#maybe i should stop writing plots???

[sanjipussyindulgence]

the best part of writing fanfiction is getting to expand on characters by just giving them your own personality traits. your favorite show is digmon adventure now i just decided.

[sheliesshattered]

I think my tastes must just vary wildly from most people's, but I feel like the last several fanfics I've read have gone on for five or six chapters too many. I'll take an open-ended happy ending over wading through 15k+ words of a dense cloud of cotton candy overly sweet denouement in which every aspect of their perfect life together is explained in excruciating detail, and pet-names and 'I love you's are exchanged every other paragraph

[snickerdoodlles]

my doctor who era reminiscing has led me to a 'girl in the fireplace but gay' canon divergence fic idea oh no

[rinhaler]

the fall of the house of usher AU with the todorokis

[silverskye13]

6, 8, and 29 for the ask game

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Incarnate Inchoate -- underoriginal (unfinished)

Anything to Hear You (Say It One More Time) -- mgrnn

To Convey A Certain Brilliance -- Bee_4

Devil Town is Colder in the Summertime -- BananasofThorns

Hellfire -- Renwhit

[squints] I think that's every fic I've read more than once lol. I'm a Book Devourer so I normally just read a thing once really quickly and then promptly forget it exists. I Have Brain Like Swiss Cheese. AO3 bookmarks and digital libraries are the only reason I stay sane XD

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

Redstone and Skulk Ch 20: ~ 1300 words, all of them from this week

Monsters Splitting Hairs Ch 28: ~ 2000 words, about 500 of them from this week

Unnamed Superhero AU with OverlordPink: No idea the word count XD less then 1000 I think

Before I Wake (original comic): Pg 27 finished, Pg 29 sketched

I keep a rotation so I don't get bored XD means overall less work on a single project gets done but! Everything gets done eventually.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

Nobody asked for this but I have 5 chapters of Nailmaster's Folly [a Hollow Knight fic] I dropped, just done and languishing in my documents. I'm not going to subject you to all 5 of those chapters, but I will make you read the 2 I'm most proud of. So uh, here's a very out of context chunk from Nailmaster's Folly I guess.

Oro was halfway down the canyon when his guilt got the better of him and he stopped in his tracks. His insides were a tangled web, and no amount of grousing and grumbling to himself would soothe the knot it made. It bothered him a great deal, apparently, that Mato was scared of him. 

Was Mato scared of him? No… surely not. It had been years since -- and honestly Mato was so much more capable -- sure Oro was pretty abrasive but he wasn’t--!

Oro shook his head.

Maybe he’d misread. It had been years, years he’d been in his solitude and Mato had been in his. Maybe they were both just so extremely culture-shocked and awkward that he’d read it wrong. Maybe he was just tense because of how suspicious he was, because of how stubbornly he held onto the idea that Mato must be here for some kind of… retribution? But Mato was never the type for things like revenge. He believed in accountability, yes, but not maliciously so. All of this was ridiculous.

And he’d looked so happy cheering him on while watching his fight.

Oro groaned up at the sky.

Maybe, like just about everything else in his life, the problem wasn’t Mato. Maybe the problem was him. After all, Mato had invited him to join him after his fight was over, and Oro had just gone trudging off down the canyon without a second thought. He was always so… antisocial. Maybe if he actually gave Mato a chance…

He’d been living alone for a long time.

Oro sighed. He ran a hand across his mask, then turned and looked up the direction he’d come. He couldn’t see Mato among the cliff faces above, but he knew he was there. Somewhere.

“I hate this, you know,” Oro protested out loud to a nearby boofly, “You know how much easier my life would be if this weren’t my problem?”

Of course the boofly didn’t answer. It just bobbed its head and flittered its tiny wings frantically, its big black eyes looking back at him vacantly. Frustrated, Oro smacked it away with the flat of its nail, sending it spinning further into the canyon. Then, huffing another grumble of a sigh, he turned and began walking back up towards the Colosseum. 

“Mato, Mato, why is it always, always Mato,” Oro griped under his breath as he walked, “At least Sheo understood the basic concept of personal space. He knew how to leave me alone and not do stupid things like… like…! And he’s always so emotional it’s like trying to reason with a scared grub for Wyrmssakes--!”

He ushered to the air around him, as though the ambient noises of wind and hoppers and wings could grant him the validation he was looking for. Of course, none did. But the flurry of movement did attract the attention of a nearby primal aspid as it buzzed threateningly close to the canyon wall. And Oro, so lost in his grumbling, so lost in his slow progression up the paths of the cliffside, didn’t notice it’s presence until it was spitting bright orange in his direction. The flash of color was enough of a warning in his peripheral vision for him to lurch to the side in an attempt to dodge it - only for the scatter of its spray to catch him in the mask. Cursing, Oro staggered to the side, wiping furiously at the acid-like spit with his cloak. His shoulder caught against a nearby wall, and then abruptly Oro felt that wall give way behind him. 

There was an instant where he realized he was going to fall. An instant where he realized there was nothing he could do about it. An instant where he resolved if he didn’t go tumbling down the side of the canyon wall and crush himself against the ground, he was going to come storming back up here and cut the wings off of every aspid he laid his eyes on. And then, Oro promptly tumbled off the ledge he’d been standing on into whatever cavity had opened up in the wall behind him.

He’d expected to fall longer than he did. 

There were two, maybe three seconds where he was free-falling and it was incredibly dark, and his eyes still stung from the aspid spit. And then with a heavy oof! he landed hard on his shoulders on uneven ground, knocking the air out of his chest and leaving him wheezing rather ingloriously on the floor. When he’d managed to start breathing normally again, he felt around for his nail and once he found it, staggered to his feet. Above him, he could hear the echoing buzz of the aspid’s wings as it searched the hole he’d fallen through for any sign of him. As soon as it felt the cooler, wet air of the cavern he’d tumbled down, it turned back the way it’d come, hissing furiously.

“I hope you get eaten alive by something!” Oro shouted after it as it went, “Stupid, angry thing!”

If it heard him, it didn’t turn back to investigate.

With another frustrated sigh, Oro squinted into the gloom to survey his surroundings, finding mostly what he already knew - that it was dark in here. Some pale light filtered in from the hole he’d fallen through, casting the space immediately around him in washed out greys that very quickly faded into oppressive murk. The floor here was made of carapace and chiton, old and stoney. There was a smell of damp age about the place, like the air had been still and undisturbed for a long time, and there was a weight to it, like eyes in the dark. It felt very much like he’d stepped into someone’s grave, or just inside the toothy maw of some ancient carapace. If he weren’t so irritated, Oro might have even had the common sense to be scared here. 

Instead his shell itched and his stomach turned itself in angry knots, and he thought of course of course he would fall through some damp, dark, probably beast-infested pit while walking up to find his brother. Of course this would happen to him right now. It was always Mato wasn’t it? Always the source of his chagrin, even when he wasn’t trying to be. This might as well happen.

After standing still for a few minutes listening to the sound of moisture dripping off the ceiling and the hollow echo of droplets onto the floor, Oro’s eyes managed to adjust enough to pick out another source of light in the darkness. A dim light, so distant that for a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no it was there - a curve in the tunnel ahead giving off the subtle hue of an outline. It was hard to tell just how far away it was. His depth perception wasn’t fantastic when he was near blind from darkness and aspid spit. It was hard to stop himself from blinking every few seconds to try and clear the remaining fumes of the acid away. Not that it would help at all.

Oro cast his gaze up the direction he’d fallen. It was a long, sheer stone face to climb. He was sure he could if he gave it enough effort. But it would be hard work, and all in pitch darkness until he was near the very top. And while he could, he definitely didn’t feel like standing at the base and calling for help for however long it might take for a bug to come this direction. He had a match to get to tomorrow, after all. And pride in his belly. So, stepping carefully on the uneven footing, Oro made his way towards the light he’d seen further in the tunnel. 

The sound of his own footsteps echoing in the silence itched at his nerves. He was loud and unwieldy, it seemed, and it made him paranoid that something might hear him coming, or try to ambush him. Swinging a nail in the dark was a dangerous idea. You never knew when you’d hit a wall, or perhaps even yourself, if your swing went too shallow.

When he reached the curve in the tunnel ahead he stopped, taking a moment to survey the slowly brightening light ahead of him. There was some bioluminescence here, sickly looking roots that sprouted in tangled patches from the ceiling, and reached like limp claws towards the horns of his mask. It was barely enough light to see by, and a pale shade-like purple. As Oro took a step down the lit tunnel, there was a soft hiss as the roots seemed to respond to his presence above. For a moment Oro crouched low, nail over his head, expecting the roots to reach for him. Instead he watched as they slowly shriveled and curled towards the ceiling, flattening themselves away from his touch. The light from them dimmed even further but remained.

Tch. Weird. 

Oro straightened again and, eyeing the ceiling suspiciously, continued walking, trying to ignore the creeping noises of moving roots above his head as he went. When he passed by them, the roots slowly unfurled themselves and dropped back down again, a curtain of slowly brightening claws guarding his exit. It was… unsettling... claustrophobic. He didn’t like the idea of walking into something that could sense his presence. 

Further down the tunnel he went, one hand on the wall as if afraid it might suddenly fall in on him, his other hand clutching tight-fisted around the hilt of his nail. It was incredibly still here, the air dead. Unlike the open hole he’d fallen into where noises attempted to echo, the sound in the tunnel ate itself up in the roots over his head, making his every movement seem muffled and abrupt. He checked his progress every handful of steps, making sure his way back hadn’t magically disappeared - and it hadn’t, though it was obscured by those twisting roots. Where in the Wyrm-cursed World was he even heading? Should he turn back? His sense of direction was tangled in the darkness somewhere, caught in the shifting roots over his head. He had no idea where this tunnel was or where it was winding.

There was a murmur… a soft sound on the edge of his hearing. Wait… what was that…?

Oro stopped walking abruptly and breath held, he listened. 

There was… a noise… coming from up the tunnel. Stifled and faint. It didn’t carry well here but he could still hear it; persistent and quiet, wafting toward him like mist. First it came in bits and pieces, but as he continued forward he made it out a bit more. Humming, haunted almost. A song...?

 Was there another bug down here? Maybe there was another opening somewhere then, some outward-leading tunnel he could scramble out of instead of trying to make the climb up the way he’d fallen. That would be grand. Sure, he’d be a bit lost when he got wherever he was going, but that was a problem for later.

“Teeth… and claws….”

“A mind of teeth and claws…”

Oro felt a creeping prickle of nervousness crawl its way up his shell. He didn’t like the sound of that. But he kept walking - he’d gone so far now it didn’t seem worthwhile to give up now. Besides, he was a strong bug with a great nail and enough light that, though it would be tedious, he could at least see a fight if it happened. And fight he would, if it came to it.

“Dreaming Wyrms, a bed of nails…”

“A hunger still beneath us wails…”

Just as he resolved this in his mind, the path before him yawned open into another opening. A cavern, smaller than the first he’d fallen into and tangled across the ceiling with more of those roots. Their thickness made their glow brighter, and some of them even managed to worm their way down from the ceiling and into the ground below, burrowing further into depth incomprehensible. It was probably a trick of his eyes but they seemed almost to pulse, faintly, that sick violet hue.

“A mind of teeth and claws…”

Oro noticed with a flash of horror like a lightning strike that the floor was covered in broken masks. Slashed cleanly in half. One eye broken. The ground beneath a slurry of crushed chitin and whatever moisture it was that dripped from the ceiling. It seemed nearly to be moving, breathing, churning beneath the fragile surface. A phantom of crawling legs shivered beneath Oro’s shell and he stumbled back a step away from the chamber, unable to stifle the choked noise that rose in his throat at the sight of it. In Hollownest there were many floors made of petrified chitin and old discarded masks. Resting grounds. Old battlefields. Place where once the life of the world was thick. This was fresh, moving, alive, grotesque. Wrong.

Crick. Crack. 

“Oh, hello Nailmaster.”

Oro snapped his gaze up from the floor to the center of the room. Standing in a circling of broken masks was the Announcer, seemingly unperturbed by the ground on which it perched, despite the fact that Oro himself could practically hear it’s writhing. The bug’s eyes glinted pale in the dim light, and silhouetted against a background of those burrowing roots, they looked both pitifully small and sinister, like some small weaver who just lured a bug into its tangled web of a lair.

“You may enter,” it said, a smile in its voice, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yeah,” Oro muttered, gaze sinking back to the floor, “And beasts don’t bite.”

The Announcer laughed, a thin, frail sound, like it was unused to the sensation. It turned its back to him, and Oro saw now entwined in the roots it stood near was… something. A shape he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light and the distance. Though the glowing roots were thicker here, their light was still low.

He should leave. Being here was… a bad idea. But Oro doesn’t run. Not from enemies. Not from his brother. Not from this.

Tentatively, shell still crawling with shivers and nerves, Oro took a step forward. He expected his foot to sink, for the mask to give under his weight and crack and sink into the slurry of mud and chitin below, but it didn’t. In fact, he couldn’t even feel the ground moving. Emboldened by this just barely, he took another step forward. And another. And another. Until he was standing just behind the Announcer, towering over the diminutive bug and staring down at what it stood before. 

It was… an egg? A large one, nearly as tall as the Announcer, and as high as Oro’s chest. It was hard to tell it’s color when the only light to see by was tinged in the bruised blue-purple of the roots above them. But it was an egg, large and spiked and cracked in half, whatever creature born inside it long gone. Inside the remains of the shell, there was a curling of sickly roots that spiraled about themselves before burrowing into the ground, thick and twisted. 

“Interesting, isn’t it?” the Announcer hummed, “Even here at the edge of the kingdom, Hollow Nest hosts its mysteries.”

“What in the Black Abyss is this place?” Oro asked abruptly, hoping the shortness of his tone sounded more angry than scared.

The Announcer shrugged, “A place of beginnings. A place of hunger.”

It tilted its head in his direction, “A place of nothing, perhaps, if that’s what you want it to be.”

“Well that’s gross and cryptic.”

“You’re doing well in the Colosseum, Nailmaster Oro,” the Announcer said, disregarding his grumbling and turning its gaze back to the massive egg, “The place seems to suit you. You have a powerful spirit, a strong sense of ambition.”

Oro squinted down at the bug and backed up a pace, “There’s a lot of strong bugs entered in the tournament.”

It hummed noncommittally in return, the sound not unlike the voice Oro had heard humming its way towards him down the tunnel, “I suppose. But strength alone doesn’t satiate the Colosseum, does it?”

It looked up at him again, those pale eyes glinting, “I always thought the Colosseum of Fools was an interesting thing. It almost seems alive sometimes. Watched after and hungry. It so loves a crowd, and it loves its Champions and legacies. God Tamer was its favorite for a long time, and it’s quite a shame the one who struck her down refused to stay. I’m sure it would have made an interesting Champion all its own.”

“It’s a Colosseum,” Oro snapped, irritated by how unnerved the conversation was making him feel, “It’s a bunch of bugs in the shell of an even bigger bug hosting a tournament for a prize. It’s not alive.”

“Of course not,” the Announcer chuckled patronizingly, its voice sickly sweet with a grin that didn’t find its way to its pale gaze, “After all, if it had its own voice, surely I wouldn’t be here.”

It turned away from him and finally moved from its spot before the rooted egg, “I do wish you luck, Nailmaster Oro. I did mean what I said about the Colosseum suiting you, sir.”

It stopped at the edge of the room where Oro could barely make out the gaping darkness of a tunnel - probably the entrance the strange bug had used to enter the place. It flashed him one last smile, this time showing those unnerving teeth, “And doesn’t Nailmaster Champion have such a glorious ring?”

Then with another of those curling, whispering laughs, the bug disappeared down the tunnel ahead of it, leaving Oro alone in the dark. With no one to watch him, Oro allowed himself a shudder. 

"This whole place is just a pack of shrieking belflies isn’t it?” he snarled under his breath. A pack of shrieking belflies indeed. All pretty noises and deadly dramatics. Oro shivered one more time and then, grimacing, dropped his gaze to his feet to figure out where best to step next - only to find the ground normal. 

What?

Oro glanced around the room, casting about the floor for any sign of the writhing floor, the broken masks. But… it wasn’t. It was just fossilized chitin, like the floor he’d fallen into when he’d first dropped here. It was all old stone and solid ground and--! And it was all just gone?

Hesitantly, Oro knelt and placed his hand against the floor, and waited. He didn’t know what he waited on exactly. For the floor to shift? To feel the moisture of churning mud where his eyes were clearly seeing none? But… it was just stone. 

“Wyrmssakes,” Oro grumbled one more time, getting back to his feet. He cast a wary glance over to the rooted egg as if it could somehow explain his surroundings. Then, gathering up his courage, he followed down the tunnel he’d seen the Announcer disappear down. He was walking for a handful of moments before a familiar roaring caught his ears. Cheering. And then light, bright and pouring across the tunnel around him. And Oro was suddenly in the pit beneath the Colosseum, blinking dazedly at the resting forms of combatants. Behind him was a solid wall, as though the ground had opened up to spit him out and closed itself behind him.

Shell itching with nervousness, Oro climbed back out of the Colosseum and made his way home. It wasn’t until he was sharpening his nail late in the evening that he realized he’d forgotten his brother.

[nostalgia-tblr]

If I could do Fics With A Plot I'd probably attempt An AU Where Lauffey Dies And Odin Goes "Oh Hey, Frost Dudes, I Had Your Heir All Along :D He's Urs Now :D" Except Because This Is A Shit Plan It Does Not Go At All Well. Because it does bother me. Because I worry too much about fictional monarchies having the 'wrong' rules. D:

[juniperhillpatient]

did I just finish outlining Scream Au’s main plot points in writing only to learn that it’s gonna be roughly TEN chapters? maybe. good news for people who don’t like my more controversial plans. bad news for my brain which can’t comprehend a project that short even if the chapters I’ve rough drafted so far are 9-10k so it’ll definitely still be large novel length lmao

[littledeadling]

Cant get over how hard they’re biffing it with the Mandalorian. God. Ouchie

[sapphire-weapon]

not me having over 15k words written across three different fics with none of them finished

could never be me

[fortune-maiden]

Thinking about Cold Steel and it’s many writing problems and one of the most baffling ones to me is how the ILF’s actions are just kinda swept aside after a certain point because their leader ‘is our classmate and we’re bringing him home’

The ILF literally tried to nuke Crossbell at one point.

They did a lot of other things, but I feel like that Class VII should find at least that one a little concerning

[marinesocks]

Happy Blorbo Blursday, Helena!

For any oc of your choosing how does his or hers storyline intertwine with the main plot? How do their decisions effect the rest of the ocs, close or not? Could they change everything, main character or not ?

~ love, Leia

OHO LEIA YOU'RE TRYING TO SNEAK INTO SPOILER TERRITORY WITH THIS ONE!!

but i am stronger than this!!! i will resist the urge to give you the answer that first comes to my mind. i'll go with.... akaashi in the owl's wish. once again, i'm trying to avoid spoilers here, but i think his storyline often feels unrelated to the plot (especially at first, before it's really clear what is going on), and i'm happy to say i have successfully tricked all of my readers so far into being confused about why he's there, what happened to him, and all that. sorry if this sounds self-aggrandizing lol, i just very rarely get moments where i actually have a braincell so i gotta celebrate them when they appear. although i suppose maybe it's less to do with me having a braincell and more to do with my friends blindly trusting that i will write a simple, silly folktale with a very happy ending...

i think a lot of the first part of the book relies very heavily on akaashi and his decisions? (the second part does as well but eh.... in a different way.)

[neuromantis]

aw2 gave me perhaps, one of the most important realizations of my life. just now. "how do you run from an idea?"

the world i created when i started writing. i liked it. and i liked my characters. they were real to me. but. i could escape there. but i couldn't live there. with my family and friends and loved ones, the only ones i've had then.

i needed to stay outside and keep writing them. i could never join them. so i kept writing. every day i would write more of it, obsessively. and with that came a realization of the genre of the story it was shaping up to be.

i keep calling it "automatic writing", because i really never felt like i was in control of it. ideas just used me as a conduit. the story was telling itself. and it wasn't. a nice story. not one with hopes or happy endings.

i once told someone a long time ago that i couldn't stand writing anymore because i loved those people. loved their world. but if i made more of it. they'd have to suffer for it. so i quit. i kept meeting new ideas and characters and i only wrote down the barest of outlines. because the narrative would inevitably doom them, there had to be no narrative anymore.

i think what also made me stop it, was meeting Adam. a guy i knew like 10 years ago who suddenly messaged me. he re-sent me my own message to him from 2013. "well what about the fact that perhaps there IS a god, but he just specifically hates you?"

the last couple of years made me accept it. Adam is me. N(adam)ian. The one who made it all. The one who set up the rules. The one they'd be suffering for. And I don't want to be that. So I chose to leave them. They don't let me. But at least I can not write.

[mejomonster]

i know we’ve never talked but i saw your tags on the post about writing and i just wanted to say that even if you never finish anything, it’s admirable that you do anything with them at all, and that i hope one day you’ll be able to finish something and experience that joy :)

💜💜💜💜💜💜 ;-; thank you for these words!

I really hope to finish a story first draft by the end of the year, or soon after that. Even if its only a draft and that dumb annoying perfectionist voice pipes up and tries to insist it needs to be scrapped or rewritten or whatever annoying thought, im going to be so excited to have something done at least. A first draft i can point to and be like:wow, wooh! I am holding my own story in my hand and i can forget the plot and still pick it up and read it in a few years and how cool that is! How much it makes my chest ache with warmth!

But also, even if i finish no draft this year, i started at least! I wrote 100,000+ words of original stuff this year so at least the ideas are started, are somewhat put down, are pieces that exist now i can treasure and find later

Thank you again <3

[kuiinncedes]

whee i wrote something

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After being captured by The Ghoul, he had dragged you through the hot desert of the Wasteland. You were so thirsty, and you’d do anything for a drink of water. And you meant anything. Tags: Smut, Practically No Plot, Humiliation, Begging, Spit, Blowjobs, Throat Fucking, Thigh Riding, Biting, Hate Sex(?), maybe OOC The Ghoul but I think I got it right, Not Beta Read, there's still consent because i can’t write severe noncon Author's Note: i had so many “why am i writing this” moments yet i still finished it i’m so sorry. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been this thirsty in your life. 

Scratch that, you don’t think anyone’s ever been as thirsty as you currently are. 

Even though you had no saliva left to swallow, you tried anyway, your throat feeling like sandpaper. It caused you to cough, earning a disgruntled noise from the ghoul currently holding you hostage. 

The Ghoul. Infamous bounty hunter and the cruelest person you’d ever met. Of course, you only found out who he was after he captured you. You’d never even heard of a ghoul until a few days ago, your sheltered life in Vault 14 withholding information about the surface to you. 

You wished you were back home, suffocating as it was. At home, you wouldn’t be forced to walk countless miles under the boiling Wasteland sun. At home, you wouldn’t have a lasso around your neck, preventing you from running off. And even if you did manage to somehow escape the rope confines, you’d seen how accurate of a shot he was. He’d kill you before you managed to keep a foot away from him. 

You glanced back at him, The Ghoul, who had his sawed-off shotgun casually trained on you. He seemed unaffected by the heat, by the sun beating down on your faces. His hat made sure of that, and you supposed that you didn’t have to worry about sunburn if all your exposed skin was melted by radiation.

It had been hard, looking at him at first. After spending your entire life surrounded by “normal” humans, it was a shock seeing him for the first time. You’d seen burn scars before, sure, but never this severe, every inch of him covered in them. Of course, that wasn’t the most off-putting part. That had to be the complete lack of nose, an empty socket where the cartilaginous appendage should be. 

It unsettled you deeply, but you found that you couldn’t stop looking at him, a sick part of your brain enjoying it. You didn’t dare delve into that part of your mind right now, though, your current circumstance is significantly more important. 

He had stopped you in Filly, and after a brief discussion had decided that he was taking you with wherever he was going. You had no say in the decision, and even when you fought and kicked and screamed he still managed to get you bound. A few people tried to help, not because they cared about you, but because they had also wanted to get their hands on a “Vaultie”. Apparently, you were worth something to them up here, a commodity of sorts. It made your skin crawl. You’d gotten firsthand experience, then, of how good of a shot The Ghoul was. 

How you longed to be back in the stuffy Vault, working as a teacher to those kids. As annoying as they were, at least they weren’t currently threatening your life, or making you walk to who the hell knows. You’d take that over this any day. Hell, you’d take latrine duty with overflowing toilets every single hour over this. 

You fixed your attention back in front of you, the endless stretch of sandy dunes in front of you broken up by partially destroyed houses and skeletons of buildings. Your feet were in incredible amounts of pain, every step feeling like you had fifty pounds of bricks attached to your ankles. And that thirst, never ending, overwhelming thirst you felt nagged at you, consuming every thought of yours. You’d take anything to drink now, even that definitely radiated puddle you’d passed hours ago. Or was it minutes? You couldn’t tell.

You knew dehydration had long since started affecting you. You were no longer able to form sweat, and you were certain that your body was slowly cooking from the inside. You were almost certain it would be a better fate than whatever The Ghoul was leading you towards. 

You hadn’t even realized he’d stopped until you felt a sharp tug at your throat, nearly toppling you on your ass. You heard him chuckle as you steadied yourself, and you shot him a glare. Even faced with death, you weren’t going to let yourself be treated like this. “We’re stopin’ here,” he gestured to a dilapidated building to his right.

You had been surprised when he spoke the first time, not expecting a southern drawl. You’d never heard an accent like his before, only ever hearing them on the Holotapes your Vault would play for movie night. You’d also believed them to be fake, or to have died out with the rest of humanity. You had to admit, the one good thing to come out of this whole experience was hearing his voice. 

Momentarily confused as to why you were stopping, your eyes focused, and you realized that the sun was half set. You’d learned rather quickly that it was suicidal and stupid to travel across the Wasteland at night, after an almost perilous encountered with what you assumed to once be a bear. You’d barely escaped with your life, climbing a tree until the creature grew disinterested and found new prey. 

You almost wished it had torn you apart then. 

Apparently you were taking too long, and you felt another tug at the rope, pulling you closer to him. “Ain’t got all day, sweetheart.��

Sweetheart. The name was anything but sweet, saying it with so much condescension that it made you flush angrily. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

Grumbling something under your breath, you stormed past him, another low chuckle leaving him. “Nothin’ good is gonna come from that mouth on ya,” he threatened, waving the gun at you in a go on motion. 

The shifting sand nearly caused you to stumble as you ducked into the house through a window, and your eyes struggled to adjust to the low lighting. Holding your breath, you listened for anything else in the house besides the two of you, and when you were met with only your heartbeat, you continued further in. 

Entering what used to be the living room, you saw a large couch, still in relatively decent condition, and luckily free of decomposed bodies. Any wood furniture, however, had already decayed, leaving only fragments where they once stood. You realized that if you were to sit on the couch, it would probably crumble under the weight.

The Ghoul entered behind you, and you made your way down the hallway, checking each room for anyone or anything that could do you harm. The first room was a bathroom, sand filling the bathtub like it was water. Out of desperation you almost tried to turn the handles on the sink, lift the seat of the toilet, do anything for a drop of water. But you refrained, not willing to stoop to that level yet. But you could feel that you were close. 

The next room was a large master bedroom, completely destroyed from when the bombs fell. Sand covered everything, and the walls had practically caved in, leaving you exposed to the outside. There was no where you would stay there willingly tonight. 

The third and final room was also completely devoid of life, but the empty crib in the middle of the room had you gasping, and you heard the click of a gun behind you as The Ghoul prepared for anything. You quickly shut the door. “Nothing, sorry,” you managed to croak out, and you heard him scoff.

However, you saw that he did manage to catch a glimpse of the room before you closed the door, and in those still human eyes you saw something flash through them. Sadness? Longing? Anger? You couldn’t tell, but you sure as hell weren’t about to ask him about it. 

Living room it is, then. Heading back to the original room, you watch The Ghoul sit on the couch, right in the center of it. It held, surprisingly, but you could hear the wood groan in warning. Spreading his legs, you watched him tilt his head back, a content sigh leaving his mouth. 

If you had the energy to blush, you would’ve as you watched him, finding yourself having to look away. Maybe dehydration was messing with your brain, the way you thought that was attractive. What the hell was wrong with you, you thought. 

Thirst quickly chased those thoughts away, and you attempted to lick your dry lips, your tongue mostly sticking to them instead. You were about to go explore the bathroom until you remembered the rope around your neck. 

Like he could read your thoughts, you watched him regard the lasso in his gloved hand. “You gonna run off on me if I take this off, sweetheart?” 

You shook your head, excited to have the irritating rope no longer chafing your neck. “You’ll kill me before I could,” you responded, voice barely a whisper.

The Ghoul barked out a laugh. “Damn right I will.” He considered your response for a moment, and you fully believed that he was going to keep it there. That was until he stood, almost inhumanly fast, approaching you with long strides.

Holding your breath, you felt his tug the rope off your neck, those eerily human eyes never leaving yours as he did. You flinched when you felt one of his leather-clad fingers brush over the irritated skin. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, mostly because of fear, but also for another reason that you refused to name. 

With a satisfactory smirk, he looped the lasso back onto his belt. You quickly exhaled when he stepped away, eliciting a coughing fit, which was dry and only irritated your throat more. Fuck, you were so thirsty. 

The Ghoul sat back on the couch in that same lounging position, and you debated sitting on the floor in front of him, but you feared that if you rested now then you’d never get back up. You watched him set a lantern on the ground, the weak oil based contraption the only source of light in the entire room. You didn’t ask why he didn’t start a fire; you also learned to not do that early on too. 

So you remained standing, even though your feet screamed for relief. You ignored them, shifting to try and alleviate the pain slightly. Rubbing your neck, you could feel that he hadn't once taken his eyes off of you, and it was making you increasingly unnerved. “You gonna stand there all night?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.” You tried to sound defiant, but it came out more like an airy noise.

“Suit yourself, then.” He rolled his eyes, making a show of getting comfortable on the couch. “It’ll be a long night for you, that’s for sure.”

Swaying, you leaned your back against one of the barely-standing walls, screwing your eyes shut. You occupied your thoughts with memories of home, trying desperately to ignore the pain. You were mostly successful, that was until you heard the sound of a canister being opened. 

Curious, you opened your eyes back up, nearly falling to your knees when you saw him drinking from a circular canteen. You must’ve made some noise, because he was now smirking at you. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and you watched a droplet of precious water trail down his scarred chin, dripping onto his dusty clothes. 

“See somethin’ you want, sweetheart?” He was unabashedly cocky with his tone. 

You son of a bitch, you thought, glaring daggers into him.

“Now, now, no need to be like that,” he chuckled, taking another sip. “Just tell me what ya want.”

He wanted you to ask for it. He wanted you to be at his mercy. Groaning, you rest your head back against the wall. You don’t think you’ve ever hated anyone as much as you hated The Ghoul. Any humanity left in him had been stripped away, leaving behind a cruel excuse of a human. Despite that, you couldn’t deny the way your heart continued to patter in your chest as he stared at you expectantly, that cocky attitude doing things to you that would leave anyone who knew you horrified.

“I…” you tried to talk, but your voice proved to be too scratchy. Clearing your throat as best you could, you tried again, ignoring the way he looked at you like a predator would his prey. It was similar to the bear from earlier, but you’d take that now over the ghoul in front of you. “I need water.”

He tsked, crossing a leg over his lap. “And here I thought you Vaulties were raised with manners.”

It took everything in you to not just snap at him, but that would leave you without any water. “I need water, please,” you gritted out. 

The Ghoul shook his head disapprovingly. “Shame,” you heard him mutter, before he was slowly pouring the water out onto the floor behind him.

Sheer panic tore through you, and if you were able to form tears, they would be in your eyes. “Wait, wait, wait,” you pleaded, your voice cracking and breaking, and you lunged forward. The click of a gun had your blood going cold, but he at least had the decency to stop pouring. You held your hands up, taking a few steps back.

Registering that you weren’t going to attack him, he lowered the gun, but he still kept it on his lap. If he had any eyebrows left, you’re sure one of them would be raised, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’m- I’m sorry,” you stammered out, keeping your hands in the air. “I just… Can I please have some water? Please, I-I… I need it. I’m begging you… please.” You wondered if he could even make out your words. 

You watched his eyes travel up and down your body, and he cocked his head. “Are you?” You made a confused noise, and he chuckled lowly. “Are you beggin’ me?”

One problem that you always had at the Vault is that you never knew when to shut your mouth, and what you said next certainly made it clear that you hadn’t learned yet. “You want me to get on my knees, then?” You had meant it sarcastically, and you immediately regretted it when his eyes went dark. 

You heard the creak of the couch as he planted both feet on the ground, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. His guns barely stayed in his lap, but he didn’t seem to care. “Now that you mention it… yeah.”

Humiliation warmed your cheeks, and you nearly let your pride stop you from sinking to the floor, but then you saw the way the canteen hung precariously in his hand. Damn it all. Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself slowly, unable to look at the man, not wanting to see his victorious reaction. The sand shifted beneath your knees as you rested on them, but you could barely feel the relief your feet finally felt.

“Can-”

“Closer,” he cut you off gruffly. “And I want those eyes on me.” His voice had turned husky, and you realized he was enjoying this. Were… were you enjoying this too? You honestly couldn’t tell.

Wordlessly, you obeyed, shuffling forward until your knees bumped into his shoes. Your ears burned worse than they did out in the sun, and you wished it would just explode and incinerate you right now. “Eyes up, sweetheart,” he practically purred. 

You took a moment to prepare yourself before you were looking at him through hooded eyes. The brim of his hat cast a shade over his face, and you could only see the hungry glint in his eyes matched with a predatory smirk. Oh, he was loving this, and you couldn’t help but squirm under his gaze, heat pooling in your belly that was quickly doused by shame. 

“Can I please have some water? Please? I- I’m really thirsty and… just a bit. Please.” 

His grin grew more as you begged, and you sagged with relief when he brought the canteen closer, no longer dangling over the back of the couch. “See, that ain’t so hard now, was it?”

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologizing, for what, you weren’t quite sure. You weren’t too upset about it, though, especially when he brought the canteen to your lips. 

“Head back,” he ordered, and you did, your neck straining at the angle. You swore you heard him groan when you parted your lips, never breaking eye contact with him. The water was disgusting and acidic, but damn if it wasn’t the best thing you’d ever had the pleasure of drinking. He poured it into your mouth, and you desperately swallowed every single drop, the dryness in your mouth and throat instantly being quenched. 

But it wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t help the disappointed noise you let out when he ceased the pouring. “More, please,” you found yourself whining, any remnants of shame tossed out the broken window you’d climbed into.

“Manners, Vaultie,” he growled.

“Thank you, thank you,” you repeated like a mantra, and The Ghoul let out a pleased hum. Thirstiness still clung to you like a second skin, but you felt better than you had moments ago. Some of your energy had returned, and you felt like you were no longer in the grasp of death. 

“You want more?” He asked, and you immediately nodded.

“Please,” you whispered, and you saw something almost wicked pass over his features. 

“Don’t worry,” you felt one of his gloved hands sneak around your back, collecting a handful of hair and tugging, forcing your head back even further. You cried out, a mix of shock and pain. “You’ll get more. Just keep that pretty mouth wide open, just like that.” His normal drawl had turned into an almost rasp, and you shuddered. 

You watched as he took a swig for himself, but he didn’t swallow, keeping the water in his mouth. Confused, you closed your mouth, but as soon as you did you felt him pull hard at your hair. Obediently, you opened it back up, a shaky exhale leaving you.

If he had a nose, it would be currently pressed up against yours. He adjusted so that he was practically towering above you, and man did the angle kill your neck, but you didn’t dare complain. With increasingly widening eyes, you watched as he slotted his mouth above yours, not touching, but you could still feel the heat from his body. 

You nearly flinched when you felt the water hit your mouth, fighting every instinct that told you to shut it. The act was filthy and degrading, but you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t getting you incredibly aroused. Your Vault-Tec suit was becoming suffocating; it hadn’t even felt this bad when you were outside. 

As he sat back on to the couch, his lips glistened in the dim light, stray remnants of water still coating them. As you held the water in your mouth, he frowned disapprovingly. “Do I gotta spell it out for ya?” He shifted forward again, grasping your face. “Swallow.” 

When you did, he let go, tapping your cheek lightly. “Atta girl,” he cooed, and you sputtered, cheeks growing warm. Shifting where you sat, you tried and failed to relieve some of the tension in you. You thought you were subtle in your movements, but his sharpshooter gaze locked onto it immediately. 

He laughed, a mix of surprise and condescension in one. “This gettin’ you turned on? Maybe you ain’t all that innocent, Vaultie.”

You eyed the half-hard tent in front of you. “I’m not the only one,” you grumbled out, and he laughed again. 

“I ain’t the one on my knees, sweetheart.”  Scoffing, you watched him lean back again. You expected him to say something, do something, but he simply watched you with anticipatorily. Something shifted in the atmosphere, and you realized he was putting the situation in your hands, wordlessly asking you how far you were willing to take this. 

You needed this. You needed him, as bewildering as it was for you to admit to yourself. 

Desire running deeper than that for water coursed through your veins, and you nodded. “More.” You both knew that you weren’t fully talking about the canteen in his hand. 

“Good answer.” Before you could even register, he was gripping your face again. Fingers pressed into your cheeks harshly, opening your mouth back up. Taking another swig, you expected him to repeat what he’d done last time, but you were startled when you felt his lips on yours. 

It was a strange kiss, his closed mouth against your open one, but it didn’t stay like that for long. His lips pulled apart, and without needing further prompting you swallowed another precious mouthful of water. You could feel that bastardly smirk against your mouth, and if you were anywhere near being able to create a coherent thought you would’ve said something. 

But you didn’t, you couldn’t. It was like you were caught up in some haze, but you were sent out of it when you felt his tongue sweep into your mouth. You’d kissed a few people, sure, but never like this. It elicited a startled noise from you that had him pulling back an inch, and you had to fight yourself to not chase after his lips.

“Never had that before?” He chuckled, and he found your following silence an adequate enough answer. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

He didn’t even give you a moment to react before he was crashing his mouth back against yours. It was all tongue and teeth and it had you moaning, and you felt the grip on your face tighten. Your head spun, and you tried to keep up with his movements, but you ended up just letting him take over, moving his mouth against your however he’d like. 

He nipped at your lower lip with his teeth, and your hands shot out, no longer able to just keep them idly in your lap. You found purchase on his thighs, the sinewy muscles tensing under your touch. But the grip on your face tightened more, almost incredibly painful. Your eyes shot open, alarmed, and a pained noise left you. 

He had pulled away again, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths, but he was glaring down at you. “You better watch those hands.” Even though his voice was husky, the threat didn’t make you any less terrified. 

You were confused, and you watched his eyes trail down to his lap where your hands were. Unable to move your head, you had to strain your own eyes to look down, and sheer dread washed over you when you saw his gun still in his lap, your hands a mere inch away from it. 

“I- I wasn’t… I didn’t… ” you gasped breathlessly. “I didn’t know! I- I’m sorry! Please.” Out of all the times you’d begged and pleaded tonight, this time had to be the most genuine. Immediately retracting your hands back to your lap, you awaited his response tensely. What you failed to notice was the way his eyes darkened as you groveled, his pants growing tighter.

His gaze returned to your face, and out of the corner of your eye you watched as he moved the gun from his lap into his hand. You half expected him to point it at you next, but you let out a very audible sigh of relief when he set it on the couch beside him. It was completely out of your reach now, but he could still easily grab it. 

He loosened the grip on your jaw, still holding it, but no longer digging into your flesh painfully. “I won’t stop you next time,” he growled, and it took you a second to register what he was saying: he won’t stop you next time because you’d be dead as soon as you began to reach for it. 

You nodded as best you could. “Good,” he’d lost the threatening tone, but his voice was still gravely and raspy. “Now, where was I?” His eyes flicked down to your lips, and you sure they were swollen and shiny. “That’s right.”

Like nothing had happened, he returned to his ministrations, teeth grazing your bottom lip again. You hesitated when you set your hands back on his thighs, gaining more confidence when he didn’t stop you. In fact, he was actively encouraging your explorative touches, a pleased noise rumbling his chest as your fingers trailed up his thighs. 

Another swipe of his tongue and a particularly harsh bite had you gripping onto him, barely able to find purchase on the thick material of his pants. You desperately needed air, but he held his grip on your jaw, seemingly unaffected by the issue you were having. Did ghouls need to breathe? It seemed like they didn’t, because he had yet to tear his mouth away for air once as he first kissed you. 

As your hands reached his belt, it was then he finally tore away, a groan leaving him. Sucking in as much air as your lungs could handle, you ran your touch across the prominent bulge. You felt the hand on your jaw go lax, falling to his lap. “You gonna take care of that?” He was giving you another out, giving you an opportunity to stop you from doing something you could regret. 

Rationally, you knew you should stop here, and pretend like this didn’t just happen. You knew the version of you from the Vault would do that. But this new part of you, exposed to the Wasteland and the savagery of the surface world found that you wanted to continue. Besides, you were probably going to end up getting killed in the next few days; why not have some new experiences before your time was up.

You didn’t respond, you simply began to undo the buckle of his belt. You couldn’t get the thing off of him, so it just rested open on his thighs. “Oh, you’re filthy,” he chuckled, spreading his legs even further apart while leaning back against the couch. “Go on, sweetheart. Let’s see what that mouth’s good for.”

This also wasn’t your first time in a situation like this. You’d only ever done it once, but you apparently weren't too terrible at it, as he frequently requested for a second time, but you always turned him down. You kinda wish you hadn’t now, wishing you had more experience now, but a part of you knew that this was about to be incredibly different from anything you would’ve experienced in the Vault.

With hands that you prayed weren’t incredibly shaky, you pulled down the zipper of his pants. He kept his eyes locked onto you the entire time, darkening even more as the unzipping noise hit his ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him, no matter how hard you wanted to. Something about his expression had you locked in, and you shifted again. 

“Don’t let me stop ya,” he rested his arms along the backside of the couch, and you realized you’d just been sitting there. Steadying yourself, you slipped your hand into the confines of his pants, underneath the waistband of his briefs. You heard him let out a small hiss when your fingers brushed over his cock, and you desperately wanted to hear him make more noises like that.

It took a bit of maneuvering before he was free, head brushing against his navel. The skin was pocked like the rest of his body, which you were expecting. What you weren’t expecting was how long he was, much longer than your previous encounter.

Before you could let nerves disarm you, you moved closer to him. Bracing your hands back on his thighs, you kissed his tip, and you heard his hiss again. Sneaking your tongue out, you ran it up his length, pressing another kiss when you reached the top. “Don’t tease,” he growled, tangling his gloved fingers back into your hair. 

When you took him into your mouth, he let out a noise that sounded like a laugh and a sigh, the grip on your hair growing painful. It didn’t deter you, rather it drove you wild, and you took as much of him as you could. When he hit the back of your throat, you had to stifle the urge to gag. Taking the rest of him in one of your hands, you began to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks. 

You couldn’t see the way his eyes locked onto his cock leaving and entering your mouth, but you could hear the small grunts he made in tandem with the movement of your head. He kept his hips surprisingly still, but his fingers were somehow getting even tighter, as if all of his restraint was being poured into his grip, and it was on the verge of snapping. “You can take more.” It wasn’t a question, and you felt his press down on the back of your head when you had him fully in you.

Startled, you tried to make a noise, but the vibrations just went straight to his cock. He groaned, louder this time, and he didn't let up. “Relax,” he bit out, and you tried. You really did. Taking as deep a breath you could, you forced your muscles to relax, your hands going back to his thighs. Tears sprung to your eyes as you really tried not to gag, but a garbled sound still left you as he pushed himself further down your throat. 

“Fuck,” he drawled out, “just like that.” It felt like five years had passed before your nose was finally pressed into his skin, his cock fully sheathed down your throat. Tears dripped onto his skin, but he didn’t seem to feel them. Your scalp stung as he lifted your head up, and you took in a shuddering breath, your lungs screaming for air.

You didn’t have a long reprieve before he was shoving you back down again, and even though the intrusion wasn’t new it still caused you to make an awful noise. It took him pulling you off again for you to realize what he was doing; he was fucking your mouth, using it for his own pleasure like you were just a toy. The realization had you moaning, the discomforts becoming an afterthought as he chased his pleasure, your own growing. 

Your Vault-Tec suit was becoming unbearable arousal tightening in your core, and you snuck a hand down between your legs, trying to touch yourself through the thick material. It didn’t help, but you still tried anyway, desperate for any sort of relief. The Ghoul laughed, not letting up the way he moved your head. “Oh, sugar, is suckin’ my cock gettin’ you bothered?”

Your head spun, the new nickname and the crude words making you dizzy, and you let out what you hoped was a confirmatory sound. He only huffed in response, and you could tell that he was starting to get close to his release. His hips had started to buck, albeit slightly, and his groans had turned to unintelligible moans. 

He cursed again, and you were barely able to glimpse his head roll back, hat hitting the ground. He didn’t care, continuing to fuck your face, and you desperately ground against your hand. “So good, fuck,” he panted, and you let your eyes flutter shut.

They shot open when you heard him moan your name, but you had little time to appreciate the way he said it. He pressed down hard on the back of your head, holding you there, your nose pressed flat against his body. A plethora of curses fell from his lips as he came, his cum spurting deep down your throat. 

He let go, hands falling to his sides, and you removed yourself, coughing and gasping for air. Your cheeks were wet with tears, your jaw aching, but it was the best pain you’d ever felt. He stared at you with lustful eyes, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

Holy shit. You were tired, but you wanted more. But you weren’t expecting him to do anything else tonight. This wasn’t a partnership; he’d gotten his release. You’d need to deal with it on your own. 

So caught up in what you were expecting, you gasped when you felt his lips graze the corner of your mouth. His hand cradled your cheek, leather growing damp, and you felt his lips brush the tears that had fallen on the other cheek. You realized he was licking your tears away, and when he registered that you noticed he chuckled, muttering something about not wanting to waste water. You let out an airy chuckle in return, still not fully wrapping your head about what had and what is transpiring. 

“Guess one good thing came from that mouth,” he teased, referencing his earlier threat. He tugged you up, and you stood with knees shaking like a fawn. You’re certain you looked like a mess but he either didn’t care or really enjoyed it. 

You really had no idea what was going to happen next. You observed him with wide eyes, and you couldn’t help the bewildered look when you saw him stroking himself, still rock hard like he hadn’t just come. He chuckled when he saw what had caused you to react. “One good thing ‘bout bein’ a ghoul,” he rasped. “Stamina.”

His own raked down your body, honing in on the way your thighs pressed together, and they flicked back up to your own. “Take it off.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, the zipper on your suit quickly becoming undone. Even though the air was hot, it still felt nice against your hot skin. He didn’t blink as you undressed, eyes clocking in every new inch of exposed skin. Tugging it down your shoulders and off your arms, you let it fall to the ground, the material pooling at your ankles. 

Left in only your bra and underwear, you kicked the Vault-Tec suit off your feet, and you stood there, unsure. “All of it,” he continued, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

As you reached for the clasp of your bra, you watched him lean forward slightly, eyes watching you like you were the most delicious meal he was about to devour. Tossing the garment beside you, you reached for the waistband of your underwear. He raised a hand, making your halt, your fingers barely looped under the band.

With two fingers, he gestured you forward, grinning when you complied easily. His hands batted away your own, and you felt he begin to peel it away himself. He was almost eye level with your navel, and you felt his breath caress your stomach. It was like he was unwrapping a present, the way he ripped it down your legs, and it fell around your ankles like the suit. 

You were hardly able to kick it away before he pulled you onto his lap, your hands bracing against his still clothed chest. The couch made a very audible noise, on the virgo of collapsing, but neither of you seemed to hear it. One of your legs straddled his thigh, your bare center pressed against his pants, no doubt soaking the material.

 “You’re wearing too much,” you found yourself commenting, and you felt him chuckle. He took his hands off your waist, holding them in front of you so you could clearly see him take off his gloves, tossing them by his gun. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, realizing that that was all you were getting from him. 

You weren’t complaining, though, when his bare hands touched you for the first time. Along with the marred skin, his fingers were calloused, years and years of harsh life, fighting, and shooting making them so, but they were the best things you’d ever felt touch your soft skin.

He seemed to be having similar thoughts, humming appreciated as he felt your body, fingers dancing up your sides. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, and you sighed as he continued his exploration upwards. Worn hands cupped your breasts, fingers toying with your perked nipples, and you unconsciously pressed your chest forward. “Look at ya,” it felt like he was mostly talking to himself, “you ain’t gotta mark on your body.” You felt his mouth graze your breasts, lips ticking you as he spoke. 

You jumped when his teeth made contact with the delicate skin of the top of your breasts, and he chuckled. Moving lower, he took one of your nipples between his lips, his hand making sure the other one was receiving the same attention. His tongue flicked, sucked, and the occasional nip had you crying out, jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. One of your hands settled on the back of his head, the other sneaking back between your legs.

With that surprising speed, he caught your wrist, not even tearing his mouth away from you. You let out a noise of complaint, and you could feel him grin. His hands left your breasts, settling back on your waist, and you felt him begin to rock you back and forth on his thigh. With every rock, your clit ground against the tensed muscle, and you let out small moans, small waves of pleasure crashed through your body.

When he felt you begin to move on your own, he let go, returning his touch to your breasts, playing and massaging them as you got off on his thigh. His mouth trailed up your body, leaving a trail of small kisses and ginger bites, your once smooth skin now slightly indented. Having been worked up for a while, you felt that you were growing close to release, his ministrations bringing you closer. 

He was at your neck now, and he bit particularly hard at the thick tendon there. He laughed when he felt your hips begin to rock harder, and you felt his tongue smooth over the bitten skin. “I-” you tried to speak, but an airy whine from your throat cut you off. Your thighs were trembling, and you could feel the damp patch that had formed on his pants, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed right now. 

“You close, sugar?” Not trusting your voice, you nodded instead. “Fuck, yeah you are. C’mon, let me feel ya,” he groaned, mouthing at your neck. 

It only took a few more rolls of your hips before you came, his name tumbling from your lips as a loud cry, pleasure igniting all your nerves. Your stubbed nails dug into the back of his head, and he growled. Your whole body was trembling as you rode out your high, only ceasing the movement of your hips when it became too overstimulating.

A shocked laugh left you, and you slumped forward. That seemed to be the last straw for the couch, the furniture collapsing beneath the two of you. It nearly caused to tumble off his lap, but you felt his hands secure under your thighs. He stood, holding you like you weighed nothing, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his body. 

He eased you to the ground, the sand digging uncomfortably into your skin, causing your back to arch off the ground to avoid feeling it. You couldn’t help the gasp you let out when you watched him shrug off his jacket, tucking behind you wordlessly. These small glimpses of humanity you’d seen from the Ghoul, like when he saw the crib, or when he gave you a way lead you to believe that maybe he wasn’t as bad as you originally believed him to be.

Well, you still hated him, and you were still his captive, but you realized that he wasn’t a complete monster. It was moments like this, where those high walls he’d built to survive in the Wasteland began to crumble, and you could see glimpses of the man you assumed he once was.

He didn’t give you much time to reflect, though, because his lips were crashing against yours, and all thoughts disappeared. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, and you could feel his cock pressed against your folds. He didn’t press in though, and you whined against his lips, moving your hips as best you could to try and get him to move. “Whatdya want, sweetheart?” He murmured, nestling his head in the crook of your neck. 

“You,” you gasped out.

“I’m right here,” he chuckled a bit, and he still didn’t move.

Groaning, you ground against him again, trying to get him to just push himself into you. He groaned, yet he still didn’t move, his resolve stronger than you anticipated. “Fuck me, please,” you choked out, and you could see him smirk in satisfaction. 

He didn’t respond, and you felt him press into you, sheathing into you with a single thrust. Similar noises of pleasure escaped both your mouths, and your fingers wove into the fabric of his shirt, desperately trying to find something to grip onto. He stretched you out so well, and you gasped when you felt his hips press against you. He was so deep inside of you, father than any other person you’d taken to bed, and it overwhelmed you in all the best ways.

“Sugar, you feel incredible.” You babbled something in response, and you hated how proud he looked. He didn’t give you time to adjust before he was setting a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours. The sound of skin on skin and your cries of his name filled the room, and you swore if you gripped any tighter on his shirt that it would rip.

Small puffs of air tickled your neck with every thrust, whispers of your name hidden in the gasps. Fingers dug into your waist, most likely going to leave marks in the morning, your once smooth skin littered with marks of him. You couldn't see what your body looked like right now, but you had a pretty damn good idea, and the picture you visualized in your mind had you clenching around him, causing him to falter, albeit it only for a second.

Despite the slight overstimulation you were feeling, you could feel another orgasm begin to form, slowly but surely. Letting go of his shirt, you grasped at his face, pulling back up for another breath-stealing kiss. You were so caught up in the way he continued to thrust into you and the way his mouth slotted against yours that you failed to notice the way one of his hands left your waist. 

You broke the kiss with a startled yet pleased nosed when you felt his fingers begin to work at your clit, rubbing fervent circles into the sensitive nerves in time with the thrusts of his hips. “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groaned out, and your head hit the ground, barely softened by the jacket and the sand. 

His name had turned into soft pants, unable to form a coherent thought as he relentlessly fucked you. The added stimulation brought you closer to the edge, and you tried to let him know you were getting close. “Go ‘head, lemme feel ya,” his accent had been cranked up to a hundred, and in any other situation you would’ve found that funny. 

With a final cry of his name, you came again, your vision going white as you temporarily spaced out, the pleasure too overwhelming. When you came to, he had pulled out of you, leaving you empty and shivering. You watched as he stroked himself a few more times before he came all over your stomach.

It was only the sound of breathing in the room now, both of you just staring at each other as you calmed. Relaxing on his coat, you watched as he stood, tucking himself back into his pants as he did. Closing your eyes, you focused on your breathing, jumping when you felt a cloth on your stomach, wiping away his release from your skin. 

He didn’t say anything, tossing the cloth to one of the corners of the room when he was done. He placed your clothing beside you, before sitting and resting against the collapsed remnants of the couch, head rolling back. 

Groaning, you broke free from the post-orgasmic haze you were in, sitting upright. Both pleasure and pain still lingered in your muscles, making your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Slipping on your undergarments, the dampened fabric of your underwear was incredibly uncomfortable, but you gritted your teeth and ignored it. After putting on your bra, you debated putting on the Vault-Tec suit, but the idea of putting it back on made our overheated body cry. 

The Ghoul watched you as you redressed, thinly veiled desire and interest flicking in those eyes. You were now sitting upright on his jacket, and you got up onto your knees, freeing the garment and holding it in your arms. Scooting towards him, you held it out to him with shaking arms, almost like a peace offering. His eyes didn’t leave you as he took it, setting it beside him.

Before you could decide that it was a bad idea, you sat down next to him, shoulders brushing. If he was surprised, he did a good job of hiding. Exhaustion returned, and you felt your eyes begin to flutter close, head bobbing as you struggled to stay awake.

It was your turn to be surprised when you felt him pull your shoulder down, resting your head in his lap. You were even more surprised when he draped his jacket over your shoulders, the material thin enough to not overheat you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes, but he avoided your gaze, staring at the half-standing wall in front of him.

“Rest. We’re leavin’ at sunrise.” His voice was hoarse, back to that commanding tone from earlier. 

Getting as comfortable as you could, you let your eyes shut, sleep beckoning you. You had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow, but as you felt his fingers comb delicately through your hair, you knew that he was no longer going to be following his original plan for you.

[cheriladycl01]

Would you be up for writing a fanfic with Lando or Max x reader where reader also races but due to the training and harsh training her team and trainer are putting her through develops an ED (common among competitive sports and I’ve got experience 😭) maybe Reader faints or her bf finds out? No problem if not 😘 love your writing!

Those inward struggles - Max Verstappen x Driver! Reader

Plot: After having to change you diet and do more work after struggling in Singapore you spend a year on strict training away from your boyfriends knowledge. What happens when a year on and people are noticing how much more exhausted your looking after each race.

Warnings: Eating Disorder, Reader Being Sick

Singapore and Qatar 2022 was extremely hard for you. Your body temperature in the car didn't regulate that well and you lost way more weight than any other driver.

You new that the 2023 season was going to be even harder with where the races were placed in the year.

Your physician wanted you to keep the weight off. The lower your body mass, the less you'd struggle with the heat. That was their thought process and that's what they deemed best for you as a woman. So of course, you trusted the team's decisions and you started to train more, and eating in a calorie deficit.

They'd come up with a plan for you to loose a safe amount in a safe amount of time, however it almost felt like a competition and you wanted to be as ready as possible.

At first it was hard, you craved sugar and grease the most but eventually once the majority was out of your system the vegetables and fruits started to taste like when you have a sip of that half stagnant water at 3am when your body decided to lower your thirst bar all the way down.

Max as a driver had also seen how much more you were with your personal trainer, and how it didn't just stop when you got home as you would often be in your home gym.

You'd serve yourself less and meals than him and he noticed these little things. Of course he did, he'd been obsessed with you since he was a 13 year old and both of you met in karting.

You started dating a year before he got into F1 quite literally being the definition of childhood romance. But this did mean that he knew you like the back of his hand.

"Baby, how about a sweet treat?" he asks holding up your fav type of cookie waving it in front of your face.

"I really shouldn't, I think the team wouldn't be happy if they found out I was eating more than i should!" you explain to him, continuing to wash the dishes from earlier that night.

"But... you didn't have much for dinner and you skipped lunch!" he asks remembering what you'd eaten throughout the day.

"Oh? So your keeping tabs on me now?" you ask looking him over with a soft yet teasing frown.

"Well, when your with me for a good portion of the day I notice" he grumbles making you turn your head to him at that tone, it wasn't one he used often.

"Huh?" you say leaving the dishes fully in the sink before placing a hand on your hip.

"Look, It's not just me noticing it but your not healthy right now!" Max offers and you turn back round to do the washing up.

Your trainer said you might feel a little tired and icky while you were on such a strict diet but once you'd got to your goal weight you'd feel better.

"Please just eat the cookie!" he smiles and you roll your eyes. You take the cookie and finish it off under his watchful eye. It tasted so good, but you almost gagged at how heavy the chocolate felt at the back of your throat and how you could feel the chunkiness of the chewed batter.

There wasn't that fresh aftertaste you been getting recently from the various fruits and veges you'd been relying on to get you eating something.

You gagged at something that used to be a delicacy too you, something that would excite you. However you finished it off to please Max. Once he was satisfied you had your filling he explained he was going out to a set with Lando, Daniel and Charles.

You'd already said you wanted to stay home today.

The minute he was out the door you were in the bathroom getting the sugary sweet treat out of your body, feeling disgusting from having had it.

The guilt was eating away at you the minute you had it, you knew just how unhappy the trainer would be. You spent the rest of the evening in the gym, weighing yourself before and after the session.

To your dismay there was no improvement and you sat in the gym crying over you predicament.

It was time for the 2023 Qatar Grand Prix, you were already struggling just walking round the paddock in the areas that didn't have aircon. When you'd done your track walk, you could feel the damp sweat on areas of your body you didn't know was possible.

However, you pushed and pushed yourself through the whole weekend, you drunk lots of water and made sure to keep up with the exercising and kept eating to a minimum.

When you'd got in the car for the first practice your hard work seemed to pay of, coming P4. Again in qualifying you'd had a fastest lap in Q2 and split the Mercedes up Q3 coming P3 behind Max and George. Both of these weren't too bad, it was in short bursts that didn't make you too hot.

However as the weekend moved forward, it was obvious to your team, to Max and to the media that you were becoming more and more exhausted. A lot of people noted that your tailored race suit was starting to bag in places it shouldn't and that you had sunken areas on your face, making you look all the more exhausted.

The Sprint shootout was awful, you placing 9th fastest overall, which compared to your earlier racing was no good for you or your team.

You only managed to move up one place to P8 in the Sprint, meaning you were in the points but you were taken to the medical tent after reporting feeling dizzy and your sight spotting.

Max had headed over to the Aston Martin garage asking for you, all the mechanics just saying you were still with medical. He rushed over, quicker than his car on a flying lap as no-body actually knew what was wrong with you.

"Y/N?" you'd heard as he'd come storming in looking around for you.

"I'm in here!" you said and he came over taking your hand in his.

"What's going on, what's wrong?" he asks looking over you.

"Nothing, just had a bit of a migraine. Apparently not enough water!" you lie, knowing the doctors were still doing tests but they said you were free to leave.

You'd left, he'd comforted you at the hotel making sure you had everything you could possibly need before you both slept away the tire of the day.

Sunday of course was a shit show. Medical still hadn't fully worked out what was wrong with you and they were debating pulling you from the race. You'd refused saying you were fine to race.

You were 20 laps in when your vision started to blur until ringing in your head occurred.

You tried to keep up with the fluids from your drinks tube but they were just heating up along with everything else in the car.

"Y/N are you okay. Medical have just deemed you should be racing. We want to retire you" your engineer comes through at lap 50.

"7 more laps, I'll be fine" you groan. You'd managed to stick to P4 for the majority of the race. But now that vision in your left eye was pretty poor you were taking turns a little more hesitantly meaning you were down in P6.

You defended from Ocon like your life depended on it, and finally pulled up to the area where the cars sit when the race it over. You sit in the car, in silence trying to get your vision back and stop shaking.

You body ran cold, you were shivering now and could feel the cold sweat in your suit, you wanted to reach up and take your helmet off more than anything but your arms didn't obey.

So you just sat there, until some Aston Martin mechanics came through with water. They helped you out and up handing you a bottle of water. But with the ringing not having stopped your vision completely went as you fell back onto the hard ground of the track.

Max once he'd found out his team and your team and pretty much everyone had kept you fainting from him a secret he had yelled, a lot, at anyone and everyone he could.

Even Lando and Oscar in the cool down room had to be at the receiving end of his wrath.

After his podium that he had tried to make as quick as possible he was right with you. Yelling at everyone while making sure you were getting the correct medical attention.

When he found out the reason behind you fainting and the fact that you drove the last few laps half sighted he was back to MAD MAX, and oh boy it wasn't a pretty sight.

He couldn't believe your team who were supposed to make sure you were in the best health had actually been hindering you and not helping you.

To say the he and Rupert his own personal trainer would be taking over from now on and he'd be hiring a private nutritionist to get you back on track to your starting F1 weight in 2022.

He loved you and would do anything for you.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @formula1mount @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313