daemondaes · 6 months ago
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that wasn’t supposed to happen .
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     "Eish! Obviously not." Basil winced as he pinched a singed piece of hair between his fingers. "I deferred to you because you're clearly my elder. You've been at this for...how long again?" The specific answer didn't particularly matter. Even if, by all appearances, the two boys looked close in age, Basil knew that Charles had decades on him. Loathe as he was to admit it, it stood to reason that no matter how many years he'd devoted to his studies, his knowledge would be exceeded by the practical experience of a ghost. At least, that was what he'd assumed. Now, he made a show of brushing bits of ash from the shoulders of his suit jacket.
     "I think perhaps I'd best consult someone with more specialized expertise." His hand flicked toward the table, upon which sat a tray housing a sooty, incomprehensible shape, small, with dying embers at its center. "Unless you were trying to help me build a bomb." One eyebrow raised. With a dramatic heave, Basil collapsed into his chair as though he were liquid, trying to assume its shape. His nose pointed to the ceiling. "The neighbors will be none too pleased."
     His chin puckered as he reflected on where they could have gone wrong. "There must be a simpler way to engineer a seeing stone. Safer, at least." Wearily, he raised one hand to form a circle with his thumb and forefinger, then peered at Charles through it. "It's difficult, bru, to collect pixie dust from pixies you can't see."
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naomiarai · 8 months ago
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☆ txt + favorite positions — ♡
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Choi Soobin — missionary ♡
soobin definitely is the more intimate kinda guy during sex. when he has the chance to look at you, feel you and is able to see your reaction when he accidentally fucks up into you a little too deep, it fucking turns him the fuck on. all the little pecks on your nose, cheeks and lips while his cock slowly grinds into your cunt, whispering either the most heartwarming things or blasting you ear with the nastiest shit you’ve ever heard. has his fingers pinching your clit when you least expect it <3 also soobin DEFINITELY has your hands pinned above your head, both your wrists bound in the palm of his singular hand.
soobin spreads your legs wide open, glistening cunt in view for him as he slips his dick inside your gaping hole. a whiny moan escapes your mouth as his tip hits your cervix; hands gripping at the sheets. “pretty girl, too deep for you huh baby?” he says as he comes down to press a kiss on your nose.
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Choi Yeonjun — reverse cow girl ♡
yeonjun is a certified ass man, has his hands on it ALL the time. he lovess when you ride him, thinks you look so pretty and fucked out but again, yeonjun is an ASS man, so probably has his hands on your ass as you ride him,, guiding the rock of your hips with his hands gripping your ass <33 yeonjun loves overstimulating you, especially when you ride him, grins at the sight of you getting weak and falling apart on his fat cock >< but when you stop when he didn’t tell you to, his hands are a 100% coming down to slap your ass, turning it a bright red. also jjun definitely will come up to bite your back, suck on your shoulder and leave a bunch if hickeys </3
you feel a sharp sting behind you, which only urged you to continue rocking you hips on his cock. you groan at the feeling, mind clouded with the loud, wet and squelching sounds so his cock soaked inside of you, “keep fucking going, you know you should” jjun says as he lands another slap.
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Choi Beomgyu — doggy ♡
doggy is so beomgyu coded. like as most of us agree beomgyu would definitely do quickes and doggy is the easiest position to get into 0.0. but he absolutely loves the way you feel around him when he’s hammering into you from behind, the way your pussy keeps sucking him back in and thighs shake keeps him going~ beomgyu is big on degradation, he’d totally bend over to suck on your earlobe and degrade you so fucking bad, it has you clenching around him even more. also activates your hair pulling kink, when it becomes too much n you start sobbing into the sheets, that’s how he’ll pull you up <3
fat tears flow down your eyes as you wail into the sheets, clutching tightly at them. his cock absolutely puncturing at your cervix, and him chuckling at your state, “what? i thought you wanted cock when i found you fingering yourself”
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Kang Taehyun — cowgirl ♡
there’s nothing taehyun loves more than proving you wrong. and that’s exactly what he does when he lets you ride him, with you promising that you’ll do a good job. he finds pleasure in seeing you fall apart, especially when you tell him you won't and that you’ll make him cum. taehyun would totally show faux sympathy, a tight grip on your hips to help you stay stable, and praising when he knows he's pushing you to the edge. okay taehyun might have a thing for finding any reasonable way to punish, just to fuck you dumb and have you under his control, thats why he’s going to degrade you at the end and overstimulate you <3
your toes curl into the sheets as you try to move against his cock without halting. tears run down your eyes as you desperately try to make him cum, while he rubs the sides of your hips only urging that you can do it, you can take him. “c'mon, won't you make me cum?”
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ Hueningkai — 69 ♡
69 is so kai coded!! especially when you both are subbing, subxsub is so kai. absolutely loves how it feels, sloppily eating out your cunt with a bruising grip on your ass as you suck his dick on the other end <3 kai also loves cumming at the same time, boh of you going at a similar pace and slowly bringing each other towards your orgasms. but it also gives dom kai, slapping your ass if you buck your hips up too much, edging you towards your orgasm with his skillful tongue, leaving you needy and begging for more >< and mean dom kai would totally have you make him cum but refuse to make you cum, just keeps on edging you <3
you wince at the tight grip on your hips, mouth too full to say something about it as your eyes roll back at the feeling of his warm tongue on your cunt. he simply chuckles into your cunt, sending down pleasurable vibrations, “too much already? c’mon, you have to make me cum” he whispers right in.
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taglist - @yyeonzi ,@boba-beom ,@soobinsonly1bf , @seolis-world ,@lovethewayyouliebaby
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pjackk · 1 year ago
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Yep another miesrable "F my life" moment just hapened to me i basicaly walked 10 miles up the mountain to get to behind to the gas station to see my plug to buy me my with my favorite delta 8 pipe rocks and grab another 6er of tall boy steelies and i forgot i had my lit pre roll from brunch at the Country Grocerys buffet and i tripped on a congom on they away out and fell directly into a puddle of oil which normaly is fine when i fall and hurt myself ebcause nobody gives a fuck about me but the pants got stained wich is not unusual for me either but this time with motor guel or some shit but my pre roll was smoldering still and it set my ptants on fire so i dive in to the muddy ditch to put wet mut on my body to estinguish the fire and it and it shook the fuck up out of my steelos and the bursted all over me and it put out the fire but now i dont have any booze at all and my delta 7 "Fuck n chill" rocks burned tf up and i dont got nothgin left and my pants were all fucked up so i had to go home thru the woods wihtout them and it was so dark out and my peice of shit phone died even thouhg it was at 27% and i couldnt see shit and i was lost for along time so i decide to go to sleep in the woods to find my way back in day time + the animals sounds were high key scary as fuck so i cover myself in leafs and dirt and sticks and mud and other shit to hide from them and i woke up in the adfternoon still tired as fuck cuz i dont sleep good without some shit to put me asleep like my medicidne prescribed from Dr Maltlikker if U catch my drift lol or Dr thc Gummy lol if u get what im saying and these stupid little cunts with 22 rifles were plinking at me and tlaking about how they wanted to shoot my big ugly rusty head right in the head or to shoot a hole in my nippels so i got up and trioed to get them to stop i begged but htey just kept lauhging at me and shooting at me and it realy hurt my feelings so i pick one up and threw it into the sky then they all ran away screaming which is a classic "Dont fuck with honest joe,because he might try to hurt you or kill you if u piss him of moment" but the miracle of the story if that i went to walk 20 feet to findm y way out and i found my busted as shit old as fuck camry with a litle gas left ive been looking for it for a few days cuz i did a lil cruising when i was blackout and did lots of crazy shit i didnt remember at all but it was all on my story and 100 ppl were snaping and whatsapping me telling me to kill myself when i checked my huwawai thats how u know u had a crazy fcking night when u get that shit!!😂😂 but it had a litle gas left and it wasnt super busted so i was able do get back on I81 and soem stupid fcking crazy ass north carolina motha fuckas are driving insanly as fuck as usual and they keep almost hiting me while im just trying to read my fukcking phone to get rid of all these stupid messages and shit i still dont know how to use the app and its hard to type shit with my hands but eventualy i got back to my fuck buddys houe im crashing there even though he hates me now but i have nowehre left since ive been down on my luck and im realy not able to pay the bills no more with my online black jack/DarkRp trial moderator gigs and basicaly he owes me cuaz i got him 1 pack of menthols back when he was 19 and Sleepy Joe Brnadon banned them since "Freedom to do real shit" was aparently removed from the costitution when he was elected😂 but anywas now im sitting here bored as fuck with nothign at all do do cuz i got nothing to get fucked up wthi and i spent the rest of my meony on shit thats burned and blasted im realy worried i wont be able to sleep tongith since i cant get fucked up and thats when the demons starts to flow in my head i might do something realy bad to myself like pluck out my screws or some shit if u care abotu my which u probably dont my cashuapp is $pjack9 im desprate for another bottle to numb my p[ain away
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Pic of my ride when i found it thankuly it still had gas😋
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remxedmoon · 3 months ago
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What are your thoughts on ISAT's magic system?
AUTISM BLAST
okay long rambly post incoming. for the record like 90% of this is pure unfiltered headcanon. and almost all of this is about colors. sorry if this is hard to follow!!! i need to get this all out of my system.
oh also! a lot of this is based on a really good post by @/chronologically-challenged that shows off the differences between each character’s craft style! go check that out it’s really good
okay!! so!!! colors. this is just my own thing, but i personally like to color code the different types of craft!
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don’t worry about those middle tones yet just put a pin in those
there’s still a little bit of color variety within craft types (for flavor), but generally, rock is blue, paper is yellow, and scissors is red. i’m not going to lie to you i only did this because the splatoon testfire had these colors. it’s also why my triplets designs are colored like that!
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i think these colors also just fit the descriptions of these crafts? red feels like a more aggressive and active color, which matches how piercing craft is generally more focused on dealing damage, blue tends to be calmer, which matches protective craft being more supportive , that kinda thing. something something children’s hospital. yellow is a bit of a wildcard here lol, it just looks nice with the other two.
putting aside the colors for a mo! don’t worry those’ll come back soon. i’ve also been thinking a lot about how dual craft types work, though this is a little more speculative. i’m entirely basing this on how mira works. basically, one craft type seems to be more ‘dominant’ over the other. while mira is both paper and scissors, she’s still weak to rock, her basic attack is scissors, and her scissors skill (jolly round rondo) does much more damage than her paper skill (artsy silent burst). she behaves more like a scissors type, with an extra affinity for paper. which i think is interesting!!!
in terms of colors, i think this would manifest as mira’s craft being tinted orange, as a mix of both her craft type’s colors! this is partially what those uncategorized colors are for. while her scissors attacks are only slightly tinted, her paper attacks would be a lot closer to orange! and this would apply to other dual crafts as well. a rock/paper type would have more greenish attacks, a rock/scissors type would have more purply ones, etc etc.
i think this color mixing would also apply to single craft types trying to use a craft type that isn’t their own, though it’d prolly become less pronounced the more a person ‘gets used’ to using that craft type, so to speak. in a while rockodile would be pretty solidly purple, while rock bottom is more of an indigo color, and odile’s craft skills probably only slightly tinted as well.
ok!!! that was a lot about colors. i’m really fucking normal about colors. onto craft styles!! this is still kinda about colors tho sorry. also, again, go check out @/chronologically-challenged’s post if you haven’t already, it’ll prolly explain this better than i will
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for a tl;dr on that post, each country has a different way of using craft. the forgotten island has lightless craft that tends to manifest as stars and zigzags, vaugarde has big, rounded bursts of grey craft (with smaller circles around it), and ka bue’s craft is more diamond shaped/triangular and tends to be on the lighter side.
this is also the part i’m a little less sure about. i haven’t drawn these out in my normal style!! so a lot of this is subject to change. sorry about that!
anyways. i wanted to preserve the island’s lightless craft while still making it colorful, so i decided to give it a sort of. halo effect? i guess? i wanted it to vaguely resemble the ring of light around a black hole or a solar eclipse, but that is a lot harder to do with the zigzag shape of the craft + my color limitations. and as i’ve recently learned, glow effects look really weird with my pixelly art. so this is all just flat colors 😓
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shhh don’t mind the art here i’ve totally posted it before 🩶
vaugarde is pretty simple comparatively!! the craft is a sort of midshade ingame, so i just made the main color the normal craft colors. not much to say here!
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and ka bue is in a similar boat! i did kinda draw it in my odile sprite redraw, but i didn’t really look at references so it’s kinda boring looking there. not much to say here either!!
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and!! as we can see from the king’s special attack art, craft styles can kinda mix together. king’s style follows the general shape of vaugardian craft, but keeps the shade and stars from the forgotten island! i think it’d be fun to play with that a little more teehee. i imagine these are a lot more variable depending on how engrossed someone is in a culture, hence why odile’s craft doesn’t borrow from vaugarde’s style. unless she does? it’s not like we see other ka buans using craft in game. who knows.
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also because i forgot, some extra bonus doodles of that craft color mixing i mentioned earlier! yipee!
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and that’s it!!! there’s probably some other stuff that i am. currently forgetting. but this post is absurdly long enough!!! thank you so much for the ask i’m so sorry for autism blasting you about isat and color theory. am i still cool. here’s all of my craft doodles as compensation for reading this giant infodump. i’m so so sorry.
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barefoothighlander · 1 year ago
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never going back again - 01
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summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup
simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader
warnings: mdni (18+), violence, depiction of wounds, blood loss, mention of scars
next part masterlist
a/n: this poll won so here's the first part, enjoy
Ghost pulls himself from the rubble, the sound of the blast ringing in his ear, his whole body hurts but he can’t pinpoint where, he brings his hand to feel over his chest before looking down, definitely bleeding, he struggles pulling his weight out from under the rocks.
“All teams this is Ghost how copy?”
It’s radio silence,
“All teams this- ah” He winces as his headphones crackle, a small spark hitting his ear. They must’ve broken in the impact, his body blown back at least 15 feet from the blast, he manages to pull himself from the debris, wincing every time he stretches his stomach. He stands, moving to grab his side arm as his vision blurs, he looks down, a pool of red forming where he had just laid. He needed extraction, and fast, he looks around, clocking his location before advancing through alleys trying to make his way to the safe house.
He manages makes it out of the city in under an hour, stumbling over rocks and pot holes, his vision straining due to the loss of blood. In the distance he makes out a small cottage, assuming that was the safe house he limps towards it. He scans the area trying to find any sign of life before making his way to the door, knocking in a pattern that would signal it was him. He’s braced against the doorframe, his head hung in front of him as the door opens, he makes out a woman’s figure and a small gasp before collapsing on the deck and passing out.
You stand in your door way utterly shocked, the last thing you expected was a giant man wearing a skull mask, covered in blood, collapsing on your doorstep. You’re taken in a blind panic, your fight or flight in full force, you kneel down, your fingers pressing against his neck, he’s breathing and you can feel his heartbeat, you glance behind him for any sign of who might’ve done this, there’s no one there. You lock your arms under his shoulders, struggling to drag him into the house, knowing there was no way you could lift him to the couch so you let him lie in the walkway.
You rush to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit, kneeling back at his side trying to locate the origin of his bleeding, he’s completely passed out but you still mutter a quiet sorry as your hands pull his shirt up, his chest covered in the thick red fluid, you grab gauze to put pressure on the wound, its lengthy, not from a bullet.
You curse yourself, trying to remember the order of things, you breath deeply pouring some alcohol into his cut, his eyes strike open as he tries to sit up in panic.
“I’m sorry! I had to clean it, just, just lay back”
He’s moving around, glancing at his surroundings till his eyes fall to your form, your clothes stained with his blood as your gentle hands press on his abdomen.
“I’ll be quick”
He stares at you, then nods slowly.
“Okay”
Your hands make quick work of putting in a few stitches, noticing that he barely winces from the pain and wiping away any excess dirt or blood from the cut.
“Are- are there any more cuts?” Your eyes scan over his form,
“I don’t know”
You nod, “Can I check”
You wait for his permission, he undoes his vest allowing you further access to his chest, you push his shirt up further, his form is littered with scars, some old and white, some new and pink.
“It doesn’t look like there’s any more on your chest” You let out a sigh of relief
He blinks slowly,
“But um, you lost a lot of blood and I don’t have any antibiotics, I can call for some help”
“No, no cops”
“What about doctors”
“No, no one can know I’m here”
“Are you in danger?”
He huffs a laugh, he’s drenched in blood and wearing a skull and you think he’s in danger.
“I’ll be fine, I have to go” He tries to stand up but stumbles, your hands moving to try and hold him up as your palms dig into his flesh.
“You can’t walk”
“I can manage”
“Please just, you can rest here” You look up at him with worry in your eyes
He looks to you
“I live alone, there’s really not much for miles around, no one will find you”
“You really shouldn’t tell those things to a stranger”
“If you wanted to hurt me you would’ve” You huff a small laugh, eyes staring up at him, “Just rest a little”
He glances around the space, it’s cozy, feminine but cozy, lots of blankets and small lights.
“Do you have tea?”
A small smile forms on your lips, “I do”
You help him to the bathroom so he can rinse off, leaving the door open a crack in case he needs help with anything before you go to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and grabbing two mugs. You hear the shower turn off a few minutes later, turning your attention to the doorway and your throat dries. He’s stood arm braced against the frame, his skin glowing with droplets of water, his modesty only covered by a small towel.
“Any chance you have clothes I can borrow?”
You’re staring at him,
“Oi”
You blink your eyes at him, pulling back from your thoughts, “Yeah sorry, um, I’ll grab them” You run into your bedroom, rummaging through your drawers for anything that would fit him.
“Here these are my boyfriends, he’s smaller than you but they should fit” You hand him a pile of clothes,
“Boyfriend? I thought you lived alone”
“Ex boyfriend” You stutter, “Just never came back for his stuff”
“His loss”
You laugh lightly, allowing him the space to move back into the washroom to change, you lean against the wall,
“So what’s your name?”
He hesitates for a moment,
“Simon”
You whisper the name to yourself, the letters dancing on your tongue as he steps out,
“Not bad” You say glancing over his now clothed form
“Yeah, cheers”
You smile, moving to the kitchen to hand him a mug of tea,
“You’re very kind, I won’t be here long”
“It’s alright, company’s nice”
“Pretty good with stitches, you get a lot of bloody men on your doorstep?”
You laugh, “No just, know how to sew I guess”
Simon nods, sipping his tea, not waiting for it to cool,
“Any chance you can tell me how you stumbled to my door?”
“Um, got lost”
“Ah I see, lost” You make air quotes with your fingers,
He sets down his mug, “Lucky is more like”
“Lucky?”
“Could’ve accidentally stumbled somewhere worse”
“And by worse you mean..” You squint your eyes, he tilts his head slightly staring back at you, “You’re very secretive Simon, has anyone ever told you that”
“Never”
You smile at his words, fighting back a small laugh as you continue to drink your tea, paying attention to the way he squirms in his seat when he hurts his wound.
“You can stay here if you need, really”
“I don’t mean to put you out”
“It’s fine, get your bearings and you can head out whenever your assassin group needs you”
“Assassin group?” He’s amused by your assumption,
“Just, trying to figure you out, hoping I was close”
“Close enough”
“And on that note, the couch is all yours” You stand from your seat, placing your mug in the sink before moving to leave the kitchen, “You know where the bathroom is, everything else is pretty easy to find so, I’m just behind those doors” You point toward the sliding door of your bedroom.
“Thank you, I’ll be out by morning”
“Right” You nod, turning back to him quickly, “If you find a small cat, that’s Goliath, don’t mind him”
“You named your cat Goliath?”
You furrow your brows, “Thought it was funny, goodnight Simon” You nod to him and walk towards your room, sliding the door shut before getting ready for bed.
Ghost makes his way toward the couch, keeping an ear out for any noises outside the house, still nervous he could've been followed, he feels strangely safe within the walls of your cottage, he knows he shouldn't. He doesn't know you, you don't know him, and yet you helped him, gave him shelter and stitched his wounds, he'd never known such a simple kindness before, always seeing the worst in people but you were different, like a glowing ray of sun in his dark mind.
It doesn't take him long to fall asleep, another anomaly considering it usually took him hours of tossing and turning to finally sleep, eventually he'd blame it on his injury and the fact that the couch was insanely comfortable compared to his issued cot.
He woke in a full panic the next morning, darting his gaze around his surroundings, remembering where he was and who he was with, it took him a moment to settle his heartbeat as a clatter came from the kitchen, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, knowing he was relatively safe.
You peak your head around the corner, cringing at the amount of noise you were making, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you"
"S'alright, should've been up hours ago anyway"
"You hungry?"
"No, I should be going anyway" The smell from the kitchen wafts through the living room, grabbing his attention
"You sure? I made too much anyway"
He winces as he pushes himself from the couch, "Why not"
Your smile lights up your face making Ghost pull his gaze from you nervously, his eyes moving toward the floor as he makes his way toward you.
"Sit"
He obeys your command, watching you point toward a chair with a spatula in your hand, chuckling to himself at the sight of you, apron-clad some flour swiped across the front.
"Do you want syrup?"
"Please" Truth be told the man had a major sweet tooth, most people would assume he drank black coffee and ate bitter chocolate but in reality he loved sugar more than anything, always giving into his urges.
You place a plate of pancakes in front of him,
"Wait" You stop him from eating for a second, leaning forward to draw a small smiley face on top with whipped cream, giggling as he tilts his head at you.
"Thanks" He waits for a few moments, giving you time to sit down with your own plate before picking up his fork, he holds the utensil in his hand, staring down at the food.
"You aren't hungry?"
"I am, it's just, my mum used to make pancakes like this" His tone is light as he leans back in his chair slightly, thinking about his family.
"She sounds nice"
"She was"
Your smile drops, "Oh, I'm sorry"
"For what?"
"You said was"
He didn't even realize, so used to internally recalling memories to choose his words differently, shaking his head lightly at you, "Thank you". You can't see his face behind his balaclava, but his gaze softens letting you know he took no offence to your statement, giving him a tight-lipped smile before digging into your food.
You finish a few pancakes before sanding from the table, Ghost's eyes watching as you move around the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out a small bowl, filling it with food, shaking the dish to catch the attention of your cat.
"He comes and goes, usually he's back for breakfast, I swear he'd do anything for some food" You joke, sitting back down in front of him, "Any progress on your ear thing?"
Ghost swallows his food, shaking his head towards you, "Unfortunately no, I need to replace one of the pieces to get it to work, not sure where I'll find one"
"There's a bunch of tech stuff in one of the drawers in the other room, I don't know what any of it does but you're welcome to look through"
"That could help, thanks"
You reach for his empty plate but his hand pushes yours away, your fingers tensing at the contact, "I'll clean, least I could do", he stands from the table, collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink. You blush slightly at the gesture, tapping your fingers against the table a few times before standing.
"I have some chores to do but I'd like to check your stitches after"
"I'm sure they're fine"
You sigh lightly, leaning against the counter next to him as he rolls his sleeves up, your eyes drifting toward the ink on his forearm as the muscles tense, "Just, let me check them" You look up at him through your lashes and his mind blanks for a moment, lost in your eyes, the way you look at him like he's a person, not a monster, completely unfazed by his outward appearance.
He says nothing, just nods lightly, turning back to the task at hand, you smile to yourself at your small victory,
"I'll just be outside, don't burn anything down"
"I'll do my best" He watches you breeze through the front door, huffing a deep breath once you closed the door, suddenly aware of his surroundings and what he was doing, washing dishes in a stranger's cottage, he looked so out of place in the house, everything was soft and warm while he was dark and rigid.
He watches you through the window, you float around the property moving around the small garden outside, tucking your hair behind your ear as you kneel beside a bush of vegetables, carefully picking them one by one, tossing them into a small basket and continuing.
"Shit" He tugs his hands from the sink, the now scolding water burning him, he must've zoned out cause the steam from the sink was now filling the room, wiping his hands on a towel before turning the taps off, rubbing his skin slightly to soothe them. His attention is turned to the small black mass leaping onto the counter,
"You must be Goliath"
The cat just stares back at him with its large eyes, meowing loudly at the sight of the stranger, Ghost presses his hand to his chest, "I'm Simon"
Goliath meows, moving toward his bowl of food, leaning down to eat.
"He won't bite"
Ghost turns his head toward the front door, you're leaning against the frame, a basket of produce on your hip, "You can pet him, he won't bite"
"I'm not really an animal person"
"I don't believe that"
"Why not"
"Just doesn't seem true" You place your basket on the table, moving towards Goliath, stroking his fur lightly as he purrs, "He loves it, go ahead" You step back, urging Simon to pet him.
He raises an apprehensive hand, lightly tracing his fingers down the case back,
"You can use a little more pressure"
He looks to you, "I don't want to hurt him"
You smile, "You won't"
Simon flattens his hand, running his palm over Goliath, smiling slightly when the cat purrs in response to his touch,
"He likes you"
"How can you tell"
"He bites people he doesn't" You bite your lower lip to conceal your laughter, Simon's eyes widen as they look at you, pulling his hand back from the cat as you giggle.
"You're lying"
"Guess we'll never know" You nudge your head toward the living room, urging him to follow. He sits on the couch, shuffling a little as you sit next to him, he can feel the heat from your skin, you're close enough that he can smell your shampoo,
"May I?"
He nods as your hands gently tug at the bottom of his shirt, he leans back to help you, your eyes scanning over his form,
"How's it look" His eyes watch you
"Good, not my best work but, you'll heal"
You turn to face him, your fingers still feather-light on his skin, "Can I ask a question?"
"You can, I might not answer it though"
"The scars"
"From my job"
"Do you get stabbed for a living?"
"Something like that" His hand covers yours, dwarfing them as he pulls his shirt back down, "Nothing to worry about"
"They look serious"
He cans esne the worry in your tone, changing his own to reassure you "I'm fine love"
You nod, staying quiet for a moment before realizing that his hands are still holding yours, you move to tug them away but he grips them, holding them close as his eyes linger on you. He scans your face for a second before releasing your hands, shifting his gaze away, suddenly nervous as his hands move into his pockets.
"The drawer is just there"
"Huh?"
"The um, the drawer with the tech stuff, it's just there" You point gently toward the stack of cabinets on the other side of the room, he nods in understanding, crossing the room to search. His fingers sift through the wires, pulling some out to inspect them, tossing others to the back, his eyes land on the exact one he needs, staring at the wire.
"Find anything that works?"
He thinks for a moment, his fingers tossing all the wires back into the drawer, "Not in here"
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e1dritchjackal0pe · 6 months ago
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ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ʟɪᴘꜱ
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Summary: You didn't expect that chasing after a bounty in the middle of the desert would lead to perhaps the most insulting and upsetting predicament of your entire career. But after being lead across barren land and scathing heat, you know that you're running out of time to escape.
All you can do is hope that you can beat the clock before your luck runs out.
Warnings: 18+ MDI! Canon typical violence; violence against reader (not by Cooper), depictions of gore and death. AFAB Reader, some fem pronouns used, PiV sex, unprotected sex, boot riding, oral sex (M!Receiving), deepthroating. Mild overstimulation, multiple orgasms.
Notes: 23.1k words. I lied and told myself that this was going to be a short story . . . two weeks later. . . Ended a little bittersweet, which was entirely unintentional, but oh well. Not proofread. A little bit of sweet Cooper but not too much.
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The sun is a crippling thing, beating down on you with a stifling heat that nearly feels like a physical presence driving down and tugging on your limbs and the crown of your skull. Intent on wringing your strength and every drop of moisture from your body in its torrid grip. It's debilitating and the only thing that you could ever possibly compare it to is standing next the roaring flames of a bonfire, or maybe, from what you've heard, like opening an oven door and being blasted by the rush of the preheated air. But it's the weight of your tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth that really seems to wave your circumstances in your face. It feels like sandpaper; brittle and harsh, like one attempt at swallowing could cause the walls of your throat to grind and split along each other. 
You remember specifically when your last drink of water was. A few casual sips taken from your canteen only a few hours earlier, close to thirteen now to be exact. You've been counting. Torturing yourself with each passing second and every weakened, slipping step. It goes by slow in your mind, dripping by like molasses, and the scorched, barren ground cracking beneath your feet and giving way to loose, lifeless sand just makes it all that much slower. But truthfully, it's the sound of their laughter that's really getting to you. The group of them chortling like a pack a wild dog's; coyotes giggling and gloating over a kill. You aren't sure what they're all joking about. Probably something twisted that would make your stomach turn if you paid it close enough attention, but you've been making an effort to focus your concentration on absolutely anything else. The crunch of the rock underneath your boots; the lonely, empty whistle of the low wind brushing across the ground; your own panting breaths. Even the gentle clink and jingle of the rusted handcuffs that dig into your wrists like a taunt. 
You're not supposed to be the one in fucking cuffs, trudging across the desert with a bunch of lowlife criminals keeping you hostage. 
In your defense, you were only expecting one, not four. It's a flimsy excuse. Even in your own eyes, but to be fair, coming by caps as of late has been difficult. And no caps means no food or water, and your supply of RadAway has become concerningly low. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to come by funds without murdering someone over it. It had made you a little reckless. Desperate honestly, and the need to get some actual currency in your palm, instead of scraps, had hung heavy on you. So when you had caught sight of some random wanted poster fixed behind the counter of a dingy hole-in-the-wall bar, you had all but jumped at the opportunity. He was low rung and inexperienced by all accounts. Just another random, petty man with a propriety for violence who had shaken down the wrong establishment. He wasn't anything special. There are thousands of others just like him, just as there always will be. 
It was supposed to be a low effort job. You were planning on shooting him dead and taking just enough of him with you to retrieve your money. But what you hadn't accounted for was getting jumped by three (four technically, you did manage to kill one) other men when you confronted him. But they had been like ghosts, leaping out of the empty shadows of the night in the manner of creeping phantoms when you had approached the bounty with a loaded gun trained at his head. The cocky, gnarled grin that had stretched across his chapped lips should have been a big of enough clue to let you know you were on losing side of your fight. 
But even now you aren't sure where they had even come from. You had been tracking your bounty for a couple days across the desert landscape, and not once had he met up with a single person. You hadn't heard a word of gossip about him running with any groups or raiders either. So imagine your surprise when the figures that had stepped from the dark had all been familiar. Familiar in the regard that you've seen the rough sketches of their faces pinned up along just about every business and dilapidated building in the Wasteland. Drawn out on rough parchment that declared them all wanted, dead or alive. The Silva Gang; a small band, but a notorious one. They've been making a name for themselves as of late, snatching up people in the cover of the night to sell them off to organ harvesters and sex slavers. 
You aren't sure which of the two they have planned for you, but you aren't exactly psyched to find out. Regardless, if they have a buyer in mind, it'll be a wonder if you even manage to survive the trip there in your current condition. After you had shot down one of their members, made his head explode in a splatter of red and brain matter, they had all been quick to gang up on you. Knocking you to the ground to kick your stomach in with their steel toed boots until your lungs couldn't manage much more than a pathetic, airy wheeze. You had bit the inside of your cheek in the middle of the beatdown, tearing it open until iron had flooded the inside of your mouth and stained your teeth scarlet. 
Every breath hurts. It's like your bones have been rattled loose, and you swear you can feel them wiggle with each sharp gasp, just barely held in place by the bruised sinew that binds it all together. All you can do is hope that there isn't any internal bleeding, but it's difficult to tell with the wound in your cheek tainting your mouth with a coat of blood. Though, if you can't manage to find a way to escape, then passing out from hemorrhaging might actually be a blessing in disguise. A mercy carried in on violent wings. But then again, the Wasteland has never been known for its mercy. 
A brittle, whistling laugh breaks out with all the subtly of a gunshot. Though it sounds closer to a cough with the way that it sharply cuts across the atmosphere like cracking a bone-dry branch over your knee. It's about the only warning you get before the man strolling in front of you - your bounty - harshly tugs at the chain connected to your cuffs, jerking your joined wrists forward and forcing the rest of your body to follow in an ungraceful lurch. Your legs scramble to right themselves, weakly trying to balance the entirety of your body's weight on feeble ankles. For a split second you think that you might actually collapse and get a face full of sand, but you just barely manage to catch yourself on time, flinging a foot forward to get a hold of your equilibrium. 
He doesn't give you proper time to gather yourself before he's nudging you along again with the chain, flashing you a nasty grin over his shoulder in a show of filed down teeth. You've seen the pictures of sharks before. A few years back when you had stumbled upon the old remains of a school building. You had meandered through the halls, searching for what little you could find, anything that might have been useful. For a moment your mind had wondered and wandered as you allowed yourself to entertain what the halls and rooms may have looked like all of those years ago when the paint wasn't chipping and brimming with radiation, even though you really had no basis to go off of. And you were quick to find yourself sidetracked, digging through old textbooks and sheets of homework. It was just some biology book, with wrinkled, stained pages and dust collected on the hard cover. There had been a chapter about marine animals: dolphins, fish, and the like. But what had really caught your attention was the drawling of a shark that had been in the corner. Particularly its teeth. Massive rows of lethal points designed to slice through meat and tear flesh. Underneath the depiction of the great white there had been some offhand little fact. 
Did you know that you're more likely to die by bees than a shark? 
But this shark, you're certain has taken countless lives; sank his teeth into human skin and gorged himself on their bodies. And you might just be next if you don't manage to find an opening soon. You aren't certain where they're taking you. How many more miles you have to cover on shaking legs and bruised lungs, but the longer they lead you the closer you're getting to a death sentence. 
"What do you say, lovely." The voice jumps out with the pressure of a dead weight linking across your shoulders, pulling you close into the cradle of someone's chest. The stink that rises up to greet you is abhorrent; stale and putrid from weeks, if not months' worth of sweat and dirt and grime. You could choke on it. "You ready for a break yet? You look like shit." 
A brief scathing glance upward reveals that it's the one that you had shot in the leg. Right in the artery. It would have killed him too if they weren't fortunate enough to be in the possession of a stimpak. He still has a bit of a limp in his stride, but now he's here to gloat. Squinting at you to combat the unrelenting glare of the sun with a crooked smile, his tongue reaches to slip across his teeth in an unsettling leer. If all the posters haven't left you astray then this would be the one that calls himself Vulture. A fitting moniker for a cannibal and a scavenger, you suppose. 
You want to shove him off and flee. Even with the cover of your jacket still secure over your torso, his body heat feels like acid on your skin, biting and stinging. He has your gun on his hip, secure and snug within his holster. The silver steel of the handle glints like a taunt. Your fingers itch with the urge to slip around the familiar grip. To feel the heft of it in your palm and the recoil reverberating up your arm as you squeeze the trigger. But the chain pulling your hands taut and forward isn't very giving. Even if you managed to tug your bounty down by the tether in his hands and grab ahold of Vulture's gun (your gun), with how sluggish you are the other two would be on you in a blink. And then you really would be dead and left to bleed out on the parched ground and give it the only moister it's probably seen in decades.
Though you might have an opportunity soon. Reluctantly, you lift your head up and shift your focus from him to survey the horizon, and in your unsteady vision you notice a few buildings nestled close along in the distance. A weathered sign is fixed to the roof of one of the structures, declaring something in a mixed bold font. But what those letters spell you're unable to make out from the large gap of space, about a half a mile, give or take. But you think that one of them may be a gas station, based of the old pavilion posted out front; tilted and threatening to lean over on its columns. 
"What do you say, Vernon?" The man with his arm still cinched around the back of your neck asks, shouting over his shoulder to look at one of the men walking behind you. "I say we give her a little break. She might collapse otherwise, and we wouldn't want the goods to spoil, now would we?" 
He leans in low when he says it, wafting his humid breath over your face in a revolting puff. You don't even bother fighting of the grimace that crosses over your expression, letting disgust twist up your features into an offended sneer. But Vulture doesn't seem to be insulted in the slightest. If anything, you catch a glimmer of amusement pass through his bloodshot eyes in a mirthful wink. A part of you entertains lunging forward and sinking your teeth into the flesh above his cheek bone; letting the sun burnt skin there break underneath the weight of them to ease the way that his words sear across you mind like a brand. But you can't lose your head yet. So you keep your mouth firmly shut, teeth tucked behind your dried lips while you fantasize about gutting the four of them open from pelvis to groin. 
You let them lead you across the desert floor, still guffawing and cackling over their perverted jokes and braindead banter. It still makes you nauseous how you've managed to let them get advantage on you and drag you miles across barren land. Humiliation settles in your gut like you've swallowed oil and salt. And despite your lethargic limbs and tender stomach, it's safe to say that your pride is the most damaged thing out of this entire situation. It's tart on your parched tongue. No respectable bounty hunter should ever be caught in a state like this. You can hardly even recall the last time a query has managed to get the upper hand on you, much less captured you in handcuffs and held you hostage. It's pathetic. 
You can practically hear that grouchy bastard's voice berating you in that lazy, accented lilt. Chiding you for getting caught. For slipping up like some kind of rookie.
Well that just ain't like you, sweetheart, lettin' a coulpa shitkickers get the jump on ya. 
But as harsh as the echo of his voice is, it does serve as a sort of comfort in a paradoxical sort of way. Like a soothing balm on a fresh, stinging wound. Bittersweet from the familiarity of it; sharp and smarting like a fresh bruise, but also dulcet and homey like the swaddle of a soft blanket. As big of a pain in the ass as he is, a part of you has to be curious how life has been treating him these past couple of months. You're sure he's fine. No matter how dire the situation, he always manages to survive somehow, whether that be by sheer luck or by the skin of his teeth, he always makes it out. He's older than you by decades; experienced in horrors and calamities that you would struggle to imagine. Still, sometimes you can't help yourself from being a little . . . worried. It's so nonsensical to be fretting over a man that has the blood of a thousand souls on his hands; who's just as hardened and unforgiving as the land he walks. Especially when you're the one with your hands fastened together by old metal, and the damaged taste of iron in your mouth. 
Despite your hard exterior, you've always been a bit of bleeding heart deep down. And somehow, someone as brash and knavish as him has managed to worm himself past all your defenses and latched onto that tender little piece of your soul. He was purely competition at first. A rival. A thief is what he was. Then a reluctant acquaintance, and eventually a . . . tentative friend. A vulnerability, really. But you can't ever keep yourself from wondering about him. Even now, with a violent band of criminals crowded around you and guiding you like a twisted procession towards death or slavery, you can't fight of the impression of a smile that begs to lift at your lips. You have to contemplate the next time that you might see him. If you'll even have the opportunity to see him again, so's long that this doesn't go tits up and you end up dead on the ground. If he'll still smell with the subtle musk of the earth; the residue of soil staining his tattered duster, all damp and rich hidden underneath a layer of dust, and at times blood. 
That bastard. That old, mean bastard - 
"What are you over there grinning about?" Vulture queries, slipping his other arm up to clutch your jaw between his dirty fingertips, squeezing your cheeks close like an uncle with boundary issues would do at a family reunion. It has you mouth splitting into a snarl and the urge to bite is back again, like an itch on your gums. But you hold yourself back. 
"I was imagining what your blood might look like on the sand," you snap, jerking your face from out of his tight grip with venom on your tongue. It nearly could have surprised you when a splitting white-hot heat erupts across the side of your face with enough force to swivel your head to the right, licking an electrical current down the back of your neck, but you were honestly expecting the strike. You draw in a deep breath, ignoring the way that your lungs rattle while you focus on keeping your legs steady. You can feel him when he leans in close again; you can see the hint of him in your peripheral vision too, a little blurry and unfocused from how close he is. 
"Well, keep dreaming. Cause that ain't never going to happen."  
You don't agree or refute that remark. Not even while you picture wrapping the chain lead hooked to your cuffs around his throat and watching the light dim from the pale blue shade of his eyes. It's then that you decide, even if they do manage to kill you today, you're taking at least one more of them with you. 
You let yourself fall silent again, counting the soft tread of everyone's footsteps. The way that the dry, dead earth splits underneath the soles of your boots in a weary whisper. But you mostly try to think about all of the weapon's secured to everyone's person. The gun - your gun - cradled in Vulture's holster. The idiot had tossed his away earlier to swap it out with you own. And you're pretty sure that it had still had a few rounds left in its chamber. There's the handle of a small hunting knife peeking out from past the lip of your bounty's (Thatcher is his name) boot. You didn't see him brandish any other weapon when you had tried to corner him, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have any. 
As for the other two following closely behind, you know for a fact that the one called Vernon has a 10mm pistol, and the other's been totting around an old baseball bat with nails buried through the barrel. The nails are rusted, tinged red, but you're certain that the dusty, maroon and vermillion is old caked up blood and not just oxidation. 
There are too many guns. Too many of them. And you're weakened from exhaustion and dehydration; sore from getting your stomach kicked in. Running as of now is entirely out of the question. But if you make it to the gas station you should be able to use it as cover. There should be counters in there, shelves and a backroom. All of which can be used as protection against you and them, and the possible spray of bullets. But if you aren't careful enough, the tight quarters can also be used to box you in and keep you trapped between the four of them. You'll have to be cautious. 
The twin buildings ahead of you are much closer now, and you're able to make out the worn, crippled details of the ancient establishments much better now. Old remnants of a time long before yourself, left shabby and broken by harsh conditions and war. The paint is all chipped and sun faded on both the motel and gas station; the colors muted down into dusty, pale shades that are probably a far cry from what they used to look like. Windows are opaque with dirt, and some of the panes have been busted out entirely, making some of the curtains still hung above the sills to billow softly. There's an old Nuka-Cola machine posted out front of the station with bullet holes peppering its metal casing; and a long bordering piece of the of the pavilion's roof is hanging from the edge, creaking and trembling with the influence of the wind, groaning and squeaking sharply with each tremor. Like the cries of a wounded, wild animal. 
Apprehension settles deep in the pit of your belly like a stone, and you can feel it prickling along your fingertips and toes. The presence of the four men walking along you is like a heat on your skin, searing and stifling. It makes you hyperaware of everything. The brush of your own clothes, the weight of their eyes burrowing into your body; the light, shifting sounds of the desert. It's putting you on edge, making your muscles longing to tense and lash out but you have to keep yourself collected and calm. If you were to act out prematurely or let your nerves get to you, you might just end up with a bullet lodged between your eyes. 
Thatcher stops short of the threshold of the gas station, which is left wide open from the twin doors that seem to have been blown from their hinges. He pivots on his feet suddenly, turning to you with another one of his nasty smiles. "Lady's first," he coos obnoxiously. That's the only warning you get before he's jerking the chain a second time. This time is much harsher than the first, and it sweeps you off your feet in a rush that snaps your neck back. You don't even register yourself falling. It's the pain that washes over your knees and eventually your right side that your mind notices first. Blossoming over your flesh like boiling water, and you can feel the stinging tingle of fine glass shards burying past your clothes to poke at your skin. 
The hiss of pain that slips past your lips is overshadowed by the boisterous laughter that rings out around you. The sound of it has hatred simmering along your chest and slipping up your jaw, making you clench your teeth together so tightly that a part of you distantly worries that they might break. A string of curses and pyrophanites are heavy in your throat, but you don't want to give them the satisfaction of openly swearing. To let them know that they're getting under your skin. You keep your focus forward instead, ignoring the way they all chortle around you while you scan the dilapidated space. All of the freezers and shelves have been picked clean and left like a discarded skeleton. They would give you ample enough cover to hide behind, but there's still a decent amount of space between you and the aisles, and you aren't sure if you'll reach them in time. The counter ahead might be your best bet. It's thick enough that it can block a decent number of debris and bullets alike. But there's only a small gap of room provided between it and the wall behind it, which would end up working against you if one of them manages to follow you and evade getting shot. And coincidentally, you only have four bullets left in the chamber. One for each of them.  
You can't afford to miss. 
You have to swallow back a groan when you rise up on your feet, lifting yourself slowly to properly collect your balance; building up the tension your muscles while anticipation and adrenalin run heavy in your veins. Their body language is all still relaxed and unbothered, and in their comfortability, Vulture has trailed close to you. Apparently insistent on sticking to you like a disgusting shadow, but for once in this entire journey you're actually counting on his close proximity. 
Something almost close to excitement trails down your back, lashing a familiar buzzing fire down your palms; thrumming like a living thing. You can almost taste it too, sharp and prickling in your mouth, and you can feel your heartbeat pulsing along your tongue. It flutters in your chest like something wild and stirred; but not panicked. This is something you've done a million times. It's like breathing almost. Like your brain giving your body a command without you having to consciously tell it to; it's second nature. 
You jolt forward like a blur, fluid and quick even with bound hands. And when your fingers slip around the grip of your gun it's almost peaceful, subtly warm and familiar within your grasp. But you remove it from Vulture's holster even quicker, and in a blink you squeeze the trigger. The burst of sound that rises out is deafening, making your hearing fade out and go dim. Vulture's head lolls back on his shoulders from the bloody crater that splits into his skull, driven there by the speeding bullet that lodges into the wall behind him. You're already pivoting on your feet before you can relish the sight of his body collapsing on the old tiles in a heap of dead weight. But your sense comes back to you just enough to hear the dull sound of him striking the floor when you raise your pistol up to line up the shot, training your weapon up on Thatcher, who looks like he's preparing to tug the chain again in the hopes of knocking you off kilter and ruining your aim. But you set the gun off with a single twitch of your finger, and just as his companion's had, his head swings back like he's been struck and a crest of red sprays from the back of his skull. 
As soon as his hands go slack, you're tugging the chain from his grip, making it swipe across the floor like a wounded snake towards your feet. But you don't get a single moment to enjoy your freedom before a bullet whistles past your ear, splitting and hissing. It doesn't allow you time to return the fire before Vernon begins unloading his clip in your direction with an angry cry. And without any other options you move back to spring away from him, launching yourself across the floor on shaky legs; burdened and aided by both adrenalin and exhaustion, but your desire to keep yourself in one piece has you hurtling yourself over the counter. You knock over an empty rotating shelf as you go, and the chain drags behind you with a harsh, metallic drag, striking against the front of the counter as you slip over the edge and fall on the floor. 
When you land, it's on your ass, and heat sears across your tailbone and trembles up your spine, but you don't give yourself time to dwell on the pain when a spray of bullets erupts around you, bursting through the air and eating up the bit of wall above your head in a scatter of fraying wallpaper. 
"You fucking bitch, you killed 'em!" A voice shrieks, hoarse and raw in its distress. "You fucking killed them!" 
Based off of the tone, you're willing to be that it's Vernon, and the near relentless flurry of bullets is definitely coming from the pistol he had hanging from his hip. He has to run out of rounds soon, and hopefully it'll give you an opening when he has to load up the chamber, which shouldn't be too far off. But you still have the other one to worry about too, with his stupid bat. It has you looking around at your surroundings for anything that may held you pick the lock of your cuffs, glancing behind you to check the empty cubbies built into the counter for an old paperclip or a bobby pin, but there's nothing except for dust and an old candy wrapper. There's another scathing swear on your lips, and you can't help but spare an aggravated glare up the water damaged ceiling; cursing the universe, or bad luck, or maybe even whichever god is out there. But you choose to take your frustrations out on the remaining raiders instead. 
"Yeah, and I'm planning on you two being next!" You shout loud enough to be heard over the onslaught of bullets. They've got to have another gun at this rate, there's no other way. "I just hope you don't go out as easily as your friends did!" 
It's then that you notice the fisheye mirror posted along the corner of the wall, just above the counter, giving you a clear view of the front of store and some of the shelves that stand along the right. But you're concerned with the two figures that are posted near the door, standing close to the fallen bodies of their partners. And sure enough in the other man's hand - Rocky? Rocco? You aren't entirely sure - he's holding a pistol up in the direction of the counter you hide behind, his baseball bat long forgotten and discarded on the floor near his feet. 
They both have ammo pouches strapped to their thighs and cartridge belts strung around their waists. Your only saving grace might just be that the majority of the loops are empty of bullets, but between the both of them, there's still enough to be a problem. You've been counting the number of bullets that Vernon has blindly planted in his maddened onslaught. One, two, three, . . . He has a few more in the chamber. Four or five more, at least. 
You should have a clear opening soon. And Rocco dares to creep forward, most likely in the hopes of coming around the side of the counter to close you in. Unfortunately for him, he was also taking it as the time to reload his pistol. Probably lured into a false sense of security while Vernon continues the assault with his own gun. His bullets should be running out shortly if your count isn't wrong, but Rocco will reach you by the time that Vernon's supply of bullets has been drained. It's an ill-timed assault on their part. Sloppy. You can hardly believe that they're the gang that's been ravaging the towns made from the remnants of old Los Angeles. The same gang that had trapped you in a pair of rusty handcuffs. This is going to be salt in the wound for years to come. 
It must be the deaths of Thatcher and Vulture that's made them messy. But it is working in your favor, so you can't complain much. 
You keep your eyes trained Rocco as he approaches, hand raised to slip another bullet into the cylinder. He curses when he drops it, fingertips probably shaking and slick with sweat and twitching from the rush of adrenalin and the deaths of his companions. It clatters on the floor, metallic and chiming, skipping over the tiles, sounding like a bell. You draw in a breath then, forcing your body to gulp in the stale air even though its hurts and sears around the edges; even while fire licks at your lungs, you never wince or remove your sight from the mirror posted along the wall. You keep your focus trained on their reflections; the even, calculated steps that Rocco takes in your direction, nearing closer with every movement. All the while Vernon continues to fire, gun blazing while he screams himself hoarse. And for a moment, one wicked moment, you worry that he isn't going to run out of bullets. 
You might have to risk jumping out of cover and hoping that you aim is true while your hands are bound with metal and dragging a heavy chain. But then, like a blessing you hear it: the harsh, hollow click of an empty chamber. It's a dull sound, echoing across the confined space of the tattered gas station with a pronounced finality. 
Click, click, click
He repeatedly presses down on the trigger like he might jostle loose a magic bullet and kill you with it. You hear him swear. A low, scathing, shit huffed under his breath. The sound of the empty gun is like a countdown, and you're quick to act before the timer runs out. With an aching pain in your gut and the taste of blood in your mouth, you scoot yourself across the floor to line your shoulder up with the edge of the counter. Rocco has just one more bullet to slip into the chamber of his gun before it's fully loaded, and he already has his quivering fingers clutched over the copper casing of a bullet, ready to drop it into the last empty slot. 
It's like you're tugged forward on a string. Muscles twitching and lead by pure memory; instinct. You have your gun drawn before you pivot yourself around the corner on the point of your knees. You know where Rocco is standing. You marked his place in the mirror above. It's bleached behind your eyelids now; fixed across your mind like a picture. It's a blueprint, a set of instructions, and all you need to do is follow your body's orders. 
The trigger is warm when your squeeze it. Rocco's head jerks up as he notices you, eyes rolling and a little frantic when he registers the glint of the gun in your hand. In that spit second, you see so much pass through his eyes: surprise, disbelief, fear, and finally, a fleeting shred of what might be angry acceptance. It's a look that you've seen on all of the faces of the people you've felled. The five stages of grief compacted into a singular, short moment before the killing blow lands. And the blow lands in his chest, puncturing a clean hole through the flesh and sinew and clipping his heart. His breath rattles. A nastier sound than the labored gasps that have been ailing you, and you can't help but relish in the wet noise of blood welling up in his throat. 
The gun slips from his hand and clatters to the ground long before he stumbles back on weakened legs and collapses backwards with a death rattle. But you don't have any time to gloat. Vernon cries his friend's name in protest. Like it'll keep the blood in his veins if he does. And then his eyes are on you like a rabid dog's that's been crowded into a corner and is coiling to lash out. He doesn't even bother finishing up on reloading his gun before he tosses it like it's useless trash, and then he's lunging forward to cross the bit of space that's between you. 
It has your body twitching to spin your focus onto him and shoot. But the abruptness of it all, the hindrance of the cuffs has your aim off by just a few inches, and instead of hitting his heart like you had intended, you miss your mark by a few inches and get his left shoulder instead. That was you last bullet. Your chamber is completely useless, and your pistol might as well as be dead weight. You try to right yourself. To shift yourself on your feet properly to launch yourself out of the way and behind the cover of one of the shelves, but you hardly make it more than a few scant feet or so before he's pile driving you to the floor with a violent snarl. The weight of him pinning in place is crushing. Digging your bones into the tiles and forcing the air from your lungs in a brutal press; squeezing a cry from your aching chest. 
Your lips peel back into a feral sneer when one of his hands slip around your throat to wring the oxygen from your body. Your hips writhe and feet kick in some mindless scramble to shake him from you, but he might as well as be made of lead; fixed in place and unwavering. And for a horrendous moment your brain is reduced to an animal's. Wiped blank and clouded over with pure primal instinct. You hand claw up towards his face, desperate to feel flesh underneath your nails to tear, but he leans himself out of your reach with a caustic, demented laugh. 
"You brought this on yourself," he hisses harshly and flexes his fingers to make you choke. You can feel your eyes roll towards the back of your skull; your muscles draw up tight when your lungs seize, empty and burning. Tears threaten to fall, prickling at your waterline while your brain fogs over in a suffocated haze, and for a brief, drifting second you wonder if this might be your final moments. But then you feel it. The pull of the chain tugging at your handcuffs. Tender around your wrists. And while he's distracted watching the life fade from your eyes, you slip your fingers around the groves of the chain, drawing up the metal links until you have it gripped tightly within your sweating palms. 
You bare your teeth when you swing your hands up to launch the chain in the air. It cuts across the atmosphere with a heavy whoosh, and when it meets his cheek, it splits the skin underneath the force of it, parting his flesh with a rivulet of red. His head jerks on his shoulders harshly and his body twitches and tugs to the side from the sheer weight of the hit, but his grip around your neck doesn't so much as flinch. His free hand strikes out like a serpent, snatching ahold of the chain before you can strike him again and he pins it to his side, immobilizing your defense. And in some mad scramble your frayed mind catches onto the glint of red pouring from the hole in his shoulder. It guides you to lift a hand up to burrow your fingertips into the wound, pinching and tearing at the torn flesh until blood flows over your hand, all warm and damp. 
The angry, anguished roar that he lets out could have been deafening if your hearing wasn't already tarnished and fading from the pressure of his chokehold. But instead of getting him to flinch away or weaken, somehow it makes him grip you harder. The sheer strength behind his fingers has your lips parting in a silent, tortured cry. It's here and now that you decide that your luck really must have run out. You suppose that the Wasteland can only do you so many favors before it comes to collect, and you've evaded horrors and troubles that would have shaken and killed the Devil himself. You were honestly just hoping that your death would be a little more honorable. A blaze of glory with fire and blood. Not delivered by the hands of some cheap raider. But you can't always refute the hand you've been delt - no matter how shitty it is. 
You can feel your vigor and breath slipping. The blood rushing in your veins while your heartbeat pulses in the cage of your chest - all frantic and panicked in a hail marry to keep your body functioning while your lungs starve. Even with all of the adrenalin thrumming hot throughout your body, the exhaustion that tugs your limbs down is too great. It's like you've been dipped in syrup and glue and have been left to stick to the tiles like a rat caught in a trap. Your eyes roll again. Slipping back to focus past the sadistic grin curling on his lips; past the form of his head which has faded into a sort of silhouette. A dopey sort of smile blossom on your face when you catch sight of a stain marring the ceiling. Its shape is all random, made from a scattered assortment of moldy blotches that bleed into each other, made from shades of tan, and brown, and gray. It's nothing. Just stain on the ceiling. But if you squint your eyes a certain way, it kind of looks like a cowboy hat. 
It makes you wonder if he'll miss you once you're gone. If he'll even notice that you're gone. That maybe, after a few more months or maybe even years, after fate or circumstance hasn't led you to cross paths again, that he'll realize that something has happened to you. That life has finally struck down the hammer on your head and snuffed you out. Maybe he'll look out ahead one day when the sun's brushing along the earth and painting the sky in searing shades of orange and red and rose in its descent and realize that you're well and truly gone. All you can do is hope that he'll think back on you fondly; that his deadened heart might actually miss you - if that is something that he's capable of. But the Wasteland is a vast place. It's so big that it can swallow individuals whole; get them lost in its sweeping landscapes and violence. It's so easy to forget people here. Family, lovers, friends can all get swept away and distant until they're hardly more than a mirage on the horizon. A ghost on the fringes of the mind. And maybe that'll be you. Just another ghost lined up alongside a thousand others. 
And while you choke and sputter on your last remnants of breath you continue to stare up at that murky little cowboy hat on the ceiling with something akin to hope in your chest, taking the place of air. But he probably won't remember you at all, the asshole. He's too brash. Too guarded. The sharpness his eyes is always hardened and a little distant behind the sardonic glint in them. He's shown you parts of himself that others could only dream to know. Small pieces in the grand scheme of things. Like broken, trivial shards torn from a greater image. Hardly enough to make a full picture. But it still lets you see him a little more clearly. You've seen all the ugliness. The callous, indifferent brutality; the sarcasm and guarded emotions. He's a walking mystery. An impenetrable fortress. But every now and again you see a hint of the human underneath it all. The man, the movie star. 
You can't believe that he's going to be your last thought while your lungs burn and draw up tight. His wicked, playful grin; the charming, languorous drawl of his voice; the gentle chime of his spurs when he walks. You can almost hear it over the wild roar of your blood in your ears and the relentless string of Vernon's swearing and gloating; repetitive and ringing and light. Like old useless coins jingling in someone's pockets. Almost musical in the rhythm of his phantom steps. 
You always did like his walk. Always lazy and confident like a saunter. 
When Vernon's head explodes like a ruptured balloon you think that you're imagining it. One second he's grinning down at you with his teeth bared and glinting, and the next his face seems to fracture. It erupts and cracks into tiny fragments and slivers like a dropped vase. But instead of water splashing out, it's sprays of warm, wet blood and chunks of brain matter. In your oxygen deprived daze, you're certain that you see a scatter of teeth soar across the air like nuggets of porcelain. The blood lands against your skin like the drops of a rare rainstorm. But it's still hot from the heat of his body, like something molten on your skin. 
His torso wavers unsteadily, rocking and unbalanced from the sudden absence of its head, rolling back on its weakened spine like an old tower swaying in a strong wind. The debilitating grip around your throat slackens when the body finally gives underneath its own weight and topples over on the tiles in a bloody heap. The greedy, hoarse gasp that you draw in instinctive, but once you start, you can't stop. Not even when the air catches on your throat and threatens to choke you again with the twitching, painful coughing fit that wracks your body, clawing and itching at your lungs. 
Clarity comes back to you slowly, nudging at the disoriented cloud that fills your skull like drugged stuffing. You shift onto your stomach with another long gulp of air, kicking at the corpses legs that lay across your own; and finally, it begins to feel like a cool balm inside of your chest instead of a fire. But the world is still sluggish. Muted and slow from your distress and you relax your belly on the tiles, suspending yourself on shaking elbows. 
It's then you notice the figure standing in the open doorway. Your body coils up tight, sucking in a few more desperate puffs of air while you brace to fight again, even though your limbs are drained and quivering, and your stomach and chest ache and burn. But then you notice the little details of the silhouette. The worn brim of the hat, the tattered and torn edges of their duster, the relaxed and confident way they hold themselves. It has you thinking that you really are dead. That you passed away right on the floor from the pressure of the raider's hand around your throat. That he really did succeed in squeezing the life out of you. This must be some sort of deathly hallucination. Your mind playing tricks on you as pass out to the other side - into an afterlife or into nothingness, you aren't sure. 
But then a tepid, clement wind brushes into the store, and it's perfumed with the scent of something earthy and rich and familiar: Soil. The figure tilts their head like a curious dog before they holster their gun against their hip. On the right side, just like it should be. He steps forward, and you can feel the weight of it pass over the floor in a gentle thrum; joined by the soft chime of a spur. Of the disk jingling and spinning in its rowel pin. He crosses the distance in a few calm strides with the metallic, melodic sound following each step, and pauses to consider you once there's little more than a foot of space between you and him just before he lowers himself into a crouch. 
You watch his descent with a rapt, dazed sort of fascination, and you can feel the impression of a smile on your lips when the shadow made by the brim of his hat fades from his proximity. The familiar weight of his eyes surveying you is comforting, and the delirious grin on your face grows even more.  
"You look like you've been dragged through ten kinds of hell," he observes tactfully. But you can't even manage so's much as a flicker of annoyance when the only thing you feel is pure relief. You want to greet him properly, like you usually do. Something witty or sarcastic, but your lethargic brain is about as useful as a bottomless bucket. 
"I was just thinking about you," you blurt, and your voice is raw and shredded when it grates up your throat. You notice the way that his hairless brows perk up at the confession, and something amused passes through his eyes while he considers you from your gore-soaked place on the dirty tiles. 
"Is that right?" He turns his head to scan the rest of the room, taking in the sight of the rest of the bodies that are strewn about like discarded toys. "Well, given the predicament I found you in, I'd say you need to get your priorities straight, sweetheart." 
There it is. That damned pet name. Even though it's spoken with an air of derision, it always sounds so syrupy and sweetened. Cradled softly within his accented drawl like it's saturated with melted sugar. Even with your mind all muddled and scrambling to form a coherent thought, it's still lucid enough for you to register the uncomfortable thrum of embarrassment at the remark. But most prevalent is the sense of bewilderment that nudges up at you and breaks through all of the confusion and pain. You can feel your eyebrows furrowing on your head, openly showing your puzzlement. 
"What exactly are you doing out here?" You ask around your cracking voice, drawing yourself up onto your knees with a ragged groan. 
"That's no way to talk to someone who just saved your ass," he chides without any real bite. He rocks back on his heels just a bit, making the worn leather of his boots creak in a low protest. "I heard there was a bounty for the Silva Gang; a pretty hefty price is out for 'em. I just didn't expect to see Ezra Thatcher here. " His focus settles back onto you then, and the familiar, devious glimmer that shifts through his stare immediately has your hackles rising. "There's a pretty hefty price out for him too." 
A snarl perks at your lips, and you can feel anger flaring in your chest; hot and searing around the bruising ache, and it singlehandedly douses out every bit of joy and relief that you initially felt upon seeing him. He appears to be nothing but amused by your apparent outrage. Not that he ever isn't. But you're sure that shackles still secure around your raw wrists only serve to cement his security. Plus, you don't look particularly threatening, all glistening with a layer of sweat, bags under your eyes while your lungs gasp and shudder harshly. But you're a little tired of this little cycle of yours. Ever since the day that you two have met he's been sweeping bounty's out from under your feet. Sneaking up like a shadow to rip out criminals from your grasp to take the prize money for himself. 
"No!" You snap, lurching forward on the points of your knees to lean you face close to his. Close enough that if he still had a nose, it would probably brush against your own. "You are not taking another one of my bounties." 
He doesn't answer you yet. He cocks his head again, slow and intrigued while his vision lowers to the handcuffs binding your arms. The smile that lifts at his rough lips is patronizing all in itself, but the way that he slips a gloved finger through the link of metal that secures your wrists together is just more salt on the wound. He tugs it lightly like he's testing its hold, checking to see if it'll give underneath the weight, but you know that he's really just rubbing in your current situation in further. Letting you see how well and truly helpless you are with your hands literally and metaphorically tied. 
"I really don't think you're in any position to be making demands," he responds easily. "And considering that I just saved your skin, I'd say that it would properly suffice as payment." 
You settle for rolling your eyes. An otherwise childish gesture, but as much as you want to argue, you know by now that trying to reason with him once his mind is set is about as successful as trying to have a conversation with a brick wall. It's a waste of air, and as of right now you're in short supply with how ragged and strained your lungs are. You're in no condition to be trying to pick a fight with someone as treacherous as the Ghoul. Sure, the two of you are . . . somewhat friends. But his sympathy and courtesy are a delicate thing, separated by an even weaker sense of resolve that often blends in with his cunning and brutality. Associating with him is like befriending a feral dog. He has his moments where he's cordial and even companionable. But those moments are few and far between. Borrowed time. At the end of it all, he's still wild. Corroded and shaped by the harsh, ferocious nature of his environment. Even when he's laughing and smiling, you know that he's really just baring his teeth. Waiting for a moment of weakness so that he can lunge for the throat and rip until rich blood flows, and he can drink. 
It's like reaching your hand out to pet something vicious, even when you know that it can twist around and sink its fangs into your flesh; saliva dripping with poison. 
He can see the defeat weigh down at your body, shoulders slumping as a part of you relents. His satisfaction glints in his gaze like an ember. Buring with the potential to become something greater; something roaring and consuming if need be. But there's no need for that fire today. You know when to give in. Even when it makes your pride curl up into something brittle and pathetic in the center of your chest. 
"Take these damned things off at least?" You nudge them up as much as you can while he still has one of his fingers looped around the small metal rings. The pause that takes over is a little stifling. It's like all of the walls have drawn up tight, and for a second you dread that he might not answer. That he'll leave you to suffer in silence while he snatches up what he needs from the bounties and vanish off into the desert while you rot away in this damaged little gas station in the middle of nowhere. 
"That very much depends on you. 'Sides, I kinda like you in these." He replies, tugging lightly on the cuffs with a glint in his eyes that could be considered dangerous, voice dipping down low like he's sharing a secret or reprimanding you for a sin you haven't committed yet. And you know him well enough to know that he's doing it on purpose, dropping his tone down into something smoky and warm. "Are you gonna behave?" 
For whatever reason it has a smile perking at your lips again. It's soft despite the simmering affect that his voice has on you, rushing your body with a dull flutter of heat. The smile is far from beaming or broad, but you can still feel a delicate trickle of humor spread over you; peeking through the pain that riddles your body. "Come on, Coop. We're friends, aren't we?"
A huff rises from his chest, not quite enough to a laugh or a chuckle but close. "Didn't you shoot at me the last time we seen each other?" 
You hum in agreement. There's no way that you can deny that accusation. That was roughly five months ago on the outskirts of Junktown, on what should have been another easy job. But it had been quick to go tits up when bounty hunters and desperate residents alike came scrambling and crawling out of the woodwork to get ahold of a single criminal; like a circle of starved animals stalking a wounded rabbit. And Cooper had been one of those animals. As dangerous and troubling as his presence had been, it did work in your favor with the other hunter's serving as a distraction and an obstacle for him to get through. Still, he had picked through the majority of them fairly quickly, and once the dust had mostly settled, he was free to turn his attentions onto you and the rambling lowlife that had been clinging onto your forearm - begging to be spared. He had even drooled on your coat while in the midst of his blubbering; hanging from you like a dead weight. So yes, you had shot at Cooper. Actually, he was being generous. You didn't shoot "at" him. You shot him. A light graze really, just along the thigh. But it had worked to waver his concentration just enough for the remaining hunters and armed citizens to sweep in and unintentionally give you time to flee the scene of the chaos with your sobbing bounty in tow. 
So, you can't exactly blame him for being for being wary. 
"And the first time we met you nearly put a bullet between my eyes. It was nothing personal, you know that." It's hard to tell what he's thinking with how unchanging his expression is. That amused edge is still heavy in his features and keeps you from seeing if he's willing or not. "Look, I'm tired, I'm dehydrated, and I feel like I've swallowed a handful of nails. All I want is the stuff that they lifted off of me, and one of the stimpak's they've got, because I'm pretty sure I'm going to start bleeding out of my ass if I don't. You can have the bounties. I don't care." 
When he pulls in a deep sigh you nearly think that he might be ready to deliver one of his famous quips. Some sarcastic remark on how little he cares, or that it sounds like a personal problem. But you notice something subtle shift on his face, and you know his answer before he speaks. It has your body relaxing, muscles unwinding and going lax without you consciously telling them to. 
"All right then, sweetheart," he relents and shifts up to rise on his feet. His eyes don't leave you once, fixed on you with an intensity that could make you breathless. Evaluating you and weighing your soul with a single casual glance. Always stripping you bare with the disarming hold of his eyes. "Better not do something you'll regret." 
All you manage is a nod. Looking up at him from your place on the bloody, dirt coated tiles with a promise lodged in your throat. You must look sincere enough because he doesn't ask you for any verbal confirmation as he pivots his feet to survey the bodies again. It's only then that you manage to spit any words up, forcing the shape of them out with a soft breath. "I'm not sure where the key is specifically, but Thatcher's probably our best bet." 
He doesn't respond when he strides across the floor in the direction of the fallen body, leaving you to stew and sit in silence. As soon as he's crouched beside the fresh corpse, he's rummaging through the pockets. Slipping back the layers of the dead bounty's coat to search the inner, built in pouches when the rest of his pockets come up empty. You stare at the expanse of his back with bated breath, tracing the shape of the rifle secured behind his shoulders and the way that his ragged coattails drape along the tiles as you wait. Suddenly the pressure of the rusted metal around your wrists feels so much tighter. Grating and stinging around your skin. It has you shifting uncomfortably, tracing the nails of your thumbs underneath your fingertips to distract yourself. And then, blessedly, he's lifting a silver key from the depths of Thatcher's coat and jingling it in the air like a trophy. 
The relief that floods you could make you double over on yourself. But luckily, he's standing in front of you before you can give into the weakened sway of your spine and grabbing ahold of the cuffs to slip the key into its slot. You let yourself admire him. It's a little shameless, you know, but you also can't be bothered to care. You always manage to get swept away by harmless little musings. Tracing his gaunt features with your eyes while you try to reimagine what he looked like before . . . all of this. And even though you've caught a glimpse of his former self, before the radiation and the horror, you still always fail to properly imagine smooth, unblemished skin in the place of leathered, marred flesh. The nose that would have filled out the place where a vacant cavity sits underneath the ridges of his browbones, gapping and almost painful looking. At one time he had hair. He could have been a dark blond, or brunette, or maybe it was an auburn color, or black. 
"Take a picture, darlin,' it'll last longer."
Despite the low register of his voice, it snaps you from your trance like a gun shot. You're forced to meet the hold of his eyes; attention held and stuck by the dark shade made in flecks of a light green and rich brown and amber. For a pause too long, you're left to sit with your words lodged in your chest as the cuffs around your wrists come undone with a metallic rip, and the absence of their harsh pressure around your tender skin is like heaven on your flesh. All light and soft, even while they sting dully. It's only then that you manage to speak as you shake your hands out in the hopes of knocking loose the rest of the pain that thrums through your wrists. 
"Yeah, but I doubt it would compare to the real thing," you quip back. It's completely corny, but it doesn't keep a smile from perking at Cooper's lips even though you can see a hint of what could be exasperation in his gaze.  
"Careful," he chides and lets the cuffs fall onto the floor with a clatter. "You'd give a lesser man idea's." And with that he's rising himself up again  to shift around you. Stepping past your shoulders to analyze Vernon's body for anything that might be useful. You can't see anything with him sitting behind you, but the sharp sound of a knife being freed from its holster is enough to tip you off to his plans. Knowing him, he's probably inspecting to see whichever part of Vernon might be the plumpest to make some jerky out of the meat. The thought does have a grimace threatening to curl at your features, but you're able to hold it off. You've seen him carve strips and chunks out of people more than once, but the sight of it will never truly desensitize you. 
But you've got scavenging of your own to do, and with a quick sweep of the floor your eyes land on Vulture's body near the entrance of the store; limbs strewn outward and skull bleeding in a crimson pool like some sort of morbid halo. But none of that is important. The only thing you care about is the backpack that's still clinging to his shoulders. 
You try to mentally brace yourself before you lift yourself from the ground, but you're quick to find there isn't a single peptalk that could prepare you for the aching, bone deep throb of pain that lashes through your body. It's like you've been gutted at the atoms; cut open from your throat to your bellybutton. You think that you could actually sob, but the last, worn remnants of your pride keeps the water secured within your body as you limp over to Vulture's. He's only a few feet away from you. Eight at most, but it feels like an eternity passes before you're able to collapse beside him with a soft gasp. 
His eyes are dull and faded now. Completely devoid of the violence and arrogance that had once lit them up, but no they stare at the ceiling; dead and unseeing. Maybe at one point, a younger version of yourself would have felt a twinge of guilt. Some sort of remorse, even though his death is more than deserved. But now all you feel is relief. Peace. It's like a drop in an ocean, but at least the Wasteland is devoid of one less asshole. One last violent soul who was even more guiltless than you.  
Of course, he landed on his back, pinning the back underneath limp, spiritless weight. With a reluctant, tired sigh you grip ahold of his shoulder and forearm to start flipping him over. It takes a bit of effort, with the burden of his slack limbs and the searing pinch in your lungs and ribs fighting you in your endeavor, but you do manage to flip him. You're face twists up when you palms make contact with his chest, soaked and warm with a fresh coat of blood, but you swallow your complaints down. Once you get him on his side and shove, gravity does the rest of the work for you and his corpse lands face first with a blunt thump and you're quick to reach and slip his arms through the straps of the pack. You've got it free and stripped from his body in a manner of seconds and in your desperation you're quick to unzip the pack and hold it upside down to jostle its contents out, letting it all spill onto the tiles with a layered clatter. When you drop the bag, you're too engrossed in surveying the strewn jumble to fully register the thud that sounds out when you carelessly drop the pack on the floor. 
Your eyes scan over various items; a box of matches, an old watch, and a balled-up piece of tissue that reveals a morbid collection of teeth when it unfurls. But the most important is the familiar sight of a needle with a rusted gauge crowning the opposite end of the barrel. Your fingers are a little clumsy when you reach for it, slipping with sweat and fried nerves as they wrap around the chilled metal and wires. You try not to focus on the deep ache that wracks through your body when you shrug your coat from off of your shoulder, draping it low enough to expose the expanse of your arm. 
It's with a shaky breath that you lift the needle up to your forearm and sink it into the tender flesh of your inner elbow. It stings when you inject it, flooding into your veins like a dull, white heat. You have to hiss through your teeth, trying to block out the pain until it finally gives into something soothing. You can feel the effects of the medication spread throughout your body like a balm, shifting a near unbearable discomfort into a faint echo of itself. The crushing sting around your throat melts into something soft and docile and the burning in your lungs is nearly doused out completely until your finally able to breathe without gasping and choking around your own breath. It's relief, finally. After hours - almost a day of pain and misery. 
"You never did say how they managed to get you all caught up." Cooper's voice sounds out again, pulling your focus behind you even while you slip the needle from your flesh and let it drop to the floor. Though, you almost wish that you hadn't started listening in on him, because you can hear the sharp and tearing sound of a blade flaying through meat. 
"I was only ever aware of Thatcher. The other's got the jump on me." It's such an awful excuse. You've known that this entire time. But actually, speaking it aloud - admitting it to someone else is entirely different. It tastes rotten on your dry tongue, and you swear you could gag on it. 
"Made you look like a fuckin' fool, huh?" You can hear the delight in his tone. It's grating and acidic on your nerves, but you distract yourself with the dry feel of your mouth. It has you remembering faintly the way that the bag had thumped against the floor when you had dropped it, and with some new hope in your chest, you slip a curious hand inside the pack with some strange optimism that there might be some water tucked away inside. Your fingertips brush against something smooth and cool, and your brain distantly registers that it might be glass. 
"You don't have to rub it in," you snap, gripping your fingers around what must be the neck of a bottle. 
"No. I don't," he agrees, but it's all sarcasm and selfish amusement. 
You pause in your current task, a bit of confusion and frustration setting over your face. "You said that you were tracking the Silva Gang. How long were you following us for?" 
"Caught up to ya when y'all entered that canyon." 
"That was about five miles back," you say with a scowl. Honestly you aren't sure how to take that little revelation, and it has irritation thrumming over your entire body and settling in deep. 
"Yeah, it was," he confirms casually, and another wet slice rips across the air before his voice dips into something teasing. "Truthfully, I wanted to see if you'd try and make an escape attempt. Imagine my disappointment when you didn't." 
"Asshole," you curse hotly with the rush of anger that flares over you, and you tug at the bottle, but it snags on the clothe lining of the pack, stubbornly staying fixed in its place. The wet sound of Cooper's knife slicing through another chunk of flesh rings out, all damp and soaked with blood. You nearly groan aloud; at your wits end from your dehydration and exasperation, but instead of openly lamenting about or turning your attention onto him, you focus that energy and wiggle the container free from the bag. When you finally work it free, the sound of liquid sloshing against the glass could be considered musical. If your body wasn't already wrung of all of its moisture, you could have drooled. So when your eyes and brain finally realize that the fluid contained in the bottle is a rich, dark amber, nearly brown in the shade, the disappointment that prickles at you and pulls at your limbs nearly feels like it could become a physical thing. Your muscles bunch up with the flaring urge to hurl the bottle across the room and watch it explode in a burst of glass and bronze and gold. 
But defeat settles afterwards, dousing out the rage into a faint simmer, and it leaves you to stare at the bottle wordlessly. Your eyes scan over the faded label, probably once a clean, soft white now soiled and stained by years, if not centuries of dirt and grime. The words and artwork that decorated the sticker are now muted and completely incoherent, but you're certain that the liquid inside is a type of alcohol. Most likely a whiskey or bourbon based on the color of it. You shake the bottle lightly, absentmindedly watching as the fluid inside ripples and lulls against the glass, glinting and twinkling in highlights of gold from underneath the dimming sunlight that pours in from the threshold. 
"Hey, Coop," you call and dare to look over your shoulder. It's an immediate regret when you see that he's tugged Rocco's pants down and has been slicing of generous strips of the dead man's thigh meat. A large pool of blood surrounds Cooper's feet, staining the tiles in a heavy red that taints the air with iron and fresh death. An inquisitive hum rises from the depths of his chest; a low rumble that seems a little irritated from being disturbed. He flicks off another ribbon of flesh with a quick, practiced glint of a knife and leans a little to place the dripping piece down onto the saddlebags he's sat beside himself; lined up along the rest. "Feel like sharing?" 
It's then that he finally bothers to look up at you, forcing his eyes away from his task, and they're quick to gravitate towards the bottle of liquor that you now hold up in the air. You brandish it like he had done with the keys to your handcuffs, and the look that crosses over his face is answer enough. 
"Well, shit," he grins, all sharp and a little teasing. "Pull my leg, why dontcha." 
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It took a little while to move all of the bodies over from the store to one of the rooms in the neighboring motel. Cooper had been able to carry the majority of them like they were a sack of potatoes, but that hadn't kept him from nearly leaving you drag Vulture's corpse all on your own; abandoning you to grip onto the corpse's feet in an effort to drag it across the burning sand. It had taken a good amount of glaring and the threat to leave the body out in the open for him to help you in lug it inside with the others, tossing it on the ratty rust colored carpet for safe keeping. By the time you're both finished up the sun has already dipped low in the sky until it's brushing along the shadowed mountains in the distance while you both tuck away in the adjoining room. Still fully decorated and furnished. Frozen in time from a past that's well beyond you with various pictures of cowboys on ranches and looking over sweeping landscapes from the saddle of their mounts are hanging on walls where the wallpaper is peeling and stained. There's even a landline phone on one of the nightstands and a water damaged Bible tucked away in the drawer. 
But the air in here is stale from dust, almost cloying with the scent of mildew even with the glass from the windows blown out, allowing a soft, summery breeze to drift in and circulate throughout the room. It does nothing to chase out the dirt and probably mold. But it all becomes little more than an afterthought with the warm thrum of alcohol simmering through your system, making your fingers and toes feel as though they've been dipped into steaming water. You've only taken a few swigs from the bottle, but it already has the beginnings of a decent buzz stuffing your head. Granted you haven't eaten in quite some time. So it probably isn't a good idea to be drinking in the first place, but you're a little beyond caring right now. All you want to do is relax after the absolute disaster that these last fifteen hours have been. To forget it entirely, even if it's only for the night. Though you didn't manage much more than a few sips of the old alcohol before the burn of it had become too scathing and nearly nauseating, and you've long since passed up to Cooper who's downed the majority of it in nothing more than a few gulps. 
A low groan erupts from across the room, drawing your attention over to its origin like a magnet to steel. It's low and raspy, and it has your fingertips curling in on the canteen you have clutched in your grasp, nails burrowing into the thick leather like it might distract you. But it's an awful diversion when your eyes are unable to tear away from where Cooper has slumped himself against the cushioned backrest of the old armchair nestled in the corner. The expression on his face could nearly be described as euphoric - or maybe that's just your own perversion talking. The sunken lids of his eyes are closed and nearly fluttering while he tilts his head back to let the liquor flow down into his waiting mouth. Some of it slips past his lips, trailing down the shape of his jaw to trickle across his throat in a shimmer of faint amber before it vanishes underneath the edge of shirts collar. 
The sight of it could have made your mouth run dry, and suddenly you're even more thankful for the canteens of water that you had both managed to find on one of the bodies. It's shameful the way you watch him, and you can feel embarrassment prickle at your face in response. But it's even worse when his eyes open and pin themselves on you as he lowers the bottle away from his lips. There's something knowing in his glance. It's amused and a little too perceptive, making you feel as though you've been caught red handed, and it has a fresh coat of what must be guilt rushing over you. But you don't have any reason to be humiliated. You were just looking at him. You've done it a thousand times; this one wasn't any different. 
Still the way that he watches you is stripping, like he's weighing you again and finds what he's discovered entirely entertaining. So when he finally drops his attentions down on the bottle cradled within his palm it makes you feel as though you can breathe clearly again. 
"It's been about over two hundred years since I've had some of this," he remarks aloud, shifting the glass in his hand to watch the contents lap and sway inside. "Old Maverick's." 
Your eyebrows perk up curiously and you shift slightly in your position settled on the dingy carpet as you consider him. "You can tell what type of whiskey it is? " 
He nods just the slightest, letting you know that he's heard you even though he doesn't spare you as much as a glance; too caught up in his own thoughts and reminiscing to bother. "I had an old buddy that used to drink this like water." 
You can't hold back the disbelieving huff that rises from your chest at the comment. It's odd, as small as the remark is, for Cooper to make any allusions to his past. He's always been so guarded in what he shares with you - with anyone. Even when he told you that he was an old movie star, he had said it so jokingly that you had assumed he wasn't being serious. That he was pulling your leg to try and make a fool out of you. It wasn't until about a year after he had shared it with you, that you had truly believed him. It was back when you were trying to make a purchase inside of some trader's cabin, staring at the withered face of an old man that was trying to highball you on a pack of ammo. The smarmy grin on his face had made irritation itch down your spine, and the urge to reach out and strike him on the nose had been strong. But it wouldn't have gotten you anything other than kicked out or shot at, so you had slipped your attention off of him and onto the old TV set that sat behind him on the counter. It was playing some vintage grainy film - long before your time when the air wasn't tainted and radioactive, and families sat around a dinner table to eat steaming hot meatloaf and talk about work, and baseball and the quality of their lawns. 
It was the man on screen that caught your eye. He was doused under the monochrome hue casted over the film, which projected a deep shadow over his face from the brim of his cowboy hat. Though it had done nothing to dull the quality of the pleasing, dulcet smirk on he wore while he leaned against the wooden support beam of one of those old western styled buildings. A smirk that had been directed at a pretty starlet whose mouth was busy delivering some sarcastic remark at his expense. But it was his eyes that had really struck you. Even though it was impossible to make out their true shade - turned dark under the black and white pigment of the movie - the familiarity of them had given you pause. The snarky trader's rambling had faded into the background while you squinted at the screen across from you, trying to place a man that you weren't even sure that you had ever met before, and the smirk on his lips had grown into a large, mostly one-sided smile. The familiarity of it had your realization hitting you like a ton of bricks, all abrupt and a little disorienting.
He hadn't been joking, or mocking you with the tales of some past, fancy life. He really had been a movie star with his face drawn and printed across newspapers and gossip magazines. He had a mother and a father, friends, a lover. He might have even had a family of his own that dined with him and sat at his dinner table to gossip about baseball and the lushness of their house's front lawn when he wasn't standing behind a silver screen and dressed up as a cowboy. Or a marshal, like he had been in that particular film; hunting down criminals and fighting for the decency and virtue of the Wild West. 
It's kind of ironic actually, in a dark and depressing sort of way. 
Cooper's attention shoots up to you in the form of a glare from the sound of your amused, disbelieving snicker. You can see the defensive way his muscles coil underneath the cover of his coat, all bunched up like he might jump at you with his teeth exposed in a wicked snarl. "The fuck are you laughin' at?" 
You shake your head softly, and you can only hope that you properly show your apology on your face. "Nothing. I just - I'm surprised you had friends, is all." 
Luckily, he seems to catch the jest in your tone and the subtle tension that had been there melts back into his casual indifference. "And why's that now?" He asks, angling his chin lower as his expression shifts into something impish and mirthful. "You can't say that you haven't been at least a little bit enthralled by my boyish charm. " 
"Boyish? There's nothing "boyish" about you." You nearly laugh again, but this time your reaction doesn't do anything to dull his own amusement. If anything, it seems to amplify it with that way that it seems to dance and glint in his unwavering stare. 
"But I am charming?" He says queekily, and the rough ridge of his eyebrows lift with the question. "Come on, I'm sure this ol' ugly mug does something for you." 
It always throws you a bit when he gets like this. Playful in a way that isn't violent or sardonic, almost soft - not that'd you ever tell him that. These moments are always few and far between, nestled between the gore and brutality of the Wasteland like something rare and delicate. This is when he lets you see a hint of the man he probably was once before, back when his concern was house payments and landing a role for an upcoming film. It's a type of humor and demeaner that's so different from the venomous delight and selfish sarcasm that he often indulges in, and it never fails to make a melancholic ache gnaw away at the pit of your chest. It's always a painful realization, that he had a life and loved ones at some point. He was a person who loved and was loved in turn, and now it's all gone. Scattered away and volatilized by the consuming rushing plumes of heat, and energy, and pressure. But you couldn't tell him that. Just how much sorrow and regret you feel for him. He'd lash out and bare his teeth. For him it wouldn't be sympathy, it would only be pity, and that's something that a man like Cooper just can't handle. 
And you do like feeling the sharpness of his teeth against your skin, just for an entirely different reason. 
"And what if it does?" It comes out easily enough, even though it's anything but unsubtle. The tone of your voice is too telling to be considered a joke, and the knowing look that crosses his face lets you know that he's caught onto the insinuation. The dark glint in his eyes is one that you've been pinned under more than once, yet it never fails to make a shiver shoot down the separate ridges of your spine; like an animal that's wandered to close to danger but isn't smart enough to flee. It's gone so quiet that you could probably hear a pin drop with the unhurried atmosphere around you slowing down into a sluggish but striking halt that makes it difficult to believe that the two of you aren't the only people left alive in a world so dead and violent. 
"You sure you can handle this tonight?" His tone has taken on the low, graveled sort of edge. It serves as a warning, and it's only amplified with the way that his eyes glimmer from the receding sunlight that trickles in from the window in the shades of an ebbing gold and lavender, shining like the lethal cut of a blade or the barrel of a gun. It makes you feel frozen in place even though something molten licks through your veins and begins to smolder deep in the pit of your stomach. And you know what he's asking you, what he's cautioning you against. He won't be gentle, or sweet, or nice. Cooper is all want and greed. He takes and takes like something starved and gluttonous that's sole purpose is to devour and pick you down to the bone, all flayed open and quivering. But you don't want sweet, you just want him. 
You could sit and tell him all the way's that you crave him, and all the things that you need him to do to you as proof of your desires, but you know that Cooper is a man of action and not words. If you really mean to prove to him that you need him to touch you, then you'll have to meet him halfway. It has you lifting yourself from the dingy mattress, making the springs groan and whine as you shift and rise to cross the floor. You could try to be sexy about it, swinging your hips enticingly to draw his attention in a performance, but you don't. He has to know that you're being serious, that this isn't a decision that you're making because of the stress or alcohol, but that it's something genuine and raw. 
He watches you like a hawk as you approach, vision fixed to you like he might spring forward and snatch you if you so much as flinch. His fingers run across his thumbs, causing the leather of his glove to creak dully. There's a hunger in his gaze that should make you waver or reconsider your steps, but if anything, it only serves to have a dangerous rush through your body, fueling you with a risky sense of empowerment. It's like a drug almost, having one of the most dangerous men in the Wasteland looking at you like he could rip you apart and piece you back together again, all at once. Like he's going to break you with his tongue and draw blood. 
You're close enough now that your knees almost brush along his. When you lift one of your legs to climb onto his lap, he's quick to place the bottle of whisky on the nightstand beside him before settling both of his hands your hips, gently guiding you sit up top him even while his fingertips flex and threaten to bruise your skin. He hasn't broken eye contact with you once, entirely zeroed in on you with the rapt, analyzing sort of focus, like he's trying to notice everything about you at once, searching for a vulnerability to make you malleable and pliant if need be. 
You let your hands settle along his shoulders, feeling the smooth but worn leather of his coat underneath your palms, all buttery and warm from the tepid air and the heat of him. Almost as though it has a mind of its own, one of your hands sweep close to his neck and you glide the pad of your thumb across the textured skin peeking out from his button up's collar, all raised and slightly gnarled from radiation exposure. You've always wondered if it ever hurts him to be touched, if the brush of your hands along his skin might sting or prickle. But you suppose that he might be too dopped up to even register the pain that might come with the old burns and damaged nerves. A look of relief always takes over his features when he drinks that pale amber liquid from those chem vials. The chems that keep him from turning Feral; all drugged and dulled as the effects of it course through his body to soothe and suppress those mental and physical ailments. But even with the chemicals in his system, he is still able to feel you. This you know for certain. You've witnesses the influence that your hands have had on him before. You've reveled in how he's pressed into your palm and demanded more while his chest has risen in greedy, panting breaths. 
And that's all you want. To see his control slip again while he grips your hair to bare your throat to him so he can scatter more bites along the delicate skin, breaking capillaries underneath the wet suction of his tongue and parting flesh from the pressure of his teeth. 
"I know what I'm asking," you answer firmly, fully resting yourself on the support of his lap. "And right now, I'm asking for you to touch me." 
A dangerous smirk breaks across his face; the kind that immediately lets you know that you're in for nothing but trouble. He cocks his head when he considers you, eyes glinting underneath the brim of his hat. "But I am touchin' you, sweetheart." 
This is another one of the moments where you could probably slap him if you weren't already so taken with the charming mischief dancing in his stare, the honeyed drawl of his voice. It never fails to make you a little weak in the knees, and it's a crack in your armor that he never fails to exploit to the fullest. There's already a dim pang of desperation growing in your chest, but you won't dare to let him know that. It's always a constant push and pull in this little dynamic that you've cultivated with him - a constant state of cat and mouse. And unfortunately for you, you're typically the mouse. But every once in a while, if you play your cards right, you can get his claws to slip just the slightest. 
You lean close to him, angling your head just enough to keep from nudging his hat from its perch but also close enough to brush your lips against his. They're rough against your own, rugged from the texture of his skin and a little chapped by the baren, harsh elements just outside the safety of the room. But the shiver that trembles down your spine is far from disgust. It's excitement, clear and burning; thrumming along your nerves like an electrical current. The scent of him only strengthens it, perfumed with the earthy musk of soil and smoky with leather, and there's whisky on his lips, spicy and wooden, and you long to taste it. But you can't be too hasty, not with him poised to strike and sniffing out even a hint of weakness. 
You take ahold of the lapels of his coat, running your fingertips over the stitching worked along the edges as you lock your stare with his own. "Come on Coop, do we really have to do this tired routine, again? " You murmur it lowly while leaning in to nip your teeth along his ear, relishing the subtle salt of skin when it washes over your tongue. "Can't we just treat ourselves, and give in?" 
The grip on your hips tightens just a bit and you can feel him sweep his thumbs over you, though its agonizingly dull through the material of your pants, making it almost impossible to properly feel the way he caresses you. And then his voice rumbles out with the pleasing lilt, dousing out the tiny flicker of hope near your heart. "Oh, call me old fashioned, but I've always been at the mindset that it's best to take these sorts of things real nice 'n slow." 
He wants you to beg. To give in and whine. And pathetically, with the way that one of his hands slips around your front to tease and toy with the button on your jeans, it already has fissures breaking along your sense of restraint. It's such a small touch, but the graze of his knuckles gliding across your skin leaves something blazing in their wake, making kindling out of your bones and threatening to set you on fire. But in your defense, you haven't been in the company of someone in a good while. The last person that you had touched had been him, and that had been all of those five months ago in Junktown, tucked away in some shady back alleyway before you both turned on each other in favor of trying to snatch up the bounty. You had left the dingy passage with your back clawed up from the rough exterior of a building and your knees smarting and stinging, and those little scratches and bruises have long since healed and vanished. 
But you don't want to break just yet. You want to try and hold onto those slipping, fraying little pieces of your pride for as long as you can, but this his deft fingertips are popping the button of your pants open and gripping the zipper to tug it down on its tracks with a sharp, metallic hiss. It has your breath catching in your throat, and the oxygen is all but siphoned from your lungs when one of his fingers softly plucks at the elastic band of your underwear. Like he might finally humor you and slip it inside to properly touch you. But that's such a foolish idea. 
"You know, I think I've missed you," he muses against your throat. You can feel the vibrations of it softly reverberating along the skin and tendons there, sinking in deep and humming along your blood. "Have ya missed me at all?" 
It sounds like such a genuine question, but the tone he's using is entirely too mocking and yet your clouded over brain wishes to give him an authentic response. It's right there on the tip of your tongue, a single, devout yes. But you snap it shut behind your teeth before it can escape. Instead, you settle for a strained maybe, that nearly hurts to say, a bitter half-truth that taste like chemicals and ancient coffee grounds. 
"Don't be like that now," he nearly coos, all patronizing and falsely sweet. His face shifts, brushing the rough drag of his lips over the edge of your jaw as his free hand lifts to cradle your chin, guiding you to tilt your head and meet his eyes again. The leather covering his thumb glides over the shape of your bottom lip, while the colorful glimmer of his eyes captivates you and holds you hostage with shimmers of green and amber and rich brown. "I think you did miss me, my little hunter. " 
You hate the heat and want that bleeds throughout your limbs and chest and trickles down from your spine to settle between the cradle of your hips. It nearly feels like a type of betrayal, that way that your body longs to give into him so easily, with nothing more than a few calculated touches and some honeyed words. And when he slips his thumb past your lips and into your mouth your mind nearly draws a blank, falling flat and fuzzy like radio static at the smoky taste of old leather. He flashes you that charming, crooked smile, and you're certain that you must look just as dazed as you feel. When you run your tongue along his thumb, brushing it along the stitching and seams, you see something spark in his stare, all starved and restrained like he's trying to keep himself from eating you alive. 
"Why don't you get down on your knees and show me just how much you really missed me?" 
Those words enter into your brain like a burning bullet splitting through empty air, piercing through the fog and stuffing packed into your skull abruptly. It draws all of your attention onto him, narrowing all of your senses down into a point to latch onto him. Even with the hunger and greed shining through his expression, you can still see a clear sense of patience showing through it all and it grounds you like a stream of warm sunlight cutting through the cover of heavy storm clouds. And despite his words, you know that he's waiting to see if you want to back out. Cooper is a lot of things: a murderer, a cannibal, and easily one of the most underhanded individuals that someone could cross paths with in the Wasteland. But if you uttered the smallest no or showed even the faintest hint of hesitance, then that would be that. You'd be back alone at your place on the bed, and he, sitting across from you while you both catch up on your lost time and exchanged stories and recite the past few of months in words and passing comments. But that's far from what you want right now. 
You don't look away from him when you shift and slip down onto the floor, and his eyes trace you hotly when you settle between his spread open thighs and place your palms just above his knees. His warmth radiates through the worn fabric of his pants, soothing and grounding, but what really draws your attention is the familiar shape of his cock making a heavy impression against the hidden zipper. The sight of it alone has your mouth watering, and you swear that you can already taste him, all salt and musk and like a rough velvet against your tongue. 
His head tilts and the action has the brim of his hat casting a soft shadow over his sunken eyes. "Get on with it then, it ain't gonna take care of itself," he remarks, a little condescending. His brows perk upward when he speaks, and the rumbling edge that his tone has adopted as anticipation and electricity singeing over your limbs and fingertips. And it has your hands lifting forward like they've been drawn up on a string, all impulse and instinct driving you forward to start working on the buckle of his belt and then the clasp of his gun holster. You're a little impatient when you slip the leather strap through the metal ring, with your movements all a little hurried and the amused huff of laughter that rises from his chest has you openly glaring up at him. The way that he casually meets your scowl nearly feels like some kind of challenge. There's an unsaid taunt in his eyes when you pinch the zipper of his pants between your fingertips and tug it downward over the metallic tracks. 
That smug smile is pressing at the corners of his mouth, growing wider and threatening to show teeth when you impatiently tug at his pants, hooking your fingers into the belt loop to try and shift them down his waist. But it's only when you shoot him a pointed, unamused look that he finally lifts his hips to help aid you in your efforts and allows you to drag his pants down around his thighs. It's almost a little surprising when his cock springs from his pants, half-hard and already leaking a few drops of precum. Of course, he isn't wearing any underwear. 
You can see another taunt rising up in his expression, probably at the ready to leave his mouth and mock you, and that wicked glint in his eyes is more than enough to have you leaning forward with the desire to finally have him speechless. A challenge for sure, but you're determined. You take ahold of him in the grip of your palm and drop your jaw open to lick up the length of him. He's warm along your tongue, just as textured as the rest of his damaged skin, but it isn't unpleasant in the slightest. The taste of him spills over your palette like salt and a little musky, and the familiarity of it has you eager to take more of him. You hardly give yourself time to adjust to it before you slip the head of his cock past your lips and work more of it down until your nose brushes along his groin, and you can feel the weight of him press along the back of your throat until water threatens to well up in your eyes. 
You hear hiss sharply through his teeth over the haze in your skull and the obscene sound of your tongue and mouth gulping around him wetly.  His thighs clench and flex underneath your palms, hips twitching like he might already start thrusting until you're gagging around the thickness of him, so it surprises you when he holds himself back. His impulse control is such an unpredictable thing that seems to revolve entirely around his terms. Usually, he's intent on seeking out his pleasure. Not to say that he's entirely selfish - he always makes sure to leave you a breathless, boneless mess, no matter if it's an impromptu quickie behind a random building or an entire night spent on top of the roof of some old, dilapidated diner with the stars scattered above while coyotes cackle and yelp in the distance (that won't be a moment that you forget any time soon). But he's more than a little self-serving, and that often translates into sex. Particularly when getting head, he enjoys fucking your throat until tears are pouring down your face and you have to remind yourself how to breathe. 
But he's being gentle, almost - something that you never would have associated with a man like Cooper. Though there's no other way to really describe it when he slips on of his hands over the side of your face, curling his fingers near the nape of your neck and gliding his thumb across the swell of your cheek. It's how you touch something that's delicate; made of porcelain or glass, and it might shatter and crumble if it's handled too harshly. It makes your heart ache and long for something that you weren't even entirely sure that you wanted from him. 
Maybe he's sudden display of uncharacteristic sweetness is just his way of extending a sense of control to you after the sorry state that he had found you in, all clinging to air and bloody with a hand around your throat. It's such a simple thing really, but in a world as greedy and stripping as this one - from a man as selfish and ruthless as him, it almost feels a little vulnerable. And maybe it is a little stupid how a simple touch has a tender gash opening inside your chest, and a small barrage of emotion welling up to the surface and threatening to spill out. It doesn't help that you can feel his eyes on you when glide your mouth over him, all heavy and unwavering when you trace the subtle veins that trail across his length with the tip of your tongue. And even with the chaotic torrent of emotions that are trying to bubble up to the surface, you can't help but to delight in the way that his hips twitch and roll upward to meet you when you bob your head down on him. 
It's all sort of pathetic. The flurry of admiration and want that pools in the center of your gut and pours downward in rivulets of liquid heat to settle in the apex of your legs, where you're already certain that you're wet. And when you dare to look up, glancing through the tears that blur your vision and cling to your lashes, you have to all but slam a door shut on every single one of those dangerous little feelings, packing them up tight and shoving them deep down when you meet the weight of his stare. His head is leaned back against the back rest of the chair, threatening to nudge his hat from the crown of his head and his lips are already parted to release quiet puffs of air that rise and fall from his chest. 
It's dim. Sort of blink and you'll miss it, but you swear that you can nearly catch a kind of glazed over glint to his eyes. Like if he allowed himself, the pleasure could take him apart. It has the warmth smoldering within you fuming into a licking, desperate heat that feels like it could devour you whole. The expression on his face has you mind flatlining into something thoughtless until all you're nothing but impulse and want. You need to see more of that look. To watch the pleasure overcome him until his voice stretches out into rumbling sighs and fucked out swearing. 
It has you doubling your efforts. You lift one of your hands to twist it over the girth of him, adding to the stimulation when you lap at the head of cock and take his balls into your free palm. The low, almost strained fuck that you get in response is like a reward, brushing a shiver down your spine like fingertips and you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. It has a whine slipping from your chest, nearly choking you when you take more of him into your mouth and the walls of your throat flex and ripple over the girth obstructing your airway. 
A dazed, bewildered moan escapes you when one of his hand grips you from its place around the back of your neck and guides you up until you only have the flat of your tongue against the head of his cock, catching the beads of cum that trickle from the slit. 
"Easy there, now," he warns lowly. "Wouldn' want you to hurt yourself, now do we darlin'?" 
The saccharine implications of his words and the subtle mocking of his tone has a conflicting set of responses rising in you. A part of you preens underneath his attentions and the other bristles from the taunt. In a small act of defiance, you halt the stroking of your fingertips from his balls and drop your hand entirely from him in favor of slipping it underneath your pants and the elastic band of your underwear. You can't help but to think him for unbuttoning your pants earlier when you nudge them downward until they glide along your clit in tight circles, spreading sparks and heat across your nerves and you mouth drops open even further into a drunk gasp. "Maybe that's what I want," you reply, even though your voice is already a little raw. 
"Well, with way you're touchin' yourself from just suckin' dick, I'd say you'd like that," he rumbles softly with that sharp grin on his face. You can see the lust and delight burning in his eyes when you lick against the head of his cock and eagerly swallow the taste of him - too shameless to even register a shred of embarrassment at his taunt. It feels like your body might turn itself inside out when he grips ahold of his length just above your own hand; stroking himself and making the leather of his glove creak lowly when he guides the tip across your lips to smear them with spit and cum like perverted sort of gloss. "Oughtta grab those cuffs you were in earlier. Bind you up nice 'n tight and use you up until there's nothing left. . . If only I could remember where I tossed 'em." 
It's disgusting how the thought excites you. It should be abhorrent. Something you should shy away from or openly reject considering that you had just been cuffed and dragged across the desert only a few hours earlier, but it only has something burning and heavy filling up your skull again. It threatens to sweep you under, clouding you mind over like a haze and the scent of him only intensifies it, all earth and dust and leather and salt. It's enough to have your mind twisting up and fraying around the edges until it might become completely useless. It makes it difficult to notice the impression of his hand slipping back around your neck again, digging into the tender flesh of your nape to guide your mouth back onto his cock. 
You yield underneath the nudging pressure of his hand easily, allowing it to coax you downward until your throat is flexing and swallowing around his girth; saliva slipping past the suction of your lips to drip and coat him in a way that's entirely filthy. But you welcome and bask in it completely, relishing in how it aids you when you begin to work your hand back over him, syncing it up with the drag and glide of your mouth. 
The hinges of your jaw are already beginning to ache a bit, straining from how he stretches your jaw wide to fit between your lips, but you still have absolutely no desire to stop or take a break. You can hardly even focus on the dull throb while you sweep your slick fingertips around your clit, flooding your veins with molten lust and endorphins. And it isn't long until you're rolling your hips against your own hand, and it has you almost completely pulled under, enraptured by the weight of and taste of him in your mouth and the pleasure you have building between your thighs. It makes you completely helpless. All caught up and moaning lowly around his girth when you sweep your tongue along the head of his cock in each upstroke before you glide your head down until he nudges the back of your throat. 
"You know, I never did give you permission to start touchin' on yourself like some cheap slut," he comments, all casual and sardonic, but you can still a sweetened edge to his tone. A little too sweet honestly. It would have concerned you if you weren't already hazed over and unbothered, but you should have taken it as a warning, because he's suddenly shoving one of his legs between your thighs and rudely grinding the toes of his boot up between your thighs. The pressure of it crushes against your knuckles and forces you to remove your hand from your pants to try and evade the sting of pain that spreads along your tendons and the back of your hand. It has you split in your reactions, and in your confusion, it has an almost melancholic whimper bubbling from your chest at the loss of your fingertips while you also glare up at him through the blur of tears from you place on the floor. Though, you can't imagine that you seem all that imposing with his dick completely stuffed in your mouth. 
The smug grin that he sports is confirming in that little assumption, and the arrogant glint in his eyes has a little trickle of irritation skipping down your back. "Don't worry, now. You've caught me a generous mood," he says, much too composed even when a soft groan rumbles from him at the wet glide of your mouth.  "I'll play nice with you; just this once." 
And then he's pressing his boot up against the heat of your cunt. Even with the layers of your pants and underwear still secure around your hips, the friction and weight of it against you is exquisite. Your eyes nearly roll back at the feel of it as you get caught up in the fire and burning, liquid honey that scolds and eats at you bones and flesh. The fit of your jeans is loose enough that it has the seam of them dragging along your clit, and it's only amplified by how he nudges the firm leather of his boot against you. It has your hips twitching and rolling over him mindlessly; your body instinctively seeking out pleasure before you have to consciously tell it to. 
It all already entirely too much and too little. You can feel the creases in the leather along the top of his boot pressing underneath the material of your clothes, firmly grinding against the wet heat of your cunt in a way that's almost mean. A sob rises in your throat, begging to slip free but the gentle press of his hand on the back of your head keeps you pinned in place as he rolls his hips to work himself into your mouth. It's obscene, the way that you can hear yourself, whimpering and moaning weakly around the ceaseless thrusts of his cock; the sloppy, wet glide of your spit slipping past your lips and tongue. 
You should be ashamed of yourself. A bounty hunter reduced to a mess with your knees digging into the dingy carpet while your mouth and hands are full of someone who should only be a rival. A threat to your survival and lively hood. But you know damned well that even if you weren't currently blowing him like you'd been paid for it that you could never bring yourself to see him as such. Cooper - even with as infrequent and unplanned as your interactions always are - has been the only constant in your life. The closest you've ever come to a friend or anything of the like. Everyone else is dead and gone. Killed off by time, circumstance or bad decisions. Ever since that night in the Mojave when you were both strangers with nothing more than the driving force to survive and the need to claim the same bounty there was an intrigue there. A morbid sort of curiosity that comes with leaning over to admire the depth of a canyon and wondering what it might be like to just dive in, and like a glutton for punishment you had been unable to resist the call to it. You had flirted with danger every chance that you had gotten; nearly each time you had crossed paths. He's been a sort of shadow in your life ever since. Always looming in hanging in your peripheral vision, even when he isn't close. Always present, despite being miles and months apart. 
Maybe that's why you always end up on your knees or on your back whenever you cross paths with the ghoul. Not that you're complaining. Especially not now with fire searing at the base of your spine and settling deep inside the cradle of your hips. It has your cunt clinching around nothing, begging to be filled while you desperately roll them against Cooper's boot in a fruitless attempt to nudge yourself close to the edge that seems to rise and fall and extend out in front of you with no end in sight. You swear you could sob. And with the dim groans and rumbling breaths that nearly pant out of Cooper's chest he seems to be getting just as worked up as you. But you can feel his cock pulsing along your tongue and his thighs tense and clench, signaling that he's about to reach the precipice that you're helplessly dangling along. 
You can hear him whispering over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears; hushed praises and snippets of "that's it - just like that." His head is still lolled back against the rest of the chair, chin tipped upward, and lips parted while his eyes are all lidded and dark and threatening to slip shut while he watches you. It's almost lethal, how gorgeous he looks like this. Just a little glazed over with pleasure, but still coherent enough to have a hint of that smug smile pressing at the corners of his mouth. Despite his viciousness; all jagged, rough edges and scathing sarcasm; gaunt and worn features crafted by the Wasteland, there's a brutal sort of beauty about him. A kind of repartee and charm that you don't find in many anymore, and you can still see a faint reflection of that suave, chivalrous move star in that smile of his. Even if it's just a vague ghost. A faded reflection of something - or someone - who's dead and gone and buried. 
You like those old glimpses of Cooper that you've seen. The star that graced the silver screen and entertained and enraptured the masses with his gallant declarations and witty one-liners. That old version of him seemed kind with a sort of virtue and gentleness glinting in his eyes. Something that you're always unable to find reflecting in Cooper's gaze now that centuries of war and violence and bloodshed have carved him into an entirely new being. One that has to fight and tear and kill to survive. But you like this version of him too. Maybe just as much, skeletal features, jagged edges and all. You can't tell him that. Not when you can hardly admit it to yourself. Not when the revelation could tear apart this delicate little friendship that you've curated with him throughout the years. 
But you can show him as best as you can. As best as he'll allow. And you'll pretend that every tough of your fingers, the stroke of your palms and the brush of your tongue along the salt of his skin is completely detached, even while it digs and cracks at some pathetic little piece of your soul. 
You swivel your tongue along the head of his cock, lapping at the precum that's collected there as your work both of your hands along the base of him. You're desperate to taste him, to feel him pulse in your mouth as that long, guttural groan slips from his throat, and his thighs twitch and shudder. Just the thought of it has your hips working against the firm shape of his boot with even more fervor, shooting electricity throughout you with each grind along your clit. It already has your stomach clenching, muscles seizing up tight in the preparation to squeeze every ounce of ecstasy from your body. 
You're both right along the edge, you can feel it. The anticipation of it has that smoldering, debilitating wave rising over you and cresting up higher with every roll of your hips. You can feel him throb in your mouth, only seconds away from coming. It has your body twisting up tight, moaning wantonly around the length of him while you eagerly await the rush of cum to spirt from his cock. But that's when the guiding hand on the back of your hand suddenly grips ahold of your hair, grabbing it tight to use it as leverage to pull your mouth from his length with a nasty pop just as your orgasm sweeps over you like a burst of fire and smoke. It forces you to make eye contact with him while bliss and heat ravages every ounce of you and your mouth drops open in a silent cry. 
He doesn't even wait for the bliss and pleasure to subside or for you to get your bearings before he's all but lurching forward with a quickness that's frightening. You just hardly catch the dark, starved glint in his eyes before he's on you and sweeping you up from your place on the floor with a jarring speed. Taking you into his arms as his rough lips meet yours in kiss that's mostly teeth, and then he's backing you up, guiding you towards something that you can't see and nearly dragging you in his urgency while his hands grasp the back of your neck and hip with an iron grip. The ferocity behind it has you moaning, all wanton and depraved when he licks into your mouth, tasting himself and biting at your lips with the ardor of a man possessed. Your hands are everywhere they can reach, sweeping along the expanse of his chest and shoulder, slipping up his neck and knocking his hat free from the crown of his head to land somewhere forgotten on the floor. 
He follows you down onto the support of something soft yet firm when the back of your knees hit what must be the edge of the bed, making the old springs squeak and groan in your shared weight. When he speaks next, it's nearly mumbled against your lips, grumbled out between the sharp, starved nips of his teeth. "You're too pretty for your own good," he drawls, breath tasting of whisky and salt. He pulls back just enough to look at you, supporting his hands on either side of your head as he wedges himself between your thighs. "I could just eat you alive." He dips his face into the crook of your neck and biting into the tender flesh there just harshly enough to sting. It's just enough for you to think that he might actually follow through with it and eat you alive; sink his teeth into you while you're vulnerable and dazed to lick your blood from his lips. It should disturb you that you wouldn't really mind it. But then his voice speaks out against your ear, thick and slow like molasses. "I think I'll just settle for fucking you." 
That's when he starts shoving your pants down your thighs, shifting back enough to peel them down your legs roughly. When he reaches your boots, he doesn't bother with any sort of finesse or tact, he just starts tugging them from your feet and tossing them like he's being timed for it and is running behind. It has you worried that you might slip from the bed and your fingers sink around the old comforter to try and stay latched on as he finally pulls your underwear and jeans free from you, digging your nails into the stitching sewn into the blanket like it might help you stay put. But he's on you with all of the fervor of a wild animal, eyes blazing even in the dark that's fallen over the room. 
You're completely enraptured while you watch him slip two of his fingers between his lips, biting into the tips of his glove to tear the leather from his hand before spitting it out somewhere on the mattress. But even with the entirety of your focus zeroed in on him it still takes you by surprise when he reaches down and swipes his fingers along your cunt, spreading you open to glide one of his knuckles along your clit. It has your back bowing and your mouth dropping open in a silent scream from the pressure of it. You're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and your nerves feel as though they've been zapped with an electrical current. It has you hissing through your teeth, your breath snagging in your lungs while your body writhes and jerks like it isn't sure if it wants to squirm away or lean closer to his touch. 
"You're fuckin' soaking," he gloats openly with a shameless grin. 
"Cooper - I don't know if I ca-" 
"You can," he insists. His voice is coated with a layer of satisfaction and perhaps even humor, but there's still an edge of patience to it despite the boastfulness. It almost seems like enough to center you, quieting your thoughts down in to dim background noise. But it's the brush of his lips along your own that truly silences everything, drawing you attention onto him when he licks into your mouth, still tasting like whisky. It's almost enough to distract you from the tight circles he draws around your clit, forcing a broken whine from your throat when he replaces his fingertips with his cock, smearing your cum along his length in filthy, teasing glides. 
Now you find yourself pulling him forward, slipping your hands around the back of his neck and hooking your legs around his waist to tug him closer even though you're still too sensitive; lit up like a live wire from his touch. It has you gasping into his mouth, nipping your teeth along his bottom lip like you might be the one to eat him alive this time, and the pleased rumbling sigh that rises from his chest feels like a reward all in itself. For a moment everything is all soft. Placid and unrushed despite the frantic, zealous edge to it. Like you've been drawn into a hushed pocket of time. But it's just as dangerous as it is gentle. Begging to lure you into a sense of comfort and adoration that you can't afford to succumb to. An adoration and comfort that you know that a man like the Ghoul will never be able to give- the vicious, maverick creature that he is. 
Loyalty in the Wasteland is a liability just as much as it's an advantage. It's the people you cherish the most that cut the deepest. They slow you down and keep you tied. A death sentence for a world so violent. It makes your time with him limited. Always borrowed until the seconds tick down to zero and either one of you slink away until you cross paths again weeks or months later. After tonight you aren't sure when you'll see him next. If you'll ever see him again. There aren't any guarantees in this life, and at any moment your days could be cut short. A single bad decision or one bad move and your breath could be snuffed out like a weak fire on a short wick. You aren't sure how much longer you have left, but here and now it's safe to pretend that there's more waiting for you. That he won't slip away into the night as soon as the rush has worn off and the tension has ebbed from your bodies. 
It's the drag of his cock slipping over you harshly that snags you from the chaotic scatter of your thoughts, forcing your attention to snap onto him abruptly. The look in his eyes fixes your focus onto him like it's magnetized. There's a weight and fervor burning in them that leaves you completely breathless, pinned underneath his gaze and left malleable and wanting. But the smug, calculating glimmer to it should have tipped you off that he's planning something, because it's the only warning you get before he's notching the head of his cock at the entrance of your cunt and shoving himself into you in a single thrust. 
Your jaw drops in a silent cry as your walls stretch to accommodate him. Your hands scramble for purchase, clawing and clinging to the leather of his coat, slicing along the material and probably leaving visible marks along the tanned hide while you try to hold on and survive the wild pace that he's set. He's driving into you with a sort of ardor that already has your back bowing, driving his cock into you with debilitating strokes that punch the air from your lungs each time he bottoms out. You feel like you've been set on fire, all tingling, burning nerves and electricity rippling up your spine while he splits you open on his length. 
It's stupid how easily he always reduces your mind to a useless pile of mush. But no matter how many times you wind up underneath him or on top of him, he always manages to strip you down to your basest levels. And the way that a bout of low, guttural groans slips from him with each thrust has you squirming even more, meeting his rhythm with the roll of your hips. You feel the sound of him more than you hear him with his breath puffing against the crook of your neck and reverberating along your chest as he mouths along your throat with the sharp scrape of his teeth and the soft brushes of his tongue. The sounds echo along the room are filthy, filled with the sharp, repetitive squeak of the mattress's springs and the wet slap of skin on skin. It's all a little filthy. The unrestrained way that he fucks into you, the tender bruises that he's leaving along your neck - like he's trying to leave his claim on you. Like he wants to carve a place for himself inside of you that no one else will ever be able to fill. Making you a wreck and mess just for him. 
The buckle of his belt has become pinned between both of your bodies, and the chilled brass and silver rubs against your clit with each and every thrust. But it's the bumps on the plating that really make you twitch, almost forcing your body to tighten and clench around his girth with each deep drag. It has you gasping in seconds, clinging to his shoulders like the support of them underneath your palms might save you. 
Sharp, warbling moans split across the air, and it takes your sluggish brain a few moments to register that it's your own voice that's whining and sobbing. You can feel your lips moving, the shift of your tongue in your mouth but you can hardly comprehend what you're even saying. It could be anything from rambling pleas to cries of Cooper's name, but you can't be entirely sure. Not when your body is already coiling up tight, muscle seizing and your abdomen bunching up while that familiar surge of smoke, and fire, and ecstasy rises up to take you over and apart. 
It has you entirely conflicted, mourning the thought of already reaching the end and what might happen afterwards, but your body also craves the release. It has you staring up at the ceiling while you cling to him, darting your vision along the cotton webs and dust that sticks to the surface like it might stave of the wave of bliss that threatens to pour over you. But he must be able to tell that you're resisting somehow, because of course he can. 
He nudges his head back from its place along your throat, and his bare hand rises to grip your face between his fingers. Stroking along your chin and your lips as he stares into your lidden eyes with a sharp grin. "Come on now, sweet girl, what'er you holdin' back for?" 
It almost sounds rhetorical in your dazed out state, but honestly, you couldn't answer him properly even if you wanted to. The way that he pistons himself in and out of you gives you no breathing room to form a coherent sentence or even so much as a word. Your tongue is useless in your mouth, and it leaves every little motion that you make nothing more than instinctual. Driven by pure impulse and bodily desire as you scratch your nails along his back and cry out into the dark. And it's now that you realize that you are indeed saying his name. Whispering it out brokenly alongside wild, broken cries of rapture. 
One particular thrust from him brushes along that devastating spot inside of you and it has your spine arching in almost painfully and you toss your head back with a noise that's close to a sob. Like a feral animal drawn to a weakness, he's unable to resist the exposed collum of your throat and suddenly you can feel the wet, hot heat of his tongue laving along your neck. No doubt feeling the scattered thrum of your pulse and blood beating wildly and coursing throughout the veins underneath your tender skin. The damp drag of it continues upward until glides up to the edge of your jaw where he nips and bites with his teeth like he might sink them in deep and gulp down the rivulets of red that would pour from the wound. 
"I can feel you fuckin' squeezin' me," he groans raggedly, now staring into your eyes. His glimmer faintly in the final scraps of light that trickle in from the twilight. Searing and gleaming like the vision of some sort of otherworldly entity that's come to take you in the night and drink you of all of your vigor and affections; leaving him incomparable to anyone else who may touch you. 
You try hard to bite back the scathing fire that's ripping across your nerves and atoms like something molten and consuming, but your body is yielding to it despite that fact that you don't want to give in yet. You don't want this moment to end. You aren't ready for the quiet that may come afterwards. The way that you'll have to pretend to be indifferent and unaffected when he begins to buckle his belt and holster before he disappears into the dark. And you'll be left to wonder if he's alive or hurt as he trudges across the barren earth in search of the thrill of a fight, and the gore-soaked glory that comes with it. But even with all of your fears and anxieties looming in the back of your mind like unwelcome phantoms it's too difficult to stave off the bliss scorching at your flesh and rushing alongside your blood. Not when he's holding you so closely, and the scent of him hands heavy in the air like leather and rich soil. Not while he's still holding your face in a grip that could almost be taken as soft with the sensation of his bare palm cradled against your skin. It's warm and intimate. 
You can hardly see him anymore with the final traces of the sunlight having finally wanned behind the distant mountains, but you can still make out his silhouette above you. You can still feel him, firm and real and present; you can hear his breath and words in the hushed, heavy atmosphere. It's such small things. Little minute details that hurtle you closer to the end. It makes you latch on to him with even more fervor, hitching your legs around him tightly and digging the heels of your feet into his lower back. 
"Quit holdin' yourself back," he it urges in a snarl against your lips like a devout prayer, like an addict asking for absolution or another fix, and the hot coil in your gut burns hotter. "Let me fuckin' feel you. Just let go for me - you can let go." 
That's all it takes for the band to snap and the waves to crash down on you in an unforgiving torrent. Everything in your winds up tight simultaneously as a rush of an almost violent sort of euphoria tears throughout you and leaves your lungs gasping for even a shred of oxygen. You're certain that you might be screaming. Your throat feels raw enough. But it's difficult to make sense of anything while stars dance across your vision in a flurry of burning white like you've gone lightheaded and might faint. And you might would have if not for the support of the ragged mattress underneath you or the grounding weight of Cooper above you, still driving himself deep inside you with heavy, practiced strokes as he chases after his own release. 
The aftershocks of you twitch throughout your body, forcing weak sobs from your empty lungs as the pleasure melts back into that electrical sort of overstimulation. It makes you weakly lift up your head to bite into the leather draped over his shoulder as your body bears down on the girth of his cock to wring out his pleasure. And the ragged string of curses and loud, guttural groan that breaks out across the room is quickly followed by the flood of warmth that spreads throughout your cunt, stuffing you with his cum with a few more uncoordinated thrusts before he collapses on top of you. 
The hush that falls over the room is almost jarring now- a complete juxtaposition to the desperate pleads and blissful sighs that had filled the space just moments before. You can still smell the scent of sex in the air, all tangled up with the fragrance of tobacco and leather that always clings to him like a kind of cologne. It seems so bittersweet now. And when he pulls out of you - the both of you hissing lowly from the sensitivity that it brings - you expect to hear the familiar metallic chime of him slipping his belt through its buckle so that he can right himself to leave.
But he doesn't do that.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he huffs and rolls over onto his back with a ragged groan, situating himself next to you before he curls one of his arms around you to guide you to lay alongside him. Your head is cradled along his chest, allowing you to listen to the wild, steady thrum of his heart raging underneath all the blood and bone while you both pant and collect yourselves. It brings a comfort and fondness to you that you still know is stupid to entertain, but it's so damn easy to give into. Everything with Cooper is always so damn easy with him even though he's as difficult as they come. And you suppose that's what's made you so helplessly stuck on him. How easily you've been lulled into this relationship with him, this cat and mouse game; the constant, simultaneous state of both confidant and rival. It's isolating and welcoming all at once. Despite being such an infrequent presence in your life, he's also managed to become such a permanent fixture as well. The mere thought of his absence always leaves you completely lost, and you aren't sure how to deal with that.  
"You should try and get some shut eye," he mumbles, and you swear that you can feel the brush of his lips against your forehead, much too gentle and delicate for a man so rough. It has a smile threatening to break across your face and suddenly you're thankful for the darkness, and the cover it provides. The last thing you need is for him to taunt you for going soft, even though you certainly could do the same to him with the way that he's got you curled against his chest. But for once you don't have the urge to ruin with moment with sarcastic quips or well-meaning insults. You want to stay here forever. Even though you know it's impossible to remain paused in this moment with the delicate, cooling desert air gliding into the room to brush along your bare skin like a lover's fingertips. 
For once in this hellscape, everything is quiet. Intimate and peaceful. But just like always it's all on borrowed time. And come a few minutes or maybe hours, if you're lucky, Cooper will lift himself from the old bed and slip into the dark to claim whatever poor soul manages to catch his eye. But here and now, you can play pretend. You can imagine that when you wake up in the morning, while the horizon is blossoming with the golden hue of the dawn, that he'll still be here to greet you with that honeyed drawl. It's a fool's dream. But dream you do. 
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aduh0308 · 13 days ago
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Hyuka eating reader out in a bathroom at a house party 😀😭
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warnings: cunnilingus, dom!kai, long hair kai, he’s a stranger, fingering, I talk too much about his nose, alcohol consumption (reader’s 21), insinuates more sex later
getting dragged to a party in someone’s dorm by your friends, you were more than a little reluctant. you make bad choices when you’re drunk, everyone knows that, but they told you it’d be good for you to get out of your studying rut, and, you know, relax a little. have some fun. you’re 21, for crying out loud. you deserve to be able to unwind.
there are people everywhere, music is blasting, and after an awkward first fifteen minutes, you find that you’re actually enjoying your time. drink in hand, you take small sips every now and then. before long you’re just a little tipsy, enough so that when a stranger takes your hand to dance, you don’t resist, a grin on your face as you move to the music.
the boy’s cute— tall, with shaggy dark brown hair, a scattering of moles across his neck and cheeks, and he’s got a nose that has you thinking thoughts you didn’t realize you were capable of. it was cute, it had a little bump in the middle that made him unique. and made you think about how it’d feel to have it between your legs. good lord, the alcohol must be getting to you.
it definitely is when you press your lips to his at the end of a particularly good song, smiling when he kisses you back, hands moving to the small of your back. the both of you are up against a wall in the back of the room after a few moments, hands all over each other, and before long, he’s dragging you up to an empty bathroom and locking the door.
breathless, he takes a moment to look you up and down, then smiles. “hi. i’m kai.”
“nice to meet you,” you breathe. he’s even better looking in regular light, brown eyes and plump lips.
kai’s looking at you expectantly, and you introduce yourself in a rush. he laughs at your expression before pressing another kiss to your lips. his hand makes it’s way down to slot between your thighs and you hum in approval. in one swift movement, you’re up on the smooth countertop, skirt down at your ankles. his thumb hooks under your underwear and slips them down your thighs. 
“this alright?” he looks up at you expectantly, now on his knees on the tiled floor.
“definitely.”
kai traces a finger up your folds, eyes wide and lust filled when he notices how wet you are. “you’re so hot,” he mumbles, and before you can even comprehend, he’s gripping your thighs to keep them from pressing together and his face is buried in your cunt.
the mirror behind you is cool against your back and you rock your head back with a loud thunk. he’s ridiculously good at this, tongue flicking up and down your clit, sucking on it like a lollipop. your hand flies out to grab his hair when his tongue moves down to your leaking hole, tip of his nose resting against your sensitive bud, and as his tongue laps at your cunt, a small squeak leaves your lips. “fuck, god, kai, you’re really—ah!— good at this..”
you can feel his lips twitch into a smile, but he doesn’t reply, too focused on how to best make you feel. his nails leave semi-circles in your thigh with how hard he’s holding your thighs, but you can’t feel it at all. all you can feel, in fact, is his tongue absolutely laving you.
he goes back to focusing on your clit, tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves, but one big hand leaves your thigh to press two fingers to your soaked entrance. they slip to nestle between your gummy walls with ease, and when he curls them in towards your stomach, he bumps up against the perfect spot inside you that has you squirming under his touch.
he shakes his head a little to bury himself more in your cunt, and with a whimper, you’re cumming around his fingers, knees trying to jolt together.
kai sits back on his heels with a smile, and his appearance could make you cum again. hair mussed from your hands, his chin and lips are shiny from your slick. 
his cheeks flush when you so openly gawk at him, but he only says, “you wanna come back to my place?”
hell yeah, you do.
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briefalpacashark · 9 months ago
Text
~Ghost of the Past~
=Part Two=
Warning: Violence, death, graphic scenes.
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Cleared area your ass. You saw three of your former team. Jamie was standing out in the open. He was dazed stumbling around while holding his gut. He didn't see the enemy, but you did. You crash tackled the poor lad behind a piece of felled debris as bullets rained down upon you. You felt a hot pain travers up your arm. You checked to see only a bullet graze. Jamie on the other hand. 
“Fuck,” You whispered seeing his spitting shoulder hit. And the hole in his lower stomach. Readjusting you gun you peeked over your cover taking out a few of the advancing enemies. At your returned fire they all moved for cover. It gave you a really short amount of time to bind Jamie shoulder with a pressure bandage. You checked in the bullet had gone straight though his stomach only to see it hadn't. You returned fire again before stuffing gaze into the hole. All the while Jamies head rolled around with disoriented pained grunts.
“This is Doc. Requesting medevac,” you spoke into the coms. What greeted you was static. 
"It's gonna be ok Jamie, I got you mate," you said.
“This is doc, is anyone there?” you spoke again. Your eyes widened when the click of metal got you attention. A grenade had landed beside you. Faster than your brain could comprehend you grabbed it chucking it back over, throwing your body on Jamie. The blast rocked you slightly, throwing all manner of barbies and dust over you.
“THIS IS DOC! IS ANYONE THERE OVER!?” You yelled into the comm. Across the way you saw your other old team members pinned behind a building.
“I NEED assistance. Im pinned down,” you spoke again. 
“Well, this sounds familiar,” Adam's cold voice invaded your ears. Turning the swirling storm of panic into a sharped edged blade. He had cut your comms of from everyone else's. Set up a line just for the two of you.
“The fuck is happening Adam. You said this area was cleared,” you hissed.
“Oh did I. Must have been my mistake,” he muttered.
“I need assistance. Jamies down,” you hated him, you wanted to kill him. but you hoped that he still had some good in him. if not for you then for Jamie.
“Pity, sorry can't help you. It looks mighty dangerous over there,” your eyes wafted over the battlefield. You found Adam standing a way away. With a shit eating grin on his face. Half of your team was with him. They were moving away from the action, towards the exit. the panic stabbed right through your heart at the all to familiar sight.
“What the fuck are you doing Adam?” you asked. They were leaving you.
“We got orders to retreat. But it seems like they have a comm blocker. Can't get into touch with team bravo,” your blood ran cold, panic sweeping the breath from you lungs. Bravo team. The boys. 
“Looks like our intel was wrong to. Seems to be a lot more bogies than originally thought,” he stated a cackling chuckle leaving his lips.
“Good luck Maddog,” he smiled giving you a mock salute before turning and leaving. If it was any other situation you would have taken a moment to let the situation sink in. But this was battle, one moment could mean the difference between life and death. 
“GET OVER HERE!” You yelled across the way your old team members grateful for the sanctuary of orders in their blind panic. Rising up you provided covered as they rushed towards you.
“Mad dog,” Anna greeted your briefly. She swallowed unsure of what you were about to do. She was surprised when you placed you hand on her shoulder.
"You hit?" you still wore the same concerned frown you always had. She didn't understand why you still cared for her. Not after what she did. She numbly shock her head the other doing so as well.
“Take him and get your asses out of here,” you ordered nodding down to Jamie.
“Yes ma'am,” she nodded. You pulled a pin of a grenade and threw it. 
Your heart hammered in your chest as you sprinted down the hallways. Everybody you passed you searched for familiar features. Soap's mohawk. Ghosts mask. Prices hat. Gaz cap. It was a brutal game of tag between dread and relief. Then you saw them. Standing around a group of captured soldiers like it was a Tuesday lunch.
“Comms are on the fritz,” Gaz announced.
“Anyone got Doc's location?” Price asked.
“I'm here!” You announced. They all turned to you taking in your appearance. you were covered in dust. Sweat lines dragging through it like art.
“You look like shite,” Price grinned at you. Relife, utter relief filled you. They were ok. They were alive.
“Your hit,” Soap took notice of the blood first as they moved towards you.
“Just a scratch. We've got orders to retreat,” you stated. The boys frowned.
“But we completed the mission?” Gaz stated. They had. Lucky bastards cleared out the whole base themselves. 
“Those are the orders. Comms are being blocked,” you stated. 
“Alright, let's get going lads,” Price announced. You quickly made your way from the base and back to the transport. As you drove back you couldn't help but stare at the boys. Your heart was still pounding. The boys were joking about something or other. You looked down to Ghost hand that rested against his thigh. You were suddenly overcome by the need to see if it was real. If they were real. To make sure it wasn't some fantasies you had conjured up in your head. Ever so slightly your fingertips took ahold of the lose fabric. A deep breath left your lips as you held it tightly. He was there. They all were. Throwing you head back you rested it against the side of the truck tears glistening between your lashes. Ghost looked down at your hand, at your spaced breathing pattern. At the slight pinch of your brows as you finger clung so desperately onto his sleeve. Feeling pressure on you left side you opened your eyes to see Ghost had pressed himself against you. Your relished in the warmth and reassurance it gave you. It was subtle, unnoticed by the other boys. But it grounded you. Pulling your head out of the 'what ifs' to the now. 
When you got back to base your eyes locked in on Adam. He was laughing with his team. When they noticed you guys, they seemed shocked. Understandable, not many could do what your boys could.
“So, they weren't joking when they said you guys meant business. Gotta say I'm impressed,” Adam stated with a wide blown smile. Your team stopped in front of them.
You didn't.
It took three large strides to close the distance between you. And only a second for you to pull your knife from its holster and shove it against Adams neck, your other hand gripping his collar to hold him stead. 
“THE FUCK YOU PLAYING AT HUH!?” You screamed.
“Whoah hey hehehe,” he held his hands up in surrender.
“DOC STAND DOWN!” Price's order went over your head.
“I swear to god, anyone touches me, and I'll cut his throat,” you threat was real. You wanted them to give you an excuse to do it.
“Its alright Maddog. The fights over. Your safe,” Adam went to put a hand on your shoulder. His movements only stopped when you pushed the knife flush against his neck slicing the skin ever so slightly.
“How fucked up in the head are you? What makes you think you can get away with this huh?” you asked. The sly smile pulled over his lips.
“I dont know what you mean,” he said innocently. Fury, utter fury raged within you. You could feel you hand wanting to move. Wanting to slice his neck open and watching him bleed out infront of you.
“Y/N,” Price called softly. You were breathing erratically as you hand shock. Most thought you would actually do it. You flinched lightly as a hand encompassed your own. You looked to the side to see Ghost. His gaze soft. 
“Its alright. We got you,” he whispered softly. His hand trailed up your arm. to your hand which he gave a soft squeeze before pulling it back. He gently took the knife from your grasp. And you let him. 
“Good choice,” Adam swallowed. Your fist snapped out cracking into his face sending him on his ass. Ghost wrapped his arms around you pulling you back where Soap took the other side of you. 
“Enough!” Price yelled stepping between you two. 
“I don't give a fuck what you do to me. But the next time you throw my boys under the bus like that again it will be a bullet I put though your face. Not my fucking fist,” you seethed glaring dagger at him. He chuckled whipping the blood from his broken nose.
“And that's why she's called mad dog,” he uttered getting to his feet with the help of his men. Some which held guilty looks.
“Keep that one on a short leash captain. She can tend to wander,” you tried to get a second hit in, but the boys held you back.
“Walk it off sargent!” Price deamned pointing you in the opposite direction. 
“Yeah, walk it off,” Adam tainted. Price turned to glare at him.
“You stay the fuck away from her you understand boy," Price got into his face talking to his as if he would scold a child. And Adam hated that. Ripping yourself form the boys grasp you turned on you heel and stomped away. 
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You were all informed that another mission would take place the day after. After the whole ordeal the boys had looked for you. They were worried about you. You had completely disappeared. Nobody knew where you were. You hadn't signed out of the base. So, Gaze tracked your phone.
So there you stood hidden in the bushes as you stared at a certain grave not to far from you. You heard the boys walk up to your side. You were wearing a hood an a medical mask to cover your features.
“Visiting an old friend?” Price asked. They had all lost someone special to them. Whether it be a fellow soldier or family. You had hardly talked about your past, so they didn't know who you lost. 
“You guys shouldn't be here,” you whispered softly. Then from the hill emerged two people. And older man in his late fifties. Under his arm sat a bottle of whiskey. He had lanky legs and a beer belly. With a kind old smile on his face.
“Come on. You know how she gets when were late,” he called behind him. 
“Coming dad,” a teenage ran up to him. He had tosseled brown hair and stood just about as tall as his dad.
“Who are they?” Gaz asked.
“My family,” you whispered.
“You sure lass. Height dosent really add up,” Soap joked softly.
“What can I say. I lost the gene lottery,” you shrugged.
“You gonna go say hi?” Price asked.
“No,” you whispered solemnly. Getting the message that you wanted to be quiet they all slipped into silence.
“Still ordering me around huh?” A woman with olive skin and black hair walked up to them. A steak of silver shone in her perfect updo.
“We were married for eighteen years. I think I deserve some penance for my sentence,” the two smiled at each other. The divorce had been amicable, and they had become good friends after it. 
“Goodmorning sweetheart,” you father called softly a solemn smile gracing his features as they approached the grave.
“Sup cunt,” Your brother stated earning a slap from your mother.
“Dont be mean. Go on tell her what you did,” she encouraged him.
“So rember when you said I had a knack for engine and stuff. And I laughed and said I was just gonna become a millionaire,” he trailed o scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I got a scholarship to this really good school. Everything paid for. Dad was really happy about that,” the joke had your family smiling.
“It turns out you were right. I'm doing well. Really well. Skipped a grade. And I'm really enjoying it,” he stated.
“Got his cherry popped to,” you father said earning a blush from you brother.
"Her names Ella. Sweet little thing. Shes got him by the balls," your mother stated.
"Mum," he groaned with a heavy blush.
“I meet a man. His name is Greg. I think I'll being him next time,” your mother said.
“He's a cunt,” you father stated. 
“He's better in bed than your father,” she stated. You smiled as they slipped into their usual banter. The insults having the weight of jack shit. 
“Found this hidden in your little secret compartment,” you dad tapped his nose with a knowing look. The boys watched on as they talked to the grave like it was an actual person.
“Have a drink with your old man yeah?” he suggested. The drink was passed around as they all poured some in their cups. An extra cup was set atop the grave. 
“To our little girl. Shortest little shit I've ever meet,” they cheer.
"Happy birthday darling," you mother said. It was silent after that. Your family moved to hold each other as they mourned. Tears falling to the freshly cut grass.
“She would have been so proud of you,” you mother whispered running her hand through your brothers hair. 
“She would have been proud of us all. Thats just how she is,” he whispered back. You watched as they drank and talked about there lives. What they had been up to. The sun had begun to set when they decided to leave. Your bother lingered slightly tears rushing down his face.
“I miss you bitch,” he mumbled knocking his knuckles on the edge of the grave. The boys knew that move. You would do that to them wherever they went in for a fist bump. He turned and walked away. With a heavy heart you watched them leave. “Why didn't you say hello?” Soap asked. You didn't answer, instead you walked up to the grave and took the drink in hand. You swirled it around watching the car pull away. The boys slowly walked up to you examining the grave.
Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. 
Beloved daughter, friend and soldier.
“The fuck is this?” Soap asked in shock. They were all shocked, but they quickly put two and two together.
“It was part of the deal,” you rolled the words on your touge.
“What deal?” Price asked. You wanted to tell them. No, you needed to tell them. You couldn't go on another mission with the bloody hells. You had gotten lucky. Extremely lucky. Sure, telling them the truth might put you in a dangerous situation, but you would do it to protect them. And you trusted them.
“Way back there was a mission. Things went south. Adam got his hands on some valuable information. I stayed behind to make sure everyone was safe. And when I went to regroup with them,” you trailed off your throat becoming tight.
“They didn't wait for me. They left. Leaving me in a deep hole of shit. I was captured. Tortured for the information Adam had stolen. When they realized I wouldn't break they proposed a deal. The information for me. Adam didn't agree,” you recalled the events.
“The information wasn't intergyral, but it did make him rich. I don't know what he did with it. Probably sold it to a third party. When I realized, nobody was coming to save me, I got myself out. Came back here only to find out that they had all given reports that they had seen me gunned down. That they confirmed I was dead. Head office chucked it up to some bull shit Mirical. Having escaped I had a lot of heat on me. I had fucked around with some pretty important people. Friendly and otherwise. Turns out a lot of important people had their hands all over that mission. They went after my family. I made a deal with the military. In exchange for my families safely I would become there lacky,” you said nodding to the grave. “If I stayed quiet about it all,” you added.
“By all official records I am dead. Only a few choices military know otherwise. They thought I was a nifty little card to hold. Someone they could send where every they want to do whatever they wanted. No red strings attached. Someone that technically didn't exist. A ghost,” you chuckled bitterly.
"I was actually doing their dirty work when we first meet. I was surprised when they gave the green light to join the 141," you took a sip of the drink.
“In the end I was supposed to die on that mission. They used my family as leverage to insure I had,” you whispered looking deep into the dark liquid.
“Why are you telling us now? Wy not before?” Price asked solemnly.
“He threated you guys, told me to behave,” you admitted.
“So why tell us?” Ghost asked.
“Because I'm scared,” you admitted honestly. Your breath shock as you turned to them your eyes welling with tears.
“On that mission. He cut the comms. He lied bout the numbers. He sent you guys into a trap and he fucking smirked at me while he did it,” your hands trembled as they gripped the drink.
“I was so scared I had lost you guys,” you said. 
“I was scared to lose another family,” you cried. It meant a lot to the boys to hear that. That word. Family. That exactly what they were to you. And that's exactly what you were to them.
"But were here love. Were all alright,” Gaz tried to lighten you up.
“By sheer dumb luck!” you snapped.
“I know I might lose you one day. I've known that for a long time. Were soldiers. That comes with the uniform, but I'll be dammed if I let that fucker be the one that does it,” you huffed. Silence washed over you as you looked each of them in the eye stopping at Ghost. “You guys mean too much to me,’" you added. "So please. Don't send us on another mission with him,” you begged turning to Price. 
“He can't know I told you about it ither,” you added. Price walked up to you his expression deathly serious. 
“Then why would he risk you coming back here?” he asked. You shrugged frustrated with it all.
“I-I don't know. I don't know if he's goanna hurt my family. If he's gonna hurt, you. If he wants to finish the job he started?” you gestured to him. There it was again. That anxiety. Seeing the start of your panic Price stepped forward again. 
“Come er,” you were slightly surprised when he pulled you into his chest. He held you firmly as he tucked you head under his chin. 
“It's gonna be alright love. You've done well,” he whispered. It felt like the hugs your father used to give. You reached up gripping the back of his shirt and hugging him tightly the tears free falling.
“We got you,” he whispered.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On the drive back you were sandwiched in the back with Ghost and Soap. You had been silent since the graveyard. Which wasn't like you.
“Can we get hungry jacks?” You asked. It was a relief to the boys to hear that. At least you were still hungry.
“Yeah, we can do that,” Price nodded. It was quite funny watching price try and order for the whole car. Especially because the drive thru guy couldn't understand there accents half the time. And Soap yelling from the back just made it worse. After getting the food you picked away at it happily as you drove back to base. Ghost paused as he felt a wight drop against his shoulder. He looked down at you to see you fast asleep. You mouth open mid chew. A burger in one hand and a drink in the other. Soap smiled when he noticed taking a quick picture before taking the food from your hands. When the car stopped, they all piled out, except Ghost and you.
“Coming?” Soap asked bending down through the door.
“I'll stay a little bit,” Ghost whispered. Soap smiled knowingly giving a nod and silently closing the door. 
It was two hours before you stirred awake. 
“We here?” you asked finishing chewing the remnants of the burger.
“Yeah,” Ghost murmured getting out of the car. You followed after him frowning when you saw a wet patch on his shoulder. Whipping the dribbled form the corner of your lips you shrugged.
"You got a wet patch there," you stated.
"No I don't," he stated.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The next day you and the boys sat down decided on what to do. When you explained in more detail about what went down in the mission the boys were furious. 
And lets just say that the 141 gets even. 
The mission involved clearing out a safe house of sorts. A back up base. During the next mission you walked into a room, gun raised with Gaz on point. You were right behind him. Everything was going perfectly. Till it wasn't. 
The movement was so quick you only saw what had happened when you turned. Gaz stood, with Adam behind him. A gun pressed against his temple. Terror took ahold of you as you mad eye contact with Gazs own fear filled pupils. You paused in the doorway. Adam didn't know the other two were there. 
“Let him go Adam, lower the gun” you demanded. Price and Ghost pressed themselves against the wall. 
“Come on Maddog. You know I can't do that,” he stated. You glanced out the doorway as Price held up five fingers. He was asking how many were in the room. You glanced around. It was only Adam. 
“Looking for your friends?” he asked. Price had told him the team would split in two. It was part of your plan. Price slowly put his fingers down.
“Of course,” You answered when Price got to one. Price turned to Ghost giving him hand signs before nodding him off. He looked back at you tapping his watch. 
Buy some time. They were your orders. The comms was open so you could hear Ghost rapid footsteps.
“Unlike you I know they have my back,” you said.
“Cute. Drop the gun,” he ordered.
“Or I can shoot you,” You suggested.
“I know you're a good shoot but that's cutting it a bit close huh?” he asked sliding further behind Gaz. He was right. You ran the risk of hitting Gaz. 
“Get him Doc,” Gaz encouraged you. Your face scrunched up as Adam shock him slightly pressing the barrel painfully further into his skull. Chucking you gun to the side you glared.
“Good girl. Now on your knees,” he demanded. You obeyed.
“Put those on,” he kicked forward a pair of zip ties. 
“What are you doing Adam? Whats your plan this time huh?” you asked.
“Well, this plan is a little more brutal than my last. After all I tried so hard to make it look like an accident. I knew you bleeding heart wouldn't leave that kid. I even told then to target you as well. But no, you just won't die huh? You should have just died Y/N,” he hissed. You stared at him. 
Adam was more than just your former commander. He was your best friends since diapers. You had grown up together. Your bond used to be the strongest in the world. You had entered the military together, built up your carrers and skills side by side.
“What happened to you Adam?” You asked. The man before you was a shadow of the one you once loved so dearly.
“I got smart, that's what happened,” he spat.
“This isn't like you. The Adam I knew would have never sold me out for a lousy paycheck,” you were buying time. But you were also trying to reason with your friend. 
“Would you just quit it. I've always been on the bottom run. Always poor. Do you know how differently they looked at me with my raggy shoes?” he asked.
“So you sold me out to get rich then?” you asked.
"Wow. Smart you are. And no, I didn't sell you out. You were just a chess piece. A tool to get what I wanted” he said.
“You know that's not true,” you murmered. You could see it, the conflict inside him, however small it was it was still there. 
“Please, just put down the gun,” you begged. For a second he saw you, only a younger you. And instead of begging to put his gun down you were begging him to stop shooting you with a water gun. You wore such a bright smile. Perhaps he had loved you once. Along time ago. But that side of him had died a long time ago.
"I really should have killed you that day," he admitted.
"Then why didn't you?" you asked.
"Because I was weak. I let you live because I didn't have the guts to kill you myself," he hissed.
"Thats not a problem now," Your eye's widened as the gun turned to you. The window shattered as Ghost emerged from it having sung down from the higher level. The distraction allowing Gaz to shove Adam back. All the while you pulled your handgun from its hoister and pulled the trigger.
Two shots' still rung out. 
Pain split through your left chest as the bullet cleaved through you. 
“GAH!” you hit the ground. Adam body following shortly after a bullet hole sizzling between his eyes, his brains splattered over the wall.
“DOC!” Your vision blurred with tears as you hand was forced away from your wound. 
“Fuck,” Ghost grunted as he ripped you vest from you. With your luck the bullet had just missed the vest. Since you were still gasping for breath, you gathered it hadn't hit your lungs or vital organs, but it stung like a bitch. You were jostled up into a seated position. Where your sanity somewhat returned to you.
“Theres and exit wound,” Ghost stated. 
“FUCKING HELL!” you yelled as they started to shove gauz into the hole. 
“Gaz?” you blindly searched for him.
“Right here Doc,” he said giving your leg a squeeze. You gaze focused to see them crowded around you. Price standing guard while Soap tended to the wound and Ghost held you up. 
“That really hurts,” you chuckled a laugh before grunting again.
“You are one lucky little fucker,” Price huffed.
“Who me?” you asked.
“Can you walk?” he asked as Soap finished tying off the bandage. His eyes glanced down at the bandages that quickly became soaked in blood. He didn't like how fast it had happened.
“Walk? I fell like a running a marathon,” you joked. 
“Ghost,” he nodded to Ghost who nodded back.
“Let's move,” he said. With Ghost taking most of your weight you started making you way from the base. With a fleeting look to the dead corps, you felt your eyes close.
You had passed out somewhere between leaving the room and getting back to the transport.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
While you were unconscious Price made some bullshit excuse for Adams death. The excuse worked well. Nobody questioned anything. After all missions go south all the time.  He was simply listed as a casualty. That was all the respect he deserved.
When it was time to go home you at in the plane your shoulder in a sling. You were on strict orders not to use it for a bit. Your mind reeled with Adam dead gaze. At the moment you took aim and pulled the trigger. Did you want to kill him. Never. Would you have done it save on of your boys. Defiantly, without a moment's hesitation.
“Y/N,” you stood as you saw Jamie run towards you stopping at the plane ramp. Well waddle as best he could in his state.
“What's up kid?” you asked.
“Thankyou, for everything,” he yelled as the plane started up. He was a good kid.
You gave him one of your signature smiles. The one you always gave him before everything went to shit.
“Look after yourself alright,” you yelled.
“You have friends here Y/N. Whenever you need. We owe you that much!” he called. You nodded.
“Goodby Jamie,” you called as the ramp lifted. Silently you walked over to your seat struggling with your buckle.
“Need help?” Ghost asked. You nodded. Reaching over he quickly buckled you in pulling the strap tight.
“You know I've been wondering. Why Maddog?” Soap asked. A melancholy smile graced your lips. 
“I bit the finger off the doctor that was giving me a shot. Adam was there for it. The doc called me a mad dog. Name kinda stuck,” you shrugged.
“So you did bight his finger off?” Ghost asked.
“I did. Rember that next time you fuckers try and give e a shoot,” you said clacking your teeth together in a biting motion. 
“God help your future partner,” Soap shock his head. You all chuckle. 
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
When you were back at base you sat out on the little patio a beer in hand. You were simply thinking. about it all. You wondered if you had done something different if it would have changed everything.
Ghost silently walked out stopping by your side to offer a cigarette. You shock your head.
"He was more than a team leader to you, wasn't he?" Ghost asked.
"How did you know?" you asked.
"The look of regret you had when you saw his corps," he stated simply.
"We grew up together. Thought I was gonna marry him for a bit," you whispered.
"You did what needed to be done," was he trying to reassure you?
"Doesn't make it any less painful," you whispered.
"I faced something similar. Had to end two of my teammates. Their brains had been corrupted. They had changed," he began telling his story.
"Did you ever forgive yourself?" you asked.
"I'm not sure," he answered honestly.
"Well, I have no regrets," you stated.
"Really?" he asked.
"I'll never forgive myself for killing him. But I'll never regret it," You stated standing up and finishing your drink.
"Whys that?" he asked.
"Because no one messes with my boys and gets away with it," you stated with a cheeky smile patting his should.
"Thats for trying to reassure me. Ya big softy," you smiled brightly.
"I'm not soft," he grunted.
"Yaha of course you're not," You cooed in a baby voice.
"I will end you," he threated making you laugh.
That night you and Ghost would drink till the early hours of the morning, simply talking.
"We should get to bed Ghost," you stated standing upon your wobbly legs.
"It's Simon," you head snapped around to him.
"What?" you asked.
"My name. Its Simon. You can call me that if you like. But not in front of anyone that's not the team," he said.
"Well Simon. Its officially nice to meet you. My names Y/N," you said holding you hand out for him to shake. He shook took you hand covering it completely from view.
"Big ass hand mother fucker," you grumbled drunkenly before trotting off. Simon following after you making sure you didn't run into anything.
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--COD Master List Here--
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noodle-is-unstable · 15 days ago
Text
The JJK Characters favorite toys
(Head Cannons)
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Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Yuki Tsukumo, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito Synopsis ~ What the JJK Characters favorite sex toys are Content Warning ~ 18+, sex toys, idk bruh 18+ things
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Gojo ~
Prostate Massager
Gojo is a sucker for pleasure and seeks out the most he can. Loves being overstimulated, and what's a better way than having his prostate bullied while being buried in you. He'll be crying, drooling and babbling nonsense by the time you're both done
Geto ~
Spreader Bar
Geto enjoys bullying you in the name of pleasure. Keeping your legs spread wide so he can do whatever he wants between them is just all too fun. Will also push the bar behind your head so you're on full display and there isn't anything you can do about it
Nanami ~
Vibrator
Nanami is a sucker for your pleasure. He could get off hands free from watching you enjoy yourself under his touch. Anything that can give you more pleasure drives him wild but seeing you squirm under a full blast vibrator while he fucks you is like nothing else
Toji ~
Nipple Clamps
Toji loves some pain with pleasure play. Even better he'll attach one end to your nipple and the other end to his, a chain connecting you both as you fuck. He loves to see how hard he can pull between the both of you before it snaps off. Whoever lost the clamp has to go on top
Sukuna ~
Rope
Sukuna is a slut for Shibari. He loves how the intricate rope designs frame your body and will even let you tie him up with it as long as he isn't restrained. He finds Shibari to be a calming art that also drives him wild. He will pull the rope to control you like a puppet
Choso ~
Sounding Rod
Choso is a sucker for pain meets pleasure. Putting in a sounding rod deep enough to stimulate his prostate will have him crying in pleasure. Watching you stretch out his cock hole will have his tongue hanging out and pleasure filled tears spilling
Ino ~
Cock Cage
Ino loves cock torture when its in your hands. An all too tight cage containing his cock while you hold the key. Won't even beg you to unlock it, he'll just press it against you so you can feel his cum drooling out
Shiu ~
Cock Ring
Shiu loves the extra sensation a cock ring gives. The almost painful way it makes his veins pop and makes him impossibly harder. The sensation of blood being trapped in his cock with have his eyes rolling back upon entry
Uraume ~
Electrostimulator
Uraume loves foreplay toys like electrostimulation (electric current). Watching the electricity dance from the rod to their body gives them goosebumps. Their favorite though is when you run the current through your hand then use your fingertips to leave a trail of electricity through them
Yuki ~
Strap On
Yuki won't even go on vacation without one. Her collection is so vast there is every size, shape and creature available. Every day will be a different dildo but it'll always be strapped to her
Shoko ~
Sex Swing
Shoko enjoys the free, floating feeling of a sex swing. Whether its her being rocked on it or you, it doesn't matter. She just adores the different positions and free floating feeling it gives
Mahito ~
X Cross
Mahito wants to be restrained and used. An X cross is his dream. Spread completely out and unable to move while being totally exposed? Sign him up. Lock him down. Use him like the toy he wants to be
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No real Kink just a Lube Safety reminder. Though silicone lube is most common it should be used with caution. Silicone lube is long lasting, and great for use in wet places like the shower or bath but it has its cons. Silicone lube is dangerous for vaginal use and can cause bacterial build up. It can also damage silicone toys and may not be suitable with all condoms. It may also stain clothing or sheets. It should also not be consumed orally. Water based lube is a fantastic option but doesn't last as long and may need multiple applications. It is easy to clean up, safe to use with toys and condoms, and comes in more flavors and texture/feel options. Some water based lubes can contain glycerin which may cause yeast infections in some. Always read the label carefully Choose the right lube for each situation and always use caution before just picking the first lube you see.
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worldlxvlys · 10 months ago
Note
ik you're probably getting SO MANY requests but if you can/want PLEASEEEEE male a fanfic where y/n, or whatever has to use her safeword bc shes being overstimulated😭 i love freaky weird shit like this!!
cola
fwb! chris sturniolo x reader
warnings: smut (don’t read if you don’t like) semi-public sex, overstimulation, use of safe word, p in v, oral (female receiving)
a/n: hope you likeeee
it’s based off of these texts you can read if you want :)
you can go read pepsi too, if you want, it’s literally the opposite (chris uses his safeword)
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by the time i got to the bathroom, chris was already waiting for me.
he pushed my hips against the door, placing his lips on mine. his hands went under my dress, grabbing my ass and squeezing.
my hands found their way around his neck, playing with his hair. he groaned into the kiss.
“gotta remind you who you belong to. you know your safeword?” he asked as his hands found the top of my panties.
“cola”
“good” he said as he helped me out of my panties and got on his knees.
“gonna make you feel so good, baby” he said as he wrapped his arms around my thighs and looked me in the eyes as he moved his tongue through my folds.
“shit chris” his tongue worked wonders as he continued to lick and eat me out like a man starved.
my hands weaved through his hair, pushing his face even further into my pussy.
the obscene, wet sounds of chris sucking and slurping on my pussy and my loud moans were the only sounds bouncing off of the bathroom walls.
luckily the music outside of the bathroom was blasting, so no one should have a clue of what’s happening on the inside of the bathroom.
i unzipped the the top half of my dress down so it was scrunched at my stomach. i then unclasped my bra, exposing my top half and making my nipples harden at the cold air in the bathroom.
chris continued to grip my thighs as his tongue moved towards my clit. he flicked and sucked it with his tongue, adding to my pleasure.
when his tooth grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves, my hips jolted and he sucked harder.
“fuckkk chris, you look so good”. looking down at him, his blue eyes stared right back, pupils blown out with lust.
“you’re so good for me, chris.”
he moaned in response to my praise, the vibrations making me come undone on his face. without wasting a second, he licked up my juices completely.
instead of stopping he continued to eat me out, this time adding a finger into me, unexpectedly.
“FUCK- chris, i- i can’t, i’m so sensitive” i said.
“you can and you will” he said, moving his face away from my pussy for a second, before diving in again.
“chris! ohhhhhh my god” my head flew back as he shoved his tongue in my hole, replacing his finger with it.
he moved the finger that had previously been in me to my clit, rubbing in circular motions.
“holy shitttt, chris” as i came closer and closer to my high, i started to rock my hips into his mouth. chris never once broke eye contact.
“chris, chris! i’m so close, so fucking close baby” i moaned, trying desperately to chase my high.
“mmmmmm” he moaned into me, continuing his movements with his tongue and fingers.
“fuck, i’m cumming!” and with that i came all over his face. he licked up my juices, once again, making me squirm.
“chris, f-fuck”
he then lifted his face off of me, his face was soaked in my cum.
he left a kiss to my clit, making me whine. he kissed his way up my stomach and chest, then up my neck, stopping right under my ear.
“not done yet, ma” he said as he pulled the dress down, completely removing it from my body.
he grabbed my hips, turning me so my back was to the door. he pushed me against the door and hooked one of my legs around his waist.
he started to pump himself, “want me to fuck you against the door, like the little slut you are?”
“chris, i don’t-” he spit into his other hand and rubbed me, as though he hadn’t just sucked the life out of my pussy.
“i don’t think i can-“
“you know what to do if you can’t. but you can, are you gonna take it like a good girl?”
“yes.”
“good.” he pushed himself into me with that, making us both moan out.
“ughhhhh chris” “fuck, baby. so tight”
i held onto his shoulders as he bottomed out. “tell me when ma” he said as he gave me a kiss to the shoulder, waiting for me to adjust to his size.
“ok, go” i barely finished getting the words out before he started pounding into me.
with every snap of his hips, he pushed me into the door.
snap, thud . snap, thud. snap, thud.
my body continued to thud against the door as he pushed his hips into mine.
“you think he could fuck you like this, baby?”
he felt so good inside of me, i could barely even think properly.
“hmm, can’t answer baby? let me help wake you up” before i even processed the words that came out of his mouth, he hooked my other leg around his waist.
my upper body now supported by the door as my legs were wrapped around him and his hands were under my ass, helping to hold me up.
the change in angle helped him to go even deeper, immediately sending me over the edge.
“FU- OHHHH! CHRIS CHRIS CHRIS, I’M CUMMING” i screamed.
my body went limp as my orgasm crashed through me.
“does he make you cum that fast?” he asked as he continued to slam into me.
“no, no, chris. no one makes me feel as good as you”
“hmm, you sure baby?” he asked as he slapped my ass.
“fuck! yes, yes i’m sure chris” my head fell to his neck.
the feeling of him sliding in and out of me, my walls squeezing around him was heavenly. the pleasure was so much, i almost couldn’t handle it.
chris was right, no one else could make me feel even half of the pleasure that he did. he was the perfect size, and he knew my body so well. it was a blessing and a curse.
“fuck, gonna cum ma. where do you want it ?” my answer is always the same, but he always asks anyway.
“cum in me baby, want you to fill me up”
he gave one deep thrust, hitting my g-spot perfectly. “i- FUCK”
this sent me into my fourth orgasm of the night, taking us both by surprise.
chris shot his load into me, while i clenched around him. “fuck, ma”
he continued to fuck up into me, helping us ride out our highs.
he pulled out of me and placed me down. he then turned me around to face the mirror.
“you never answered my question baby” he said before suddenly lining himself up and fucking me from the back.
“chris chris chris chrisss” all i could do was babble his name at this point.
“could. he. fuck. you. like. this.” he snapped his hips harder into mine between each word. i clutched the sink with my hands to steady myself.
“no, no, chris, please! i can’t-can’t take another” he fucked me even harder. his hands gripped my hips, using it as leverage to push into me even quicker and faster.
“fuck baby, look at the way your ass bounces against me. you’re so fucking pretty, look so good like this”
he gripped my chin, pushing it up. “look at yourself baby. watch the pretty faces you make when i fuck the shit out of you”
i looked up taking in my own appearance. my mascara was smudged, tears falling out of my eyes. my skin covered in sweat, my eyelids slightly drooping. i looked completely fucked out.
“mmmmmm” i couldn’t even get any words out anymore, just loud moans.
he slid his hand from my hip, moving it under me.
“mmmmm hmmmm” i started to whine as he started to rub my clit.
“too much, too much chris” i gripped his arm, trying to pull it away.
“don’t fucking move my hand” he said, rubbing even faster.
i let go of his hand and started to clench around him, over and over again.
“fuck baby, gonna cum around me? love the way that pretty pussy feels”
after a few more thrusts into me, my legs start to shake and i scream his name.
“fuck baby” he says as he comes inside of me, coating my walls with his seed. he pulls out, watching his cum drip out of me.
he turned me to face him, and lifted me onto the sink. he placed a sweet kiss on my lips.
“gotta make sure my princess feels good” he said as he inserted two fingers in me, making me scream out “ CHRIS!”
“love hearing you scream my name, never want you to stop” he said as he moved his fingers at an incredibly fast speed.
he left kisses down the valley of my breasts. before taking one into his mouth. swirling his tongue and licking around my nipple.
this man and his god damn tongue is gonna be the death of me.
“shit chris”
his fingers moved so fast, i was already nearing my orgasm.
“gonna- mmmmm, fuck- gonna cum chris”
“give it to me baby” he said into my boob.
his fingers in my pussy started to create a wet sound, and it started to feel like i had to pee.
my vision started to get blurry, and my mind fuzzy, as my hips started to jerk uncontrollably.
i let out a load, almost pornographic moan as i squirted directly onto his abdomen.
“fuck, ma” he said. he seemed to be in a trance as he watched me squirm and twitch, and instead of removing his fingers he moved them faster.
“c-chris, fuck fuck fuck” i started to whine as tears started to form in my eyes and my vision became spotty.
he moved his other hand to my clit. “FUCK, FUCK! COLA”
immediately, he moved his hands away. “fuck, ma, are you ok? i’m sorry, so sorry” he said as he kissed both of my hands.
“it’s ok chris, it was just too much. i’m fine though, don’t worry” i said, noting the worried look on his face.
“i’m sorry baby, just want to make you feel good” he said as he gave me a kiss to my cheek and hugged me.
“i promise it’s ok, chris. thank you”
“hey, you think they’ll mind if we use their shower?” chris asked.
“chris, we literally just fucked in their bathroom. i think someone using their shower is the least of their worries”
we both laughed at this.
“seriously though, chris. i appreciate you always making sure that i’m comfortable”
“always, ma”
———————
<333
masterlist
tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @chanelsturn @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4
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princessbrunette · 7 months ago
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playlists for the readers … ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ³ ᵔ ꒱ྀིა
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bunny!reader ♡
just girly fun vibes — she likes her music catchy, pop-y and fairly relatable. rafe never lets her play her music in the car unfortunately, because he cannot be seen speeding down the road blasting the pussy cat dolls.
🎀 cassie — ditto
🎀 kali uchis, steve lacy, vince staples — only girl
🎀 frank ocean — sweet life
🎀 coco & clair — pretty
🎀 sabrina carpenter — feather
🎀 flo milli — never lose me
🎀 cassie — miss your touch
🎀 childish gambino, jhené aiko — pink toes
🎀 flo.rida, wynter — sugar
🎀 kali uchis — honey baby (SPOILED!)
🎀 angels — my boyfriends back
🎀 foxy brown, kelis — candy
🎀 lana del rey — music to watch boys to
🎀 jhené aiko — maniac
🎀 fergie — clumsy
🎀 ciara, 50 cent — can’t leave ‘em alone
🎀 shelley duvall — he needs me
🎀 nancy sinatra — sugar town
🎀 heidi montag — i’ll do it
🎀 nicki minaj, jeremiah — favourite
🎀 kali uchis — melting
🎀 lady gaga — boys boys boys
🎀 cassie — long way 2 go
🎀 the pussycat dolls — when i grow up
🎀 tom tom club — genius of love
🎀 beyoncé — freakum dress
🎀 gwen stefani — bubble pop electric
🎀 marina — primadonna girl
🎀 madonna — material girl
🎀 pussy cat dolls — stickwitu
🎀 leven kali, syd — do u wrong
🎀 kiana ledé — mad at me
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kitty!reader ♡
listens to her music to feel cool n edgy. shes one of those people that think she’s a bitch but she’s not at all, just a lil grumpy. wants everyone to know she liked deftones before it was cool.
🐈‍⬛ pixies — is she weird
🐈‍⬛ arctic monkeys — mardy bum
🐈‍⬛ black box recorder — child psychology
🐈‍⬛ the smiths — pretty girls make graves
🐈‍⬛ ethel cain — crush
🐈‍⬛ mazzy star — she’s my baby
🐈‍⬛ radiohead — creep
🐈‍⬛ chris isaak — wicked game
🐈‍⬛ limp bizkit — rollin’
🐈‍⬛ the pretty reckless — makes me wanna die
🐈‍⬛ pearly drops — bloom for me
🐈‍⬛ deftones — root
🐈‍⬛ fka twigs — two weeks
🐈‍⬛ deftones — romantic dreams
🐈‍⬛ hole — doll parts
🐈‍⬛ margeaux — hot faced
🐈‍⬛ siouxsie and the banshees — she’s a carnival
🐈‍⬛ kip tyler — she’s my witch
🐈‍⬛ deftones — mascara
🐈‍⬛ soho dolls — bang bang bang bang
🐈‍⬛ enigma — sadeness
🐈‍⬛ DANGERDOOM, MF DOOM — perfect hair
🐈‍⬛ radiohead — idioteque
🐈‍⬛ björk — come to me
🐈‍⬛ the nbhd — fallen star
🐈‍⬛ arctic monkeys — crying lightening
🐈‍⬛ deftones — diamond eyes
🐈‍⬛ the smiths — girl afraid
🐈‍⬛ ethel cain — unpunishable
🐈‍⬛ mitski — townie
🐈‍⬛ gorillaz — kids with guns
🐈‍⬛ evanescence — taking over me
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deer!reader ♡
she’d say her playlists are all over the place — but it’s organised mess. she has them perfectly collated and in her head they make perfect sense. don’t put her on the aux though, not because the songs aren’t good but because the vibes are all over the place.
🍪 shura — 2shy
🍪 minnie riperton — les fleurs
🍪 april march — chick habit
🍪 benee — kool
🍪 camille saint- saëns — … le cygne
🍪 the little dippers — forever
🍪 allie x, mitski — susie save your love
🍪 she & him — why do you let me stay here?
🍪 lesley gore — i’m coolin’ no foolin’
🍪 sza — prom
🍪 the penguins — earth angel
🍪 SALES — renee
🍪 cleo sol — sunshine
🍪 japanese breakfast — be sweet
🍪 kate bush — cloud busting
🍪 mazzy star — halah
🍪 the mamas & papas — dedicated to the one i love
🍪 scissors sisters — filthy / gorgeous
🍪 fiona apples — shameika
🍪 fleetwood mac — mystified
🍪 margo guryan — under my umbrella
🍪 erykah badu — apple tree
🍪 mort garson — plantasia
🍪 sza — sweet november
🍪 quadron — sea salt
🍪 corinne bailey rae — green aphrodisiac
🍪 sade — lovers rock
🍪 ella fitzgerald — moonlight serenade
🍪 cigarettes after sex — truly
🍪 tv girl — heaven is a bedroom
🍪 the velvet underground — femme fetale
🍪 clairo, coco & clair — racecar
🍪 james blake, rosalía — barefoot in the park
🍪 tame impala — nangs
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puppy!reader ♡
never seen without her walkman — loves running around and dancing to her upbeat music. her playlists will remind you of days in the sun and dancing in summer rain.
🐶 her’s — love on the line (call now)
🐶 HAIM — summer girl
🐶 the la’s — there she goes
🐶 stacey q — two of hearts
🐶 faye webster — right side of my neck
🐶 bakar, summer walker — hell n back
🐶 beabadoobee — sunny day
🐶 dominic fike — babydoll
🐶 jungle — back on 74
🐶 pinkpanthress — attracted to you
🐶 duran duran — girls on film
🐶 shuggie otis — strawberry letter 23
🐶 sixpence none the richer — kiss me
🐶 matilda mann — bloom
🐶 HAIM — falling
🐶 311 — amber
🐶 earth, wind & fire — boogie wonderland
🐶 lorde — ribs
🐶 lesley gore — sunshine lollipops and rainbows
🐶 stevie wonder — all i do
🐶 the human league — don’t you want me
🐶 the turtles — happy together
🐶 pet shop boys — west end girls
🐶 clairo — bags
🐶 pat benetar — love is a battlefield
🐶 the psychedelic furs — love my way
🐶 scouting for girls — she’s so lovely
🐶 noisettes — wild young hearts
🐶 the all eyes i — beat goes on
🐶 tame impala — elephant
🐶 sublime — waiting for my ruca
🐶 mgmt — boogie down
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gold-rhine · 1 year ago
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anyway, 4.1. SPOILERS, but lets talk about a dragon in the room. a popular consensus i've seen a lot says that traveler's powers are mini-versions of archons of element's region. like anemo's tornado is similar to venti's storm black hole bc it sucks ppl in, for geo you bring the rock down from the skies, kinda like zhongli's meteorite.
but this kinda starts falling apart at electro, bc electro travelers abilities don't look like raiden's. but you can still make a case that part of raiden's kit is energy restoration for other party members and electro traveler has it too, so its eeeeh a stretch but ok. tho energy restoration is just overall electro mechanic but ok ok
where it completely falls apart is dendro. dendro travelers kit is nothing like nahida. dendro traveler has shotgun blast on E and like mushroom spores growing out of the ground on burst, dendro application on limited static spot, while nahida has her radish death mark for all she can get in her selfie. they are not similar neither in function or visuals. you know who does grow grow mushroom spore thingies in set area during fights tho? Apep. Dendro dragon.
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hydro is the strongest case, because we now have a confirmed playable hydro dragon and there is no denying that hydro traveler is a bargain bin neuvillette, the pew-pew water pistol is too unique and similar to his hydro beam. i've seen some leaks of furina kit, i'm not going to spoil anything, but it's nothing close.
and if we look at other elements from this angle, you know who has an actual tornado just like traveler? dvalin. And who both throws rocks from above like geo traveler E AND grows spikes from the ground, like traveler burst? Azhdaha. we never met electro dragon, so we can't compare there, but the pattern i think is obvious. traveler powers mimic not the powers of an archon, but dragons of the element. archon powers just sometimes happen to share similarities, but mostly based on element's theme, like most of anemo shares the grouping trend.
i think traveler is a dragon, who traveled for so long and teyvat changed so much that their memories erased. their backstory is that their kingdom was destroyed by the invaders and they traveled the galaxy with their sibling for thousand of years, which tracks with how teyvat is initially was inhabited by dragons and then first throne invaded, destroyed them and humans ruled. traveler is a descender, but also somehow their sibling is part of this world, according to nahida. abyss sibing talks about "restoring homeland", and ppl take it to mean khaenriah, but we know for sure they're not from khaenriah originally. traveler can manipulate elements without a vision, like dragons do, and from neuvi we now know that "archon's authority" is based on power that was taken from sovereign dragons, which means when traveler resonates with archon statues, they resonate with vestiges of dragon powers. wake up sheeple, travelers are princess and princess of the defeated king of the dragons
EDIT post Act 5 AQ: now that it was revealed that gnosis are made out of remnants of third descender, it means that traveler is probs not actually a dragon, because apparently all Descenders have natural ability to absorb elemental powers. Which is interesting, bc like why?? Or maybe not all descenders, bc primordial one is descender too. If any descender could absorb dragon powers, then why gnosis is made out of specifically third descender? is it just bc they had his corpse sdfghj?? anyway, interesting.
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forgeofthenine · 9 months ago
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If you're still interested in requests (feel free to ignore, since you've got a lot of 'em!)
How would everyone's favorite tieflings react to their Tav *not* being at the tiefling party, because they've ended up spending the night keeping the tiefling kids entertained in Mol's hideout? Celebrating with them, having fun and goofing off with the kids (and making sure Mol isn't trying to exhtort who she can, by selling firewine around the camp by doing so)
Bonus points if s/o is a bard class~
(2) Asfgghkkkl I was the ask for the s/o/Tav who spent the tiefling party just playing with the kids - I (maybe) forgot to mention that I had the idea of them doing it secretly, or like, getting stuck escorting Mol back because the kids!!! Want to see the hero too!!!
Hi Anon, thank you for the great request! This one was a blast to write and I really enjoyed it, I hope it's what you were after :)
For anyone wondering, this was the WIP referred to as 'adopting all the kids'
The bachelors finding you in the kids cave at the grove instead of at the party
General
The party was just starting to ramp up, making your rounds and catching up with everyone when you see it from the corner of your eye
A small tiefling with a cunning grin and an eye patch sitting on a rock at the edge of the clearing
Sneaking off to the edge of the firelight, with only a sideways glance from Halsin, you finally reach Mol
It really didn't take long for the girl to convince you to leave the party, her threat of upselling stolen firewine was almost enough convincing on its own
The two of you make your way back to the familiar cave that the children like to hide in, cheers being the first thing that meet your ears as Arabella and Mirkon happily rush up to you
The other children stay back but look excited in their own ways, Silfy peeking out behind a blanket wrapped around her, Mattis turning his attention towards you, and Doni letting out a small grunt in greeting
With some light begging from some of the kids (and some egging on from Mol and Mattis) it's not long before you pull out your instrument of choice and start your own party for the group of children
It might've been minutes or hours you were there, you're not sure until you're interrupted
Dammon
Dammon had no intent on going to the party, not only is he not a particularly social person but he also has an entire makeshift forge to pack down
It's when he's stuffing his things into a pack that he sees you and Mol sneaking back through the grove and into your hidey hole
At first he chalks it up to the kids shenanigans but he grows curious at the sound of music emanating from the crack in the wall
Dammon is actually pretty quiet when he starts to make his way down the very tight, very craggy tunnel
That is until he slips and slides the rest of the way down, tumbling out covered in dust and letting out a small cough
The silence is absolutely deafening
"So this is where the real party is? Hope you don't mind me... Dropping in-"
The pun was bad enough for Mol and Mattis to want to kick the blacksmith out but you're quite happy to defend him
Soon he's joined your little group of rascals and you've scrounged him up a drum and the two of you are serenading the kids with a very one of a kind concert
It's only once all of the kids have finally fallen asleep that the two of you clamber your way back out of the cave, Dammon helping to dust you off afterwards
Dammon himself is stuck thinking about how good you were with the kids and how unexpectedly nice the night was, but he knows tomorrow they all get back on the road and he might never see you again
Zevlor
Zevlor, to no one's surprise, had been standing off to the side near Halsin when you left
Ever the wallflower in social situations, he'd seen you sneaking off with Mol
Knowing how much of a handful those kids are, Zevlor decides to go find you both soon after
He's spent this whole time letting the children believe he had absolutely no idea of their secret hiding place, but Zevlor isn't blind
Zevlors careful with making his way down the rocky tunnel, listening to the music that slowly fills the air
The paladin is so quiet in his descent that no one actually realises he's there until he claps at the end of your performance
The kids are all quick to scurry away, except for Mol and Mattis, and it's up to you to try and convince them to let Zevlor stay
It takes a fair bit of convincing but it ends with the two of you regaling the kids with stories of wild adventures
Those stories include musical interludes too at the kids instance
Once all the kids have fallen asleep, curled up around each other or lying on large stones, you and Zevlor make the rounds covering them all with blankets
It's when Zevlor is helping pull you back out of the cave afterwards, feeling the warmth of your hand against his, that he realises how alive you make him feel and how effortless it is to be around you
Rolan
Rolan had spent most of the night drinking and putting on magic shows for his siblings
At some point in the night you'd come and given him applause but the next time he went to look for you, you'd already disappeared
It was Lia that pointed him in the right direction, mentioning you'd gone back to the grove
And so a tipsy, affection-starved wizard decides to stumble his way back to the grove to find you
It's both the sounds of music and the light bleeding through the cracks in the stone that draws him in
And if you think Dammons entrance was grand, Rolans is grander
Accidentally sliding down the last part like a surfer before quickly using his magic to make sure he doesn't fall flat on his face
Of the three bachelors, Rolan is the only one able to convince the kids to let him stay by himself
Showing off a little extra magic helped somewhat
It's then that the kids insist you both entertain them, putting on a join concert/magic show
For Rolan it was like Cal and Lia were little kids again, looking out at the little tiefling faces that are 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing at the magic firework displays
"Ah, my adoring crowd, if you think that was good then behold this-"
You two made a good duo, bantering between yourselves and some of the kids, and putting on a good show till the early hours of the morning
It's only when the two of you make your way back out of the cave, hauling Mols smuggled wine she was planning on upselling, that you sit at the beach and indulge in a shared bottle
It's then that Rolan looks in your eyes, smiling and fatigued, that he realises how much he wants to kiss you
Whether or not he does is something neither of you can remember in the morning
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redr0sewrites · 8 months ago
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Hi! I absolutely loved your lucifer x punk reader and was wondering if you could do a gn punk reader but with Velvette please?
nonnie i hope u know that u absolutely made my year with this request i NEED more velvette reqs she is my guilty pleasure
🥀 Cw: fluff, slightly suggestive at the end
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Velvette is absolutely the type of person to LOVE having an alternative s/o
she def finds anyone with a unique style intriguing, and once she actually met you she fell hard
def inspired a clothing line or two after you before you both even became official
she would also ask you to model and would ask for your opinion on designs!!!!! ur def her muse in a way, and she LOVES dressing you up in spunky outfits and designing new outfits just for you
velvette just loves dressing you up, and loves going out together when you're both dressed to the MAX in full aesthetic outfits
shes so good at doing hair and makeup too, URGRHRH imagine her sitting on your lap and doing your eyeliner for you or putting liberty spikes in your hair...
if your super into DIY or patch vests, pants, etc Velvette LOVEESSSS helping you make clothes
she will make patches and pins for you to wear!
velvette def has you show her some of the DIY tricks you know, and she shows you some in return
YALL ABSOLUTELY DEFINITELY POSITIVELY HAVE MATCHING OUTFITS
all of hell starts to see even more alternative and punk influence in fashion once you both become OFFICIAL official
velvette also announces it on practically every social media platform possible that you both are together, she loves showing you off and she is NEVER the type to be ashamed of her partner
you both def make those alt couples goals videos, and if anyone ever hits on you velvette will conveniently post blurry photos of you both making out the next day on her sinstagram
she shows up to important meetings and work events with you both in your spunky matching fits
you both heavily believe in being fashionably late and def help eachother get ready (but it ends up taking longer bc she just can't help but kiss you over and over while you're trying to do eyeliner, and you are definitely no help when she's struggling to choose which accessory to wear)
she's already a huge advocate for change in the way hell is run, and you both bond over your anti-authoritarian ideals
velvette does what she wants and nobody can tell her otherwise, and teh same goes for you. she genuinely admires that you really don't care what others think about you and you're style, and was def attracted to that aspect of your personality before you both even dated
LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME SHE WOULDNT ADORE FEMINIST ROCK LIKE SHE WOULD EAT THAT SHIT UP
you both love bikini kill, hole, x ray spex, destroy boys, JOAN JETT, all of that genre
she probably knew about punk music before she met you, but you def introduced her to it more
velvette loves long car rides where you're BLASTING music and screaming it at the top of your lungs while chains and hair is flying everywhere as you tear down the road speed limit where
if you wear lots of chains she def tugs on them to pull you into kisses and pulls you in by the belt too... (i want to make a drabble about this soooo bad)
all in all, yall r a POWER COUPLE lmao
"babe, what about this?" Velvette twirled you around, adjusting some of the pins on your vest before turning you towards the large, illuminated mirror that covered one side of the messy dressing room. music played in the background, filling the room with guitar riffs and breathy solos. discarded fabrics and chains covered the floor, all remnants of Velvette's past designs.
"damn, this looks sick as fuck!" you exclaim, giving a little twirl to show off the distressed patterns and chunky shoes. Velvette nodded approvingly, stepping towards you with a smirk. she reached out, hooking her finger through your belt and pulling you into a kiss. her tongue slipped past your lips, exploring the cavern of your mouth as the kiss grew more steamy. "fuck you're so hot," she murmured against your lips, her lip stick was smearing across your skin as she pressed hasty kisses and nipped at your hawline. "i adore dressing you up," she whispered, pulling you in closer, "but i love undressing you even more..."
SHES SOOOOOOO RAHAWHAHGWGGGGGG i need more velvette contentttttttttt
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forestshadow-wolf · 1 year ago
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Thinking about soap not being a dog person, but ghost is. Ghost finds riley (the dog) and asks price to let him keep her. Price says yea on the condition that soap agrees since they share a room. Ghost begs (on his knees) soap to let him keep her. And of course he says yes bc he can never say no to him.
He's still not a huge fan of her but he is in no way mean/hostile towards her. He'd just rather not to share his bed or food with her if he can help it. Which is fine, riley is a good pup, she listens to him. Regrettably soap is aware that riley adores him and ghost much more than he adores her, it's sad but he can't really MAKE himself like her more.
Ghost trains riley up so she can enter the field with them. He really put in the hours with her. Teaching her stealth, retrieval, how to bite and attack when needed, and even to know when to ignore an order when needed. But the most important thing he taught her, the very first thing he had her master, was find and rescue. He hoped to never need her to use it but in their line of work that was a far off dream.
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One mission soap and riley had gotten seperated from his team due to a structural collapse after a rouge explosion. He was taking up the rear, making sure everyone got out safely; knowing just how dangerous post explosion structures could be; and riley wouldn't leave his side. They weren't caught in the initial blast, but one of the collapsing walls had spat debris at them, knocking him over. He could feel the warm slickness of blood coming from the right side of his torso. His calf had a wicked looking slinter of wood protruding from it. And he thinks he fell wrong on his left ahoulder because hand can't move his arm. Riley was relatively unharmed as far as he could tell, because he'd gently knocked her out of the way a moment before the wall had cracked and then crumbled around them.
Aside from that he can still move, though not very far. Especially since the doorway out was now just a pile of rocks. There was a small gap that allowed sound and air to filter through into his little cavern. It looked just big enough for riley to fit through, but there was know way he was fitting; even without his tac-gear.
When voices and commotion began outside he little hole he tried urging riley out, out to where he could hear Simon's voice. But again she stayed, after a few urgings and even telling simon to call her up still she refused. There was a pause when he tried to command he out, a hesitant step, but they he came right back to him.
It was like she knew just how much he feared being left there alone. How the only reason he commanded her out was so that ghost wouldn't be left to bury two bodies when he didn't make it out. Like she knew if she left that he'd lose all hope, so she didn't.
He couldn't help but love her for that. For staying with him for the three and a half hours it took for him to be dug out of that hell hole. For offering comfort and love when the pain and fear began to spill over. He could help but love her when she wouldn't leave his side though out tje wait to get out, or the ride home, or medical. When she only left because ghost had to pick her up to feed her and give her a bath, and then she returned to his side.
She was allowed on the bed after that, and to some of his food.
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riskyraiker · 2 months ago
Text
Never let go of me
Optimus Prime x Reader
Description: Destiny has planned everything, but when needed they can make changes for better
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You were hit, you actually got hit this time. Megatron shot you right in your chest-plate and scrap that it hurt. It’s silly how this happened, really. You were just scouting for some energon only to find black energon. How is it even possible for it to be black? While you were shocked about the new form of Energon, the Decepticons sneaked upon you and started an attack. With no backup at the moment, you were screwed. 
“Megatron! Back up and leave with your army!” That voice sounded like a blessing, knowing it belonged to the one and only Optimus Prime. “No! This rare Energon shall be ours, and Autobot of yours will meet their fate!” 
That wasn’t good. Every bot knew it, that would be your final moment. You ran for cover, surviving, you didn’t dare to move. You could hear the banging and clashing of metal from the leader's battle. “You have done enough harm during this war and it stops now!” Optimus yelled.
Yeah, sure it will. Wait! We need a sample of the Energon! It isn’t that far. You reach for it, grabbing and pulling off a piece big enough for a few tests. With panic, you stood up and turned, but your plans were stopped by a sharp pain in your chest and the feeling of losing Energon. You didn’t have time to even run. There was a gaping hole in your chest, burning and dripping Energon. You raise your optics to look at Optimus, a look of shock and pain in his optics. You didn’t even feel it, but you were already falling backwards, into the black Energon. “Y/N!” That was the last thing you heard until your spark was ready to join with the all-spark. 
Would death be this calm, so relieving, and strong? If everyone died like this, why didn’t I leave sooner? This will be my destiny now. No turning back from it.
“Now Optimus. It’s your time to join Y/n and everyone else you have let down.”  Was Megatron here?! Or why do you hear his voice? A sudden light shined brightly, blinding you as the new voice spoke. “Shall the black Energon flow through your veins and the new guardian of the primes shall rise.” The calming feeling vanished and was replaced with an overwhelming feeling of anger. You wouldn’t let Optimus join you, after all, he has done for the team, for Cybertron, and all of Cybertronians
You rose, from the pit you died in, you rose from it. Somehow floating as the black Energon flowed in your veins. “Megatron.” You could see how fright took over his frame while Optimus couldn’t even open his optics. ”This war has taken the lives of billions and ruined our planet. I shall feel the rage of all beings against you and take you down. No matter what you do, Destiny will never be denied,” You landed back on the ground and slowly walked towards the Gladiator of Kaon. “You should be one with the Allspark! That is your destiny!” Megatron denied my presence and tried to shoot me. The blast of energy vanished into the air, same with the second one. “Destiny has decided that I will choose yours. And don’t even try to stop me” 
“NO” Megatron tried to finish what he started, killing Optimus, but Optimus wasn’t there anymore moved gently to the side. Megatron’s blade struck into rock, he couldn’t believe what was going on. The prophecy couldn’t be true, or that was what he wanted to believe. “You cannot be the guardian of the Primes! I will destroy you once and for all!” He tore the blade out of the ground and attacked. Y/n didn’t have a challenge but for Megatron? He was already struggling to fight against you. The Black Energon giving you strength enough to slay Unicron, the chaos-bringer.
Optimus was now conscious and knew what was going on, but he couldn’t believe it either. You as the new Guardian of the Primes? It was supposed to be a foolish prophecy, but right now, his sparkmate is the only and last one. The title gifted by Primus and Destiny together. 
The battle was more focused and brutal than he had ever fought against Megatron. He noticed a new thing about you. Y/n did not need to take a step back or crouch and dodge since you were teleporting around Megatron. Also, a pair of wings made from light folded against your back.
Shock took everybody over as Megatron’s blade went through you, but it broke in half and Megatron was pushed away from you. The cut vanishing in seconds. “Accept it, Megatron. Your time is up.” He already gave up as he was on his knees waiting for you to finish the battle. You pulled your servo back, blade already out and ready to strike and you did it. The blade went through Megatron’s Decepticon sign. Optics flickering. He was officially offline. The war was done after eons of fighting and the loss of loved ones.
You turned away, not wanting to look at the frame of a dead warlord. Instead, you headed towards Optimus helping him stand up. “Are you hurt? What am I thinking, you most likely are, but I’m glad you’re alive.” You held the Prime gently as everyone processed what happened. “You did it. You. I- I thought you died.” Everyone knows it’s unlikely for Prime to show emotion yet Optimus held you afraid of losing you when he let’s go. “I’m alive and right here, but I was afraid that you would be soon to follow the same destiny.” You wrapped the wings around you both as your sparks aligned and connected. Sharing thoughts and feelings, calming each other and bringing them back, pushing the panic away. “My guardian, a gift from Primus itself.” Optimus murmured gently as your forehead was pressed against each other. “My Prime, a gift from Destiny themselves and the one I’ll protect forever.” 
You two were the strongest pair of two sparks that ever existed. After time your both’s destiny arrived and you both joined all-spark together. You two were the new Primus and Destiny. 
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AN: Here you go :) I wrote this in under an hour so it might be messy. Also, I just made the idea of a Guardian of the Primes ofc. This is like the first angsty one I publish so it's weird. Request anything similar please!
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