lives. It’s somehow so easy to talk to someone with such different life experiences than your own. JJ tells you all about his dad and how he and John B became friends and you talk about how your mother is so controlling and your parents fell out of love way before they even had you. JJ sympathises with you about every sad experience you’ve had, and you do the same for him.

After some time you both decide it’s probably best to go to sleep and find comfort in each other’s arms. It’s pretty safe to say the two of you fell in love a little more beyond physical attraction.

a/n pt2 : i don’t really get down with the ending but it’s gonna have to do 😭

#jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank #jj outer banks #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot

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lauren-ce · 3 days

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Dunmeshi, food-horror, and SA analogues

@starstrike wrote a fantastic piece about Mithrun's backstory being an analogue for SA. I'd recommend reading that post first, because it helped me put my following thoughts in order.

On a similar note to theirs, I want to talk about one of the most joyous scenes in the manga, and how it's juxtaposed with two of the most horrifying ones. These scenes in context with each other have stuck with me ever since I saw them and they always make me feel somewhat sick to my stomach, and I think it's worth talking about how effectively they portray horror!

(trigger warnings for violence and SA imagery)

In chapter 67, chimera!Falin eats the first full meal she's been able to get her hands on. Up to this point she's been starving thanks to the combined issues of needing to feed a massive body with a small mouth, and Sissel not giving her the time to refuel.

Look at her expression of pure happiness! This series of panels captures what Dungeon Meshi is all about: the pure joy of eating a meal prepared by those who love you. But watch out!

The meal is a pretense to lull Falin to sleep. A meal prepared by family, to prepare the recipient to be eaten by family. What should be a joyous scene turns to horror as Laios kills his sister (note that the violence is inflicted on her human section, not on the dragon body)[Also note that his method of killing her is to cover her mouth, which was just previously the source of joy—now used against her to cut off her airflow and prevent life].

In this chapter, food is made the enemy. In most cases it has been the ally. Yes, their goal is ultimately to save Falin, but our protagonists are painted as the aggressors, using food as their weapon with which to kill the person they aim to save.

Soon after we get another horrible scene with the same food=enemy idea, in which Sissel is attacked/assaulted and devoured by the Winged Lion. This is Dungeon Meshi at its most horrible: we've never seen anyone get eaten alive before, not to mention that the scene looks like this:

which is clearly made to emulate the visual language of SA. Again, consider the framing here, with the Winged Lion on top and licking below Sissel's belt:

It's dehumanizing and cruel, calculated. The Lion eats his desire to resist first, then begins to strip away his identity.

In the end, the party and the islanders successfully eat Falin's dragon body and save her, but while Falin has no memory of the horror, it remains in our minds. Ryoko Kui takes the idea she's been building up, that food is a symbol of togetherness and companionship, and flips it on its head to devastating effect.

That's all (:

#dungeon meshi #falin touden #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon #sissel #laios touden

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eggcats · 2 days

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I got hit with motivation for a super quick, like 500 word one shot from my Housewife Vox au, so here it is. (I wrote this in like 20 minutes on my phone, so try to ignore any, like, glaring errors).

(I'm thinking maybe he's talking to Velvette, but I wasn't sure enough to name anyone so it's just someone close-ish to Vox, owned/employed by him, talking to him, here).

“I don't know how you can handle being in charge of all these souls when you're not even the boss in your own relationship.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm just saying, you're not even in charge of yourself and you expect to be in charge of ME too?”

“I don't know what you think about mine and Alastor's relationship, but if anyone's in charge of it, it's me.”

“Yeah, right. He kills anyone who even looks TWICE at you!”

“And I let him.”

“Sure…..”

“I can get Alastor to do whatever I want.”

-cut to Vox, in a 1950s housewife dress, making the world's most disgusting platter of jello with spam and mayonnaise-

“He'll eat this if I tell him to.”

“Vox, no one would even touch that, not even if you paid ‘em to.”

“He will. Watch this.”

Alastor doesn't know what he expected when he entered the kitchen, having been alerted to Vox desiring his presence by his shadow, but this. Was not it. His darling being dressed up was not too out of the ordinary, although typically he avoided others seeing him in such outfits. (Despite now having the power to eliminate anyone who would dare even think of mockery, some habits from being alive are hard to break.)

But when Alastor approaches his picture box, he's stopped when he notices the most atrocious imitation of food he's ever seen. Ears flattening, eyes narrowing, and a sharp increase in the radio static is all he can do for a few seconds as he attempts to process just what exactly he is looking at.

His Vox is not the most accomplished chef, even now, but Alastor KNOWS he has instilled some sense into him after 50 years together, and THAT….item….was certainly not something he had ever taught him.

“What in heavens name is THAT?!”

“Dinner!”

“It most certainly is NOT.”

“Don't you remember when I made this for you, back when we first met? I think it was one of the first things I ever made for you.”

“I remember I immediately tossed it into the trash, darling.”

“Well….I thought maybe you could actually try it, now? I worked really hard on it.”

“Cher, certainly there are other things you could test your culinary skills on, as opposed to….whatever that is.”

“If you're sure…I just thought it'd be a nice memory, like an anniversary or something, to show how much we've loved each other throughout the years. But I can do something else, I guess….”

Eyes widening, a light bulb shatters as Alastor grabs the food quicker than even Vox can track, and eats the entire thing before he can even react to it.

“Oh! You must have really liked it, huh?”

“I can honestly say I've never tasted anything like it before, dearest.”

“Awesome! So you're on board with the whole anniversary, thing?”

“That's a…lovely idea, mon cher. How…how often were you considering this…anniversary?”

“Oh, at least twice a month! I have a lot of jello recipes I've never been able to fully try out that I remember from when I was alive! And all of them will be just as delicious as the one I made today!”

“....Excellent.”

–

“Holy shit, Vox, I can't believe he actually ate it!”

“I told you.”

“How long before you tell him you made up the whole anniversary thing?”

“Immediately after our next one in two weeks.”

“That's diabolical.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don't ever question me again or I'll tell him to kill you next.”

“Got it, damn. Touchy.”

#hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #radiostatic #staticradio #staticlovetune #housewife vox #fic #mine #i dont normally write conversations but this was too funny for me to pass up here

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thesleepyskipper · 2 days

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Six Sentence Sunday!!!

Many thanks to @three-drink-amy, @sparklepocalypse and @myheartalivewrites as well as @orchidscript for the open tag!

I've been making some good progress on my @aroyallybigbangrwrb work this week since my deadline feels fast approaching! Here's another snippet of my sweet neighbour boys!

Henry marvels watching Alex mess with the radiator after running to his apartment and back again, barely breaking a sweat, despite returning with an entire full toolbox. He imagines it must be heavy, despite Alex strolling in swinging it by his side, making it seem effortless.

From the toolbox, Alex pulls out a whole bunch of items, some of which Henry is familiar with (okay, hammer, wrench, pliers, screwdriver…) and all sorts of strange looking things he’s absolutely never seen before and has no clue what they would be used for.

While Henry’s trying to work out in his mind what that odd-looking metal device in Alex’s hands might be, he starts screaming all sorts of things, mostly directed towards the radiator. A “Fuck!” or five, a “Piece of shit radiator!” and a “Jesus tits, how did they make these fucking apartments so poorly!?” thrown in for good measure.

After all the cursing, Alex somehow does fix the radiator.

Tagging in anyone who might like to share as well as these fine folks:

@kiwiana-writes, @rmd-writes, @celeritas2997, @cricketnationrise, @cha-melodius

@nontoxic-writes, @indestructibleheart, @firenati0n, @ships-to-sail, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@nocoastposts, @onthewaytosomewhere, @duchessdepolignaca03, @blueeyedgrlwrites, @suseagull04

@priincebutt, @jmagnabo92, @dragonflylady77, @agame-writes, @fullsunsets

@anchoredarchangel, @tinyarmedtrex, @henryspearl, @inexplicablymine, @theprinceandagcd

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #some sentence sunday #a royally big bang #rwrbrbb #arwrbb #six sentence sunday

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vickyvicarious · 2 days

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There was a certain method in the Count's inquiries, so I shall try to put them down in sequence; the knowledge may somehow or some time be useful to me.

Let's talk about this method.

Dracula opens this conversation by first checking if he could have multiple solicitors, then questioning further whether he could have them for different tasks/locations. Jonathan accedes the legality of all this, but first says it's not usually necessary, then wants more detail when Dracula keeps asking. Dracula explains, but his explanation seems a little contradictory:

"Now here let me say frankly, lest you should think it strange that I have sought the services of one so far off from London instead of some one resident there, that my motive was that no local interest might be served save my wish only; and as one of London residence might, perhaps, have some purpose of himself or friend to serve, I went thus afield to seek my agent, whose labours should be only to my interest. Now, suppose I, who have much of affairs, wish to ship goods, say, to Newcastle, or Durham, or Harwich, or Dover, might it not be that it could with more ease be done by consigning to one in these ports?"

He claims he didn't want any local interests to be served over his own in London, but then turns right around and says that local lawyers in various ports would be able to help him there more easily. If he really wants his own interests served first and foremost, Jonathan's suggestion that he could work with one solicitor, who would then work on his behalf with colleagues in other places, seems perfectly reasonable. Of course, if he wants to limit how much of his affairs any one person knows, then dividing his various tasks amongst various people makes sense. It's more unusual or even suspicious, but it's perfectly legal.

(Aside here - part of the reason I think he actually wanted a lawyer who wasn't from London is because he wants as little connection drawn between himself and that lawyer's (or lawyers' plural, going off my theory he might plan to kill Mr. Hawkins later) strange disappearance/death. He wants anyone he meets in London to know nothing about him before his arrival there.)

Dracula's happy to hear this. Then he starts delving into all sorts of specifics, with an attention to detail that impresses Jonathan. He obviously wants to be very careful to be as fully prepared as possible. Only after this is all confirmed (in books, not just by Jonathan's word - perhaps guarding against Jonathan, who knows he is imprisoned, lying to him?), does he ask whether Jonathan has written home. He uses clever wording and an implicit threat to coerce Jonathan to agree to remaining another month and helping him further.

This, just after they have completed all their business. It's extra cruel with that timing. And then as soon as he sees Jonathan is trapped, he presses his advantage with insidious charm, essentially dictating the content of the letters he wants him to write home. He gives Jonathan extremely thin paper, once again a threat without words that his words will be seen, his cooperation assessed further. He proceeds to sit right there the entire time Jonathan is writing, and only after he is done does Dracula begin to write his own letters. This little choice increases the pressure immensely, meaning Jonathan has to write while feeling watched the entire time, then wait in suspense even longer after he has finished. Sure, he says he's just reading a book, but I doubt he's putting all his attention on that. Dracula is essentially taunting him here - all the more so when he leaves the room and the letters unguarded briefly.

Throughout the entire conversation, and the letter-writing that follows, he slowly tightens a net around Jonathan. The first part might raise suspicions about what Dracula plans to get up to, but it also is completely focused on business and very productive. It's also a lot of Jonathan saying yes, you can do that. Yes, it's odd to have multiple solicitors, but you can do that. Yes, if you want, that's allowed, and here's how to avoid any negative consequences. Then he uses the claim of business and duty to impose further on Jonathan. Jonathan is forced again to say yes, you can do that. You can have me stay longer. Yes, I accept, Mr. Hawkins did say I would help you however you needed. I will do that. Then as soon as Jonathan has agreed to that, Dracula ramps up the charm and threat both, and pushes harder with the letter request. He forces Jonathan to once again agree, this time without any words. Yes, I'll do that. I'll do what you want me to.

And then, at the very end, after establishing this pattern of agreement and complicity, after making Jonathan feel completely trapped in so many ways. Then, he starts to test Jonathan. To push him more. He leaves the room, leaves his letters behind. Two of them unopened. What is that if not an invitation to snoop? Jonathan takes the invitation - but he's frustrated in any effort to read inside by Dracula's swift return. Dracula removes any opportunity to learn more about the letters, and moves to leave Jonathan alone to stew in his thoughts... but turns back at the door to deliver a warning.

Don't sleep outside your room. If you do, who knows what would happen to you. He gestures as though he's washing his hands, as if saying I'm not responsible for the result or maybe even I won't save you. Coming right now, after the way the rest of this conversation has gone... it feels a lot like a deliberate taunt. A test. A push, to see if Jonathan will rebel once out of his sight. A trap, perhaps - especially if leaving him with the letters was already a trick, especially if he could tell that Jonathan tried to spy on them.

#dracula daily #count dracula #jonathan harker #and what will happen if jonathan chooses to spring it?#...what will happen if he *doesn't*?

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atalossofwords · 3 days

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YOU TASTE THE SILVER - CHAPTER TWO

As promised, here's chapter two! Revised, with some additions to some places, and hopefully no more typos.

I have a good part of the next one planned, so hopefully it won't take too long to update!

And, as promised, here's Mizi's extra;

Mizi is aware she sometimes doesn't have the best notion of how famous she is.

Her mom was one of the few who tried quite hard to shelter Mizi from the media while supporting her dream to be a singer. She's always kept Mizi humble, showed her how to budget and where all the money from her commercials went to.

Also, Mizi met and fell in love with Sua quite early, when she barely knew what love meant. She's never had to deal with people lying and manipulating their way into her circle; Sua has always been there by her side, looking over her contracts, giving advice, steering Mizi in the right direction, her own lodestar.

It all means that she's still a little bit uncertain of the effect she has on people. She still sees herself as that girl with glasses and braces, too shy to speak up unless she was in the middle of performing.

So, when she walks into the recording studio, cheerfully greeting Till and saying she's got his coffee order, she's a little bit surprised by how surprised and flustered he gets.

Mizi has to admit, Ivan has good taste; she doesn't like boys, but Till is plenty cute, especially when he's all flustered with that shy smile on his lips. It's endearing.

They go over their greetings, say all the pleasantries, and sit down to discuss the song in more depth, since she quite enjoys hearing about the creative process of a piece before recording; it helps her get the right sentiment for it.

Till finally sips his coffee as she's looking over his annotations for discarded lyrics.

"Oh, this is…" He's looking at the cup, surprised. Mizi tilts her head.

"It's how you normally order it, right?" She asks, thinking back to try and remember if she asked for the wrong order. It was quite a complicated one. "That's what Ivan said, at least."

He startles, a blush overtaking his face before he shakes his head and leans forward. She can see his hand closing in a fist over his knee.

"Oh, uh did… Ivan tell you to order this?" He asks, and she nods, before a thought strikes her. Ivan actually gave her something else for Till!

He was trying to act nonchalant about it, but Mizi knew him well, Ivan was excited when he handed it to her a week ago. She'd always remember him as Sua's little brother, peeking around a corner to watch the both of them, running to hide when Mizi looked over but always coming back.

She'd invited him in to sit with them as they made flower crowns, and Ivan pretended reluctance, but sat beside Sua, as far away from Mizi as he could. He'd just listened as they talked, somehow always surprised if Mizi addressed him. He'd worked quite hard on his own crown, eyeing Mizi as she taught Sua, and scampered away the moment Sua's father's voice echoed from the house, signaling his arrival.

(She remembers seeing the crown on Sua's nightstand, Sua telling her with wry smile that Mizi never saw directed at herself that he'd waited until she was outside the house to leave his gift.

She remembers Sua, already eighteen and the loveliest person Mizi had ever seen, holding Mizi's hand below the comforter, whispering that Ivan was such a brat, that he refused to be nice to his classmates, how he'd make friends if he'd just stop biting before anyone had the chance to get close.

It took years of constantly being by Sua's side, years of reaching out and asking his opinion, years to prove again and again that she wouldn't crack down on him if he said something she didn't like. She always felt so warm, glad that Sua's important person trusted her so much.)

He was a little odd, Sua's little brother. He'd grown up with some ideas about how socializing worked, and she would blame it on Sua's father, the asshole, except when they were all living on their own and Ivan was confident enough in her to speak his mind, he had some truly terrible ideas that she was sure were all his own.

He'd break into her and Sua's apartment by the window on Sua's office – she was sure Sua picked that bedroom exactly because it was closer to the fire escape – instead of using his key, leave gifts on Sua's bed like a cat dragging a dead mouse to their owner. He'd hear from Sua that Mizi had a bad day and spent close to one hour filling their chat with cat pictures, but he'd never reach out to actually talk to her. He remembered Mizi's drink and takeout order, and always brought some gift with him everytime he came to visit, like he wouldn't be welcome without it.

Mizi was sure that whatever Ivan had her bring to Till was similar in its thoughtfulness and just as deranged in motivation, but she'd decided long ago that questioning him just made him more likely to close off.

"Here, this is from Ivan as well!" She chirped, digging around her purse for it. It's a thin, rectangular package wrapped in nondescript brown paper. Till puts his coffee down, still flushed, and flicks his eyes back at her. She smiles and makes a shooing motion; she's curious! "Open it!"

Till bites his lip, but smiles back at her, carefully tugging the paper free. Oooh, he's so cute, she'd just have torn it open. Soon enough the gift reveals itself to be a leather-bound journal, the kind that has a tiny metal clasp to keep it shut. It also has Till's name engraved in a beautiful looping cursive that Mizi happens to recognize as Ivan's.

Till's eyes are huge as he runs one hand over the leather, reverent, and then opens it. She can't see what's inside, but whatever it is, makes Till's face erupt in a blush. Ooooh, what's that!!

She doesn't have the time to say anything, he mumbles something about needing a moment, and basically flees from the room. Mizi shrugs, she has no idea what that was about, and she's more than happy to take the opportunity to message Sua about how weird her brother is.

As always, Sua answers readily, teasing and warm and kind, asking how Mizi is, if she remembered her snacks. Mizi says she's fine, and Sua sends a picture of their cat, Nabi, which just happens to include the tentalizing view of Sua's thighs on the backdrop. Nabi is kneading Sua's belly.

Mizi is so jealous, she sends back a picture of herself pouting.

By the time Till gets back, she forgot all about the journal, soo distracted by her girlfriend. He asks if she's ready to record, which fills her with enthusiasm again.

The session goes well, they run through the song twice before heading into the booth; Mizi has more fun than she's had recording in a while. The song is just so good, and Till is a delight to work with, he doesn't try to outshine her, or let himself fade into the background. They sing together, to each other, shaking their heads to the beat and even dancing in place. They grin and feel the beat together.

It's such a nice time, Mizi leaves the session in better spirits than she'd been in a while. She doesn't even notice Till's serious expression as he collects his things, including the journal.

She just wishes him goodbye, tells him they need to get lunch after the photoshoot next week, and leaves, eager to get back home to Sua.

#published fic #alien stage #ivantill #ivan alien stage #till alien stage #mizi alien stage

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 hours

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I wasn't going to come back to this au, I might not do so again, but... Happy Ending AU, bitches. These scenes are kinda short for the au, half way between notes and actual scenes, but I hope they still bring you joy.

And then, one day, they are just... ready. Months of work and research and sneaking around and now... Well, here it is. Most people were only told once summoned to the meeting room - thirty minutes to pack a backpack of everything you want to save, give it to Philza, and be back here on time.

They expected resistance, or blame, or... Or Fit is not sure, but not the way Jaiden just broke, laughing and sobbing, or Foolish's sharp "finally!".

Fit's known this was coming for a while, and so have the people he loves. Even Ramón's is already packed and safely with Philza, filled with gears and cogs and the giant sniffer toy that Pac had made him.

Pac and Mike are also ready, Richarlyson already sat inside the train and they and Aypierre make the final adjustments. In the interests of information security only those three and Philza himself know exactly where they are going; Fit is here to protect them if the Feds do catch on at this most delicate of times.

Slowly everyone makes it back, the first time everyone has been punctual for a while, every surviving egg and islander bundled into the train.

Everyone except for Philza.

"Be good for papa Missa, your tios and tias, okay?" Philza tells his children as he hugs them both. "Hey, hey, no, fuck- don't cry, kids, don't cry. You'll make me tear up too."

"You sure you aren't coming with us?" Cellbit calls to him, eyes strained as he bundles against Roier, Richarlyson in his lap. There's life in them, though, life that Fit hasn't seen in weeks.

"Nah mate," Philza stands, one egg on each hip as he walks them the last few steps to the train. "Someone's got to open the portals, yeah? Couldn't risk pre-building them, and I'm the one who won't die from this."

Frankly, it's a fucking miracle they have anyone who can touch the void, but Fit's known Philza's secret for decades.

It doesn't stop him from grabbing his arm and pulling him into a rough hug.

"You be careful," Fit tells him. "Don't wanna come out the other side to see my babygirl all burnt up again."

Philza cackles despite the scars, "won't be making that mistake again, big boy. Come on now, what's gotten into you, Fit? It's just a little hike, yeah?"

Fit lets him go; they both know it isn't just a hike, "I'll see you on the other side."

"The other side."

Philza steps away, inventory full of backpacks and their lives. You don't bring things across the nether-borders, but a god-touched elytran... Well, despite everything, Philza has his contacts.

Just as Fit has his.

Tazercraft's train is the same of any of their trains in design, just with a little more care taken to have enough seats. Fit checks Ramón's seatbelt, before leaning over to help Cellbit with Richarlyson's; some of the eggs are good about these things, but his boyfriend's son is certainly not one of them.

After everything, after everything, they refuse to lose any more children now.

Not right now, not at the last hurdle, not when at the end of this train journey they will be as immortal as any player.

And fuck, it hurts how many didn't get here - Fit sees it in Jaiden and Roier's eyes most of all, but in Slime and Mariana where they hide on the upper level... Maxo and Dan are dead, and Quackity does not remember today, but... Well all four are griefs, are they not?

Fit watches Pac and Mike as they turn the engine over - once, twice, before the Creation shudders into life. Aypierre is in the driver's seat first, the three of them taking shifts for the long trip. This train, unlike the rest, is designed to take up the tracks as it passes them, leaving no trail to follow.

Philza will blow up the portal on his way out.

The train crawls into picking up speed; Fit holds Ramón's hands at the familiar sensation of a portal.

Just a few seconds, and then they are in hell.

The portal shatters, trapping them there.

It's still a better, more hopeful prison than any other before it.

---

Philza blows up the portal, and runs. The Feds will already know something is up, so he's got just minutes to get from A to B. Cannot warp, has to run - too easy to interrupt a warp, even if his inventory had space for one with everyone's bags hidden deep within.

One bag each, don't take the piss stacking them, he's still got to sustain the things with his own reality until he makes it to the landing spot.

Up the stairs, into the light of the Favela. There is already one security guard out by the time he makes it there, but he is Philza Fucking Minecraft and he can outrun one asshole in a bear suit.

Around the corner, up to the football field, and down at a right angle. Across the traintracks - they're firing guns at him now - duck through the trees and into the open expanse of Felps Square.

It is more dangerous here, with nowhere to hide. Philza keeps up a zigzag as he finds his way to the centre. He knows what is hidden here, but the Feds? Do they?

He doubts it.

Philza steps through the ghost blocks, letting gravity take him. He twists to have his back facing downwards, unfurling his wings - beautiful, repaired wings - out behind him, trips scraping the edges of the three-by-three hole. The Feds do not follow him.

At -64 Philza does not die on the bedrock, a hole blown wide - he keeps falling, and falling, and falling, and-

Ph1LzA fell out of the world

---

It is a four days across the Nether by rail. Established worlds have their shortcuts between one another, but that is not the sort of place they are heading for.

By the end of it they are tired, and thirsty, and hungry, and the portal does not yet exist.

"We made good time," Aypierre tells them. "It will be fine."

They have food and water for six days, and no idea if the Federation will catch them up. Worse, they have no idea as to if Philza even made it - if he got out of the world, and to the right place. Nobody mentions as much, but Missa can hear the sympathies in every pair of eyes that turn his way.

From the Nether, someone will take them in. From the Void...

Not even players always survive dying in the void intact.

The first night, Chayanne and Tallulah stay awake, waiting for their dad, entertained by BadBoyHalo as Missa gets some sleep.

The second night the children sleep, as Missa holds a private wake. One only in his heart, but one he knows the others see.

The third night...

The third night Missa is nudged awake by Pomme, and shown a portal finally alight.

They abandon the train.

Pac and Mike dismantle it, scattering its parts to the wind; with a change in world, it would be destroyed anyway, so better just to hide the evidence and finish on foot. Missa... Missa doesn't quite understand the intricacies, but he knows enough. Last time he crossed a world border, it was with his brother.

This time... this time he has children, and nieces and nephews and friends, but he knows that Spreen is never coming back.

A world portal is not quite like a Nether portal, for all they are in principle the same; no matter where you are the Nether is the Nether just as the Void is the Void, both just infinitely dangerous to navigate. Most people make use of short portals and hub worlds to travel, never daring risk interdimensional hiking. Even those that do travel well known routes; it is testament to everyone else's skills, but especially the Creatists, that they made it here alive.

Missa... he does not know how to explain it to Chayanne and Tallulah, so he doesn't. He just waits their turn - Etoiles and Roier went first, just in case of danger - and steps through with both children in hand.

He has never been here before; it tastes like coming home.

His husband's arms catch him as he stumbles from the portal, laughter echoing as a family of four tumbles down and to the grassy floor. Missa does not have time to look around, not when he is being held, not when Philza looks the healthiest he has ever seen him, laughing and bright beneath the stars.

"How was the trip?" Philza asks him.

Missa bats his arm, "fine until you- you-"

He will not cry, he will not cry!

Philza kisses the tears from his cheeks.

"Sorry," Philza looks slightly cowed. "Had to stop at one of the hubs to get something to eat. Thought I'd be clever and register this place while I was there - queues were a fucking nightmare, but there's a link to the network out on one of the further islands."

"Already?"

"Didn't want anyone to feel trapped. Would have thought of it sooner if not for the birdbrain."

Missa understands; Maxo's death had rattled them all.

The family cling to each other as everyone else makes their way through the portal, a careful headcount being done before dismantling it. From there Philza leads the group down into a valley, chattering with everyone even as his hand stays firmly in Missa's. They all keep an eye on each other for another long trek, a winding path through the undergrowth and to...

To a wide open area with a beach in the distance, and a single large, wooden and windowed building in the centre. The whole place is brightly lit - the entire path down had been - and styled like some sort of town hall.

"I didn't think you'd want to be building houses tonight," Philza tells them. "So I put together some dormitories. Be sure to set spawns at least, and get properly bound here. Your shit should all be in the main room."

Inside is not luxurious, but it reminds Missa of home. There are couches and rugs and an extensive kitchen, with enough rooms for each family to take their own. Lanterns hang cheerfully from the ceiling, supplemented by sealights and candles in a beautiful glow.

He leaves the children to explore under other parents' watchful gazes as Philza steals him away, and to their room. The beds are marked for each member of their family, almost like a ship's cabin. It won't be home long, not if Missa knows his family, but... but once again Philza has built them safety from nothing.

Philza, who pulls him to the bed, and wraps himself around him and says "I love you" as though those words do not shatter entire worlds.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp fit #qsmp Philza #qsmp Missa #Are the PoVs #Happy Ending AU #qsmp pissa #I guess #Here take it it's too early but its here #I may or may not ever touch this world again but here you go #Everyone together and safe in another world #Hope it makes sense it's basically a poetic-ified version of notes

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lisa972kdlz · 2 days

Text

(The French version is below)

I just realized something.

About Dreamtale. Why we're so touched by this AU, and by the twins.

I just understood why Nightmare is so popular, why he touches us, why he touches ME, even though he's NOT my favorite character compared to Dream, Ace or Error.

Because we identify with his problems?

Yes.

Because we sympathize with his backstory?

Certainly.

Because we love drama and tentacles?

... Meh, for sure.

Because Dreamtale brings an extremely interesting symbolic theme about feelings?

Indeed.

Because fandom has developed the story of the two siblings in all its forms, and we've been taken on board without really realizing it by the fan creations - comics, drawings, fan fiction - that we discover as we go along?

Absolutly.

But that doesn't explain the intensity of this emotional involvement. Why did Nightmare inspire me so much, and still do today? Because very often MAIS CHIOTTE DE SES MORTS QU'IL ME SAOULE BORDEL DE SCROGNEUGNEU?! (Untranslatable in English, sorry QwQ)

And then I realised.

"The two siblings"...

Doesn't this story remind you of another?

I don't know why, but I get the impression that NOBODY makes this obvious parallel. At least I've never seen any comparative fanart or people talking about it.

The majority of Dreamtale fans are first and foremost Undertale fans, who went through the Gameplay, Let's play's, etc. before discovering the AU's. The majority have played or watched the game and discovered the Lore. Listened to the OSTs. Enjoyed the characters.

The majority witnessed the magnificent end of the Pacifist Timeline and the ensuing burst of tears.

And who, for God's sake, has never been touched by Asriel's fate? This child who died far too soon, who never meant any harm to anyone, who died because of a bad decision, then was resurrected as a sadistic, soulless being incapable of love?

Don't you think Night looks a lot like him? And that Dream is a cross between Frisk and Chara?

Not in personality, nor necessarily in the story, but in the way they touche the audience through their shared destiny.

Two siblings who love each other dearly are brutally separated by a quarrel in which one loses his life, transformed into a powerful, emotionless demon. The other sleeps for years before waking up, lost and confused... Then they embark on an adventure with a guide, discover the world that has evolved without them, grow up, meet new people, help, save.

And this co-dependent relationship. The demon is still a child at heart. He wants to play with his sibling, even to the point of committing atrocious acts to make them stay with him, even if it means taking their soul and killing them a million times over. But nostalgia takes hold of him again. Deep in his overpowering heart, he feels all the souls of the world bound together, he feels determination of monsters and humans, the love they have for each other. It's all too much for him. He succumbs to his feelings and bursts into tears. He apologizes. The two siblings reconcile.

It's the kind of story we'd all like to give Dream and Nightmare, isn't it?

We want to save Night.

But like Asriel, it's impossible. We all know by now that Corrupted Nightmare isn't Night, don't we? It's a revelation that hits us when we search a bit on the creator's Tumblr after reading the Prologue. The story leaves us no choice: he died five hundred years ago, and that remains unchanging. There is no hope.

He has to go. Become corrupt again. He has to die again. Because that's how it must be.

Yeah yeah, we love Sans in Undertale, he's pretty cool and the Multiverse revolves around him. But as soon as we play the game, it's Asriel we're crying for. For good reason, Dreamtale, the story that most closely resembles his tragedy, is one of the most popular universes. Is that chance? Or have we all unconsciously drawn the parallel?

Now, when I listen Hopes and Dreams, Save the World, His Theme, one part of me thinks of Asriel and Chara, the other part thinks of Dream and Nightmare.

It was to save Asriel that fans started developing parallel universes. And it's to save Night that we're repeating the process.

It would have been a lot cooler to put Dream and Nightmare in Chara and Asriel's bodies, I think.

And the HELL you imagine CORRUPTED NIGHTMARE WITH THE APPEARANCE OF FULL-POWERED ASRIEL ????

Damn, I would have fan-girled instead of foe-girl on him I guess 🤔

Or for those who love big, ugly monsters, in PHOTOSHOP FLOWEY mode!

Delightfully nightmarish, I approve 👌✨!

____________________________________

Je viens de comprendre un truc.

À propos de Dreamtale. Pourquoi on est autant touché par cet AU, et par les jumeaux.

Je viens de comprendre pourquoi Nightmare est aussi populaire, pourquoi il nous touche, pourquoi il ME touche alors que POURTANT, ce n'est pas mon personnage préféré comparé à Dream, Ace ou Error.

Parce qu'on s'identifie à ses problèmes ?

Oui.

Parce qu'on compatie à sa backstory ?

Certainement.

Parce qu'on aime le drama et les tentacules ?

...Meh, à coup sûr.

Parce que Dreamtale apporte une thématique symbolique extrêmement intéressante à propos des sentiments ?

Tout à fait.

Parce que le Fandom a développé l'histoire des deux frères sous toutes les formes et que nous avons été embarqués sans trop s'en rendre compte par les créations des fans, comics, dessins, fanfictions, que nous découvrons au fur et à mesure ?

Absolument.

Mais voilà, tout ça a le bénéfice de me convaincre, mais ça n'explique toujours pas l'intensité de cette implication émotionnelle. Pourquoi Nightmare m'a autant inspirée et m'inspire encore aujourd'hui ? Alors que très souvent MAIS CHIOTTE DE SES MORTS QU'IL ME SÂOULE BORDEL DE SCROGNEUHGNEUH ?!

Et c'est là que j'ai réalisé.

"Les deux frères"...

Cette histoire ne vous en rappelle-t-elle pas une autre ?

Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais j'ai l'impression que PERSONNE ne fait ce parallèle pourtant évident. En tout cas je n'ai jamais vu de fanart comparatif ou de gens en parler.

La majorité des fans de Dreamtale est avant tout des fans d'Undertale, qui sont passés par le jeu travers le Gameplay, le Let's play, etc. avant de découvrir les AU's. La majorité a joué ou regardé le jeu et découvert le Lore. Écouté les OST. Apprécié les personnages.

La majorité a été témoin de la magnifique fin de la Timeline Pacifiste et de l'éclat de larmes qui en découle.

Et qui, bon sang mais qui, n'a jamais été touché par le destin d'Asriel ? Cet enfant mort bien trop tôt qui n'a jamais voulu de mal à personne, mort à cause d'une mauvaise décision, puis ressuscité en un être sadique et sans âme, incapable d'aimer ?

Vous ne trouvez pas que Night lui ressemble énormément ? Et que Dream serait le mélange de Frisk et de Chara ?

Pas dans la personnalité, ni dans l'histoire forcément, mais dans la manière dont il touche le public par leur destin commun.

Deux frères qui s'aiment énormément sont brutalement séparés par une dispute où l'un perd la vie, transformé en un démon surpuissant et dénué de sentiments. L'autre dort des années durant avant de se réveiller, perdu, confus... Puis il se lance à l'aventure en compagnie d'un guide, découvre le monde qui a évolué sans lui, grandit rencontre de nouvelles personnes, aide, sauve.

Et cette relation co-dépendante. Le démon est encore un enfant au fond de lui. Il veut jouer avec son frère, au point de commettre des actes atroces pour rester avec lui, même s'il doit s'emparer de son âme et le tuer un million de fois. Mais la nostalgie s'empare à nouveau de lui. Il sent au fond de son cœur trop puissant les âmes liées entres elles, il sent leur détermination, l'amour qu'ils ont les uns pour les autres. C'est beaucoup trop pour lui. Il succombe à ses sentiments et éclate en larmes. Il s'excuse. Les deux frères se réconcilient.

Belle histoire qu'on a tous envie de donner à Dream et Nightmare, pas vrai ?

On a envie de sauver Night.

Mais comme Asriel, c'est impossible. Nous savons tous à présent que Nightmare Corrompu n'est pas Night, n'est-ce pas ? C'est une révélation qui nous percute quand on cherche un peu sur le Tumblr de la créatrice après avoir lu le Prologue. L'histoire ne nous laisse aucun choix, il est mort il y a cinq-cents ans et cela reste immuable. Il n'y a aucun espoir.

Il doit s'en aller. Redevenir corrompu. Il doit mourir à nouveau. Parce que c'est comme ça que ça doit se passer.

Oui, on aime Sans dans Undertale, il est vachement cool et le Multivers tourne autour de lui. Mais dès qu'on joue au jeu, c'est pour Asriel qu'on pleure. Pour cause, Dreamtale, l'histoire qui ressemble le plus à sa tragédie, est l'un des univers des plus populaires. Un hasard ? Ou bien avons-nous tous fait inconsciemment le parallèle ?

Maintenant, quand j'écoute Hopes and Dreams, Save the World, His Theme, une part de moi pense à Asriel et Chara, l'autre part pense à Dream et Nightmare.

C'est pour sauver Asriel que les fans ont commencé à développer des univers parallèles. Et c'est pour sauver Night qu'on réitère le processus.

Ça aurait été vachement plus cool de mettre Dream et Nightmare dans des corps de Chara et Asriel je pense.

Et bordel vous imaginez NIGHTMARE CORROMPU AVEC LA FORME D'ASRIEL FULL-POWER ????

Ah bah j'aurais peut-être fan-girlé au lieu de foe-girler pour le coup 🤔

Ou pour ceux qui aiment les gros monstres pas beaux, en mode PHOTOSHOP FLOWEY !

Délicieusement cauchemardesque, j'approuve 👌✨!

#undertale au #undertale #dreamtale #nightmare sans #night sans #asriel #asriel dreemuur #asriel and night #SOMEONE MAKE A NIGHTMARE!ASRIEL FANART PLEASE !!!!#Wait no if I fan-girl on him I will loose my honor...#FUCK OFF MY HONOR DO IT

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