#I do hope by some miracle they survive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tokoyamisstuff · 3 months ago

Note

I know you only write for dilfs usually, but could you make an exception? I'm starved for Invincible content🥺

so many perfectly fine dilfs /gilfs in this series, smh...but for you I'll make an exception. 💌

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Second Chance At Love

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, yandere adjacent, blood, kidnapping, murder, not proofread A/N: I didn't specify which variant, pick your poison

This is it. That’s how you’ll die.

One of innumerable casualties in the wake of this surreal destruction, caused by no one else than the man you were still helplessly in love with. Well, at least the people responsible for this chaos all wore his stupidly handsome face, though the innocence in his eyes despite everything being long since absent in theirs.

You’re cowering in a corner of the nearest safehouse, huddled in there with countless other civilians as you start to reminisce and regret in the face of doom.

Maybe you should have told Mark about your feelings after all. Not that there ever was an appropriate moment to do so, between his relationship with Amber and Eve seamlessly afterwards. Both were amazing women in their own right, and you could never think of comparing yourself to either of them. But damn it you couldn’t even be mad at those wonderful two, even through all your jealousy.

Mark and you had been childhood friends ever since you had moved into the same neighborhood as a preteen. It was a storybook-like friendship that eventually turned into a one-sided infatuation as you grew older, but not wanting to ruin your friendship you cowardly suppressed them until it was too late.

And when your friend's powers finally awakened, you found the perfect opportunity to end this bond once and for all.

You remember it as if it was yesterday: His face, so full of shock and hurt as you broke out in tears and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Being this close to a literal hero made you a walking target, you claimed. Even if you as an individual are insignificant in the greater picture, even if villains wouldn’t try and hurt you to get through to him, conflict seemed to follow him everywhere, so you’ll most likely get into harm’s way at some point.

It was a cheap excuse to hide the pitiful truth that you couldn’t stand to see him build a life with someone else. And in hindsight you hated yourself for having done this. Invinc- Mark had gone through so much already, suffered great losses and was carrying guilt that weighed so heavy it astonished you that he hasn’t yet broken down under all the pressure.

And to add insult to injury, you - one of his closest and most trusted friends - abandoned him out of a selfish hurt that didn’t even make up a fraction of what he felt on the regular.

Enough self-pitying. You’re not the victim here.

If – by any miracle – you survive this, the first thing you’ll do is make things right. Contact him immediately, explain yourself, and promise to overcome this silly crush to be a friend he deserves this time.

But just when you made up your mind, a loud, grating noise cut through your pondering…

…and when you looked up, you were horrified to see the view of a bright night sky.

That meant someone had not only found this place, but also effortlessly tore off the rooftop which was made up of strengthened steel.

For the fraction of a second, when your eyes met all too familiar ones, a naive hope inside of you thought it was your Invincible that had arrived, worried for your safety. But the vastly different costume – covered with blood and viscera - reminded you painfully that again it’s just wishful thinking. A dream that would never become reality, no matter how long you refuse to acknowledge it. This world’s Mark is probably fighting alongside Eve right now, not wasting a single thought about you, and you couldn't blame him.

The Viltrumite scanned the crowd for god knows what, his face falling flat as his gaze fell on you. A flash of recognition flickered in his eyes, just to be replaced by an almost predatory glint.

“Found you!” his tone was oddly cheerful, yet sent a shiver down your spine as you could barely perceive him lunging at you with his sheer inhumane speed. You were sure that now you’ll experience pain beyond your greatest imagination, praying he'd make it quick...

...but much to your surprise the impact never came.

Instead you found yourself high in the air, fighting the nausea rising in the pit of your stomach due to the way too fast ascend. Beneath you the outline of the collapsing safehouse became blurred by darkness and distance, the dust driving tears in your eyes even long after the rubble drowned out everyone's screams.

“He’ll drop me” is the only thought present in your mind, feeling tremendously selfish for not caring about the others whose death you just witnessed. Yes, soon this sociopath will make you fall to your death and laugh at your misery like it’s some kind of wicked game.

And you deserved it either way, didn’t you?

Maybe you disappointed Mark in other realities as well. That must be it, that’s the reason he went out of his way just to find you – to get his revenge for you abandoning him in his darkest hour.

Your first instinct was to scream and lash out at him, and yet you knew trying to oppose a force of nature like him was to no avail. So with no other options you cling to your captor like a lifeline.

Clutching the fabric of his costume in tight fists, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, desperately trying to shun out the reality of your situation. Your behavior earns a low chuckle from the villain, who in return wraps his arms a little tighter around you as he carries you through the sky nearly bridal style.

“Don’t tell me your Mark never brought you flying with him?” he asked nonchalantly, as if any of this wasn’t an absolutely terrifying concept for you. Concerned at your lack of response, he slowed down in midair, gently squeezing your sides. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you. We’re almost there.”

You wanted to ask where to exactly, but your voice failed you each time you tried. So you stayed cradled against his muscular chest like this, trying your best to ignore the way you felt his gaze burning into you even though you refused to open your eyes.

“There we are” he announced, carefully letting you down. And still, as soon as your legs touched solid ground again they gave up and you fell to your knees right away. Initially this foreign Mark wanted to help you, to catch you in his arms once again and reassure you that everything was gonna be alright - but upon seeing tears dwelling in your eyes he knew he had to stop himself, hands falling loosely to the sides and balling to fists in mild frustration.

For a while you remained like this, staring at each other in awkward silence while a storm of conflicting emotions was raging beneath.

“You’re safe here” Mark ultimately spoke, and looking around this place really did seem rather peaceful compared to what you've seen in the news. “The others won’t attack rural areas. We were ordered to destroy main cities and crucial infrastructures mainly.”

“By whom?” The question was burning on your tongue but it died right there, because what does it matter? Knowing wouldn’t make any difference since you couldn’t change the outcome anyways. So instead you ask “Why…why did you bring me here?”

You were already dreading the answer as your mind conjured concerning possible scenarios, however the variant merely gave you a confused puppy gaze that almost made you forget the threat he posed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to get you before the others would."

That sounded more like a subtle threat than a honest reassurance.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” you beg and whimmer, overwhelmed by all the recent events. You’re shaking violently, tears now wettening your cheeks. The mere sight of it - and knowing he’s responsible - shatters what’s left of his rotten heart.

“Wha- of course I won’t-" He nervously paces around, wildly gesticulating as if he's struggling to put his thoughts into words - seems like they all do have similarities after all. "Oh man, sorry. You know I suck at comminicating! Shit, I fucked up the first impression already..."

Continuing to mumbles inaudible ramblings under his breath, he grips a pillar so harshly that it's combined to dust, making you shuffle even farther away from him.

“Nonononono, please don’t be afraid of me!" he yells so loud that you wince, and the fact that he keeps making things worse upsets him even more. "I could never hurt you, I swear!"

The man in front of you looks utterly devastated, and you can't put your finger on why that is or what you have to do with it.

After all, you're no one important, especially to him. Right?

At first keeping his distance, he hesistantly approaches you while simultaneously trying to appear as harmless as possible. Hands raised in a placating manner, voice calm and quiet, he whispers "I'm so, so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's- it's okay..." you stammer feebly to appease him, your body still paralyzed by fear. A small squeal escapes your throat as you feel his palm stroke your cheek, the blood sticking to his gloves drying on your skin.

The former hero was watching you intently, face contorting through a mixture of relief and despair. But there was something else about him - the Mark you knew never acted like this. It's probably only your imagination, but he's so...

Before you could finish your line of thoughts, he closes the gap between you and his lips crashed over yours in sheer exasperation. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pulled you close, the barely contained strenght of his grip both frightening and thrilling.

"Damn...I keep fucking up" he blurts out, an enamored smile playing on his lips nonetheless. "Sorry for...well, this...got a bit carried away."

It was such a bizarre view: Someone possessing an indescribable strenght, unmatched on nearly the whole universe, being reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess in the presence of a pathetic human.

He was still holding you, without any intent to let you go any time soon, blissfully unaware - or rather ignorant - of how insane this whole situation actually was.

"I always wanted more than friendship, you know?" He confessed this so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world - and opposed to all logic you felt your heart flutter at his words. "But in my world I never had the guts to confess...I was too afraid to lose you completely in case you don’t reciprocate."

You shouldn't feel guilty that you briefly thought back about the Mark you once knew, wondering if he ever felt the same, and yet you did. As if you owed the one in front of you right now some kind of loyality just because he was currently pouring his heart out.

No. Stop. What are you doing here? This isn't right!

The man in front of you is a homicidal maniac who did god knows what to his homeworld, and caused mayhem and suffering across the whole globe without any remorse, just to...

...yeah, why exactly?

As if your thoughts were clearly written on your forehead, he tries to explain himself, expression turning somber as he spoke.

"Back at my world I made some mistakes- no. I did so many irredeemable, atrocious things...and I only understood what truly mattered after I already lost it...after I lost you because of my actions. But I won't repeat those errors again, I swear. I promise I'll keep you safe and sound at my side to cherish you forever..."

You shouldn't feel anything but hatred and disgust at his display, yet you couldn't help but pity this forlorn, broken shell of a man that clutched you like a child would cling to their soothing blanket.

"This world's Mark, he...doesn't appreciat you." His eyes were manic, bordering on pure madness and you felt his fingers possessively digging into your flesh just shy of being painful. "But me, I would erase as many planets as it takes if only it meant being able to hold you like this for another day."

This man was truly a wolf in sheeps clothing - a vicious, instable monster that could snap any time shall your reaction not appeal to his delusions. All that's left for you to do is playing the part and hoping that the remnant of his humanity was enough to postpone a horrible fate.

So instead of answering you quietly sobbed in his vice-like embrace, tears mixing with the stains of death on his costume. You felt him rubbing soothing circles on your back, so tender and tentative you wondered just how long it's been since those hands had inflicted anything but pain.

Who would've thought that getting the one thing you had wished for an eternity could turn into a literal nightmare?

[Next Part]

#invincible #invincible s3 #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible spoiler #fanfiction #writing #oneshot #drabble #nondescriptive reader #civilian reader #no use of y/n

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livingmybestfakelife · 2 months ago

Text

Waiting to Exhale

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Reader

The hospital stank of sulfur and various of other chemicals used in an attempt to reduce the illness that was causing such suffering to the current patients of Mercy Hospital. You were one of the victims fighting tuberculosis, it weakened your already fragile body quickly. Being born with a scarred lung did you no favors, and even the best doctors in the state had little hope for your survival, they didn’t say it but you could see it in their eyes that they weren’t confident that your body would accept the treatments.

One of the frequent visitors you had was your childhood friend Elijah “Smoke” Moore. He hated seeing you so beat down by this disease. He’d give anything for it to disappear from your fragile body. But he had no choice but to impatiently wait for some hope that the treatments would work, and you’d bounce back to your old cheerful and mischievous self. But the other part of him knew there wasn’t much hope, and having to face that realism wasn’t something he was ready for.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time being here and worrying about me. You have a business to run”

He wipes some more sweat from your forehead, ignoring your words.

“Were you able to eat anything this morning?”

“Elijah, you should go on back to your off-“

“Did you?”

You let out a frustrated sigh at his stubbornness

“A little bit, I managed to eat half a bowl of oatmeal”

“Good….that’s good”

“Listen….Smoke, as much as you don’t want to hear this, all they’re doing is making sure I’m comfortable bef-“

“NO-no, don’t talk like that alright, you’re getting out of this alive and well, I won’t have it any other way”

“It’s not your decision Eli….it’s all in God’s hands now honey, please, let this be a positive last moment between us, okay?”

Your scratchy voice burned his heart. Gone was your smooth honey vocals that softened his spirit, now it had withered away in less than a week, he couldn’t take it anymore, when he said he wouldn’t have it any other way he’d meant it. After a nurse came in and told him that visiting hours were over, he kissed both your cheeks and lips and told you he’d see you later.

When he stepped out of the hospital he was met by Stack leaning up against the brick wall.

“How’s she doing?”

“She ain’t got much long until….”

“I know….I know brother”

“Stack, I….you know I don’t want this but”

“You want her”

He nods while chuckling, the tears are burning his eyes as the flow got heavier.

“I love that girl more than myself, I’d give up all this shit if she told me to”

“I know Smoke, I know you will, you’re in love it’s only natural, don’t we all do crazy things when we’re in love?”

His hand is resting on Smoke’s shoulder, they’re eye to eye now, Stack trying to make him understand his point, his real point.

“…..Don’t hurt her Stack-“

“It won’t be like how Mary did me, she won’t feel a thing”

Stack pulls him into a tight embrace before he enters the hospital.

———————————————————————————

You open your eyes to your hospital room darker than how it was when Smoke visited. The sun was setting quickly, and by how you’re feeling, it would be a miracle if you made it through the night. Something else catches your eyes, you squint a little to see a manly figure hovering over your bed, the fragrance wafting off of him was strongly familiar to you.

“Who is….” You could barely even talk, it hurt to breathe

“It’s gonna be alright cherie”

“No….no no no Stack please don’t”

“Shhhh”

You couldn’t fight him if you tried, your body had given up any strength you had left, and Stack had your limp wrist in his mouth in no time. He kept his word to Smoke, it felt like a little pinch, maybe a bug bite, but it wasn’t violent like how it was the night when he and others were turned. He finally removed his mouth and kissed your palm before gently placing your arm back down.

———————————————————————————

You and Stack walk out of the hospital as if nothing ever happened, you especially felt as though all those months of suffering never happened. You smiled when you saw Smoke and ran into his waiting arms, after sprinkling his face with kisses you squeezed him tighter in a hug, letting him swing you around, he took one look at his brother, who had a small cocky smirk on his face. This was the way, no more being trapped with mortal ailments, both physically and spiritual. Stack had won this battle with Smoke, he was able to manipulate the love his brother felt for their childhood friend, one down and hopefully soon, another to go.

“Thank you” Smoke mouthed to him and Stack gave him a salute before walking off home to Mary, letting the both of you have your moment together.

“First thing tomorrow you’re going to work Elijah, no more worrying about me, you have a business to run”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you

“Whatever you want baby, it’s yours”

#michael b jordan #michael b jordan imagine #sinners imagine #sinners

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ghoulphile · 1 year ago

Text

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic

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witchywithwhiskey · 27 days ago

Text

safe harbor

pairing: dr. jack abbot x day shift resident!female reader

summary: you've been pining for the night shift attending dr. jack abbot ever since you started at the hospital, and when you wake up in his bed—alone—after having too many drinks in the park after a particularly bad shift, you finally do something about it.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, come marking, hand job, pussy job, dry humping/thigh riding, big dick/tough fit, tit play/nipple sucking, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, pet names (angel), begging, teasing, aftercare, cuddling and snuggling, drinking and drunkenness (nothing happens while reader is drunk), mutual pining. this fic is inspired by the scene of the doctors and nurses drinking in the park after work in the pitt season 1 finale, but it could take place after any rough shift.

word count: 8.3k

a/n: here's my entry for the a doctor a day writing challenge!! thank you to @letsgobarbs, @ananonymousaffair and @clubsoft for hosting this event!! my prompt was "You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss." and my color was orange—and i'm really happy with how this turned out!! technically this is my first proper jack abbot fic (though i'm sure it won't be the last), so i hope y'all enjoy ♡♡♡

The soft orange light of a spring sunrise filtered into the room behind your eyelids, and for one hazy, wonderful moment, you drifted in the contentment that only comes from the liminal space between sleeping and waking. You were ensconced in warm blankets and the smell of earth and sunshine, and you wanted to live in that moment as long as possible.

Then, an almost gentle throbbing began behind your temple, a headache blooming to life as you slipped further into waking. Unbidden, memories from the night before flooded into your mind and you had to bite back a pained groan.

You’d had far too much to drink after work. Or, rather, you’d had too many beers for how exhausted you’d been after your particularly long and terrible shift. But you’d been riding high on surviving the day from hell, and it had been a pleasantly warm evening. And Dr. Jack Abbot had been there.

It had felt like some kind of small miracle—to get to share a couple drinks with the med students, doctors and nurses in the park across the street from the hospital. You hadn’t been the only one laughing too loudly, as if grasping onto the relief of making it through the day, because the alternative was sinking into the darkness.

You’d known that if you’d gone home and dragged yourself into your cold, lifeless apartment that you never had time or energy to decorate, you’d have ended up crying yourself to sleep. Instead, you’d accepted the invitation from your attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch—Dr. Robby—and joined the others for a drink.

The amber glow of the lamplights lining the paths of the park had been welcoming beacons, and you’d felt the weight of the world slowly slip from your shoulders as you accepted a can of beer, letting the conversation flow around you. As everyone talked, sharing stories from the day, things hadn’t seemed so bleak.

So you’d lingered in the park long after you should’ve gone home, drinking far more than you should’ve considering how exhausted you were, and letting your eyes drift to Dr. Jack Abbot far more often than they should’ve. You couldn’t help it, though. You’d been drawn to the night shift attending ever since you met him at the start of your first day shift.

You were Dr. Robby’s resident, and he was a capable mentor—firm when he needed to be, and kind when you needed it. You’d gained a lot working with Dr. Robby on the day shift, and you’d become a much better doctor learning from him and everyone else in the ER.

Yet you couldn’t help but be intrigued by Dr. Jack Abbot. You’d always admired the older, silver-haired doctor, the way he carried himself, coming in as your shift was ending and taking over easily. You always knew your patients were in good hands when you gave them over to Dr. Abbot.

He was so competent and capable, and always so calm, even on the busiest nights in the ER. He was like a rock in the middle of a raging, tumultuous storm. Strong and steady. Safe.

And you wanted to climb Dr. Jack Abbot like a tree, to live in his strong and steady embrace, to allow his presence to keep you safe and sane. You wanted him to be your safe harbor—and to be his, too. You wanted to be the person he’d come home to and slip into bed with, and trust to keep him safe and sane.

In the park, under the amber lamplights, your thoughts had drifted to the idea of sliding into bed with Dr. Jack Abbot, curling your body around his beneath warm blankets, and sleeping the entire day away as you lay entwined together. You imagined waking up together, warm skin and gentle hands, soft kisses giving way to something more…

You hadn’t realized you were staring until light brown eyes caught yours and you’d startled back into the moment, heat rising up your neck and blooming in your cheeks. You’d known you should look away, but you hadn’t been able to, not with the electric tension thrumming between the two of you like a livewire.

Dr. Jack Abbot was as calm as ever, holding your gaze for a long moment.

His eyes were dark and inscrutable in the dim light of the park, but you noticed a glint in his gaze that made the breath catch in your throat. There was something in his eyes, something like wanting, which had your heart beating harder against your sternum and warmth pulsing between your thighs.

Then he’d tipped his can of beer toward you and dipped his head, giving you a nod while a smirk flickered at the edges of his mouth. Something in you had fluttered, low in your belly, and you’d wanted to squirm. You’d wanted to throw yourself at him, hold his face in your hands and kiss him until you were both panting and needy.

Instead you’d looked away and taken a sip of your beer, wondering if you’d imagined the warmth and hunger hidden deep in his gaze. You’d told yourself it must’ve been a trick of the dark amber light, the result of too much exhaustion, too much beer, and too many dirty thoughts about Dr. Jack Abbot.

The night had gone on, time unspooling slowly and leisurely the way it never did in the ER, and you’d drifted along on the current of conversation ebbing and flowing around you.

You’d tried not to look back at Dr. Abbot too often, but couldn’t help yourself. More often than not, though, you found him already looking at you, that ghost of a smile on his face and that look in his eye that had you questioning your sanity.

At some point, you’d ended up on a bench between Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot, listening as the men commended the work you’d done in the ER that evening. Their words of praise had flitted in one ear and out the other, even as you nodded along like you were paying close attention.

The smile on your face had everything to do with their praise, and nothing to do with Dr. Abbot’s warmth seeping into your side—at least, that’s what you’d told yourself.

Your memories got hazier from there. You remembered your cheek falling against Dr. Abbot’s shoulder, and staying there as your eyes slid closed; deft fingers gently prying the half-empty can from your hands; the smell of beer and something earthy, like moss; the deep rumbling of Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot’s voices as they talked over your head.

You hadn’t blacked out—you hadn’t had that much to drink—but the rest of the evening was too hazy to make out in your mind. You’d been so tired from working a 15-hour shift, and the alchohol had only exacerbated your exhaustion, leaving you to fall asleep on Dr. Abbot’s shoulder.

You remembered breathing in the smell of him, an earthy scent that reminded you of hiking in the woods on a bright, sunny day. It was the same scent you were surrounded by in the morning light, your eyes still stubbornly closed as a headache throbbed behind your temple.

Rolling over and pressing your face into your pillow, you took a deep breath. The fabric smelled so much like Dr. Jack Abbot that it made your head spin with confusion.

Even as your mind reeled, your body responded to the scent of him, the memory of his caramel brown eyes. You could perfectly picture the way his freckled arms flexed when he crossed them, his t-shirt sleeves hugging his biceps lovingly—the way you wanted to.

Heat cascaded gently down from the crown of your head, coasting down your spine and pooling between your thighs. Even with the slight edge of a hangover at the periphery of your mind, you couldn’t help the way your body yearned for the ER’s night shift attending, wanting him so badly it ached.

Your heart and your body wanted Dr. Jack Abbot. You wanted the older doctor who could be your rock, your light in the darkness, your safe harbor. And neither your heart nor your body would settle for anything less.

Your fingers were just beginning to slip down your stomach, trailing toward the needy, throbbing place between your thighs, when the soft click of a door opening sounded beyond the bed. Your eyes flew open for the first time that morning and, for one disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were.

The orange light of dawn was familiar enough, but the bedsheets and pillows looked nothing like your own. Flipping onto your back and sitting up quickly, you ignored the annoying pang of your headache to peer toward the door.

A sigh of relief gusted from your lips when you found Dr. Jack Abbot framed in the doorway, his brow creased with concern as he raked his eyes over you, as if checking for injury or illness.

You took the moment to look around the room, taking in the comfortable, masculine decor. Warm wooden furniture occupied the space, with plants positioned around the room in places that you were sure got the most light. A thriving monstera sat in a pot beside the dresser, a goldfish in a glass bowl on top of the wooden ledge.

On the floor next to the open door, there was a camouflage backpack, the only thing that appeared to be out of place. You recognized that backpack as the one Dr. Abbot always wore on his way into work.

Suddenly, your sleep hazy brain caught up and you realized you were in Dr. Abbot’s apartment—you were in his bedroom. In his bed.

The soft sheets of Dr. Abbot’s bed slid against your bare legs as you brought them up to your chest, his warm, orange duvet draped around your waist. It was the same color as the sunrise that lay beyond the windows, which were half covered in blackout curtains, like he wasn’t sure which way you’d prefer them.

It was all—all of it—almost too much for your mind to process. The headache behind your temples pounded a little harder as your body caught up to your sudden change of position, and you winced.

The expression of pain on your face seemed to spur Dr. Abbot into moving.

“You’re up,” he said, his voice low and soft like he was trying not to startle you. He padded to the bedside table beside you and set down a glass of water. “Do you remember how you got here?” he asked in that same tone, which you recognized as the one he used as patients.

You frowned as you watched Dr. Abbot open a bottle of aspirin and shake two pills into his hand. You tried to think of an answer that didn’t make you seem like a silly lightweight of a resident as you plucked the medecine from his palm when he held it out to you.

A shiver raced down your spine when your fingertips brushed Dr. Abbot’s warm, calloused skin, delightful tingles dancing along your nerves. You attempted to hide your reaction in a shake of your head, answering his question silently. But you couldn’t hide the way your shoulders trembled, so you busied yourself with taking the pills.

Thankfully, your hand was steady as you reached for the glass on the bedside table and swallowed the aspirin with a gulp of water. The cool water felt like salvation to your parched throat, and you ended up drinking the whole glass before you could even think to stop yourself.

When you were done, your found Dr. Abbot watching you, a hint of a pleased smile in the twist of his lips and pride in the glint of his gaze. You had the wild thought that if he looked at all his patients that way, you understood why his satisfaction scores were so high.

He took the glass from you, his fingers brushing against yours, the movement feeling more deliberate than before. You were grateful when he turned away to set the glass down, because your shoulders trembled with another shiver at the electricity in his light touch.

“You fell asleep in the park,” Dr. Abbot explained in a voice that was endlessly patient and calm as he set the glass down. You noticed your phone beside it on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. “You were so exhausted, we couldn’t send you home on your own. My place was closest.”

Dr. Abbot straightened as he gave his explanation, arms crossing over his chest and staring down at you in a way that made you squirm. He didn’t look disappointed or disapproving, just concerned. And the knowledge that he cared enough to be concerned sent your heart pitter-pattering inside your ribcage.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Dr. Abbot,” you murmured, dropping your gaze to your fingers, which were twisting in the blanket on your lap. “Yesterday was…difficult.”

“Jack, please,” he said, his voice almost imperceptibly softer.

Your eyes flicked up to him, looking at the silver-haired doctor from under your lashes. His smile was wry and your belly gave a happy little swoop—and that was before you heard his next words.

“You’re in my bed, you don’t need to be so formal.”

It was clear that he meant his words as a teasing kind of joke, but they only succeeded in reminding you that you’d woken up in his bed. Alone. Lamentably alone. The warmth between your thighs stoked higher, until his words fully penetrated your mind.

Your gaze drifted to the other side of the bed, which was still made with military precision. It was clear he hadn’t slept there, and you realized that meant he must’ve slept somewhere else…

“Oh god, I’m so sorry for kicking you out of your bed,” you rushed to say, looking back to Jack with wide eyes. “Where did you sleep?”

“I got a couple hours on the couch,” he answered, a little bashfully. He seemed eager to move on from the subject as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You should get some more rest,” he said, unfurling his arms from his chest and reaching for your empty water glass. “Your scrubs are in the wash with mine, they should be done in a bit.”

A memory from the night before surfaced in your mind: Jack standing with his back to you as you swayed on your feet and stripped out of your scrubs—leaving you in only a tank top, bra and panties.

You’d removed your bra and left everything in a heap on the floor before dragging yourself under the covers of his bed, snuggling deep into their warmth and his comforting scent. You were asleep before you’d even heard Jack turn around.

Not only had Dr. Jack Abbot taken you to his home so you would be safe, given up his bed so you’d have somewhere comfortable to sleep, but he was washing your scrubs for you.

There was something about the domesticity of it that pricked at your heart. You could so easily imagine throwing your dirty scrubs into the laundry with a load of Jack’s, washing them together, working side by side to put them away in the room you shared.

You yearned for the life you pictured—and you wanted it with Dr. Jack Abbot.

Before you could think about what you were doing, your hand darted out. Your fingers wrapped around Jack’s wrist as he reached for the water glass on the bedside table. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, strong and steady, if a little fast.

“Stay with me.” You hated how small you sounded, the desperate pleading in your voice, but your fingers wouldn’t let go. Instead, you squeezed his wrist tighter. “Please, Jack.”

For a long moment, long enough that you began to think he’d deny you, Jack just stood there. Half hunched over, his hand reaching past you, he stood and looked at you. His eyes stared deep into yours, his brows pulled together over his light brown gaze.

“Are you sure?”

The question was rough and raspy, like he’d dredged the words up from the very depths of his soul. His eyes were bright and intense as he stared at you, his gaze searching your face for any hesitation.

The sound of his voice and the weight of his stare sent your heart fluttering, and your thighs squirmed beneath the blankets of his bed. But you weren’t uncomfortable, only eager. You were excited that he hadn’t brushed you off and denied you outright.

“I’m sure,” you said, nodding your head for good measure as you began sliding toward the center of the bed, tugging on Jack’s wrist. “I want you to stay with me. Please.”

Jack stared into your eyes for a beat longer, then nodded his head. He flipped his hand around in your fingers and squeezed your wrist before pulling away and giving you his back.

You watched the muscles shift and move beneath the white t-shirt Jack wore across his broad shoulders while his hands undid the button and fly of his dark cargo pants. Before your mind could wrap around what he was doing, he was pushing them down, revealing so much more of his pale, freckled skin below the edge of his navy boxer briefs.

Jack shucked off his pants and sat down on the corner of the bed, removing his prosthetic and massaging his leg for a moment while you watched unabashedly, unable to resist the opportunity to look your fill of the doctor you’d thought about for ages.

You wanted to press yourself against his broad back and wrap your arms around him, clinging to his warmth and burying your face between his shoulder blades. You wanted to hold him and take comfort in him, you wanted to be connected to him.

Looking over his shoulder and breaking you from your thoughts, Jack caught your eye and you could see the question in his gaze. His quirked eyebrows were asking again if you were certain you wanted him to join you.

A smile curled the corners of your mouth and instead of answering him with words, you flipped down the corner of the blankets in a clear invitation. He held your gaze for another moment, but when you remained steady and smiling, he pushed himself up and slipped between the sheets.

Immediately, you felt his warmth and you let out a happy little sound while he settled on his back against the pillows—the same ones you’d pressed your face into after you’d woken up. You waited until he’d gotten comfortable, his gaze finding yours.

His light brown eyes, looking like warm caramel in the soft, tangerine light of morning, were a wondrous sight. It was a miracle, the way he looked at you in that moment, letting you see the hesitant hope in his eyes.

Slowly, as if seeking permission with every tiny movement, you slid closer to him. With a small, flickering smile, he lifted his arm, making space for you, and you slipped into it delightedly, making another happy sound.

Your cheek lay pillowed on Jack’s chest, the soft curves of your body pressing into his side. Without questioning the impulse, you slid your leg over Jack’s, hooking it around his thigh and shifting even closer, until you were practically plastered to his body.

Contentment settled heavily around your shoulders, and you took a deep breath, letting Jack’s earthy, sunshiny scent fill your senses and comfort you. As you exhaled, your body softened and you snuggled deeper into the older doctor’s chest.

Jack’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers settling on the bare skin of your arm, and you made another delighted noise. His fingertips trailed lazily up and down your arm, like he was learning the softness of your skin, and he made a rumble in his chest that sounded content.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice even deeper and raspier than you’d ever heard it.

The tenor of Jack’s voice sent little sparks of desire dancing down your spine to settle between your thighs. He wasn’t using the voice he used on his patients anymore, and you couldn’t be happier that you were seeing a new side to him, one you suspected few ever got to see.

“Mhm, sooo comfortable,” you mumbled, hiding an elated grin in his chest.

It was true, you’d never been more comfortable, but you couldn’t seem to ignore the restless need in your body. You squirmed a little against Jack’s side, like you were trying to find an even better position, and all the while enjoying the feeling of his thigh pressing between your legs.

A soft, bitten-off whine squeezed from your throat and you shifted even closer to the older doctor, needing more of him pressed against more of you.

“Jack,” you whimpered, your fingers fisting in his cotton t-shirt while your hips writhed against his side, your body searching for something you couldn’t quite grasp.

“You need something, angel?” Jack asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. When you lifted your head to pout at him, his eyes were hooded, and his mouth was curved into a knowing smirk. “You need some help before you can settle down and sleep?”

The hint of patronizing teasing in his tone was like a drug, making your mind go hazy and soft while your body melted in his strong arms. Your lashes fluttered as you fought to keep your eyes open, biting your lip while heat flooded your cheeks.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded in answer to Jack’s question.

Jack’s eyes dipped to your mouth, the warmth in your face cascading down your body until it settled heavily between your thighs. You could feel yourself growing damp, your nipples hardening and pressing against the thin fabric of your tank top.

But all you could do was stare at Jack’s mouth, framed by grizzled cheeks and freckled skin. How many times had you thought about kissing that mouth? Too many times to count. And you could hardly breathe when it seemed you might finally get to make your dreams come true.

Slowly—oh, so slowly, Jack’s hand came up and cupped your jaw, his head rising from the pillows as you leaned into him at the same time. Your mouths were drawing infinitesimally closer and closer like there was some kind of magnetic pull between them.

He tilted your face until your mouths were aligned, and then your lips brushed his. Sparks zinged through your body and you sucked in a sharp breath at just that little touch, your exhale slipping from your lips in a keening, desperate sound.

Whatever was left of Jack’s self-control seemed to snap, and he crushed his mouth to yours, as if intent on drinking down that needy sound while a hungry groan rumbled in his chest. Another whimper was silenced by his mouth, and you pressed even closer, like you wanted to crawl inside his heart.

Your first kiss with Dr. Jack Abbot was hungry and greedy, with an edge of mutual adoration that made you light-headed.

Jack’s hands on your body were strong and steady, but for the slight tremor in his fingers, his mouth careful and hot as he explored yours. When his tongue licked into your heat, dragging a moan from you, he huffed a pleased sound, angling your face so he could kiss you deeper, more thoroughly.

Your hips rocked against the older doctor’s thigh as you tried to squirm closer, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and clinging to him while you whimpered into his mouth. Jack responded by trailing his hands down your back, curving around your ribs and dragging your body more on top of him.

“Oh god, Jack,” you panted, gasping for air while his mouth trailed kisses down the line of your neck. You tipped your head to the side, giving him more access as your wanton moans filled the room. “I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea.”

The confession spilling from your lips had Jack slowing, and even though you were practically on top of him, he eased back into the pillows so he could catch your eye. The light in the room was shifting from a honey orange to a golden yellow, but Jack’s eyes were still bright and warm like caramel as he stared into yours as he spoke.

“You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.”

The depth of emotion in his words, the evidence that he felt the same way you did, brought unexpected tears to your eyes and you cupped his face. His silvery stubble was rough against your palms as you surged forward, capturing his mouth in a rapturous kiss.

“You’re mine, too,” you mumbled against his mouth before pulling away to look at him so he could see the honesty in your gaze. “You’re my calm, my safe harbor, my happiness and heart.”

“Angel.”

The endearment was rough and ragged, an undercurrent of pleading in Jack’s tone as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in. He kissed you harder, stealing the words freely given from your lips and locking them away in his heart—just like you’d done with his.

Emotion swirled in your chest and you nearly sobbed with need at the wet slide of Jack’s tongue between your lips, your mind going hazy as an aching need pulsed between your thighs. A desperate whine built in your throat, your hips squirming clumsily against his thigh.

Jack’s hands trailed down your spine, deviating from their path to slide beneath your tank top and curl around your ribs, his thumbs brushing the soft mounds of your tits. You huffed a needy whimper, feeling him smirk against your mouth, before his hands slid lower, his strong grip guiding your body to writhe against his thick thigh.

Your hips rocked in time with his guided movements, grinding your core against him while you whimpered into his mouth. You were so far gone in a pleasant haze of your desire, that you didn’t pay attention to what you were saying when you whined, “Daddy, please.”

There was the briefest stutter in Jack’s movements, and then his hands gripped you tighter, his thigh pressing deeper between your legs. Against your lips, his mouth curved into an indulgent smirk.

“Please what, angel? Tell daddy what you need.”

The patronizing teasing tone had slipped back into his voice, and it made your core throb between your thighs, a whimper escaping your lips before you could bite it back. It had been a slip of the tongue that you’d called him daddy, but to hear it echoed in his deep, raspy voice was another thing entirely. It was exactly what you needed.

Your fingers gripped his shirt tighter, your body squirming harder in his hands, rolling your hips and grinding against his thigh while you finally responded to his command.

“Need you,” you huffed, as if the answer was obvious.

A gruff chuckle rumbled in Jack’s chest and his hand slid up your back, thumb skimming the curve of your breast so teasingly, your body chased his touch. Arching your spine, you pushed your tits against his chest, but Jack’s hand kept moving. His calloused palm followed the line of your arm until his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist.

Gently, he moved your hand down his front, over his soft belly, until your palm settled against the twitching bulge in his boxer briefs. He felt so thick and heavy already, even though he wasn’t fully hard yet.

“This is what you do to me, angel,” he rasped, breath ghosting over your cheek, his mouth moving against the corner of your lips. “You have me—any time, any way you want.”

Your fingers wrapped around his girth through the soft cotton of his briefs, squeezing him gently and learning the weight of him in your hand. You stroked your palm up his length, thumb swiping over the tip and feeling the wetness of his arousal.

Jack grunted, his hips rising up off the bed to buck into your touch and the movement had his thigh flexing and pressing between your legs. You moaned into his stubbled cheek, the sound mingling with his heavy breaths as you stroked his length and rocked against him.

“Jack.” His name was a gasp for salvation, a desperate plea on your lips that had him shuddering under your touch.

“Nuh uh, angel,” Jack chided in an endlessly warm tone, his smile pressed into the corner of your mouth. “Don’t stop calling me daddy now—not when it makes me so fucking hot for you.”

“Daddy, daddy,” you babbled breathlessly into his scruffy cheek, your desire thick in your veins at the teasing command in his tone. “I need you inside me, please—please, I need you so bad,” you whined, your fingers squeezing his cock through his boxers.

“Christ, you’ve got me, angel, just take me out,” Jack rumbled, his hips rocking up against your palm while you worked his length.

Not needing more invitation than that, you reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. He was still hardening and thickening beneath your touch, the velvety soft skin growing taut the tighter you stroked him.

Jack groaned at your pleasurable attention, and the sound went straight to the slit between your thighs, your arousal leaking into your panties. You were so drenched, you were certain he could feel it against his thigh, but when you rubbed your pussy against him, he only grunted, his cock twitching in your hand.

“Want more,” you keened against Jack’s stubbled cheek, both your heads tilted to stare down your bodies and watch your hand pump adoringly up and down his length while he grew harder beneath your touch. “Want your fat cock sinking into my needy pussy, daddy, please.”

“Fuuuck,” Jack groaned, the edge in his voice almost pained. His hips bucked off the bed as he fucked into your fist, precum beading at the tip and leaking down the side, slicking your strokes. “Keep talking like that, angel, and I’m gonna blow my load before I even get inside you.”

“But daddy, we can’t have that,” you whined teasingly, laughing softly as you turned your face and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then you were pulling away only long enough to shove your panties down over your ass and thighs, kicking them off into the sheets at the base of the bed. Once done, your hand wrapped around Jack’s cock again, greedy for the feel of him, loving the weight and warmth against your palm.

Sliding your leg over both of Jack’s thighs, you moved your body until you were straddling his hips, your hand guiding his cock to press between the slippery folds of your slit. Your wet pussy pressing down on the length of his thick cock, your clit bumping against the ridged veins lining the shaft, had both of you moaning.

Jack cupped your jaw and guided your face back to his, his tongue sliding along your plump lower lip and licking lovingly into your mouth. He kissed you deeply, devouring your sounds of pleasure and groaning his own satisfaction like he’d never tasted anything as sweet—and he couldn’t get enough.

His other hand slid beneath the soft cotton of your tank top, his thumb brushing over your nipple and teasing the sensitive bud until it tightened into an achy, needy peak. Heat and desire pooled between your thighs, leaking from your pussy and coating his length as you rocked against him.

You broke apart only long enough for Jack to tear off your top, tossing it somewhere in the room you didn’t see because you were too busy slanting your mouth to his and greedily kissing him again. Your lips were swollen from kissing, but you couldn’t stop, you didn’t think you’d ever get enough of him.

It felt like the opposite of standing in the calm center of a storm—your body was a riot of pleasure and sensation, desperately rocking against the man between your thighs while the bedroom around you remained undisturbed, the light shifting and glowing brighter as the sun rose outside.

And Dr. Jack Abbot was still your rock, your tether to the earth, grounding you with the rasp of his calloused hands over your soft curves, his expert fingers plucking and stroking your nipples while his hips lifted from the mattress to grind his hard cock into your cunt.

You were so wet for him, so empty and aching, your pussy pulsed against his hard length, your desire coating him from root to tip. A sob was lodged in your throat, your hips working against his thick shaft in increasingly desperate movements.

“Jack,” you cried, the sound pitiful even to your own ears. You needed him, you needed him more than you needed your next breath. And you knew he could hear it in the ragged edge of your voice as you sobbed his name.

Thankfully for you, Jack Abbot was just as much of a competent, capable man as he was a doctor. He heard the anxious wanting in your tone and knew exactly how to handle you. He stroked his hands soothingly over your ribs and down your spine, cooing soft sounds of comfort against your cheek.

“Take me inside your sweet pussy, angel,” Jack rumbled, the steel of his order softened in the honeyed warmth of his tone. “Let me feel you—need to feel your heat hugging my cock.”

“Daddy, yesss, please, can I?” you babbled, burying your face in the weathered skin of his neck. His scent was stronger there, and you huffed greedily, breathing in the smell of sunshine and earth on his skin. It filled your head with amber clouds of comfort.

“Go on, angel, you’ve got this,” Jack murmured encouragingly, the calm warmth of his voice settling around your shoulders like the coziest blanket. He pressed a kiss to the pulse at the base of your throat, sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, daddy,” you breathed on a exhale, shifting your hips until the tip of his cock caught at the entrance of your leaking hole. Sitting up on your knees, you lifted your hips and guided his cock to line up with your pussy. Then you pressed down determinedly.

A breathy cry burst from your lips when the fat tip of Jack’s cock pushed into your tight channel. He was thicker than anyone you’d taken before, and your heart fluttered against your ribcage in panic, the devastating thought occurring to you that he might not be able to fit.

“Oh god, fuck, you’re so big, Jack, I don’t know if I can—”

“You can take me,” Jack said firmly, interrupting your panicked babbling as he sat up to face you. He caught your wobbling chin in his steady hand and guided your eyes to look at him. “You can take me, angel,” he repeated, ducking his head and looking at you with confidence and pride written in the lines of his face. “You can do this.”

The belief Jack had in you—even about something as base as taking his cock—was enough to have tears gathering in your eyes. Your lower lip quivered and instead of giving in to the spiraling thoughts about how no one else had ever believed in you the way Jack did in that moment, you surged forward and kissed him.

You kissed Jack Abbot the way you’d never kissed anyone before. You kissed him like he was your past, present and future, like he was the calm in the storm of your life. You kissed him like he was your safe harbor, the steady dock under your feet and the man who was your home.

All the while, Jack kissed you in return, meeting the fervor of your lips with an adoration that had your heart singing in your chest. With every sweep of his tongue and nip of his teeth and pull of his mouth, he exulted your existence and promised devotion for as long as you’d have him.

“Jack,” you gasped his name, wrenching your bee-stung lips from his as you pressed down further on his cock, incandescent pleasure radiating from where you were joined through the rest of your body.

“Feel so good, angel,” Jack rasped, kissing his way down the curve of your throat and past your collarbone. His mouth left goose bumps in its wake as he trailed kisses down to your chest. “More, angel, you can take more.”

Jack’s words were muffled in the plush curves of your tits, cupped in his big, strong hands. His head ducked down until his tongue was lapping at their tightened peaks, torturing the sensitive buds while your head tipped back and you moaned. He sucked one of your soft tits into his mouth, tongue swirling teasingly around your nipple.

Your back bowed and you thrust your chest into Jack’s face, your fingers sliding into his curly silver hair and clutching his head tight. A cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips, the sound devolving into a filthy moan as you sank down on his cock, taking half of him inside you.

“God, daddy, you’re breaking me in half,” you whined, your hips writhing in his lap, lifting up and pushing back down for more of the stinging stretch. The pleasure bordered on pain, but it felt so good, you couldn’t get enough, pressing even further down on his hard cock.

Jack chuckled, pulling away from your chest with an obscene wet sound, your tit falling from his mouth while he looked up at you. His brown eyes were sparkling with mischief in the bright daylight.

“You love it, don’t you, angel?” Jack teased, in the warm, patronizing tone that sent your belly swooping. “You love the feeling of my fat cock sinking deep into your pretty cunt, splitting you open and spreading you so wide, huh?”

The filthy words went straight to your pussy, your tight hole pulsing around Jack’s hard shaft while you nodded your agreement. “Yuh huh, I love it, daddy, it’s sooo good,” you babbled, your fingers idly twisting in Jack’s hair as you clung to him and pressed your hips down on his thick length.

A small grin pulled across his face and he caught your eye, wrapping his lips around your other nipple and sucking hard enough to wring a squeal from your mouth. Your body bucked on his lap, and it was only his sinewy arm around your lower back that kept you anchored on top of him.

Spreading your knees wider on the bed, you pressed down hard on Jack’s cock until you were fully seated. The full, fat length of him was buried inside you to the hilt, stretching your tight cunt and punching the breath from your lungs.

A surprised yelp slipped from your lips at the sudden, overwhelming fullness, but the sound soon dissolved into a deep, dirty moan when the slight sting gave way to scorching pleasure. Your body melted against Jack, his head lifting from your tits to take in the look of ecstasy on your face.

“There we go,” Jack rasped, one of his hands pressing to your lower back, keeping your bodies locked together and still for a moment. “That wasn’t so hard, huh?” he teased, capturing your lips in a playful, nipping kiss.

You huffed a laugh against his mouth, and shook your head good-naturedly, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you clung to your strong, steady doctor.

Jack pressed his forehead to yours, his voice lowering to deep rasp. “You’re taking me so good, angel—you’re such a good girl.” He brushed a kiss to the apple of your cheek, and it was only then that you realized you were smiling, pleased by his praise. “Are you ok, does it feel good?”

“Mm, yes, daddy,” you murmured, sinking into the feeling of having Jack’s thick cock seated inside you, pleasure pulsing from where you were joined. “Feel so good filled up with your cock—you fill me up so good, I wanna stay right here forever.”

Your mumbled words were half lost to a moan as you rocked your hips gently, feeling his shaft drag ever so gently against your inner walls. It was intense and wonderful and felt so good, you couldn’t stop.

Jack’s hands fell to your hips, and he gripped your soft curves, helping you grind down on him.

“That’s it, just like that,” he urged, his own hips rolling beneath yours, bringing your bodies together in a delicious push and pull that wrenched a pleasured grunt from him. “Fuck, angel, you’re so tight and you feel so fucking good—so wet and warm. You’re making daddy feel so good.”

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you chanted, lips parted and breaths panting against Jack’s grizzled cheeks as you bounced on his lap. Still, you wanted more, and you knew Jack would give it to you, all you had to do was ask. “Will you suck on my tits, daddy, please?”

“Fuck, of course, angel,” Jack rumbled in response, his head ducking down, mouth latching onto a nipple and sucking until your hips gave a reflexive kick. “Ya like it when daddy sucks on your tits, angel? Your perfect fucking tits.”

His words were muttered, almost like he was talking to himself, and he didn’t wait for an answer before burying his face in your soft mounds. His lips and tongue worshiped your tits, showing you just how much he adored your body.

“Yes, yes, daddy, I love it,” you cried, rocking your hips faster, rolling them in a steady rhythm that had your clit grinding against the base of him. The pleasure was building fast in your core, until you were suddenly on the precipice. “Please, Jack, ‘m so close.”

“Come on my cock, angel—fuck, I wanna feel you clench around my fat cock while you’re screaming my name,” Jack rambled in between wet, suckling kisses to your soft flesh. His hands cupped your tits, thumbs stroking maddeningly over your nipples before pinching them roughly. “C’mon angel, give it to me, show me what a good girl you are and come for me.”

“Jack—JACK!”

His words and his cock and his hands and his perfect mouth sent you tumbling over the edge of your release, making you come on his cock. Your hips worked furiously as pleasure crashed over you in waves, helpless moans and cries spilling from your lips while Jack held you tight and thrust into you from below.

He was hot and hard and everywhere, his thick cock still deep inside you, his arms wrapped around you, his chest and belly pressed against your soft curves. He was the calm in the center of the storm that was your release, and he carried you through it, whispering words of praise in your ear.

You were still coming down from the height of your pleasure when Jack rolled you onto your back, his hips sliding between your thighs and thrusting his cock deep into you. It felt so good that you moaned loudly, your arms and legs wrapping around Jack and holding him as he fucked you, chasing his release.

“You’re such a good girl, angel, taking me so well and coming on my cock like such a pretty slut. Fuck, I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you, never felt anything as perfect. You’re perfect, angel, so fucking perfect—fuck.”

Jack bit off a groan and pulled his cock from your tight cunt. He stroked himself to completion, his come spilling across your belly and mound between your thighs while you watched pleasure contort his face.

He let out a fierce grunt, his shoulders shaking and arms shuddering as he hunched over your body. The hand not wrapped around his cock was gripping your thigh tightly—like, for once, you were his rock, his anchor tethering him to earth.

Bathed in the bright golden light of morning filtering into his bedroom, he looked magnificent, and you couldn’t help yourself. You grabbed Jack’s face and pulled him down for a kiss, tasting the pleasure from his tongue.

His knuckles brushed your bare skin, more come leaking from the tip of his cock and onto your belly. He was covering you in ropes of his come, but you didn’t care, not when his lips were moving against yours in a sensual slide, his tongue slipping possessively into your mouth and groaning his pleasure.

With a final pull on his cock and one last kiss, Jack rolled off you, collapsing onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes while his chest heaved. He was still wearing his t-shirt and you pouted at it.

Still gasping for your own breaths, you slipped your hand beneath the hem of Jack’s shirt and raked your nails through the hair dusting his belly. He let out a shuddering breath, his cock twitching as another drop of come leaked from the tip of his softening length, seeping into the cotton shirt.

If you weren’t so limp and sated—and you weren’t afraid of making a mess of Jack’s bed with the come slowly drying on your skin—you would’ve leaned over and licked him clean. But that could wait for another time, when you both weren’t so tired.

Jack settled a hand on the back of yours, stilling your fingers where they were softly stroking his belly and giving them an affectionate squeeze.

After a few moments of catching your breath together, he heaved himself up and reached an arm over his shoulders to yank off his shirt. He rolled onto his side and used the soft shirt to clean you up while you giggled happily.

“You good, angel?” Jack asked, his face hovering above yours, dark caramel eyes searching your expression for anything amiss.

A soft smile curved your mouth and you reached up to cup Jack’s grizzled cheeks, thumbs stroking over his skin. “I’m good,” you murmured, lifting up and pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. “Thanks for pulling out—I can’t believe I forgot to tell you to use a condom.”

Jack made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat, but it was softened by the teasing smile on his face. “Not very responsible of you, doctor,” he said in a deep, playful rasp that had you laughing.

“Don’t act like you didn’t forget, too, Dr. Abbot,” you retorted, batting good-naturedly at his shoulder. He laughed along with you before sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything while I’m up?” he asked, putting on his prosthetic then standing and tossing his soiled shirt into the laundry. He paused at the foot of the bed to wait for your answer.

Lifting your arms above your head, you stretched languidly in the warm sheets of Dr. Jack Abbot’s bed, smiling like the cat that got the cream as you reveled in the feeling of him watching you unabashedly.

It felt like warm, orange flames of flickering heat licking at your skin, his eyes bright and intense in the morning light as they trailed over every inch of your bare skin and naked curves. That adoration you’d felt in his arms was clear in the gleam of his eye and the slightly awed smile on his face.

“I could use some more water,” you finally answered, exhaling deeply as you relaxed and settled into the bed. You were eager for him to return so he’d wrap you back up in his arms, and you could snuggle together.

“You got it,” he rasped, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Then he wrenched his eyes away from you and seemed to force himself to walk out of the room.

While he was gone, you got up and went to the bathroom, cleaning yourself up a little better. When you were washing your hands, you heard a knock on the door before it opened a crack.

“Got you a shirt if you want something to wear,” Jack said, opening the door only enough for his arm to slip in. He hung a t-shirt on the hook by the door and then closed it again.

With a smile, you dried your hands and slid the soft cotton shirt over your head. It was plain white like the one he’d had on earlier, but clean, and it smelled like his earthy, sunshiny scent. You took a deep breath of the fabric, your nipples tightening and pushing against the fabric as warm pleasure flooded you down to your toes.

But then you remembered the man himself was waiting for you, and you eagerly exited the bathroom, finding Jack reclined against the pillows on his bed. He was sipping a glass of water, another full glass on the bedside table for you. You picked it up and drank half before setting it back down and climbing into bed.

Without hesitation, Jack lifted his arm and you slid into the space next to him. The two of you settled beneath the blankets together, your head laying on Jack’s chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your fingers idly traced the veins and freckles of his other arm, brushing through the hair dusted across his skin.

Outside, the soft, suffused orange light of dawn had given way to the bright, blinding light of morning. The sun was still climbing higher in the sky, but you and Jack needed rest.

So your bodies relaxed together, laying entwined in each other’s arms. You drifted to sleep in the calm, still bedroom while the rest of Pittsburgh carried on in the world beyond.

From that day on, Dr. Jack Abbot was your rock, your calm in the storm, the man whose arms were your home. He was your safe harbor. And you were his.

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aliesbienish · 8 months ago

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Hi!! I was wondering if you could please write a Paul x reader where the reader is super pregnant and is hungry all the time and eats the most random stuff and the pack teases her about it until Paul puts his foot down and tells them to back off

Thank you! I’m really enjoying the study of wolves🤍

Hi lovely anon, thank you for this sweet request - I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do x

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Recipe for Pack

There was no doubt who this baby belonged to, even in the womb. Since a few months into your pregnancy you’d been insatiably hungry, snacking continuously. Paul had always been the same, of course his excuse was his shifting. Unfairly that meant he got super hearing and strength while you needed to pee constantly and had nausea that rudely didn’t limit itself to the morning. So constant eating wasn’t an issue, it was the cravings that were becoming a hassle.

Paul, being a secret softie, had tried to cater to your every whim. Whether it was chocolate covered zucchini’s or melted cheese topped ice cream, he kept the judgement to a minimum. However these odd cravings did often lead to late night trips to the nearest 24 hour store located in Forks, a forty minute round trip. One particularly bad evening had him chauffeuring you 70 miles at 3am to Port Angeles, purely for a a chocolate milkshake and fries that got dipped into it. It was a miracle the machine wasn't broken.

But while Paul was nothing but accomodating, it couldn't always be said for the rest of his pack mates. Eating a hot dog with raspberry jam caused Jared to make vomiting noises. Adding leftover mash potato to a smore prompted Quil to question whether you needed a visit to a psychologist. Even sweetheart Seth made a quip that your cravings seemed like ingredients to a witches potion. Which was probably fair, as you munched on a buttered bread covered with rosemary.

But one comment, made sitting around Emily and Sam's dinning table took it too far.

Sitting with what to you seemed like a delightful combination of peanut butter and hot sauce bagels topped with orange slices, it was enough to elicit a groan.

"This seems to be getting way beyond normal now. I'm beginning to wonder if you are actually having these cravings or if you just like to make everyone else uncomfortable!" Jacob declared jokingly, but with your out of control emotions it was enough to stop you mid bite and feel shame.

"Right? I think next she'll just eat straight from the trash, it's not like she is far off!" Laughed Quil, causing laughter around the table.

Your eyes watered as you choked out "I'm sorry,"

"No, don't you dare apologise." Paul stated, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. "It's these morons who have no right to be teasing you." Turning to address the pack he gave them a hard stare. "You are all being absolute dicks. She's trying to survive extreme changes to her body, something we should be particularly understanding about, but instead your being rude and judgemental. If you all don't get your shit together and start being supportive then I will absolutely see if beating some sense into you in wolf form will help the process,"

The next evening you were all once again sitting around the dining table. The pack, showing their support, were all eating your newest and rather tame craving - chocolate covered bacon.

Sam got everyones attention and raised his fork in a toast "To our newest pack member,". The rest of the pack raised their own cutlery and echoed the sentiment.

This time the tears in your eyes were from happiness.

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#twilight x reader #twilight fanfiction #twilight #twilight imagine #paul lahote x reader #paul x reader #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote

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08luvmailz · 1 month ago

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★ ﾟ๑ PARTY ON YOU ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun shuts you after he transferred schools ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ୧ ⊹ ࣪ third part ／ I'd do anything just for me to see you again ──⠀ angst / no comfort , set before ep1 of s2 ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i just read some fanfics on wattpad and some are just with sieun after the events of season 1... i just have a feeling that he can push someone away from his life.. even if it hurts him too.

There was a time when she thought, what happened to us? where did it all go wrong?

In sixteen years of living, love had always felt like a distant star — something warm and beautiful, yet always out of reach. To love was a risk. To be loved, a miracle. And in between, she simply learned how to live without expecting either.

Her love for taekwondo had been constant, unwavering. It was a language she was taught at a ripe age of 4 with her father, trophies made him happy. It was a bond that she shared with him, to make him feel proud, strong, and it feeds his ego. She was the best, she had to be—for him. But as she grows it withers slowly, so is her dad, until what once felt like an unbreakable connection became fragile, like a leaf caught in a fading breeze.

Ballet was a profound hope — the kind that stretched her limbs and lifted her heart, a yearning for her mother's approval that she could never quite grasp. Each pirouette, each graceful leap, was a silent plea for validation. But the nagging, the expectations that came with it, only weighed her down, turning what was once her sanctuary into a cage.

Her mother had once been a prima ballerina, graceful and untouchable, a star that shone brightly in the world of dance. But then she had given birth to her — and with that, the light dimmed. Seventeen years of her life felt like a constant shadow, as if she, the daughter, was the mistake that interrupted her mother’s prime.

In her, eyes. She is the reflection of what she could be.

But alas, in all of this, it was hardest to be loved. Her peers, so quick to judge, had no room for the simple truth of her heart. To boast was to be called egoistic, to stand tall in her own strength was a crime of arrogance. Yet, if she became humble, they whispered that she sought validation — attention, as if her quiet steps were nothing more than a plea for free applause.

Her personality was a mere bubble— shiny, radiant, reflecting the world around her with a brilliance that caught the light. She became what they wanted to see, a mirror of their expectations, fitting in. But beneath the facade, emptiness, hollow. The reflection wasn't hers to begin with, she wore a mask to survive, as soon as it pops, she was nothing.

She had once been bubbly. Loud in the most sincere way — laughing with her whole chest, arms always outstretched as if the world was waiting to be hugged. But the world didn't hug back. It recoiled. Her light became too much, her joy became annoying, and slowly, quietly, she folded in on herself.

Then there was him, Suho.

That haul ass, he actually did.

He saw her like no one does, not some attention seeker, threat or whatever her classmates called her. But, some lonely kid who accidently trips on his desk and apologize meekly for waking him up. It's like at the snap of his fingers — they were friends, it felt so strange on the tip of her tongue. It wasn't on her vocabulary to call someone 'a friend', she smiled at the thought, she could finally say "mom, im with a friend. oh, im hanging out with my friend. Dad, i'll be late. Im with suho, he's the delivery kid"

He was there for her, vice versa. They share drinks, he taught her some tricks. Rode his mop of a motorcycle and helps him sometimes (she begs to help) in his deliveries, taught her to ride his motorcycle but was banned from ever driving it because they almost crashed, gifted him on his birthday that pig like arm-rest pillow because he sleeps during class, anytime—anywhere.

After Suho, came Sieun — the boy with a mind like steel and a heart he kept under lock. She hadn’t meant to break in. She just smiled at him one day, really smiled, all softness and quiet light. And instead of turning away, he looked at her — really looked — but he quickly turned away and do what he always do, study.

It wasn’t much, but it was everything.

After that, they became closer (she and suho forced themselves in his, peaceful life and made it their profound home). He didn’t speak much, but she learned to read the pauses between his words, the silence that carried more weight than most voices ever could. And in those small, strange moments, something unspoken bloomed — not loud like laughter, but steady like breath.

Beomseok joined last — hesitant and unsure, the quiet space-filler who stood at the edge of the light until he learned how to laugh without apology. With them, he found a version of himself that didn’t have to shrink. And she noticed — the way he kept things to himself, always smiling, always deflecting. But underneath it all, he was alone. Like her. And she respected him for that — for surviving in silence, for fighting battles no one could see. It was like they spoke a secret language, stitched together by glances and almosts. If Suho hadn’t been the first to crack her open, to teach her that loud kindness could feel safe — it might’ve been Beomseok.

They were alike, it felt like it. She never asked for more than he could give. He would treat her to milk tea without a word, and she would tag him in her stories like a quiet thank-you — ‘he bought this for us today’. His presence was constant, and sometimes, constancy felt close enough to love.

The four of them never made sense, heck their personalities mixed in a wheel. But together, it felt like home, peace. They make it— make sense.

She remembered that day, where Beomseok invited them in a fancy cafe, the three of them were underdressed in hoodies and jackets and and scuffed shoes, while she had worn something a little too nice — something she thought might match the place. Suho took one look at them and laughed, nudging her playfully. ‘We look like your bodyguards,’ he said, grinning. ‘Or your butlers,’ Beomseok added with a rare, easy laugh, raising his brow. ‘Maybe you’re the one who’ll be paying, princess.’ She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest was real, golden.

And Sieun, he said nothing. Just watching the scene as it played across the table that ever-neutral mask on his face. But then, for just a second, the corner of his mouth curved. A small, tipped smile — fleeting, quiet, but it was there. And she held onto it like a pressed flower in the pages of her memory.

Or when she invited them to her house to make shakes she shared at the group chat. Chaos, and wasted ingredients lingered on her mind.

She remembered nights they spent on rooftops eating instant noodles. Suho would tell dumb jokes, Beomseok would laugh too hard, and Sieun would roll his eyes but never leave. She remembered the market stall — her and Sieun, shoulder to shoulder, sharing a hot bowl of doenjang jjigae on a cold day, pinky fingers brushing as they both reached for the last piece of tofu. He didn’t pull away.

They had made a promise that day.

"Next time, we'll get our own bowls"

"No, let's keep sharing. Its more delicious to share with... friends"

He nodded at her and the promised was sealed.

There was the photobooth too — that cramped, blinking little box on the corner of a busy arcade. She and Beomseok had practically dragged Suho and Sieun inside, laughter already bubbling before the first flash. Suho’s long legs stuck out from under the curtain, his face half-covered as the fabric kept hitting him. He grumbled through a smile, ever dramatic. Sieun sat stiffly in the corner, back too straight, unsure what to do with his hands, his expression tight but his presence willing. And Beomseok — sweet, ridiculous Beomseok — came back with an armful of props. Sunglasses too big, fake mustaches, and a tiara that she insisted Suho to wear.

They argued over poses, switched hats mid-frame, and by the time the countdown hit one, they had given up on perfection. They just laughed. Uncoordinated and chaotic, but real.

She kept the strip, in a frame to look at. To reminisce.

At that point, she felt like on the cloud. It felt like she was dreaming, its too good, she dreamt of this before where she would have friends who are there for her and she would be too. But every dream turns to be a nightmare when she woke.

She wished to never woke up.

She wished it will just be the same as it was before.

She wished she helped, noticed, talk.

She wished it all.

She just wished, but she never acted.

She never did, she watched it all happen.

In a snap, it all crumbled down.

And it crumbled them apart, them. The 4 of them, nothing.

But then came the fight. The blood. The hospital room with fluorescent lights that never flickered off. Suho, broken and still. Beomseok, shattered in ways they didn’t see until it was too late. And Sieun — closed off tighter than ever, fists clenched, eyes wild with a grief he refused to name.

It all fell apart, the shared laughter, the whispers during class bothering Sieun. Everything falling apart.

She held him when he broke down in that sterile hallway, her arms around his trembling body. She thought they were in this together.

Then he left.

He left, without a goodbye.

Not even a glance, not a word.

No messages, calls.

Just absence, his lingering precense, silence.

She waited for him, days turns to weeks, to months.

She called. Texted. Wrote long, tearful messages and erased them. She even waited outside the hospital, hoping he’d come back. Sometimes she’d fall asleep in the hallway chair, cold noodles beside her, unread texts blinking on her phone screen like a cruel joke.

He never replied.

She scoffed and chuckled softly. It was all typical.

Of course, It's Sieun after all.

In the end, she had to bribe a teacher. Just a little. Nothing serious. Just a favor passed in whispers, the gentle weight of desperation folded inside an envelope. A name. A connection. A sliver of a chance.

She hadn’t meant to go this far, but silence was starting to rot in her chest, and she couldn’t take another unanswered message blinking cold on her screen. By some cruel or kind miracle, her homeroom teacher — warm, a little nosy, but always kind — happened to know the man who owned the building Sieun now lived in.

And that was her signal. To go and visit him.

She packed carefully. His favorite brand of milk, chilled and sweating in her bag. A container of doenjang jjigae — just like the one they shared at that tiny market stall, the day they had laughed, just the two of them, broth steaming between them, future humming on their tongues and a bouquet of asters and pink camellias — for longing, for the soft, aching kind of love that tiptoes around the edge of confession.

She took two rides.

Two painful rides.

Two long, aching rides through the city’s breathless gray sky as her head leaning against cold windows, eyes tracking strangers who passed too fast to remember.

She didn't mind the wait.

It made her relentless, muttering softly the words she memorize to say.

Hi, its been a long time

Hi, you hungr- no scratch that it's too casual.

Hey, its been a long time. It sounded like the first one though...

Hey, Sieun. How are you? I bought some doenjang jjigae...

Her legs ached from waiting, her bag was heavier than usual — not from weight, but from meaning.

Still, she clutched it like a promise.

The milk. The stew. The flowers.

The shared memories.

She imagined what must be his reaction, would he smile, say sorry. But she couldn't imagine anything...its been too long since she last saw him, talked to him.

The building stood tall, too tall, like a giant of cold stone and glass. She glanced up, and her nerves betrayed her, sending her heart into a rapid dance at each step she took felt like a dream, her body moving on its own while her mind stayed behind, watching — detached, unsure.

The doors loomed ahead, distant yet close, a threshold she couldn't cross fast enough. Her breath was shallow, a quiet tremor in her hands, but she continued as her fingers brushed the buzzer, cold and sharp against her skin.

She rang the doorbell with a trembling hand, rehearsing her lines in her head.

“Hey, it’s been a while… I brought dinner.”

All of the memorized scriptures all felt crumbling as the door opened.

To her dismay.

Not him.

It was his mother.

She never bowed that fast, “Annyeonghaseyo,” she said, bowing deeply. “Is Sieun here?” As the silence crept as she waited for her answer as she stood infront of her timidly like a twig.

“I’m his mother,” the woman replied warmly. “Who are you?”

But before she could reply, at the corner of her eye.

Its him.

Its really him, Sieun-ah.

Her breath caught. Her pulse slowed and quickened all at once.

Yeon Sieun.

Same cold eyes, same unreadable mouth. He paused when he saw her. She waited for something to soften. Anything.

Nothing, pure silence on words but just footsteps.

“Oh, Sieun-ah,” his mother turned to him, surprised. “Is she your friend? You didn’t tell me she was coming.” His mother waited for his reply and that was it.

He said it. And all she could hear was emptiness.

Her world crumbled, all of it.

“I don’t have any friends. I don’t know her.”

He said it so softly, but why does it hurt when its supposed to be soft— his tone.

The silence after was suffocating.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

She smiled instead — bitter and tight, her lips trembling at the edges. “Oh. I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s not the Sieun I knew. I must have the wrong floor.” She bowed again, lower this time, a goodbye written in the bend of her back. Her eyes closed to let her tears inside.

And, she turned away. Without a word.

The hallway stretched like a punishment. She kept her head high, but her hands shook. The elevator dinged too loudly.

At the trash bin, she paused. She looked at her hand was the flowers, a bouquet of asters and pink camellias — longing a person my ass. Carefully, she placed the flowers inside — the petals already wilting, the ribbon curling like regret.

She rode the elevator down in silence.

She walked in silence, the food swinging rapidly as she walked, she don't care anymore if it spilled.

She was so hungry, so tired.

She sat on the bench of the bus stop, its 7 already.

She sat down, opened the container, and let the scent of doenjang jjigae wash over her. Her stomach clenched. She took a bite. And then another.

And then she cried — not softly, not prettily. Just full, shaking sobs into the sleeve of her coat, stew forgotten on her lap.

She ate alone.

She sobbed alone. She ate while sobbing, its so pathetic.

She felt like its all junior high all over again, eating on the bathroom. Alone.

The warmth of the soup was gone, and so was their friendship.

She remembered the photograph of the photobooth, she remembered it, every detail even if it wasn't with her.

He looked at her, like he almost could have loved her.

All of it was just a mere joke.

And all she had left was the taste of something they once shared — now hers, now hollow.

♡ note ───── party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you party on you

#yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class 2 #whc2 #whc1 #sieun #sieun x reader #kdrama x reader #yeon sieun fanfic #yeon sieun fluff #yeon sieun imagines #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero x reader #whc1 x reader #whc2 x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #yeon sieun angst

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ozzgin · 9 months ago

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I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut

"You've got to be kidding me."

You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This can’t be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that he’s just as terrified.

You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.

“Don’t walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I can’t reach you in time if something happens.”

“What, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?” you scoff at the man.

“Now listen, do you think we didn’t anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy here”, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. “Has enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.”

Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.

You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didn’t really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.

A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution you’ve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.

Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.

What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?

You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.

Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?

The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.

It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.

You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.

In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.

Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.

Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.

Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.

Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.

#monster imagine #monster x reader #monster x human #carnotaurus x reader #monster romance #monster smut #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker

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nsharks · 5 months ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-eight —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

France feels just as haunted by ghosts, the kind that cling to silence.

The next morning, you follow the road south near the Belgium border under a punishing sun and suffocating humidity. Sweat pools under your clothes as you leave the coastline behind, passing overgrown rose bushes and grand estates crumbling to rotted beams. Without the raft or truck, supplies rest on everyone's backs, lighter now with all the food you’ve already gone through—a stark reminder that you’ll need more soon.

You were the last to wake, stirred from a deep sleep by the sounds of bags being packed. It shouldn’t be surprising—you’d slept well after two orgasms. It’s a miracle the night’s events didn’t spill into your dreams, but now, in the daylight, keeping them at bay is harder. Thankfully, Kyle and the two kids create a buffer as you all follow Price’s lead. Their presence helps keep your eyes from drifting to him. You force your gaze on the passing signs, making a mental game out of trying to pick up on some French. It's distracting enough. So far you've gathered that sortie means exit and allez means something like go.

The first break comes when your shoulders burn from the weight of the backpack, the straps biting into your skin. You slip it off with a groan, sinking to the ground, and nurse the canteen of water. Just enough to wet your throat and keep the dizziness at bay—rationing is a habit.

Price's plan echoes in your head: Méteren by nightfall. That’s ten hours of walking, minimum. Your toes throb at the thought, each step promising fresh blisters, but you force yourself to focus. The faster you reach Switzerland, the safer you’ll all be. If the place they heard of is actually waiting there.

"Hey. Do you want this?"

Blue lowers beside you, offering a near-empty jar of peanut butter she was snacking on.

"Not much left but it's really good," she shrugs.

"I'll finish it off, thanks."

The salty taste is not exactly refreshing, but you choke it down anyway, the boost of protein more of a necessity than a pleasure. Blue pulls at the grass beside you, her gaze drifting to Ari, who’s sharing food with Kyle. You try not to look, but your eyes flick to Ghost anyway.

The mask is still on, as always. Why is he obsessed with it, even after you just saw him naked? Despite its presence, you can still see the furrow between his brows as he pores over the map with Price. Sweat rings the collar of his black tee, and his biceps flex as he gestures down the road. You’re definitely checking him out when he catches your eye mid-conversation, adjusting his mask, and without missing a beat, you turn your attention back to Blue.

She is staring at you, her brow furrowed.

You instinctively touch your neck, your thoughts racing to the bruise hidden beneath your hair.

“Do you think he likes him?” she asks abruptly.

You blink. “What?”

“Ghost,” she whispers, leaning closer. “Do you think he likes Ari?”

Relief floods you. “Oh. I mean, sure. He's a good kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” she corrects with a huff. “He’s thirteen.”

“That’s still a kid, Blue.”

She rolls her eyes but hesitates before adding quietly, “He kissed me.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. And don’t tell Ghost.” She pinches your arm, her cheeks reddening.

“I won’t,” you assure her. “But… when? How?”

“The other night, when we kept watch. Just on my cheek, but still.” She pulls her knees to her chest. “He's cute. I think I like him, but… what if he doesn’t actually like me? What if he just sees me as a kid?”

Her uncertainty tugs at something deep in you. “Have you talked to him about it?”

She shakes her head, looking horrified. “No way. What if he doesn't feel the same? It could get weird.”

“Then kill him,” you deadpan. At her glare, your lips twitch. “Fine, I’ll kill him.”

She snorts despite herself. “Be serious.”

“Okay, how about this—just ask him, ‘Why did you kiss my cheek?’ Keep it simple.”

Blue considers this, her expression softening. “I could do that. But it has to be when Ghost isn’t around. Which is almost never.”

You're telling me. You pick at your nails, avoiding her trusting gaze as your chest tightens.

The sound of Price's boots back on the gravel ends the break.

Even after the brief rest, your limbs drag with exhaustion for the next few hours, but the extra calories push you forward. You make it to Méteren before nightfall. As the guys pitch tents, you rip off your socks to survey the damage. Open blisters stare back at you. With only so much gauze in your kit, you've been hesitant, but you cut a conservative strand and wrap up your heels.

Behind a bush, you change from your sweaty clothes and hope there is freshwater somewhere to wash them in the morning. You dab a rag with a bit of water from the canteen and scrub the biggest offenders; armpits, between your legs, the back of your neck. Changing into a clean shirt, the sound of them unpacking the sleeping bags beckons your heavy shoulders and sore legs. You head back to the tents, ready for sleep, when you overhear Ghost volunteer for first watch.

"Twix will help me."

You hope the surprise isn't visible on your face as you nearly drop your backpack, swinging your gaze at him.

"I will?"

"It's been a few days since you've taken watch."

Your lips roll together then flatten, shoving down the blush that crawls your neck at the thought of being alone with him. Kyle looks like he is ready to take your place, but you nod in resignation, clear your throat, and finish tugging on the zipper over your clothes. "Yeah, of course. I'll help."

The others disappear into the tents, and you turn to sit on a fallen log, bow in hand. But before you can settle, you feel his presence—a shift in the air just behind you, then the solid pressure of his hand curling around your forearm. Without a word, he guides you forward, pulling you with an ease that leaves no room for hesitation. Your body moves instinctively as he leads you out of earshot of the tents, behind an abandoned car. It is now you realize he's changed into a black hoodie and shedded the tactical vest. He leans his rifle against the side of the car and looks down at you, saying nothing for a few seconds.

"Did you take away my chance to sleep and pull me over here just to stare at me?" you whisper, arms crossing against the gentle breeze that has cooled with the fallen sun.

He exhales through his nose before responding. "About yesterday."

You blink at him, hoping you don't fail at hiding how even the mere mention sets your nerves alight. "What about it?"

The way his eyes move slowly over your face suggests he is searching for the words. Finally, he says flatly, "It was just fucking. A distraction."

"A distraction," you repeat slowly under your breath. The bluntness hits you harder than expected. You bite the corner of your cheek, a bit too hard, and you narrow your eyes. "You really think I don't already know that?"

His broad shoulders roll back in a shrug and his tone shifts far too casual for your liking. "I just didn't want you getting the wrong idea."

The wrong idea. You rip your gaze away, scraping your fingertips into your arm, before looking back at him with a forced shrug of your own. "I can handle fucking, Simon. Like I said, I'm a big girl."

There is an audible inhale, then a low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he leans in, his darkened eyes locking onto yours. He cages you in with his arms, the familiar heat radiating from his touch and already making your brain fuzzy. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you onto your toes as he tears off the mask and lays it on the hood of the car. The glimpse of his strong jaw and the flick of his tongue wetting his lips sends a shiver through you despite the lingering irritation at his words.

"Yes. You are," he murmurs, his voice rough and low, before capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that feels like the deep, soothing release of sinking into warm water after aching for relief.

You could kiss him for hours, you quickly realize, pleasantly fascinated by how hot and demanding his tongue feels against your mouth. He tastes like how he smells. Pine and salt. You submit to the pace of his lips, every graze of his teeth making your heart thicken. You move your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp, pulling him closer.

"There's something I need," he mumbles, voice etched with a tremble of impatience, and his fingers clench your shirt. With his other hand, he blindly reaches for the car door and forces the rusted thing open with a few tugs.

"What do you need?" you breathe out, secretly thrilled that he wants you, again, even when it's been only twenty-four hours since he last had you. The mutual desire erodes the fatigue in your limbs and awakens your arousal.

Without an answer, he spins your bodies, easing into the passenger seat, then pulls you in with him, closing the door with a soft click. The position is awkward at best—your head bumps into the roof, one knee wedged painfully into the center console from the lack of space. The car smells like stale leather and dust, but thankfully not like rot. It's far from enticing, but none of that matters when he forces the seat to recline, creating just enough room for you to lay on top of him.

You can feel him, hot and straining within his jeans, as you kiss him again and begin to move your hips instinctively. It is a thrilling notion, that you have made him hard so quickly, and you wonder if he ever touched himself like you did, stroking his cock with a callused hand that he imagined as you. The image of it, in combination with the friction on your pussy, has you greedily reaching to undo his belt buckle.

He breaks from your lips with a grunt and grabs your wrist. "Not that."

Huh?

You don't have the chance to question him before the notch in his throat bobs, and he begins unzipping your jeans, instead. "My face. Sit on it."

The blush on your cheeks is hidden in the car's small, dark space. His half-lidded gaze lifts to yours, and you nod absently before helping him push your pants and underwear to your ankles, shifting awkwardly to discard them to the floor. His hand immediately moves between your bodies, his fingers brushing against your wetness with a sharp inhale. It should make you embarrassed, but it doesn’t—not with the way he watches you, his other hand peeling off your shirt, the whites of his eyes flashing over your naked body with such unabashed hunger that you realize it must’ve been simmering in him for as long as it has in you.

Again, you're the only one undressed. His hands knead the plush of your ass, the massage to your sore glutes drawing a moan from you. He pushes you up his chest and you move your knees, until his face is level with your cunt, nose caressing your throbbing clit. You have to grip the headrest of the backseat to keep yourself steady, neck craned. His palms cup the backs of your thighs, keeping them apart.

He's already put his mouth on you, but for some reason, this time feels more vulnerable. You become unconsciously alert of the fact you are not the girl you used to be, the one who shaved every inch of her body before going on a date, and scrubbed her skin with perfumed body wash. You have been sweating all day in the French humidity, and not a single part of you is hairless. When he attempts to pull you to his mouth, you resist with a wiggle of your hips.

"You don't—we don't have to do this, you know. I mean, I haven't shaved in years and—"

He bites your thigh. "Stop talking."

"Ghost, I'm disgusting."

His brows furrow, confused, before he exhales a soft laugh, breath fanning your cunt. "I don't care."

You writhe. "No, seriously—"

"I'm a big boy, Twix," he throws back you.

His tone is final, and with that, he ignores your protests and tightens his hands on you, pulling you to sit on his jaw. His tongue licks a bold stripe from hole to clit, then back down to your hole, where he swirls it a few times before pushing in. Your mouth hangs open in a silent surrender. It is you at his mercy now. His mouth feels even hotter on your cunt for some reason, causing your head to lull forward because of the ceiling, hair dangling.

Your nails scrape into the leather. His tongue fucks you, nursing the sore flesh that his cock had stretched. He pushes you down with more force, and meets the juncture of your thighs with an arch of his neck, pressing his face deeper. There is a small worry that he might not be able to breathe, but it is erased when his tongue visits your clit with a heady groan, the vibrations of his vocal chords making your muscles flinch. He circles it with a light pressure. You reach down to grip his hair, silently demanding more. He listens, pressing his tongue harder.

"Fucking... yeah, like that."

One of his hands glides up your stomach and squeezes your breast. He keeps sucking, toiling with your puckered nipple at a similar pace. Despite the uncomfortable position, your hips buck and thrash. Your hand slaps against the window as he makes a sloppy mess out of you. The overgrown stubble on his jaw scrapes between your tightened thighs and the sting adds to the overwhelming sensations. You attempt to lift off, seeking a break, but he growls and strikes your ass, forcing you back down.

He licks at you expertly, as if having figured you out in just a few minutes. You screw your eyes shut, a small but swift orgasm rolling through you when you hear him slurp at your folds. He gathers it with a sweep of his tongue, humming. The aftermath leaves your trembling, breath jagged, as a larger one grows towards release.

"Been thinking about that all day," he whispers against you, continuing his ministrations. "Got another one for me?"

His tone feels mocking and desperate at once. Your nails press painfully into the condensation-painted glass. Your other hand fists back in his hair, curling and uncurling, but there is no point in trying to fight it, not when he parts your cunt with his fingers so he can lick more of it. You cum again, harder, almost convulsing as your head bangs upward. It feels never-ending, your moans uncontrollable. He laps you through it, even more relentless, drawing the pleasure for a near-minute, until your lungs can hardly function and you feel like you might collapse.

Your body is pliant and jelly-like when it finally fades. He takes hold of your waist to keep you upright, and pulls his mouth away with a dribble of leakage down his chin. Already, you know it will be impossible to forget that sight, his eyes dazed as if he is the one who just came twice.

His touch turns somewhat tender when he helps you back down to his lap. He doesn't bother wiping the obscenity from his mouth when he kisses the corner of your lips, firmly, then helps you slip back into your clothes since your brain doesn't seem to have full control over your limbs yet. It's when you place a hand on his thigh to shimmy on your jeans that you feel a distinguishable wet spot.

He finished, too.

The discovery makes your chest swell, and you nibble at your lip as you finish changing.

"Thanks," you whisper to him.

He doesn't say anything. He keeps the seat reclined and allows you to lay limp against him, feeling the uneven pace of his heart that matches your own. Clearly, he is a man of his word. This will not be a one time thing, even if it is just fucking. You sigh in sheer exhaustion from the day's activities, unable to ignore the weight in your eyelids as you inhale the residual musk in the air between your bodies. His chest feels firm and warm, a decent place to rest your head, and you think you feel a touch caress your hair.

You are supposed to be staying up to keep watch, but he doesn't seem ready to move you. Somewhere between wondering how long you can keep this hidden from Blue, and dreading how far you will have to walk again tomorrow, you drift to sleep.

When morning arrives, you are not curled up in a car, but tucked in a sleeping bag.

Ghost must've put you here, but you have no recollection of it, squinting your eyes against the harsh incoming of sunlight through the nylon walls. Nereida is in the bag beside you, not Blue, which offers a thread of relief. You carefully extricate yourself without waking her and join an awakened Price and Kyle for breakfast.

This morning feels slower than the last. Satisfied with the distance covered yesterday, Price is content with just making it to a town called Englos today. Then, you can focus on finding food and water during the evening.

Your energy is replenished with tomato soup and stale crackers. Blue sits with Ari to eat, and you casually glance at her, but she gives you a subtle shake of her head. No, she hasn't talked to him yet. You offer a small, forced smile and look away.

The day's journey begins after what you would guess is around 8 am. As you walk, you redo your braids, tucking the strands into place so they don't stick to your forehead. Kyle falls in step beside you in comfortable silence, while Ghost moves to the front of the group. He treats you exactly as before—offering only the rare glance of acknowledgment. As if you hadn't just sat on his face last night. As if he hadn't ate you out like you were a source of sustenance.

Though, you’re grateful for his distance. It makes it easier to stay discreet. If he were to look at you too long, you might give yourself away.

It's just fucking.

Nothing but small towns and sprawling fields surrounds you. You pick up a few more words of French and think back to how your parents took you here, but never to the countryside. It's beautiful. Picturesque, even, except for the occasional skeleton tucked between ambery stalks of wheat. You pass through a place called Bailleul, where the remaining buildings remind you of England, when you spot black graffiti inked on a small clock tower.

N'allez pas à Fleurbaix.

"Allez means go," you murmur, stepping over some broken glass. "So what does n'allez pas mean..."

"Picking up a new language?"

You swing your head at Kyle, blinking, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

"Yeah. I thought it might come in handy when chatting with the thriving local population."

He shakes his head in amusement. "Have you been here before?"

"When I was a kid. Once to Paris, and once to a ski resort."

"Ah. So you were one of those kids."

You frown. "What kids?"

"The kids who had money to go skiing."

You shrug, thinking back. "I mean, we weren't rich by any means. Just comfortable."

He nods, the companionable silence resuming as you replay the graffitied words in your head. N'allez pas must mean do not go. Do not go to Fleurbaix. You are about to ask Kyle if that is where you are headed when he speaks first.

"Are we good, Twix?"

His question throws you off guard. You make eye contact and he raises an expectant brow as if he is referring to something...

Right. He kissed you. It feels like forever ago since it happened, but it was only a week maybe. The memory almost makes you cringe, especially in comparison to what you've done with Ghost the past two days.

"Yeah," you dismiss breathily. "Yeah, of course. We're good."

He seems genuinely relieved by your answer, smiling with a sliver of teeth. "Good. I'm glad. I was an idiot and not in the right headspace. But still, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I've been trying to give you space."

"It's fine, honestly," you tell him. "We are all under a lot of stress."

He releases a breath, then brushes a shoulder against yours. "So we're friends, you and I? Or something like that."

You nod with a little laugh, shifting the backpack. "Something like that. By the way, do you know if we are going by a place called—"

"Gaz. Come here for a moment," Ghost calls.

His tone is abrupt, causing everyone to halt. Without question, Kyle jogs over, his boots scraping against the gravel as he moves toward Ghost, who is crouched on one knee, fingers brushing over the matted grass at the side of the road. You squint, trying to figure out what’s caught their attention, and step closer to get a better look.

"A lot of them," Kyle says quietly, his palm pressing gently into the flattened vegetation. Now, you can see it—clear signs of something recently passing through. The ground is torn up, the plants bent and trampled. "It can't have been long ago," he adds, frowning as he observes the damage.

Ghost doesn't look up as he responds. "A horde went through here. Maybe in the last day." He inhales the humid breeze, and shifts his gaze toward Price. "I can smell them from the east."

"We could run right into them if we keep following the D231," Price mutters, drumming his fingers on the rear of his gun. He glances at the nearest road signs, then unfolds the map. "We could shift west for a few kilometers, through Fleurbaix, then cut back toward Englos."

"I just saw something that warned against going to Fleurbaix," you speak up.

Ghost's brow rises. You ignore the nerves that prickle your cheeks beneath his stare.

"I mean, there are signs saying keep out of everywhere by now," Kyle reasons. "That's probably from the start of the infection."

"It's either Fleurbaix, or risk a run in with the horde," Ghost says.

You nod, more so to yourself, and murmur under your breath. "Fleurbaix it is, then."

Bailleul fades at your backs as you keep moving.

The scent of Greys lingers in the shifting air, but it is difficult to detect amid the strong aroma of flowers that pop up in every shade, replacing the fields of wheat. Roses, violets, and some yellow one you don't recognize ornate the rolling hills for as far as you can see. The buildings turn more upright, strong stone that has yet to falter from neglect. You keep reading the signs, even though you don't have the map to refer to, and your spine tightens when you read Fleurbaix: 1 km.

You unsling your bow without thinking, tapping your nails against the wood.

The road becomes a bit windier as it cuts through some small farms. You even spot a few cows roaming the overgrown pastures which Blue seems curious by. You notice more painted words on the sides of the homes: Nous devons expier nos péchés. It repeats a few times, but you fail to translate it. The only part that clicks is nous, which you think means we.

We something... something...

After crossing a small bridge over a dried creek bed, you excuse yourself to relieve your bladder.

"Keep going, I'll catch up."

You step over what looks like a metal dog chain left on the road and situate yourself between a tree and old BMW. Squatting burns your thighs, and reminds you of your dried cum on them that you've tried, yet failed, to completely wipe off. You clench your teeth as you pee, when there is a sudden sound behind you that makes you flinch, and you quickly zip back up before whirling around. A rat—your shoulders sink. It sits up on its hind legs and stares at you with beady eyes.

"I guess I'm just jumpy sometimes, little guy," you whisper, leaning in. "You would be, too, if you've had to deal with what I have." The rat doesn’t blink. "Right. Well, I’m sure Ghost would think this is incredibly sexy—me having a talk with a rodent."

You sigh, watching him scurry away, but then another rat darts over your boot. You jerk back, gaze following its direction to an old building—a schoolhouse or chapel, judging by the circular stained-glass window below the roof. Beautiful shrubs lines the sides, seemingly well-kept. The door hangs ajar, with more vermin pouring out in an endless line.

"Jesus. Quite a lot of friends you have, huh?"

You glance down the road. The others are still close but walking ahead. You should catch up. It's not safe alone. But against your better judgment, you step toward the door, pushing it open. Rats scatter underfoot as a thick, rancid smell hits you. Death—fresh and cloying, even more so than the flowers.

Blood streaks the stone floor inside, pooling where vermin feast. Splintered pews lead to an altar. You freeze. Lying there ceremoniously is what's left of a body, hardly recognizable—ribs torn through flesh, a dangling optic nerve, a mangled groin. A plethora of bite marks cleave through the remains. Bile rises in your throat as the sound of gnawing echoes through against the sun-lit walls.

But what truly grips you is the writing, in blood, draped over a small cross.

Nous devons expier nos péchés.

You whip around and run, the door closing heavily behind you.

"Simon!" His name claws up your throat.

#simon ghost riley x you #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #zombie apocolypse au

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