An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Date Everything! (Sassy Chap Games Video Game)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Volt (Date Everything!)/Reader
Characters: Volt (Date Everything!), Reader
Additional Tags: Teasing, Flirting, Sexual Tension, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Creampie, Reader-Insert Has a Vagina, Reader-Insert Has a Vulva, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Praise Kink, Riding, Power Bottom, Sub Volt (Date Everything!), Top Volt (Date Everything!), Begging, Brat Volt (Date Everything!), Bratting, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Enthusiastic Consent
Summary:
It was dangerous for Volt to have access to the internet.
You should’ve known. You should’ve known something was amiss when he had brought it up last week, when he had given you that look of ignorance, of innocence, and had asked you to explain what the deal was with the “gray sweatpants” meme he had run across online. Because the thing was, Volt didn’t particularly care about memes. He and Eddie were both old—and old-fashioned. When you and Mac had tried to introduce them to meme culture, they had just given you blank stares. So why did he suddenly care to understand this particular meme? And how the fuck had he run across it in the first place?
But you hadn’t questioned it, had just taken his curiosity at face value, had explained it with rosy cheeks and tried to change the subject.
And now, here you were.
Or, Volt buys a pair of light gray, form-fitting sweatpants, and he looks distractingly good in them.
blood mention. just a small introspection thing after the barbed wire board match at charismania iv cause i have so many thoughts and feelings about all of that so im projecting onto okatani cause we are both So Normal about it for sure and yippeeeee
@shunma37 💜
also on ao3!!
--------------------------
A pair of tired eyes stared down at the hand resting in Okatani’s lap, the crimson dipped fingertips looking back at him with soft twitches as he tried to relax, to let the adrenaline flow out of him. In hindsight he maybe had been a little under prepared to how much a match with “extreme” in the title was going to take out of him, but at the same time he couldn’t deny it.
Feeling the pain and seeing the blood dripping from his own forehead was hitting such an euphoric high for him that Okatani hadn’t felt in a really long time.
He could still feel the barbed wire steel sinking into his skin, scraping the tender flesh of his forehead, slicing open his hand by accident while passing by. The little sharp ends sticking into him, leaving their marks, drawing blood he didn’t fully realize he hadn’t bled in a long time. Sure there had been little things here and there over time, leaving marks on him and such, but it wasn’t like this.
This had been intentional.
A little fleeting smile crossed his lips, on instinct Okatani bringing the hand up to his face. The blood stained fingertips glistened in the fluorescent lights of the trainer’s room, making him more curious about it, the color changing from dark brown to deeper red as he tilted his hand, observing it from different angles. It wasn’t much, he was barely even bleeding anymore, but what he had been able to wipe off earlier was definitely enough to evoke some sort of an emotion in him.
An emotion Okatani wasn’t unfamiliar with by a long shot, but it still felt distant and weird. Almost forbidden, as it had been so long since the last time.
The last time he had gotten so personal and intimate with barbed wire.
Slowly he reached the hand closer to his mouth, wiping his fingers on his lips. The tongue followed suit, licking the now bloodstained lips, slowly. Almost sensually. Taking in the taste, feeling the color, the texture. The unfamiliar deep familiarity of it all.
Okatani looked back down to his hand, slowly wiping it against his leg before curling the fingers into a tight fist. A little smirk climbed on his lips as he licked them again, almost like reminding himself of that taste, to give him something to chase.
Something to hang onto, to long for again, after such a long time.
Notes: Ghouls hunting, but thy're just playing. Copia is scared and overworked.
Copia is getting complaints about the ghouls being noisy in the corridors at night. Sleepless siblings with dark circles around their eyes come to him every morning now. All of them insisting there's something in the corridors. He knows it's not a something, rather someone, possibly many of them. His ghouls must be awake at night.
But when he goes and asks what’s going on they play the innocent card, dismissing him, at most they say they’re just playing. Then Phantom, giddily, asks if he wants to play with them tonight. Copia, not thinking ahead but rather on his many pending meetings, says yes.
He goes about his day, one meeting after another, and forgets he agreed to play. No time to think about such things when the abbey is full of leaky pipes, crumbling walls, and he has to fix it all. He heads to bed at about midnight, tired after a whole day of being Frater and not just Copia. Not even wanting to turn on his tv, much less any videogame. He’s already in that strange space between asleep and awake when he hears something in his roof.
His new room is a little more modern, and there’s drywall covering the old beams that support the roof. maybe it's the new materials creaking against the old walls. There’s the noise again… He thinks it could be one of his rats, but he’s pretty sure he left them all comfortably snuggled under a blanket and, more importantly at the moment, inside their big cage, which has a lock. And rats aren’t that heavy…
Copia turns on the little lamp on his bedside table. Everything in his room seems normal, but he feels like he’s being watched.
Usually there’s no reason to be scared in the abbey. He fears no demons, or monsters. After all, there’s many living here and they’re all friendly… right? He tries to convince himself that yes, the ghouls are all friendly, and they would protect him if anything went wrong. Even Alpha, as stoic and standoffish as he was, patrolled the corridors like a watchdog, all to make them feel safe.
There’s the noise again. There’s definitely something big scuttling about above him. “This is ridiculous…” he complains, muttering to himself as he puts on his slippers and heads out of his room. If he can’t find any sleep in here, he knows he’s welcome to spend the night with any of his ghouls. Perhaps if they're still awake, he could get them to pile around him.
The undignified noise that escapes him rings in the empty hall.
With his phone in hand, he lights the dark corridor. Strange, he was sure he made it so at least some lights should always stay on. Another thing to add to his growing to-do list. No matter, he should just go down the next flight of stairs and…. a wispy shadow crosses his path, making him yelp.
Now Copia’s mind is really racing, that was not nothing, not a rat, not just imagining things. He tries his best to keep the panic under control and think rationally, what in all circles of hell could be stalking him. He knows, now as Frater that there have been times portals have been left open on accident, letting other less “tame” demons in. But the ghouls have always handled that, and if he could remember well, no one had summoned anything in a few months.
He goes down the stairs, feeling uneasy. He could swear someone, somewhere, is staring at him. The faint sound of claws clicking on the stone floors follows him, surely it’s just Alpha… Right?
Something brushes against his leg, and whatever effort he had made to try and keep calm gets thrown out the window. He sprints as best he can toward the ghoul den. His heart is beating in his ears, the beam of light from his phone swings wildly, and sure enough he sees that terrifying reflection of eyes in the darkness. Curse demons and their beastly reflective eyes.
With tears in his eyes and now truly fearing for his life, he catches a glimpse of the heavy wooden door that marks the ghoul den. Just when he thinks he’s reached safety, he finds himself on the floor with the air knocked out of his lungs.
Growling and laughter ring in the dark corridor and when he gets his bearings he finds Phantom slumped on top of him, tail lazily swinging and with the biggest smile on his face. Too many sharp teeth, too close to his face at the moment. Claws click on the floor announcing another, and he hears Aurora’s voice approaching, “No fair! I was stalking him from the roof!”.
Phantom blows a raspberry at her, “My hunt, my prey!”. That’s when Copia remembers the many complaints he had been getting about the “noise”. He sighs and pats Phantom between the horns, making him purr. “Do remind me to never accept to play with you again, pipistrello…”.
The One With The Robot (a.k.a: Im bad at titling things)
Warning: Wireplay, Masturbation, Light(?) religious references (fictional religion)
Despite being a magical robot, Skipper didn't actually know a lot about how machines work.
Being raised in a cult where your mechanical god is the only one allowed to do anything with your programming or enhancements or whatever else have you kind of snubs any opportunity for education. After running away, he just never had any interest in that kind of research either - years of it being taboo to him made him feel...dirty, whenever he attempted it.
He was in his twenties now, staying at a casino he landed a job in. The demoness who owned it was nice enough, and it wasn't difficult being a bouncer, for him at least. His tall, topheavy build gave him intimidation points, he had increased strength due to the whole magic robot thing, and the ability to harden or soften his skin made for a laugh whenever a particularly rowdy patron got the crazy idea to try and hit him. It was an alright gig.
Sometimes though, it was draining. Chasing drunks and cheaters around when the boss was too busy to throw them out, turning away countless kids trying to sneak in, or patrons with less than savory intentions trying to flirt just to get in- even the regular patrolling and heavy lifting just seemed like a chore every so often.
It was particularly annoying one night when he got caught in some unexpected rain, holding the vest to his uniform over his head did little to stop a good amount of water from falling through the thin grate in his neck-hole (he didnt actually have a neck, the grate was just to stop rocks and hands and such from falling in). He could feel it sloshing around inside his chest as he sprinted to his apartment, and once inside his warm abode, he could properly feel the cold water against his warm insides. It was an odd sensation- but not totally unpleasant.
He quickly discarded his shirt and the now soaked vest, grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom before going to the kitchen sink. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't just leave all that water in there, it could do serious damage and possibly kill him. Based on what he knew about normal machines anyways. He just had to open his chest plate, get the water out, and dry everything off. He had to.
All those years of his parents and his pastors and his god forbidding him to even THINK about touching the various maintenance plates on his body returned to him as his hand hovered over the access plate located down the middle of his body.
"Okay...deep breath..you got this big guy-" he made a face as he opened the plate and watched the water fall out as he leaned over the sink. It was almost surreal.
Now came the hard part, drying everything off.
Despite being a magical robot, Skip didn't actually know how machines work. Meaning, he didn't know how his own body worked. These wires and plates and this metal inside him didn't mean anything to him because he didn't know what they did.
He stuck a hand in just to push a few wires out of the way, so that the cloth would have room, and oh-
He gasped at the sensation that shot through his body, synthetic voice stuttering as the joints in his knees nearly failed and he withdrew his hand, brushing against the walls of the hatch in the process, making him bite his lip to stop whatever embarassing noise would've come out next.
"What the fuck." He whispered to himself, cheeks burning- was he overheating?? No-
He stuck his free hand in again, much more slowly, and tugged on the first wire he felt.
He had to hold on to the counter to stop his knees from fully buckling, the heat in his cheeks spreading into his chest and down his torso. He could feel a prickly electric feeling quickly spreading through his whole body. "nGh- fuck- this can't be happening."
He stood there for a moment, contemplating. He had three problems now. The water, the burning curiosity, and a certain burning need beginning to cloud his rational thoughts.
He went to his bedroom and sat against the headboard, washcloth discarded onto the nightstand. He figured he could continue "experimenting", the water would just evaporate as his body heated up, right? Right-
In went the hand, pushing a finger lightly along the metal lip at the bottom of this bodily chamber and he shuddered, letting out a choked noise halfway between a whine and an error message no partner had ever been able to tease out of him- shoulders tensed and back arching when he gently scraped a nail against a cable port. He couldn't even process the tightness in his pants.
Panting, he traced a finger along the edges of the hatch with his free hand before pinching a new cable with the other. The pure sin that came out of his mouth would've made any prude back home faint on the spot- and Skipper certainly felt like he was about to as he rolled the cable between two fingers, using his free digits to tug on fingerfuls other wires and cables and ribbons around it. His hips were borderline bucking at this point, desperate for friction, preassure, release-
He pulled just enough to just barely dislodge something, and he saw stars. Well, the equivalent of stars. It was more like shorting, static vision and a feeling like his brain being scrambled.
This was certainly one way to get rid of work stress.
usually, it would just be you lying on the soft mattress inside the quarters of the sixth harbinger - the said harbinger being out on the field following the tsaritsa's orders but tonight was different. scaramouche had thrown himself on the mattress next to you with a big, exhausted sigh. an unusual sight to see the harbinger so…worn out and not schooling a scowl on his face. of course, if there were any other figures in the room, his composure would be set stone cold. he had a reputation to uphold, but this day was particularly busy, and the only chance he got to laze around was tonight, next to you.
you didn't mind, as per usual. you were perched on the bed beside him reading a book that you picked up from the nearby library. the strange yet comfortable silence that fell upon both of you was something to treasure. your life amongst the harbingers was a complex thing to notice. not that the other harbingers ever minded you, anyone who can keep the sixth harbinger occupied is automatically a peer - anyone being you. after all, you know him the most. his tragic background never had the chance to sweep past your keen eyes. he had caught your eye, a puppet hailing from the electro archon's soil. abandoned and betrayed by the shogun herself who originally made him to store divine power. you understood his lust for power, his violence.
"profound."
your thoughts were cut off by scaramouche's voice beside you. his eyes blinking slowly as he stared at the ceiling. the book you'd been reading had contained the inazuman dialect you had been dying to improve on so it was naturally the book you had checked out.
"that word is pronounced as profound. don't drag the vowel."
his eyes snapped towards yours, sending a chill down your spine. there was no malice in his gaze, it was as if you were in a trance and you couldn't look away. knowing him, he wouldn't back down from a small challenge like this so the two of you kept eye contact for a few seconds more until you found the courage to look away.
"right, profound." you muttered, flustered at the moment of vulnerability you had displayed.
the two of you went on for another hour, with him correcting your pronunciation and you following his instructions. after a while, you started to notice he had stopped correcting you only to glance aside and see his breathing even out.
scaramouche had fallen asleep.
you quietly chuckled. it was truly a rare sight to see the sixth harbinger so vulnerable. setting your book aside, you reached to turn off the lamp and made yourself comfortable right next to your beloved, hands ghosting his cheeks. his chest rose and fell evenly. he looked so innocent in this state. you wondered if this is what he looked like inside that domain where he had been kept. your chest pangs at the thought of him being alone. scaramouche had become at ease in your presence, despite his refusal to admit it. you swiped a stray strand of hair and placed a fleeting peck on his forehead, heavy eyes falling to the sound of his breathing.
funky little man in a mech i am so excited to see him ; lily by the official ender lilies ost
Night, I hope you don't mind me requesting some Vergil x Reader, where Vergil takes care of her after she has to endure some sort of loss and ease her from pain? Can be nsfw if you want. I just want some soft Vergil....
Soft Vergil is always my favorite 🥺 I hope you don't mind with sfw and a bit of angst here (I blame you for showering me angst and now I'll get my revenge lol)
~~~
To mortals, life is undisputedly short, which is why the value of life is priceless for them. It’s precious and beautiful, because every moment won’t last forever. As a person who knows how frightful dying was, Vergil understands that value very well. Death, on the other hand, is something that Vergil could never get used to. He was once the bringer of death, and yet no matter how much he witnessed the pain of death around him, it's still a harrowing experience for him.
Especially when it comes about his closest ones.
You can't count how many hours has passed since you and him sit down on the veranda, with your head resting on his chest. There's still traces of tears on your cheeks, and you swear to God that you've seen his eyes wet of tears just a moment ago before he hid the tears away. The sudden death of the beloved kitten of yours is agonizing. It's been hours since you buried the poor little thing, but the pain still lingers.
"I still can't believe she left us this quick…" you sob a little. "I knew she was sickly when we adopted her, but I thought she would get better as time goes on… silly me."
Vergil massages your back gently. His presses are full of consideration, as if he doesn't want to add more burden upon you. He seems to get lost in his mind. Clearly he's mourning too. You recall how he adored the cat so much even though he doesn't want to admit that. He didn't speak to her much like you did, but he took care of her, even play with her whenever you're not around.
"Death is… mysterious," he relents. "I learnt in a hard way that there are times in which we couldn't prevent death to come."
"But why Delilah?" you bury your face on his chest. "She was… innocent."
"Same goes as you pick the most beautiful flower in the garden."
"It's not fair. We were happy together just in a very short time…"
"A flower knows when its butterfly will return," Vergil gives a light kiss on your temple. He seems to have endured his sadness. "Delilah is in peace now. She will never be in a foul health anymore. You did a remarkable job to make her live in her fullest."
The excruciating pain in your heart is gradually dissolving as Vergil keeps telling you that Delilah's death wasn't your fault. It's an unfortunate moment in an unfortunate time. That letting her go is the right thing to do right now. You know that it's not easy for him to encourage you. The loss is catasthropically painful, yet Vergil is right. The memories of Delilah will be cherished forever.
"Thank you for taking care of her too," you murmur, wiping away your tears as you find a spark of optimism in you. "Delilah was always in her best behavior whenever she was with you."
He curves a sad smile, fingers tracing your cheek as he brings your back between his arms. He might not want to talk about his sadness, and that's fine. You know it better than anyone else that he need no words to express his feelings. He kisses you again, giving you the warmth and assurance that you will heal, eventually.
