#i have to just off my shit for a month! by god | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silentmoths · 20 hours

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A lick and a promise

Its been *squints* Seven months since i cooked.

god damn its been seven whole ass months CRIES

Boothill got me so fkn good i cant even BEGIN to explain why he's such a comfort character for me ok he just IS.

Boothill x Reader (fem but it's really only mentioned in regards to anatomy.)

NSFW

Enemies to Lovers (kinda?), Smut, Hurt/comfort (kinda?), Oral sex, fingering, boothill is a gd kendoll (sorry boothill genatalia nation i just...wanted to write this like he was a ken doll LEAVE ME-)

7k words, NOT PROOFREAD

The first time you run into the Galaxy Ranger known as Boothill, you’re not sure what to make of him.

You were just an unsuspecting casualty, the pilot, nothing more. Flying ships for the IPC had to beat minimum wage, right? This was your first real gig with them, something a little more secure.

If you managed to make it off pier point without having a gun aimed at you that is.

A…cowboy. You’d heard about them, of course, but seeing one in this day and age was almost unheard of unless you travelled to planets far out in the west, ones untouched by the IPC and their ‘modernizations’.

Yet this cowboy also seemed to be touched by said modernizations, considering almost all of him was made of metal. Hell, all of him might be synthetic, nanotechnology was a terrifying thing, it could eat away the organic and replace it with the inorganic, mimicking skin and its blemishes, hair and all its different shades, like the curtain of black and white you see before you.

“Han’s where I can fudgin’ see em.” He warns quietly, pistol pointed directly between your eyes. You do as he asks, why wouldn’t you? You weren’t being paid enough to put your life on the line for…whatever the hell you were carrying, you didn’t know, the IPC didn’t enforce ledger-checks- You tell the cowboy as much when he asks.

“Yeah that tracks.” he mutters with a roll of his visible eye. “Lookit’ you, still wet behind the darned ears.”

“D-do I get a pardon i-if I told you it was my first day on the job?” you manage to squeak out, a terrible habit really, opening your mouth in times you should really stay silent…but the cowboy cracks a grin, a very sharp-toothed grin.

“Ah heck, really?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he spins his pistol in his hand and tucks it away into its holster. “Look I aint’ got no beef with ya. ya ‘ aint even wearin’ an IPC uniform-” “C-contract work.” You cut in with your explanation, only scolding yourself after the fact for, once again, interrupting the one with the gun. “The IPC really gettin that desperate, huh?” He snorts, his robotic fingers flexing as he himself goes to check the ledger, it was obvious he’d done this a few times…perhaps thats why the IPC had started hiring a third party, someone new for him to kill.

And yet he doesn’t kill you.

He ties you up, sure, but he’s not an entire ass about it, he even apologises when he pulls the rope a little too tight and you squint.

“S’a formality.” He mumbles as he ties the knot tight “y’understand.”

“I guess…Just…thanks for not killing me I guess, Mr.Cowboy.” You shrug, perhaps you were still in a little bit of shock, perhaps you were coping with humour and ‘funny’ comments…perhaps, inside, you wanted to cry because of course of all the times to be held at gunpoint it was your first day working for the IPC.

“Name’s Boothill.” He corrects. Boothill, huh? You’d read about that…some eons old name for gunslinging cowboys who should have been dead.

After you had been discovered, set free, and promptly fired, you decide to look up this ‘Boothill’ character; you find little other than his bounty…whoever he was, he kept himself pretty closed off…made sense for a galaxy ranger.

The second time you encounter Boothill, you’re working on a satellite array. It’s a shit job, it was freezing cold out here, and the welding masks given to you and your coworkers by your bosses were cheap, low quality, offering little protection from the welding torch and its bright, concentrated glare.

After your firing from pier point, no other freighting company was willing to take you on, and in a desperate attempt to get some damned food into your belly, you’d taken this job on some far out meteorite, repairing this shitty, run down satellite so the IPC could extend their reach further.

If the bosses had bothered to do a background check, they would have seen the unfortunate mark next to your name.

’Banned from all positions within IPC jurisdiction’

But considering the shit pay, shit hours, and shit accommodation? The old hand’s out here didn’t really care much for the ‘official’ rules; so long as you weren’t being actively hunted.

There was no sun out here, so every few hours there was a mandatory UV break, in which you all got to return to the little sleeping pods that were nothing but glorified transport containers with a wall sectioning off one third to make a bathroom; just to sit beneath a UV bulb.

Whoever had lived in this one before you had stuck up a picture of a beach on the wall you had to stare at beneath the lamp, and faintly, you wonder if they ever made it there- or had they just keeled over dead from overwork? That seemed more likely, considering nothing had been cleaned out of your pod when you’d arrived.

As you bask in your shitty, simulated sun, an explosion wracks the entire facility, sending you toppling to the floor as the world spins, cracks apart, opens like the gnashing teeth of some horrific space creature.

Was it a space creature? Had the meteorite collided with something it shouldn’t have? You didn’t want to find out, but you sure as fuck weren’t about to stay here and probably die once the oxygen field around the place sputtered out. The emergency guide tape’s you’d been forced to watch are nothing to help against the real thing, a real emergency. There are sirens blaring, the stark white light’s had all died, replaced by that infuriatingly anxiety inducing red as you struggle to put your space suit on.

Just make it to a shuttle, they weren’t far, thats all you had to do.

It’s a mantra you tell yourself as the ceiling above you begins to crack and crumble, your time here was up.

As you wrench open the door to your pod, you collide with someone. Considering you yourself looked like a glorified marshmallow in the emergency suit, you certainly weren't expecting the person you collided with to be as…hard as they were, solid like steel to the point you’re sent toppling back and unceremoniously onto your back, like a turtle.

A familiar pistol is pointed at your helmet.

No fucking way.

Boothill stands there, grin on his face and a gun in yours as he looks you up and down before howling with laughter. “Now what in the hay is that?” he wheezes as you struggle, only to stop when you push the visor of your helmet up, revealing a face he recalls. “No fudgin’ way-”

“You again!” You screech, flailing your limbs as you attempt to stand in this…ungainly suit. “What the fuck are you doing here now!?”

“I could ask you the same mother forkin’ question!” He barks back, yet despite it all, he withdraws the pistol and even shows some mercy, reaching down to pull you back onto your feet “the fork you doin here?”

“Well, someone got me fired from my last job!” you snark at him “and now it looks like I'm out of another, what did you do!?” “Blew up tha’ satellite!” He chuckles as if he’d just won at an arcade game and not caused millions of credits in damages. You open your mouth to…you don’t even know- Shout? Scold a wanted criminal? Beg for mercy? When the world tilts again, the sound of rock cracking and metal creaking fills your senses; resulting in you simply screaming out of fear.

This was it, this was where you died. On a rock, in the middle of space, blown to smithereens by a cowboy. Except, the cowboy reaches down, and for a moment you think he’s going to kill you, just to stop the screaming. Instead, he grabs your arm and yanks you upright without a word, tugging you along behind him like you weighed nothing in this stupid marshmallow safety suit. (perhaps, to a cyborg, you didn’t weigh anything.)

Boothill cares little for the smoke and the flames, and you are just a leaf in his wind, guided through it all with scary precision until there is suddenly nothing and you realise what he’d just done.

This fucking cowboy galaxy ranger had just leaped off of the edge of the meteorite, dragging you along with him.

Correction; this is how you die, once you left the gravitational field, you’d just be stuck…floating in the void of space forever…no one would ever find your body-

Before your thought can finish, you crash into something hard, a ship, you realise, you had fallen into the open loading hatch of a ship, unlike boothill who landed on his feet, you’re simply a pile on the floor.

You hear the cowboy laugh as he turns to look at you, and you thank the fact that you’re face down from keeping your likely red, teary face from his scrutiny.

“Y’alright down there?” He asks.

“Peachy.” you mutter back, your muscles ached, but the adrenaline was already beginning to wane, suddenly the suit felt…heavy, impossibly heavy as you listen to the sound of the ship’s hatch closing. “Why’d you save me?”

Boothill thinks on it for a moment. Why had he saved you? It wasn’t really his M.O, saving people, especially when they worked for the IPC…he supposes a part of him felt a little bad… you hadn’t been working for them directly last time…and because of his stunt, you’d lost that job and had resorted to working for them in this backwater shithole of an array.

“Eh, Y’aint worth killin.” he responds after a moment “S’not like you’re the mother fudger I’m looking for anyways.”

Something about the way he says it…stings. Not worth killing?

Slowly you sit up, a terribly ungraceful affair in this stupid space suit as you pull the helmet off entirely and toss it to the floor, there was no point hiding the tears anymore.

“Wh- hey now! What’s got in yer’ boot?” Boothill balks at your teary face “what’s tha’ matter?”

You hate how stupid you must look, crying, red in the face…embarrassing really. But after the scare you’d just had, you don’t have the forwithall to keep your composure anymore.

“Whats the matter?” you mutter, staring at the cold, metal floor of the ship “what’s the matter is that you have single handedly managed to lose me not one, but TWO JOBS!”

You don’t mean to shout, really, you should be thanking him for saving your life.

“I’m BANNED from working for the IPC!” you cry “I wasn’t even meant to be working here! But where else am I meant to go!? EVERY job is somehow overseen by some division of the IPC, I can’t work anywhere else! Now you say I’m not even worth killing!?”

Boothill stares, the gears turning as he simply takes the emotional vitriol thrown his way. It had been…a long time since he’d found himself faced with this kind of problem.

“Aw shirt…” he mutters, realising his words had only worsened the situation. He takes a knee, pulling his hat off as he watches, he sees the way you’re shaking, your fingers flexing; he might be ‘old fashioned’, but he could recognize a panic attack. “C’mere, let's get this great forkin marshmallow suit off ya.”

You don’t even have the faculties to push him away as cold, robotic fingers begin tugging away at the velcro, the zippers and the straps. Breathing was getting harder, everything ached. Only once the galaxy ranger had pulled you free of the confines of that damned suit could you expand your chest properly. Too small, you realised, the suit you’d been given was way too small.

“Easy, easy, easy.” Boothill mutters as he sits you down “jus’ breathe.”

Easy for him to say, did a cybernetic cowboy even need to breathe?

He could see the struggle, but what the hell was he meant to do about it? It wasn’t wrong..the IPC had their fingers in so many pies… finding a job untouched by them? That’s like finding a needle in a haystack.

It wasn’t often Boothill felt…guilty. But somehow…you’d managed it.

“Aw c’mon, don’t gimme the waterworks.” he sighs “Look…ah’ll admit I forked up your job prospects, I’ll fudgin’ take that responsibility… will ya at least lemme see if I can help?”

“What can you do!?” You cry at him “If the IPC catches wind that I’ve somehow been caught up with you again-”

“Lemme take ya to a planet the IPC don’t care ‘bout.” He cuts in suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “Been there plenty, they’re good folk, they’ll help ya.. Ya just…gotta trust me.” A planet untouched by the IPC? That seemed like a pipe dream…

“Impossible.” you mutter “any planet the IPC finds, it conquers.”

Boothill grins, that same toothy grin you remember from your first encounter with him. “I know, right? But this one? This one’s special.”

Eyama II was a small planet with little in the way of resources the IPC wanted or needed, a dwarf planet no less, nothing but a speck of dust floating through their air filters. It was a self-sufficient, homely type place…if he was being honest with himself, it’s where he would want to retire if he ever saw his goal through…living the simple life he used to know before the IPC had ripped it from him.

He knows it’s not the most…elegant solution, but he knew some fine folk there, some fine folk who might just be willing to help the poor outcast he’d created. -

It’s a long trip. It had to be if it was out of the IPC’s gaze…but that did mean a long trip with Boothill.

In a tiny two person at most ship.

You didn’t really know what to expect, if he’d just tie you up and put you in the corner…but as it turns out…he’s somewhat hospitable… ok more than somewhat.

After you’d calmed enough to be reasoned with, he’d handed you a bottle of nondescript nature. Without much thinking, you’d taken a swig, eyes widening at the distinctly alcoholic taste. It wasn't anything strong like whiskey, but it was enough of a shock.

“Malt juice.” He clarifies as he takes a seat at the helm, setting the warp drive “figured it’d help calm ya nerves.” You blink down at the bottle before slowly taking another, more temperate sip.

It…wasn’t bad…actually it was pretty good. It burned your throat just enough to keep you in the present.

You both talk…small things, you ask him how he knew of this planet, and tells you about all the planets he’d visited that weren’t under the IPC’s thumb, how all of them were nice, simple places.

He tells you that he thinks you’d like Eymaya II, he thinks everyone would like Eymaya II. It had rolling hills and green valley’s. The people were mostly farmers, ranchers, common folk just going through the motions to get by, but not in the same nihilistic sort of way most did. Good, honest living, as he says.

Part of you wonders if there ever was a time this ranger worked a good honest life, if this whole…cowboy thing was a facade, or if it was real, remnants of a past he couldn’t return to. You’re not sure if it’s his conversation, the malt juice, or both, but you eventually begin to open up, about your home life, about your terrible habit of cutting into conversations when you were nervous, all of it.

And when you begin to fall asleep? Your head nodding slowly where you sat, you feel a cold, metal hand rest on your shoulder.

“C’mon, you need ta’ rest.” He tells you, guiding you to the cot that looked seldom, if at all used.

For a wanted criminal who had put you out of two jobs and nearly killed you both times…he was surprisingly kind.

He wasn’t wrong about this planet. It was beautiful, the air was fresher than you could ever recall, living in the city.

Apparently, the look on your face says as much. Boothill chuckles, tilting his head softly as he watches you take it all in. “Told ya ye’d like it.” He hums, something in his mechanical chest whirring with..pride perhaps? Satisfaction? He wasn’t entirely sure, but seeing a face that, so far, all he’d seen from was fear and upset finally show…wonder…it felt good. He wanted to see it more, perhaps even a smile one day.

He takes you to the inn, sets you up with Jodie, an elderly woman who had been around the block quite a few times, she didn’t put up with Boothill’s antics, more like…a curmudgeonly aunt at first as she barks at him for not calling in sooner, only for it all to melt away into an almost familial warmth as the cowboy explains himself, explains you.

“now child I know you did not lose this poor thing not one but TWO jobs!” She scolds, hands on her hips.

There is a lick of satisfaction as you watch boothill shrink beneath the innkeeper’s rage.

“Donchu’ worry hon, we’ll getcha set up here, somewhere this block for brains can’t accidentally getchu fired. Only thing that’ll do that around here is laziness…you aint lazy, are you?” she asks, turning to you and squinting her beady, aged eyes at you, making you stiffen up as well.

“N-no ma'am!” you bark instantly “I-I promise to work hard and earn my keep!”

This atleast, seems to settle her some, and before you know it, you have a hot meal and an ice cold drink in front of you, and you want to cry again.

You actually feel…somewhat sad when boothill has to leave…anxiety twisting in your gut… would you really be okay here? Would you survive?

But he pats you on the shoulder and grins, and something about it is…comforting.

Something about it made you want to try.

It’s five years until you see Boothill again.

Jodie had grown too old to continue running the inn, and somehow, against all odds, it was you who had taken over. The entire place was yours, and you were happy.

Not a day goes by where you don’t wonder how you ended up here, but then you recall, the enigmatic cyborg cowboy who had hijacked your ship, and then blown up a satellite array.

Somehow, your outlook on him had turned from disdain to…a strange sort of affection. The frigid anger had melted away, and what replaced it was a sense of…thankfullnes for what he’d done for you. Working here, away from the almost all-encompassing reach of the IPC had opened your eyes to just how…corporate everything felt, and how it so desperately wasn't you.

It’s a late evening, you’re closing up for the night, the bar had emptied of all it’s usual late-staying regulars, and those who had rooms rented for the evening had already retired.

You’re polishing a few glasses when the door swings open.

“Well now, there’s a face I ain’t seen in a forkin long time.”

The voice is familiar, and has you turning, a small smile tugging at your lip. A mixture of feelings racing through your chest.

“Well well, come to let me collect your bounty, Sir?” you snicker, placing the glass you’d just polished beneath the malt juice tap to pour him a glass.

Boothill laughs, sauntering in with the swagger you remember as he drops into the stool closest to you. “How’ve you been, Boothill?” you ask him, setting the glass in front of him and waving away his credits. You owed him one drink, atleast, “what’ve you been up to?”

The galaxy ranger snorts, throwing some of his long hair over his shoulder “How long ya’ got there, sweetheart? S’gonna be a long story.”

“I own the place now, and we’re closed, so all the time in the world.” you hum, deciding to pour yourself a glass as well after locking the door. “Shoot, really? What happened to ol’ jodie?” He asks, voice tinged with legitimate concern as you drop into the barstool beside him.

“She’s fine, she’s fine..just old is all.” You assure him, finding a little comfort in the relief that washes over his features.

“Ah, fork don't scare a guy like that.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair “thought Jodie had up n’ left us.”

“Nah, she’s got a while on her yet.” you snort, taking a sip of your drink.

The conversations run long into the night, catching up, listening to the thing’s he’d done, places he’d seen…IPC operations he’d torn apart at the seams. He listens to you too, as you tell him about how things have been here, catching him up on anyone he asked about. It was like talking to an old friend. You weren't sure…what boothill was to you…a friend? An acquaintance? It was…complicated.

More malt juice enters your systems, you ask if it actually has an affect on him.

“You know…being a cyborg and all..” you mumble, feeling a distinct warm dusting to your cheeks as the malt settles.

Instead of responding with words, the galaxy ranger reaches out and takes your hand into his. He feels…

Warm.

“You tell me, darlin.” He chuckles after a moment, watching you though half-lidded eyes. You barely even notice, more curious about how the alcohol affected him. Without even thinking, you run your fingers along his exposed arm; you weren’t going crazy, he was warm, almost humanly so.

Your fingers continue to wander without much thought until they brush along his jawline; the sudden transition from steel to skin is what finally snaps you out of your own thoughts, pulling back with a squeak.

“O-Oh aeons I’m sorry!” you fluster at his face, his eyes are wide and his mouth slightly ajar. “I-I got carried away I’m-”

His hand reaches out again, clasping yours and pulling it back towards his face as he rests his cheek into your palm.

“Don't.” He murmurs, softly, softer than you’d heard him before. “Keep goin…please.”

A realisation settles across your mind.

“You…you can’t feel most touch…can you?”

He doesn't look you in the eye, but he does sigh, only burying closer to your warm palm, worn after years of working hard…but still human.

“S’not that I can’t feel…I can…but..s’mtimes it’s so forkin dull I might as well not…but..my face is…”

“One of the few places you can feel.” You finish the sentence for him, feeling a pang of sympathy. You didn’t know how long Boothill had been like this, but you could wager long enough that he was more desperate for a kind touch than he probably even realised.

“Yeh…” he mutters, his lips turning down into a frown “sorry…ah know it’s probably-”

“Shut up.” you mutter, turning to face him fully, your other hand coming to rest on the other cheek as you watch this man, this gunslinging galaxy ranger, falter. His eyes widen before he shuts them entirely, leaning into it, starved of this type of affection.

“F’ya don’t stop this bullshirt m’gonna think you might have some feelin’s for me, darlin’..”

You didn’t know if thats what it was…but you didn’t want to stop either, a part of you wanting to sate you own selfish curiosity…another part wanting to do this for him.

“It must be a lonely existence, living like you do.” the murmur leaves your lips before you even notice you’d spoken out loud, thumbs stroking over his cheek bones. Boothill stares at you in silence for a long moment, his gaze calculating, probing.

“I thought ya’ hated my forkin guts…” He mutters.

“Perhaps once, for a little bit, I did.” You admit “But then you brought me here, and I’ve never been happier..”

A beat passes, then another, and another. Boothill stares at you, the feel of your hands on his face something he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

And then he leans forward, lips crash together and the taste of Malt juice and perhaps a little bit of oil is on your tongue.

You don’t pull back, if anything, you lean into it shamelessly.

Robotic hands grip your waist as your own finally shift from his face to wrap around his shoulders. At some point his hat goes flying off elsewhere, but neither of you care; too strung tight, too wound up to care.

His teeth are as sharp as they look, but he’s careful with them as he nips at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over the little beat of blood he manages to draw.

“Shirt-” He mutters against your lips, his eyes shut tight, you can hear his inner mechanics whirring, like a mechanical heart about to rabbit from his chest “fudge, if you don’t stop me now darlin I’m gonna keep taking-”

“Then take.” you mutter back at him, tangling your hands into his surprisingly silky hair and yanking. “Take what you want.”

“Oh trust me, I would but..” Boothill’s growl trails off, and for a moment he looks…embarrassed. You can’t for the life of you figure out why until he steps closer, your knee brushing between his legs- oh.

“Flat as a forkin’ brass tack.” he mumbles.

You’re not sure why, it might just be the curse of your horrible humour, but your attempt at not giggling only sets you off into laughter that you attempt to muffle into his shoulder.

“Ey, watchu laughin at?” you expect boothill to be…mad at your outburst, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, feel the tremble of his own laughter “t’aint funny.”

“It kinda is.” you snicker out, pulling back to look him in the face. He looks a little sheepish, but thankfully, mostly just amused. “It’s okay…we’ll figure something out..”

His toothy grin settles back into a dangerous little smirk as the moment passes again, the kind of smirk that makes your belly twist a little. “Oh yeah, I got some other tricks up my sleeves.”

Without much more to say, you find yourself being lifted, thrown over the cowboy’s shoulder- as you open your mouth to say something, you’re interrupted with a harsh slap to your ass, resulting in nothing but a squeak.

“Where’s yer room?” He snickers as you glare at him.

You consider not telling him, being a brat, but the charming smile he returns to you is… yeah it does something stupid that goes right to your crotch.

“Upstairs…first door on the left.” you mutter, flustering at the way his grin widens.

If you didn’t know better you’d almost describe Boothill as practically skipping up the stairs, the angle for you however was a little trepidatious, and you find yourself clinging to him for a little more stability, right up until he carefully tosses you down onto the plush of your bed, landing with a soft thud.

He’s back on you, and your hands are back on him without him needing to ask; you can see the relief it brings, the way his eyelids flutter and his brow pinches as your fingers glide across his cheek, down his chest and along his arms, still warm, you note…

His lips return too, his own hands untucking your shirt just to get under it, metal fingers gliding over the smooth of your belly, up the your sides as he groans into your mouth. You wonder how much he can actually feel, if it was still dull, or if the alcohol had heightened his mechanical touch sensors somehow. You didn’t care, he looked happy, legitimately happy, like a dog being scratched behind the ears as you indulge him.

His lips move from yours and he begins to nip and taste elsewhere, his nose brushing against your own as he leans in, nuzzling at your cheek, nipping at your jaw, revelling in the little sounds of pleasure he pulls out of you, especially when his wandering hands wrap behind your back and find the clasp of your bra, it comes undone with a surprisingly expert tug and you moan softly at it.

(Who could blame you? You’d been wearing the damn thing all day.)

You wished there was something you could do for him, something to pleasure him like he was doing for you, but you forced yourself to be content with touching him, running your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at the soft strands; running your thumbs over his cheeks, tracing the shells of his ears.

Boothill however, seemed just as hellbent on touching you, but he had far more room to move, to explore, to play.

Metal thumbs find your nipples, embarrassingly hard and sensitive after being trapped in the confines of your bra all day, and you moan as he rolls them both, back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm that leaves your breath light, and your stomach twisting in knots.

Pointed teeth find your throat, nibbling and worshipping every inch of skin they could catch. You’d have to wear a scarf tomorrow if he kept that up, lest the regulars at the bar notice the strange bruising… but you don’t stop him; you were all in on…whatever this was now.

A metal hand pulls away long enough to pop the buttons on your shirt, leaving the plane of your torso open and exposed to his gaze, nothing short of hungry as he stares down at you.

“Fudge…” he mutters, his voice husky “That’s a nice view…”

“Tease.” you huff.

“Tease? Oh ah’ll show you tease.” He snickers, his mouth returning to your skin, working lower, biting at the junction of neck and shoulder, nibbling along your collarbone before the cowboy shifts further, his tongue darting out to lap at one nipple whilst a hand works the other.

You gasp and moan, a hand quickly coming to muffle your cries, cheeks alight with embarrassment at the sudden outburst. Boothill only chuckles, his eyes trained to your face as he lays, settling between your legs as he rests atop you to continue his work, but at least he doesnt pull your hand away, too engrossed on what he could feel opposed to what he could see and hear.

He switches breasts while his free hand trails down, over the soft plane of your belly and to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and sending the strap of leather flying across the room before those fingers return, popping the button of your work jeans and dragging the fly down. You groan softly in appreciation at the relief it brings, only to feel those metal fingers working the waistband down.

Just what was he planning? you wonder internally as he gives your nipple one last, harsh suck before releasing it, making you keen beneath your hand.

“Feelin good, darlin?” he whispers. He sure sounded like he was feeling good as he nuzzles against your skin, nipping at your stomach and trailing lower, hands gripping at your jeans, pulling them and your underwear away in one swoop, leaving you open, exposed, and embarrassingly wet. “Y’sure look it..” he adds with a low whistle “aint that a sight.”

“B-boothill-” You mumble, an attempt at closing your legs out of embarrassment only sandwiching his head betwixt your thighs. He grins at you; it’s such an endearingly handsome thing, it makes you feel like this wasn’t a first time thing between you both, like he knew you, like he was comfortable with you, which only added to the heat in your belly.

“Aw don’t go gettin all fudgin’ coy on me now.” he snickers “After all those drinks’ ya’ gave me downstairs, I’m still kinda thirsty.”

His metal hands part your measly human thighs with shameful ease as he leans in close; you squeal when you feel his hot tongue lave down your inner thigh, warm breath so achingly close to your cunt it was maddening.

But it seemed Boothill was just as desperate as you were, his mouth attaching to your cunt after only a moment, taking in your squeal as his teeth gently roll your clit, the added danger only serving to make you wetter.

“F-fuck! Boothill-!” you moan out, forsaking keeping yourself silent as your own hands scramble across the sheets, searching for something, anything to ground yourself as his tongue laps at your folds with fever; they eventually find and settle in his hair before giving it a tug.

Boothill groans, the sting is only arbitrary, but he loves it, he loves being able to feel something. The warm plush of your thighs around his ears, the heat of your cunt as he sucks on your clit, only made sweeter by your cries. He’d missed this, he’d missed this a lot..

“Y’aint seen nothin’ yet, darlin.” He growls low and loving against your thigh in the brief moment of reprieve he gives you. You stare down at him with hooded eyes,your knees already trembling from his vicious onslaught; he nips the soft, sensitive flesh of your thigh with a cheeky smirk, holding up a pair of fingers, watching your face as he slowly drags them through your wet folds, collecting your slick; you gulp. “Like a’ said, I got a few fun lil’ tricks up my sleeves.” His mouth returns, lapping and pulling you right back into the overwhelming, wonderful pleasure as a slick metal finger circles your entrance, slow, methodical, torturous. You nearly sob with relief when he finally presses the digit inside, the metal actually making it easier. He hums his approval at how easily his finger is sucked in, pumping it slowly in and out, in and out; taking things at his pace- perfect.

After a little while, you feel that finger beginning to probe, to prod and search for your G-spot, and before long he finds it, signalled by a loud gasp and a sharp tug at his hair, only pulling his mouth closer, his tongue working away at your clit like he wasn’t driving you absolutely mad with pleasure.

Once he’d found the spot, he retreats, slowly adding the second finger and beginning the cycle again, stretching you, filling you stupidly well; it was an absolute tragedy that he didn’t have a dick…at this point you were so stupidly horny, you would have climbed on top of him just for a chance to ride him.

(somewhere in the back of your mind, the saying ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ reverberates)

As you’re right at the height, right at the edge, he suddenly stops, his fingers cease their movements and he pulls his head away, resting his chin on your naval as he stares up at you with such a stupidly loving look that it makes your heart twist; his chin was absolutely drenched in your slick, but he looked so very content.

But you weren’t.

“B-boothillllll-” you whimper, tugging at his hair again, why had he stopped!? Now of all times? You could feel his metal fingers pressed against your G-spot, but unmoving, they did little to pleasure you. You clench around them, but that too, yields little results.

“Sorry sweetheart, just wanted to see your face when I did it.” He chuckles, his smile twitching up in the corner.

“D-do whAT-” your question cuts off abruptly when the fingers inside you suddenly burst to life with vibrations, the strength of which you’d never experienced before. Your body coils and you nearly scream as he rams those fingers into your G-spot, stars exploding behind your eyes whilst pleasure cuts through your belly like glass.

“That.” He hums, satisfied as he returns that sinful mouth of his to your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. His fingers were harsh and rough, crooking into your G-spot one second, and then splaying out the next, dragging rough and harsh against your walls; his tongue however was soft, gentle, slowly and carefully rolling circles around your poor little nub. You were going to go crazy, he was going to drive you insane and you were absolutely letting him. Your body reacts on its own, thighs squeezing hard around his head, spine arched upward; your hips prevented from bucking thanks to one of his arms, wrapped solidly around your thigh and holding you down to the sheets, forcing you to lay there and take it.

You knew the walls here were decently soundproof, but even you began to question if they could muffle out your cries, made worse when Boothill suddenly sits up, pulling you up along with him, practically folding you in half as he continues to feast on your pussy like he hadn’t eaten in centuries, his vibrating fingers plunging somehow deeper.

At first you struggle for air with the new position, your knees almost at your chest, but then he switches the angle of his fingers and aeons-, you didn’t think it could get worse than this. But the pleasure this new angle brings, it’s new, its terrifying and you don’t quite know how to articulate that to the galaxy ranger causing it all. Your hands scramble clawing and tugging at any part of him you could get ahold of, his name falling from your lips along with incoherent babble, desperation and worry all balling into one feeling you couldn’t describe as he continues to piston those fingers into you, hitting your G-spot with such accuracy, the flame in your gut turning from a high heat to a near-volcanic overload as you jerk and struggle.

The final straw is when you crack open an eye, catching sight of him, staring back at you with such…love, such unbridled affection.

You scream his name as you cum, harder than you’ve ever cum in your life. Your faintly feel yourself make an absolute mess of his face, arms, your back and the sheets below you as your world turns white.

–

A soft, damp cloth carefully rubbing over your skin slowly pulls you back into reality, rousing you from the soft and gauzy subspace of post-orgasmic bliss. You try to shift, to sit up…to…something- but a hand carefully manoeuvres you to lay back down on a thankfully, dry patch of sheets.

“Easy, darlin’” Boothill’s familiar southern drawl hushes you down “Nearly done.”

You crack an eye to find him carefully cleaning you off with said damp towel. Methodical but careful. You’re trembling from the exertion, but boothill looks absolutely fine, the bastard.

In fact, he looks better than fine. A smile plastered on his stupid face as he works away, wiping sweat and other…fluids, off of you.

When he was done with that, he wraps you in a clean sheet and lifts you, sitting you down on the trunk at the end of your bed, just so he could change the set you’d obliterated with your unexpectedly rough orgasm. You sit there, watching him, half asleep and pleasantly dozy before he pulls you back into bed, pulling you into his side. A glass of water is pressed against your lips as he encourages a few sips into you.

You spend the night sleeping with him curled around you; the quiet whirr of his mechanical body providing a pleasing, soft white noise while hands stroke through your hair.

–

“Do you have to go so soon?” You ask as he reaches for his hat.

He’d been here a week, and it had been…for lack of a better word; wonderful.

But all good things had to come to an end you supposed. The look on his face was enough to tell you what you didn’t want to hear.

“I gotta. I ain’t done yet.” He tells you quietly, despite this, he holds out a hand, a silent request for you to walk with him…the inn and the bar would be fine for a little while.

“I’d ask ya t’come with me, but that’d be the biggest forkin mistake I could ever make.” the cowboy admits. He wanted you to, he’d never felt so content as he had in this week, but bringing you meant putting you in danger…aeons know he’d done that enough already.

“Will you…at least come and visit me?”

Boothill snorts as they meander their way towards his ship “O’course I will.”

“How often?”

“S’often as I forkin can.”

You both stop beside the ship, it had a few more dings and dents than you remember, but it was still in surprisingly good condition.

“Well…” you mumble “at least you know you’ll always have a room at the inn while I still run it.”

“Y’mean yer’ room?” He snickers. “I forkin hope you intend on running the place as long as possible, I pulled in a good favor from jodie to get ya yer’ start ‘ere.”

You smile at him. Boothill thanks every aeon in existence that his cybernetic eyes had a camera function, so he could save that face and look back on it when he was drifting through the universe.

Slowly, he pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he leans down to press his lips to yours, one last time for the road.

“I’ll be back as soon and as often as I forkin can…y’hear?” He murmurs, you nod; fighting away the sting behind your eyes as you step back.

“I hear…and…Boothill?” you ask as he turns around to step onto his ship, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo @angel-of-requiem @asoulsreverie @zomzomb1e @moraxsthrone @mysnowmanandmebaby @inlustris-is-slowly-dying @pvbbyb0y Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmoth writes #finally #HSR x reader #Hsr Smut #Boothill x reader #boothill x reader smut

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seokmattchuus · 3 days

Text

Breaking Point - Seok Matthew

"You've known each other for so long, aren't you sick of spending so much time together?" Gyuvin raised a brow as you and Matthew entered his frat house together. "I've never seen either of you on your own. Is it like, Stockholm syndrome or something?" His eyes narrowed as he tried to think it through.

"Do you think I want to keep this one around?" Matthew raised his own brow, his index finger moving to point at you. "I tried to get her to date in high school to get her off my back but none of the relationships lasted a month." He scoffed.

You rolled your eyes at the statement.

"Says the one who didn't even date." You scoffed. "Not that you had a choice, anyways."

"It's not my fault I got hot after graduation." He turned to look at you. He was always sensitive about being a late bloomer.

"Oh, you had a minor glow up and now you think you're hot." You turned to him. "You could be in an Airheads commercial with how big your head's gotten."

Gyuvin stared at the both of you, his eyes switching back and forth as you argued.

"Y/n. Matthew." He started. "If either of you need to get laid, that can be arranged."

"Please." Matthew laughed. "She gets attached too easily to have one-night stands."

You let out a scoff of disbelief at his words.

"As if you could please anyone here." You started. "You were a virgin for so long, I would bet money that you don't even know what the clit is."

"You two just got here, god damn." Gyuvin looked between the both of you in disbelief. "Are you best friends or siblings??"

"As if I'd-" You started but Ricky came up.

"I've never seen anyone walk into a party and stay by the door." He laughed. "You two look like you could use a break from each other." He said before handing you a cup and putting a hand on your lower waist.

A move that didn't go unnoticed by Matthew, his eyes locked on Ricky's hand.

And Matthew's move not going unnoticed by Gyuvin.

"He started it!" You whined as you took the cup, letting Ricky lead you through the building. "He's always talking shit."

"Anything piss him off lately?" Ricky said as he led you to a couch.

You rolled your eyes before bringing the cup to your lips, a mix of strawberry rum and sprite greeting your tastebuds.

"You always make my favorite." You smiled at him.

"I heard you come in. I figured you could use it." He laughed.

"But he's had a stick up his ass all week." You sighed. "You know how Hanbin asked Haneul to set us up? Well Matthew was fine with it at first, but after our third unofficial date, he's been trying to get me to ghost him." You rolled your eyes. "You know he even took my phone on 'accident' the other day? He had it for the whole day after our class!" Your voice was getting louder as you felt yourself getting worked up. "It's childish!"

"Sounds like you could use another drink." Ricky laughed as his eyes shifted towards the door. "But I think he has his reasons."

Your eyes followed his to see Matthew arguing with Hanbin before walking away. You'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the girl next to him but it's not like you were dating. The two of you were still talking. And casually meeting up.

Friends with benefits if you will.

"I don't care if he has reasons." You scoffed. "For someone who used to be a little bitch, he's sure gotten obnoxiously ballsy."

"Matthew? A little bitch?" Ricky smirked in amusement. "I don't see it." He shook his head with a laugh, finally bringing his cup to his lips.

"Dude." You shook your head, your eyes widening. "He used to be scared of bugs." You started. "If he even heard someone talking about a horror movie, he had to leave because it was getting to him." You chuckled.

"Oh! And there was one time where we had a field trip in high school," You paused to take another sip of your drink. "Someone he was rooming with snuck in alcohol and you know what that boy did?" You held back a snort. "He was so scared of getting in trouble that he texted his mom." You emphasized the last three words. "She called the teachers and of course, they got in trouble, but who snitches like that?" You narrowed your eyes at the gall past Matthew had.

"When he told me about still getting in trouble, I told him they at least should have drank it." You scoffed before taking another sip. "Like, you did it to not get in trouble and you still did. Might as well have had fun."

Ricky kept his eyes on you, and you weren't sure if he just didn't believe you or if he was thinking back on Matthew's behavior to see if he ever caught him slipping up.

Either way, the anger from before was fading and you were finally starting to enjoy yourself.

You hadn't seen Matthew since Ricky pointed him out and you were starting to forget you even came with him.

Until Ricky led you to the outside table group that Matthew was a part of.

"We're playing 'truth or drink'." Gyuvin gave a boyish smile. He was clearly a few drinks in. "You can sit here by me and Ricky." He motioned his arm to the chairs next to him. "If it's okay with Matt, of course." He smirked towards him as if saying something.

Matthew rolled his eyes for what you would call the billionth time today.

"It's not like he owns me." You mumbled bitterly as you sat next to Gyuvin, Ricky taking the spot next to you and throwing an arm over your shoulder. "Plus, I used to beat him up in high school." You said as you gave Ricky your cup to refill. "He knows better."

"Oh~~" The crowd around you teased and you looked towards Matthew who was less than amused.

As the game went on, there had been a bunch of answers to questions you never wanted to ask. But of course, the questions got better the more you got into it.

"Y/n!" An adorable blonde whose name you couldn't remember. You swore it was something with 'Chae', or maybe 'Na', but your brain was too fuzzy to remember. "You've been talking about how different Matt used to be." She started with a drunken giggle. "What's something that hasn't changed about him?"

Matthew's head turned towards you to shoot you a glare, but you didn't give him a chance to get to you.

"He's terrified of bugs." You held back a laugh as you thought about a time in fifth grade. "Any kind of bug. Big, small, wings, you name it, he'-"

A hand came up to cover your mouth and you turned to see Matthew himself leaning over the chair that Gyuvin was previously in. You gave him some sort of half-glare, half-pout, your hand coming up to drag his hand away.

It didn't work of course.

"Let her finish!" The girl who asked whined.

"Yeah, don't get on her bad side." Ricky laughed with a smirk. "She might beat you up again."

"It was this huge moth that flew into class, and I freaked out." Matthew said flatly, his hand still firm against your mouth.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was lying of course, and as the only person around who knew him that well, you couldn't let these people be lied to.

You bit his hand and he pulled away almost immediately.

"No!" You yelled out as soon as his hand was away. "It was a butterfly!" You started laughed at the memory. "A fucking butterfly!!"

The table filled with laughter, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop there. After the week Matthew put you through, you could call things even after this.

"He screamed so loud, and he wouldn't stop until the teacher caught it and opened the window to let it out!" You leaned back onto Ricky's shoulder as you started to shake with laughter. The image of little Matthew screaming and pointing at the butterfly seemed so much funnier after a few drinks.

Everyone else seemed to be in an amused shock at the stark contrast from young Matthew to the person he was today. But Matthew couldn't keep the scowl off his face.

You had gotten yourself so lost in another question that you missed Ricky motioning to Matthew for something.

"Isn't it time to get you home?" Ricky shook the shoulder you were on to get your attention. "Aren't your roommates gonna worry?"

You whined at the thought.

"They left me." You pouted up at him. "They're out camping this weekend." You pushed yourself off his shoulder just to fall all the way to the other side.

Onto Matthew.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?" He said, annoyance taking over as he tried to get you to sit up.

"It's not like I was trying to lean on you." You gave him a scowl, or at least the best you could muster. "Gyuvin's supposed to be there, anyways."

"Yeah, you're done." He said, before grabbing your phone and standing up. "Let's get you home."

You looked to Ricky for help.

"I can't help you there, princess." He shrugged. "I don't even know where you live."

You were about to respond when you felt Matthew grab your arm to pull you up. When you lost your balance, he put your arm over his, sighing when you pulled away and stumbled again.

"Just hold on, please." He groaned. "If you fall, you're going to cry and I'm never going to let you live it down."

"I'm not even that drunk." You mumbled. "I can just go home with Ricky."

You knew what the answer to that would be, but you were petty at heart, and you were going to make this the worst possible situation for him.

"You sure your boyfriend would appreciate that?" He raised a brow.

"I don't have a boyfriend." You came back, your head held high.

"That's not what you were saying about H-"

You immediately found your footing as you forced your hand over his mouth.

"I swear on every higher power out there that I will kill you if you finish that sentence." You narrowed your eyes at him.

In true best friend fashion, Matthew responded by biting your hand so you'd pull away.

Payback was big between the both of you.

"My silence can be bought." He smiled bitterly at you before motioning with his arms for you to go before him. "Get to stepping."

You had spent most of the walk back to your place in silence. You didn't want to be the first to talk, and Matthew wasn't over your dramatic retelling of the butterfly story.

You didn't mind it though, after a week full of his yapping, you weren't that interested in getting him started again.

"You do have your key on you, right?" He said as you both approached the door. "Last thing we need is to get locked out."

"Do you have, like, zero faith in me?" You turned to ask him as you slid your hand into the tiny pocket of your shorts, pulling out a single key.

"Do you not own something to put the key on?" Matthew questioned as if you were insane.

"In this outfit?" You asked as if it was the dumbest statement on earth. "It would stick out and look gross." You frowned, trying, and failing, to stick the key in properly.

"You always look gross." He mumbled before taking the key from you and easily sliding it in to unlock the door.

"The rest of the keychain is right there." You mumbled as you walked past him and flopped onto the couch, the alcohol in your system starting to set in.

He rolled his eyes before reattaching the key onto the ring before turning back to you.

"You could just give me your keys next time, y'know?" His hands were gently trying to slide your shoes off without pulling too hard. "I have pockets that aren't two millimeters deep."

"That would require talking to you." You sighed, pulling your leg back to help him get the shoes off. "You haven't been the easiest to do that with."

He'd never minded when you dated people, and of course, he's yet to have anything more than a one-night stand with anyone so you never had the chance to care. But you never minded his sexcapades. You were happy, in fact. He was finally comfortable enough in his own skin to talk to women. How could you hate that? But the back and forth between being supportive of your situationships and then being upset was messing with you.

Hanbin wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was definitely the most committed he'd been in attempting to sabotage.

The first time it happened was about two years ago. You had just started college and someone from class had asked you out to coffee. Matthew insisted on hiding out to make sure he wasn't a creep, and you couldn't believe him. Nor talk him out of it.

When the guy did turn out to be a creep, you didn't hear the end of it.

"I told you so."

"What do you think would have happened if I wasn't there?"

"Can't you just say, 'thank you' and move on?"

That marked the beginning of Matthew's wishy-washy behavior towards your love life.

You'd be thankful if he wasn't such a dick about it.

"Don't tell me you passed out on me." He spoke up after putting your shoes away. You must have been too busy in your thoughts to realize he got the other one off. "I can't let you fall asleep on the couch, you're gonna kill me."

When he saw you were awake, he tilted his head.

"What's on your mind?" He asked. "You're not saying something bitchy."

You tiredly rolled your eyes.

"I'd say you're on my mind but your ego's too big for that."

"There she is." He smiled before reaching a hand out. "Let me get you to bed and you can cuss me out all you want."

"I'd rather fight you." You crossed your arms and rolled over to face the back of the couch so he couldn't help you up. "I'll sleep here. You sleep on the bed."

"You'd lose." He started before trying to roll you back over. "And remember the last time I let you sleep on the couch? You blamed me for the kink in your neck for a week."

You continued fighting him, wanting nothing more than for him to just go to bed in the other room. If you looked at him, you were scared you'd let everything out.

"I'm drunk, you know. The more you shake me, I might throw up on you."

"Nothing you haven't done before."

His response was quick and for some reason, it pissed you off more.

"Do you have an answer for everything?" You turned towards him.

And just your luck.

You turned at the same time that he pulled you.

Leading your face to end right in front of his.

It wasn't your intention, but you couldn't speak. You could only offer a small hiccup.

The silence felt suffocating as you both stared at each other. No words. No sounds.

Just another hiccup.

"I'm no better than Hanbin if I do what I want to right now." He whispered but his voice was mildly strained, as if he was holding himself back.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but the sudden closeness threw you off. You couldn't think, you couldn't speak, and you barely managed to hear what he just said.

Barely.

"This is your last chance to pick between the bed and the couch." He said, his voice just above a whisper this time. "Because I'll take the bed and lock you out."

You quickly slid out from under him and gave a small 'night' as you rushed to your room and closed the door. You barely made it to the bed before you dragged your hands down your face.

What the fuck was that?

Who the fuck were you?

And what the fuck did he mean by that?

You quickly threw on some sleeping clothes and got into bed. You were slightly dizzy but now that you were laying down, all you had to do was close your eyes and hope what he said was just the alcohol talking.

When your eyes opened your room was still dark. You sighed in relief as that meant it was still night.

Your throat was dry, and you weighed the possibilities of Matthew still being awake and you dying of thirst. You patted around for your phone and cringed when you saw the bright "4:57" flash across your screen.

It was highly possible he was awake.

But you also felt like a dry sponge.

Fuck it.

You slowly opened the door and tried to move as quietly as possible.

"Matthew?" You called out in a whisper, hoping he wouldn't answer. "You awake?"

When there was no answer, you quickened your pace.

As you slowly opened the fridge door, the last words he said to you lingered in your head. You didn't know if you imagined it or not, but there was no harm in venting to deaf ears, right?

"What did you mean by what you said earlier?" You whispered as you grabbed a water bottle and closed the door, sliding down it to sit on the floor. "Why do you give me mixed signals all the time?" Your voice was quieter this time, as if his dream self would hear you.

It was the most cliché thing around and you hated it. 'Best friends to lovers', 'childhood friends to lovers', 'friends who secretly love each other', and of course the 'unrequited love towards your best friend' trope.

The thought alone made you gag. They were the oldest in the book.

You had to be better than that, right?

Right?

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when your feelings towards him strayed away from platonic, but what you did know was that he wasn't making it any easier.

"Y/n?" He sleepily called out and you moved to sit behind the counter.

Wait.

This was your place.

Why were you hiding?

"Just getting some water." You spoke before clearing your throat. "Go back to bed."

You closed your eyes at how stupid the situation was. Could you be anymore cliché?

"It's like, five in the morning?" He sounded closer and you thought about booking it back to your room. "Why are you on the floor?"

You looked up and he was rubbing his eyes. Even in the dark you could see his messy hair and you felt your heart jump.

"Floor time?" You tried.

"Floor time?" He repeated, standing in the same spot as his eyes continued to adjust. "That's evening activities, not early morning."

You tried your best to bring out the feisty so you looked normal to him.

"I was dizzy from drinking, can't I sit on my own floor?"

"Do you just hate me or something?" He said. "Or did you hear what I said last night?" He scoffed. "Is this your way of drawing a line?"

Shit.

"What are you talking about?" You said as you got up and put some space between you. "I didn't hear anything."

"Liar." He took a step. "You heard me."

You took a step back.

"I think you're still drunk." You tried. "Talk to me when you're sober." You moved to push past him, but he moved in front of you.

"You drank more than me last night and you know it."

"Don't." You started. "It's not my fault you don't know how to have fun." You tried to walk around him and failed again.

"There's no one here to impress with your little tough act so just drop it." He said. "Let's just talk about what I said."

"Tough act?" You stepped back. "I've always had more balls than you and you know it." You crossed your arms. "Mr. Butterfly phobia."

Even in the dark you could see him roll his eyes.

"Do I still look like the kid you met in second grade?" He took a step towards you, and you took one back. "Do you really still see me as that same kid?" He took another step, as did you, the corner of the table stopping you. "Because I don't see you that way." He took a final step before his eyes traveled lower. "Especially in those fucking shorts."

You quickly stared up at him.

"If you're fucking with me, it isn't funny." Your voice shook as you spoke. You moved to walk past him, but he placed his arms on either side of you, caging you in.

"I'm not fucking with you." He said lowly. "And I heard you earlier." He said.

"I didn't say anything." You weren't one to give in so easily, especially when it didn't benefit you. "Hanbin wants to meet for lunch. If I want any chance at looking decent I need more sleep." You were lying out of your ass but you hoped it would work.

You moved to push his arm but it wasn't moving.

"Hanbin?" His voice was an angry kind of low. "Do you even know what he thinks about you?"

He didn't give you a chance to respond before continuing.

"Do you know how much shit Hanbin's been talking about you? And how much I've had to try and save your feelings by getting you to leave him alone?" He pushed himself off the table. "Sugarcoating this whole situation so you wouldn't be left crying over some fuckface who can't keep his dick to himself?"

You were about to respond when he continued.

"She's so easy." He mocked with air-quotes. "A few outings, a couple fucks, a gift here and there. Now she thinks I'm a changed man." He went on, acting out what you assumed to be Hanbin's exact movements.

He wasn't looking at you as he got caught up in his feelings and you were glad. Even in the dark, you were sure he'd be able to make out your expressions. Your own feelings were coming up and if he wasn't in front of you, you'd have run back to your room.

"She's so stupid." He said the word like it hurt to come out. "Can you believe she thinks I'd actually date her? Why give up my roster for her of all people?"

"You can stop now." You grit your teeth, tears threatening to spill. You didn't expect much out of Hanbin, but hearing what he had to say about you hurt more than it should have.

"I know better?" He repeated your statement from before as he ran his tongue along the inside of his lip, his jaw tensing as he leaned back in. "And what do I know exactly, y/n?" He paused. "That I'm always right and that you never want to listen?"

"But you know better?" He changed his tone, still copying your statements from before. "Just what do you know?"

"I know that you're a dick." You started, gathering all the strength in you to push past him. "And that you are just as bad as Hanbin."

You didn't wait to hear a response before you rushed back to your room and locked the door.

You thought falling back asleep would refresh your mind but all you did was toss and turn until the sun finished setting. It didn't help that your head had started to hurt.

You sighed as you pulled your blankets off and sat up, the pain in your head intensifying slightly. You made your way to your restroom, and quickly grabbed the bottle of pain reliever before turning the faucet on to scoop some water with your hand. You quickly popped the pill in and threw your head back. Your first attempt left you gagging, everything but the pill going down. Your second attempt was more successful.

You sighed as you were left with the unpleasant taste. You knew you'd be fucked if you didn't wash it out, but you also knew you'd be fucked if Matthew kept up his attitude from before.

You reluctantly made your way out of the room.

"One would think we live together with how often you're here." You mumbled as he sat at your table eating a bagel. You would have grabbed one, too, if the bag wasn't so close to him. You settled on some juice.

It wasn't out of the norm for him to take care of you the day after you drank, but of all the days, you really wished he'd just go home.

"People already think we're dating." He mumbled back. "It would make sense to them if we lived together." He said before getting up.

"With how much we fight, people think we're siblings." You corrected, more to yourself. "No couple acts like we do."

"Well, most couples already know the other person likes them." He said flatly.

"What's that supposed t-"

"You know exactly what I mean." He cut you off. "How many times are we going to go back and forth like this?" He sighed as he looked towards you. "You know I like you."

The silence settled and you knew you should have been jumping at the chance to say something but part of this just felt like some sick joke.

"You even asked about mixed signals that I tried to clear up and you ran away." He continued his rant. "If you don't want me just fucking say that."

The silence took over again and you wanted to kick yourself. You wanted to tell him his shitty way of clearing things wasn't the move he thought it was. You wanted to tell him that him pretty much calling you an idiot wasn't going to get him anywhere. But the words just weren't coming out.

Why was this so difficult?

"Fine. You want me gone?" He said as he stood up. "I'm going."

You bit your tongue as you watched him grab his stuff before heading to the door. He reached for the knob.

Fuck it.

"And if I do still see you as the same kid I met in elementary?" You called out, feeling a minor surge of victory as his arm fell. "It's not like you've ever acted like anything other than that."

You could hear him scoff but he didn't turn around.

"I mean, you bicker like one." You said. "You beat around the bush like one."

"And you don't?" He said, his back still facing you. "You refuse to listen like one." He started his own list as he finally turned towards you. "And if you're left to your own devices, you get in trouble."

"I may not listen but at least I can say things with my chest." You admitted. "You can't be upset that I don't see you as a man when you've never acted like one."

He dropped his stuff where he was standing, his jaw tensing as he watched you.

"Look who's beating around the bush now."

He took a step.

"This is your way of trying to get me to do something, isn't it?"

Another step.

He was nowhere near you, but the act still made you back up. Talk about déjà vu, but this was different with the lights on.

"I've barely taken two steps towards you, and you can't even handle that." He scoffed. "Maybe I don't 'act like a man' around you because you can't handle it."

Your eyes narrowed at him.

"I can." You challenged. "Hanbin can attest to that." You let a smirk form on your lips as you watched his reaction. Sure, he was a dick, but you meant what you said. And you weren't going to pass up a chance to throw something back at Matthew. "Just admit you're not man enough to act on it."

You were fully aware your words were not matching your actions, but you couldn't back down. This is how your arguments always went.

Faking it 'til you make it.

"Then come here." He motioned with his finger.

You watched as he flicked his finger, and you felt your legs stiffen.

"I'll act on it if you do." He said simply. "I'm scared if I take another step you might stumble." He smirked.

His mocking tone urged you to walk forward, even if everything inside of you screamed to stay still. Every step was a different statement running through your mind.

There's no going back if you do this.

Your relationship won't be the same.

Can you handle losing him if things go south?

The second you were in front of him, though, the way his smirk grew had your mind going blank. His hand reached up to your face, his index finger raising your chin so you were looking up at him.

He leaned in slowly, his thumb moving to rest on your chin and keep you in place.

Your heartbeat was in your ears as his lips finally pressed against yours. It didn't take long for you to kiss him back, your hand coming up to hold onto the wrist of the hand that was supporting your chin.

You could feel him smirk against you before pulling away.

"How's that for beating around the bush?" He whispered as his lips hovered above yours, eye contact never breaking as the hand that was holding your chin moved to the back of your neck. Your hand sliding towards his forearm with the new position.

"Am I supposed to believe a tiny kiss is 'doing something'?" You batted your lashes. "Is this as manly as you get?"

"All you ever do is talk shit, you know that, right?" He smirked as he took a step forward, his other hand coming around to catch you when you backed up.

"It's my specialty." You fought the urge to stumble on your words. "Don't act like you don't love it."

He pulled you closer and the warmth that you met forced a gasp from you.

"Wanna see just how much I love it?" He whispered as his hand traveled to your lower back.

You didn't trust your voice this time. All you could give him was a nod.

"Look at how much better it is when you just listen." He said as he dipped his head down to press a kiss to your jaw, his head nudging yours to the side so he could continue to your neck. "If you spent less time fighting me, I could spend more time making you feel good."

You felt a shiver run down your spine when he kissed a certain spot and you felt him smirk before biting lightly. Your hand that was resting on his arm was now tightening around it.

You wanted to say something but the feeling of his hand that was resting behind you moving under your shirt made you forget what you were going to say.

"Can I touch you?" He whispered, his hand inching closer to your breasts.

You nodded and he stopped. He pulled away and looked down at you.

"Say it."

You could feel your face heat up as the words got stuck in your throat.

"What happened to saying things with your chest, hm?" He hummed, clearly amused at how quickly you seemed to forget your little speech. "Or were you just trying to get me upset?" He gave you a mocking pout.

"You're just a brat." He said, his hand slowly inching back up, the side of his thumb grazing the side of your breast, but not fully touching you. "Acting like you don't want someone who'll just do whatever they want with you." His hand moved under your breast, keeping the same small distance.

Your mind was fuzzy as his hand traveled across your chest to the opposite side. You wanted to admit it, but you were more focused on trying to arch into his touch, a move that he couldn't help but laugh at.

"Even now you're still trying to beat around the bush." He smirked as he pulled his hand away, reveling in how your face fell. "Admit it and I'll give you what you want."

You watched as he moved to lean against the back of the couch. He used his arms for support, and you couldn't help but marvel at the way they flexed.

"And you won't use it against me?" Your voice was smaller than before and you nearly cringed at yourself.

"Not in front of others." He gave you a smirk. "Can't have anyone else thinking you'll act like this for them."

The comment had you trying to hit his shoulder in retaliation but he was quick to grab it.

"I'd play nice while I'm playing nice." He looked down at you.

The way his hand gripped your wrist had you swallowing hard.

"And if I don't want to?" Your voice was still small, but he had to respect your will to keep up the act.

"We can chill like this and stare at each other all day." He smiled sweetly.

The hand that was holding your wrist pulled you into him again.

"We can stay," He paused, his free hand grabbing your other wrist and pinning them both in his hand. "Right. Here." He cocked his head to the side with an innocent smile.

You were holding eye contact more out of spite this time and his hand was back on you, but over your clothes this time.

"Y'know." He started, never breaking eye contact with you as his hands were more committed this time. That damned smile coming back when your body reacted. "I always figured you'd be all bark, no bite." His fingers softly ran over your nipple, and you let out a sigh. "I just thought you'd be begging by now." He said before lightly pinching it.

Your hands instinctively moved, but he kept them in place.

"I also thought you'd be feistier." He chuckled. "But you must really want something if you're not fighting like you usually do." His hand moved to give your other nipple attention. "I bet you want nothing more than for me to bend you over this couch." His words were emphasized with a harsher pinch, and you were embarrassed by the moan that slipped out of you.

He was barely touching you and your legs were already squeezing together.

"You'd like that wouldn't you, baby?" He smiled, his hands pulling your wrists so you were back to being right in front of him. "Just say the word."

You licked your lips before parting them, but as his gaze was more intense, you froze.

"Come on, pretty girl." He coaxed, his hand moving to pet your hair. "Tell me how much of a brat you are." His finger ran over your cheek. "How you talked all that shit just to rile me up." He whispered as he ran his finger over your lower lip. "Tell me how bad you want me."

He was talking so sweetly that you couldn't hold back anymore.

"Please," You whimpered. "Stop teasing."

"You know how to make me stop." He said simply. "Be a good girl and tell me what I wanna hear."

"I want you." You broke. "I want you so bad, please." You whimpered, hands tugging against his hold. "If I'd known you were like this, I'd never have acted up, I swear."

"'Like this'?" He quoted with a raised brow. "And what am I like, pretty girl?"

"Matthew, please." You whined and tugged against his hold again, but he only pulled you impossibly closer.

"What did I say about playing nice?" His voice was lower and you wanted nothing more than to take back everything you said in the past twenty-four hours.

"I didn't think you'd.." You trailed off, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. "Act like this." You swallowed. "...I thought you'd just give me what I want."

"Good girl." He smiled sweetly. "Now apologize for making this harder than it needed to be."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Tell me you want me." He licked his lips. "I'll give in if you tell me one more time." He smirked. "You just sound so pretty asking for me."

All trace amounts of shame that were in you were long gone as you practically begged him to do something.

He was quick to pull you back in for a kiss, his hand releasing your wrist and opting to rest on your ass before giving a harsh squeeze, your moan acting as encouragement. He moved the both of you around the sofa so he could sit, and you happily straddled his lap and hovered, wanting nothing more than for his hands to have room to do whatever they wanted. Your hands grabbed the sides of his face, the need to just touch him taking over.

It was as if he were making up for lost time the way his hands roamed over you before slipping into your pajama shorts from one of the leg holes, the action coaxing a gasp from you.

His fingers slowly slipped under your panties, and he moaned as he slid his fingers towards your clit.

He wanted to make a comment about how wet you were from the bare minimum. He wanted to ask why you were so needy. He wanted to pull away and make a comment about how right you were that he didn't know what a clit was just to make you squirm. He wanted to tell you to beg him to touch you. But the way you sounded was too good for him to want to interrupt. He could talk his shit later.

He was slow and steady with circling your clit as if you weren't nearly dripping. You were sure he could slide into you completely and you'd be more than fine.

"Don't tease." You whispered, your head dropping onto his shoulder.

"Making sure you can take me is teasing?" He chuckled, his finger moving to slide into you. "The last thing you need to bark about it how much you can take." His tone was serious, but you really couldn't handle the foreplay.

"Matthew, I damn near came untouched from you holding me still, just fuck m-" You were cut off as a moan was ripped from you when he roughly inserted two more fingers.

"I told you to play nice twice already." He growled, his hand coming up to grab your hair and make you look at him, the sight of you with your mouth hanging open making him twitch in his pants. "I don't ask three times."

Your legs tried to close but you fucked yourself over when you climbed over his lap.

"You're going to cum from this, then apologize." He told you sternly, his fingers alternating from fast pumps to slow. "If it's a good apology, I'll fuck you like you so desperately want me to." His eyes were back on you. "Is that understood?"

You nodded, but the way his thumb ran over your clit had the words spilling out of you.

"Yes, sir." You whined as the title came out, your eyes screwing shut in partial embarrassment. It was the last thing you wanted him to know.

"And here I thought you were a 'daddy' kinda girl." He smirked as his hold on your hair moved you so he could lean in and press more kisses against your neck, leaving small bites when he felt like it.

"Matthew, please, I'-"

"Ask sir for permission." You could feel him smirk against your neck and you couldn't help but clench. "If you cum without permission, I won't fuck you at all."

"Please, sir, can I cum?" You were glad he couldn't see you. You knew the way the tears were welling your eyes that he'd never let you live it down. "I need to cum, sir, so bad."

And just like that, your luck ran out as he pulled away to look at you.

"Look at me when you cum." His thumb was back on your clit and your body twitched. "If you close your eyes, I'm leaving."

You reluctantly opened your eyes. You didn't need to be told twice if it meant you could let go, your eyes nearly closing from the pleasure. You managed to keep them at a questionable squint, and you hoped Matthew would be okay with it.

As he slid his fingers out of you, your body fell completely onto him. The rough hand in your hair was now softly petting as you tried to catch your beath.

"Now where's that apology?" He said softly when he felt you calm down.

"I'm sorry for not being nice." You'd be ashamed of yourself if he didn't just fuck you up with his fingers alone. Maybe he deserved some sincerity. "I won't make you repeat yourself again, sir."

"Hmm," He hummed as he pretended to think on it. "Do you think you deserved to cum so quickly?"

"No, sir." You shook your head. "Thank you for letting me."

You were starting to fear the heat on your face was now permanent. How were you supposed to move on from this? The idea of maintaining a friendship was gone, but how were you supposed to even look at him after this?

"Do you still want me to bend you over the couch or would you rather stay right here?"

You whined against him at the way he phrased it.

"You'll call me 'sir' but I can't ask where you want it?" He laughed his usual laugh and your heart fluttered. "Come on," He moved you off of him and took his shirt off. "We can do missionary and you can stare at me all you want."

It was your turn to laugh.

"As much as I'd love more eye contact," You chuckled. "I'll take my chances over the couch."

"Don't blame me if you fall off." He smirked.

"Are you saying you'd let me fall?" You gave him your best puppy dog eyes. "That's not very nice, sir."

Instead of words, he grabbed you and pushed you over the back of the couch, your knees steady against the back of the sofa. You were glad to not be looking at him, but something about not knowing what he'd do first was getting to you.

You lightly flinched when your felt his hands at your waist, his hands hooking both your shorts and underwear into his grasp before he pulled them down.

"As much as I'd love to just push them to the side, I don't want to ruin such cute pajamas." You couldn't see him licking his lips as the pieces of clothing landed on your knees.

He ran his hands over your legs, his eyes trained on how goosebumps trailed behind his touch.

"Do you know how many times I thought about this?" He whispered as he took in the scene in front of him. It was more to himself, and he wasn't expecting an answer, but when you spoke up, he couldn't contain himself.

"Don't hold back, then." You whispered. "I'm all yours right now."

You felt a sharp slap on your ass and you hissed.

"You're all mine from now on." He said before slapping the opposite cheek.

The words had you clenching around nothing. You wanted nothing more than to ask him to fuck you, but you were scared he'd get upset again.

"Say it." He said, the sound of his pants shifting filling the silence after the question.

"I'm yours, sir." You repeated. "Always."

You felt him move behind you and place a hand on your back. It wasn't long before you felt him run himself along your folds, the pressure on your clit making your hips buck.

It didn't take long until you felt him teasingly slip himself inside just to pull out, then repeat, pushing himself deeper and deeper with every thrust.

"Fuck," He groaned once he bottomed out, the hand on your back balling into a fist.

"Please," You moaned as you clenched around him. "Matthew, I need you."

The desperation in your voice as you said his name was enough to pull him from his thoughts.

"I'll take it that we really can't go back from this." He groaned as his hands moved to grip your hips for support.

"You're literally inside me, why are you bringing this up," You whined as you gripped the sofa. He would bring up the most irrelevant shit.

"Because -fuck- I need to know this isn't a one-time thing." His voice was strained.

Of all the times to get emotional.

"It will be if you don't shut up." You bit back a moan when his hips sped up. "I'm trying to enjoy this." Your hand reached behind you and without asking, he was quick to hold on.

The interaction was enough to make your stomach tighten, and it wasn't long before you opened you mouth in a failed attempt to ask for permission to let go. He could feel you getting closer and spoke up for you.

"You don't have to, y/n." He ran his finger over your hand. "Just let go."

The gesture had your legs shaking and it confused you. You weren't one to come undone from gentleness in bed. Yet, here you were, Matthew's name falling off your lips as you tried to catch your breath. When he groaned your name as he came, you swore you could cum again on the spot.

When you both calmed down, he slowly pulled out and wrapped his hands around you to pull you off the back of the couch. He moved the both of you so you were laying down, but you moved so you were on his side instead of his chest.

There was a strange silence that took over and you started to wonder if he was regretting it. There was nothing wrong with crossing the line, but what if the realization took over that he couldn't uncross the line? Sure, he mentioned it, but what if that was a heat-of-the-moment thing to say?

As if he read your mind, he spoke up.

"Tell me this wasn't a one-time thing." He looked down at you while his thumb ran lines over your hip.

Maybe it wasn't a heat-of-the-moment type thing.

"Do you think I'd embarrass myself for a one-night stand?" You raised a brow. "After everything you made me say, it better not be a one-time thing."

"And just how did you embarrass yourself?" He chuckled. "The begging? The tears? Screaming my name?"

"You wish I screamed your name." You rolled your eyes. "Be nice or I'm locking you out."

"You'd let me back in." He challenged.

"You sure about that?" You raised a brow.

"Of course, I am." He smirked.

"You listen to me so well."

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inkmonster21 · 2 days

Text

Sing for Me

4. This is Hollywood

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader / The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch

It was the last day on set, and they were filming all the last-minute scenes, and touching up some stunts. That’s all that was on the schedule today. Which means I had nothing to do but sit and watch Cooper Howard be sexy.

The set bell rings and the buzz of people moving around begins again. I stand from my chair and slide next to Cooper as he reads over the very last rewrite. “Hi.” I smile at him.

Cooper nods and turns away, ignoring me completely. I felt a pain in my heart, “Cooper.” I move in front of him again, and he steps away. “What are you doing?” I ask in concern.

He lowers the script from his face, a glare in his eyes. “Trying to work, if you don’t mind.” I blink at him, he’s never once been so rude towards me. “I’m sorry?” “Go on. Be useful somewhere else.” I back away slowly from him, going back to my chair and sitting down. Embarrassment eating away at my core. Did I do something wrong?

Cooper continued to ignore me the rest of the day. He ditched lunch on set, wouldn’t speak to me at the crew meeting, and practically ran away when I tried to catch him when everyone was dismissed.

I catch him right when he is exiting his trailer. “Cooper. Hey, I’m sorry if I did anything to make you upset. I wish you would talk to me.” Cooper stares at me with dead eyes. “You want to talk?” I nod, “I would love to.” “Alright, let’s talk. This thing we have is over. We wrapped filming and I’m not too interested in keeping you leashed up anymore. So you’re free to do whatever the fuck it is you do.” He pushes past me.

I scoff, shock consumes me. “What? What the fuck?” “Wasn’t that hard to comprehend, honey.” His nicknames now have been laced with venom. “You said-“ “I said a lot of shit to get into your pants. Grow up, dollface. This is Hollywood. How else did you think you’d get to the top? Did you think I’d put my neck out for you for free? Get you cast in every film just out of the kindness of my heart? All you were was a good time.”

I stride up to him, slapping him across the face, “Fuck you, you mother fucker.” I spit in his face, tears flowing, a mixture of rage and despair seeping through. The crew now standing still as well watching the outburst. I back away from him quickly, running to my trailer and locking myself inside.

I knew it. I knew this was just a game. A time waster for him. How could I let myself fall so easily? I fall to the floor balling. I cradle myself as I choke on my sobs.

How long has it been since that happened? Weeks? Months? Who fucking knows at this point. It’s been long enough that the press tour is getting ready to begin and they’re requesting for my appearance.

“You have to go, you’re one of the leads,” Louis argues from the foot of my bed as I eat another scoop of ice cream. “No, I don’t.” I lick the spoon clean before grabbing the bottle of wine from my bedside table. Louis watches in disbelief as I turn the bottle up and down half. “Oh my god. You need some serious help.” I glare at him, my hair falling out of his bun as I shake my head at him. “You know what? If you’re going to be rude you can leave.”

“Oh, I’m going to be rude.” Louis flips the blanket off of me, revealing my two-day-old pajamas. He shakes his head, “this is a crime.”

He rips me from the bed and ushers me into the bathroom. “We’re going out tonight. I’m sick of seeing you cry over a 50-year-old man. You’re in your fucking prime and you’re in here drowning yourself in wine like a depressed benzo wife. Scrub your ass, brush your teeth, and put some makeup up because tonight we are getting you out of this mess. I’m calling Heather and her boyfriend.”

I groan as he pushes me into the large bathroom. “I don’t want to!” “Well, you’re going to. You can still get drunk but you’re doing it in style and with some friends.”

I cry once more in the shower, holding my cheeks in sorrow. He really has done a number on me. I lived for him every day for months, and now without him, I feel no real reason to try the basic social appearances. Louis has been doing my shopping, no doubt the store clerk thinks he's an alcoholic.

I stare at myself in the mirror and sigh. The dark circles around my eyes, my chapped lips that I would bite as I paced around thinking about him, my cheeks pale and dry; I was truly a mess.

With the makeup, the dark circles were covered, and a tight dress hugged me nicely. The ice cream and wine diet was effective. Louis shoves a handbag in my arms and pulls me out the door.

"There she is!" Heather cheers as she pulls me into her arms. "I haven't seen you in FOREVER! Big movie star now, too good to hang out with us?" I smile at her words. It was nice to be around my old friends for a change. "No, I'm ready to throw it all away. I am so tired, and the press tour hasn't even started yet."

Her boyfriend reaches out, "Well, it surely is a pleasure to meet you. I was beginning to doubt Heather, but here you are." "Nice to meet you." Louis returns from the bar with a tray of drinks. "Where is Johnny?"

I furrow my brow, "Johnny who?" Just that moment, a body takes the seat next to me. "Nice to see you again, (Y/n)." I laugh loudly as I tackle him in a hug. "Oh my god! How long has it been?" He smiles, "A long time. So long I heard you don't partake in the devil's lettuce anymore, or the snow, or the magic mushrooms. What happened to my party girl?" I shrug, "I got famous." He tilts his head, "And you have it backward. You're supposed to be getting us the good shit with all your high connections." I laugh falling into him, downing a shot as I do. It was true that I was quite some trouble in school. I just knew how to have a great time. It wasn’t my fault that I was the life of the party. Johnny was the plug who was able to get anything we desired. The two of us were close for the longest time. Never made it official though. I guess I have a pattern of relationships under wraps.

Shot after shot, my vision struggled to stay focused. Johnny dances with me in the middle of the room. His hands pressed into my waist as we swayed. "I remember when we were in high school, I thought you were full of it." He spins me around, at arm's distance with a charming smile. He spins me in, dipping down to whisper in my ear, "Now look at you, the biggest fucking star in America." I turn to look at him, the alcohol fooling my thoughts. "And look at you, still as handsome as a movie star." False, but what else could I say? It was easy with Johnny. We had the history to back up the emotions. Something stable, someone who wouldn’t memorize all my inner thoughts and feelings. Someone who wouldn’t then use said feeling to their benefit.

He runs a finger down my cheek, just like he would. I close my eyes, the simple touch reminding me of his skin. "Want to come out and smoke with me?"

It started with a joint, then Heather and her boyfriend came outside with the small baggie filled with powder, and with the entire mixture inhabiting my body, I felt warm. I felt strangely happy. I laugh as we leave the club, all five of us loudly making our way across the street. Camera flashes catch my attention. "Ah, fuck. Here they come." Louis huffs. "Just keep moving. Let’s get (y/n) in the car.”

The paparazzi race across the street, blocking traffic as they call for me, snapping pictures left and right. "Smile for us!" "Are you celebrating?" "Who are your friends?" "Is that your man, (Y/n)?" Johnny cups my lower back and takes my arm assisting me into the car. He leans in the cab with a smile. "Take care, (Y/n)." He leans in kissing my cheek and backing away, the cameras capturing it all. The door closes and Louis is sat next to me with a smirk. "What?" He shakes his head, "He's hot as fuck." I feel the warmth spread to my face, my lips curling in a smile. "Yeah, he is."

The tabloids ran a story on her outing with some friends. "America's Sweetheart Has a Night on the Town." I felt my knee shake as I began the read the article. She was seen at some middle class bar with some friends. None I had ever heard of or seen. Especially the one with his hand around her. Seen drinking, and dancing the night away, a dazzling smile on her face. I look at one of the photos in more detail. Her smile is wide and her eyes are blown to the size of saucers. I shake my head, "Come on now, you're better than that, honey." I run my thumb over the curve of her cheek. She looked good, just as beautiful as the last time I saw her. When I broke her heart. When I shattered everything I desired. Our souls that once fed each other were now starving in separate rooms, locked away from each other.

"She's so pretty," Janey says as she peeks over his shoulder. I couldn't hide my smile. "You think so?" Janey nods with a large grin. "Can we play her record, Daddy? Please? I want to dance." I smile wasting no time placing the record in the player. Her sweet voice ripples through the house. Janey holds my hands as we sway to the angelic sound. If I close my eyes I can see her on stage performing for the world, but more importantly for herself. She was a true artist. She bled music. Singing every chance she got no matter where it was. That notepad went everywhere with her and whenever the muse hit the pages would rapidly flip and she would jot down whatever was leading her to compose.

That notebook…

The one I keep tucked neatly between two geographic books in my study. I would pull it out and read her thoughts whenever an ache pierced through my body. The burning want of her presence. I missed her.

The love song was one of the last she attempted to construct within the pages. A song about me.

It was a hot day, and I couldn't think of a better way to spend it than sitting next to the pool. "This is the nicest house I've ever been to." Heather squeals as she throws her bag down by the row of chairs. Louis wipes sunscreen on his face. He turns to me with a smile, "So, is the Hottie coming?" I smirk at him. I sip my drink as I lay in the sun. "The Hottie is already here, and is walking down the steps right now." Johnny comes down the stairs clad in swim trunks, and tanned abs lining his stomach. Louis grabs my arm for support, "He stayed here?" I tip my sunglasses looking at my friend. "A girl can have fun. It’s not like we’re strangers." Heather winks at me from the float in the water, "She sure can! I swear you haven't been this fun since senior year!"

The phone in the pool house rings and I groan, "No, no work calls today." Louis stands refusing my request and picking up the phone. "Hello?" Louis quickly begins to scribble things on the pad of paper. I toss my head back knowing it's going to take up my time. "Never a peaceful moment, huh?" Johnny takes a seat next to me in the chair a beer in one hand, and a lit joint in the other. I quickly snatch the rolled devil's cigarette and inhale. "You don't even know the half of it."

"Oh, yes she can make it." I look at Johnny with a flat expression, "See what I mean?" Louis sits back down in his chair, reading the notepad. "So, Thursday, you're filming an ad for Vault Tech, and then we're all going to be attending the wrap party!" The lot of them cheer. "A real wrap party?" Heather gasps.

Johnny smiles, running his finger over my shoulder. "I get to see you in action. I sure am a lucky, man." I smile but internally shutter at the words remembering Cooper's same words. I inhale again, waving him from my mind. "You sure are a lucky man," I smirk at him as I pass the joint over.

The screen lights up revealing our host. "Oh. Hello there. Yep, it’s me, Cooper Howard, star of stage and screen. But I’m not here today to talk to you about my latest picture. No, today I’m here to show you a vast and wonderful place, not made by God Almighty but by the working man. A veritable Camelot of the nuclear age. Now, how ’bout we turn on some lights." The large lights hum as they illuminate the vault. "There, that’s better. Now, I’m speaking to you from deep inside the fully livable Model 96JQ1164." Cooper travels down the vault's path. "And what a beaut she is." He knocks against the metal wall. "And what a song she sings. Now, that right there is Vault 4’s three-foot-thick lead casing. Strong enough to keep out the Rads and the Reds." He sends a wink and a smile.

“Now would you look at that?” Cooper walks over to a lineup of robots resembling America’s favorite little songbird. Her eyes open and she smiles gently at Cooper. “Good afternoon, Mr. Howard. How can I be of assistance?” Cooper turns back to the camera with a smile on his face. “These bots will be a helping hand in your very own vault. Each community will have access to 6 individual bots that can move throughout the vault at your request.”

The real-life (Y/n) steps into the frame with her award-winning smile. “That’s right! These bots are equipped with knowledge spreading from a culinary chef to a registered nurse. She’ll be a helping hand to any resident. Helpful, smart, and beautiful. Wouldn’t you say, Cooper?” He smiles at (Y/n). “Stunning.” He breathes out.

(Y/n) walks ahead of Cooper. "Follow me." They both enter the elevator. The scene changes to view the so-called neighborhood. "Now, this corridor here is Sycamore Street, where you’ll wave howdy to any one of your 200 neighbors on your way home for an enchanted evening with your loved ones." Cooper stops beside (y/n). He places a hand on her shoulder. "Look, there's the Hawthornes." Both Cooper and (Y/n) wave before entering the family’s living space. "Now, this isn’t just your average all-American family. No, Lloyd and Cassandra here are both scientists, specializing in the effects of radiation on human DNA." Cassandra nods, "That’s right. And we’ll be living and working right here in Vault 4, leading a community governed entirely by scientists." (Y/n) smiles at the woman, "Wait a second, did you say “living down here”?" She leans into Cooper's side, a worried look on her face, "There hasn’t been a nuclear incident, has there?" Cooper rests an arm around her in comfort.

Lloyd shakes his head, "Uh, no, not yet. But, our family and a group of 80 volunteers will be conducting a five-year trial of Vault 4. To demonstrate to the world that, no matter what comes our way, America will be ready." Cooper shakes his head, a proud smile on his face. "Five years. Well, I may play a hero in the movies, but… you all are heroes in real life." (Y/n) smiles brightly from his side. "And now you can be a hero, too. By purchasing a residence in a Vault-Tec vault today." Cooper nods, "Because if the worst should happen tomorrow, the world is gonna need Americans just like you to build a better day after."

"And cut." The bell rings and I peel myself away from Cooper in disgust. I can feel my anger bubbling. Even working together he refused to look my way, always looking directly behind me. I need a fucking bump.

I scoff as I exit the vault room and into the hall where Barb stands with her colleagues, wearing a shit-eating grin. "Hi, (Y/n)." She waves her fingers delicately at me. I push forward a smile as I pass her, "Hi, Barb, so nice to see you." I walk across the hall into the separate vault where Johnny stands taking a tour. "Impressed?" He looks at me with a grin. "This is so cool. Tell me I get a family and friends discount?" I poke his chest lightly, "You give me that little tube you got in your shirt pocket, and you can get whatever you want." He smirks, quickly passing the small glass tube. I use the small spoon to place it at my nose before sharply inhaling. I pucker my lips, "Ohh." I shake my head lightly, the waves crashing. The numb wash of confidence and carelessness overtakes me. I giggle as I look at Johnny. He laughs with me, taking the tube from my hands. His gaze drills into my eyes, "You're so fucking high." I cover my mouth, unable to stop my giggles. "You think the camera could tell?" "I don't think so. You just seemed, extra happy." I wrap my arms around his neck, "How could I not be? I feel like a high schooler again.” He spins me, only for me to catch the tall figure in the door.

"Everything okay in here?" Cooper asks, an unreadable expression on his face. Johnny's hand remains on my waist; he nods, "All good, buddy." Cooper looks over Johnny, examining his every inch. With a grin on his face, Cooper extends a hand, “Cooper Howard.” Johnny shakes his hand, the two men bulking up towards each other, the beginnings of a dominance challenge. “Right, the cowboy. Johnny Bud.” Cooper raised a brow and hummed. “Can’t say I’m familiar. All the same, nice to meet you.” Cooper turns to bare onto my orbs, finally looking at me, into me. I don’t think he was fond of what he found. He nods his head. Not even a word was spoken to me. He exits the room with one final glance, a chuckle leaving his lips.

Fucking asshole.

That’s what she chooses to associate herself with. Some small town drug dealer from her hometown? I could see it in her eyes. She’s flying as high as a kite in the clouds. I can smell her on my suit. I bring the sleeve to my nose, taking a short inhale. It’s intoxicating. My restraints barely held together at the sight of her. I was begging god for just a second of time alone with her. Then I saw him trailing behind her, hand on her back as he looked at everything in amazement. Amateur. Why was he even here? Wasn’t this a closed set? Shows how professional Vault Tech really is. They’d let just anyone walk in here. I bet they don’t even have someone on her security. She could get hurt. I wouldn’t let that happen. Damned all I’d jump off a bridge for her and die happy with the memory of her kiss.

Barb looks in my direction, her eyes digging for some type of evidence of betrayal. She straightens my tie, “having a good time?” I shrug, “Nothing against these colleagues of yours, but what do you say we go home?” I need to get away from her as soon as possible. I can feel the desire building, and I as a man can only withstand so much.

“There is a wrap party.” I furrow my brows, “What, a… a wrap party? For this?” Unimpressed I roll my eyes. I didn’t want to spend another minute with these assholes. I sigh, “We go for a couple of hours, we shake a few hands-,” “It’s at our house.” I stare at her, behind her (y/n) walks across the hall, arm in arm with drug dealer John. Fury ignited, but I pushed it down. Surly she wasn’t going to come to the house. Barb would be livid. I would be rid of my temptation soon. I press a fake smile, “The things I’m willing to do for you.”

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #fallout #fallout imagine #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fallout #fallout ghoul #walton goggins #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul fanfic

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friesian · 3 days

Text

my father is dead and i couldn't be happier.

the following is a sort of. reconciliation/vent post since i just got the news a few hours ago that my father died, and i finally feel like i can sort of talk about everything that happened to me as a child. for the first time. without the threat of potential violence. so. tw for neglect, abuse, parental death and honestly just. a lot. if you don't like the most stereotypical 'bad dad' shit, don't read this post.

my father was a cruel man. it was only until recently i was informed that my father used to actually shake me as a baby, no more than a few days old. when i was a few months old, he used to do the same to watch my 'funny reactions' and had to be actively reprimanded by aunt and mother in order to get him to stop lest i die a very sudden death.

when i was a little kid, my father i guess got this idea in his head that i was a little innocent flower and that if anything touched me, that'd be it. i'd be sullied. i'd be dirtied. somehow 'impure'. mind you, my father wasn't a religious man. really, honestly, the opposite. i wasn't allowed to talk about religion or god, explore spirituality, really have 'faith'. this would earn me hostile looks, a loud scolding, or called stupid. this also might displace onto my mom, who received it much worse than me.

when i was 7, my father made the move to go somewhere out into the deep west virginia mountains where i would never be in danger. except by him. we moved to a place where the closest store was 45 minutes by car, getting home from school was 35 minutes-- not counting school bus routes, that was up to 2-3 hours-- and there was not a single neighbor that could see the house nor talk to us. we were alone. for good. for over 11 years of my life i was alone in a house with a man who grew actively more and more hostile to being in that house. as i aged, tried to be a teenager, explore my gender, sexuality, ect. it was all shut down. my computer-- my only lifeline-- was bugged with spyware that allowed him to look at my screen and take control of anything i was doing. a vivid memory of mine is when i used to write fanfiction of innocent teenager things. kissing, holding hands, professions of love, the usual-- nothing explicit. at some point i was caught and had my computer thrown and i was screamed it. i could only run to my room and cry, and hope i wasn't chased. this left me with no sense of privacy, as any computer or technology i ever got passed through him, and as he was a engineer for networking, most things were bugged by him first as much as i tried to remove them. my mom suffered similarly to i, both of us being called slurs and having things thrown at us for existing in his radius. we walked on eggshells. we had no room to breathe. if we weren't in his general space, we were yelled at for avoiding him. if we were actually there, we were yelled at for laughing or even breathing too loud. there was no right answer. my friends never wanted to visit because of him, or he would often get mad at their parents for being 'flakes' or 'untimely', leading for me to be berated about my choice of friend. i wasn't allowed to go out unless it was with 'other girls', and i didn't have many friends to begin with due to the many social problems i faced due to his neglect. i grew up in that house, with many other issues i can't even begin to list, but i grew up and left as soon as i could, and didn't really do much. mostly just coasted by after dropping out of college that he pressured me to be in, lest i end up homeless. my mom divorced him shortly after i left due to being threatened with a gun, and at that point i was pretty sure he was officially off the deep end. this is sort of my 'getting it off my chest' moment as i was never able to speak out about what i faced in any regard due to him consistently monitoring my online presence. for all i know, he could've known about this blog-- choosing to hold onto it for some sort of legal proceeding as he had done to my mother. he tracked her car, recorded her calls, did everything he could to fuck her over. his father did something similar to him back in the 90s, and i needed to avoid it at all costs.

he never got the chance now. i never felt like i had a father, more like an angry dragon that guarded a tower with someone who didn't wanna be there. some sort of 'king' that transformed into a dragon, i suppose. but, i remember relating a lot to the imagery of people trapped in towers by beasts. i wanted to make a comic about it at one point. 11 years of solidarity does a lot to a motherfucker.

to this hour, i haven't shed a tear. i cheered and celebrated, put on my mask as i'm talking to the funeral home people, family, his friends, whatever it is. i've just been blaise and calm. i have to go back to my 'tower' this weekend and see it for the first time in years, now with the memory of my father dead seeped in those walls.

it's been a relief i didn't know i needed, but that house haunts me with the horrors that went on in it. i guess this is sort of my testimony to his life. i refuse to have a funeral. i refuse to have a memorial. he's being cremated and disposed of as soon as i can. i can already tell what little remains of his side of the family has an issue with it, but i don't care. they didn't live the life me and my mom had, and they never will now. for what it's worth, somehow, even though i was forged in fires that i don't think any man should go through-- it made me a more hardened and aware person. you get time to think when you're alone for 11 years. a lot of time to see emotions, patterns, understand, and just pick things apart. he never knew me, elf, he knew my dead name. and i'm thankful for that. i came out a good man all things considered, i have my flaws and issues, but who doesn't. but at least i never was like him. here's to getting out of the tower.

#ly talks #tw parent death #tw abuse #tw trauma #just. the whole nine yards.#thanks for reading if you did. it feels good to put down words to what i experienced finally. i don't have to be quiet anymore.#i might be quiet-er these next few weeks handling all the legal stuff. sorry.

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aerodaltonimperial · 11 hours

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Passive aggressive Jack letting Hook know he is mad by committing every Italian cooking taboo he can think of. Looking him dead in the eye as he breaks the pasta.

(this is the funniest prompt i have ever received, i need you to know this - 💚🧡)

Okay, at first, it could have been... not intentional. Jack's quiet, but, like, he's sometimes like that, and it doesn't always mean anything bad, it just means he's all up in his head about something, and normally Hook just lets him work it out 'cause Jack won't give anything away unless he's good and ready. But it ends up hitting 5 minutes with Hook standing on the other side of the kitchen island while Jack cooks, and Jack hasn't said a word, and Hook... may have misjudged this.

Shit. Did he do something? He doesn't think he did. Did he forget something? Oh, god. Oh, god, what day is it. He's so fucking bad at remembering things. Is today important? Fuck. What month is it? He's panicking when Jack finally raises his face, looking up from the pot of boiling water. He's got the spaghetti in his hands, all bunched together.

He glares at Hook, holds his gaze, and cracks the spaghetti pile in half.

Oooooookay, that's bad. Shit, Hook's absolutely fucked up. He's forgotten something, or he did something, or is it possible that Jack had a dream where Hook did something and he's punishing him for it? No, no, Jack wouldn't do that. Jack's not the kind who...

...pours a jar of pizza sauce into the bubbling pan while the pasta hasn't softened at all.

Oh my god, Hook's gonna die.

"How's... how's your mom?" he asks, though his mouth has gone dry.

"Great," Jack replies. He doesn't break the staring contest as he twists off another lid and dumps the whole jar of oyster sauce into the pasta soup.

Oh my god, why would he even buy oyster sauce?

"Uh," Hook tries. "How's your..."

The rest dies on his tongue as Jack pours in a bottle of worcestershire. Jesus christ. Hook's entire family tree is rolling in their graves right now.

He has to leave the kitchen, but it was the wrong choice, because when Jack finally sets the food in front of him, the pasta is.... soup. It's fucking soup, and it's about the run off the plate. Hook spots chunks of pineapple swimming in the abomination.

Jack leans down, hands on his knees and falsely bright smile plastered on his face. "What day is today?"

"...Monday?"

"Well, you got close," Jack says. "It does end in y. How about an easier question."

Hook squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look at the crimes against food mocking him from the plate. "Please don't."

"What date is today?"

"The... 10th?"

"It's the 22nd," Jack tells him. "So if you subtract four, what day would it have been four days ago?"

"The..." Oh no. Oooooooh no. "The one-year anniversary of... oh god." He's sweating; it's beading up on his forehead and falling into the food and he can only imagine that it would improve this absolute fucking horror show.

"Yeah," Jack says.

Hook swallows, and it hurts. "I forgot our anniversary."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna have to eat this, aren't I?"

"Every single bite."

He can't. He'll throw up. He'll throw up, and Jack will absolutely dump the rest of the plate on his head, and he'll have to explain to everyone why his boyfriend broke up with him and gave him a concussion. "I love you?"

"Don't even think about it, asshole," Jack whispers. "You're gonna eat all of that, and then we'll see."

Dear god in heaven. Hook utters a silent prayer slash apology to all his ancestors shrieking in the great beyond, picks up his fork, and prepares to give his entire fucking life, and possibly his functioning stomach, to his relationship.

#tag so you don't lose this shit

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lookingfts · 1 day

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Jesus Christ. How is this woman real? 🔥🥵

Had to send you these because everyone is raving about the sleek white number, and yes, stunning. 🥰

But this one I felt fit more your lane/atmosphere. I wonder what kind of snippet you could come up with being inspired by this. And more importantly which of your Anthony’s are losing their god damn minds right now? 😄

Okay, this is a deep cut but I immediately thought about one of my drabbles from "For you, I am fragile" that I’ve always wanted to continue. You can read it here, it’s very short, but the general gist is that Kate and Anthony get off to each other’s thirst trap photos but neither of them know it.

*sexy snippet below*

Holy shit.

Even after months of pining after Kate pathetically through her Instagram, Anthony still finds himself blown away by her latest photos. She’s flawless; her wild curls spilling over her shoulders, the black leather of her dress gaping at her breasts, her legs endless as the slit rides up her thigh.

He barely even argues with himself anymore. Just reaches into his boxers and takes his cock in hand, measured strokes that will only last a few minutes before he loses all control. It’s a routine now. A lonely, slightly depressing routine, but fuck it. She helps him sleep.

Anthony still thinks she would probably kill him for having these thoughts, for finding his pleasure in her without her knowledge, but he can’t stop. No one else makes him feel this way. Kate Sharma has more power over him in a photograph than anyone else does standing right in front of him.

It’s a shame she hates him, really. She has no idea the pleasure he could repay her.

Forcing himself to draw it out, Anthony imagines getting on his knees for Kate. Pressing kisses from her ankle to her knee, higher and higher until he finally licks into her. Finally hears her little satisfied cry as he tastes her cunt, flicks his tongue against her clit, swallows her arousal. She would taste so sweet; he just knows.

He unravels at the thought of her whimpers, her hands tight in his hair, her hips bucking against his face. Using him to reach her peak until he’s rewarded with her release on his tongue. It’s a little embarrassing that Anthony’s balls are already tightening, fire in his veins as he stares at her, desperate and open-mouthed. When he gets too close, his eyes screw shut and he nearly crushes his phone in a death grip.

Entirely unaware of the fact that he is calling her.

Kate gets a lot of attention on her photos. She looks good in them; Ben is a fantastic photographer.

It’s funny – he’s taken a lot of Anthony’s photos as well, probably with a significant amount of eye rolling behind the camera. She wonders what Ben would say if he knew that he’d captured most of her erotic material for the past few months.

God, she’s pitiful. All this attention and she pines for the attention of the one man who doesn’t give it. The one man who probably doesn’t even look at her photos. Or at least, he’s never done anything about it.

As if she conjured him – though to be fair, he is never far from her mind – her phone buzzes with a call through Instagram. From Anthony.

Her heart is in her throat as she answers. The video is just blurry beige, but that’s not what captures her attention. She’s a little distracted by the sounds.

It takes a second to understand what she’s listening to. Just heavy breathing at first, and then panting, and then the filthiest moan she’s ever heard in her life. And Kate is pretty sure that a) Anthony is jerking off and b) he has no idea that he called her.

She almost hangs up, embarrassment and arousal warring within her. She’s slick so quickly, an ache deep inside at every hiss and catch of his breath. Kate has spent an inordinate amount of time imagining Anthony making those sounds as she sucked his cock, as he fucked her into the mattress.

“Anthony?” she asks, tentatively, not wanting him to stop but not wanting to violate his privacy, either. “It’s Kate.”

Everything goes quiet, and then Kate hears fuck! and Anthony turns his video off. She thinks he’ll disappear, but he stays on the line, strangled breaths as he tries to calm down. He was so close.

“Shit,” he sighs, and her mouth goes dry at the roughness in his voice. “I didn’t mean...that wasn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Kate says, curling up on her side against her pillows. She doesn’t want him to hang up, she realizes. Now that he’s there, she just wants him to stay. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake. Yeah.” There’s something strange in his tone as he says it. “It wasn’t intentional, I swear. I wouldn’t do that. I was just…”

He was just masturbating. Looking at photos on Instagram.

All at once, it dawns on Kate. The most likely reason that he would have accidentally called her is because he was looking at her profile. Her photos.

It gives her some courage. She doesn’t have anything left to lose by finding out, except maybe a blow to her pride.

But if she’s right-

Kate swallows. “You don’t have to stop.”

There’s an eternally long silence on the other end. “What?” he croaks.

“Keep going,” she encourages. “I could join you.”

Fuck it. Anthony is dreaming – that’s the only explanation. He fell asleep with a sticky hand and is now dreaming about the most beautiful woman in the world offering to touch herself for him.

Whether it’s a dream or reality, Anthony has no interest in wasting his chance. He takes a breath, feeling a little out of his mind as he starts to rub his cock again. “What do you want me to do?”

“Tell me what you were thinking about,” she says, already sounding a little breathless. The idea of her fingers circling her clit, slipping inside her, makes him absolutely delirious. “Before you called me.”

There will never be a better moment for honesty. “I was looking at your pictures,” he admits, a groan falling from his throat as he brushes his thumb over his tip. He’s been on the edge for too long, but he wants to hear Kate come first more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. “The new ones with the leather dress. Fuck, Kate. It’s like you’re trying to kill me.”

“Don’t stop,” she says, a sweet whimper leaving her lips. “Keep talking.”

“I was thinking about how I would go under that skirt and eat you out until you were begging. Your thighs wrapped around my neck and your heels digging into my back,” Anthony growls, his fantasies spilling out of him now as Kate makes the most delicious sounds in response. “That flimsy little top. I could easily put my hand under there and tease your nipples. Suck on them while I fill you up with my fingers.”

Kate whines, sounding frustrated. “Anthony.”

“I know. Your fingers aren’t the same as mine. But I’ll stretch you out on them soon,” he promises. “And your hair, Kate. I dream of grabbing a perfect handful and pulling until the sting makes you come.”

That tips her right over the edge. She muffles a cry into her pillow as she finishes, and Anthony barely makes it to the end of hers before he’s spilling messily into his hand.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but panting. The dreamlike atmosphere fades, replaced with the heavy weight of reality. Holy shit.

And then Kate…laughs. A deep, throaty chuckle that Anthony can’t help but mirror, the two of them bursting into near-hysterical laughter.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “We should have done that forever ago.”

“Did you want to do that forever ago?”

Anthony feels a little scared of the answer. If he discovers that he’s had a shot this whole time, he might jump off a bridge. “For a while, yeah.”

So much time wasted. But at least he can vow not to waste any more. “Can I take you to dinner, Kate?”

“Like as a date? Or like hey, here’s dinner as a pretense for me to fuck you?”

His head is too fuzzy to discern which is the right answer. “Um, both? Or whichever one you want. I want it to be a date. But I also have wanted to fuck you for a long time, so…both.”

For the eighth time that night, Kate makes the very strange decision to give him a chance. “Pick me up on Friday, then. I’ll wear the dress.”

#for you i am fragile #bridgerton #kanthony #asks and answers #kate x anthony #anthony x kate #bridgerton fic

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mswritingthings · 10 hours

Text

Big Prompt List 2

"There are a lot of things that I didn't think were possible before you."

"Please don't overwork yourself, please."

"I'll take care of you until you learn to take care of yourself."

"What? I don't have a crush on (name)!"

"Take your time, it's okay."

"That is no excuse for the way they treated you."

"Crying isn't going to solve anything, I need to toughen up."

"Relationships aren't supposed to be problems that you need to solve."

"Every single time that I close my eyes, I see your face staring back at me."

"Always the romantic."

"Where are we going so late?"

"I'll always answer when you call."

"It's getting late, come on to bed. This will all be here in the morning."

"I've never wanted to be with someone like I want to be with you."

"You can't win them all."

"Slow down, we've got all night."

"I love the way that you make me feel. I've never been wanted like this before."

"Can I touch you?"

"Please."

"My mom used to tell me what it was like to fall in love. Even in my wildest dreams, I never thought it'd be this good."

"I should have known that you hadn't changed."

"Come on (name) would do anything to make you smile, absolutely anything."

"Sometimes, I wonder why I put up with you."

"Hey! You love me."

"Don't listen to them, you're beautiful."

"I just can't believe that you really chose me, that's all."

"Who has you smiling like that?"

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to mess things up for you, I swear."

"When is the last time you saw (name) smile like that?"

"I feel like myself when I'm around you."

"It gets lonely at night, maybe you should stay over."

"We were cuddling, that's all."

"Did you lock the door?"

"I swear it might not be what it looks like!"

"Are you kissing my (brother/sister)?"

"Oh the horrors! I have to bleach my eyes."

"Stop being dramatic."

"Can I have a kiss too please?"

"Who do you think you are treating this precious angel so badly?"

"I think I might die if you don't get over here and hug me."

"Don't be ridiculous, we are not in love."

"If I asked you to stay, would you?"

"It's only for a few months, and then we'll be right back here together again."

"I don't think I could bear to be without you for even a day."

"Shh, (name) just fell asleep."

"It has been so hard without you."

"Please come back. I'm sorry."

"What do you want from me? I swear I've given you everything."

"You don't love me, and that's okay because I can pretend that you do for now."

"Just let go, it's not worth the pain."

"It's fine, you can just sit on my lap."

"God, you two are disgustingly cute together."

"One day I want to have something like that."

"Babies? Like, more than one?"

"I'd love to get to know you properly if you'd let me."

"You'd think they put the stars in the sky from the way everybody constantly fawns over them."

"Drop it, okay? I'm done talking about this."

"They made you feel small, but you aren't. You matter so much to everybody, especially me."

"Holy shit, I'm in love."

"Come back to bed, it's cold."

"Stop squirming or I'll get the ropes out again."

"Open up for me like a good (boy/girl)."

"Tell me what you want, and I'll do it for you."

"It looks to me like you've got enough holes to go around."

"I know it looks like a lot, but I'll go slow."

"If you need to stop, let me know."

"Take it off. I want to see all of you."

"All of that teasing, just for you to cum so quickly? What a shame, I had much more planned for tonight."

"Shh, that's it, cum for me."

"I think you can take a little more than this, don't you?"

#prompt list #mine #please do use and reblog #dialogue prompts #assorted prompts

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 2 days

Text

"There he is, there he issssss ohmigod!! (Co-worker's name) he ... is ... here. How do I look?" You bent your knees down to look at yourself in the small mirror in the back of the coffee shop, straightening your hair that was already perfectly fine for the situation.

"You look fine. You always look fine. Calm down, y/n. He's just a man."

You gasped, "Take ... that ... back. He is my future husband. The father of my unborn children - I mean, if we want to have any. We'll discuss that later. Over dinner. On our anniversary."

"Oh my god, you're insane. You're literally insane. Whatever. You better get out there and make his coffee or you-know-who will take care of it."

"Over my dead body!" You ran out to the front of the cafe and tried to slow your heart. But it was no use.

Kafka was standing in front of you. Cuter than he was yesterday. His spiky hair stuck out from his head and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you.

"H-hi. What uh, what can I get'cha?" You asked, trying to sound even a little bit confident and failing miserably.

"I dunno. Dunno what I feel like today. What's your favorite thing here?"

You blushed, fighting off the urge to say 'When you come in' to him.

"I like the [your fav. drink]. And you're in luck. I make it better than anyone else here.

He smiled, "That sounds good, I'll take 2."

"Comin' up." You looked calm on the outside - at least you hoped so. Busying yourself with the 2 drinks for him, you tried not to peek over your shoulder to see if anyone was coming in to meet him.

You'd never seen him with a woman here. But that doesn't mean anything. Sighing heavily, you wrapped up making them and wiped down the machine.

"Here you go, 2 [your fav. drink]. Anything else?" You could feel your heart sinking deeper into the recesses of your chest. It felt hollow and it made you want to scream and throw yourself on the floor because someone was going to get that second drink that you made with love. No, not 'love'. Affection, maybe? No, it was definitely made with love. You have never been able to lie to yourself, why start now.

"Thank ya much. But I'll only be needing 1."

You tilted your head, not understanding what the hell he was talking about. "You ... you did say you wanted 2, right? I didn't hear you wrong?"

Kafka laughed, writing something down on one of the cups, "Nooo no no. I did say 2. This one ..." he put the cap back on his pen and held the drink out for you to take back. "...this one ... is for you, darlin'." He blushed and turned his head away from you. No doubt trying to hide the most beautiful shade of pink you've ever seen on a man.

"F-for me? What ... I mean, thanks?"

He looked disappointed for a second. "I uh, I wr-wrote something on the cup. F-for you, I mean."

You frantically turned the cup in your hands and ended up spilling the drink everywhere. "Shit! Oh my ... shit." You tried to read the writing on it but the drink caused the ink bleed and made it illegible. "Great."

Kafka stood there in shock. The amount of strength it took him to build up the nerve to write his phone number down for you was one of the hardest things he's ever done. And it was all washed away in less than 10 seconds.

"I'm so sorry. What did you write down?" Your face was twisted in embarrassment. "Y'know what, my god. Here. Here is my number," you wrote it down on a receipt, "call me. I like you. Ok? I've liked you for about 2 months now.

He smiled and pulled a napkin from the stack on the counter. He took his pen back out and wrote his name and number on it. Putting his hand out for you to take the napkin, "Call me. Anytime. And uh, I like you too." He pulled the napkin back, "Careful! Don't throw this away or something. I'm going to think that we're not meant to be or something, heh."

Tucking the napkin in your pocket, you looked him in the eye, "Don't talk like that! But yeah, I'll try to remember to clean out my pockets before doing laundry."

He smiled and took a sip of his drink. "Oh, this is really good."

You grinned, "I know, right? I told you!"

He looked at you and smiled, "I can't wait to taste you."

"Pardon?" You coughed out.

"I MEAN, I can't wait to taste what other drinks you can make. Jeez."

You narrowed your eyes at him and smirked. "No, no. I heard what you said."

"No you didn't." He tried convincing you ... and himself.

"See you tomorrow," you looked at the napkin, "Kafka?"

"See you tomorrow," he looked at the receipt, "sweetheart."

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isaacathom · 19 days

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because a pc died in a recent ttrpg session my brain has gone absolutely Ballistic and i have fun thoughts about my character in ways that both do and dont relate to that, which i should stop flooding my twitter timeline with, and thus,

so first of all! the character who died, Commodore Morgaan Vandervest, was the party leader. He was the head of the fleet, the leader of our little strike force forward troop, captain of the Pendagast. A man with a military background, he'd signed onto this whole trip largely to get away from his family.

my character, Naielle Odelia, was the Pendagast's navigator. In a confrontation with pirates, Naielle was required to navigate the sheep through a shallow reef, and nearly got the boat grounded. When the pirate ship was captured, Naielle was, for reasons still unclear to her, appointed to serve as its captain.

Vandervest was a complicated leader for the crew. He was illsuited to the complicated political and diplomatic incidents he had to engage in, in ways which often wrankled against the more diplomatically minded crew. He also gave orders that were... harsh is the wrong word, but were coming from a more ruthless perspective, which particularly wrankle the generally polite and conflict avoidant Naielle. She wasn't alone in her dislike for the commodore's actions, but she only acted against his orders twice. "only", huh! other people were planning mutiny, on a variety of grounds.

BUT. Naielle would consider him a good leader. Not suited to his task, necessarily. She had many disagreements. But she trusted him to make those decisions honestly. And she took her appointment by him extremely seriously, despite her misgivings that she herself wasnt suited to the post.

Vandervest's background, being from a tiefling bloodline cursed centuries ago, meant that the majority of individuals in a given generation do not live past 80 or so. The Blight, as it's so called, will claim them before that point.

He was 63.

He hid the effects from everyone as best he could once they manifested, some month or two ago in-game. He slipped only rarely, and refused to be babied by the understandably-concerned crew. He didn't tell them. He told only his personal spy, who helped him arrange his affairs. Despite his condition, he didn't stop going into the field with the party when the situation demanded it. When he was knocked unconscious in battle against a corrupted dragon, multiple members of the party pulled out the stops to rescue him, even against things he wanted to happen - a chain devil had arrived to ferry his body away, and was prevented from doing so by three separate interventions. He was given the chance to explain himself, in brief, with what power he had left. And then he was gone.

He was 63.

Naielle has. a great deal to unpack in the Commodore's death. There's the issues in the immediate, the sudden gulf of leaderlessness that is being filled reluctantly by another party member, appointed by the dying Commodore with no fore-knowledge of his eligibility. Led or not, the dynamic has changed. There's the loss of his presence on the battlefield, the space in which he is most present, most skilled, most suited.

And there's other things. Naielle sees in the death of the Commodore the death of a cousin of her, Vincent Gerner, who died 7 or so years ago of a recurrent illness. Vincent was similarly stubborn and refused help as far as he could. Perhaps unluckier than the Commodore in a sense, that he lacked the nigh-supernatural strength to keep fighting until 11:59.

Vincent is the one who got Naielle her job as a navigator.

Vincent looked at Naielle, exiled from her home and wallowing in despair in his mother's spare room, and he told her that was not living. That she couldn't just let life come to her, couldn't just wait out the result she wanted, but had to grab it. And if she couldn't? If what she wanted wasn't available? Seek something else. Live, for fucks sake. He gave her that job, through his guild connections, and he got her on her feet.

It wasn't love. It's not love. It's bitter pragmatism. It's the knowledge of a dying man that he is doing his best to Live, and that everyone should, however they define that. And that what she's doing couldn't possibly be it, even by her own standards. If she'd refused, he would have let her. But he gave her that glimmer of hope, without love, and she seized it.

Vandervest is the one who gave Naielle her position as captain.

She doesn't know what motivated him to do it. She had just floundered in her role as navigator. She had failed the Pendagast. And, she supposes, and she can only suppose, he saw her skills lying elsewhere. Thought she might better suit command, a higher level perspective. Thought it was an opportunity for her to redeem herself and not wallow in her failures. Had faith, and she hopes it was faith, that she would succeed.

She doesn't know if she has. She hopes she has.

Like her job or not, she has considered it worthwhile. Command has forced responsibility on Naielle that she has avoided much of her life, and while she has not grasped it eagerly, she has sought to pay off his faith. She has gained confidence from his action.

In a letter she wrote to him, intended to be read after her own death and instead delivered after his, she told him:

For what I can only assume was faith that I could rise to the challenge, I have to thank you. Given the circumstances, I think anyone else would have thought that a foolish notion - had I half the confidence then as I do now, I would have said so myself.

And she was sincere. She meant it. She did not want the job, but she didn't want to let him down, and it's only now, months into her station, that she has the confidence she would have needed to tell him as much.

She owes both men a great deal. Neither man will ever really, truly know the depth of Naielle's gratitude to them.

She will repay them for what they did for her, whether they understand it or not.

All her unspent wages will go to Vincent's mother, who so graciously housed her in her exile, and to Vincent's daughter Josefien, a woman close in age to her who she might, sometimes, consider like a sister.

She can't pay Vandervest. She certainly wouldn't pay his family - all evidence suggests he wouldn't want that. But she can keep going. She can continue in her role, unwanted or not, and rise to the challenge he gave her all those months ago. She can hold true to who she is, and she can maybe, maybe, make his trust worth it. She can not disappoint a ghost.

-----

There are things she wanted to talk to Vandervest about, but was never going to.

Naielle is a warlock to the star Alcor, a forgotten glimmer in an elven sky. He is the reason for her exile, 20 years before the campaign began. Naielle's sister Mariela is a warlock to him too, unwillingly, brought into the fold by accident on Naielle's part. Long story, that.

Recently, Naielle learnt the reason she was made a warlock.

From her perspective, she had entreated the stars for help on her research project - knowledge, that old card. And the stars responded, and said she would have that and more.

That more was that she would serve in distant battlefields against Aboleth, and that she would reach apotheosis and join the star in the sky.

The former she had done with some acceptance, unaware at the time that this was all by design. She felt it her moral duty to intervene, to aid, to repell.

To give over herself to the divine is a concept she fears.

A fragment of her patron gave her options for how she might move forward:

Forsake her pact entirely, losing all knowledge and power gained therein. This would, not in totality but in effect, wipe 20yrs of memory from her. She would remember why she was here, and some details, but large sections would be utterly erased.

Declare her pact complete at a moment of triumph - no minor triumph, but grand. The death of an aboleth. To rid her sister of the pact, she must also be present.

Declare herself unfit to discharge her duties as high priest of Alcor, and nominate another as successor - her only option is Mariela, the sole other adherent.

Commit wholly, in the knowledge that manifesting the power of a great celestial may be what separates victory from defeat, the beating back of the aboleth threat from the complete destruction of the plane they invade. To reach for the stars.

Naielle fears her options. She considers the first utterly untenable, even in the face of her sister's suggestion that such a revocation would remove that which caused her exile, and would potentially permit her return home. As much as she wants it, she could not tolerate betraying the party in such a way. To be so selfish, without qualification, so as to remove herself entirely from the field of play.

But the remaining options, she struggles to pick between. She fears each in their own way, for the consequences for herself, and for her sister.

She would have liked to talk to Vandervest about them. She was never going to.

Regardless of the Commodore's weaknesses, Naielle trusted him. Naielle wanted his faith in her, as she saw it, to not be misplaced. She never went against an explicit order made of her - a measely distinction, but one she would make. She may have undermined orders of his made to others, but she followed her own.

She could not have spoken to Vandervest, Captain to Commodore. Any input he made would be an order.

She could not have spoken to him, peer to peer, one warrior against the aboleth to another. Any input he made would be a strong suggestion, something she might treat as though it were an order, no matter how he qualified it.

She would have liked his insight, even if she likely would have disliked the results. Frankly, she feared the idea of telling him she'd made a certain decision, and what reaction he might have.

Maybe it's for the best that he died before she made a choice.

-----

There are, arguably, two Naielles.

There's the Naielle that is Captain of the Xistina, Navigator of the Pendagast, a level-headed if anxious soul with a good heart and a desire for peace. A person reluctant to volunteer for a difficult task, but will commit with gusto should the duty fall to her, because others rely on her. A person who thinks and overthinks and triplethinks over anything she can see coming, who only acts when the situation demands immediacy, who might otherwise think herself into a hole. A self-described coward.

And there's the Naielle who steps onto the battlefield, Warlock and Reluctant High Priestess of Alcor, avatar of his power on the material plane. A healer and ranger spellcaster, who, in an instant, will ignore her backrow position to sprint forward to support her melee crew. A woman who hates to fly who considered leaping from a building to rescue someone. Someone who would take any action, make any decision, if it would save another. Someone who has to be reminded her own life is at risk in order for her to take it into account.

These are the same person. It's the same person forced to act.

If left to her own devices, Naielle will think and think and fret, and she will not act. Vincent and Vandervest, in their own ways, forced her to act on a particular scale, but in the micro she is often still there, worrying.

She can't afford to on the battlefield. So the first thing she drops, the first thing she leaves behind when the chips are down, is herself.

She often regrets it. Her breath will slow and the adrenaline ebb, and she'll realise she crossed a mortal boundary. Her head will return to earth and find it riddled with blood.

It's not that she doesn't know what's she's doing. It's not a barbarian rage, insensible and disconnected from the self. It's just that, in the moment, what she wants is the first thing to go, and the first thing to come back.

She acquired a mindflayer sword, a grotesque weapon intended to subjugate and control. She took it reluctantly, and said that she would make use of only specific abilities - the ability to cast forbiddance, the ability to cast gate, the ability to cast planeshift. Traits for which her party could find unambiguously positive use. A spellcasting implement.

And then, in a fight against a paladin of Asmodeus, who had blackmailed the fleet's Admiral with a contract over him and his son, Naielle used the sword to enthrall him.

She robbed him of his free will, even if only for a time. Demanded he rescind the contracts. And when clarity returned to his clouded eyes, she killed him. A man disarmed and restrained.

She knew what she was doing. It wasn't an order, either. She volunteered it, reluctantly even in the moment, as a solution to the problem. It was a tool at her disposal, and in a crisis, she will use any tool.

And after the crisis, she will weep.

Apotheosis is a tool. The fragment of Alcor did not refer to it in those terms, but it is the manner in which she understood it. An act ultimately to benefit the celestial, by allowing it a brief material manifestation, a means through which to empower itself and spread its will. And, in so doing, potentially fell Aboleth, first and father of all.

It's a tool. An option the Naielle of the battlefield would seize.

And Naielle of the ship fears it.

She doesn't think she'd regret it in the moment. That she'd acknowledge, even afterwards, that to make that commitment, to declare herself Alcor incarnate, would be the correct decision. But it means the loss of her individual personhood, her chance to live a life she has long craved with her wife, with her family. Isolated from all of them. Even if her decision was the deciding factor in their success, she thinks she might regret that.

So she wants to remove it. Naielle of the ship sees a tool that will kill her, no ifs ands or buts, that will take from the people she holds dear and deny her the satisfaction of victory.

And Naielle of the battlefield would see it as a decisive tool against evil. As a way to protect what she holds dear, to ensure that they all get to live their lives full and without fear. A way to allow others like Naielle their happy ending, at the cost of her own. A small price.

And the two are not reconciled. Maybe they never will be. Maybe Naielle of the ship will dither and delay, and deny herself any out, and Naielle of the battlefield will win. Or Naielle of the ship will be decisive, and she'll remove it from the board, and Naielle of the battlefield will regret its absence.

And both Naielle's, I think, wrestle over the idea of whether the self matters more than the group. And they'll keep wrestling until the storm envelops of them all.

#naielle odelia #ttrpg stuff #story blogging #lots going on here. lots to unpack. none of it necessary #only some of it really related to Man of the Hour Commodore Morgaan Vandervest #the worst part of all this? there's not another session in this game for a month #we dont get to hold a funeral for this bastard for a month!#i have to just off my shit for a month! by god #the funeral session will be wild because a group affectionately called 'the diplomacy squad' will be Fucked Up #one of them is acting-commodore. one of them is naielle. one of them is a healer who was the first to reach him #like none of them are doing great. all of them are the sort of throw themselves into work #there is so much Paperwork to do. an npc hypothetically prepped a great deal of it but theres still So Much #and theres the whole matter of the Thing that was happening when Vandervest died #he died in the presence of the Empress for fucks sake. we have to properly talk to her #that poor woman was interrupted mid-ritual by a bunch of crazed foreigner and her clanswoman holding an egg #then a dragon tore through the wall. half the foreigners leapt onto its back to fight #and then one of them died but not because of the dragon? she just has to witness this #incredible stuff. love that for the empress. a wild 5 minute span she just had

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