#the only reason i think it might not be is because she was stabbed in the back. but terezi did it to save everyone so WAUG
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"Look out, everyone!"
(Your feet feel like lead weights. Your shoulders, your back, your arms, your head your BLINDING head!! You could barely think! Let alone fight!)
(Don't think about the pain. Keep breathing.)
(How, HOW!?! PLEASE tell me HOW I can think about ANYTHING!!!)
"Loop please!!!" (Someone your shoulder, it was. . . The. . . Housemaiden.) "We can handle it, please! Just go rest!"
"I'm fine!" (You take your shoulder back, no touch.) "I, I can't leave you guys to, to do this alone."
(That was only half true. The real reason you stayed is because you woke up ten minutes ago. Despite your best efforts, you drifted to sleep. Stars, how stupid could you be!!! Now you were stuck HERE. And every failure would make it worse!!)
"We might not have that luxury." (The. . . Researcher calls over, readying herself.) "If we can figure out how to stop them now then. . ."
(. . . You forgot. Didn't you.)
(The Housemaiden looks at you, worried, then to Ramos, or what used to be Ramos.) "Grrr, fine! But you'll answer for this, buster!!!"
(Haha, you were terrified.)
"Plan, Loop?" (The Carpenter yells, she's in position with her hammer near The Kid)
(Ramos. . . Stars, what was your Defender thinking! You barely caught whatever conversation they were having, and, he could have been mind controlled or-)
(You forgot their names. Didn't you. You remember Ramos but not them? Your friends?)
". . . Try not to kill it." (You pause, trying to think of a tasteful way to say it- oh never mind that!!) "It'll, it'll kill Ramos too."
"!!!!"
"Oh. . ."
"R-right." (The Researcher says.) "Right, I suppose that, might make sense."
(You don't have a plan.)
(Yeah, you know. . .)
". . . J-just, just, just-"
(You, you don't know what to do.)
"Here they come!" (The Defender called over, he positioned himself in front of you.) "Don't strain yourself, Loop, just, try and figure something out."
(Right. . .)
(You feel like your body is shattering.)
(ATK down, DEF down, SPD down.)
(You concentrate really hard to speed up your friends.) "Right, it can still confuse you, try to avoid getting hit."
"Okay- Wait! I know!" (The Housemaiden claps her hands, and you feel something like a warm blanket wrap around you. You laugh.)
"Remembered the carrot method, did we?" (You call over.)
"Oh, it just came to mind, y'know?" (She smiles back.)
"Dunno if it'll work, but it's worth a shot. Let's go!!!" (Your Defender, strikes a pose, you feel a little stronger, but, not much.)
"We'll need to stall for time." (The Researcher crafts her spell.) "I can slow it down, but we need a proper plan."
"I-I'll, I'm trying-"
(So are you the Traveler again, Loop? And I, the Shadow? The Sadness?)
(Shut UP, you KNOW you forgot!!)
(The Sadness cries out, looking between you all, before diving at The Housemaiden.)
"I got it!!" (The Carpenter dashed forward and intercepted the attack, blocking with her hammer.) "N-no issue!"
"Thank you!" (The Housemaiden ducked to the side and swiped out with her rapier, it scraped on the sadness, but didn't doo much damage.)
(You're slow.)
(You shake your head. Loop time, you rush forward with your dagger and take a stab at the sadness. You connect. It doesn't do a thing.)
(Oh.)
(You look up at the sadness. It looked at you, it had insanity in its eyes. Oh. You're very weak.)
"HEY!!!" (Before you noticed, The Kid had smacked the sadness, it recoiled and you stumbled back.) "BE CAREFULL YOU CRABFACE!!!"
"R-right." (You held your head in your hand. Stars, come on, come ON. You're starting to feel numb again.)
(Do you even care?)
"Ramos!!!" (The Defender cried out.) "C'mon buddy!!! Snap out of it!!!" (He strikes, the sadness intercepts it with its, hands?)
"I don't think they'll hear you." (The Researcher whiped her brow before holding out a palm. The creative craft blasted the sadness, making it recoil, then scream.)
(It charged at her and lashed out.)
"Hrrngh-"
"M'dame!!!"
"A-are you alright?!?"
"I-I'll be fine."
(You shake your head, no, no she wouldn't be, there would be confusion, and then, and then-)
(Swap with me.)
(What?!? After what you've done!?! You'll drain the last of our energy!!!)
(You've been fighting too long. You need a breather, I handle it, stars, you forgot their names.)
(Like I'd trust you! You'll kill us!!!)
(You're killing us, too. Loop, I promise, I'll be conservative. I'll be careful.)
(. . . . . .)
(You breathe in, and out. Stars, you really did feel like walking death. Just breathe, Mal, it's Mirabelle next, take your time, look around.)
(Mirabelle claps her hands again, sending some healing craft to Odile. They were talking, making some comment, it didn't matter. Just focus on the Sadness.)
(Sadness. . .)
(A thing born of the sadness from frozen peoples; can no longer tell friend from foe. You could have been a sadness, maybe. What a sight that would have been. Ramos looked sad, and they looked desperate. They didn't want to fight you. Hmm. . .)
(You guard.)
"Smart!" (Isa calls back.) "We got it handled!"
(No, you don't. Isabeau threw a rock symbol and punches, the blast of craft glancing the sadness' side. It didn't do much. Rock on rock, of course.)
(Odile stood up, she shook her head.) "I-I think I'm being, effected." (She guarded.)
"Crab!!!"
(You needed a plan. Think. Think.)
(Why a sadness? Sadness were born from those frozen in time by the King. Ramos wasn't frozen, and there was no time craft in play. Perhaps it was made from Mind Craft? If that's the case then what other crafts could summon a sadness. Come to think of it, Ramos' sadness never froze any of you in time like those in the house could.)
(Sadness is a powerful emotion after all. And that is the domain of the mind.)
(Mirabelle holds out a hand and crafts a paper spell, the Sadness recoils, rolls with the hit.)
(What was Ramos screaming? As they turned into a sadness. Was it to someone?)
(. . . You open your mouth. You call Ramos name.)
(You see your allies wince at your voice, Ramos screams back. You didn't understand it. How do sadness communicate, you wonder. You call Ramos again.)
"OW!!" (Nille yelps.) "Crab was that!?!"
(She'll be fine, maybe Ramos could understand- wait-)
(WAIT.)
(You turn.)
(The sadness screams again and charges at you.)
(You try and dodge away, but your feet are still like lead, it's-)
(It strikes you in the chest and throws you across the yard.)
(Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. You got hit. You could feel your mind freezing up. You could, feel, your, mind. . .)
(Some "protector" you are.)
(You grip your head as a wave of nausea and strains run through you, swap. switch. tag out. can't. stay. I'm, sorry.)
(Was Ramos tugging at the star?)
"Loop!!!" (The Housemaiden ran over to you, a hand helping you up.)
(Your head. . .)
(Haha. . . You were going to diiiiieeeee~)
(You collapse back to the ground, gasping for air, keep breathing, c'mon, Loop, you need to keep breathing. Stupid, dumb. No, not stupid, it had a good Idea. Hah, Mal was being safe, and yet it still got hit. Actually, physically that hit wasn't that bad. But the lingering mind craft was still giving you waves of unease.)
(You feel the ground shake, you look up. The Carpenter had ran past you, charging at the Sadness, the Housemaiden cried out to stop her but, too late. She swung with her hammer and, sure, it hit, but the sadness just turned around and threw her accross the yard.)
(You're going to die. You're going to die again, and, and you won't be able to win.)
(The housemaiden, her name, what was her name! She stood between you and the sadness, hah, she was as weak to that thing as you were. She was so brave. . .)
(The sadness was coming towards you.)
(You're going to die.)
"Hey!!!" (Your Defender came swinging in from the side, striking at the sadness chest.)
(The sadness moved back, looked at the Defender, and attacked. It slashed acrross his chest, he tumbled backwards.)
(No, nonononononono.)
(The Housemaiden rushed forward, slicing at the sadness again and again. But, but, but the sadnnes just threw her to the side.)
(NO, NO, NO!!!)
(In Tears, And Time.)
(Blood. And. Stars.)
(You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die-)
"H-Hah! Good hit, buddy."
(. . . What. . . ?)
(The sadness stepped back and turned. Your Defender was standing up, he, he should be KOed, by all rights he should be, but. But he's still here, standing. His face, you could tell he was straining. The sadness screamed at him.)
(He closed his eyes, straining, but, he didn't fall.)
"I'm, I-I'm not, giving up, buddy. Rams."
(What, what is he. . .)
(The sadness attacked again, but the Defender, he wasn't even phased, he blocked them.) "I'm, I'm not gonna give up on you, buddy!!"
(He's, he, he-)
"You promised to never forget you're strong! So I promise, I'll be there for ya when you can't!!"
(. . . Isabeau. . .)
"We're gonna find a way to help you! And we're gonna fix this, we're gonna do it! And we're gonna do it together!!"
(He strikes a pose- Wait, that's--)
"We're gonna win!! Together!!!"
(It is. Stars, it is! It's that, it's that skill! That one Stardust always was able to get but YOU WEREN'T!!! IT's, IT-)
(You feel warmth through your veins. You stand up.)
(You're going to win.)
(You're going to win if it killed you.)
(Keep going.)
"Isa!!" (You yell as you run.) "Ramos!! What'd they say about the star!!"
"Huh?!?" (He turns to you as you get to his side.) "He said someone gave it to them!"
(Someone GAVE it to them?)
(Wishes aren't given. You're given the tools for them. Wishes aren't an item. Wishes- It's not a wish.)
(IT'S NOT A WISH!)
(IT'S, IT'S A TRICK!!)
"I GOT IT!!" (You smile, hehehehe. You had a plan. You rushed at the sadness, it screamed and lashed out at you.)
"Loop what-" (Isa yells, running to catch up.)
(You sidestep it, focus, focus. You grab onto the sadness tendrils, hopefully your gloves would be enough to stop the mind craft.)
"I have a plan!!" (You yell back,) "Try keeping it distracted!!"
(Isa nods. You lift yourself up onto the sadness' body. It's writhing, screaming, rattling through your head but still you persist. Not, yet. Isabeau strikes at the sadness, distracting it.)
(Hand, over hand, you grab onto the sadness head, it screams again, so loud. You feel numb, your legs, your fingers, just, keep, your, grip. Just, think, one thing, one target.)
"L-loop!!!" (You feel warmth wash over you, looking back, Mirabelle had ran over to help and healed you.) "P-please just be careful!!"
(You were way past careful. You pull yourself up, once, twice, again, again.)
(You grab onto the star upon its head, and tug.)
(It comes free.)
(You fly back off of the sadness, tumbling to the ground. You could feel the second wind of energy starting to dwindle again, but just a little bit more, please. You lift your head up to look.)
(The star landed at Isabeaus foot, The Sadness, it looked maddened. It charged at Isabeau, screaming.)
(Isabeau opened his arms.)
(As soon as it started, it was over, in a flash of light.)
(Ramos tumbled into Isabeaus arms, crying their brains out.)
(. . .)
(Did. . . Did you Win?)
(. . . You breathe out.)
(Mirabelle is now level 46)
(Odile is now level 46)
(Isabeau is now level 46. . . And learned the skill "WE! WILL! WIN!!!")
(Nille is now level 19)
"Loop!!!" (Mirabelle ran over to you and offered a hand, you took it. She helped you to your feet.) "A-are you alright?!?! Are you hurt?!? Where are you-"
"Slow down, Mira, I'm fine-" (Both a lie and too late. She was already fussing over a gash in your side. When did you get that?)
"You are absolutely not fine!!! You look like, like-!!"
"Hey go easy on em'." (Nille said, Bonnie was helping her over.) "Did just save the day after all."
(It, it's not over though, right?)
"THAT WAS SO COOL!!!" (Bonnie, by contrast, was full of energy and a-okay.) "I didn't know you could do stuff like that!!"
(It, it couldn't have been that easy.)
(You hid your face in your cloak.) "It was just a hunch it would work." (Stars, you feel so tired.)
"!!!!" (Mirabelle went running to Odile. Looking over, she was sitting on the grass rubbing her head.)
(It just, couldn't have been that easy.)
"Hah, healers job is never done I guess." (Nille said cheekily.)
(Bonnie turned to you.) "Dontch'ya know healing craft too?"
(Oh right.) "Oh! Are, are you two hurt?"
"I'll be fine, had a tonic. And my heads clearing up." (Nille said with a thumbs up.) "Those two though. . ."
(She gestured to Isabeau and Ramos. You could hear Ramos cries from here.)
"R-right. . ."
(You head over to them. Isa looks up as you approach. He looked, so, so happy.)
". . . It, it worked!" (He smiled at you.)
(It, it was that easy?!?)
(It, it can't have been, right?!?)
(He continued.) "I, I feel fine, Ramos is shaken up but fine. What about you? Any effects?"
(You stare at him. He's, fine? Ramos is fine? What? You, you felt. . .)
(Isa tilts his head.) ". . . Loop-"
"We won?" (You ask.)
(He's giving you the biggest smile you've ever see.) "Yeah!! We won!!"
(But, but that was, so fast. How did, how did you do it? It, this can't be it, right? You'll smell burnt sugar soon or see something red or-)
". . . H-hey. . ."
(You look down, Ramos had turned to look at you. They looked like a mess, they were crying still. They looked, they looked-)
"I-I'm, I'm sorry." (They mumble.)
(After all that. They're sorry. After all that time. After all that pain. That, that-)
"Y-you, you're. . ." (You say, feel dizzy.)
"Hey, Loop are you okay?" (Isabeau asks.)
"You're so, so. . . (The world is spinning.)
(You can't think straight. You feel numb. You can't feel your legs, your arms, you can't, can't, can't. . .)
"Yyyou're so, stuupid. . ."
(Curtains fall. Piper; payed.)
(You black out.)
#:3 hehehehe#sorry loop i played sasasap I'm making you worse#art#isat#in stars and time#isat spoilers#isat art#isat fanart#siffrin system au#sifstem#isat au#isat fanfic#isat oc#isat nille#isat bonnie#isat odile#isat loop#isat mal du pays#isat mirabelle#isat isabeau#isat ramos
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XD @flurraz that's brilliant- clothing montage at the Carmine Compound!!!!
but it’s just Clara and Odette holding various weapons up next to Vaggie while their new adopted little sister scowls at her reflection and repeatedly says “NO” to the even more scowling reflection of their mom behind her
Vaggie: “Yeah no. I’m not wielding that.”
Clara: “It has spikes!”
Odette: “And hand protection.”
Clara: “And SPIKES.”
Vaggie: “Great, I could stab myself while swinging it around.”
Carmilla: “Only if you are terrible at it.”
Vaggie: (glaring) “Well I already know I’m not terrible with my spear, so I’m sticking with that.”
Carmilla: (Glowers) (goes back to pretending to check weapon schematics)
Odette: (ticks off failure on clipboard) “Sticking... or skewering?”
Vaggie: “Ha ha, very funny.”
Odette: (ticks off another point for herself on a little odette vs sisters score board)
Clara: (rummaging in crate) “This isn’t funny and you guys shouldn’t be laughing.” (holds up new weapon) “Now THIS goes with your hair.”
Vaggie: “You’re kidding.”
Clara: “No kiddo, you’re kidding yourself if you think the long-ass shaft of a spear makes sense with a do that lovely and flowing.”
Vaggie: “What the fuck does that-”
Odette: “She’s right.” (makes new score board clara vs vaggie with one point to clara)
Clara: “No wonder you had trouble sparring with mom. Like, more that you would’ve had normally.”
Vaggie: “I haven’t been in a real fight in years okay!”
Carmilla: “It shows.”
Vaggie: “I’m. Working on it. I was one of that asshole’s best Exorcists once, I can-”
Carmilla: “Be better than that, hopefully.”
Vaggie: “Thanks.” (GLARES)
Clara: “All I’m saying is- no point fighting against yourself too, right? How hard did you have to focus to keep the stupid butt end from tangling in your hair?”
Vaggie: “I’m NOT cutting it.”
Clara: “Who’s asking?” (dangles weapon enticingly) “Look! Your new best friend!”
Vaggie: “A gun.”
Clara: “I know I know- you like sharp things and staby stuff, but look!”
Clara: (twirls gun dramatically)
Clara: “It has a knife on iiiiiit~”
Odette: “It would also not interfere with your hair.”
Vaggie: “I don’t know shit about guns.”
Clara: “What’s to know? Point and shoot. AND it’s got more reach than a spear! Which is good ‘cause you’re hair might be long, but the rest of you?” (rests elbow on vaggie’s shoulder) “Rest of you kinda comes up short.”
Vaggie: (grinding her teeth) “THANKS.”
Odette: (ticks another point for clara)
Clara: “Wait- You’ll take it!?”
Vaggie: “No.”
Odette: (ticks another failure) “Why not.”
Vaggie: "Oh wow I don't know maybe because-"
Vaggie: (ticks off reason on hand) “With a spear I have to choose every skewering I do and it’s a lot harder to miss and stick the wrong person. Even if I throw it it's only gonna go so far or through so many people. A bullet can go anywhere once it’s loose. If your aim is off by a centimeter that little thing goes wide. Maybe don't give the gun to the woman with a missing eye??? Definitely not when there are moving targets and things around she ISN'T supposed to shoot?"
Clara: "Oh riiiiight." (looks from gun to vaggie's eyepatch) "Huh."
Carmilla: (not looking up) "You were very accurate during our little play fight."
Odette: "I confirm. I've watched the security footage. I'm sure you could compensate."
Vaggie: "Well I'm not. I’m trying to protect my girlfriend and our friends and kill angels. I'm not not in this fight to ACCIDENTALLY kill someone.”
Carmilla: (smiles)
Clara: “Uh-huh. You like being close enough to catch all that blood splatter, don’t you.”
Vaggie: “…it’s just a perk.”
Carmilla: (smiles wider)
Clara: “Ew.”
Odette: “Impractical.” (adds ‘deranged’ to list of new sister’s traits, right under ‘gay’) “Mother, tell her she’s being weird.”
Carmilla: “I fight people with ballet, I’m afraid the toe of judgement I’m balanced upon is rather precarious.”
Vaggie: (SMIRKS) “Pretty badass though.”
Carmilla: “I know.”
Clara: “OH-!”
Clara: (disassembles gun) (chucks it) (claps hands) “I GOT IT!”
Vaggie: “What now.”
Odette: “Nothing good, statistically.”
Clara: “MOM! Mom- maybe she needs- You know!” (GRINNING EVILLY) “If the shoe fits….?”
Carmilla: “….Hmm.”
Vaggie: “What.”
Carmilla: (standing up and prowling around vaggie thoughtfully)
Vaggie: “…seriously, what?”
Carmilla: “Would you spin, please.”
Vaggie: (gracefully turns) “You know what I look like, miss Carmine.” (glares at clara) “There’s not much of me to look at anyway.”
Clara: “There’s enough, don’t worry~”
Vaggie: (rolls eye) “Wow. Such praise.”
Carmilla: “Can you stand on one leg without falling, or does the loss of your eye-”
Vaggie: “That’s more distance and depth and stuff.” (tucks one leg) “I’ve figured it out, kinda.”
Odette: “Yes? Constant assessment of changes in size and angle of objects?”
Vaggie: “You got it.”
Odette: “Seems rather strenuous for daily life.”
Clara: “Aww you get headaches or shit?”
Vaggie: “More like just tired. Keeping things in the same place when I can manage it helps a lot. Or it does when no one’s moving the lobby chairs around and then LEAVING them messed up like that anyway, for ME to clean up…”
Clara: “Or stumble into?”
Vaggie: “Whichever comes first.”
Clara: "Ow."
Odette: “So tidiness helps.”
Vaggie: “Yep.”
Odette: “Noted.” (notes it)
Carmilla: “Well you certainly are steady. Excellent posture.”
Carmilla: (leans in)
Vaggie: (leans back to maintain distance) (still on one leg)“Don’t forget confused and slowly losing patience, ma’am.”
Carmilla: “Mm? What? Oh sorry.” (leans back)
Carmilla: “You are a dancer, aren’t you.”
Odette: “...Oh no.”
Clara: “Oh YESSSSS.”
Vaggie: “Yes? Why the- why the fuck is she hiding behind her clip board-”
Odette: “I don’t want to relive my trauma.”
Clara: “I DO!”
Vaggie: “What the fuck does that have to do with me!?”
Clara: “Everything~”
Odette: “It’s about to be YOUR trauma.”
Vaggie: “What does THAT m-”
Clara: “Welcome to the family!”
Vaggie: “I- wh- why’re you making it sound like a THREAT!?”
Carmilla: “Our family is a threat. Now.” (taps heavenly steel ballet slippers together so they chime) “Can you stand en pointe?”
Vaggie: “….”
Vaggie: “….oh HELL no-”
Carmilla: “You already use your training as a dancer in battle. Weaponizing it fully is merely the next step.”
Clara: “Heheh. Step.”
Odette: (marks a point for mom)
Vaggie: “En pointe?” (clutching her spear) “THIS IS THE ONLY POINT I NEED!”
Carmilla: “Clara, fetch the practice slippers.”
Clara: (salutes) “Yes mom!”
Vaggie: “CLARA WAIT!”
Odette: “May mother have mercy on you.” (follows clara towards door)
Vaggie: “NO HEY- pendejo- WHY ARE YOU LEAVING TOO???”
Odette: “I will oversee the rest of the weapon loading. Also, I do not want to witness this, and am escaping.”
Carmilla: (sighs) “Dancing is a passion that is not always passed down from mother to child…”
Odette: “Not willingly anyway. Much like trauma.”
Clara: (out of sight) “I liked my trauma!”
Vaggie: “I’ve already got some, I don’t need more!”
Carmilla: “But you do not have your order of weapons yet. It will take half an hour to finish bringing out stock, checking each weapon for readiness, and crating them up again. Plenty of time for a little… assessment.”
Vaggie: (folds wings around herself) (backs away) “I’ve- dancing’s just a hobby, I’m, not even that good-”
Carmilla: “Your lies are terrible. Your form is perfect.”
Vaggie: “I’ve only danced for FUN!”
Carmilla: “And is not battle fun for you? The rush, the deadly interplay of partners you know so briefly and so intimately, to move in response and shape their own movements with yours?”
Vaggie: “…. I also like stabbing people!”
Carmilla: “Choreography for a spear. An interesting challenge.”
Vaggie: “Is this part of the deal for getting weapons from you, or-”
Carmilla: “Yes.”
Vaggie: “-en la madre…. fiiiiine.”
Carmilla: “You will submit to a small rehearsal?”
Vaggie: “Whatever.”
Carmilla: “Good. Now tuck those wings away.”
Vaggie: “Won’t I do better with-”
Carmilla: “You are more used to moving without them now, they're very nearly throwing off your balance. That, on top of your long hair, we do not have time to contend with.”
Vaggie: “But-”
Carmilla: “Fight without wings and keep them in reserve or cut your hair. Your choice.”
Vaggie: “…I guess.. keeping them as a surprise makes sense…”
Carmilla: “And you like having long hair, I know.”
Vaggie: “It’s whooshy.”
Carmilla: “Regardless, you will also at least be tying it back.”
Vaggie: (glowering) “Yes mom.”
Carmilla: “….”
Vaggie: “…”
Vaggie: “Ma’am I said ma’am.”
Carmilla: “I’m sure you did.” (turning away) (hiding smile) "Now. What always comes first?"
Vaggie: (sighing) (resigned) "Stretches..."
#hazbin hotel#vaggie#carmilla carmine hazbin hotel#clara carmine hazbin hotel#odette carmine hazbin hotel#vaggie gets adopted by the carmines au#incorrect quotes#silly#clara and odette having way too much fun with their new chew toy- SISTER#carmilla rubbing her giant clawed dancer hands together#plotting how to finally pass on her weird dancing obsession#to at least ONE daughter
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i finally had a hyperfixation dream and it really wasn't what i expected, but you know what, it was fun i'll take it.
#just woke up from a dream that started with me going with the tf2 mercs to a local supermarket#and everyone of course started causing chaos in the stokrotka (the market chain)#especially because spy was taking incredibly long looking for Very Specific cosmetics he wouldn't go for anything else#while i was running around like a tired mother of 9 and profusely apologizing to the employees#then for some reason i accidentally made friends with one employee and as i do i got a crush on her#that's when the dream turned away from focusing on tf2#so we went home after FINALLY finishing the groceries but i wanted to go back the next day to see the girl#so the next day mom came with me (by car) and we tried to go in the store but it was closed because apparently a murder just took place#in it (????)#so we went back to the car but it wouldn't start so while mom tinkered i kept watch#and i was really anxious bc there was yknow. a murderer on the loose in the area#multiple guys approached us as usual when you're in the city after dark#asking for money for booze and shit#and i was freaking out every time just ready to spring to violence#then one guy did actually turn violent when denied money and i stabbed him repeatedly with the jumpstart cables i was holding.#the car finally started so i looked around to check if no cameras caught me and we left to go home like nothing happened#midway through i had a sudden revelation of 'hey wait i think repeatedly stabbing a guy might be illegal' and i asked my mom if dna stays#on metal#she said yes and that we'll clean the Murder Tool when we get home and that's where i woke up.#honestly. while the mercs were only part of the dream 'stabbing a guy with jumpstart cables then leaving like nothing happened' IS still#a very tf2 thing lmao#ramble#murder cw#violence cw#so anyway. i just wrote out a funny dream were i murdered a guy. hope you enjoyed
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homestuck is getting crazy
#i'm almost halfway done#i knew dave most likely had red eyes but it was still fun to straight-up see one of em#for some reason i thought it wasn't canon look i don't know#(points) albino#i just got to the part when the cue ball lookin guy changed the whole thing into green so we can read his white text better#also losing my mind because DOES TEREZE KILLING VRISKA COUNT AS THE 2ND CONDITION FOR KILLING A GOD#sorry terezi i forgot how to spell her name#ANYWAY i know john isn't staying dead cause his death wasn't heroic or just#but WAS VRISKA'S DEATH JUST??#the only reason i think it might not be is because she was stabbed in the back. but terezi did it to save everyone so WAUG#i like vriska i don't want her to be dead but also also like#tons of people r dead rn and i'm not really pressed about the permanence of any of it#rose descending was so fucking sick.#anyway homestuck is good man why didn't anybody tell me#don't mind me speculating here about things everyone who's read it already knows. i'm at abt page 3850 or so and i have no clue#abt what lies ahead. except for a bunch of other characters that everyone draws all the time
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Just some OC yammering, feel free to scroll past
Twist is a bisexual character, she's a sona so of course she is, but for the life of me I can't seem to think of a girl I can ship her with. None of my OCs seem to fit, Marie and Callie are technically taken by other OCs, Shiver and Frye are more into each other to consider her anything more than a friend or possible protege, and I haven't read enough of the manga to figure out which girl from there would fit with her (and before you say, but Kitty, you literally ship her with all of the S4/5, I've pretty much headcanoned them to the point they're probably more AU versions of themselves than not so me not reading into the manga that far doesn't count for them)
Yes I am aware you don't have to date both boys and girls to be bi, but the fact that in Twist's end game of her story she has 5 boyfriends and not a single girlfriend is making me feel weird about calling her bi
#Kitty mumbles#Oc Twist#Not putting this in the main tag for reasons#And I'm definitely being cringe on main#But cringe is fuckin dead because I stabbed it 37 times so WHO CARES#But if anyone has any suggestions for manga girl characters or a game character I might have forgotten about I'm all ears#Just ignore me a yammering#The only girl I can think of is Pacer who Twist does have a crush on#But Pacer is so out of her league tbh#Like girly pop you used to live in a tent there's no way you're getting with a rich popular girl#She doesn't even know who you are 😭#The culture shock would kill you Twisty#Again you can just ignore my rambling I just want to get this out somewhere#And I don't wanna annoy my friend with constant oc yammering like I have been
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hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…
you do you for the rest!
in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.
warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love
a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!
It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied.
Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details.
A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name.
“You in there?”
The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”
“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”
You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror.
“Actually—could you come in here?”
There’s a pause.
“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”
“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”
The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it.
“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort.
“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”
He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.
“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is.
“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.
“What?”
“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”
His nose scrunches.
Some might say it scrunches adorably.
“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”
“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”
He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing.
“My face freaks you out?”
“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—”
You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face.
Oh. He was fucking with you.
He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer.
“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.
“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”
And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.
“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.
For some reason, this offends you.
“Why not?”
Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.
“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies.
“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”
“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”
“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”
Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”
The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic.
“Well—”
Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you.
“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”
As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room.
“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”
His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder.
“That’s what it’s called.”
“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”
“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back.
“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”
“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”
“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately.
“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”
“See? How hard was that?”
“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”
“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.
“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”
With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin.
“I can’t—”
“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”
So you do, watching his reflection as he works.
And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are.
“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer.
“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”
Something aches in the pit of your stomach.
Something resembling jealousy.
It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid.
Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you.
You swallow and try to act like yourself.
“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”
“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”
Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see.
“A great colleague would kiss it better.”
“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”
You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.
“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”
He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in.
“H—woah.”
“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively.
“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place.
“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”
“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable.
“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”
“Shut up! You love it!”
His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job.
You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”
“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it.
“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”
You frown.
She makes a good point.
Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail.
It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut.
When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer.
On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl.
I would never report you to HR beautiful
That would be a stab in the back!
You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen.
When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.
Funny.
Maybe that is the right word for what you two are.
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#dr spencer reid#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfic
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𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙
summary: being gojo's wife was better than you could have imagined, too good perhaps. when you have doubts about being with him, gojo must simply show you that they're wrong
pairing: gojo x fem!reader
warnings: 18+, mdni, mild angst, heavy smut, fingering (female receiving), oral (female receiving), vaginal penetration, heavy making out, gojo is a little possessive (but that's okay!)
note: this could be a historical au if you squint but i was too tired to go in-depth. also sorry for any typos, i might fix it later
word count: 3.3k
jjk masterlist
gojo saturo was a man who was always sure of himself.
he didn’t need anybody to tell him of his strength. the word of his agility spread across the aegean sea, and his strength rivaled no other man. his stark beauty that only came with having a goddess as a mother, and his snide remarks that came with being fed with a silver spoon his entire life.
and yet you had never seen gojo so angry. never seen his eyes turn such a shade of gray, his hair framing his face messily as he breathed as though each inhale cost him the regular amount three would take.
his (your) sleeping quarters usually a comforting place for you to be, but it all felt cold now. you could barely look at him without feeling the bile rise in your throat, wondering if you finally ruined the lick of happiness you were blessed with these past few months.
who would have thought your words would have such an effect on him?
"what do you mean let you leave?" he spat your earlier statement as if it burned his tongue, seared his flesh as he if the prospect was enough to set even the holiest man aflame.
"i," you paused, your back pressing up against the wall as tears treacherously stabbed at your waterline, “i just think that you could have somebody…worthier.” you used the heel of your palm to wipe at your cheeks, hoping that the darkness would hide your weakness.
he took in another labored breath as if hearing you say it again was the confirmation he needed to make sure he heard you correctly the first time.
“you could have anybody, gojo,” his lips curled at the use of his last name, getting comfortable with hearing ‘toru fall off your soft lips, “i don’t want you to be bound to me because you wanted to spite-”
“spite?” he throws it out, cutting you off, scoffing in disbelief as you nod slowly.
“you don’t have to take me for a fool,” you say through a sniffle, the moon carding through the window as it bounces off of his beautiful face, “i don’t have much to give, but i’m not dense. i know that there wouldn’t be many reasons after spite to take me as your wife.”
he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, looking at you and then at the tears that stained your soft cheeks. he wanted to reach out and wipe them, to kiss the salt away, and to give you words that held his heart in each syllable but you would only deem them as moments to fill the silence and to please the gods.
“then you are dense if you think that’s why i picked you as my wife,” he tells you finally, the words cutting you through your nightgown and through your chest. you were aware he wielded the sword better than any grecian warrior, but you never would have guessed that his words could be just as powerful.
“your mother wants-”
“damn what she wants!” he cracked, shaking in anger as your lips wobbled at the flash that crossed his face, he rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, looking away, trying to calm himself down as his hair fell into his eyes, “have you ever stopped to think about what about what i want?”
you didn’t know what he wanted. you had always thought that the gojo satoru would pick somebody spectacular to be his equal, somebody whose name was just as prominent as his. you thought that his wife would have been a child of a god as well, somebody who could match him on his every level.
but now you weren’t sure, your past judgment slipping away as you took in his disheveled state.
“i,” he sighed, looking at you as he shook his head, “i want you so much that hearing you say you want to leave damn near tore my heart out. i want you so much that my every waking moment is spent thinking, dreaming, wanting you. you are the only person that i care for.” he choked out, his voice raw as he pushed the strands away so he could see you.
you couldn’t find anything to say as your lips trembled as you tried to conceal your cries. if only he knew your petty tears came from years of these words being muttered in the back of your head, from the people around you, and only tonight did they finally spill. you were strong, and you could control your emotions better than most, but seeing him tonight with the woman blatantly trying to win his attention proved the fragility in your mask. you knew that accepting his hand in marriage meant having to have skin thicker than before, but after months of hearing the crude rumors of why he picked you out of anybody else chipped away at you before this was all that was left.
“i didn’t want you to be my wife out of spite,” he takes a tentative step forward, hoping that you don’t cower away because of it, “i wanted you to be my wife because i loved you too much for you to be anything but.” he walks again, his long legs reaching you in a matter of milliseconds as he’s now closer than he was before, his striking eyes taking you in better as you look at him from above your lashes, not wanting him to see you this way.
“you are so smart yet sometimes you can’t see beyond what people tell you,” he murmurs, pulling you into his chest as you let him, this warmth something you knew you could no longer live without, “i will not let you leave.”
“but-”
“listen to me,” he murmurs firmly, his fingers grasping your jaw as he lifts it up so you can see him.
“i will not let you leave…unless you want to,” his thumb swipes away at the corner of your eyes, searching for answers, “do you want to?”
no, you don’t.
you want to stay. you want to wake up to his kisses and his gentle touch, the honeyed words he’d tell you as he held you close to his naked body. you wanted to stay and experience what it’s like having the strongest soldier as your husband, to know that he wouldn’t let a fly land on your head. you want him.
“no,” you look away, your cheeks heating up under his heavy gaze, “but-”
“then don’t leave.” he cut you off again, shushing your doubts as he shook his head. his fingers trailed across your shoulders, long as you felt them travel down the cloth that covered your back, holding your waist as he ran them across the expanse of your body.
he knew the things you told yourself sometimes, he’d comforted you those nights when the darkness sheltered your tears and all he could do was tell you that you were wrong and hold you close to his thumping heart.
this was the furthest it had ever been. his heart was thumping erratically and he was sure it would jump out of his throat if you actually left.
“‘toru, i really think that….” you trailed off as he dropped his head down, his lips finding your neck as he littered wet kisses on your skin, mouth curling into a smile as he heard your breathing hitch.
he gripped your hips tightly, undoing the knot that met in the middle of your collarbones, watching as your robe fell to show off your supple skin to him. you wanted to hide, never getting used to that hungry look that would take over his face as he eyed your breaths, his cheeks glowing pink as he nudged his thigh in between your two legs.
“do you really think i could live without these?” he asked, his hands cupping your tits as he flicked his thumb over your pert nipples, your lips catching between your teeth to hide your whines, “without you?” his hands ran down your stomach, his nose rubbing against your cheek as he teased his lips over yours, a cruel grin threatening to make its way onto his stunning face as you tried to meet him where he was.
“now you’re eager?” he taunted, getting drunk off of your helpless whines, enjoying knowing the fact that neither of you would be able to survive without the other, that he needed to breathe your air in order to live. he could taunt and tease you as much as he’d want, but in the end, he’d always oblige.
he kissed you like a man starved, his lips crashing against yours as you let out a small gasp. he took the air from your lungs, your teeth clashing against each other as he held you to him, your nipples rubbing against his chest as he moaned into your mouth, wanting more.
“want you, always want you,” you murmur against him, your fingers curling at the stray hairs at his nape, pulling him closer to you as you press up to kiss him again.
“then don’t ever say anything like that again,” he whispered, and for the first time that night you heard the vulnerability in his words, “i want you so bad that i can barely think straight without you.”
you wanted to apologize but he stopped you, already knowing the words that were going to come out of your mouth. He nipped at your lips, stealing your apology away silently, not wanting to see your pretty tears anymore, the sight hurting him more than any wound he’s attained in all his years as a warrior.
dropping down to his knees as he breathed in your scent, his eyes rolling back as you tried to look away in embarrassment. He’d press kissed to your inner thighs, stopping just where you needed and wanted him most, taking your knee as he guided it upwards to rest on his shoulders, looking up at you as he rolled and smirked.
“you think anybody else will love you like i do? treat you like this?” you shook your head, your fingers curling into his white hair as your head thumped against the wall, his hot breath fanning over your fluttering entrance as you whined out for him.
“mmh, fuck,” he loved seeing you like this, beautifully naked, sweat dotting on your skin as you wrapped your leg around his back, “hurry up ‘toru,” you were impatient and he loved that about you.
“anything for my wife,” he said, his mouth finally finding your clit as you let out a pleased cry, his fingers prodding at your dripping entrance as your eyes squeezed shut. this is where he loved to be most, the saccharine taste of you on his tongue, washing over his body as he grew taunt against his stomach.
he sucked, his two fingers reaching deep in you as he curled them, switching them with his mouth occasionally as your grip on his hair grew tighter, guiding him up and down as he slurped your juices away, the sound echoing across the chamber.
“just like that!” you moaned when he reached your spongy spot, your walls clenching around his fingers, your essence staining his chin as he looked up at you with a dopey look in his eyes, “fuuuck ‘toru,” your words were the sin that he longed for, tainting his existence with the presence of your love.
he could feel you getting closer, his movements getting faster as he held one against your ass, cupping it as he brought you even impossibly closer to him, eating you out as he had never eaten a meal as good as this, and you did try to stop the noises that fell out of your mouth as you squeezed against him, creaming on his fingers as he brought you to your high, crying out his name as you tried to dig yourself against the wall.
your heavy breathing filled the room, your grip on his hair loosening up as he kissed your inner thigh one last time before disconnecting himself from your spasming pussy, grinning like a fool as he balanced himself on his haunches.
“good?”
“oh, shut up,” you muttered, still trying to catch your breath as he chuckled, standing up as he brought you to his chest once again. you would never get tired of him like this, your juices on his lips and chin as he looked at you like you were his god.
he would argue that you most definitely were.
he pressed his lips to yours once again, letting you taste yourself on him as you whimpered against his rapid movements, grasping onto his arms for support as you hooked a leg around his waist, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks.
you could feel him hard against your stomach, and you looked down, his robes not doing much to hide his length.
“see what you do to me?” he said against the shell of your ear, your fingers running up and down his clothed cock, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling as you continued your motions, enjoying the way he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “you’re mine.”
“you flatter me,” you teased, your eyes still a little puffy but you cracked a smile, feeling him puff out a laugh as he shook his head, grasping onto your waist as though that was the only thing that could keep him standing.
if only his enemies could see him like this; reduced to a mere mess all from your fleeting touch.
“i’m being honest.” he sucks onto your neck, his nose nudging your jaw as you tug onto his clothing, your fingers grasping onto the sturdy fabric as you push it down, your eyes taking in his physique as he stands naked before you, the two of you finally even.
“you’re so pretty,” you say, the words tumbling out of your mouth as your eyes rake over his abs, the faint scars that litter his torso, the white hair that leads down to his angry cock that leaks pre all over his stomach.
he snorts, rolling his eyes as he wraps your legs around his hips once again, hoisting your upwards like you weigh nothing as he rested his dick in between your puffy folds, cocking his head as he looked at you through his long lashes.
“me?” he asks as you giggle softly, nodding as his heart flutters at the sound, “i wish. look at your eyes,” he presses a kiss against your lids, “and your nose,” he kisses the tip of your nose as you try not to laugh even louder, the giddy sound something he hopes the gods could hear so that would envy him and the woman he has in his hands, “and your lips,” he pecks them, “and your smart, smart head,” he presses another kiss against your hairline, balancing your body in his arms, “my beautiful wife.” he finishes, looking back at your flustered figure, proud of his work.
“stop,” you whine, not making any motion to actually stop him, bathing in the endless attention as he tapped his cock head against your clit, your laughs seizing as you look down, forgetting where you were, “you’re such a tease ‘toru.”
“only because i love you so much,” he said, thrusting up into you as your mouth dropped open into a wanton moan, your head falling back as he took in a sharp breath between his teeth, never getting used to the way you clenched so tightly around him, making it hard to not come in just a matter of seconds.
“f-fuck,” he moaned, his hot breath hitting your breasts as he dropped his head down to see where the two of you connected, slowly moving his hips as he moved in and out of you, his mushroom tip catching in your fluttering walls as your nails dug into his back, dragging red lines down as he began to rhythmically pound into you, “you’re so fucking tight,”
“mmmh!” you could only whine out, your words slurring in your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut, the feeling of his dick thumping against you was better than any other feeling in the world, you could barely try to raise your hips up to meet him, but he took care of it for you, his strength never failing to amaze you, “l-love you so much ‘toru, m’sorry for w-what i said!”
even if he was still caught up over it, he fucked you as if to make you forget about it.
“my wife,” he’d mutter over and over again, searing the words into fate as he fucked you with so much love that it seeped out of his pores. Sweat caught on his brow and his cupids bow and you ducked down to kiss it away, the salty taste on your lips welcoming back as he feverishly kissed you back, “my wife.”
you loved the way his veins dragged up and down your walls, the rings of your essence and creams that frothed around the base of his cock, the way his thighs clenched as his fingers dug into your ass.
this was something you knew you could never find anywhere else. gojo satoru was something you could never find anywhere else.
“say your mine, f-fuck, say it,” he muttered against your skin, “need to hear you say it.”
“m’yours!” your fingers tugged at his hair, your nails scratching his scalp as he welcomed the sting, “i’m only yours!”
His eyes rolled back as you continued to flutter against him, his high coming faster than it usually would, but he knew that he couldn’t control it with the way you kept crying out his name in that honeyed tone of yours.
“shit, i’m ‘gonna cum, cum with me, need to feel you cum around me…” he rambled on, your pussy made him crazy. And you were nodding your head, not knowing how to speak anymore as his hips shuddered, your releases spraying each other as he cummed deep into you, white trickling out from where he had you plugged out as you cried out from the pleasure that washed over your body.
“you’re so perfect,” he whispered after a couple of seconds passed, and you were still trying to recover from your second orgasm of the night, his words warming your soul as he kissed your cheeks.
you looked up at him, suddenly bashful despite what happened, and he had the audacity to cackle at the sight.
you were stunning always, but he loved this look the most. the sleepy but pleased look in your eyes as you clung to him, your arms draping from his shoulders as he walked with you connected to him, just as you should be. he loved the little smile that would always litter your lips after sex, knowing that if he were to die now he’d die a happy man.
“come on,” he kept you wrapped around his waist as he kept one hand under your ass and one tightly around his waist, “i’ll let you rest, but i need to get some things to clean you up.” his eyes trailed to the mess he made, trying not to let his cock harden at the white that painted your thighs and seeped out from your pussy, knowing you were too tired for another round.
“i love you,” you muttered into his neck, pressing a kiss where your lips were and he shuddered.
he squeezed you tightly to him, not knowing what he’d do if you were to leave. he was a man far gone, you had too much control over him to ever submit to any other king again. you were the only being who could tell him what to do, what to feel, and what to love.
“love you most, my beautiful wife.”
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo x you smut#gojo x you#gojo x reader angst#gojo smut#gojo satoru imagine#gojou x reader#jjk angst#gojo x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo saturo#jjk x reader#jjk x you#gojo x reader fluff#satoru x reader#jjk smut#jjk x reader smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x y/n
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Cooper Howard x vault born reader. She's from one of the more messed up experiment vaults, when she uncovered the truth of the vault she runs away from it. The first interaction they have is when he tells her he fucking hates vault dwellers and she tells him "I don't really give a shit what YOU think of me". She's been in the wastes a good long while, has a lot of skills and they end up traveling together and getting close. The area she is naive in is sex her interpretation is it's boring, and hurts. He of course tries to explain that it's not suposed to feel like that. They become really close he asks if he can show her which she agrees, she cums harder than she ever has before he has to remind her to breath through it, maybe she squirts and is embarrassed he realizes it's new for her, tells her it normal and that he loves it. Bonus points for: squirting, choking, hair pulling.
Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader
Synopsis: A discussion with The Ghoul reveals things that you never wished to tell him, including your views on intimacy, and lack of experience. When he offers to show you what you were missing out on, how could you say no?
Tags: Not Beta Read, Prompt Request, Backstory for Reader, Virgin Reader, Inexperienced Reader, Banter, This one might be even more OOC for The Ghoul, Soft Ghoul, Smut, Squirting, Doggystyle, Hair Pulling, Dirty Talk, Choking, Confessions (kind of)
Author's Note: i know that vault 75 is actually like on the other side of the us from where the show takes place but this vault always stuck out to me so i needed to use it for the prompt lmao.
also thank you anon for the amazing prompt (and my first ever request :D) ! i hope this fulfilled it sufficiently!
If you’d told yourself a year ago that you’d be traveling the surface with an irradiated man dressed as a cowboy who only kept you around because you could make him his drugs, you’d call yourself insane, and rightfully so.
But here you were, following after him like an obedient soldier, just like you were raised to be. For the past few months, you had wandered alongside The Ghoul, searching for your purpose on the surface. There was a deal between you two; he’ll travel with you, and you’d make him the chems that stopped him from turning into a feral.
It was a reluctant acquaintanceship at best, The Ghoul keeping you at an arm's length, and you didn’t blame him. The reason he had difficulty trusting you fully was because you were vault born, which he made abundantly clear when the two of you first started traveling. You spent the first eighteen years of your life in Vault 75, where you were trained, both mentally and physically, to become the perfect soldier and scientist that would bring justice to the surface world. That had been your life’s goal, up until you turned eighteen.
Along with the rest of the top peers, you were selected to make your way to the surface. But before you could leave they provided a vaccine, claiming that it would build immunity against the radiation that still plagued the earth.
In actuality, it had been a sedative, and you remember awaking some time later, suspended in a glass chamber. For days, months, years, you weren’t quite sure, you were prodded, stabbed, cut open. It was pure agony, moments that you only remember in your darkest dreams, leaving you panting and shaking. To this day, you still weren’t fully sure what they had done to you, but you knew they had quite literally taken things from you that you’d never get back.
Somehow, you managed to break free of the sedative that they continuously pumped into your body, keeping you alive yet without control of your body. You weren’t certain how you managed to escape, but you remembered that your hands and knuckles were bloody pulps, glass embedded into the flesh, fingers broken and mangled. Even now, you could still see the scars that still lingered, and the way your fingers looked off, bones not set right. It caused you issues and aches, but luckily today was a low-pain day.
A gruff drawl snapped you out of your reminiscing, and you looked up from your hand into the eerily human eyes of The Ghoul, who had stopped in front of you. “What?” You had missed what he said.
“The fuck you doin’?”
“I… my hand hurts,” you lied. “Sorry.”
He angrily grumbled something under his breath, yet you watched him dig into one of the pockets of his trench coat. He pulled out a small pill bottle, and after double-checking the contents he tossed it to you, and you caught it with your non-injured one. “Keep yer head on,” he added before turning to keep walking.
You didn’t have to look at the bottle to know what he’d given you: painkillers. He’d always give them to you whenever your pain would flare, and each time you reevaluate your relationship with him. You couldn’t figure out if he detest you or cared about you, whether he saw you as a friend or foe. He was a confusing person, and his hard exterior and guarded responses to your questions made him hard to understand.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, and if he heard you he didn’t respond, just continuing to walk away. Tucking the pills away, you jogged to catch up with him, keeping a few feet distance between the two of you.
Looking around, you tried to make some sense of the dilapidated buildings and cracked roads, creating an image in your head of what you imagined the town to once be. Full of energy, full of life, able to roam without fear of being killed by man or creature, or fear of being slowly poisoned to death by radiation.
There was a row of buildings on either side of the road, most caved in, but there were still a few that remained, windows shattered or boarded up. Rusted mental skeletons of cars littered the road, you and The Ghoul having to weave around them. Glass crunched underneath your boots, and you swore you stepped on a few bones.
Glancing at the road, you noted how elongated the shadows were, and you didn’t have to glance behind you to know that the sun was setting, night right on the precipice of falling. Not wanting to become a late night snack for a deathclaw or some ferals, you cleared your throat, getting the attention of The Ghoul. He stilled, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. “We should find a place to stop soon.”
You watched him debate it for a second, eyes flicking from the setting sun to the walk in front of him, then to the buildings on either side of you two. Eventually he came to a decision, sighing. “There’s a standin’ building’ down a little ways. We’ll stop there.”
You were eager to finally rest, the rifle in your hands was becoming heavy and the straps of your backpack were digging into your shoulders, so you had a bit more energy in your step as you continued down the street. As you reached the end of the street, you were able to see the building he had mentioned. It was an old shop of sorts, any signs long since gone, but it looked still relatively intact.
The Ghoul got there first, like he normally did. Opening the door with one hand, he held his gun in the other, raised and ready to shoot. He swept the room as he entered, and you follow hot on his heels, gun at the ready.
In the dim light, you were able to see rows of shelves in the main area, a small desk with a register tucked into the left corner. There was a closed door behind the desk, and another on the rightmost wall of the building, also closed.
Stepping further in, you were able to start making out the contents on the shelves: boxes and packages of food, no doubt beyond edible, labels faded away. But you also saw a few cans of food littering about, but you’d have to look through them once you’d cleared the building.
Focusing back on the task at hand, you watched him peer into the far right room, before turning and speaking to you. “Check the desk,” he kept his voice low, as to not alert any possible dwellers. Nodding, you carefully made your way over to the desk, eyes rapidly scanning your environment.
You tried to open the door, but it merely rattled against the frame, locked shut. If you had the tools, or the patience, you would’ve tried to pick the lock, but you didn’t care that much. Besides, if there was anything in there that was alive, it wouldn’t be able to get you.
The desk didn’t have much to offer, either. Partial destroyed papers dotted the desk, and the register sat broken and open, robbed of the pre-war cash that once resided in it. You were a tad bit disappointed; it always made for great kindling.
Searching through the rest of the drawers, you only found garbage, and after a few moments you gave up trying to find anything of value. You slowly made your way back over to The Ghoul, who had better luck than you with his door. You could hear him digging through drawers as you entered, and you were sure to make some audible noise so as to not startle him.
It was a small living area, a twin bed tucked into the corner, as well as a kitchenette and small desk. A TV and couch sat in the center, and you saw another door, opened by The Ghoul, which you presumed was the bathroom. “Not bad,” you commented. This was truly one of the better places the two of you had stopped at; this at least had four walls and a roof.
He grunted in response, still rifling through drawers. “Find anythin’?”
You shook your head. “I’ll go look again,” you responded, and before you backed out of the room you dumped your bag on the floor. You sighed happily at the relief, rubbing your shoulders as you began to look through the shelves again.
You didn’t bother to look at the boxed goods, heading straight to the few canned items you saw. The cans were still whole, thankfully, but the labels were long since gone. Shrugging, you grabbed the cans, about four in total, and brought them back to the other room, dumping them on the counter of the kitchenette.
“What’s that?” You heard him ask, spurs clicking on the linoleum floor as he came over to you. The room was now illuminated by a small oil lantern placed on the desk.
“No idea. But they’re still good. Probably.” You spoke as you moved to sit on the counter, legs dangling. Man, did it feel good to sit after walking all day. You reached for your knife, cursing when you felt empty space instead, your knife in the bag instead of on you.
Before you could even get down, The Ghoul handed you his knife, the blade glinting in the low light. He pointed the handle towards you, and you took it from him, and you murmured a small thanks. You got to work opening the first can, hunger making your stomach rumble. The knife plunged in and out of the tin top, peeling back the rest once you got most of it cut.
It was an almost gelatinous red substance inside, with darker red, round something suspended in it. It smelled sweet, sugary even, and you tried to tilt it into your mouth, but it didn’t budge. Maybe it had gone bad, then.
Confused, you reached down to the drawer that was in between your legs, managing to get it open enough to reach your hand in. You grabbed the first utensil feeling thing you could find, and to your delight it was a fork. You didn’t waste any time, taking a decent-sized forkful and bringing it to your mouth.
It was overwhelmingly sweet, and you’re sure you made some face, because The Ghoul was chuckling lightly. It wasn’t bad, but it almost hurt to eat, and the gelatinous nature of it made it stick to your teeth. “That’s whatcha get for eatin’ unlabeled food.”
You shook your head. “It’s not bad. It’s just… sweet.”
He hummed curiously, and you offered the can to him. You laughed when he eyed it suspiciously. “I promise you, it doesn’t taste bad. And I haven’t poisoned it,” you teased.
“I’m surprised you haven’t,” he grumbled, but he took the can from you.
“I wouldn’t,” you grabbed and handed a utensil to him. “I rather like your company.”
See, as fun as it was to be out on the road, nothing but the endless horizon in front of you, it was the nights that you truly cherished. He didn’t talk much while you walked, keeping a literal and metaphorical distance between the two of you. It was like when he was on the road, he was The Ghoul, a cunning and vicious bounty hunter. But when it was just the two of you, secluded away in some abandoned house, around a fire, wherever, it was like the human side of him resurfaced, leading way to conversation and… friendship?
You had no idea if he considered you a friend, but you knew you considered him to be one. It wasn’t like you had any other person in this wretched world, your “friends” from the vault turned enemy. As a wanderer, it was hard to build and maintain relationships with other people, so you chose to just stick with The Ghoul.
And you wouldn’t lie, there was something beyond “friendship” that you felt for The Ghoul. It had taken too long for you to even admit that to yourself, so it was unlikely that you were going to admit to him. Besides, it went against everything that you were raised to believe, and even though you’d long since left the vault, their ideas were still ingrained into your brain.
“Not sure why,” he muttered before eating a spoonful of the mysterious substance. You were barely able to see it, but his upper lip twitched into an almost smile. You always liked when he smiled. It was rare for him, a genuine smile. He’d sneer and smirk, sure, but it was those true smiles that got your heart beating faster and your knees getting weak. You refused to name the reason why your body reacted the way it did, not wanting to face the reality that you felt something for The Ghoul just yet.
“It’s pie filling. Cherry pie filling, to be exact,” he lifted up another spoonful, one of the dark red balls on it, covered in the sheer red substance.
“Cherry pie filling?” You said each of the words as their own question. You’d never heard of any of what he was talking about.
He rolled his eyes, handing the can back to you, and you took another bite. You still weren’t used to the sweetness of it. “Fuckin’ vault dwellers,” he sighed. “Cherry’s a fruit. Pie is a pastry. Filling is what you put into pie.”
It didn’t clear up anything, but you nodded anyway, not wanting to annoy him further. “Interesting.” Taking one final bite, you set it next to you, moving on to the next can. You were in the middle of opening the second one when he spoke
“You mean to tell me they didn’t have pie in your vault?”
You weren’t expecting his question, and you halted mid-cut. He never asked you about the vault you grew up in, and you never told him anything besides the name and that you left. He made his opinion on vaults and vault dwellers abundantly clear when you first met all those months ago, back when your relationship was a tenuous allyship. You hadn't cared what he thought about you and your old life then, telling him straight to his face, and you certainly didn’t care now. But it was curious that he was willingly asking you about it now.
“No,” you drew out the word, mildly suspicious. “If it didn’t have good nutritional value, then it wasn’t allowed. So no candy, no sugary drinks, no pastries. Nothing like that.” You answered while opening up the second can, and you recognized it immediately: sweet corn.
He didn’t ask any further questions, so you didn’t elaborate. Not needed to do a taste test of the sweet corn, you set it aside, then opened the other two cans, which were baked beans and tomato soup. Wordlessly, The Ghoul grabbed two of the cans, making his way over to the couch, and you followed behind him, the other two cans in your own hands.
Sitting side-by-side, the two of you ate in silence, and you propped your legs up on the coffee table in front of you. The two of you would eat half the can before passing it off to the other. It was how you shared your dinners for at least the past month.
It didn’t take long for there to only be the pie filling left, and you held it in your better hand. Even though you’d been free from the vault for some time, a part of you still felt wrong for indulging in a treat like this. Pushing those memories aside, you took another bite before passing it to the man next to you. You jumped when you felt his gloved fingers brush yours, and you missed the way he knowingly chuckled.
Sighing, you sat back against the couch, ignoring the armor that dug into your shoulders, and you found your eyes flicking back down to your hand. You traced over the scars littering it, a familiar pattern to you at this point, and you flexed your fingers. They popped and cracked, bending unnaturally, and it caused a small jolt of pain to shoot through the nerves. You hadn't realized your eyes weren’t the only one on it until you heard the man beside you speak. “How’d that happen?”
Now you were suspicious; he sounded like he actually cared. “Did you get replaced with a synth?” You asked, bewildered.
He rolled his eyes in response, taking another bite before setting the can on the coffee table in front of you two. “I realize I don’t know a lot ‘bout you.”
“I didn’t think you cared,” you admitted. “But,” you added when he glared at you, “if you really want to know, I got it by punching something. Repeatedly.”
“If that’s your fist, I’d hate to see the other person,” he muttered.
“Something, not someone. It was, well, glass.”
“Why the fuck were you punchin’ glass?”
“It was the only way I could escape.” You laughed humorlessly when he glanced at you, confused. “What, you think I left the vault freely?” You shook your head. “After my eighteenth birthday, they trapped me in a chamber so they could harvest stuff from my body, pumping me full of sedative and rapid-healing agents. Something about creating the ‘perfect human’. Eventually, the drug they used to keep me docile stopped working, and I was able to smash my way out. I’m pretty sure there’s some glass still left in my hand,” you chuckled, stopping when you realized he wasn’t joining in. “It’s fine. I’ve repressed most of the memories anyway.”
“Not well enough,” he muttered more to himself, and you couldn’t help the small bit of dread that washed over you at the realization that he knew about your nightmares. They made you feel weak, and you didn’t want him to think you were.
“Well, I….” You trailed off with a sigh, finding it not worth it to try and disagree, sitting back on the couch. “Rude.”
“So you do have nightmares.” He chuckled at the glare you gave him once you realized you fell into his trap. “Are they ‘bout that?”
“Is this an interrogation?” You asked, getting defensive. “Why the fuck do you care? You haven’t before.”
“If ya paid attention, I said I barely know anythin’ ‘bout you. Figured if we’re gonna continue to travel I should know more besides your name.” He sighed before adding, “This ain’t an interrogation. You… you can ask me whatcha like.”
His reluctant openness made you feel more comfortable, and you relaxed a bit. “Really?”
“Sure, why the hell not. But answer my question first.”
There was silence for a few beats. “Fine. Yes, they’re about when they had me trapped. It’s… it’s mostly the pain I remember. And their faces, the people who raised me, who I trusted. watching me through the glass. I forget most of the details when I wake, but that’s what sticks out.”
The Ghoul didn’t offer any verbal response, merely nodding his head slowly. You prayed that he couldn’t see the way your hands shook as you willingly brought up those memories in your brain. You shoved them away, forcing a light smile on your face. “My turn.” Adjusting so that your back rested against the arm of the sofa so you were facing him now, your knees tucked up to your chest. “What’s your name?”
He scoffed. “Out of all the questions, that’s the one ya go with?”
“You don’t have to-”
“Cooper. Cooper Howard.” His response cut you off, and a small smile lifted the corners of your mouth.
“A pleasure, Cooper Howard,” you smiled gently. It was hardly noticeable, but something shifted in him when he heard you say his name, but you weren’t quite sure what exactly.
He cleared his throat while adjusting in his seat, his eyes flicking away from your own. “Better not make me regret tellin’ ya that.”
Your slight smile fell at his semi-threat. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to call you that, then.” His responding silence was answer enough, and you didn’t press it further. “Do you got any more questions for me?”
“Plenty,” he seemed more comfortable now that the attention was off his past life. “Why the hell are ya still travelin’ with me?”
You thought of your answer for a moment. “I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoyed your company. And it’s not like I’ve got any place to go.”
“We’ve traveled to plenty of towns. Why don’t ya just stay there?”
“Do… Do you want me to leave?” It almost hurt to ask. You thought things were amicable between the two of you, and the thought of leaving your one “friend” was something you truly did not want to think about.
He regarded you for a few moments, eyes dancing over your face. “I suppose not,” he finally sighed out, crossing his arms and resting against the back of the couch.
“Good,” you tried to not sound too relieved. “You’re stuck with me.” You swore you saw a smile tug at his lips.
“Unfortunately.” He didn’t sound too upset about it. “Anythin’ else?”
“Why didn’t you kill me when we met? I tried to rob you, and I’ve seen you kill people for less. You had the gun right to my head; why didn’t you pull the trigger?”
“That’s two questions.”
Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “They’re the same damn thing. Just… why didn’t you kill me?”
“I dunno why I didn’t kill ya right away. Somethin’ made me hesitate. And then once I realized you was a vault born, I figured I could get a good amount of caps for you, so I kept you alive.” The Ghoul sighed. “I expected to only keep ya ‘round for a week. But then you saved my life, even though I had ya captive, and I couldn’t bring myself to sell you. That’s when I set you free.” He chuckled as he reminisced. “But for some fuckin’ reason, you decided to stick around, and I thought I was gonna regret not killin’ or sellin’ ya.”
“Do you regret it?”
“That’s three questions now, sweetheart.” Your cheeks grew warm at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you it, but it always elicited the same reaction from you. “But no. It’s nice, havin’ someone you trust enough to watch your back. After years of solitude, wanderin’ this godforsaken Wasteland with you has been a pleasant change.”
You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone regard you so kindly, which was insane because of who it was coming from. “Thank you,” you responded, sincerely.
“Before I inflate your ego any more, it’s my turn. Do you miss life in the vault, back before all… that?” He gestured to your hand.
“Honestly, you’d think I would,” you chuckled. “No danger around every corner, no radiation, no worry about dehydration or starvation. It was secure, but so constricting. Every part of my life was monitored, from the foods I ate, to the things I did, to the people I spoke to. If the higher ups didn’t like it, they’d make me change. If anything threatened the ability to become the most optimized person, then it was removed. I’ve had more freedom during the time I’ve spent up here than I did for the first eighteen years of my life.” You took a breath. “So, no, I don’t miss it.”
It went like that for a good while, you weren't quite sure how long, and eventually the two of you finished off the pie filling. Questions were shot back and forth, and you learned some things about the man beside you that you never thought you’d know. He learned more of the experiments led by Vault 75, and your role in it. You refrained from asking him about his life before becoming The Ghoul, and although he didn’t say it, you could tell that he was grateful. He had long since shed his coat, draping it across the back of the couch, down to only a once luscious blue button down. His hat was also off, sitting on the table alongside the now empty cans.
You had asked him about the strangest person he’d met, and he was recounting this one “doctor” he’d met in Filly, with greased hair and a rotted cap, selling ailments for quite literally every predicament. “Pretty sure he was fuckin’ the livestock,” he added, and you gapped at him, horrified. “Strange fellow indeed. But, after that it probably has to be this vault born I met, who no matter what I do, refuses to leave.”
“I’m second after that? I… fuck you!” You’d never sworn at him before, but now felt like a good time to change that.
His brow raised, shocked, and he grinned at you. “Looks like I’m rubbin’ off on ya, sweetheart.”
Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide your own smile behind your knees, which were still tucked up close to you. “It’s your turn. Although, I don’t know if I wanna respond after you insulted me like that.”
“My apologies,” he responded, not sounding sorry at all, especially with the way he continued to chuckle as he thought of a question. “Did ya have friends? Lovers, perhaps?”
If you weren’t blushing because of the nickname, then you certainly were now. It was a taboo subject in your vault, having lovers. Romantic companionship was seen as a hindrance, a liability. “I had some friends, sure, but they all turned out to be back-stabbers or were taken like me. I don’t know if they survived; I couldn’t stop to rescue them if I wanted to live.” You shook off the bit of guilt you felt when thinking of the others. “But I wasn’t close friends with anyone. As weird as it is, you’re the closest thing to a true friend I’ve ever had.”
“You only answered half my question.” Damn him. “Any lovers?”
“No.” Your hand was looking quite interesting now, and you traced over the familiar pattern of the scars again.
“‘No’? That’s it?” If looks could kill, The Ghoul would be six feet under right now. “Touchy subject?”
You realized that no matter what you said, he was still going to continue to ask. Groaning, you let your head sag back off the couch, not wanting to make eye contact with him when you responded. “We weren’t allowed to take… lovers. There were no romantic relationships allowed in the vault; they were seen as a liability. And I know that they’re not, but it’s been drilled into my brain that they’re wrong, that they’re… improper, and I’d rather not talk about it.”
When he didn’t respond, you thought he lost interest in the subject, and you slowly began to lift your head back up. “How the fuck did you guys repopulate?” And there your head went back down, face burning.
“IVF. They took the eggs and sperm from the captives, as they were the best genetically, physically and mentally, and then put them in the body of one of the scientists.” You chose to not add the fact that there was an entirely real possibility that you had a kid or two.
“So no sex then?”
Something like a groan and a curse left your lips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment and something else washing over you. How you wished for a raider or synth or anything to break down the door and kill you. “No,” you responded, and you missed the way his gaze locked on to you, intrigued by your answer.
“So you’ve never-”
“No!” You didn’t let him finish his question, not caring about what you just admitted to him.
“Not even after you left?”
“No.” You were getting really tired of your same responses.
“Why not? It ain’t like you got your vault monitoring everythin’ ya do anymore.”
“Well…” you sighed, running a hand over your hot face. “It seems boring, from what I heard. I’m just supposed to, I dunno, sit there in pain while they use me for their own pleasure. It’s never appealed to me.” That last part was a lie, and you both knew it. You just wanted to hold on to some semblance of your pride that was lying in tatters around you.
He had the audacity to laugh, and you wished the couch would just swallow you whole. “I dunno who told ya that, but it ain’t like that. Not even fuckin’ close.”
Shakily, you exhaled, your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest. You couldn’t believe you were having this discussion, with The Ghoul of all people. His next words had you going deathly still, staring wide-eyed at the mildewed ceiling. “Can I show ya?”
In just one sentence, he managed to change the entire atmosphere of the conversation, of your relationship. You wouldn’t deny, the idea of being intimate with him was appealing, and definitely not the first time you’d thought of it. What made this time different, though, was that you didn’t push those thoughts away, disgust and shame not overwhelming you. And it was also different because this wasn’t just a scenario that you’d played out in your head, alone while you slept. No, this was actually happening.
“What?” You managed to stammer out, sitting up slowly. Your mouth went dry at the way he stared at you, almost hungrily. You squirmed under his intense gaze, which seemed to please the man.
“Can I show ya what it’s supposed to feel like?” He repeated again, and one of his gloves hands crept across the couch, resting an inch away from where your legs were. “If ya don’t want this, just say the word, and we can pretend like this ain’t ever happened. But I can promise ya won’t regret it.” For once, you were grateful for his self-assurance and cockiness, as it bolstered your own confidence in your decision.
It felt like five hours had passed before you nodded, and you felt his hand brush up your clothed calf, gripping the muscle lightly. “Lemme hear ya say it, sweetheart.”
Even though it was far from the first time he’d called you sweetheart, the implications now made your face burn even more. He made it sound dirty, and you had to take a breath before speaking. “Show me.” Your voice barely came out as a whisper; any louder and you feared it would crack.
You let out a startled noise when he pulled you close to him using the hand on your calf, the action effortless; you’d forgotten how unnaturally strong he was. You were now laying down fully on the couch, hair splayed out around you. He moved between your legs, hands now braced on either side of your head as he leaned above you. His face hovered a few inches from yours, and you could feel his breath as he spoke. “You gotta let me know if ya don’t like somethin’, deal?”
“Deal.”
You shivered when you felt him caress your cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture from the rough man you knew. He smiled at your body’s response to him. “Finally,” he muttered out, but you didn’t get a chance to ask for further elaboration before his lips were on yours.
Unlike his touch, they weren’t gentle, almost bruisingly strong against yours. You groaned, and you could feel him smirk. The hand that had been touching your face settled, grasping the side of your face in a warm, gloved palm. The other hand remained braced by your head, keeping him upright. You found yourself latching your own around his wrist, the other grabbing a handful of his shirt, trying to find some way to keep you grounded.
Kissing felt even better than you’d imagined it would. You didn’t think it would be so enjoyable, feel so good, so right. It was like his lips were made to slot perfectly against yours. If you concentrated hard enough, you could taste cherry pie filling the both of you had eaten. You jolted when you felt teeth tug at your bottom lip, a droplet of pain in the sea of pleasure, and your grip tightened even more, threatening to tear the clothing. You didn’t think he would mind.
Energy pulsed through your body, and you found yourself unconsciously beginning to move, your hips moving in small circles. A familiar tension began to form in your lower body, something you felt during your late night thoughts of The Ghoul. Even though it was only just forming, you’d never felt it this intensely before, and you were desperate for some kind of relief.
An amused chuckle left him, pulling away slightly to do so. You almost whined at the loss of contact, and you attempted to pull him back down with the hand that currently had a fistfull of his clothing, but he didn’t budge. “Eager?” It was a rhetorical question, but you found yourself nodding anyway.
“Please.” What you were asking for, you weren’t quite sure. Your words trailed off into a sigh when you felt his lips return, this time along your jaw by your ear. He left your cheek, running down the front of your body tantalizingly slow.
“Where’s these manners comin’ from?” It sounded like his voice had turned raspier, and it elicited a shiver from your body, his lips still pressed close to your ear. “If this was all it took for ya to start actin’ all proper, then I would’ve done this weeks ago,” he teased, and his fingers ran underneath your breasts.
Maybe it was his lips on your skin, or the way he pressed his body into yours, or the way he touched you, but you lost control of the words tumbling from your mouth. “I would’ve let you,” you admitted, and even though it was quiet you heard his breath hitch.
“Yeah?” His voice had somehow gotten even raspier, and he groaned when you nodded. “Fuck, sweetheart,” his teeth nipped at your earlobe before moving further down your neck. You no longer felt his lips; instead you felt tongue and teeth leaving marks, growing more fervent as he descended.
You let go of his shirt, your fingers popping uncomfortably, yet you paid it no mind. You rested your hand on the back of his head instead, almost immediately pulling it away, unsure if he wanted to be touched or not. But you felt him gently grab your wrist, bringing your hand back to where it had once been, making an approving noise when your fingers made contact.
When he reached the strap of your shoulder armor, you felt him immediately get to work at losing the strap, and you sighed in relief when fresh air hit the newly exposed skin. He tossed it to the side somewhere, and it didn’t take long for your chestpiece to join it. The only thing left on the top half of your body was your bra and tank top, yet you felt completely naked, both because of the lack of armor and the way his eyes bore into your body.
His eyes trailed over the top of your chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, greedily taking in the swell of your breasts. You gasped when he took them in his hands, kneading and toying with the tender flesh. Even through the thick material of his gloves and your clothing, you could still feel his heat. But you wanted to feel him closer. You wanted to feel his bare hands on your body.
Before you could even comprehend what you were doing, you were tearing off your tank top, throwing it somewhere in the room. You arched your back, your chest pressing further into his touch, and he groaned. Reaching behind, you had enough confidence to unlatch your bra and remove it, but not enough to look him in the eye. Your cheeks were burning, a flush creeping down your neck.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” you heard him mutter, and his praise gave you enough confidence to finally return your gaze to his, expecting them to be locked on your chest. And they were, at least until he felt your eyes on him. His pupils were blown out, irises gone, and the almost predatory smirk on his face made you look away again, the tension in your body growing.
“Take them off,” you whispered when his touch returned. His movement stilled, much to your dismay. “Your gloves,” you pleaded. “Take them off.”
When he didn’t respond, you forced your attention away from the ceiling, breath catching when you looked into his eyes. “And here I was praisin’ your manners,” he rebuked, and even through the lust in his eyes you could see a playful glint. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”
“Please take your gloves off,” you responded immediately, not caring if you sounded desperate. “I wanna feel your hands on me, please.”
“Much better,” he practically purred, and you watched him bring a hand up to his own mouth, tugging the glove off his hand with his teeth and letting it fall, landing on your body. It almost felt wrong to see his hands without gloves on them; it felt like he was more undressed than you.
He wasted no time in returning his now bare touch to your breasts, and it felt better than you thought it would. Fingers dexterously toyed with your now perked nipples, pulling little noises from you. You never thought it would be enjoyable to have someone playing with your breasts like this, but you were happily proven wrong.
It was when his mouth joined the fray that your noises turned louder, his lips wrapping around your other nipple. When his teeth grazed the sensitive bud, your hips bucked right against his, and you felt him groan against your chest. Wanting to hear that noise again, you repeated the action, and your ears were blessed once again.
But your victory was short lived, and the hand that had been by your head the entire time finally moved, pressing your hips down into the couch. “Behave,” you heard him growl, not halting his attention towards your chest. But you did see his eyes flick up, making it look like he was glaring at you, and you found your mouth going dry. You nodded, not finding it in yourself to go against him just yet, to see how far you could push him. You hoped there would be a next time.
He continued to lavish your chest for a few more moments, swapping his hand and mouth, continuously building up that tension in your core. You fought against the desire to move your hips, his “threat” still ringing in your ears. Your hand was still resting on the back of his head, trying and failing to keep your nails from digging into his scalp. A particularly hard suck had them biting in deep, but any apology you had died on your lips at the sinful moan he let out, followed by a string of expletives. You took a mental note to do that again later.
With a pop, he removed his mouth from your chest, and he let you pull him up into a searing kiss. His hand sneaked down between your bodies, which you only realized when you felt his fingers run beneath the waistband of your jeans and underwear.
He pulled away, sitting back on his heels, and you weren’t quite sure who was panting heavier. You immediately missed the feel of his body over yours, the comforting weight of him, and you couldn’t help the small pout that formed on your lips as you tried and failed to pull him back down again. “Please,” you whispered, hoping that your words would convince him. And you could tell they almost worked, his jaw clenching as he grit his teeth.
But he didn’t relent. Instead, you watched as he began to slowly unclip your gunbult, your armor, your kneepads. Every bit of protection against the Wasteland stripped from you, joining the pile on the floor, leaving you only in your clothes. It was freeing, yet a bit nerve wracking, your chest continuing to rise and fall rapidly.
You tried to lean down to help with your boots, but he swatted your hands away, silencing any rebuttal with a look. It took a few moments, but he eventually was able to remove your boots and socks, but you barely heard the sound of them hitting the floor over the loud heartbeat in your ears. He practically ripped off your pants, his patience becoming thin because of the boots, but you were just grateful he didn’t actually ripped them. Good clothing was hard to come by.
His gaze was locked onto your lower body as he eased off your underwear, the final article of clothing on your body joining the rest. You were almost glad to be rid of them; they were cold and uncomfortable, and damp, for some reason. But it didn’t seem to put off The Ghoul. In fact, it seemed to please him immensely, an almost proud grin on his lips.
You quickly grew embarrassed under his ravenous gaze, his eyes trailing over every inch of your body. You tried to close your legs, or at least tuck them to your chest to try and cover you, but he was having none of it. Two hands, one gloved and one not, wrapped around your ankles, pulling them back down and out. “None of that. Lemme see ya.”
Swallowing, you relaxed, at least as well as you could. It became easier when you saw how much he was loving your body. His eyes jumped around, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you. “Like I said. Fuckin’. Perfect.” You weren’t expecting the sheer honesty in his voice.
The hands on your ankles began to slowly trail up, making goosebumps appear on your skin. It was like your skin was a million times more sensitive when someone else was touching you. You got lost in his touch, your eyes fluttering close, simply enjoying the feel of another person.
They shot open when his touch suddenly left, and you gaped at him, confused. You watched him adjust so that he was now sitting normally on the couch, resting against the back of it.
You understood, though, when he patted his legs, wanting you on his lap. With shaky movements, you complied, but were once again confused when he stopped you, hand resting on your shoulder. Wordlessly, he turned you so that your back was to him, and you let out a startled noise when he roughly pulled you onto his lap, his still clothed chest pressing into your bare shoulders.
Moving the hair from your neck, you felt his lips return their ministration on your neck, and your head rolled back, giving him more access. Both hands were on your body, ungloved one returning to your breasts, the other skating down the side of your body. You gasped when it began to inch towards your center, and you felt him chuckle. “So sensitive,” he commented almost absentmindedly.
You felt him grip your thigh, spreading your legs even farther so that they went around his own, now using his knees to keep your legs open. It left you completely exposed and at his mercy, but you felt comfortable, safe even. Relaxing fully against his chest, your head now rests on his shoulder, and if you strained enough you were able to look at him. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was enjoying this just as much as you were, if not more.
He reached his hands around your body, and began to pull the glove off his other hand. You stopped him with a gentle grasp of his wrist, tugging his hand to your mouth. Just like he did, you took the material between your teeth, and he was able to free his hand with a tug. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Think ya can do one for thing for me?”
“Anything,” you responded, and you felt two of his fingers, the middle and ring, trace your bottom lip.
“Anythin’?” You nodded, not caring what that might imply. “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind. But first,” those fingers tugged at your lip, “get those nice and wet for me.”
Even though you weren’t quite sure what you were doing, you parted your lips anyway, taking the digits into your wet mouth. Slowly, you began to bob your head up and down, running your tongue along the textured skin, barely tasting the saltiness of it. Whatever you were doing seemed to please him, because you felt his chest rumble with a groan.
Before you could build a rhythm, he pulled them out with a pop, and they glistened in the low light. He didn’t give you much time to observe them, though, because before you could process he was running them through your folds. The sudden touch in your most sensitive area made you try and shut your legs, but his knees made it impossible.
His chest rumbled with a light laugh, and you were confused as to what could possibly be amusing him. “Guess that wasn’t necessary; you’re already so damn wet for me.” You detected another hint of pride, this time in his voice.
Another swipe had you moaning, but then you felt his fingers locate something between your legs that made you cry out, your legs jerking involuntarily. “There we go,” he rumbled, and he focused his attention on that area, fingers pressing firm and slow circles into it. You weren’t quite sure what he was doing, but it felt incredible, the tension that had slowly begun to rescind returning.
You tried to tell him, but it came out as a garbled moan instead. “Feel good?” It was another rhetorical question, and you yet again nodded, and you watched his lips quirk up.
“Ghoul…” you moaned out, one of your hands reaching behind to hold the back of his head, needing something to hold onto as he continued to pleasure you.
For the first time since you’d met him, something like self-consciousness flicked across his face, gone as soon as it came. “That ain’t my name, sweetheart. C’mon, lemme hear ya say it,” he almost sounded desperate as he talked.
It took a moment for your lust-addled brain to remember what he had told you earlier in the night. “Cooper…” you sighed out, and he bit back his own moan, and you felt his hips jump the tiniest bit.
“And I thought I liked hearing ya say my name, but fuck, I like hearin’ ya moan it a hundred times more.” You realized that when you had seen something shift in his eyes when you first said his name was disdain, it was actually the opposite. That realization had you smiling, and you managed to pull him down into a messy kiss, the angle too weird to allow a proper meeting of your lips.
But it wouldn’t have lasted long anyways, another few moments of his fingers making you cry out again, that tension beginning to become unbearable, like it was just on the precipice of snapping. “Cooper.” It came out as a moan, but with a hint of confusion and worry behind it, unsure of what was happening with your body.
“You close?”
“Close?” You had enough focus left to be confused, and even though his fingers didn’t yield, you felt the rest of him go still.
“You’ve never… oh, fuck,” his voice turned husky, almost like a growl, “am I gonna make you come for the first time?” He sounded elated. It just created more questions, but another swirl of his fingers made all thoughts go out the window.
You fidgeted and squirmed, trying to escape the onslaught of things you were feeling. “Relax. I promise ya, this’ll feel good.” And because you trusted him, foolishly or not, you did relax, no longer fighting against him. It felt like you were a dam that was about to burst, and you barely registered that your nails were digging back into his scalp until you heard one of those delicious moans escape his lips.
That sound triggered something in you, and all at once that tension snapped, exploding like something that was pulled too tight. Pleasure ignited your body, making it feel as light as a feather. Every nerve in your body was humming, and you swore you blacked out for a moment.
His voice, gruff yet a bit concerned, brought you back to your body. “Breathe,” you heard him say, and you realized the dizziness you were feeling wasn’t just because of the mind-shattering pleasure you’d just felt, but you indeed had stopped breathing. Inhaling shakily, you felt some of that dizziness leaving now that oxygen had returned to your lungs.
An uncomfortable jolt had you glancing down between your legs, where he continued to pull every last bit of pleasure from your body. “S’too much,” you managed to slur out, your voice quite hoarse. He halted, thankfully, resting his hand on your thigh, still close enough to your center that you could feel the heat from his hands.
“You alright, sweetheart?” He sounded mildly amused, and if your muscles weren’t currently jelly you would’ve hit him.
“I… what did…” you said between gasping breaths, trying to get your heart rate back down.
“You just came. Rather loudly, at that,” he teased, and your incredibly hoarse voice made sense now. You were suddenly very glad that you were in the middle of nowhere.
Turning so that you were able to face him better, you felt the material of his pants rub against your bare legs, which wouldn’t have been too weird if it weren’t for the fact they were wet, borderline soaked. The hand that had just been resting on your thigh was brought into view, just as soaked as his pants, and you watched as he examined his hand, almost transfixed. “And messily,” he added, and you felt your cheeks burn even more than they already were.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize, but nothing but an airy noise left you as you watched his tongue run from up from his wrist to his fingers. A pleased hum left him, his eyes never once leaving your own as he continued to clean his hand, like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, even better than the desert you had shared. There was a stir in your gut at the action, what you now assumed to be arousal coming to life as you continued to watch him.
When he caught you staring, his lips twisted into one of those smirks that made your stomach flip. Turning fully in his lap so you were now straddling him, you tugged his wrist far enough away so that you could kiss him. You groaned when his tongue swept between your parted lips, his slightly damp hand holding the side of your face gently.
With shaky fingers, you began to try and unbutton his shirt. You didn’t get far before he was suddenly standing, and even though he had an arm tucked beneath your thighs, you still clung on to him, legs and arms wrapping around him tightly. Not once did he remove his lips, even when he bumped into a few things on the way to the bed. It was like all that mattered was you and the way you felt.
The bed, which was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, squeaked obnoxiously when he lowered you onto it, but neither of you paid attention to it. And it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone else hearing. Like on the couch, he hovered over your body, arms braced on either side of you. His lips were back on your neck, giving you a few moments to take heaving breaths of air.
For once during the entire night, you knew what was about to happen next, but even though you could feel anxiety threaten to grip your mind, you managed to shove it off. It was easier when you focused your attention on the man in your arms. His continued attention was nice, but you wanted, needed more. “Cooper, please…” you trailed off, hoping he got what you were asking for.
And you know he did, because you felt his lips curl into a smile against the skin of your neck, and he lifted his head up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so care-free, and the sight had your heart swelling, a small gasp leaving you as well. He looked good like this, and a part of you craved to see it for days to come.
“What was that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite hear what ya said.” For a moment, you retracted your previous stance, embarrassment making your ears burn. You either wanted to kiss or slap that shit-eating smirk off his face when he noticed how bashful you’d grown. “I’ll give ya whatever you want. All ya gotta do is ask.”
Your pride and embarrassment were at war with your desire, but a winner was quickly decided. “Please, I need you, Cooper.”
Apparently that wasn’t good enough, because he didn’t move. “You need me to…?” You groaned in frustration, and you tried to get him to just forget it with a roll of your hips, trying to make him break. It seemed to almost work, but you felt him press down firmly on your hips, pinning you to the bed. “That ain’t gonna help ya. Use your words.”
You sighed, finally relenting. “Fuck me, please,” you whispered out, and it finally seemed to do the trick.
“Atta girl,” he praised. “Go ‘head and roll over for me.”
As much as you wanted to be able to see him clearly, excitement had you turning over anyway, now on your hands and knees. The position was revealing and it almost felt degrading, but yet again you felt at ease, anticipation making your heart beat fast. Turning your head, you were able to see him a bit, and a moan slipped from your lips when you heard the sound of his belt being undone, the sound of a zipper following suit. This was really happening.
One of his hands gripped your hips, and you felt his still clothed legs pressed up against the back of your own. His cock, warm and solid, pressed into your entrance, a low groan pulled from your lips when he breached it. It was only the tiniest bit painful, not as bad as you initially believed it would be, like a muscle being stretched, which was earlier overshadowed by the pleasure it brought. He let out a groan of his own, the fingers on your hips digging in harshly.
Inch by inch, you felt him press himself fully into you, both of you letting out similar sighs when he was fully sheathed. Cold metal bit into your skin when his hips were flush with yours, the buckle of his belt no doubt going to leave imprints on your skin. He stilled once he was fully in you, giving you a chance to get adjusted to him, which you were grateful for. You could tell that it was taking every ounce of restraint in his body to just sit there, though, and it only took a few moments until you felt like you were ready for him to move.
All it took was you wiggling your hips for him to get the message, something like a sigh of relief leaving his lips. Slowly, he pulled out of you, fingers never once letting go of their grip. The sensation made you moan, and you could feel him everywhere, hitting all the right spots as he pulled out.
You grasped at the barely-together bedsheets, probably creating new holes in the fabric. It was less uncomfortable when he pushed back a second time, and you felt your head go limp between your arms, his name falling from your lips. He started creating a rhythm, hips beginning to pick up the pace. His hips snapped into yours, slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed.
You could do nothing but take it, pleasure making you lose control of your body. Your cries were becoming increasingly louder, that familiar tension returning, and you tried to bury your face in the mattress.
That was until you felt him grab a fistfull of your hair, yanking your head back up. It hurt, but it felt wonderful, and you felt yourself tense, a wanton moan louder than anything previous escaping you. “Fuck, ya like it rough?” His pace quickened, his cock spearing you relentlessly. It filled something in you that you didn’t quite know you needed, a craving satiated that you didn’t know you had. But now that you had it, you needed more of it.
You nodded, at least as best you could, the grip in your hair keeping your head still. It took you too long to realize that he was using the leverage from his grip in your hair to pound into you. “D’ya know how fuckin’ incredible ya feel?” He panted. “This cunt was made for me. For me to ruin.”
“Cooper,” you cried out, and he groaned in appreciation.
“Fuck, that’s right. Who’s fuckin’ ya this good? Who’s ruinin’ ya for any other?”
You certainly weren’t expecting him to be this vocal, but you were far from complaining. His voice, which normally electrified you, was driving you insane, the tension building up tenfold. You tried to say his name again, but it came out incoherent. “Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed before laughing lightly.
You were so close to your release again, and you could feel moisture run down your thighs, but you had little mind to be embarrassed now. “Cooper,” you were able to sigh out. “I’m… I’m close.”
His grip turned vice like, and you’re sure your neck would be hurting later because of the angle, but you didn’t care. “Let go. C’mon, lemme feel ya cum on my cock.” His words left no room for debate, so who were you to go against his orders? After a few more thrusts, you felt that tension snap again, pleasure once again washing over your body, making your arms turn to jelly. Panting, you collapsed on your arms, face squished against the mattress, the sound of slick skin on skin the only thing you could make out.
You didn’t stay down for long. Both hands wrapped around your front, pulling you flush against his body. He continued to thrust into you, and you felt another release begin to build, but it was too much. You made a sound of protest, something like you couldn’t come again, but he shushed you with kisses on your cheeks, which were damp with tears and sweat. “Just one more, sweetheart. You can do it.”
Nodding shakily, you felt his continue to fuck you, one arm wrapping around your stomach, the other holding right above your breasts. A startled noise left you when you felt his hand wrap around your throat, survival instinct kicking in immediately. With wide eyes, you twisted out of his grasp on your throat, panic evident on your face.
He had let go as soon as he heard any sound of protest, but he still lingered close by. “You trust me?” He asked, somehow still able to form a coherent sentence.
Your answer came immediately; you trusted him with your life. Why else would you travel the Wasteland with him? You nodded, a soft yes leaving you as you did. He pressed another grateful kiss to your cheek, a wordless thank you, and you felt his hand return to where it was. You still tensed when you felt his grip return, unable to turn off the instinct to be free of someone choking you, but you provided no further protest.
Fingers squeezed against the sides of your neck, and like with your hair he used the leverage to snap his hips up into you. Even though it was harder, you were still able to breathe, your gasps and noises labored. Yet you still found yourself growing dizzy, the restricted blood flow making you so, which just heightened the pleasure you felt.
Your third and final release of the night barreled into you, completely catching you both off guard. Your mind was so fuzzy; you couldn’t even get his name out. You were quickly snapped out of that haze when you heard him moan your name. Not sweetheart, not Vaultie, not any other nickname. Your name.
He eased you to the bed, hand leaving your neck, and you let out a small whine when you felt him pull out of you. You felt empty, lacking, and even though you knew it would upset your overstimulated body you wanted him back in you.
You had just rolled onto your back when you felt something hot splatter against your skin. You watched slack-jawed as he stroked himself to completion, his release painting your skin. The sight caused the flames of arousal to reignite, but you tried your best to snuff them out; you needed a moment.
He sagged forward when he was done, arms once again bracing him from completely falling on top of you. Silence now filled the air, which was significantly warmer than it was a bit ago. It was you who moved first, grasping the side of his scarred face and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. It was short, but probably the most passionate of the night.
When it broke, he sat up, getting up and off the bed and towards his belongings. You let out a noise of protest, and he just shot you a teasing look. “I’ll be back in a sec. We gotta get ya cleaned up,” he gestured to the remnants of him on your skin, and you watched as he fished out a canteen, before searching the area for something else.
You decided to glance over your body as you waited for him to return. Your skin glistened with sweat, and you could see various marks littering your body; you didn’t want to know what your neck looked like, where he focused a lot of his attention.
The feeling of the bed shifting snapped you out of your examination, and you regarded the man who sat beside you with a soft look, and you were surprised when he returned it. It quickly turned into a scowl when you felt a damp cloth brush against your stomach and breasts, the cool water making you hiss.
When he was done cleaning your skin, he handed you the canteen, and you took a few sips. You’d long since gotten used to the acrid taste of the Wasteland’s water, so it didn’t bother you, and you watched him finally kick off his boot. He was still fully dressed besides that, shirt sticking to his body.He set it beside the bed once you finished, before eying the bed that you were currently laying on.
“What?” You cringed at how raspy your voice sounded.
“Just dunno how I’m gonna fit.” In the back of your mind, you worried that he was going to push you away after all was said and done, so you were quite relieved to find the opposite happening.
With a grin, you scooted back until your head rested against the thin pillow, before opening your arms to him. Shock crossed his features for a split second, before a grin of his own grew on his lips. He was still hesitant when he entered your embrace, but he relaxed almost immediately, especially when your hands ran soothingly up and down his back. When you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, he practically shuddered, his face nuzzling into your skin. You wondered how long it had been since someone showed him affection like this.
You held him for a good while, your body calming down, and you thought over the events that had just transpired. Weirdly enough, you thought less about the things he had done and more of the words he said, especially right at the beginning. “Cooper?” You called out hesitantly, almost immediately regretting it. “Do… Can I call you that?”
He had raised his head when he heard his name being called, and you watched him debate it for a second. “Only in private. I’ve gotta reputation to uphold.” His response was gruff, but there was something warm in his eyes.
It made you giddy, that he trusted you enough to call him by his true name, and you hoped you weren’t smiling like a fool. “Alright, Cooper. What did you mean when you said ‘finally’?”
He chuckled lightly, propping up a big so he could respond properly. “What, ya thought this was a spur of the moment decision?” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted this for a while.”
You gaped at him, stunned. “You… you have?”
“How could I not? I mean, look at’cha,” his eyes trailed appreciatively over your still naked body. “But you’ve got a fire ‘bout ya. You ain’t afraid of this world, even though you damn well should be. You ain’t afraid of me, even though I’ve given ya plenty of reason to be. You’re a fighter, and I… I admire that ‘bout you. I-” He caught himself, like he said something he wasn't supposed to. “I’m too sober to be discussin’ my thoughts with ya. All ya gotta know is yes, I have.”
You were once again left stunned, so you let your action speak for you, pressing another kiss to his head, trying to ignore the way your heart soared. You felt him shift upwards, and he kissed your proper. It was another short yet passionate kiss, and when he broke away he rested his head against yours.
“You wanna know somethin’, sweetheart?” His voice had dropped lower, and that familiar dark look was back in his eyes. So much for snuffing out the arousal you felt. He smirked when you nodded vehemently. “You wanna know the real reason why I always take first watch when we go to bed?” You felt his grasp one of your hands, loosely enough that you could pull it away if you wanted to, and he brought it between your bodies. You gasped when you felt the hard tent in his pants, having tucked himself away when he got up, but you knew it wasn’t going to stay like that for long.
“It’s ‘cause you do this to me. You should hear me out there, moanin’ your name like I do, imaginin’ your hand wrapped ‘round my cock instead of mine.”
Your tiredness was completely forgotten, the pleasant ache in your muscles nothing more than a gentle distraction. “Can you show me?”
“Fuckin’ gladly, sweeheart.”
#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul#fallout#fallout tv series#fallout series#fallout prime#fallout show
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My brain is on fire same I can’t sleep and am thinking of this:
The way she writes about marriage/family/commitment through these different situations across the album is soooooooooo interesting.
You have a very intense first experience of it in “The Manuscript,” where it is first dangled in front of her/the narrator’s young, impressionable self as shorthand for real love in a situation that ended up being smoke and mirrors. She’s being told everything she wants to hear by someone who basically thinks it’s just foreplay. In the end, when it’s clear that the other person has no intention of actually making a life with her, it makes her feel used, but she forces herself to recalibrate and become the girl she thinks he and all the other hes want her to be. Easy breezy cool. But there’s a sense of loss in realizing those hopes were merely banter to the other.
You have the “grown up” version of it alluded to in “So Long, London” and “How Did It End?”, the years of putting in work to save a relationship and the “deflation of our dreaming leaving [her] bereft and reeling” leading to them “calling it all off.” The implication is clearly that they built a home together with plans for next steps at a point in time, but the commitment is shattered. (Obviously to me it sounds like marriage.) She’s bitter at spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately didn’t want to be there, even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit it himself.
She felt like she did everything she was supposed to, but they were learning the right steps to different dances at as it were. Those dreams were at one point shared, but in the end they weren’t right for each other and she admits that, though bitterly (“I founded the club she’s heard great things about” eg the years she put in for him to help him grow up will end up benefiting his new lover, “but I’m not the one,” “you’ll find someone,” etc.). Mixed in with all this of her resentment of him wasting her youth (sacrificing herself at the altar), and his resentment of her for reasons less defined, and insinuations of betrayal in the shadows. The fantasy of the whole package disappears into the ether, yet she still has no answers as to how they got there.
Then in comes the wolf in sheep’s clothing in many of the rest of the songs, the one who promises her all those things she’s dreamed of since she was a kid instantly. After years of moulding herself to other men’s desires, someone comes in and tells her exactly what she wants to hear at the most vulnerable time of her life, as though the universe is answering her prayers, like some sort of cosmic payback for all she’s suffered, and it’s the most intoxicating drug of all. She’s gone from her wish for a family life feeling like she’s in a way being used for her body, to it being used as a chain to a relationship gone sour, to having someone put a metaphorical ring on her finger and tell her he wants to have babies with her, fuck those other guys.
In her grief and stupor, it’s too good to be true, which is exactly why she falls for it. But of course, it’s all an illusion, because this wolf is an amalgamation of the worst of all the men who came before him. He tells her everything she wants to hear not to make her dreams come true, but to make his. He takes the worst parts of these scenarios to make his move: he’ll stand by her, he’ll commit, he’ll do it out in the open under the spotlight’s glare (all things desperately lacking in her last relationship), but after he beds her he stabs her in the back in private and leaves her. He got what he wanted at the expense of her losing everything she wanted, this time as her world caved in seemingly for good. She feels like she gave up everything she thought she might have had for a chance that this is where the universe has been point her all along, only to be left broken for good (you represent the loss of my life as I knew it).
Then there are two sort of codas to this. In “But Daddy I Love Him” we get a sassier reimagining of “Love Story,” where the girl with the scarlet letter is mouthy and crass and tells everyone to go fuck themselves for cursing her in the first place, choosing her love above all else. And no, those haters can’t come to her wedding. Her daddy may have come around, but they sure can’t. Finally it seems someone is choosing her and will someday give her these things, and she’ll be able to show all the naysayers. (Also interestingly one of the more fictionally-veiled songs which ends happily vs the diaristic ones that don’t.)
Then of course there’s “So High School,” our first glimpse into what the future holds. Probably the only unabashedly happy (nay… electric?) song on the album, it’s all about reclaiming the buzz of youth (which is a whole other post) with a new lover. “Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It’s just a game but really, I’m betting on all three for us two.” It’s, er, a direct nod to a certain now-infamous interview, but again, she’s staking her claim on her future, if not certain then at least hopeful again. This time the prospect doesn’t come with a “but.” It’s not, we’ll be pushing strollers but actually you’re too young. It’s not, we had these dreams for our future but actually I can’t move forward. It’s not, I’m going to promise you a ring and a baby but only until my needs are met and then I’m out. It’s, I know what I wanted and I’m not leaving, and thanks to that now she stays too.
The album dealt with the theme not at all in the way I expected, but is absolutely fascinating.
#writing letters addressed to the fire#me thinking too hard about Taylor lyrics#the tortured poets department#i have many thoughts#No brain power
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Everyone wants him, that was my crime.
Pairing: Neteyam Sully x female!omatikaya!reader
cw: mostly angst, TRIGGER WARNING for Reader being bullied bad by some Omatikaya girls, the perks of dating a popular boy (irony alert), hurt/comfort, neteyam reassuring Reader, some fluff, a stab in the heart disguised as a fic basically
So, this is just an angsty Neteyam fic inspired by “Slut!” by Taylor to make you guys suffer with me, I guess.
na'vi words: tweng (loincloth), nantang (viperwolf), tanhì (star - term of endearment)
Not proofread.
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Love thorns all over this rose
I'll pay the price, you won't
But if I'm all dressed up they might as well be looking at us
And if they call me a slut
You know, it might be worth it for once
“Slut!” (Taylor Swift)
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You were dressed in your best tweng, one you had spent a long time making, wearing your best beaded long necklace to cover your breasts and even wearing some flowers to decorate your black, silky hair.
But none of that mattered. They laughed at you. The girls you thought were pretty and just so skilled and… popular. Something that you were never able to be, it didn't matter how hard you tried when you were a teenager. You were now a 22 year old girl, so, being popular did not matter to you anymore but it did not mean that having only one friend and having those girls look funny at you stopped hurting. The harassment did not stop there, it also included pushing you, putting their feet in front of you so you could trip and then pretending they hadn't done anything, saying something smelled bad whenever you were close to them and laughing inside their little group, making you smell your arms and your hair to try and see if you were the one who was smelly, just for the sadistic pleasure of messing with your head. You were a strong girl but stuff like that would bring down even the bravest na'vi female warrior.
“She thinks she's from the Tawkami clan, all dressed with flowers like this.” The girls would mock and laugh as you passed by
Your sad big amber eyes focused on the ground as shame and self doubt covered your body and beat you up from the inside.
Yes, you did love wearing flowers, sometimes wearing them in many different places in your body, on your hair and on necklaces over your breasts, but you never thought it was a bad thing until they pointed it out. It got to a point where you just couldn't take that many comments about your flowers anymore, the ones you used to pick up in the forest with a chest filled with joy. It used to be an incredibly wholesome, spiritual activity for you, but at those following days, you only felt rage and pain when you looked at your flowers. Poor them. It wasn't their fault. They were as pretty as ever. But you decided to tone it down and now you only wore a flower crown most days.
It was hard to relax. You could almost never be at ease when you were walking around the tribe, trying to focus on doing your chores as an Omatikaya, because you never knew when some girl would make a mean comment or just laugh at you, leaving you wondering if you looked weird or walked funny.
You tried to convince yourself that it was worth it, that you would get through it to be with the boy you loved, the one you were promised to and was soon to go through a mateship ritual with in front of the whole clan to bond you two together forevermore.
But it was insanely hard and sometimes it felt like you couldn't breathe.
Being Neteyam Suli's, the Omatikaya tribe heartthrob, mate to be was challenging to say the least. And yes, you knew that you were being bullied because he had chosen you. When it all started, you tried to convince yourself it was all in your head, that there must be another more rational reason for you to be bullied by those girls, that they couldn't be doing all this out of jealousy. It seemed too stupid, childish and… cruel, honestly. But even Neteyam pointed it out to you.
“Don't be sad because of those girls, tanhì. They are mad because you're mine and they wish they were in your place. But I chose you because I saw something in you that I didn't see in any of them. You're always honest, you have a childlike light in your eyes and a pure soul. They got nothing on you and that's why they treat you badly.”
He had told you those words one day when you were crying about being excluded from the girls’ friendship groups in the tribe. Neteyam's words reassured you of his love and made you feel better but the wounds still hurt.
Sometimes, the worst part of you told you to give up on him, that it was too difficult to bear, all those nantang like girls scorching you with their mean eyes every time they saw you walking around holding hands with Neteyam. But after a while, when you could think more rationally, you would think about how it would be unfair to him to do that. So what if those petty girls made you suffer? Making Neteyam suffer because you couldn't be brave enough to deal with that hardship would hurt you way more. Neteyam was worth it, he treated you like a princess, like you were the most beautiful, the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes upon. You'd be damned if you threw a love like that away because of other people's envy.
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Taglist:
@luvv4j4ybe11
@criticallybella
@yeosxxx
#neteyam angst#neteyam x reader#neteyam x na'vi!reader#neteyam x omatikaya!reader#neteyam fluff#neteyam sully#neteyam fanfiction#neteyam fic#neteyam x female reader#neteyam x f!reader#neteyam sully x na’vi!reader#neteyam sully x reader#neteyam sully x female reader#neteyam sully x y/n#neteyam sully x you#neteyam x you#neteyam x y/n#neteyam suli x reader#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#atwow neteyam#avatar neteyam#avatar fanfiction#atwow x reader#atwow x you#neteyam sully angst#✎ victória writes ▢✧࿐
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Ace Attorney Lawyers Ranked By Their Abilities in Physical Combat
Winston Payne: I’m pretty sure the average Tumblr user could kill Winston Payne with their bare hands.
Sebastian DeBeste: Look, the only reason why this wimp ranks higher than Payne is because he is so sopping wet pathetic that there is a significant chance that his opponent will just start feeling bad about kicking his ass and punch themself in the face instead.
Klavier Gavin: While Klavier is a physically fit young man who is known to keep his cool in extreme situations, he is also a giant law-abiding nerd who has never thrown a punch at anything that isn’t an inanimate wall. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to shove this guy into a locker.
Miles Edgeworth: Look, Miles is an even bigger locker-worthy nerd than Klavier. Anytime anyone, friend or foe, suggests a violent solution he just gets freaked out and begs for them to follow procedures. And no AA Lawyer is more easily thrown off his rhythm and startled than he is. He might have some bulk under the magenta and frills (or at least some impressive leg muscles from climbing 12 flights of stairs every day for like seven years), but he has no idea or will to actually use them in a fight. However, he did try and stare down a man who was aiming a gun at his back that one time and managed to keep his cool throughout all of this.
So like, he’d probably talk a big game and try and intimidate his opponent into not engaging - but if that won’t work he will get his ass thoroughly whooped. And then he’d try to sue them, which is what his threats were about all along.
Apollo Justice: Actually a considerable step up in power-levels from the previous ones. Apollo might be smol, but he is Done With Your Shit and this gives him Strength. Not to mention that one time he successfully tanked an explosion. His famous Chords of Steel can also serve as a tactic to confuse or weaken his enemies.
Kristoph Gavin: Although he is primarily known for his schemes and poisoning, he did kill a man with a single blow to the forehead with a bottle, showing he does have some decent upper-body-strength to use in a fight. And being known as ‘the Coolest Defense in the West’ means he can keep his calm even during hectic combat. But he’s also very pretentious and his constant pontifications might just be the perfect opportunity for someone to smash his face in.
Blaise Debeste: Okay, look, is Blaise a scary tall man who successfully stabbed a woman to death with a candelabra and constantly carries around a deceptively-powerful lighter and has like, implied, motorcycle gang background? Yes. But also I think anyone who encounters Blaise Debeste face-to-face is overcome with such bloodlust rage that it might give them an edge in the battle against him.
Mia Fey: Mia ranks fairly high on the Battle Scale considering the one time she was faced with a violent altercation she just tried to escape and it… didn’t end well.
However, in the two times we get to play as her it’s also clear that she wants to Punch. All of the Things. While Apollo is fueled by being Done With Your Shit, Mia has righteous anger - so I think in a situation where she is actually prepared to do battle she would be able to throw a few decent punches. Also assuming we are talking about Mia while she was still alive, there’s also her Spirit Channeling powers to account for. While we’ve never seen them on screen, Maya told us they are “first rate” and I believe her. Maybe she could channel the spirit of a great warrior to try and get an edge in combat?
Manfred Von Karma: While he also has the same Bloodlust-Inducing-Factor as Blaise, and he does seem less physically fit even though they’re about the same age - I feel like his cane could do more serious damage than Blaise’s lighter. And he has that dangerous fucking Stun Gun on him to easily neutralize opponents. Plus, he did tank that one gunshot he got in the shoulder. Manfred’s opponents might have Rage on their side, but also you cannot underestimate the power of his sheer Spite.
Godot: On one hand, Godot has shown an ability to keep his cool in very dangerous situations. He can smash a coffee cup with his bare hands and barely react, showing that he’s decently strong and resilient to pain. And he is yet another proud (?) member of the exclusive “Lawyers With a Body Count Club”. And while stabbing a waifish, 155cm college student (and part time-poisoner) in the back isn’t exactly the most epic demonstration of battle prowess in the history of Anime Lawyers - he did it (and moved the body and doctored the crime scene and prosecuted in court) while tanking a knife slash in his face, showing his pain-resilience once again, as well as general tenacity that would also be useful in battle. Also, he can summon an infinite amount of hot coffee mugs at will, which must make for a decent improvised long-ranged attack.
On the other hand, his health is also heavily implied to be deteriorating and that he’s basically dying over the course of the final case… possibly due to all of that physical exhaustion. If a fight goes longer than just a single backstab, I feel like these health complications are gonna harm Godot’s performance.
Phoenix Wright: Okay, so this is actually the hardest one to place. I keep flip-flopping on where to put him, especially compared to Mia, and Apollo. Because unlike most other lawyers currently ranked below him, he is a disaster when it comes to being on the offensive; Phoenix Wright is a total wimp who has never returned a punch in his life. However, he is also almost supernaturally durable, unbelievably lucky and deceptively strong. If a solid iron door, a raging freezing river and a speeding car didn’t manage to take him down, what chance does a fellow human, even a more combat-capable one, have???
Calisto Yew: She’s not even a real-lawyer! She’s a Secret Spy who successfully pretended to be a Lawyer for years! She’s got a gun, she’s got a knife, she's got crossbow bolt as hair decorations, she probably has some combat training from her time in Interpol… While she’s clearly more specialized for espionage and infiltration, and not as physically strong as Lang, she’s still got an impressive advantage over most of the regular people who went to Law School. In fact, her skill with barefaced lies and manipulation might also be a skill she could use in a fight to catch her opponent off-guard.
Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Nahyuta is, in fact, one of the few AA Lawyers to canonically participate in what I would unambiguously call a ‘fight’ (rather than a ‘murder’), when he single-handedly disarmed and apprehended a Defiant Dragon rebel in the sorta-canon ‘Spirit of Justice’ Prologue video.
Like, that rebel guy probably isn't the world's greatest warrior, but the Defiant Dragons have been around for enough time to give their members at least some basic self-defense/combat skills… more so than the average lawyer on this list at minimum. And Nahyuta very easily crab-stomped him. Showing that he has strong nerves, some amazing reflexes and the martial art skills to knock a man unconscious with a single blow. Not to mention the seemingly supernatural skills with his prayer beads, which he already uses as a sort of ‘weapon’ in court. Also that... thing he did to Apollo's bracelet that one time.
Nahyuta might be just straight-up Magic, that's pretty OP.
Franziska von Karma: Look, Franziska might not have official martial-arts, guns, or Literal Magic Powers - but what she does have is sheer determination and force or personality. Franziska von Karma has been intimidating grown men since she was a 149 cm tall 13 years old with a riding crop (I mean, one of those men was Miles, but still…..). She had once whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness in a temper tantrum, and like I already mentioned that taking him down is quite a feat. She is also very resilient - while the shot to her shoulders was designed not to kill her, being up back on her feet doing investigation stuff a day after is still very impressive! Her whip might not be as dangerous as a sword or a gun, but she will not relent until she defeats you.
Simon Blackquill: Let me just give it to you straight, Simon Blackquill is 1.88 meter tall, he owns a katana and a trained attack-hawk (giving him both short range and far range advantage), he can break solid metal chains with his bare hands, he can cut your hair halfway across the room with a feather. Not to mention how he could probably use the whole psychological manipulation in battle to intimidate or goad his enemy. There’s not even a lot of funny or interesting points to bring up, he is literally an action movie character who just happens to also be a lawyer.
Athena Cykes: Athena Cykes is the strongest lawyer. One day, she’ll be stronger than whales. I believe in her.
#winston payne#sebastian debeste#klavier gavin#miles edgeworth#apollo justice#kristoph gavin#blaise debeste#mia fey#franziska von karma#manfred von karma#godot#prosecutor godot#diego armando#phoenix wright#pheonix wright#Calisto Yew#nahyuta sahdmadhi#simon blackquill#athena cykes#ace attorney#aa#pwaa#phoenix wright ace attorney#gyakuten saiban#ace attorney investigations#gyakuten kenji#aai2#aai1#aa investigations#naruhodo ryuichi
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I think my favourite piece of symbolism in rgu will always and forever be the carousel in episode 39. In the intro, you get this awesome shot of Utena and Anthy riding on horses through the sky, and throughout the whole show you’re waiting for that moment to come to fruition.
Horses, of course, are heavily linked to the idea of the prince. Dios is described as a “prince on a white horse,” Touga explicitly states that horses are part of the “prince” persona, Akio and Touga both ride with Utena on a horse when they’re trying to be her prince. And as the protagonist, most viewers will be rooting for Utena to get her own moment of heroism. To break away from Akio’s abuse and become the gallant prince she’s always dreamed of being.
However, when Anthy stabs Utena, this dream is shattered. She says, “You remind me so much of Dios when I loved him. But you can never be my prince, because you’re a girl.” An intentionally cruel jab, rubbing salt in the wound. But also showing Anthy’s mindset, fear of being abused again by someone who wants to trap her in a power dynamic. She loves Utena and believes she is genuinely trying to help her, but still can’t trust her.
This is when the carousel appears. The same motif of the white horse, but this time a crude plastic simulacrum, going around and around in circles. Utena has been sold the idea of the prince as a way to claim autonomy in a patriarchal society, but in the end the “prince” in power only wants to keep everything in eternal stasis. The flying horses in the sky were always a pipe dream, because that’s not what it means to claim power within the framework of this system. A carousel can never advance. A prince can never truly smash the world’s shell, just accumulate power within it.
The nature of the carnival ride and the children’s laughter in the background are also important here, almost mocking Utena in her lowest moment. It reminds me of Akio’s statement that she was merely “playing” at the duelling game, like all this was some childish power fantasy. But we know that’s not true. That’s why Utena is able to pull herself up and make her way to Anthy’s coffin. Dios is the one riding the carousel here, offering Utena false platitudes and beckoning her to accept the way things are, join him in going around and around for eternity. However, Utena’s desire to help her friend trumps her desire to be a hero. To help Anthy has always been her main driving force, and Akio is so cynical that he can’t understand that someone might want to help for purely selfless reasons. Ultimately, this is his downfall.
When the curtain falls and the prince is revealed to be a child on a plastic horse, Utena is disgusted by the farce and accepts the painful reality of her identity being ripped from her and discarded. Because being the prince was never Utena’s goal, it was a means to an end to help Anthy from the very beginning.
#rgu#utena#revolutionary girl utena#sku#retreading a lot of ground with the ‘prince bad’ stuff#but I just love the imagery of the carousel and wanted to discuss it
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Hot Ghouls in Your Area 8
Chapter 8
Masterpost
“You're just now going to campus?” Jazz said. Danny scowled ahead at the sidewalk. Her tone wasn't judgmental so much as mildly surprised. He still hated it. “That's a lot later than usual. Is everything alright?” Danny hunched his shoulders up and consciously reminded himself not to get defensive. He wasn't slacking. He'd gotten home after his class and slept 13 hours. He still felt wiped out.
“Ghost stuff,” he said cryptically. “Ruined my night.” He dodged someone on the sidewalk without thinking about it, used to the crowds by now.
Jazz inhaled sharply into his ear. “They're supposed to leave you alone to focus on your education,” she hissed. “Just so you know, I do have the venomous Fenton electric creep stick-”
“Yeah, I know,” Danny cut her off. She was probably holding it up right now, thumb on the trigger. He couldn't fight off the rueful smile. She had his back, didn't she? Always did. With that in mind… “I think I need help,” he admitted. Oof. Felt bad. Not as bad as failing his classes, though, which was the danger if he got pulled too deep into more Ghost bull honkey.
“Of course!” Jazz enthused. He stepped off the curb and then quick-stepped backwards to avoid getting hit by some asshole running the red light. Danny lifted up his free hand to flip them off as he hung on his heels on the edge of the pavement drop. He dropped lightly back onto the balls of his feet and jogged across the street.
Jazz was still talking, voice clear over the morning meld of honking and running engines. “How about you come over to my place after your classes tonight? My roommate is out for a conference.”
“You just don't want to come to Crime Alley,” Danny accused her. “Even for me, your beloved baby brother.” He dodged a car that was parked on the cross walk and made an ugly face at the driver. “Despite your professed love for crime, when it counts, it's all talk.”
“I don't love crime,” Jazz reiterated with her inhuman patience. She didn't take the bait of his deliberate mischaracterization of her career plans. “But I am exquisitely stabbable." Her tone went lofty with the brag. "So yes, I avoid Crime Alley.”
Danny blew an unimpressed raspberry to show what he thought of that.
He hadn't met anyone in Gotham yet who he thought would really throw Jazz for a loop. She was a 6ft 2 judo black belt, and she was liminally spooky as fuck. “No one would stab you,” he said, making it sound like an insult. His janky ass was more likely to get held up. "But fine, I'll haul my poor broken corpse all the way over there to do you a favor-”
“So I can do you a favor,” Jazz corrected wryly.
“My poor broken corpse,” Danny cut back in, because that was a really relevant factor to him. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned a little. He felt like he'd been in a tumble dryer. Missing a full night of sleep was an insufferable insult to his desperate shoe-string construction of a healthy routine.
“I would so get robbed if I came there,” Jazz argued. “Maybe even kidnapped.” He could all but hear her flip her hair.
He snorted but let her keep her delicate feminine delusions about not being one of the scariest motherfuckers in the crime capital of the country. He wasn't actually worried about her interning at Arkham Asylum. Maybe he'd freaked out a little when she'd moved here, but that wasn't why he was here. No matter what anyone said.
“There's no immediate danger, right?” Jazz checked. “No reason I need to be concerned today?”
“Nah,” Danny reassured her, as the campus came into sight. He had about an hour before class to spend in the lab before his lecture. “It's not that kind of problem.” He felt his face arranged itself into a wry smile. “You might like this one.”
“Oh?” Jazz asked, intrigued. “Do tell.”
“Only after I've sworn you to perfect silence,” Danny shot back instantly. “I mean it, for real, you can't tell a soul living or dead or nonliving or-”
“I think I get it,” she cut him off. Jazz huffed. “As if I can't keep a secret. You think I can't keep secrets? I know the most incredible things that you could never dream up.”
“...Big if true,” Danny snarked, pretending that he wasn't extremely interested.
“You never knew what happened to the Robinsons,” Jazz said airily. “And you never will.”
“...that doesn't bother me at all,” Danny lied. He stopped walking.
“Ahuh,” Jazz said knowingly. “Hey, remember the neon cheese incident?”
Danny gritted his teeth. “Can't say I do,” he said. It was bullshit, and even he knew it wasn't convincing Jazz. He was dying to know the truth. It had been the talk of the town for weeks and was still occasionally featured on unsolved mystery podcasts. He'd gone far enough to ask the Dairy King, but even the dead wouldn't speak on it.
“Have a good day of classes, little brother,” Jazz said sweetly. She ended the call.
He rubbed at his temples. Ancients, she gave him a headache. She was fantastic. She was killing him and absolutely ruining his unlife. He couldn't even beg her for answers about the neon cheese, because if he managed to badger it out of her, it would prove she could be manipulated into telling secrets. That would be a loss anyway. It was more likely that either she didn't know anything or that she knew and her lips would stay sealed: Danny didn't have any to waste his breath.
He did a few calming rounds of breathing, now that he was thinking about it, and then went on with his day a bit invigorated by the familial aggravation.
Danny felt a little better about focusing on class now that he knew he could count on Jazz in his corner. She was the smartest person he knew. She could probably get him divorced by the end of the day. Hell, she probably already had a contingency plan for getting him a divorce. She was so ready for him to have a relationship so that he would have relationship problems to ask her about.
When he finished up on campus, Danny cut across town to pick up takeout food as an offering. He presented it to Jazz as soon as she opened the door, head bowed and food theatrically high.
“Oh, come in,” Jazz said, exasperated. She grabbed him by the back of his collar and bodily pulled him inside. “My neighbors are going to think I'm so weird, Danny!”
“My liege,” he intoned seriously. “I come bearing- ow! Stop hitting my- hey, my face!” Danny wrestled away from the horrible pinching grip his terrible sister had on his cheeks, scowling. “That hurt,” he complained. “Have you ever thought that you're getting caught up in the cycle of violence?”
“I don't lose sleep over it.” Jazz lowered herself delicately onto one of the weird puffs she had instead of chairs and made grabby hands at the takeout. “What did you get me?”
“Coal,” Danny snarked. But he handed over the bag without a fight and plopped himself onto the closest poof thing. He fully laid out and let his head flop past the edge to hang upside down.
“Inversion therapy, so chic,” Jazz said absently.
He considered flipping her off, but his balance was really off in this position and it would be hard to defend himself if she lunged at him. Hell, if she picked up his legs he'd probably tip over onto the floor. Danny dug his heels into the side of the poof in defensive preparation. He kept her in his peripheral vision.
“Oh, Malaysian,” Jazz enthused. “I wanted to have this!” She sounded a little too surprised.
He shot her a thumbs up. Two days ago, she'd sent him a screenshot of a text landing from someone else that had shown most of her screen was the active map app she was using to get to an appointment. The Malaysian restaurant had the star mark that she put on the places that she wanted to try.
He'd gambled that she hadn't gone yet because she hadn't had a late night at work. Jazz only got takeout with company or if she got home too late to cook.
“Cool,” Danny said, because he didn't want his rotten sister to think he cared about her interests. “It was on the way and it smelled good.”
Jazz hummed and put the food on the side table. “So I see.” She folded her fingers in front of her face and peered at him over the steeple. “What happened? What ghost do I need to soup with a fragrant combination of turmeric and saffron?”
“Please don't waste that, ghosts taste fine on their own,” Danny said.
Jazz grimaced. “Ew, Danny,” she enunciated carefully. She paused. “Ew.”
He shrugged and accidentally slipped a little closer to the floor. “Just saying. But actually, no one dead was involved, unless we count-”
“We don't count,” Jazz cut him off, serenely unbothered by his attempts to score empathy points off his death. She was a cold customer.
“Boo,” Danny said, because he knew his brand and respected ghost tradition. “Anyway, Jeremy Waters. Remember -”
“How could I forget,” Jazz muttered. She put her hands on her face.
“Hey,” Danny said, offended that Jeremy got that reaction and he got a big fat impassive nothing no matter how annoying he was.
“What’s Jeremy done?” Jazz sounded exhausted by the concept.
“Well… He uh.” Danny stared at the ceiling. He couldn't look at her directly. “Well. You know how he wants the good favor of the god of the underworld?”
“Yup.” Jazz hit the ‘p’ sound hard.
“He uh, hit the idea that uh. Maybe a Persephone of sorts was just the thing to suck up.”
He heard fabric rustle as Jazz sat up. “He did?”
Wow, she had one of the most fascinating ceilings in the world. Danny stared intently up at a splotch that looked vaguely malign. She ought to get that checked out by an expert before it possessed somebody. “Yeah, so he's been trying to vault people into the Ghost Zone as bridal sacrifices.”
“Ahuh.” Jazz sounded a little bit choked up. She wasn't laughing, so he couldn't complain.
“I had Dani get Vlad look into it-” because Dad or Mom would have been mortifying- “and apparently, he told her the odds of some hack wizard managing to send a living human to the ghost zone was laughable.”
He paused. He couldn't go on.
“And Vlad would know,” Jazz said leadingly.
Danny put a hand over his face. “Yeah, see, the thing is that I'm now very concerned that Vlad might not know.” His words came out muffled.
Jazz was so intent on him. He pretended even harder not to know she was leaning in towards him. “Does- does the ghost king have a bride, Danny?” She somehow managed in a professional tone.
He nodded miserably.
She promptly lost her shit laughing at his misfortune.
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Erm.... But what if cc is the femboy yan to slasher darling........ Hear me out now....
Oh, I'm hearing you, chief- Being an incubus, Slasher Darling probably sees that witch who tore their heart into pieces in C.C as she was their first and only love - making him their prime target. C.C, bored out of his mind, decides to try out college life with a big emphasis on the parties. Pretty girls get more free drinks from his experiences so he decides to play the part dress wise. He gets a ton of attention from wandering eyes, but manages to develop a crush on his slasher of all people. Call him crazy, but something about those little "love letters" he receives strikes a different cord with him.
"You're so pretty.... Sometimes I wonder if you're that pretty on the inside too.... Would you let me check?"
"When I'm done with you I'll make sure nobody ever finds you. You'll be with me forever....I promise to take good care of you."
"You remind me so much of her.... but I think you might be prettier. Maybe that's why I want you so bad."
What a freak~♡ If Darling wants him so bad, all they have to do is climb through his window. He leaves it open for that exact reason. He has no clue who this other girl is, but he really wishes they'd stop bringing her up when they're trying to flirt - everything else they've written has been some of the most romantic shit C.C has ever read.
If Darling is ever able to get their hands on C.C, they won't be able to kill him by normal means. C.C falls more in love with Darling as they cradle his "lifeless" body in their arms. Imagine their horror when the body hidden in their apartment arrives for class the next day, and worse, walks right up to them and kisses them. C.C never paid them much attention before the "murder" because he knew it only drew them closer to him. Now that they've had such an intimate and passionate night together how can he ignore his lover?~
-
"You....but I..... You should be.....Was that all a dream?"
C.C pulls down the collar of his oversized sweater - purple marks kissing the pale flesh of his neck.
"Got the bruises to prove otherwise, babe. Pretty rude of you to leave me hanging after all that foreplay, but I'll forgive you if you visit me again tonight~ Maybe I can "stab" you with my knife this time?~"
Wh....What does she mean by that? It's at the same time Darling figures out that pretty girl they've been stalking cannot die that they realize....maybe he was never a girl in the first place.....and is now hunting them instead.
#C.C my oc#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere x you#yandere#yandere scenarios#yandere oc#yandere x reader#yandere insert#yandere blurb#male yandere#yandere incubus#yandere demon#femboy yan
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(Guess which fucker is suffering from his uterus again? ME! Bevcucase I am suffering you get to hear how I think each member of the batfam (sibs only cause im mad at bruce rn for something he did in another story)would deal with you aggressively swearing at the Universe)
*Transmasc Reader on their period headcanons*
Dick Grayson
“I am going to stab a motherfucker in the throat and sacrifice them to the sun god if means he’ll end my pain”
surprised af, looks at you like you’re crazy
mildy concerned that you’re muttering under your breath swearing vengeance at the universe for giving you a period (apparently the uterus thing is fine but the period thing isn’t?)
Eventually asks what’s wrong and when you tell him that everything hurts, he’s very much going ooh and calling up babs to ask for some help with managing your pain. Once that’s happened he takes you to his room because his mattress is heated and wraps himself around you for a nap
Jason Todd
“If one more person tests me I’m telling Damian that they pissed me off”
He’s surprised with the viciousness of your throat and then pissed when he realizes that you have his favorite hoodie
you have to give him all the puppy eyes in the world to convince him that you need it and it smells like him and that makes it safe.
He understands better then a lot of people because his working girls complain to him when they see him.
helps your make even more creative threats because it’s funny to watch the horror on dick’s face when he hears them.
Cassandra Cain
“I’m going to rip out my uterus and feed it to the ground”
Dies laughing to herself at the absolute violence you threaten yourself with too make the pain stop then scolds you for threatening to hurt yourself
you explain to her that you aren’t actually going to hurt yourself and that you’re just in pain and severely dysphoric.
To combat this, Cass calls you brother (well signs it aggressively) while she cuddles with you in Dick’s bed (it’s the best bed okay!)
Tim Drake
“I hate my everyone and everything”
Finds you crying, and swearing at your body in front of the mirror. Immediately goes into damage control mode, bundling you away from the mirror and calling bart, because Bart’’s also trans and ergo he might know how to help with your freak out.
Bart has to stop Tim from freaking out and very patiently explains to him that sometimes bouts of dysphoria happen and there is nothing that anyone can do about them. Tim ends up asking again if you want to start t and when you say no, he just sits with you on the ground while you come back to yourself
Duke Thomas
“Fuck these motherfucking cramps,”
As the only other trans person in the manor (though Duke is agender to your transmasc) you feel a special kind of bond with him. He makes you feel comfortable and safe when your skin is itchy and all you want to do is explode
Laughs at you swearing at your cramps, and offers you some aleve and a heat pad. The two of you watch an anime together and argue about ship wars. It’s great!
Damian Al-Ghul Wayne
“I am going to rip out the universe’s entrails and give them to damian as a gift”*
Thinks that it’s perfectly reasonable to be angry at your body for failing you.
Makes you spar to get all of the anger that lives inside of you out. It’s very funny to watch the two of you. scream in different languages as you attempt to beat dummies into a pulp
He of everyone understands that it’s hard to keep control of anger and keeps you start to notice when your hold on it is fraying
*(the line that inspired everything)
#yandere batfam#dark batfam#yandere batman#yandere batfamily#dark batfamily#batfam#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere cassandra cain#yandere tim drake#yandere duke thomas#yandere damian wayne#gender dysphoria#period tw#yandere writing prompts#yandere#yandere platonic#platonic yandere#batboy tag#my voices and hands; are all i have (original work)
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How about a fic where the reader also works at Smosh and they recently started dating but they haven't gone beyond kissing AND BAM FIRST TIME HAPPENS- really sexy, fluffy, gentle, maybe he picks her up a little bit, and they take time exploring eachother. You'd do so gooood! We truly need more Damien fic in this fandom 😭🔥
More, More, More
Pairing: Damien Haas x f!Reader
Summary: “You tilted your head, scanning his face; he blinked hard once, and fixed his posture, pushing his shoulders back slightly before relaxing them. Your hand trailed up his arm, tracing his tattoos and then loosely grabbing at his bicep.”
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, uhhh some Hereditary spoilers I guess? If I missed anything please let me know!
AN: Not super proud of this because I've been studying all week and I feel like my lack of sleep did not contribute to this in any beneficial ways but I still hope you enjoy it <3
“Are you coming with us tonight?” You fell into step with Courtney while you walked down the hall and out of the office.
“No, I don’t think so,” you looked up from your phone, “promised Damien I’d watch Hereditary, and I don’t think he’d let me bail.”
She smiled at you, walking you to your car, “It’s a good movie,” she tilted her head, “And he’s a good guy. I don’t blame you for wanting to stay in.”
“Yeah, well,” you kind of clammed up, “He’s cute and I love a good beheading, so.” You laughed with each other before saying your goodbyes.
You’d been dating him for two months. And it was really and truly delightful; he was kind, and communicative, and above all so, so pretty. It had started so naturally, harbored crushes surfacing to reveal themselves at the right time, and progressed so smoothly, and you were thrilled by it.
Still, you let the familiar fear of rejection take control at times; the anxiety that maybe you were moving too quickly and that he was only a fraction as interested in you as you were in him. So the physical affection stayed surface level—literally—in that you kissed and touched but hadn’t gone beyond second base, if you remembered the laws of high school correctly.
And that was fine, and he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t put pressure on you to do anything you didn’t want—but you really did want it. You wanted to let him have you, let him take you in taboo ways and places. Maybe that made you a bit deviant, maybe even a little perverse. But it was hard to be with someone so…flawless, as far as you were concerned, and not want something like that, even when the voices in your head told you that you shouldn’t, or that you weren’t nearly as experienced as any of his past partners might have been.
Comparison meets joy, and stabs it right in the neck.
~~~
“Be honest with me,” you sat next to Damien on the couch, curling your legs beneath you and leaning over towards him, “Did you want to watch this with me just so you could hold me during the scary parts?”
“Yeah, but not for the reasons you think,” he draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, “I’m fucking terrified of it, and I need my big strong girlfriend to protect me.” He smiled, clearly amused by himself, and you blew a piece of hair out of his face.
“Wuss.” You kissed him, hand toying with his collar, before sitting back and leaning on his shoulder.
“Yeah? Remember that you said that tonight when you turn off the lights.” He shot you a dubious grin before grabbing the remote. You watched the muscle in his wrist move when he pressed the buttons, captivated by the small details of his body and the way he mouthed the titles of the movies that popped up on the TV screen while he flicked through previously watched films.
You tilted your head, scanning his face; he blinked hard once, and fixed his posture, pushing his shoulders back slightly before relaxing them. Your hand trailed up his arm, tracing his tattoos and then loosely grabbing at his bicep.
“I’ll still remember you’re a wuss when the lights are off.” You mumbled, and he looked down at you.
“You seem so sure.” He watched your hand sweep over his arm, nails barely grazing his skin.
“You think I should be contemplating something else?” You goaded him, unsure of where the sudden confidence had come from and why it had appeared only now. “Don’t you want me to think about you when the lights are off?” You continued with your double entendres. You saw him swallow, and from your position, leaning over him with your hand now on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat pick up.
God, he was nice to look at.
“No, I do,” he put down the remote, reaching over to hold your chin in his hand and guide you up to him, “but I think my proposal might be a little more…vulgar.”
You smiled against his mouth when he kissed you, the leisurely pace allowing you to take your time tasting him, feeling the shape of him near you, on you. You sat up, giving yourself room to lace your fingers in his hair and pull him even closer, and he let you; an arm wrapped around your waist to secure you against him.
“You wanna watch this movie with me or not?” You quipped when you separated from him, and he smiled, shaking his head.
“Yes—yeah. I do want to watch this with you,” he paused, before continuing, “You, uh…you wanna tell me something?” He sort of shifted in his seat, tilting his head back on the couch cushions to drink you in.
“What?”
“Where that came from?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you played dumb, heat creeping up your neck and splashing your cheeks red; you tried not to lose your new surge of confidence, reassuring yourself that his line of questioning was a result of mutual excitement. You leaned over him to grab the remote and press play before you crawled into his lap to straddle him.
“You gonna watch this way?” His hands found purchase on your hips.
“I haven’t told you about this skill?” You kept up your act.
“No, I was unaware of the eyes on the back of your head,” he squeezed your hips and you hummed at the feeling, “But it’s pretty hot. I love a woman with twenty/twenty/twenty/twenty vision.”
You heard the movie play behind you; the score and the sound of voices droning softly. “Can I be honest,” you traced a finger over his collar, “I’m not that interested in the movie right now.”
“How dare you,” Damien feigned hurt, “This is a serious breach of protocol—” his hands crawled up your back before he stood, picking you up with him, and laying you on your back, caging you under him while you laughed from the adrenaline that came with being picked up and put down so quickly. “And I absolutely will not have it,” he kissed down your neck and you grabbed at his hair. “This switch up will not go unpunished.” He brought his face back up to yours and kissed you deeply, your hand tightening in his hair when his tongue slipped past your lips.
“Tell me if it’s too much?” He urged, nose brushing against your cheek when he broke away from you.
“Keep going.”
“You’re sure?”
“Damien, I don’t think there’s a sexy way to say this: I really want to have sex with you right now.” Your hand fell from his hair and trailed over his neck, stopping between his shoulder blades, and pulling gently at his shirt.
“Sounded pretty sexy to me,” he smirked, continuing his ministrations, kissing down your neck, lips stopping just above the collar of your shirt. He reached under the hem of the fabric, warm palms brushing against your skin while he explored you. You gasped when he cupped your breast in his hand, his free arm finding its way under your body to prop you up slightly and allow him easier access to you.
You’d done this before, had him touch you like this, but it felt so much more charged in this moment; the promise of more to come made you antsy in the best way, having previously stopped here. His hands kept exploring, with your chest, your stomach, and the curve of your spine all finding relief under his hands. You slid one hand under his shirt, desperate to be as close to him as possible; your other hand continued to tug on the back of his collar, encouraging him to rid himself of the layer of fabric.
He gave in to your silent request, pulling away from you momentarily to take it off before returning his undivided attention to you and, with his hands on your waist, bunching your shirt up at your sides, offered you another heated kiss.
You felt restless, wired by his touch and eager to feel him in the ways you had spent so much time imagining. Your hips bucked gently into his, and you heard his breath catch in his throat, his chest stuttering against you when you deepened the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck and one leg draped over him. Your hands trailed over his back, drinking in his frame above you. You tugged at his hair to disconnect momentarily, panting.
“Can I…?” His hand ghosted over the hem of your shirt while you looked up at him.
“Please.” You gave him the go-ahead, and he pulled you up a bit to help you strip off your shirt. He wasted no time, licking a streak across your collar bone before dipping his head down to kiss the valley between your breasts; he left open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh and you put a hand on the back of his neck, unsure whether to enjoy the view or allow your head to loll back to fully embrace the feeling of his mouth on your body. His thumb grazed over one of your nipples, and you gasped at the contact.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled against your chest, focused on the way the emerging goosebumps on your skin felt against his tongue and fingers, “you’re so beautiful.”
“Damien,” you tilted his chin up in your fingers, “pants.”
“Fuck—right.” He tore himself away from you, hands flying to the zipper of your jeans to undo them and peel them off your legs. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, undeniably obvious wet spot soaking through with your desire, before lowering his face to your core and licking a stripe over your clothed cunt. You whimpered, hand reaching for his shoulder and squeezing, encouraging him to continue. He repeated the action, looking up at you from between your legs to watch your eyes flutter before you let your head fall back against the armrest of the couch.
“Can I take them off?” One of his fingers softly brushed against your clit over your panties.
“You can do whatever you want,” and you were only half-joking, so trusting of him and his intentions, “Take them off.”
Damien did as he was told, pulling the fabric down your thighs. He let one of his fingers trail up your slit, letting you coat it with your slick before using it to rub tight circles on your clit.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he had moved himself down the couch, propping himself up on his forearms above your core, and, using the position to his advantage, he licked into you, finally getting a proper taste. You moaned, a breathy sound that pushed all the air from your lungs, and it spurred him on: his tongue fucked into you while he used his finger to massage your clit, grinding his hips into the couch to find friction when you moaned his name.
He removed his finger from your clit, letting it trace over your hole before sinking into you; you let out a sigh of contentment, and he pumped it slowly in and out of you, taking your clit between his lips and sucking, before adding another digit. You mewled down at him, whispers of his name and begs for him to continue his movements, promises of how good you would be for him if he would just, please, let you cum. He moaned at your words, the vibrations shooting through your core, and when he sped up his movements ever so slightly, you were an absolute goner; one last swipe of his tongue over your clit in time with the push of his fingers against your walls had you crying out for him.
You gulped for air, dizzy with satisfaction, and when you looked down at him, he was already staring at you, his face painted with a dopey grin. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you smiled, letting your head fall back on the couch. He climbed up and over you, kissing your forehead.
“You’re pretty when you cum for me,” he rubbed his nose against yours before moving to kiss your cheek, “wanna see you do it again.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, lips brushing against yours and you closed the gap between them; you could taste the sweet edge of your own cum on his tongue.
“Make me.” You whispered against him, and he groaned into the kiss, pushing his hips against yours.
Hesitantly, he broke away, standing to undo his belt and undress. You watched, transfixed, eyes trailing from his collar to his legs. The background noise of the movie rose to a crescendo before falling quiet.
“Baby,” his hand fell over your face, cupping your cheek.
“Mhm.”
“We just missed the decapitation scene.” His words were laced with a faux disappointment, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
“Guess you’ll just have to bide your time until you can find the remote and rewind.” You pulled at his arm, and he crawled back onto the couch, positioning himself above you.
“I mean—if you insist,” he laughed, kissing your neck while he lined himself up with you. The tip of his cock nudged at your entrance and the mood returned to a more serious tone. “Gonna be good for me?” His forehead rested against yours, “Gonna tell me what you need?”
“Yeah,” you breathed, squirming just enough to feel a hint more relief with his cock so close to where you needed it. “Need you, Damien.”
“Good girl.” He pushed into you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch as he went. Mouth open and eyes squeezed shut at the feeling, he moaned softly when he bottomed out. You clawed at his arms, pulsing around him.
“More,” you pleaded under him.
“Oh my god,” he keened at your words, pushing his hips into yours even further before pulling out to repeat the motion over again; long, languid thrusts filling you up, dropping kisses on any exposed skin you could reach on each other between moans. “Tell me—tell me how it feels, baby.” Damien whispered into the skin of your cheek, his words quiet in your ear.
“It’s so good,” you whined at the drag of his cock against your walls, tip pushing against your most sensitive spots with every roll of his hips. “Want it—harder, please, Damien.”
He gave in to your cries immediately; straightening himself out above you, one arm reaching for your leg to prop it up against his shoulder, he used it as leverage to pull you into him. You yelped, well pleased by the new angle and the deep push of his hips, eyes rolling back when he brushed your cervix.
“Christ, you’re so pretty,” he grit his teeth, growling his words, “You like that, baby? Like feeling me like this?”
Your face contorted into a hazy smile, ragged moans taking the place of a coherent answer to his question. You reached out for him, raising your arms to encourage him to drop back down to your level; he pushed your leg down, and you wrapped it around his waist when he leaned forward to kiss you, engulfing you underneath him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, trying to capture every inch of your body to bottle in this memory. You whined at the feeling of his stubble on your neck, the vague tickle making you giggle softly into his shoulder before your own moans cut your laughter short. He smiled, hips still driving into you.
“Doing so good, baby, give me one more.” He gave himself the space to snake an arm between your bodies, fingers deftly finding your clit and kneading it to pair with his thrusts. You arched your back, consumed by need, desperate to show him how good he made you feel. He sped up, movements becoming rougher the closer you both got to your highs; he rolled your clit under his finger and you gripped his bicep, nails threatening to break his skin as you came for him.
“That’s right—fuck, that’s my good girl,” He praised you while you trembled under him, cunt squeezing his cock while he drew out your orgasm. “So fucking good, that’s it.” He rambled, mouth agape once more as he hurtled towards the edge; after a few more deep thrusts, he pulled out of you, fisting his cock and spilling over your stomach with a moan of your name. His cum was warm on your skin, mixing with the sheen of sweat that had developed over you.
He slumped over you, leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck while he evened out his breathing; you took deep breaths underneath him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your cheek into the crown of his head.
“That was,” he breathed against your skin, bringing his face to your level, and kissing your nose, “better than a movie.”
“That’s high praise.” You mumbled, letting him press a gentle kiss to your lips.
“I know,” he smiled, a familiar playful glint in his eye, “Don’t you feel honored?”
“So much,” you laughed, “and sweaty.”
He stood up, locating his shirt near the coffee table. He turned back to you, using it to wipe down your stomach and the wet that dripped between your legs, peppering your abdomen with kisses. One of your fingers scooped a spot he had missed on your stomach, and you brought it to your mouth to lick it clean.
“Damien…” you released your finger with a pop, and he returned to his spot on the couch, pulling you up to lean against him. He looked at you, silently pressing you to continue, eyes fixed on your lips, silently hoping you might repeat the action just so he could see it again. “Can we rewind the movie?”
He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. “If you think you can get through it without getting distracted.”
“Mm,” you grunted, pushing yourself further into him, “no promises.”
#damien haas#damien haas fanfiction#damien haas smut#damien haas x reader#damien haas x you#smosh#smosh fanfiction#smosh fic#smosh smut#smoshblr#smosh pit#smosh games#smosh squad
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