#but on top of that my hands just will not fucking cooperate with me at all

[tateypots]

Collared

18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: dark!Joel x reader, Tommy is there but not actively involved

Words: 590

A/N: Be warned it’s dark, please heed the warnings, protect yourself! Given the current state of things I wanted to write something light and fluffy and hopeful but unfortunately my brain wouldn’t cooperate and kept veering into darker territory, (can’t imagine why I seem to have this impending sense of doom 🤔). Anyway, hopefully with this now out of my head it will make room for something a bit more positive.

Let me know if I missed any warnings.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, drugging, somnophilia, fingering, unprotected piv, loss of virginity, creampie, mention of restraints.

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Joel moved quickly from the van to the front door of the cabin, carrying you in his arms. He didn’t want you to catch a chill, naked as you were.

Once inside he moved over to the bed placed in one corner of the large main room. You didn’t stir as he placed you gently down on the faded comforter, the sleeping pills he’d slipped you working better than he could have hoped for.

His pants and boxers were pushed down his thighs with gusto, his aching cock desperate for relief. Tommy entered the cabin with the first box of supplies from the van just as Joel was climbing on top of you, settling himself between your thighs. He lined himself up with your pussy as Tommy busied himself unloading the box.

Joel had prepped you well in the van on the way here, fondling your breasts and pinching your nipples before shoving two of his fat fingers inside you again and again and playing with your little clit until you writhed and moaned in your drug induced sleep.

“Fuck Tommy she’s so fuckin’ tight. Think we might have found ourselves a virgin,” he’d exclaimed with a grin.

So now, eased by your unwitting arousal Joel shoved himself inside you with a loud grunt, one powerful thrust burying him to the hilt.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.”

He slowly began to retract his hips, basking in the feeling of your little pussy gripping onto him as he tried to retreat. The blood on his cock as it slid free of you set his heart racing.

“Fucking knew it Tommy, she was a virgin, so fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned as he slammed himself back inside you.

The pace he set was vicious, taking advantage of your pliant state, his hips punching into yours with reckless abandon. He’d be more careful with you when you were awake but it’d been too long since he’d fucked anything but his hand. He needed this and he wasn’t going to last long.

Tommy kept unloading the van while Joel pounded your pussy, his cock jumping with every whimper Joel drew from you or every time he stopped to admire the bounce of your tits as Joel pummelled into you. He was looking forward to his turn.

Gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, with one final ruthless plunge of his cock into you Joel’s hips stilled and he let go, pumping you full of his seed with a loud moan. He slumped on top of you, grinning at the huff of air you released at his weight falling on top of you. He kissed and nuzzled your temple.

“Good job baby, did so well for me. We’re gona have so much fun together I can tell.”

Joel slowly pulled himself out of you, pushing up onto his knees to watch his cum leaking out of your battered cunt before gathering it up and pushing it back inside you. He reached down and pulled his boots, pants and boxers off fully before getting up and heading to the bathroom, his now flaccid cock swinging between his legs still coated in your combined juices.

“She’s all yours Tommy.”

“I’m gona wait a bit, give her chance to tighten back up. No way I’m going in there straight after you’ve stretched her out like that. How long before the pills wear off?”

“Probably a few hours yet. Make yourself useful while you’re waiting, dig out the collar and chains, should get her secured before she wakes up. I’m going for a shower.”

[cold-knees]

Sometimes I'm like "my fine motor skills aren't that bad" and then I will have to tie a knot

[femonologue]

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

[ebodebo]

Tough As Nails—Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy

thinking about cowboy!simon riley… MDNI | part one |

next ->

He had become a nuisance. A pest, a headache. Every single adjective you can think of to describe a pain in the ass he was.

Your father's ranch hand, whom he hired all of six months ago, had become something of a bother, an inconvenience to you. He was annoying and stubborn. Narrowed his eyes at you too often for your liking. Scoffed when you would correct him. And scolded you when you would have people on the property when your parents would leave town—even going so far as to kick your guests off the property altogether.

But tonight would be different; it was the Fourth of July. You would happily throw your party in the barn your family owns, on the property they own. You weren't going to let him order you around tonight.

"What the hell is all of this?" Simon seethed, taking in the concrete floor covered in empty beer bottles and spilled grain. His booming voice caused some partygoers to straighten up, though no one dared to speak.

He clenched his jaw at the lack of cooperation. "Huh?" He paused, his fists clenching so hard they began to turn white.

"So, no one can speak?" He walked over to a guy sitting on a bale of hay, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the hay tossing him aside.

"Get the fuck off my hay." He gritted to the guy.

"Where is she?" All he could think about was the little pain in his ass who was responsible for this. The guy he pulled off the hay immediately pointed towards an old wooden outhouse away from the barn.

Simon rolled his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. "If I come back and any of you are still here." He looked over everyone.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you for trespassing."

Safe to say, everyone in the barn scrambled out of the barn at that very second. Simon turned on his heels and stalked over to the outhouse, where he saw you leaning up against the outside with a guy's hands roaming your body, making out.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" You jumped at the sound of his voice, pushing the guy on you off your body.

"Sim—"

"Don't." He moved closer, standing directly in front of you, pointing his finger at you. "Don't Simon me."

"It's the Fourth of July, Simon. Lighten up."

"Do you realize your idiot friends spilled hundreds of dollars worth of grain and fucked with your dad's equipment?" All he had to do was glance at the guy just kissing you for him to go scurrying off.

"Shit, I shouldn't have left them alone. I wasn't thinking." You curse, looking up at him to meet his eyes.

"Ya, you're right." He stepped closer.

“You don't think." He gritted out before continuing.

"You're impulsive. Reckless."

Your eyes widen at his words. Who does this guy think he is? "Don't forget you work for me."

He lets out a deep, dry chuckle. "Actually, I work for your dad." 

"Whatever." You scoff as you take a step to walk past him.

"We are not done talking." He reaches out to grab your wrist; you swiftly turn your head to look up at him.

"I'm done listening to you." You grit out, eyes full of anger.

"Oh, is that it?" He scoffs out as you take a step away, only to trip over a wide hole in the ground, making both of you topple over, him falling on top of you. He's quick to plant a hand on the ground before, so his entire body weight isn't on you.

After you recognize the pain from the fall, you look up at Simon, who's on top of you, eyes boring into yours. Your pulse increases at the proximity, and your breath becomes more shallow.

His eyes blazed with fury, yours full of irritation. You can't help but glance at his lips, hovering not too far away from your own. This little action made him lose it. His self-control was already hanging on by a single thread, and the look you gave was what finally cut through. His lips crashed onto yours with such force that it took your air away.

It wasn't gentle or tender. It was desperation, months of built-up vexation. It was downright sinful.

You gasp once his lips meet yours but quickly return the sentiment. Your hands move to glide through his light hair, gently tugging on the roots, making him groan.

He yanks his cowboy hat off as he grips your waist to flip you so you are now on top of him, straddling his waist as he sits up.

"I thought you didn't like me." You smugly remark as he connects his lips to the side of your neck, and his hands start undoing buttons on your top.

"Like has nothing to do with this." He murmurs into your neck, lightly nipping at your sensitive skin, making you sigh.

"Keep telling yourself that, Cowboy." You jest, grabbing the back of his neck bringing him back up to your lips, already greedy for another taste of him.

He continues working on undoing your top buttons as his tongue collides with yours, and your teeth graze his own.

He cups your breast over the fabric of your bra as soon as he gets the buttons undone, making you whimper. His hand slips down to grip the fat of your ass as he leans in so his lips are lightly grazing your ear.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" You could feel the roughness of his voice so close to your ear. You leaned into his lips grazing your ear.

"Do what?" You breathe out as his hand roams from your ass to the front of your belt, gently unclasping your belt buckle.

"You playin' dumb now?" He questioned, gently nipping at your ear lobe. The sensation made you let out a low moan before roughly grabbing his face and connecting your lips back to his.

He matched your hungry kiss, reciprocating an even hungrier one of his own as he tossed your belt off to the side and slid off your pitiful excuse for jean shorts down past your thighs.

He quickly undid his belt buckle and threw it off to the side, sliding his jeans down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." You breathe out, reaching between the two of you to release him from the confines of his boxers.

His mouth went dry at your touch. "Do what exactly?" He choked out as you carefully pumped him up and down.

"Ride you." You casually said as you slipped your already-soaked thong to the side to accommodate him. He could have come at your words. He almost did, but a quick relay of the steps to clean an AR-15 suppressed the urge. 

You grip him and slip him inside your dripping cunt, hissing at the contact. He grips your hips and gently sinks you lower, groaning as you grind into him. 

He brought his face closer to plant deep, wet kisses on your lips before groaning into your mouth as you continued your movements. "Fuck. Just like that." 

Your entire body erupted with goosebumps, and your nipples hardened at the sentiment. You grip his shoulders tightly, but before you pick up your pace, you hear a familiar truck pulling up to the gate of your family's ranch.

"Is that—" You begin before he thrusts into you, making you moan and throw your head back.

"So fuckin' sensitive." He leaned into your exposed neck and licked a strip up to your lips that were slightly parted. 

"Better come quick, sweetheart." He pants, gently bouncing you up and down on his cock, fingers digging into the tender flesh on your hips. 

"Wouldn't want your parents to see you riding me. Would you now?" You let out a pathetic whimper, bringing your hand down to swirl circles on your aching clit, while he wraps a strong arm around your waist to hold you in place as he drills himself into you.

Each thurst, each swirl of your finger, made you feel a sense of nirvana you didn't even know was possible to get to. It was pure bliss. That and his dirty tongue were spewing such filthy words that were making you wetter than you ever knew was possible.

"Tell me you're about to come because—” His pleading voice sends a final wave of heat through you.

"Fuck. Yes, I'm coming." You yelp, slipping your fingers through his hair and pulling on the light roots again. He silently curses as he comes, gripping you tighter and pressing your chest against his own.

By the time both of your orgasms subside, he silently and gently eases you up to assist you in pulling your thong and jean shorts back on. Then, he casually fixes his jeans and grabs his belt to put back on.

You glance at him, picking up his cowboy hat from the ground and carefully wiping off some dirt that had gotten on it. Though he doesn't slip it back on his head, as a shock to you, he places the hat on your head. It was a little big on you, so it fell a bit more in the front, slightly covering your eyes.

"Keep it.” He says, bending down to pick up your belt and buckle, gently slipping it around your waist and clasping it. He gently pats the buckle clasped in the front, then looks down at you before speaking.

"You earned it."

a/n: who the fuck even wrote this

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Two) (18+) / Part One

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

An uncomfortable nap taken out of sheer spite does nothing to improve your mood. Your neck is stiff now, as is your spine, and it pops when you stretch from your place on the tiny loveseat.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty has risen,” Jake grins, the cocky expression boiling your blood, “Ready for dinner, sunshine?”

“I’m going to push you off of this boat.” You grumble, and Jake blinks, toning his smile down into a grimace.

“Well, maybe some food’ll improve your mood.” Jake rises from where he’d been presumably sleeping as well, though you’re surprised he fell asleep after you and woke up before you. His bedhead gives him away, and he runs his fingers through it, “We’ve got a table reserved in the restaurant for 6, darlin’. We should get there a little early, though, wanna head out now?”

Your nose wrinkles involuntarily, though you wouldn’t have stopped it, “You reserved us a table? I’m not eating with you.”

“We eat together all the time,” He scoffs, “Come on, Y/L/N, this is no different from eating in the mess hall.”

“It’s different because everyone who sees us is either going to think we just had sex, or that we’re about to,” You protest, but he’s out of sympathy to feign.

“Or both,” He grins, running a hand once more through his slightly less messy hair. He’s still barely dressed, and it takes effort for your eyes not to naturally drift away from his face. 

“You’re usually wearing a uniform when we eat in the mess hall, Hangman,” You narrow your eyes at him, glancing pointedly below his neck to his bare chest, but straying no further, “Unless they’ve hired you to be a stripper on board, and I’m just now finding out?”

“Nah, I auditioned but they said I was too good,” He crosses his bulging biceps over his chest, a haughty smirk on his face, “I didn’t wanna steal any tips from the ladies.”

“Right,” You drawl, aiming to move past him to reach your suitcase that’s been mysteriously moved from beside your head to the side of the bed opposite from where Jake had been sleeping. Except, the man blocking your path doesn’t move, and you’re stuck in the small hallway-like space that the loveseat is squished into.

“Hangman,” Your teeth are gritted, and they warp your words slightly, “Move. I need my suitcase, I’m going to change for dinner.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with your dress,” He eyes the fabric with feigned consideration, “Except of course that it’s a little long. It only needs to go up to about here,” He snakes a hand towards your waist, laying two hefty smacks against the skin on your hip that lines up just beneath the curve of your ass. He moves faster than you can back away, but you land a valiant smack against his hand when he withdraws it, “Then you could join my stripping act.”

“Hangman, if you touch me again, I’ll rip off your balls,” You swear, but there’s still a glint of mischief far too bright in his eyes for your liking, so you shove past him, making sure to tap your knuckles gently between his legs for good measure.

He groans, hunching over and breathing heavily, “Shit, Y/L/N, you trying to take out the Seresin line?”

“It’s not that bad,” You drawl, setting your suitcase on the bed and delving into its contents, “But a world where you can’t reproduce sounds like one I want to live in.”

You’re already halfway to the bathroom, your evening dress in hand when he calls back, “You act all high and mighty now,” You can hear the grin that Jake’s voice indicates, even if he’s rummaging through his own suitcase for something to wear, “But later tonight I’m gonna have you beggin’ for me to knock you up, darlin’.”

Jake’s efforts to break into the bathroom you’re changing in are certainly impressive, if nothing else. He tries the knob at first, like you’d have forgotten to turn the lock before stripping naked. When you demand a reason he claims he’d forgotten his deodorant, which is a perfect excuse seeing as you miss no chances to point out his sweat-stench after training.

You spot the stick on the counter and give yourself the satisfaction of rolling your eyes, even if he’s not present to see it.

The second time he knocks, having learned his lesson, “Y/N, I need to pee.”

“I’m changing!” You cry, the straps on your dress proving impossible to untangle. Apparently being jostled in a suitcase wasn’t ideal for the dress’s shape.

“Changing what, seasons? By the time you get dressed our leave will be over, and you’re gonna have to get back into uniform.”

“If you’re so anxious to get to dinner, go by yourself!” You insist, frustration laced tight to your tone, “I’ll figure this fucking dress out, enjoy a leisurely meal, and then I’ll meet up with Daniel afterwards!”

You’re so used to Jake’s rapidfire quips that the silence ensuing after your declaration feels awkward. But it’s a victory, one that you don’t often win against the man outside the bathroom door, and you let it ease the sharp sting of annoyance that your dress is needling into you.

A fist lands heavy against the door, and Jake’s voice is unusually devoid of mirth, “Open up.”

“Jake, no!” You spit out his first name like a hex, “I fucking told you-”

“I’m going to help you,” He calls through the door, knocking incessantly, “Come on, you said you can’t figure out your dress, I’ll help you.”

“Nice try!” You scoff, finally pulling at the correct string and watching as the others fall into precarious place around them. You jab your arm into the hole it’s created and slip the rest of them into formation, standing triumphant in front of the mirror and realizing you look quite like you’ve had sex after all.

You smooth down a few flyaway hairs, grab Jake’s deodorant, and fling the door open, just as Jake flattens his hand to slam his palm into the wood, no doubt trying to make more noise than a simple knock.

You’re looking at his face, and he’s looking at yours, but both of you can feel his hand pressed firmly into your tit. You don’t doubt that he’d intended to hit the door instead of you, but he’s not moving away, either. You both stand paralyzed until his brain catches up with his body and he jerks his hand away, lashes fluttering as he blinks bewilderedly despite the wry grin purposefully etched into his features in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” He simpers, and you’re certain that’s the closest to ‘I’m sorry’ he’s ever given you. You know him well enough to know he’s adequately flustered, but outsiders might not catch the barely-there pink tinge to his tan cheeks, too distracted by his charming smile.

You overlook the accident if only to save yourself the awkward confrontation, ducking your head and shoving the deodorant stick against his chest. His hands come up to catch it and you make a break for the heels you’d set out by the closet, intent on strapping them on instead of talking to him.

He mumbles a distracted, ‘Thanks,’ when you hand him his deodorant, but the stick remains firmly capped in his hands as his gaze trails after you.

“Your dress looks nice.” He concludes, voice a tone softer than it normally is. It’s- nice. You’re too used to the bite of his southern drawl, the way he pairs a cocky quip with an eye-roll more vicious than even the most belligerent teenager. Now they’re soft and gooey-brown as he stares at the straps on your shoulders. This isn’t the first kind thing he’s ever said to you, but it’s certainly the first in a long time, and you swallow the urge to use it against him.

“Thank you.” You grumble, then, to steer away from the thick silence you’ve been enveloped in, “Not sure it’s worth it, though, those straps were fucking confusing.”

You swear you hear a mumbled, ‘It was,’, but Jake’s back is turned to you as he sets his still-capped deodorant on the bathroom counter, so you can’t be sure.

You’re surprised to find that the elevator is just as empty as you’d left it when you and Jake board to head to the 9th floor. The restaurant Jake had reserved your table at is upscale, and you presume everyone else is too busy boning to manage a sit-down meal. You settle against the back wall of the elevator in silence, looking but not watching as Jake presses the 9 button with a thick finger.

The last time you were in this elevator, Daniel was backing you up against the railing and kissing you.

Just the thought brings heat to your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the support that the wall behind you offers. If it wasn’t there, you’re not sure your weak knees would withstand the crushing weight of your weighty crush.

“Was that where he sucked your face?” Jake’s voice shatters your reverie into a million tiny, unsalvageable pieces, and you forget any momentary truce that you might have had with him only moments ago.

“Excuse me?” You level a glare at the man across from you, unimpressed with his accusation even though it was accurate, “He did not suck my face. He kissed me like a gentleman.”

Jake lets out a bark of laughter, “Right. Because gentlemen smear a woman’s lipstick halfway over her chin.”

Despite knowing you’d have seen any makeup smudges when you’d been in the bathroom earlier, your hand darts to your chin.

Jake takes it as an admission of guilt, and his sharp grin only grows, “Exactly. I’ve sucked faces before, I know what the result is.”

A rather unsavory memory assaults you of Jake crowding a vacationing New Yorker up against a wall of the Hard Deck. You push away the nauseating burning in your chest at the image, intent on never seeing Jake Seresin’s tongue inside of anyone’s mouth but his own again.

“You suck faces,” You conclude, still slightly bothered by what you’d recalled, “Daniel kisses.”

“Daniel,” Jake snorts, grasping for something to tease, “That’s not a very moan-able name, is it?”

“Neither is Jake,” You retort, “Jake sounds like a toddler running loose at the mall.”

“That’s why the ladies call me Hangman,” Jake grins, his eyes narrowed in an attempt at a smirk, “Well, some of ‘em call me Hungman by the end of the night.”

“Oh,” Your face twists into a grimace, and you’re thankful for the dinging of the elevator, “You’re not allowed to talk at dinner.”

“Only way you’ll get me to shut up is if you gag me, darlin’.” Jake laughs, stepping out of the elevator and following behind you even as you storm ahead towards the entrance to the dining room.

It’s an opulent room, chandeliers and crystal adorning every surface. You slow your pace before you reach the reception desk, so that the poor employee doesn’t think you’re going to vault over the counter and attack him, but you’re fairly certain there’s still a scowl on your face when you attempt to speak with him.

“We have a table reserved,” You inform the man, conscious of Jake’s impressive build lingering behind you, present and firm, “Room 838?”

With a quick few buttons pressed on the screen before him, the host nods, customer service smile on full force as he gestures to his left, “Of course, right this way.”

You let him lead, and you try not to get distracted by the grandiose decor. Whether it’s authentic material, or just plastic spray-painted gold, it’s beautiful, and you’re so absent-minded that you don’t acknowledge your table until you’re stopped in front of it.

“Here you are; have a lovely meal.” The man politely excuses himself, heading back to the front to greet whoever else is waiting to be checked in for their tables.

You’d been too overwhelmed by finding out that your hot sexy mystery man was actually your brutally combative fellow pilot to think about what dinner would entail beyond heated bickering. He’d drawn a comparison to the mess hall and your brain had run with it, but this is decidedly different from the drab benches you’re used to.

This is a small, delicate, round table, a white tablecloth draped elegantly overtop. It’s two candles, giving off a small aura of warm light around the dim restaurant, crystalline dishes framed with polished silverware. It’s an enclosed space, it’s knees brushing and eyes twinkling with candlelight, it’s electric shocks when skin meets skin. It’s romantic by design, and you refuse to share it with Hangman.

But you can’t refuse.

The waitstaff is limited and overworked, evidenced by the mountain of covered trays you see them rushing to different tables. It would be rude to storm out, and while you’re not worried about offending Jake, you don’t want to inconvenience the staff.

Jake sniffs out your internal conflict by only a glance at your stiff stance, a skill he’s acquired after years of working out the perfect way to get under your skin. He can read you like a book, and he knows fury and guilt are waging war in your head right now.

You’d like to think he thought fury would win, but it’s guilt in the end. You step towards your chair, reaching out with two fingers to pinch the candle on your side of the table. The flame snuffs out beneath your touch, and the mild burning sensation is worth it to hear Jake scoff.

“Nicely done, killer,” He drawls, sounding offensively unperturbed by your obvious dislike of him. To your complete and utter indignance he reaches behind your back to pull the chair out from it’s seat, offering it to you as a peace treaty.

You are not a peaceful person, not when it comes to Hangman.

You take the opposite seat, maintaining sharp eye contact with Jake as you sit down. He inhales, and you take satisfaction in the puff of his chest, a telltale sign that he’s beginning to get aggravated. He lowers himself into his own seat, but notices the way your hand darts for the one candle that’s still lit, and he snatches it out of your way before you can snuff it out. It causes the silverware on the table to rattle, and you and Jake are required to send placatingly charming smiles to the people at nearby tables who turned at the commotion.

He turns that once-dazzling grin on you like a weapon as he relights the blackened wick of the candle you’d pinched, letting it burn once more to illuminate his features.

You don’t waste a second in snuffing it out again, “The point was so that I didn’t have to see your ugly face.”

“You are the most charming dinner guest I’ve ever had the pleasure of dining with,” Jake croons, unflappable as ever, “Put your napkin on your lap, Y/N, it’ll keep your dress dry when you’re drooling over me.”

You take ash-stained fingers and leave streaky, dark prints on the white cloth napkin, draping it over your lap and folding your hands neatly over it.

“Careful, Hangman,” You warn, your voice low and your face deceptively cheery as you nod kindly at a passing waiter, “They gave me two different knives to stab you with.”

“God, why are you so pissy?” He asks, and for a moment, you don’t know the answer. It catches you off guard, and that’s never supposed to happen, not around Hangman. He speaks again before you have the chance to respond- typical.

“So, we ended up on the same sex boat. Whatever, Y/L/N, shit happens.” His jaw is tense, fraught with annoyance while his eyes blaze like the jet engines he’s so used to gunning, “I’m just teasing, y’know. You know me, I’m not a monster, I’m not going to force you to have sex with me. If you don’t want to, then we won’t, and that’s that. You don’t have to keep snapping at me, I won’t bite you.”

It’s possibly the most heartfelt, sincere thing that Hangman has ever said to you, albeit in exasperation, and you’re not sure you’re comfortable with that. Your rapport with the man has always been full of quips and jabs, nothing like what he’s just unleashed. You’d known he must have had a soft side, but you thought perhaps he’d left it back in Texas, because this is something new. You see a waiter approaching from behind Jake and smile politely at them, clueing your dinner date in to their appearance.

“Unless you want me to,” Jake adds with an insufferable wink, using the last few seconds that you’re able to speak freely to tease you. 

“Welcome,” The waiter smiles, once more with that impeccably tuned customer service politeness as he hands a wine list to Jake, “What can I get started for you this evening?”

As much as you hate to admit it, Jake’s teasing quip is familiar, a well-worn blanket you find comfort shrouding yourself in, and it breaks the awkward tension that had arisen when Hangman had spoken so sincerely towards you.

You don’t dare let a smile grace your features, but one tries; instead you settle for a kick to his shin beneath the elegant white tablecloth.

“We’ll have- mm! The- uh, the…” Jake trails off, eyes roving down the selection and realizing too late that he’s more attuned to cheap liquor in a beachside bar than he is to elegant pairings of food and wine. He recovers quickly, that special brand of Seresin charm, grinning across the table at you, “Actually, we’d like it if you surprised us. Money’s no object,” He throws in a grotesquely over-the-top wink, “Just make it special for my roommate here.”

Your teeth ache as you grind them together in a smile, and you swear you can feel your right eye begging to twitch, “How considerate of you, Jake.”

“Anything for you, dear,” He replies easily, accepting two dinner menus from the waiter and thanking him. You maintain the common courtesy of waiting until the poor man is out of earshot before tearing into Jake, and he’s lucky he’s got both of the menus still in his hands, or you’d smack him upside the head with one.

“I’m not paying out of my ass to get drunk at a candlelight dinner with you.” You hiss, courteous of the other patrons, but barely able to contain yourself.

“No, you’re not.” He agrees, blinking like he’s not sure why you’re close to shouting, “I am.”

“That’s- ooh!” You fume, eyes clamped shut and jaw so tight it hurts. You take a second to breathe, “Hangman, you know damn well I don’t like owing you money.”

You have a very strict no-loans policy, though it only applies to yourself. You have no problem spotting Natasha for a few drinks, or treating Javy to animal fries at In-N-Out, but you’d rather die than let someone use their dollar for your snack at a vending machine. Feeling like you owe something makes your skin crawl, and it’s something your friends have all had to accept. All, of course, except for Hangman, who seems to delight in making your skin crawl.

“You don’t owe me money,” He laughs, taking a sip of the glass of ice water that had been waiting at his place on the table, “And you don’t owe me anything else either, darlin’. I’m paying for the wine.”

“Then I’m not drinking it,” You decide, still caught in your blustering fury, “I’m too tired to deal with your bullshit - you can mill around the ship and beg some poor woman to drink with you, and I’ll go back to our cabin and sleep.”

You wish that the man across from you wasn’t so adept at setting your nerves on fire. You chalk it up to years and years of flying together, at each other’s throats despite being on the same team, but Jake really is able to infuriate you with something as simple as a grin. The way that hollow manipulation glazes over his eyes each time he doles out a charming smile makes your chest burn, and you wish you could get a handle on your frustration. It’s embarrassing, really, that he knows how to pick you apart and induce insanity; you wish you improved at resisting him through practice, but that’s not how it works. It only gets worse, worse and worse and worse until you’re sitting across from him at a candlelit table, yearning to whack him over the head with a black-foldered menu.

“Fine,” Jake snorts, setting the glass down in the wet indent it had made on the tablecloth before, condensation beading at its base, “You don’t have to have any. But you have to take me back to our room - if I get wine drunk, you’ll have to stop me from kissing everyone.”

The startling admission does exactly what Jake intended it to, and you’re caught off guard, the rapidly ticking bomb of frustration inside your chest temporarily disarmed. 

“You’re a drunk kisser?”

“A winedrunk kisser, yes ma’am,” Jake nods, the ammunition he supplies you with a far cry from his typically competitive nature, “First and only time I’ve ever had wine was at my sister’s wedding a few years back.” He reminisces, still holding tight to both menus as candlelight flickers on his tanned face, “She wasn’t necessarily thrilled that I started kissin’ on the groom, but I looked good in the veil when the photographer came around.”

He’s good-natured about the snort you let out in response, and finally he offers the menu to you like an olive branch, “You gonna whack me with this thing?”

“How’d you know I wanted to?” You arch an eyebrow, taking the menu from him. Prices aren’t listed - the cost of your meals was included with the boarding pass, but extras like drinks are something you’ll need to pay a tab on later. Nevertheless, the food looks to be worth your money.

“You get this look in your eye when you’re feelin’ feisty,” Jake notes, taking a look at his own menu, “Your jaw gets all tight, and I start gettin’ the urge to cover my crotch.”

Today was not the first time you’ve ever whacked him in the balls; evidently he does learn, even if he chooses not to apply that knowledge.

You neglect to respond, no longer irritated enough to tell Jake that he’s deserved every hit he’s taken from you, but never vulnerable enough to apologize. Instead you bury yourself in the menu, appreciating the array of cuisine that you’re not often treated to on a naval base. 

Jake lets you remain silent until the waiter comes back with the wine that he’d ordered, and you nod in thanks with a poorly-concealed clenched jaw to the man when he pours you a glass.

“That looks wonderful, thank you,” Jake gushes, eyes slightly narrowed as he raises his glass to his nose, inhaling the aroma wafting from the wine that he swirls gently, “Smell that, darlin’, ain’t it good?”

You reach for your portion with tense fingers that nearly shatter the stem of the glass as they wrap around it. The scent of the wine is oh-so-tempting; surely Jake’s objective for getting you to smell it was to wear you down into tasting it.

You won’t give in.

“Smells fantastic,” You concede, and if the waiter’s realized he’s in the lion’s den, pinned between two aggressors ready to rip into each other’s throats once more, he doesn’t show it. He merely bows, stepping away again and leaving the bottle on your table.

“That’s good,” Jake muses nonchalantly after a sip, glancing down at the menu in his lap as if you’ll believe he’s perusing it instead of plotting a way to make you explode at the table. 

“Well I’m glad you like it, because you’ve got a whole bottle to finish,” You snipe, “I’m not a toddler, Jake, you can’t trick me into eating my broccoli by pretending it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Who said anything about tricking you?” He leans back in his chair, wine set back on the table, “Y/N, I can enjoy a nice glass of wine without it being about you, thank you very much. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you, and you’re not the only thing I think about.”

You’re more than used to Jake’s accusations of your egocentrism, not because it’s true, but because it’s what he defaults to whenever he can’t think of a response, but is too stubborn to let the issue go. They don’t worry you anymore like they used to, but they do irritate you, and you’re glad for the deep, smooth voice that calls your name from your left to distract you from Jake’s insults.

You know it before you turn; Daniel is there with his roommate. She’s gorgeous, her dark hair intricately braided and styled, a compliment to her skin that’s only a shade lighter, and you’re only slightly jealous of the way his arm is draped around her middle. You quell it by reminding yourself that you’d frenched him in an elevator only hours after meeting him, and this is a cruise meant for casual sex.

Perhaps your voice is a notch too sincere when you greet him, “Daniel.”

You miss it, your attention fixed on the couple approaching your table, but a muscle jumps in Jake’s jaw as it tightens. 

“Well, I guess you’re all some people think about,” Jake drawls, his grin now wolfish and lethal, and while your voice was slightly too kind, his voice is slightly the opposite, scathing in a way, “So you’re- uh, Elevator Boy?”

Daniel’s slight smirk is bashful where he bites the inside of his cheek and nods, “I guess that’s accurate. I- uh, I hope you don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t,” You reply before Jake can conjure up any more misplaced snark, “We’re not hooking up.”

Daniel’s brows furrow for only a split second, a confused reaction he hadn’t been able to politely mask in time. His roommate glances back at Jake, and the knit of her brow is less fleeting; clearly she’s thinking you’re out of your mind for not fucking him.

“Random roommates don’t always work out, I guess,” Daniel smooths over the awkward silence that’s befallen your table, and you want to kiss him for it. Well, you want to kiss him regardless, but now you’re positively fiending for a repeat of earlier.

“He’s my coworker,” You explain, “We really can’t.”

“Oh!” He laughs, and his roommate seems equally amused by your poor fortune, “That’s crazy, and- there’s no changing roommates, is there?”

“She’s stuck with me,” Jake continues aiming that deadly grin towards Daniel, and you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on fire yet. 

“Well, if you ever want to switch for a night,” Daniel squeezes his roommate’s side, his fingers ghosting over her exposed skin in the cutout dress she’s sporting, “I’m not an idiot; Danica’s ogling you.”

You marvel at the friendly banter they share after only a few hours of knowing each other, but Daniel seems fantastic to get along with. Danica laughs at his teasing and manages to look barely bashful when she nods at you, “I wasn’t gonna say anything when I thought you two were enjoying yourselves, but I’d be happy to step in if you wanna get lucky for a night.” 

“That sounds great,” You jump at the offer, but Jake speaks at the same time, voice a hair louder than your own.

“We’re not interested.” He dismisses Danica’s offer but he looks at Daniel to do it, something dangerous gleaming in his eyes that you’re only used to seeing on the tarmac.

A laugh escapes your throat, horridly disguised as something casual and not your breaking point, “Oh, we aren’t interested? I am.”

Jake blinks, shifting his sharp gaze towards you, “No switching rooms, Y/N.”

“That’s for official placements,” You sit up straighter in your chair, turned fully towards Jake now instead of angled towards Daniel, “But they’re not gonna come check on us at two in the morning to make sure we’re all in our bunks. We can swap for a night.”

“I don’t know why you’re fighting so hard for a night in his bed, the elevator seemed to work just fine. Maybe Danica and I can have a few drinks tonight, and you can slip off and defile floors 1-4.”

“That’s not-” You’re hot on Jake’s trail, intent on defending Daniel and pointing out the hypocrisy in Jake’s scathing statements, but a firm hand falls on your shoulder that silences you. Daniel’s grip is firm, but not painful, more grounding as his touch practically sucks the fire out of your veins and replaces it with calm.

“I think drinks after dinner are a great idea.” Daniel speaks coolly, with all the perfect composure you wish you had around Jake, instead of the barrel of gunfire perpetually smoldering inside of you.

“Me too,” You add, and one of Jake’s eyebrows ticks up.

“Really? I thought you said you were going to bed after this. Something about being too tired to deal with-”

“Your bullshit, Hangman.”

What you engage in next would preferably be described as a battle of wills, but to the outside eye, might look like a staring contest. It’s your vicious glare against Jake’s lazy grin, eyes alight with mischief as he does what he does best - piss you off.

“We’ll plan on drinks, then,” Danica breaks the ice, and you’re grateful for the tones of her sweet voice, “There’s a bar on the ninth deck, do you want to meet there?”

“That sounds great,” You hope she takes your kind smile for what it is; gratitude, “We’ll head there when we’re finished with our food.”

“Right,” Daniel nods, squeezing your shoulder and letting go, taking Danica by the waist once more to lead her to the table their water had pointed at, “See you then.”

Whatever farewell you murmur is lost in the general hubbub of the restaurant, something that you wish would happen to the grating tone of Jake’s drawl.

“So,” He muses, playing coy, but you won’t have it, “You’re not tired anymore?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” You steel yourself, inhaling and letting your chest puff with the breath, “But whatever you’re doing here; trying to ruin this for me just for shits and giggles - it’s gotta stop. I’ll leave you alone, and you can fuck as many people as you want on this ship, okay? You can have what you came here for, a week-long hookup, and all I’m asking in return is for one chance. I just want one. fucking. chance. to enjoy myself. Okay?”

His eyes cloud over throughout the duration of your speech, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. It’s unsettling, like something’s dimming his spirit, though you can’t tell what. You’ve quipped back at him before, practically every time he’s ever teased you. But perhaps he’s just as unsettled with your newfound sincerity as you were with his, because his face settles into a hesitant expression. You press on.

“You told me earlier that you’re just teasing me, and that you’re not a monster. If that’s true, then leave me alone.”

He looks wounded only by a slight twitch of his eye; perhaps the prospect of being around you and not lunging teeth-bared at your throat is too much to bear. But he nods, slow and rickety like the joints in his neck protest the movement, “Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you.” You respond stiffly, glad for the menu in your lap as it provides an easy out for you; you’re not sure if you can stand looking him in the eyes. You’re afraid you’ll see disappointment there, perhaps real dislike, and you don’t want to find out that the only reason he speaks to you is to mess around with you. You’re content in feeling like you’re friends as well, and if he gives himself away now that you’ve asked him to ease up on the teasing, you’re not sure you’ll enjoy yourself at all on this vacation, no matter how much cheap, distracting sex you have. The truth of the matter is that you value the blossom of his friendship no matter how thorny it can be, and you’re not sure if he’s capable of playing nice without an occasional bite. 

You’re sure things will go back to normal on the weathered tarmac, but until then, bobbing along on ocean waves, you want Jake Seresin to be your friend, not your frenemy. If he’s incapable, you want no part of him.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard x vault born reader. She's from one of the more messed up experiment vaults, when she uncovered the truth of the vault she runs away from it. The first interaction they have is when he tells her he fucking hates vault dwellers and she tells him "I don't really give a shit what YOU think of me". She's been in the wastes a good long while, has a lot of skills and they end up traveling together and getting close. The area she is naive in is sex her interpretation is it's boring, and hurts. He of course tries to explain that it's not suposed to feel like that. They become really close he asks if he can show her which she agrees, she cums harder than she ever has before he has to remind her to breath through it, maybe she squirts and is embarrassed he realizes it's new for her, tells her it normal and that he loves it. Bonus points for: squirting, choking, hair pulling.

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A discussion with The Ghoul reveals things that you never wished to tell him, including your views on intimacy, and lack of experience. When he offers to show you what you were missing out on, how could you say no? Tags: Not Beta Read, Prompt Request, Backstory for Reader, Virgin Reader, Inexperienced Reader, Banter, This one might be even more OOC for The Ghoul, Soft Ghoul, Smut, Squirting, Doggystyle, Hair Pulling, Dirty Talk, Choking, Confessions (kind of) Author's Note: i know that vault 75 is actually like on the other side of the us from where the show takes place but this vault always stuck out to me so i needed to use it for the prompt lmao.  also thank you anon for the amazing prompt (and my first ever request :D) ! i hope this fulfilled it sufficiently!

If you’d told yourself a year ago that you’d be traveling the surface with an irradiated man dressed as a cowboy who only kept you around because you could make him his drugs, you’d call yourself insane, and rightfully so.

But here you were, following after him like an obedient soldier, just like you were raised to be. For the past few months, you had wandered alongside The Ghoul, searching for your purpose on the surface. There was a deal between you two; he’ll travel with you, and you’d make him the chems that stopped him from turning into a feral. 

It was a reluctant acquaintanceship at best, The Ghoul keeping you at an arm's length, and you didn’t blame him. The reason he had difficulty trusting you fully was because you were vault born, which he made abundantly clear when the two of you first started traveling. You spent the first eighteen years of your life in Vault 75,  where you were trained, both mentally and physically, to become the perfect soldier and scientist that would bring justice to the surface world. That had been your life’s goal, up until you turned eighteen. 

Along with the rest of the top peers, you were selected to make your way to the surface. But before you could leave they provided a vaccine, claiming that it would build immunity against the radiation that still plagued the earth. 

In actuality, it had been a sedative, and you remember awaking some time later, suspended in a glass chamber. For days, months, years, you weren’t quite sure, you were prodded, stabbed, cut open. It was pure agony, moments that you only remember in your darkest dreams, leaving you panting and shaking. To this day, you still weren’t fully sure what they had done to you, but you knew they had quite literally taken things from you that you’d never get back. 

Somehow, you managed to break free of the sedative that they continuously pumped into your body, keeping you alive yet without control of your body. You weren’t certain how you managed to escape, but you remembered that your hands and knuckles were bloody pulps, glass embedded into the flesh, fingers broken and mangled. Even now, you could still see the scars that still lingered, and the way your fingers looked off, bones not set right. It caused you issues and aches, but luckily today was a low-pain day. 

A gruff drawl snapped you out of your reminiscing, and you looked up from your hand into the eerily human eyes of The Ghoul, who had stopped in front of you. “What?” You had missed what he said. 

“The fuck you doin’?” 

“I… my hand hurts,” you lied. “Sorry.” 

He angrily grumbled something under his breath, yet you watched him dig into one of the pockets of his trench coat. He pulled out a small pill bottle, and after double-checking the contents he tossed it to you, and you caught it with your non-injured one. “Keep yer head on,” he added before turning to keep walking. 

You didn’t have to look at the bottle to know what he’d given you: painkillers. He’d always give them to you whenever your pain would flare, and each time you reevaluate your relationship with him. You couldn’t figure out if he detest you or cared about you, whether he saw you as a friend or foe. He was a confusing person, and his hard exterior and guarded responses to your questions made him hard to understand. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and if he heard you he didn’t respond, just continuing to walk away. Tucking the pills away, you jogged to catch up with him, keeping a few feet distance between the two of you. 

Looking around, you tried to make some sense of the dilapidated buildings and cracked roads, creating an image in your head of what you imagined the town to once be. Full of energy, full of life, able to roam without fear of being killed by man or creature, or fear of being slowly poisoned to death by radiation. 

There was a row of buildings on either side of the road, most caved in, but there were still a few that remained, windows shattered or boarded up. Rusted mental skeletons of cars littered the road, you and The Ghoul having to weave around them. Glass crunched underneath your boots, and you swore you stepped on a few bones. 

Glancing at the road, you noted how elongated the shadows were, and you didn’t have to glance behind you to know that the sun was setting, night right on the precipice of falling. Not wanting to become a late night snack for a deathclaw or some ferals, you cleared your throat, getting the attention of The Ghoul. He stilled, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. “We should find a place to stop soon.”

You watched him debate it for a second, eyes flicking from the setting sun to the walk in front of him, then to the buildings on either side of you two. Eventually he came to a decision, sighing. “There’s a standin’ building’ down a little ways. We’ll stop there.”

You were eager to finally rest, the rifle in your hands was becoming heavy and the straps of your backpack were digging into your shoulders, so you had a bit more energy in your step as you continued down the street. As you reached the end of the street, you were able to see the building he had mentioned. It was an old shop of sorts, any signs long since gone, but it looked still relatively intact.

The Ghoul got there first, like he normally did. Opening the door with one hand, he held his gun in the other, raised and ready to shoot. He swept the room as he entered, and you follow hot on his heels, gun at the ready. 

In the dim light, you were able to see rows of shelves in the main area, a small desk with a register tucked into the left corner. There was a closed door behind the desk, and another on the rightmost wall of the building, also closed. 

Stepping further in, you were able to start making out the contents on the shelves: boxes and packages of food, no doubt beyond edible, labels faded away. But you also saw a few cans of food littering about, but you’d have to look through them once you’d cleared the building. 

Focusing back on the task at hand, you watched him peer into the far right room, before turning and speaking to you. “Check the desk,” he kept his voice low, as to not alert any possible dwellers. Nodding, you carefully made your way over to the desk, eyes rapidly scanning your environment. 

You tried to open the door, but it merely rattled against the frame, locked shut. If you had the tools, or the patience, you would’ve tried to pick the lock, but you didn’t care that much. Besides, if there was anything in there that was alive, it wouldn’t be able to get you. 

The desk didn’t have much to offer, either. Partial destroyed papers dotted the desk, and the register sat broken and open, robbed of the pre-war cash that once resided in it. You were a tad bit disappointed; it always made for great kindling. 

Searching through the rest of the drawers, you only found garbage, and after a few moments you gave up trying to find anything of value. You slowly made your way back over to The Ghoul, who had better luck than you with his door. You could hear him digging through drawers as you entered, and you were sure to make some audible noise so as to not startle him. 

It was a small living area, a twin bed tucked into the corner, as well as a kitchenette and small desk. A TV and couch sat in the center, and you saw another door, opened by The Ghoul, which you presumed was the bathroom. “Not bad,” you commented. This was truly one of the better places the two of you had stopped at; this at least had four walls and a roof. 

He grunted in response, still rifling through drawers. “Find anythin’?”

You shook your head. “I’ll go look again,” you responded, and before you backed out of the room you dumped your bag on the floor. You sighed happily at the relief, rubbing your shoulders as you began to look through the shelves again.

You didn’t bother to look at the boxed goods, heading straight to the few canned items you saw. The cans were still whole, thankfully, but the labels were long since gone. Shrugging, you grabbed the cans, about four in total, and brought them back to the other room, dumping them on the counter of the kitchenette. 

“What’s that?” You heard him ask, spurs clicking on the linoleum floor as he came over to you. The room was now illuminated by a small oil lantern placed on the desk. 

“No idea. But they’re still good. Probably.” You spoke as you moved to sit on the counter, legs dangling. Man, did it feel good to sit after walking all day. You reached for your knife, cursing when you felt empty space instead, your knife in the bag instead of on you. 

Before you could even get down, The Ghoul handed you his knife, the blade glinting in the low light. He pointed the handle towards you, and you took it from him, and you murmured a small thanks. You got to work opening the first can, hunger making your stomach rumble. The knife plunged in and out of the tin top, peeling back the rest once you got most of it cut. 

It was an almost gelatinous red substance inside, with darker red, round something suspended in it. It smelled sweet, sugary even, and you tried to tilt it into your mouth, but it didn’t budge. Maybe it had gone bad, then. 

Confused, you reached down to the drawer that was in between your legs, managing to get it open enough to reach your hand in. You grabbed the first utensil feeling thing you could find, and to your delight it was a fork. You didn’t waste any time, taking a decent-sized forkful and bringing it to your mouth. 

It was overwhelmingly sweet, and you’re sure you made some face, because The Ghoul was chuckling lightly. It wasn’t bad, but it almost hurt to eat, and the gelatinous nature of it made it stick to your teeth. “That’s whatcha get for eatin’ unlabeled food.”

You shook your head. “It’s not bad. It’s just… sweet.”

He hummed curiously, and you offered the can to him. You laughed when he eyed it suspiciously. “I promise you, it doesn’t taste bad. And I haven’t poisoned it,” you teased.

“I’m surprised you haven’t,” he grumbled, but he took the can from you. 

“I wouldn’t,” you grabbed and handed a utensil to him. “I rather like your company.”

See, as fun as it was to be out on the road, nothing but the endless horizon in front of you, it was the nights that you truly cherished. He didn’t talk much while you walked, keeping a literal and metaphorical distance between the two of you. It was like when he was on the road, he was The Ghoul, a cunning and vicious bounty hunter. But when it was just the two of you, secluded away in some abandoned house, around a fire, wherever, it was like the human side of him resurfaced, leading way to conversation and… friendship? 

You had no idea if he considered you a friend, but you knew you considered him to be one. It wasn’t like you had any other person in this wretched world, your “friends” from the vault turned enemy. As a wanderer, it was hard to build and maintain relationships with other people, so you chose to just stick with The Ghoul. 

And you wouldn’t lie, there was something beyond “friendship” that you felt for The Ghoul. It had taken too long for you to even admit that to yourself, so it was unlikely that you were going to admit to him. Besides, it went against everything that you were raised to believe, and even though you’d long since left the vault, their ideas were still ingrained into your brain.

“Not sure why,” he muttered before eating a spoonful of the mysterious substance. You were barely able to see it, but his upper lip twitched into an almost smile. You always liked when he smiled. It was rare for him, a genuine smile. He’d sneer and smirk, sure, but it was those true smiles that got your heart beating faster and your knees getting weak. You refused to name the reason why your body reacted the way it did, not wanting to face the reality that you felt something for The Ghoul just yet.

“It’s pie filling. Cherry pie filling, to be exact,” he lifted up another spoonful, one of the dark red balls on it, covered in the sheer red substance. 

“Cherry pie filling?” You said each of the words as their own question. You’d never heard of any of what he was talking about. 

He rolled his eyes, handing the can back to you, and you took another bite. You still weren’t used to the sweetness of it. “Fuckin’ vault dwellers,” he sighed. “Cherry’s a fruit. Pie is a pastry. Filling is what you put into pie.”

It didn’t clear up anything, but you nodded anyway, not wanting to annoy him further. “Interesting.” Taking one final bite, you set it next to you, moving on to the next can. You were in the middle of opening the second one when he spoke

“You mean to tell me they didn’t have pie in your vault?”

You weren’t expecting his question, and you halted mid-cut. He never asked you about the vault you grew up in, and you never told him anything besides the name and that you left. He made his opinion on vaults and vault dwellers abundantly clear when you first met all those months ago, back when your relationship was a tenuous allyship. You hadn't cared what he thought about you and your old life then, telling him straight to his face, and you certainly didn’t care now. But it was curious that he was willingly asking you about it now. 

“No,” you drew out the word, mildly suspicious. “If it didn’t have good nutritional value, then it wasn’t allowed. So no candy, no sugary drinks, no pastries. Nothing like that.” You answered while opening up the second can, and you recognized it immediately: sweet corn.

He didn’t ask any further questions, so you didn’t elaborate. Not needed to do a taste test of the sweet corn, you set it aside, then opened the other two cans, which were baked beans and tomato soup. Wordlessly, The Ghoul grabbed two of the cans, making his way over to the couch, and you followed behind him, the other two cans in your own hands. 

Sitting side-by-side, the two of you ate in silence, and you propped your legs up on the coffee table in front of you. The two of you would eat half the can before passing it off to the other. It was how you shared your dinners for at least the past month. 

It didn’t take long for there to only be the pie filling left, and you held it in your better hand. Even though you’d been free from the vault for some time, a part of you still felt wrong for indulging in a treat like this. Pushing those memories aside, you took another bite before passing it to the man next to you. You jumped when you felt his gloved fingers brush yours, and you missed the way he knowingly chuckled. 

Sighing, you sat back against the couch, ignoring the armor that dug into your shoulders, and you found your eyes flicking back down to your hand. You traced over the scars littering it, a familiar pattern to you at this point, and you flexed your fingers. They popped and cracked, bending unnaturally, and it caused a small jolt of pain to shoot through the nerves. You hadn't realized your eyes weren’t the only one on it until you heard the man beside you speak. “How’d that happen?” 

Now you were suspicious; he sounded like he actually cared. “Did you get replaced with a synth?” You asked, bewildered. 

He rolled his eyes in response, taking another bite before setting the can on the coffee table in front of you two. “I realize I don’t know a lot ‘bout you.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” you admitted. “But,” you added when he glared at you, “if you really want to know, I got it by punching something. Repeatedly.”

“If that’s your fist, I’d hate to see the other person,” he muttered. 

“Something, not someone. It was, well, glass.”

“Why the fuck were you punchin’ glass?”

“It was the only way I could escape.” You laughed humorlessly when he glanced at you, confused. “What, you think I left the vault freely?” You shook your head. “After my eighteenth birthday, they trapped me in a chamber so they could harvest stuff from my body, pumping me full of sedative and rapid-healing agents. Something about creating the ‘perfect human’. Eventually, the drug they used to keep me docile stopped working, and I was able to smash my way out. I’m pretty sure there’s some glass still left in my hand,” you chuckled, stopping when you realized he wasn’t joining in. “It’s fine. I’ve repressed most of the memories anyway.”

“Not well enough,” he muttered more to himself, and you couldn’t help the small bit of dread that washed over you at the realization that he knew about your nightmares. They made you feel weak, and you didn’t want him to think you were. 

“Well, I….” You trailed off with a sigh, finding it not worth it to try and disagree, sitting back on the couch. “Rude.”

“So you do have nightmares.” He chuckled at the glare you gave him once you realized you fell into his trap. “Are they ‘bout that?”

“Is this an interrogation?” You asked, getting defensive. “Why the fuck do you care? You haven’t before.”

“If ya paid attention, I said I barely know anythin’ ‘bout you. Figured if we’re gonna continue to travel I should know more besides your name.” He sighed before adding, “This ain’t an interrogation. You… you can ask me whatcha like.”

His reluctant openness made you feel more comfortable, and you relaxed a bit. “Really?”

“Sure, why the hell not. But answer my question first.”

There was silence for a few beats. “Fine. Yes, they’re about when they had me trapped. It’s… it’s mostly the pain I remember. And their faces, the people who raised me, who I trusted.  watching me through the glass. I forget most of the details when I wake, but that’s what sticks out.”

The Ghoul didn’t offer any verbal response, merely nodding his head slowly. You prayed that he couldn’t see the way your hands shook as you willingly brought up those memories in your brain. You shoved them away, forcing a light smile on your face. “My turn.” Adjusting so that your back rested against the arm of the sofa so you were facing him now, your knees tucked up to your chest. “What’s your name?”

He scoffed. “Out of all the questions, that’s the one ya go with?” 

“You don’t have to-”

“Cooper. Cooper Howard.” His response cut you off, and a small smile lifted the corners of your mouth. 

“A pleasure, Cooper Howard,” you smiled gently. It was hardly noticeable, but something shifted in him when he heard you say his name, but you weren’t quite sure what exactly. 

He cleared his throat while adjusting in his seat, his eyes flicking away from your own. “Better not make me regret tellin’ ya that.” 

Your slight smile fell at his semi-threat. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to call you that, then.” His responding silence was answer enough, and you didn’t press it further. “Do you got any more questions for me?”

“Plenty,” he seemed more comfortable now that the attention was off his past life. “Why the hell are ya still travelin’ with me?”

You thought of your answer for a moment. “I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoyed your company. And it’s not like I’ve got any place to go.”

“We’ve traveled to plenty of towns. Why don’t ya just stay there?”

“Do… Do you want me to leave?” It almost hurt to ask. You thought things were amicable between the two of you, and the thought of leaving your one “friend” was something you truly did not want to think about.  

He regarded you for a few moments, eyes dancing over your face. “I suppose not,” he finally sighed out, crossing his arms and resting against the back of the couch.

“Good,” you tried to not sound too relieved. “You’re stuck with me.” You swore you saw a smile tug at his lips.

“Unfortunately.” He didn’t sound too upset about it. “Anythin’ else?”

“Why didn’t you kill me when we met? I tried to rob you, and I’ve seen you kill people for less. You had the gun right to my head; why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

“That’s two questions.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “They’re the same damn thing. Just… why didn’t you kill me?”

“I dunno why I didn’t kill ya right away. Somethin’ made me hesitate. And then once I realized you was a vault born, I figured I could get a good amount of caps for you, so I kept you alive.” The Ghoul sighed. “I expected to only keep ya ‘round for a week. But then you saved my life, even though I had ya captive, and I couldn’t bring myself to sell you. That’s when I set you free.” He chuckled as he reminisced. “But for some fuckin’ reason, you decided to stick around, and I thought I was gonna regret not killin’ or sellin’ ya.”

“Do you regret it?”

“That’s three questions now, sweetheart.” Your cheeks grew warm at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you it, but it always elicited the same reaction from you. “But no. It’s nice, havin’ someone you trust enough to watch your back. After years of solitude, wanderin’ this godforsaken Wasteland with you has been a pleasant change.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone regard you so kindly, which was insane because of who it was coming from. “Thank you,” you responded, sincerely.

“Before I inflate your ego any more, it’s my turn. Do you miss life in the vault, back before all… that?” He gestured to your hand. 

“Honestly, you’d think I would,” you chuckled. “No danger around every corner, no radiation, no worry about dehydration or starvation. It was secure, but so constricting. Every part of my life was monitored, from the foods I ate, to the things I did, to the people I spoke to. If the higher ups didn’t like it, they’d make me change. If anything threatened the ability to become the most optimized person, then it was removed. I’ve had more freedom during the time I’ve spent up here than I did for the first eighteen years of my life.” You took a breath. “So, no, I don’t miss it.”

It went like that for a good while, you weren't quite sure how long, and eventually the two of you finished off the pie filling. Questions were shot back and forth, and you learned some things about the man beside you that you never thought you’d know. He learned more of the experiments led by Vault 75, and your role in it. You refrained from asking him about his life before becoming The Ghoul, and although he didn’t say it, you could tell that he was grateful. He had long since shed his coat, draping it across the back of the couch, down to only a once luscious blue button down. His hat was also off, sitting on the table alongside the now empty cans. 

You had asked him about the strangest person he’d met, and he was recounting this one “doctor” he’d met in Filly, with greased hair and a rotted cap, selling ailments for quite literally every predicament. “Pretty sure he was fuckin’ the livestock,” he added, and you gapped at him, horrified. “Strange fellow indeed. But, after that it probably has to be this vault born I met, who no matter what I do, refuses to leave.”

“I’m second after that? I… fuck you!” You’d never sworn at him before, but now felt like a good time to change that. 

His brow raised, shocked, and he grinned at you. “Looks like I’m rubbin’ off on ya, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide your own smile behind your knees, which were still tucked up close to you. “It’s your turn. Although, I don’t know if I wanna respond after you insulted me like that.”

“My apologies,” he responded, not sounding sorry at all, especially with the way he continued to chuckle as he thought of a question. “Did ya have friends? Lovers, perhaps?”

If you weren’t blushing because of the nickname, then you certainly were now. It was a taboo subject in your vault, having lovers. Romantic companionship was seen as a hindrance, a liability. “I had some friends, sure, but they all turned out to be back-stabbers or were taken like me. I don’t know if they survived; I couldn’t stop to rescue them if I wanted to live.” You shook off the bit of guilt you felt when thinking of the others. “But I wasn’t close friends with anyone. As weird as it is, you’re the closest thing to a true friend I’ve ever had.”

“You only answered half my question.” Damn him. “Any lovers?”

“No.” Your hand was looking quite interesting now, and you traced over the familiar pattern of the scars again. 

“‘No’? That’s it?” If looks could kill, The Ghoul would be six feet under right now. “Touchy subject?” 

You realized that no matter what you said, he was still going to continue to ask. Groaning, you let your head sag back off the couch, not wanting to make eye contact with him when you responded. “We weren’t allowed to take… lovers. There were no romantic relationships allowed in the vault; they were seen as a liability. And I know that they’re not, but it’s been drilled into my brain that they’re wrong, that they’re… improper, and I’d rather not talk about it.”

When he didn’t respond, you thought he lost interest in the subject, and you slowly began to lift your head back up. “How the fuck did you guys repopulate?” And there your head went back down, face burning. 

“IVF. They took the eggs and sperm from the captives, as they were the best genetically, physically and mentally, and then put them in the body of one of the scientists.” You chose to not add the fact that there was an entirely real possibility that you had a kid or two.

“So no sex then?”

Something like a groan and a curse left your lips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment and something else washing over you. How you wished for a raider or synth or anything to break down the door and kill you. “No,” you responded, and you missed the way his gaze locked on to you, intrigued by your answer.

“So you’ve never-”

“No!” You didn’t let him finish his question, not caring about what you just admitted to him.

“Not even after you left?”

“No.” You were getting really tired of your same responses. 

“Why not? It ain’t like you got your vault monitoring everythin’ ya do anymore.”

“Well…” you sighed, running a hand over your hot face. “It seems boring, from what I heard. I’m just supposed to, I dunno, sit there in pain while they use me for their own pleasure. It’s never appealed to me.” That last part was a lie, and you both knew it. You just wanted to hold on to some semblance of your pride that was lying in tatters around you.

He had the audacity to laugh, and you wished the couch would just swallow you whole. “I dunno who told ya that, but it ain’t like that. Not even fuckin’ close.”

Shakily, you exhaled, your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest. You couldn’t believe you were having this discussion, with The Ghoul of all people. His next words had you going deathly still, staring wide-eyed at the mildewed ceiling. “Can I show ya?” 

In just one sentence, he managed to change the entire atmosphere of the conversation, of your relationship. You wouldn’t deny, the idea of being intimate with him was appealing, and definitely not the first time you’d thought of it. What made this time different, though, was that you didn’t push those thoughts away, disgust and shame not overwhelming you. And it was also different because this wasn’t just a scenario that you’d played out in your head, alone while you slept. No, this was actually happening. 

“What?” You managed to stammer out, sitting up slowly. Your mouth went dry at the way he stared at you, almost hungrily. You squirmed under his intense gaze, which seemed to please the man. 

“Can I show ya what it’s supposed to feel like?” He repeated again, and one of his gloves hands crept across the couch, resting an inch away from where your legs were. “If ya don’t want this, just say the word, and we can pretend like this ain’t ever happened. But I can promise ya won’t regret it.” For once, you were grateful for his self-assurance and cockiness, as it bolstered your own confidence in your decision. 

It felt like five hours had passed before you nodded, and you felt his hand brush up your clothed calf, gripping the muscle lightly. “Lemme hear ya say it, sweetheart.”

Even though it was far from the first time he’d called you sweetheart, the implications now made your face burn even more. He made it sound dirty, and you had to take a breath before speaking. “Show me.” Your voice barely came out as a whisper; any louder and you feared it would crack.

You let out a startled noise when he pulled you close to him using the hand on your calf, the action effortless; you’d forgotten how unnaturally strong he was. You were now laying down fully on the couch, hair splayed out around you. He moved between your legs, hands now braced on either side of your head as he leaned above you. His face hovered a few inches from yours, and you could feel his breath as he spoke. “You gotta let me know if ya don’t like somethin’, deal?”

“Deal.” 

You shivered when you felt him caress your cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture from the rough man you knew. He smiled at your body’s response to him. “Finally,” he muttered out, but you didn’t get a chance to ask for further elaboration before his lips were on yours. 

Unlike his touch, they weren’t gentle, almost bruisingly strong against yours. You groaned, and you could feel him smirk. The hand that had been touching your face settled, grasping the side of your face in a warm, gloved palm. The other hand remained braced by your head, keeping him upright. You found yourself latching your own around his wrist, the other grabbing a handful of his shirt, trying to find some way to keep you grounded. 

Kissing felt even better than you’d imagined it would. You didn’t think it would be so enjoyable, feel so good, so right. It was like his lips were made to slot perfectly against yours. If you concentrated hard enough, you could taste cherry pie filling the both of you had eaten. You jolted when you felt teeth tug at your bottom lip, a droplet of pain in the sea of pleasure, and your grip tightened even more, threatening to tear the clothing. You didn’t think he would mind. 

Energy pulsed through your body, and you found yourself unconsciously beginning to move, your hips moving in small circles. A familiar tension began to form in your lower body, something you felt during your late night thoughts of The Ghoul. Even though it was only just forming, you’d never felt it this intensely before, and you were desperate for some kind of relief. 

An amused chuckle left him, pulling away slightly to do so. You almost whined at the loss of contact, and you attempted to pull him back down with the hand that currently had a fistfull of his clothing, but he didn’t budge. “Eager?” It was a rhetorical question, but you found yourself nodding anyway. 

“Please.” What you were asking for, you weren’t quite sure. Your words trailed off into a sigh when you felt his lips return, this time along your jaw by your ear. He left your cheek, running down the front of your body tantalizingly slow. 

“Where’s these manners comin’ from?” It sounded like his voice had turned raspier, and it elicited a shiver from your body, his lips still pressed close to your ear. “If this was all it took for ya to start actin’ all proper, then I would’ve done this weeks ago,” he teased, and his fingers ran underneath your breasts. 

Maybe it was his lips on your skin, or the way he pressed his body into yours, or the way he touched you, but you lost control of the words tumbling from your mouth. “I would’ve let you,” you admitted, and even though it was quiet you heard his breath hitch. 

“Yeah?” His voice had somehow gotten even raspier, and he groaned when you nodded. “Fuck, sweetheart,” his teeth nipped at your earlobe before moving further down your neck. You no longer felt his lips; instead you felt tongue and teeth leaving marks, growing more fervent as he descended. 

You let go of his shirt, your fingers popping uncomfortably, yet you paid it no mind. You rested your hand on the back of his head instead, almost immediately pulling it away, unsure if he wanted to be touched or not. But you felt him gently grab your wrist, bringing your hand back to where it had once been, making an approving noise when your fingers made contact. 

When he reached the strap of your shoulder armor, you felt him immediately get to work at losing the strap, and you sighed in relief when fresh air hit the newly exposed skin. He tossed it to the side somewhere, and it didn’t take long for your chestpiece to join it. The only thing left on the top half of your body was your bra and tank top, yet you felt completely naked, both because of the lack of armor and the way his eyes bore into your body.

His eyes trailed over the top of your chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, greedily taking in the swell of your breasts. You gasped when he took them in his hands, kneading and toying with the tender flesh. Even through the thick material of his gloves and your clothing, you could still feel his heat. But you wanted to feel him closer. You wanted to feel his bare hands on your body. 

Before you could even comprehend what you were doing, you were tearing off your tank top, throwing it somewhere in the room. You arched your back, your chest pressing further into his touch, and he groaned. Reaching behind, you had enough confidence to unlatch your bra and remove it, but not enough to look him in the eye. Your cheeks were burning, a flush creeping down your neck. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” you heard him mutter, and his praise gave you enough confidence to finally return your gaze to his, expecting them to be locked on your chest. And they were, at least until he felt your eyes on him. His pupils were blown out, irises gone, and the almost predatory smirk on his face made you look away again, the tension in your body growing. 

“Take them off,” you whispered when his touch returned. His movement stilled, much to your dismay. “Your gloves,” you pleaded. “Take them off.”

When he didn’t respond, you forced your attention away from the ceiling, breath catching when you looked into his eyes. “And here I was praisin’ your manners,” he rebuked, and even through the lust in his eyes you could see a playful glint. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“Please take your gloves off,” you responded immediately, not caring if you sounded desperate. “I wanna feel your hands on me, please.”

“Much better,” he practically purred, and you watched him bring a hand up to his own mouth, tugging the glove off his hand with his teeth and letting it fall, landing on your body. It almost felt wrong to see his hands without gloves on them; it felt like he was more undressed than you.

He wasted no time in returning his now bare touch to your breasts, and it felt better than you thought it would. Fingers dexterously toyed with your now perked nipples, pulling little noises from you. You never thought it would be enjoyable to have someone playing with your breasts like this, but you were happily proven wrong.

It was when his mouth joined the fray that your noises turned louder, his lips wrapping around your other nipple. When his teeth grazed the sensitive bud, your hips bucked right against his, and you felt him groan against your chest. Wanting to hear that noise again, you repeated the action, and your ears were blessed once again. 

But your victory was short lived, and the hand that had been by your head the entire time finally moved, pressing your hips down into the couch. “Behave,” you heard him growl, not halting his attention towards your chest. But you did see his eyes flick up, making it look like he was glaring at you, and you found your mouth going dry. You nodded, not finding it in yourself to go against him just yet, to see how far you could push him. You hoped there would be a next time.

He continued to lavish your chest for a few more moments, swapping his hand and mouth, continuously building up that tension in your core. You fought against the desire to move your hips, his “threat” still ringing in your ears. Your hand was still resting on the back of his head, trying and failing to keep your nails from digging into his scalp. A particularly hard suck had them biting in deep, but any apology you had died on your lips at the sinful moan he let out, followed by a string of expletives. You took a mental note to do that again later.

With a pop, he removed his mouth from your chest, and he let you pull him up into a searing kiss. His hand sneaked down between your bodies, which you only realized when you felt his fingers run beneath the waistband of your jeans and underwear.

He pulled away, sitting back on his heels, and you weren’t quite sure who was panting heavier. You immediately missed the feel of his body over yours, the comforting weight of him, and you couldn’t help the small pout that formed on your lips as you tried and failed to pull him back down again. “Please,” you whispered, hoping that your words would convince him. And you could tell they almost worked, his jaw clenching as he grit his teeth. 

But he didn’t relent. Instead, you watched as he began to slowly unclip your gunbult, your armor, your kneepads. Every bit of protection against the Wasteland stripped from you, joining the pile on the floor, leaving you only in your clothes. It was freeing, yet a bit nerve wracking, your chest continuing to rise and fall rapidly. 

You tried to lean down to help with your boots, but he swatted your hands away, silencing any rebuttal with a look. It took a few moments, but he eventually was able to remove your boots and socks, but you barely heard the sound of them hitting the floor over the loud heartbeat in your ears. He practically ripped off your pants, his patience becoming thin because of the boots, but you were just grateful he didn’t actually ripped them. Good clothing was hard to come by.

His gaze was locked onto your lower body as he eased off your underwear, the final article of clothing on your body joining the rest. You were almost glad to be rid of them; they were cold and uncomfortable, and damp, for some reason. But it didn’t seem to put off The Ghoul. In fact, it seemed to please him immensely, an almost proud grin on his lips.  

You quickly grew embarrassed under his ravenous gaze, his eyes trailing over every inch of your body. You tried to close your legs, or at least tuck them to your chest to try and cover you, but he was having none of it. Two hands, one gloved and one not, wrapped around your ankles, pulling them back down and out. “None of that. Lemme see ya.”

Swallowing, you relaxed, at least as well as you could. It became easier when you saw how much he was loving your body. His eyes jumped around, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you. “Like I said. Fuckin’. Perfect.” You weren’t expecting the sheer honesty in his voice. 

The hands on your ankles began to slowly trail up, making goosebumps appear on your skin. It was like your skin was a million times more sensitive when someone else was touching you. You got lost in his touch, your eyes fluttering close, simply enjoying the feel of another person. 

They shot open when his touch suddenly left, and you gaped at him, confused. You watched him adjust so that he was now sitting normally on the couch, resting against the back of it. 

You understood, though, when he patted his legs, wanting you on his lap. With shaky movements, you complied, but were once again confused when he stopped you, hand resting on your shoulder. Wordlessly, he turned you so that your back was to him, and you let out a startled noise when he roughly pulled you onto his lap, his still clothed chest pressing into your bare shoulders. 

Moving the hair from your neck, you felt his lips return their ministration on your neck, and your head rolled back, giving him more access. Both hands were on your body, ungloved one returning to your breasts, the other skating down the side of your body. You gasped when it began to inch towards your center, and you felt him chuckle. “So sensitive,” he commented almost absentmindedly.

You felt him grip your thigh, spreading your legs even farther so that they went around his own, now using his knees to keep your legs open. It left you completely exposed and at his mercy, but you felt comfortable, safe even. Relaxing fully against his chest, your head now rests on his shoulder, and if you strained enough you were able to look at him. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was enjoying this just as much as you were, if not more.

He reached his hands around your body, and began to pull the glove off his other hand. You stopped him with a gentle grasp of his wrist, tugging his hand to your mouth. Just like he did, you took the material between your teeth, and he was able to free his hand with a tug. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Think ya can do one for thing for me?”

“Anything,” you responded, and you felt two of his fingers, the middle and ring, trace your bottom lip. 

“Anythin’?” You nodded, not caring what that might imply. “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind. But first,” those fingers tugged at your lip, “get those nice and wet for me.”

Even though you weren’t quite sure what you were doing, you parted your lips anyway, taking the digits into your wet mouth. Slowly, you began to bob your head up and down, running your tongue along the textured skin, barely tasting the saltiness of it. Whatever you were doing seemed to please him, because you felt his chest rumble with a groan. 

Before you could build a rhythm, he pulled them out with a pop, and they glistened in the low light. He didn’t give you much time to observe them, though, because before you could process he was running them through your folds. The sudden touch in your most sensitive area made you try and shut your legs, but his knees made it impossible.

His chest rumbled with a light laugh, and you were confused as to what could possibly be amusing him. “Guess that wasn’t necessary; you’re already so damn wet for me.” You detected another hint of pride, this time in his voice. 

Another swipe had you moaning, but then you felt his fingers locate something between your legs that made you cry out, your legs jerking involuntarily. “There we go,” he rumbled, and he focused his attention on that area, fingers pressing firm and slow circles into it. You weren’t quite sure what he was doing, but it felt incredible, the tension that had slowly begun to rescind returning. 

You tried to tell him, but it came out as a garbled moan instead. “Feel good?” It was another rhetorical question, and you yet again nodded, and you watched his lips quirk up. 

“Ghoul…” you moaned out, one of your hands reaching behind to hold the back of his head, needing something to hold onto as he continued to pleasure you. 

For the first time since you’d met him, something like self-consciousness flicked across his face, gone as soon as it came. “That ain’t my name, sweetheart. C’mon, lemme hear ya say it,” he almost sounded desperate as he talked. 

It took a moment for your lust-addled brain to remember what he had told you earlier in the night. “Cooper…” you sighed out, and he bit back his own moan, and you felt his hips jump the tiniest bit. 

“And I thought I liked hearing ya say my name, but fuck, I like hearin’ ya moan it a hundred times more.” You realized that when you had seen something shift in his eyes when you first said his name was disdain, it was actually the opposite. That realization had you smiling, and you managed to pull him down into a messy kiss, the angle too weird to allow a proper meeting of your lips. 

But it wouldn’t have lasted long anyways, another few moments of his fingers making you cry out again, that tension beginning to become unbearable, like it was just on the precipice of snapping. “Cooper.” It came out as a moan, but with a hint of confusion and worry behind it, unsure of what was happening with your body.

“You close?” 

“Close?” You had enough focus left to be confused, and even though his fingers didn’t yield, you felt the rest of him go still. 

“You’ve never… oh, fuck,” his voice turned husky, almost like a growl, “am I gonna make you come for the first time?” He sounded elated. It just created more questions, but another swirl of his fingers made all thoughts go out the window.

You fidgeted and squirmed, trying to escape the onslaught of things you were feeling. “Relax. I promise ya, this’ll feel good.” And because you trusted him, foolishly or not, you did relax, no longer fighting against him. It felt like you were a dam that was about to burst, and you barely registered that your nails were digging back into his scalp until you heard one of those delicious moans escape his lips.

That sound triggered something in you, and all at once that tension snapped, exploding like something that was pulled too tight. Pleasure ignited your body, making it feel as light as a feather. Every nerve in your body was humming, and you swore you blacked out for a moment. 

His voice, gruff yet a bit concerned, brought you back to your body. “Breathe,” you heard him say, and you realized the dizziness you were feeling wasn’t just because of the mind-shattering pleasure you’d just felt, but you indeed had stopped breathing. Inhaling shakily, you felt some of that dizziness leaving now that oxygen had returned to your lungs. 

An uncomfortable jolt had you glancing down between your legs, where he continued to pull every last bit of pleasure from your body. “S’too much,” you managed to slur out, your voice quite hoarse. He halted, thankfully, resting his hand on your thigh, still close enough to your center that you could feel the heat from his hands. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” He sounded mildly amused, and if your muscles weren’t currently jelly you would’ve hit him. 

“I… what did…” you said between gasping breaths, trying to get your heart rate back down. 

“You just came. Rather loudly, at that,” he teased, and your incredibly hoarse voice made sense now. You were suddenly very glad that you were in the middle of nowhere. 

Turning so that you were able to face him better, you felt the material of his pants rub against your bare legs, which wouldn’t have been too weird if it weren’t for the fact they were wet, borderline soaked. The hand that had just been resting on your thigh was brought into view, just as soaked as his pants, and you watched as he examined his hand, almost transfixed. “And messily,” he added, and you felt your cheeks burn even more than they already were. 

You opened your mouth, ready to apologize, but nothing but an airy noise left you as you watched his tongue run from up from his wrist to his fingers. A pleased hum left him, his eyes never once leaving your own as he continued to clean his hand, like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, even better than the desert you had shared. There was a stir in your gut at the action, what you now assumed to be arousal coming to life as you continued to watch him. 

When he caught you staring, his lips twisted into one of those smirks that made your stomach flip. Turning fully in his lap so you were now straddling him, you tugged his wrist far enough away so that you could kiss him. You groaned when his tongue swept between your parted lips, his slightly damp hand holding the side of your face gently. 

With shaky fingers, you began to try and unbutton his shirt. You didn’t get far before he was suddenly standing, and even though he had an arm tucked beneath your thighs, you still clung on to him, legs and arms wrapping around him tightly. Not once did he remove his lips, even when he bumped into a few things on the way to the bed. It was like all that mattered was you and the way you felt. 

The bed, which was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, squeaked obnoxiously when he lowered you onto it, but neither of you paid attention to it. And it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone else hearing. Like on the couch, he hovered over your body, arms braced on either side of you. His lips were back on your neck, giving you a few moments to take heaving breaths of air. 

For once during the entire night, you knew what was about to happen next, but even though you could feel anxiety threaten to grip your mind, you managed to shove it off. It was easier when you focused your attention on the man in your arms. His continued attention was nice, but you wanted, needed more. “Cooper, please…” you trailed off, hoping he got what you were asking for.

And you know he did, because you felt his lips curl into a smile against the skin of your neck, and he lifted his head up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so care-free, and the sight had your heart swelling, a small gasp leaving you as well. He looked good like this, and a part of you craved to see it for days to come. 

“What was that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite hear what ya said.” For a moment, you retracted your previous stance, embarrassment making your ears burn. You either wanted to kiss or slap that shit-eating smirk off his face when he noticed how bashful you’d grown. “I’ll give ya whatever you want. All ya gotta do is ask.”

Your pride and embarrassment were at war with your desire, but a winner was quickly decided. “Please, I need you, Cooper.”

Apparently that wasn’t good enough, because he didn’t move. “You need me to…?” You groaned in frustration, and you tried to get him to just forget it with a roll of your hips, trying to make him break. It seemed to almost work, but you felt him press down firmly on your hips, pinning you to the bed. “That ain’t gonna help ya. Use your words.”

You sighed, finally relenting. “Fuck me, please,” you whispered out, and it finally seemed to do the trick.

“Atta girl,” he praised. “Go ‘head and roll over for me.”

As much as you wanted to be able to see him clearly, excitement had you turning over anyway, now on your hands and knees. The position was revealing and it almost felt degrading, but yet again you felt at ease, anticipation making your heart beat fast. Turning your head, you were able to see him a bit, and a moan slipped from your lips when you heard the sound of his belt being undone, the sound of a zipper following suit. This was really happening. 

One of his hands gripped your hips, and you felt his still clothed legs pressed up against the back of your own. His cock, warm and solid, pressed into your entrance, a low groan pulled from your lips when he breached it. It was only the tiniest bit painful, not as bad as you initially believed it would be, like a muscle being stretched, which was earlier overshadowed by the pleasure it brought. He let out a groan of his own, the fingers on your hips digging in harshly. 

Inch by inch, you felt him press himself fully into you, both of you letting out similar sighs when he was fully sheathed. Cold metal bit into your skin when his hips were flush with yours, the buckle of his belt no doubt going to leave imprints on your skin. He stilled once he was fully in you, giving you a chance to get adjusted to him, which you were grateful for. You could tell that it was taking every ounce of restraint in his body to just sit there, though, and it only took a few moments until you felt like you were ready for him to move. 

All it took was you wiggling your hips for him to get the message, something like a sigh of relief leaving his lips. Slowly, he pulled out of you, fingers never once letting go of their grip. The sensation made you moan, and you could feel him everywhere, hitting all the right spots as he pulled out.

You grasped at the barely-together bedsheets, probably creating new holes in the fabric. It was less uncomfortable when he pushed back a second time, and you felt your head go limp between your arms, his name falling from your lips. He started creating a rhythm, hips beginning to pick up the pace. His hips snapped into yours, slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed.

You could do nothing but take it, pleasure making you lose control of your body. Your cries were becoming increasingly louder, that familiar tension returning, and you tried to bury your face in the mattress. 

That was until you felt him grab a fistfull of your hair, yanking your head back up. It hurt, but it felt wonderful, and you felt yourself tense, a wanton moan louder than anything previous escaping you. “Fuck, ya like it rough?” His pace quickened, his cock spearing you relentlessly. It filled something in you that you didn’t quite know you needed, a craving satiated that you didn’t know you had. But now that you had it, you needed more of it. 

You nodded, at least as best you could, the grip in your hair keeping your head still. It took you too long to realize that he was using the leverage from his grip in your hair to pound into you. “D’ya know how fuckin’ incredible ya feel?” He panted. “This cunt was made for me. For me to ruin.” 

“Cooper,” you cried out, and he groaned in appreciation. 

“Fuck, that’s right. Who’s fuckin’ ya this good? Who’s ruinin’ ya for any other?”

You certainly weren’t expecting him to be this vocal, but you were far from complaining. His voice, which normally electrified you, was driving you insane, the tension building up tenfold. You tried to say his name again, but it came out incoherent. “Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed before laughing lightly. 

You were so close to your release again, and you could feel moisture run down your thighs, but you had little mind to be embarrassed now. “Cooper,” you were able to sigh out. “I’m… I’m close.”

His grip turned vice like, and you’re sure your neck would be hurting later because of the angle, but you didn’t care. “Let go. C’mon, lemme feel ya cum on my cock.” His words left no room for debate, so who were you to go against his orders? After a few more thrusts, you felt that tension snap again, pleasure once again washing over your body, making your arms turn to jelly. Panting, you collapsed on your arms, face squished against the mattress, the sound of slick skin on skin the only thing you could make out.

You didn’t stay down for long. Both hands wrapped around your front, pulling you flush against his body. He continued to thrust into you, and you felt another release begin to build, but it was too much. You made a sound of protest, something like you couldn’t come again, but he shushed you with kisses on your cheeks, which were damp with tears and sweat. “Just one more, sweetheart. You can do it.”

Nodding shakily, you felt his continue to fuck you, one arm wrapping around your stomach, the other holding right above your breasts. A startled noise left you when you felt his hand wrap around your throat, survival instinct kicking in immediately. With wide eyes, you twisted out of his grasp on your throat, panic evident on your face. 

He had let go as soon as he heard any sound of protest, but he still lingered close by. “You trust me?” He asked, somehow still able to form a coherent sentence. 

Your answer came immediately; you trusted him with your life. Why else would you travel the Wasteland with him? You nodded, a soft yes leaving you as you did. He pressed another grateful kiss to your cheek, a wordless thank you, and you felt his hand return to where it was. You still tensed when you felt his grip return, unable to turn off the instinct to be free of someone choking you, but you provided no further protest. 

Fingers squeezed against the sides of your neck, and like with your hair he used the leverage to snap his hips up into you. Even though it was harder, you were still able to breathe, your gasps and noises labored. Yet you still found yourself growing dizzy, the restricted blood flow making you so, which just heightened the pleasure you felt. 

Your third and final release of the night barreled into you, completely catching you both off guard. Your mind was so fuzzy; you couldn’t even get his name out. You were quickly snapped out of that haze when you heard him moan your name. Not sweetheart, not Vaultie, not any other nickname. Your name. 

He eased you to the bed, hand leaving your neck, and you let out a small whine when you felt him pull out of you. You felt empty, lacking, and even though you knew it would upset your overstimulated body you wanted him back in you. 

You had just rolled onto your back when you felt something hot splatter against your skin. You watched slack-jawed as he stroked himself to completion, his release painting your skin. The sight caused the flames of arousal to reignite, but you tried your best to snuff them out; you needed a moment. 

He sagged forward when he was done, arms once again bracing him from completely falling on top of you. Silence now filled the air, which was significantly warmer than it was a bit ago. It was you who moved first, grasping the side of his scarred face and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. It was short, but probably the most passionate of the night. 

When it broke, he sat up, getting up and off the bed and towards his belongings. You let out a noise of protest, and he just shot you a teasing look. “I’ll be back in a sec. We gotta get ya cleaned up,” he gestured to the remnants of him on your skin, and you watched as he fished out a canteen, before searching the area for something else. 

You decided to glance over your body as you waited for him to return. Your skin glistened with sweat, and you could see various marks littering your body; you didn’t want to know what your neck looked like, where he focused a lot of his attention.

The feeling of the bed shifting snapped you out of your examination, and you regarded the man who sat beside you with a soft look, and you were surprised when he returned it. It quickly turned into a scowl when you felt a damp cloth brush against your stomach and breasts, the cool water making you hiss. 

When he was done cleaning your skin, he handed you the canteen, and you took a few sips. You’d long since gotten used to the acrid taste of the Wasteland’s water, so it didn’t bother you, and you watched him finally kick off his boot. He was still fully dressed besides that, shirt sticking to his body.He set it beside the bed once you finished, before eying the bed that you were currently laying on.

“What?” You cringed at how raspy your voice sounded.

“Just dunno how I’m gonna fit.” In the back of your mind, you worried that he was going to push you away after all was said and done, so you were quite relieved to find the opposite happening. 

With a grin, you scooted back until your head rested against the thin pillow, before opening your arms to him. Shock crossed his features for a split second, before a grin of his own grew on his lips. He was still hesitant when he entered your embrace, but he relaxed almost immediately, especially when your hands ran soothingly up and down his back. When you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, he practically shuddered, his face nuzzling into your skin. You wondered how long it had been since someone showed him affection like this. 

You held him for a good while, your body calming down, and you thought over the events that had just transpired. Weirdly enough, you thought less about the things he had done and more of the words he said, especially right at the beginning. “Cooper?” You called out hesitantly, almost immediately regretting it. “Do… Can I call you that?”

He had raised his head when he heard his name being called, and you watched him debate it for a second. “Only in private. I’ve gotta reputation to uphold.” His response was gruff, but there was something warm in his eyes. 

It made you giddy, that he trusted you enough to call him by his true name, and you hoped you weren’t smiling like a fool. “Alright, Cooper. What did you mean when you said ‘finally’?”

He chuckled lightly, propping up a big so he could respond properly. “What, ya thought this was a spur of the moment decision?” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted this for a while.”

You gaped at him, stunned. “You… you have?”

“How could I not? I mean, look at’cha,” his eyes trailed appreciatively over your still naked body. “But you’ve got a fire ‘bout ya. You ain’t afraid of this world, even though you damn well should be. You ain’t afraid of me, even though I’ve given ya plenty of reason to be. You’re a fighter, and I… I admire that ‘bout you. I-” He caught himself, like he said something he wasn't supposed to. “I’m too sober to be discussin’ my thoughts with ya. All ya gotta know is yes, I have.”

You were once again left stunned, so you let your action speak for you, pressing another kiss to his head, trying to ignore the way your heart soared. You felt him shift upwards, and he kissed your proper. It was another short yet passionate kiss, and when he broke away he rested his head against yours. 

“You wanna know somethin’, sweetheart?” His voice had dropped lower, and that familiar dark look was back in his eyes. So much for snuffing out the arousal you felt. He smirked when you nodded vehemently. “You wanna know the real reason why I always take first watch when we go to bed?” You felt his grasp one of your hands, loosely enough that you could pull it away if you wanted to, and he brought it between your bodies. You gasped when you felt the hard tent in his pants, having tucked himself away when he got up, but you knew it wasn’t going to stay like that for long. 

“It’s ‘cause you do this to me. You should hear me out there, moanin’ your name like I do, imaginin’ your hand wrapped ‘round my cock instead of mine.”

Your tiredness was completely forgotten, the pleasant ache in your muscles nothing more than a gentle distraction. “Can you show me?”

“Fuckin’ gladly, sweeheart.”

[slut4thebroken]

Nymphomania

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x patient!reader

Summary | You been trying for months to get Dr. Crane to give in. After a bold attempt, he finally breaks.

Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, smut, age gap, doctor/patient relationship?, mentions of murder, reader is so horny and we’re here for it, degradation, humiliation, face fucking, deep throating, rough oral sex, slight dubcon? but only because he’s “reluctant”, filthy nasty disgusting oral sex😭

Words | 2.6 k

Notes | He’s about 38 in this fyi. Also I already have an idea for a second part but it’s not even started so don’t expect it any time soon lol

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Dr. Crane has been your psychiatrist for several months now. Ever since your first session, you’ve been completely smitten and you were never shy about showing it. At first he was uncomfortable with your forwardness and flirty behavior, but he quickly learned to just ignore it… and most of the time he’s successful. But every once in a while you’ll say something particularly bold and he’ll reprimand you with a blush. 

Today was no different. You were brought to the usual room where your sessions take place and you waited eagerly for him to arrive. When the door finally opened and he walked in, you perked up, a giddy smile making its way on your face. 

“How are you today?” He asked as he set down his things, then sat across from you. 

“Better now that you’re here.” You put your elbow on the table and rested your chin on your hand, staring up at him through your lashes. “How are you?”

“Busy. Shall we get started?” The dismissal was not lost on you… but you’ve never been one to cooperate. 

“You sound stressed, doctor. Maybe I can help you relax?” You purred, slowly extending your leg to brush your foot over his shin, sliding it up. He pushed your foot back down, then moved his chair back a little as he cleared his throat.

“Behave.” He warned, making your lips curl up into a smirk.

“For you? Always.” He scoffed at that, but he can’t blame you for not behaving. Not when it’s not even your fault. “It’s not my fault I act like this.” You said defensively.

“No?”  

“I wouldn’t be so needy if you’d just help me out every once in a while.” You whined, giving him puppy dog eyes. 

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of taking care of that yourself.” 

“I don’t like doing it myself, it’s not the same. Need you, doctor.” Your gaze shifted to his lips before settling on his hands, examining the veins leading up into his arms, covered by his suit. You wished the table wasn’t here so you could see all of him though. 

“Need your cock.” You suddenly looked at his eyes again and the only indication you got that he was affected by your words was the slight bob of his throat as he swallowed. “Please, Dr. Crane.” You pouted, leaning forward a little, wishing your top was lower to help you out. 

“If you need to be fucked so bad, you shouldn’t have killed four people and gotten yourself stuck in here.” He said, sounding almost bored. 

“I didn’t kill people, I killed men.” You said, now much more annoyed, but quickly brought your tone back to something sweeter. “And I guess I just thought at least one hot guy in here would be willing to fuck me. I didn’t plan on having my options completely limited to you.” 

“How are they limited?” 

“Because I don’t want anyone else! I just want you. And I can tell you feel the same, you’re just too obsessed with your job to act on it.” You frowned. He took in a deep breath through his nose and looked away from you as he thought. 

“Come here.” He suddenly said, leaning forward while beckoning you to do the same. Once you were leaned over the table slightly, you let your eyes fall to his lips as you waited for his next move. “My job isn't the issue. It’s the fact that you’re a criminally insane little girl.” He said lowly, making you press your thighs together as you squirmed. 

“I'm 20.” You defended weakly. 

“Exactly. I was already a legal adult when you were born.” 

“So? That just makes it hotter.” You said quietly, then bit your lip, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He didn’t respond and you tried not to shrink under his gaze. After another moment you sighed and leaned back, his eyes following every movement carefully. When you pushed your chair back, he stiffened. 

“What are you doing?” You slid down the chair to the floor, then crawled under the table. He started moving his chair back so you grabbed the legs to keep it in place. Because of his attempt to get away from you, you now had enough room to get out from under the table, but the space between it and the chair was small enough that your shoulders pressed against his spread legs. 

“Please? I need your cock, Dr. Crane.” You pouted, placing your hands on his thighs and snaking them up. “I’ve been thinking about it every day for months. Please let me have a taste.” You did your best to hide your smirk as you stared up at him through your lashes. When you suddenly leaned forward and started mouthing at his cock through his clothing, he roughly grabbed your hair, making you whine and work even harder. 

“Insatiable little slut.” He spat, wrenching your head back uncomfortably so that you were looking up at him again. Since you couldn’t use your mouth, you placed a hand on his bulge, making his grip on your hair tighten. You couldn’t help the open-mouthed smile that crept up on your face at the rough treatment. That seemed to only make him angrier though. 

“Hands behind your back.” He ordered. You smirked and glanced down at your hand on his bulge, debating if you wanted to be a brat or not. When his grip got impossibly tighter, you released him and placed your hands behind yourself. You had a feeling that he would end up giving you what you want. 

“You go a few months without it and turn into a cock hungry whore,” You moaned and squeezed your thighs together, looking up at him with a glint in your eyes. “Like a fucking bitch in heat.” He spat. 

“Please, Dr. Crane.” You said through a moan. “Please, I need it.” Your gaze shifted between his face and his crotch hungrily. 

“Stop talking.” He hissed. 

“If you want me to shut up, you know what to do.” You smirked at him and he clenched his jaw, letting out a heavy breath through his nose. He seemed to be debating what to do— torn between not wanting to give you what you want and finally shutting you up. 

“Take it out.” He ordered. You don’t think your hands have ever moved faster. They immediately shot out and started working on his belt, then the button, and finally the zipper. When his cock was finally free, you let out a low moan and tried to lean forward, but he stopped you with the hand in your hair. “Hands behind your back.” You whined but obeyed and he pulled you closer, using his free hand to fist his cock. You could smell him now and you knew that he could feel your panting breaths with how close you were. 

“Please.” You mewled, shuffling closer. 

“Move your hands and we’re done. Understand?” He warned. You didn’t know if he meant done right now, or done for good and you’ll be assigned to someone else, but both options sounded terrible. 

“Yes, doctor.” You stared up at him through your lashes with wide, innocent eyes, silently pleading him to give you what you want. 

He relented and pulled your head down as your mouth fell open, eagerly anticipating what you’ve been craving since you first arrived here. When you finally wrapped your lips around the tip, you moaned loudly at the taste and let your eyes flutter shut. You flicked your tongue over it, lapping up what little precum there was, then tried to swallow him down deeper. He stopped you with the hand in your hair and you let out a long, needy whine. 

“Don’t be a brat.” You blushed at the tone he used to scold you, feeling like a child. You obeyed with a pout and mouthed at the tip of his cock, clasping your hands together so they wouldn’t subconsciously move from your back. 

He started pushing you down, then back up, agonizingly slow. When you looked up at him again, he cursed under his breath and started moving you a little faster. You hollowed your cheeks and pressed your tongue against the underside of his cock, trying hard to impress him and earn his praise. But all you got was a soft sigh. 

You whined, wanting to pull off so you could beg for more. He just shushed you and kept up the slow pace of shallow thrusts. 

“Please.” You tried to say around him, the word coming out garbled and almost incoherent. 

“What, this isn’t enough for you?” He suddenly pulled you off and you panted as you caught your breath. 

“Fuck my throat.” You gasped out, cheeks heating up. “Please.” You added so it didn’t seem like a demand. He pushed you back down, resuming the original pace. 

“I’m surprised it took murder for them to put you in here. I would’ve thought it’d be nymphomania.” You moaned at the subtle degradation and squeezed your thighs together, aching to reach a hand between your legs. He finally sped up, but kept his thrusts shallow, barely even brushing the back of your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked harder, trying to make it even better. “That’s it… Put that mouth to good use for once.” You didn’t let the insult deter you. 

He suddenly forced you all the way down and you choked, not expecting it. Holding your hair tight enough to make your head throb, he kept you there, his cock buried so deep that your nose was against his pelvis. With the lack of air and the pressure on your gag reflex, your eyes were watering and you looked up at him with a muffled whimper, making him curse under his breath. 

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna cry? I thought you wanted this?” He sneered, making you whine. He pulled you back until just the tip was in your mouth and let you take in a deep breath before shoving you back down. Rather than holding you there, he started bobbing your head up and down his cock, breaching your throat barrier each time. You couldn’t help the way you gagged and choked, but you didn’t dare try to pull away. 

“I thought a whore like yourself would’ve been good at this.” He said, disappointed. Your brows furrowed, not able to express your frown any other way. When he removed his hands, your expression turned into one of confusion. “Go ahead, nympho. Prove that you deserve to suck my cock.” You moaned around him, but quickly stepped up to the challenge. 

You were moving much slower than he was, choking each time you forced yourself all the way down, but determined not to give up. When you looked up at him, he almost seemed bored as he watched you. You pulled off and he raised his brows in a silent question. 

“Can I please use my hands?” You asked quietly, voice already hoarse. 

“No.” With a pout, you shuffled closer and leaned down, this time aiming for his balls. His spit soaked cock rested on your face, furthering your humiliation and arousal. You licked at them before sucking one into your mouth, making him let out a pleased sigh. You worked it over in your mouth for a few seconds before moving to the other one to do the same. 

You licked up along the underside of his cock with a small smirk— he was practically pulsing because of how hard he was. When you reached the tip, you licked up the precum with a low moan, then took him back in your mouth, immediately going all the way down. 

He let you control the pace for a few more thrusts before grabbing your hair again and speeding up. When he let out a low groan, you quickly looked up to see his face, finding him with his lips slightly parted and his eyes half lidded and he stared down at you. He forced you all the way down, then held you there, and you whimpered around him, trying to control your gag reflex. 

“Lick my balls.” You furrowed your brows, still looking up at him, and he all but rolled his eyes. “Fucking lick them.” He spat, jerking your head down even though your lips were already at the base. You stuck your tongue out and tried to obey, making him groan. 

“There you go…” He placed both hands on the sides of your head for a better grip, then started roughly pulling you up and down. You choked and sputtered, but his grip was unmoving. “Fuck— Keep this up and I might just let this happen again.” He said through a breath, making your stomach flutter at the thought. 

He continued using your mouth practically as a fleshlight, ignoring your gagging and muffled sounds, focusing solely on his orgasm. After what felt like minutes but was probably just seconds, you felt your body start to try and pull away from the brutal attack on your throat. Even though your mind didn’t want you to, your body was panicking. His moans grew louder and you begged your body to endure just a little longer, needing him to come down your throat. 

“Stop fucking fighting it, bitch. You wanted this, so take it.” He growled, moving you faster and pushing you down harder. Your eyes burned with tears and it wasn’t long before they started falling, making him even more frenzied and desperate. His hips were bucking into you now as he forced your head up and down his cock, barely pulling you back more than halfway. 

After only a few more thrusts, he forced you all the way down with a low groan, using both hands to keep you there with your nose buried in his pelvis. His hips would occasionally buck into you as he rode out his orgasm. You moaned at the feeling of his come hitting your throat, but wished you could taste him too. Once his cock stopped twitching and his sounds died down, he finally loosened his grip enough to let you pull back and you coughed almost violently as he panted. 

“Satisfied?” He asked through a breath, looking down at you. 

“For now.” You smirked, but batted your eyes at him innocently. He released your hair and you frowned, but didn’t protest any further. 

“Clean it.” He ordered and you eagerly dove back in to lick at his softening cock. You were more just enjoying tasting him rather than cleaning up all of your spit… which he seemed to notice. “I said, clean it.” You looked up at him, but when you were met with a warning glare, you just huffed and did as he said, licking his cock and balls to clean him as much as possible. “Put it back now.” Despite the fact that you wanted nothing more than to do the opposite, you tucked his softening cock back in his pants and fastened them before buckling his belt. 

“Good.” Your heart practically stopped at the sudden praise. “Sit back down.” You frowned, but obeyed, waiting for the next command. “Trust that if you touch yourself before our next session, I will know, and I will have someone else take over as your psychiatrist. Do you understand?” Your frown deepened as a needy whine left you and he raised his brows in response, challenging you, making you huff. 

“Yes..” You muttered, looking at the table as you slouched in your chair, sulking. The next few days are going to be absolute torture. 

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @faebirdie @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @bluujaiwrites (didn’t let me tag ->) @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @idkdudsworld

[bountydroid]

Take a Ride, Cowgirl

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader SMUT

Request: riding the ghoul and he puts his hat on you and smacks your ass?? 

TW: p in v, spanking, irradiated creampie, Dom!Cooper, a little rough, all porn no plot

Notes: I literally wrote this while hiding in the basement from a tornado in case you ever wonder where my priorities lie.

You really aren't sure how you ended up here. Sure, you and Cooper always had an unspoken attraction to each other, but neither of you ever acted on it, instead opting for playful banter. However, here you are, grinding into the lap of the most feared man in the Wastelands. 

"Cooper," You moaned into his mouth as your hips kept their rhythm. The ghoul was laid out underneath you, comfortable on your squeaking bedframe. His hands were firm against your hips, almost like he was afraid you'd stop.

"Sugar," He groaned before his lips started to trail down your neck, nipping along the way. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

You let out a breathy laugh because he's wrong, you do know how long he's wanted this. You've noticed his eyes on you from the first moment you met, always scanning you up and down hungrily. You've wanted him just as long.

Your laugh seemed to anger him as he bit down hard on your neck, earning him a mix of a squeal and a moan, before spanking your ass harshly. "Somethin' funny?" 

"I need you." You moan as he keeps his hand on your backside, massaging you gently.

"You think you deserve it?" He asked as he squeezed your ass hard.

"Please," You pleaded as your hips sped up in his lap causing him to let out a string of curses.

“Take off your clothes, sweetheart.” Cooper said, a hint of begging in his voice. You were quick to comply, ripping off your clothes like they burned to the touch. Before long you were naked atop of him, breathing heavily with a wild look in your eye.

“Fuck, Cooper.” You groaned as you brought your face back down to his, your forehead knocking against his hat still snug on top of his head. Kissing him felt like a drug, the deeper the kiss the more intoxicated you felt. The kiss quickly became feral and needy as you pressed your body flat against him. “Need you.” You manage to mumble out into his mouth again. 

“Why don’t you take a ride, cowgirl.” Cooper said pulling away from my face while giving you a mischievous grin. You let out a small huff of disapproval at the lack of contact, but still obeyed, 

hands quickly fumbling with his leather belt. Before long you had his cock exposed and you couldn’t help but salivate at the sight.

“I can’t wait any longer.” You begged as you positioned yourself above his still-clothed body. He moaned needily underneath you before giving your ass another harsh smack.

“Then don’t.” He groaned as he tried to buck up into you, the head of his cock smacking against your needy clit causing you to let out a strangled moan before you lowered yourself onto him. You went slow, savoring the feeling of his leathery skin inside of you. It was unlike anything you have ever felt before, and you needed more. Once you bottomed out you stopped to catch your breath. You felt him snug inside of you, almost like he was molded to fit you perfectly as the tip of him pressed heavily against your cervix. 

“Perfect.” You mumbled out, already drunk on the feeling of him inside of you. “You are perfect.” 

He let out a scoff as his hands roamed up your body, pinching your nipples gently.  “Needed me that bad, sugar?” He asked as he twisted and pulled at your nipples. Lost in the pleasure you could only nod in response. You screwed your eyes shut as you felt yourself clench around him, earning you a soft groan. “I told you to ride me.” He fake scolded you as he placed his hat on your head. “So, ride.” He commanded.   

You did as you were told, lifting your hips up from his slowly, savoring the feeling as you pulled him out of you completely before smashing back down on top of him, quickly finding the perfect rhythm. 

“Shit.” You cried out as he bumped against your cervix again and again. As your climax neared your pace began to falter, but Cooper was having none of that. Another hard smack rang out in the air as you cried out in both pain and pleasure. No doubt your ass would be bruised in the morning. The thought of his handprint left on you in black and blue caused you to clench hard around him as you picked up your pace again. 

“Gettin’ close, sweetheart. Don’t you stop.” Cooper ordered as he bucked up into you, a groan leaving his mouth. Eager to please, you kept your pace despite your thighs shaking on either side of him, begging for mercy, begging for you to slow down but you were both so close. You couldn’t stop now.

“Please, please Cooper.” You begged, your mind completely blank from the pleasure. Your pleas didn’t go unanswered as he grabbed your hips and pounded up into you, finally letting you go limp against him as you continued to beg into his chest. As your bodies collided, the hat fell off your head. You tried to grab it but you couldn’t reach it. Cooper noticed what happened and have your ass another harsh smack, causing you to tumble over the edge as your vision went white. You screamed out in pleasure as you came hard around him. 

“So fuckin’ careless with my shit.” He mumbled into your hair, the feeling of you tight around him making it impossible for him to be mad at you. As pleasure turned to overstimulation you started to writhe against him. “Nuh, uh. You ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He tutted while he continued to piston into you, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips. When he climaxed, he let out a long, gruff moan. He was pushing you as far down onto his lap as you could go causing you to whimper into his chest. 

As you came down from your high, soreness started to set in. Cooper seemed to anticipate this as he rubbed soft circles into your hips. 

“So, what do you think, Coop?” You asked, slowly pushing yourself up to look at him. “Am I a good cowgirl?” He let out a surprised laugh at your question before pulling you down back into a deep kiss. 

“I don’t know, sugar.” He jested. “I think you need some more practice.”

Tag list: @v3lv3tf0x

[sanarsi]

It's just business

Javier Peña x informant!f!Reader

Summary: As one of the drug cartels' representatives, you were incredibly useful to Agent Peña. However, he can't stop his habit of fucking his informants. Warnings: +18, MDNI, rough sex, unprotected PIV, hair pulling, dirty talk, insults, rough!dom!Javier, mention of drugs, mention of killing, reader eats meat, age gap (not specified) Wordcount: 3,1k An: I admit, I got hot when I wrote this. As much as I have a weakness for soft Javi, I can't resist rough Javier as well. It’s for my all slutty sluts, enjoy xx Music I worked with: Trust Issues - The Weeknd (Remix)

Masterlist

You and Javier had a purely business relationship. Information for information. And he honestly wasn't happy about it. He'd rather see you behind bars.

Or in his bed.

Both options were satisfactory.

But he promised you immunity in exchange for information. You were useful and that's the only reason he gave you what you wanted in return.

That's why he was driving towards the city center again with a folder of documents on the seat next to him. He was already smoking another cigarette out of nerves after today's work. And the worst thing was that he continued working after work. What an irony.

He parked under one of the skyscrapers where you were supposed to wait for him. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and fixed his hair and mustache. He didn't look perfect but he was after a whole day of sitting in a damn office. He had the right to look and feel like shit.

Despite that, he put on some cologne and changed his shirt to a fresh one that was lying on the back seat. He carefully buttoned every button and straightened the collar of his black shirt. He took a briefcase with documents and a leather jacket from seat next to him and then headed towards the entrance to the skyscraper.

You loved meeting him in damn rich places. You emphasized your position in this city.

It was amazing how well it was to live on illegal money and hands covered in blood.

You were the perfect example of how beautiful the devil can be. And Javier was just a man who was easy to persuade to sin.

However, fate did not want to allow it.

You were the only informant he did not put his sticky hands on. And he didn't know if he was more pissed off or relieved that at least he hadn't sold out to someone like you.

He took the elevator up to the top floor where the restaurant was located. Too lavish for his taste. But it suited you perfectly.

The waiter directed him to one of the tables in the middle of the room. What else could he have expected?

You loved to shine.

But your excuse was that it was darkest under the streetlight.

That's why you always met in public places in full view.

The black dress barely reached mid-thigh and the shiny jewelry added sex appeal to you. You slowly sipped your champagne, watching the view of the illuminated city outside the window. Even the fact that Javier approached the table and sat down opposite you, didn't distract you. Only a smirk appeared on your lips as you took another sip of champagne.

He watched you in silence for a moment before he sighed and looked at the view outside the window himself. From this perspective, the city looked like paradise. It was a shame that so much shit was happening on its streets.

Shit that you were also responsible for.

“We could be quite successful together on the streets of this city,” you said lightly. Javier glanced at you but didn’t comment on your words. He had long since grown tired of refusing you such cooperation.

You took the last sip of champagne and finally turned your gaze to him. Damn piercing.

He wondered how you would look at him as he pushed his cock inside you.

“Not nice of you to keep me waiting,” you smacked your lips disapprovingly and glanced at the watch on your wrist. “As much as seven minutes,” you added, raising your eyebrows in amusement. “We should respect each other’s time, wouldn’t you agree?” you asked confidently.

He watched you in silence and really wished he could wipe that smirk off your face.

Javier couldn't remember the last time he hated someone as much as you and wanted someone so damn much at the same time.

Kill you or fuck you? He saw no difference.

“Sorry,” he commented briefly, without an ounce of sympathy. You smiled wider.

“I accept your apology. Champagne?” you suggested, pointing to the bottle between you. Javier declined with a shake of his head.

“I’m driving,” he explained, to which you nodded in understanding. Suddenly, a waiter appeared out of nowhere, placing a meal in front of you. If that was what you could call a piece of meat with a few unnecessary decorations.

“Disfrute de su comida,” the waiter said with a pleasant smile. You returned the gesture, taking the cutlery.

“Gracias,” you replied with a warm smile.

Javier watched you silently like a predator. You always had impeccable manners. You were always so damn nice and polite. You made him sick.

How on earth were you complicit in so many bad things?

How on earth do you pull the trigger on so many people's heads and look like an angel at the same time?

You began to eat your meal gracefully. And as usual, he didn't even touch his. Nothing new, and yet you ordered for him every time.

“I see you’re not very talkative today so I suggest we get straight to business,” you suggested, chewing on a piece of meat and taking a sip of champagne.

Javier wordlessly pulled out a stack of papers from inside his jacket and placed it on the table between you. You put down the cutlery and picked up the briefcase. You began to look through its contents in silence. You took your time. You had to be sure that everything you wanted was in it.

"Family information is classified even for me," he said immediately to forestall your question. You glanced at him for a moment and then started reading again.

“We both know you can if you want to, Agent Peña,” you replied with a smirk. Javier clenched his jaw, watching closely as your fingers gently turned the pages. How your lips tightened in concentration. How your eyes followed the text intently.

Fuck, he was getting hard just by looking at you.

"I won't risk my job because of your whims," ​​he said in a slightly lower tone. You looked at him, raising your eyebrows with a smile.

"Aren't you already doing that? Sitting at the same table with me? Talking to me without witnesses and without handcuffs?" you asked with that sly glint in your eye.

Yeah, he was getting harder.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. You snorted slightly when you didn't get an answer from him. You went back to reading the data and Javier was tempted to pour himself that damn champagne. He had to drink something. He couldn't be fully focused on you or he would go crazy.

You glanced at him, observing his actions but didn't comment on it. He poured himself half a glass and drank it all in one go.

"Hard day at work?" you asked lightly without looking away from the papers. Javier looked at you and put the glass on the table.

"No more than yours," he snapped. He couldn't help the venom in his voice. But you got used to it.

"No, my day was exceptionally pleasant," you replied, reading another sheet of paper.

"Sure, taking your own shit is pleasant," he said with disgust and leaned back heavily in the chair. You laughed quietly under your breath.

"You'll be surprised, but my life doesn't revolve around cocaine."

"Oh yeah?" he raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. You looked up at him with a gentle smile.

Fuck, you looked so cute.

So sexy.

His dick twitched.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I went bowling with my nephews,” you said happily. He clenched his jaw tighter.

His sexual frustration was boiling through his veins like poison.

“But I killed a few people in my five-minute break. Just for fun,” you teased him and winked.

You closed the folder and put it in your bag. You took a deep breath and sipped your champagne.

“I’m not satisfied. There are a few things missing,” you announced before you started eating again.

Javier straightened up and poured himself some champagne again. This time he began to calmly sip the fizzy alcohol as he leaned his elbows on the table.

“I gave you too much already,” he replied raising an eyebrow.

“I disagree,” you replied swallowing the meat and you looked up at him. “Don’t treat me the way you wouldn’t want to be treated,” you said seriously.

Javier sipped his champagne watching your cold gaze.

“You expect me to give you full information?” you asked raising an eyebrow. “Then give me the same in return,” you added seriously.

Jesus, he loved it when you talked to him as if he were a disobedient dog.

"Otherwise, our cooperation won't need to continue," you announced, starting to cut another piece of meat. "I don't need you as much as you think," you noted indifferently. And Javier knew you were right.

He needed you more than you needed him.

He nodded, sipping his champagne.

“So give me today something that’s worth the information I gave you,” he announced, trying to get to safe ground. He knew when to back off. And that was the moment.

You put the cutlery on your plate and looked at him.

“Your information is worth shit,” you said seriously and reached your hand to your bra between your breasts. Javier couldn’t help but stare at your movements. “But unlike you, I keep my word.” You pulled a small piece of paper out of your bra and held it out to him.

He looked at the small piece of paper and reached for it, deliberately brushing his fingers against yours.

Your skin was so damn soft and cold compared to his.

And he couldn’t help but think that he’d want to help you warm up.

He unfolded the folded piece of paper and read the address in his mind.

Fuck, even your handwriting was perfect.

“More cocaine will pass through this house on Friday night than will fit in your ridiculous agency,” you explained, and he immediately put the note in his pocket, mentally jotting down everything you said. His agent instincts immediately kicked in. He watched as you calmly sipped your champagne, your tongue licking up a stray drop.

Were you doing that on purpose so he couldn’t concentrate?

“Few people, lots of stuff. Something you like,” you said with a forced smile. He loved how reluctant you both were to share information with each other.

Maybe you weren’t so different after all?

Apart from the important fact that you were on opposite sides of the law.

"This is going to be a big operation for which you will get a certificate and a brave scout badge," you teased. "So I expect you to leave me alone for at least a month after this," you added seriously placing your empty glass on the table. You wiped your lips on a napkin leaving a trace of lipstick on it.

Your meeting was coming to an end.

“No promises,” he replied with a smirk. You forced a fake smile, looking at him with reluctance.

“Don’t fuck with me, Agent Peña. None of us will benefit from this,” you warned before getting up from the table. You adjusted your dress that had ridden up your thighs and his gaze didn’t leave yours for a second. “Keep an eye on my bag,” you said indifferently and headed towards the bathroom.

Javier watched your hips sway from side to side with every step and he felt like a hungry animal. You disappeared behind the wall and he immediately looked at your bag. His leg started to bounce nervously as a very stupid idea started to form in his head.

Well, sometimes he had to admit that he thought with a different head than the one on his neck.

In a second he stood up taking your bag and followed you. He looked towards the men's room before quickly slipping into the women's room.

You were washing your hands when you heard someone come in. You looked up and in the reflection in the mirror you saw Javier watching you carefully. You frowned turning towards him.

"What are you-" you started but you were interrupted by the sound of the door lock closing. You looked at his hand feeling your pulse speed up.

Javier quickly crossed the distance between you and in one move threw your bag on the sink before he grabbed you by the cheeks and attacked your lips.

You moaned in surprise stepping back from his strength. He pressed your hips against the sink not letting you move away. His kisses were so strong and intense that you were unable to fight him. You clenched your fists on his shirt when his tongue crept into your mouth and immediately dominated yours. You moaned as you felt him rub his hips against yours and his hard cock made itself known.

You finally gathered enough strength to push him away from you. Javier took a step back, giving you a moment of respite. You looked at each other, breathing heavily.

You were in shock at what had happened and he was even more shocked that he had done it at all.

"What the fuck, Peña?" you gasped, swallowing hard. Javier was silent for a moment, his gaze only gaining intensity.

"I'm checking if fucking with you will bring any benefits," he replied confidently before he closed the distance between you again and turned you towards the mirror in one move. You leaned your hands against the sink as he pinned you with his hips again.

You began to breathe heavily as his hands pulled up your dress exposing your hips. You watched in the reflection as he focused on unbuttoning his pants before pulling out his cock with a sigh of satisfaction.

His gaze found yours in the mirror before you felt him start to slide his dick over your ass.

“Feel it?” he asked raising his eyebrows. “How hard I am just from your fuckin’ bullshit,” he growled and slammed his cock on your butt. You gasped for air when he ripped your panties apart in one move.

"They were expensive," you mumbled, tightening your fingers on the sink. His tip ran over your wet slit, spreading the moisture that had already leaked out of you.

"I'll buy you new ones," he said before he pushed into you with a strong movement, entering all the way.

You screamed in pain, resting your hand on the mirror and looking at his reflection with hatred. Javier tangled his hand in your hair and pulled you back, making you moan, arching your back.

"Be a good girl for once," he mumbled against your ear, maintaining eye contact with you in the mirror. You clenched your jaw tightly, holding back the urge to spit on his reflection.

A sly smirk appeared on his lips before he began to thrust into you. Hard and deep. Making you unable to hold back your moans.

His grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place. Every movement of his hips was damn precise, hitting your weak spot. His growls echoed off the bathroom walls as he watched his cock disappear inside you.

“Your pussy is just as harsh as your mouth,” he panted, catching your gaze in the mirror before he tugged on your hair, tilting your head to the side.

You hissed in pain and then pleasure as his lips bit into your neck, beginning to suck and nibble. You closed your eyes, feeling the pain mix with pleasure with each thrust of his hips.

“Did you ever wonder what they would do to you if you went to prison?” he murmured against your skin and began to place wet kisses along your length, all the way to your shoulder. “With a face like that, you better not end up there, right?” he began to nibble on your arm and his hand dove between you and the sink.

“Are you threatening me?” you gasped.

“I’m warning you,” he replied before his fingers found your clit. You moaned as he began to massage it perfectly in time with his hips.

Your orgasm was approaching with great strides.

“Do you know how many things I could do to you if you were handcuffed?” he asked, looking at your face contorted in pleasure. “You would be begging me to stop,” he growled against your ear, speeding up his thrusts. You moaned, fighting for the tiniest bit of oxygen. “Fuckin’ slut,” he growled, looking down as his hips slammed against yours with a loud slap.

"Don't let yourself, dog," you growled, looking at him with hatred. Not only was the cop fucking you, but he was also being too self-conscious with his words. He laughed bitterly then growled feeling you slowly tighten around him more and more often.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," he mumbled massaging your clit harder. You whimpered and your knees trembled. "I'm supposedly on the other side and yet inside you," he said with superiority. "Irony of fate, huh?" he mumbled with a smile of satisfaction and you felt your legs start to tremble. "And now you're going to cum from my cock," he laughed bitterly. "But don't worry," he whispered in your ear. "I won't tell anyone about that." He bit your earlobe sending waves of shivers straight between your legs.

You gasped moaning when you came so hard that Javier hissed in pain. He let go of your hair making you stumble against the mirror, supporting yourself with your hand at the last moment.

His hands tightened on your hips as he pushed into you further. You gasped for air as you felt the waves of your orgasm spread through your body. He growled in his throat before pulling out of you and grabbing his cock, pumping it a few times before he came on your ass with a groan.

You were both breathing heavily after your orgasm when Javier reached for the tissues by the sink and wiped his cum from your skin.

"See?"

Your eyes met in the mirror.

"Like I was never here," he said, throwing the tissue into the trash and hiding his cock in his underwear, buttoning his pants.

He slapped your ass and growled in satisfaction at seeing it shake before straightening your dress.

"See you in a month," he winked and headed for the exit. He unlocked the door and stopped before leaving. He glanced at you over his shoulder with a sly smile. "Unless you miss me sooner." And he left.

-> (part 2 "Forbidden fruit”)

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four­, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

[liz-on-leash]

Yena music show noncon please

My thought is Yena is preparing for a preshow interview, when the director of the music show barge in, shoo everyone out except yena saying that he wants to have some private talk, he end up raping her to get her win in the music show

You stride into the dressing room, a confident smirk on your face as you survey the bustling scene. 

The air is thick with hairspray and the buzz of excited conversation, but your eyes lock onto Yena instantly. 

She's sitting in front of a mirror, her stylist fussing with her hair, and you can't help but admire her beauty, enhanced by the soft lighting. 

Her smooth skin, the hint of cleavage peeking from her low-cut top under the purple crochet. You've been fantasizing about this moment for far too long. It's time to make her yours.

"Alright, everyone out!" Your voice booms, startling the room into silence. "I need a private word with Miss Choi Yena."

The stylists and assistants exchange confused glances, but they start to file out, leaving you alone with Yena, who looks at you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Sir, is something wrong?" Yena's voice is soft, her eyes wide and innocent.

You chuckle, moving closer, relishing the power you hold over the situation. "You could say that. But it's not a problem that can't be solved."

Leaning in, you speak, "You see, your CEO has put me in a rather delicate position. He asked a favor, and I'm afraid it involves you."

She frowns, her brow creasing in confusion. "What do you mean, Director?"

"Well, they want you to win the show, but there's a catch. A price to pay." You pause, letting the tension build as you stroke her cheek. "And that price is your body. I want you to pleasure me however I wish."

Yena's eyes widen in shock, and she tries to stand, but you're quicker as you grab a fistful of her hair, feeling the silky strands between your fingers, and yank her back down, forcing her onto the couch. 

She lets out a startled cry, her eyes now filled with fear. "N-no! Please, Director, you can't do this!" Yena struggles, her hands reaching up to pry your fingers.

"Oh, but I can, and I will. If you don't cooperate, I'll make sure your career is over. I have connections, Choi Yena,” you threaten. 

“One call, and not only will you be blacklisted, but I'll see to it that your brother's career goes down the drain too. You won't sing or dance again, and neither will he."

Her eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape, but it's futile. The room is empty, and she knows it. Her screams for help echo off the walls, but no one comes to her rescue.

You straddle her waist, pinning her down with your weight. She squirms beneath you, her body writhing. Raising your hand, you deliver a sharp punch to her stomach, making her gasp and curl inwards.

"Scream all you want, sweetheart. No one's coming to save you," you snarl, punctuating your sentence with another punch.

Yena whimpers, her breath coming in short gasps as she tries to protect her stomach with her arms. Her makeup is now smudged, tears mixing with the black liner, creating dark streaks down her cheeks.

"Please... D-Don’t hurt me– Anything… I will do it…" she pleads, her voice hoarse from screaming.

You lean down, your lips almost touching hers, and whisper, "That's more like it. Now, I want you to strip, slut. Show me what I'm about to enjoy."

Trembling, Yena begins to comply, her fingers fumbling with her clothes.. She knows resistance is futile, and the thought of saving her brother's career pushes her to obey. The top falls, revealing a black bra that contains her perky breasts.

"Faster," you command, your hand gripping her throat, squeezing just enough to assert your dominance. "And while you're at it, tell me how much you want this, how much you've been craving my touch."

"I-I want it..." Yena chokes out, her voice strained. "I've wanted you to fuck me since the first time I saw you... Please, Director, just don't hurt me..."

Your cock throbs at her words, and you grind your hips down, letting her feel your hardness against her soft core through the thin fabric of your pants. 

"That's a good girl. Admit that you've been fantasizing about this, about being my plaything."

As she continues to undress, her hands shaking, you admire her body, the curves that have driven you wild with desire. 

Her nipples hardening under your intense gaze. She hurriedly slides off her skirt, revealing a pair of matching lace panties, already damp with her fear.

"Now, spread those pretty legs, Yena," you order, your voice thick with lust. "Show me that sweet pussy. I want to see how wet you are for me."

She complies, her legs falling open, exposing her glistening folds. You lean down, inhaling her scent, the musky aroma of her core filling your nostrils.

"Such a filthy slut," you whisper, running a finger along her slit, collecting her juices. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?"

Yena whimpers, her body betraying her as she arches into your touch. "Y-yes, Director. I'm so wet..."

Withdrawing your finger, you bring it to your mouth, sucking her essence off your skin, savoring the taste of her. “Delicious. But I want more. I want to hear you beg for my cock, Yena."

"Please, fuck me..." she instantly begs, her voice breaking. "I need your cock inside me, Director. Please, just fuck me hard and make me your slut."

You grin, your cock throbbing painfully in your pants. "That's what I like to hear, you whore. Now, get on your knees and suck me off. Show me how badly you want it."

Yena scrambles to obey, positioning herself between your legs, her hands working at your belt. She frees your straining erection, her eyes widening at the sight of your thick, veined shaft.

"Suck it, Yena," you command, your hand tangling in her hair again, guiding her mouth to your tip.

She wraps her lips around you, taking you deep, her tongue swirling, and you groan, thrusting into her warm, wet mouth. "Oh, Yeah, fuck. What a cocksucker bitch, hah!."

Yena gags slightly, her eyes watering, but she persists, determined to please you to save herself. You hold her head in place, fucking her mouth with abandon, your balls slapping against her chin.

You grunt, your hips moving in a frantic tempo. "Suck me good, and maybe I will consider being gentle with that cunt of yours."

Her mouth works feverishly, and you can feel her tears mixing with the saliva coating your shaft. The thought of her degradation only serves to heighten your arousal.

"Enough," you grunt, pulling out of her mouth with a pop. "Now, get on the couch and spread those legs. I'm going to fuck you like the slut you are."

Yena scrambles onto the couch, her body trembling, but she does as she's told, presenting herself to you, her pussy slick, ready for your invasion.

You position yourself at her entrance, the head of your cock teasing her wetness. "Beg for it, Yena. Beg me to fuck that pretty cunt."

"Please... fuck me, Director..." she contends, her voice vibrating. "I'm yours... just fuck me..."

With warning, you bury yourself inside her, tearing through every layer, claiming her with one powerful stroke. Yena cries out, her body adjusting to your size, her walls clenching around you.

"Fuck, you're tight," you groan, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back into her, over and over, pounding her pussy harder. "You like that, whore? You like being fucked by the man who holds your career in his hands?"

"Mm! Yes... yes, I do… Ahh!" her nails digging into the couch cushions. "Harder, please... fuck me harder… Nngh!"

You oblige, your hands gripping her hips, leaving bruises as you slam into her, driving her towards the edge. Her pussy grips you tightly, milking your cock, and you can't hold back much longer.

"I'm gonna cum, shit–" you inform, your balls tightening. "Where do you want my load, huh, slut? In that pretty pussy or all over that fucked-up bruised tummy?"

Yena's eyes roll back as she climaxes, her body shaking. "I-inside me... fill me with your cum, Director..."

You pull out, your cock glistening with her juices, and position yourself at her entrance again. With one final penetration, you spill your seed deep within her, filling her up as promised.

Your body shudders as you empty yourself into her. "Remember this moment, Choi Yena, because you're mine now, and there's no going back."

As you catch your breath, you watch her, your cock still twitching inside her, marking her as yours. Yena lies beneath you, her chest heaving, her body spent, but her eyes now hold a new light, one of defiance and surrender all at once.

"Get cleaned up, slut," you say, withdrawing from her. "You have a show to win, and I expect a private encore performance later."

With that, you straighten your clothes, leaving Yena to process what just happened, knowing that she's now irrevocably yours.

[cryobabyy]

Consummation Cooper Adams x Reader

Synopsis: Isolation and survival make you act in strange ways, but all is fair in love and violence.

OR

Cooper is keeping you in a remote and isolated location where he likes to play house with you and you cope by playing along.

Tags: NSFW 18+, drabble/short fic, breeding kink, dub-con, brief mentions of violence, Stockholm syndrome, shower sex, dark themes, by request, barely proofread, p-in-v intercourse, cr3Vm pie.

AN: Howdy! Breeding Kink isn't my thing, so I hope this satisfies all my freaks out there. Please note that this is considerably dark and not fluff. Tbh it will probably make you feel kinda icky (and slightly turned on?). I can't help it y'all I'm Ottessa Moshfegh pilled lol. Also important to note that Cooper is dead ass trying to knock you up in this. Like straight up. If you are looking for something more subtle this is not it I fear 😀. Enjoy!

con·sum·ma·tion (noun) 1: the action of making a marriage or relationship complete by having sexual intercourse." the eager consummation that follows a long and passionate seduction" 2: the point at which something is complete or finalized." the consummation of a sale"

Cooper’s hands always found their way into your hair. When you crawled your way into his morning shower, he sighed as he wrapped his fingers around your wet braid, big arms snaking around your naked waist and pulling you against him. His cheek rested perfectly on top of your head.

“Missed me?” He murmurs against your scalp.

“I was scared you weren’t coming back.” You confess, his chest fluttering against your cheek as he huffs a laugh. The very real possibility of Cooper leaving you here to rot makes you feel cold.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll always come back to you.”

His hands always ended up in your hair, exactly like how your back always ended up pressed against cold shower tiles; Cooper’s body between your legs, his hand spreading and holding your knees open. You were both delighted and horrified that he could pin you against a wall so easily. The stretch of him pushing in and out of you dampens the horror until all you feel is the warmth of the delight; hazy, muted, heavy, and all over you.

You loved when he fucked you numb.

So numb, you no longer paid mind to the dried blood washing away from his body, thick ribbons of pink water swirling at his feet. There was no ankle monitor strapped against your flesh if he was rolling your clit in his mouth. His hands had taken an orgasm from you before they had held a knife to your throat.

When you held his face between your hands and begged him to cum inside you, it was a thinly veiled plea for your life—for him to put something in you that would keep him coming back. Something that would keep you alive.

With a string of expletives, he obliged. He held you like that for sometime after, lazily pulsing inside you, using the obscene, white leakage to rub his thumb over your swollen clit.

“It’ll take better if you finish, baby.” His labored breath flutters against your mouth as he presses his forehead against yours.

Without a gun to your head, you nodded with a greedy whimper. Your mind hummed with the thought of newlyweds eager to become first-time parents, Cooper rubbing lotion over the taught skin of your growing belly, ultrasound appointments, and baby showers. A tiny, vulnerable thing swaddled in a blanket, pink and screaming—with Cooper’s hazel eyes, chocolate brown hair, and your nose and dimples. A baby with a monster for a father and a coward for a mother. A bastard.

You feel relieved when your orgasm finally rips through you. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your asinine mind, you felt disgusted too. Cooper’s grip on your thighs began to hurt and the water droplets against your skin began to sting, but it all turned back to spineless fantasy as he lulled you through it with gentle praises

Almost there, sweetheart.

Just like that.

There we go.

Perfect.

Would it be so horrible if you were in love with him? Because you think you are.

Later on, when you’re making him coffee, he comes behind you and rests his hands on your lower belly. Repugnance and tenderness turn in your stomach. Cooper presses a kiss to the top of your head, keeping his mouth there.

“Do you think we could be happy?” He murmurs softly into your hair, thumbs tracing soft circles against your skin.

The monitor around your ankle feels heavy. You remember the sedatives he put in your drink, his wife and children at home, and this plush and comfortable prison he kept you in.

Your eyes flit toward the kitchen knives and you remember you could face the consequences of lodging one in his neck—if you wanted to.

You want to tell him he could never be happy. That his version of it could only be satisfied through violence. But brute force could be soft and safe if you surrendered to it. If you could bend something jagged and serrated into the shape of lovers, would you be spared from the rage inside of him?

“Maybe.” You say flatly, pouring Cooper his cup of coffee.

[aniesvision]

wanna bet? (chris sturniolo x f! reader)

part 1!

warnings: enemies to lovers trope!, teasing, one annoying the other, suggestive, honestly just back and forth arguments

a/n: heyy, I'm making three parts of this 'cause it's way too long to be just in one part. friendly reminder: english is not my first language. 💕

synopsis: when you and Chris were left alone for a few hours and you can't stop arguing with each other, without Nick or Matt to separate you both, he decides to do something about it himself.

🪻🪻🪻

I walk down the stairs with a towel in hand drying my hair. When I realized that there was no one but me in the living room, and that Nick was not in his room, nor Matt in his, I came to the conclusion that the boys probably left me here alone. At least a moment of peace.

It was all I needed, until I heard footsteps and saw the silhouette of the boy I liked the least appearing in front of me, already rolling his eyes before he even fully saw me.

-Where's Nick? —His voice was hoarse, as if he had just woken up, even though it was past 2pm.

He wore a black denim shorts and a white tank top, his wet hair letting a few drops of water fall to the floor. Although he didn't seem so excited by my presence, he still walked towards me.

-He went out with Matt. —I answer, without much interest. I look through the kitchen cabinets, searching for some snacks.

-So they left us alone. —He scoffs, frustrated, looking at me as if it was my fault.

And I thought I'd have a few minutes of peace in this house.

-I'm not happy about it either, dude, stop looking at me.

I grab a Doritos, opening it and eating one as I make my way to the living room couch. Chris lets out an angry sigh and takes a pepsi out of the fridge, then throws himself on the opposite end of the sofa.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and types for a few seconds before tossing the phone on the side table and opening the soda. I turn on the tv, looking for a movie to watch.

-They're at Target and then they'll stop by BK to bring food. Matt said it should take an hour.

Chris announces, not taking my attention off the tv as I listen about where my friends are. An hour wasn't that long, I could watch something in silence if he cooperated and didn't open his fucking mouth.

Not wanting to continue the conversation, I just shake my head in affirmation and open the suspense tab, looking for something that I hadn't seen yet.

-Put on an action movie.

The boy's voice is heard again and I close my eyes, trying to stay calm. I take another doritos in the package, realizing that it was already running out.

-Action is bad and I want to see something cool until the boys are back, so shut up and let me choose. —I answer with a calm but serious voice, warning him not to exceed my limits of kindness.

He kept his arms crossed and his legs slightly apart from each other. I feel my blood boiling and I knew I was about to get carried away with my emotions and end up in yet another argument that would suck out all my energies.

Without responding me, he moves on the couch, sitting closer to me and taking the control out of my hand, clicking on the horror tab.

-It can be something we both like. —He says, his voice sounding calmer, but his expressions the same.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms and legs, letting him choose without giving my opinion. It wasn't going to make any difference and it's just for another hour until the boys arrive and I don't have to deal with him anymore. After going through a few covers, he pressed play on a random horror movie that seemed to be about spirits or something, quite cliche.

The movie starts and I quickly realize that my snack is over. I let the plastic bag on the table next to Chris's pepsi and take the opportunity to take a few sips of his soda, feeling like drinking something after eating all the doritos in the package.

-Hey! That's my pepsi! —He looks at me angrily, which makes me laugh a bit and hide the can behind my body when I see him walking towards me ready to take it back.

Chris stops in front of me, trying to pull the pepsi out of my hand, while I just move it from side to side. When he was about to get it, I quickly drink the last sips.

-Get over it, it's just a soda. —I say, placing the can next to the finished doritos on the table and ignoring his furious gaze.

I sit in the middle of the couch, trying to turn my attention back to the movie. I hear Chris sigh loudly, but he doesn't do anything but sit down next to me and cross his arms again, locking his jaw and not taking his eyes off the screen.

A few minutes pass in silence and I feel the couch vibrate. I looked around in confusion until I realized that Chris's phone was buzzing. He picks it up and unlocks the screen, clicking on the notification and reading the text. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him rolling his eyes and blocking the screen again without even responding, throwing his head back and closing his eye.

-What? One of your little girlfriends broke up with you? —I ask, provoking him.

I hadn't read what it was, even though I was close enough, I don't like to invade anyone's privacy, but from his reaction I knew it was something bad and if it was bad for him it was good for me.

-Nick said they're gonna take longer.

His answer had already played out as a possibility in my head, but it was still a burden to have to spend more time alone with him.

I had no clue what was the story of the movie anymore because I missed so many parts, so I had nothing stopping me from angering him even more. I get up from the couch, walking to the kitchen, seeing him follow me with his gaze, but not interested enough to follow behind me. I open the fridge, grabbing the last can of pepsi and look back at him with a smile.

-How lucky, it's the last one. —I announce, seeing him get up and walk towards me.

I hurry to open the can and take a few sips, starting to run around the kitchen counter as the boy chases after me to try and grab what's left of his favorite soda. I run back to the couch, making him stop in front of me, seeing that I had nowhere else to run, but the can was already half empty.

I was doing everything I could to annoy him, and it was working.

-Give me the Pepsi. —He demands, his voice serious.

He walks in slow steps and I smile sarcastically before putting another amount of the drink in my mouth and he takes advantage of the situation. With one hand he takes the pepsi from me, and with the other he joins my two hands and holds me by the wrists. His eyes focused on mine as I noticed how his pupils had dilated, the black now predominant, leaving no space for the blue.

-You need to stop acting like a bitch. —He groans, so stressed that his sentence almost came out between his teeth.

I felt the tension weighing down and now it seemed to be a lot more serious than before, but it's not like I was afraid to mess with him.

Chris squeezed my wrists tighter, which I was sure it'd turn red later, then he let go. He chugged the rest of the Pepsi and left the can next to the other on the side table.

Chris gave me one last, almost deadly, look and sat back down on the couch. I allow myself to process the situation. The look he gave me was his way of telling me that "enough is enough".

He manspreads, arms crossed and his jaw locked. I rolled my eyes, sitting a little further away and not letting my eyes stray from his face, he was eventually turning slightly red, I knew he was holding all the anger inside. It never took much for us to get angry with each other.

-You didn't last long this time. —I tease, my voice low, almost disappointed.

The movie was still running on the tv. It hadn't been that much time, and from Nick's message you could tell they were going to take longer then we expected anyways. Being without any entertainment until then was torture, and I knew that he wouldn't leave me alone to use my phone or do anything by myself, which I took as an advantage, I could use our time to make him mad.

-Shut up. —His answer came quietly, almost in a whisper.

I smiled at his reaction and move closer to him, letting our shoulders lean against each other.

-Oh, c'mon, it was just pepsi. —I laugh internally as I feel his gaze on me once again, looking even more stressed, if that was even possible.

Our gazes met and I felt on my skin all the irritation he felt. Being so close made me feel for the first time confused about how this was going to end. Normally our fights never get too bad, mostly because Nick and Matt were always there to push us away, but now it was just the two of us.

-You better shut the fuck up. —Another whisper, but this time I felt a slight shiver down my spine.

He was serious, he always was, but now I felt like I was really pushing his buttons. Although usually I'd get stressed back, I was having fun, seeing him so mad was funny.

-Or what?

I watch his every moves carefully. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds before looking back at me with a smirk that makes me a bit nervous.

My body involuntarily moves backwards, getting into a position where I could observe everything from a better angle. Without having any answers, I allow myself to relax and turn my attention to the tv, with the same movie still playing.

-I'll have to do it for you.

This one was not as low as the last few replies, but enough to cheer me up. He was going to fight back, finally, maybe I would even get mad back if he was lucky.

I let out a nasal laugh, as a form of provocation, and turn my gaze to his face again, which like mine, until a few seconds ago, was focused on the tv. Seeing him so angry wasn't something new for me, but I felt something different this time. I wanted more, I wanted to see him explode with rage.

-And what are you going to do? You could barely take a can of Pepsi out of my hand, didn't make me angry, you're just pretty weak today. You can't shut me up, you can't even calm down, let go of your anger, Chris, that stupid face of yours doesn't scare me.

I speak in a normal tone, looking at him with all the sarcasm I could. He bites his cheek, making me smile to finally see that maybe he was reaching the height of his anger, but to my surprise he just smiled.

I didn't let myself look surprised, but his next steps were unexpected. Chris stepped closer again, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head.

-If you want me to let go of my anger so much then maybe I'll use you to calm down, what do you think?

His dilated pupils made his eyes turn completely black, not showing even a trace of blue anymore. He held me tight, but not so tight that I couldn't get out, it wasn't an obligation, he was giving me a choice.

With that I feel my hatred rise once again, but despite being mad enough to fight back at the same level, I was too surprised by the offer to even think of a response. I knew he was just teasing me, but that kind of subject never came into our mouths while we were fighting before. Not once. Not ever.

-Fuck you. —I answer through my teeth, letting out all the hatred I felt for him at that moment, which only made him laugh and loosen my wrists, but not pulling back or looking away.

-I'm sure you wouldn't feel so stressed if you let me fuck you right now, maybe you'll calm down a little. —He keeps talking and I feel my body heating up in anger.

Now he crossed the line, he crossed them faster than he should have and I didn't like that. I didn't want to lose the advantage I had or lose this stupid argument, and it was obvious that neither Nick or Matt were going to arrive at the right time to separate us as it happens in movie scenes.

He had used my own poison against me and I wouldn't let him get away with this.

-Chris, let's face it, you could try all night, but you'd never make me feel good. I'm sure my own hand is more effective than your fucking cock.

I roll my eyes, feeling weird for saying these words, but it was interesting to see how his expression has completely changed. He no longer had an idiotic smile on his face, but rather the seriousness that followed him whenever we were together.

For a second I felt victorious, I knew that him being serious meant that I could be on top of the situation again, but that feeling passed as soon as I realized that he was actually analyzing me. I furrowed my eyebrow in confusion as I stared into the depths of his soul through his eyes, trying to know what the hell he was thinking about. Soon enough, his smirk returned, it was small but noticeable.

-Wanna bet?

[kurogane2512]

Hey there 🤠

Here me out: Langley x G!P Reader + hate sex👀

They don't really hate each other, it's more of a rivalry between their factions and they both represent their own. They'd have a one on one meeting one day and things get heated because of disagreements. So Langley TRIED to seduce the reader into agreeing with her conditions. Being dominant and all. But in the end Langley is the one laying on the meeting table being fucked silly by reader. Reader fucks her all around the meeting room. Table, chairs, wall, everywhere. Maybe some aftercare in the end🥰

- a fan🤠💙

Hella yummy damn, and im so sorry this is very late

18+ CONTENT

Game: Path to Nowhere

Characters: Langley x g!p reader (can also read as gn!reader with a dick)

Type: Smut with little plot (kinda sub Langley and top reader, also kind of turned into jealous sex)

"Boss, we have arrived." Langley's subordinate informed her as the car stopped in front of a tall office building in Eastside. Langley's cane tapped on the floor as she stepped out and waltzed inside, strutting towards the meeting venue. A knock was heard on your office door followed by the door opening and Langley entered as if she owned the place, not bothering with politeness or respect.

"Good evening, Ms Langley." you greeted her with a flat tone, feeling offended by her show of disrespect towards you.

"No need for your fake pleasantries. Let's just begin what we are here for." Langley mocked before taking her seat in front of you, one leg folded over the other and her eyes piercing at you.

"Fine. Well, if you bothered reading the reports I sent you, you must know what I'm demanding and why I require your cooperation."

Langley flipped through the document in her hand and hummed, "Impressive proposal, but it is full of unnecessary risks."

You chuckled, "Risks are always essential when facing Mania. Rest assured, I won't let your precious subordinates' lives go to waste~"

Langley's lips twitched in annoyance at your words, "Always so spiteful, aren't you? How about I apply for your funding to be transferred to the MBCC instead? At least they have produced more results."

You smiled, "You can try, but the Council knows the Public Security Bureau is far more important than that prison. I'd suggest 9th Agency to not make any moves when they shouldn't, I hope to keep an amicable relationship with the MBCC."

Langley raised an eyebrow with a smirk, "Well, after the recent events, I suppose that can be negotiated. Moving on, what are your plans for West District now?"

"I believe I have already apprised you of that, Ms Langley."

"That was during the Rustfire incident. I need your plan of action for rehabilitating West District completely."

You hummed then leaned back on your chair, "I have some ideas, but this is not my highest concern at the moment. You must be aware of the increasing Mania cases in Eastside for the past year, the MBCC has been involved in all of them. The Council needs me to focus on Eastside more, they cannot compromise the life here."

Langley squinted her eyes then stood up from her seat and circled around the table, standing directly in front of you before swinging your chair to make you face her.

"Listen here, 'Captain'...." Langley leaned down, resting her hands on the armrests of the chair, "In case you have forgotten, I told you to facilitate a plan for West District months ago, while the Rustfire incident was ongoing. If the Council doesn't give you permission, then 9th Agency and by extent, Paradeisos does."

You smirked at Langley's sudden change in provocation, "What? Is your favorite MBCC not enough for that? Oh, that reminds me. Do you know there are rumours about you and that Chief having some kind of fling going on? Didn't expect you as the type to date colleagues~"

Langley sneered as well and loosened her tie then unbuttoned the first 2 buttons of her shirt, exposing the top of her breasts to you.

"Are you jealous, Captain? I can make some arrangements for you, I'm sure there are plenty of our colleagues willing to bend for you~"

Langley leaned back up then tugged your tie to make you stand up, pulling you flush against her body.

"Going off-topic, aren't we? I thought you couldn't wait to leave this place~" you teased.

Langley chuckled, "Well, I have been in more pleasant offices so you can't blame me. But I need you to give me your word about my order."

You sneakily grabbed Langley's waist lightly, "Your order? Interesting choice of word there~"

Langley bit her lower lip and stepped closer, lodging her knee between your legs.

"Why, of course, an order it is. Don't forget the 9th Agency has a higher standing than your Public Security Bureau~"

You chuckled, "So, will there be punishment if I refuse your order, 'boss'?~"

"You know I despise you, don't you? I can think of many fruitful punishments for you~"

"Oh, really? No wonder, you wouldn't be grinding against my dick otherwise~"

Langley gritted her teeth then pushed you away, "Enough. Give me your answer or I will use my alternatives."

You adjusted your tie before turning towards the table, "I cannot promise anything."

Langley clicked her tongue, "Useless, all of you. And here I was thinking you'd have redeemed yourself after the Rustfire incident."

Langley fixed her clothes and prepared to leave. Your eyes widened at her remark and you swiftly walked up to her before she could exit the office and pinned her against the wall.

"What the hell is your problem?! Can't you see I'm doing the best I can?! Who do you think you are just waltzing in and ordering me to do whatever? I have rules and other commitments to follow unlike you!"

You lashed at her, making her surprised but equally angry at you.

"Oh, don't you give me that, you useless Eastside scum! All you do is sit in this AC office all day while innocents are murdered and FAC soldiers are dying on the battlefield! See the bloodshed with your own eyes once then show this attitude to me!"

Langley held your wrists tightly and flipped around to pin you against the wall now.

"You think I haven't?! And you think I'm not trying to change that?! I do not have the protocols and permissions like you! If I did, I would have ended the Rustfire incident long before it turned out the way it did!"

"Then I'm giving you this chance now, you fool! Work with me and we will make the change!"

Your eyes widened at Langley's words and made you go silent. You suddenly realized the close proximity between you two, your breaths mingling with each other's and your gaze only focused on her. Langley sensed the tension as well then clicked her tongue before slamming her lips on yours while her hands fiddled to unbuckle your belt. You had no time to process her action as you quickly kissed back and began removing her clothes too.

Your movements were frantic and impatient, practically tearing the clothes off of each other while your lips pressed passionately. You exposed Langley's breasts first and immediately cupped them, roughly fondling and playing with them while your other hand roamed down her skirt. Langley wasn't far behind as she ripped your shirt open with ease and was about to fish out your cock when you grabbed her and flipped over once again.

A surprised gasp left her mouth as she was pinned again, overwhelmed by your unexpected strength. She wrapped her arms around your neck and slid one leg over your waist to pull you closer, your bulge pressing against her crotch. Her fingers harshly gripped the back of your head, pulling your hair to make you face her as she came close to bite your lip.

"You are insufferable, Captain." Langley whispered against your lips before you rolled your hips into her, pressing your erection against her core.

"I won't listen to you. You gotta do better than this to convince me~" you remarked as you unzipped your flyer and pulled out your cock.

Langley breathily chuckled and pushed your head into her chest, burying your face in the crook of her neck.

"Tell me what you want. Let's help out each other~"

You gritted your teeth, she was doing this intentionally to rile you up. There was only thing you wanted from her, only 1 question you wanted honestly answered. Langley reached down and gripped your shaft, languidly pumping it while gazing at you.

"You and I both know this game; we have been at it for so long. How about we skip the formalities this time? Tell me your demands and I'll make sure they are seen through."

You wrapped your arms around her waist then picked her off the wall and carried her to your table before flipping her over and bending her on it, pushing out her hips for you. Langley chuckled more at your eagerness and playfully gyrated her hips on your crotch, earning a muffled groan from you as you worked to flip up her skirt and expose her folds.

"Just.... answer one thing, that's all." you spoke while rubbing your tip on her wet folds.

"T-That's all? This is new.... mhm.... I thought you'd have a list ready by now~"

"I do but.... ngh.... I can do them on my own. I need this one answer from you...."

"Aaah.... f-fine.... get to it already~"

Langley was growing impatient as you kept teasing her with your cockhead. She would take matters in her own hands if you didn't start soon. You didn't waste more time and eased yourself in her warmth, easily sliding your cock inside her and burying to the hilt. She whined feeling you inside, desperately keeping her moans in to maintain her composure and authority.

"G-Guess you were right, any colleague of ours would bend for me— mhm.... e-even you, the esteemed boss of the 9th Agency~" you teased as you started thrusting in and out at a slow pace.

"S-Shut it, ask what you want to know and— aah....finish it already, I have more places to go...."

"Hmm.... more places like the MBCC? You really like going there, don't you?"

You grunted as you pushed in deeper, penetrating her all the way and prodding her sweet spots.

"Mhm! Y-You are mentioning it a lot today.... What? Do you really believe those rumours about me and that rookie?~"

".....And she even has a nickname.... Dammit!" you suddenly slammed forward hard, making her fall on the table with a gasp. Langley couldn't retort as you set a brutal pace, drilling into her reckless abandon so much so that the table was already creaking. You pulled her in from her waist and kept plowing, her body arching into you as she tried to turn the tide.

"H-Hey! Slow down.... What's up with you today? Aaahn!~"

Langley breathlessly moaned, her smoky voice filling your ears as you kept your pace, not planning to slow down anytime soon. You squeezed her butt then leaned on her back to kiss her nape and shoulders while your hands wrapped around to grab her breasts.

"Have you done this with her already? Is she better than me?" you whispered in her ear, catching her by surprise hearing what was truly on your mind. She found it hilarious and adorable at the same time, she wasn't aware you harbored such thoughts. Langley smirked to herself and looked at you over her shoulder, noting the needy look on your face.

"Mhm.... s-she has her ways.... she's not bad— aahn!~"

You tightened your grip around her then suddenly flipped her over to lay her on her back. Placing her right leg on your shoulder, you continued the same fast and hard pace from before, fucking her like it was the only thing on your mind.

"D-Don't you dare lie to me! Langley.... you.... ah, fuck it!" you slammed with all your might, skin slapping against her thighs making her arch every time you pushed in. Langley had seen your moments of desperation, times when you fucked her senseless out of exhaustion, but this was different. She had never experienced this side of you.

Her body rocked on the table from your brutal thrusts, both of her legs resting on your shoulders now as you leaned forward and fucked deep into her. She was surprised you still kept going and weren't close to releasing, her walls held you inside tightly and milked you of everything you had. Langley would never cum before you, but perhaps today you'd change that.

Your dick plunged with broad arcs in and out, digging into her tight and warm walls and filling her to the brim, shoving as much as you could manage in a single thrust. Your mind was filled with unpleasant things that you didn't want to think about, so you drove forward and fucked Langley out of her mind. You watched the way your dick stuffed her up and drew out her juices, the way her body arched and erotic moans came from her mouth.

Langley was close to release and she couldn't believe your thrusts didn't slow down at all. She wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you down, making your cock enter to the hilt and hit the right spot that made her release with a muffled moan. You squeezed her breasts as you felt her walls tighten and release on your cock, letting out a hiss at the sudden tightness.

"S-Still going, Captain? Oh, you have surpassed yourself, it seems...." Langley mocked you but her words made you more irritated than anything.

"You haven't answered my question.... Gah! I-I won't stop until you answer....."

"Is that so?~" Langley smirked then you suddenly felt something press against your temple. You realized she was pointing her gun at you. A shiver went down your spine but you didn't back away, you knew she won't actually shoot. With her other hand, she pushed you away making you fall on your chair with a thud. You groaned and were about to retort but she pointed her gun at your forehead again while she stood up.

Her clothes were in shambles and slick dripped down her thighs. You swallowed thickly and averted your gaze from her. She smirked then kept away her gun and proceeded to straddle you, aligning your shaft with her core and sitting on your lap in one fine sweep. You moaned together at the feeling, her hands quickly held your shoulders and her hips were already rising up and down your cock.

"You have a lot of energy today, don't you? Then, let me milk you dry~"

And milk you dry she did with the way her hips slammed up and down, riding you hard and fast. Her tempo produced heavy and thick thuds of skin slapping, pounding down on you with all her strength. Langley was cockdrunk by now, one would think with the way she moved, but in reality she was completely sober and knew what she was doing. She fucked herself harder than ever before, enjoying the way your girthy cock filled her up.

The room was filled with messy moans grunts as you continued. You now had her carried against a wall, driving your cock inside with the same pace. It felt like there was an infinite surge of energy in you which made you want her and fuck her out of her mind. The meeting and the agenda was long forgotten, your mind hazy from lust as you only thought about fucking her.

You filled her up countless times by now, streams of cum going inside her so much that it was leaking out of her and the pistoning of your cock only spilled out more but you were ready to make up for it. One would think this was no longer the office of the Captain of Public Security Bureau, it reeked of a brothel filled with her moans and smell of cum. Neither of you spoke a word, but Langley's answer was on the tip of her tongue yet she wanted to delay it just to see how far you'd go.

"Ngggh! Langley.... come on! It's one answer I ask of you! Fuck— you are just enjoying this now, aren't you?! You just wanted to be fucked senseless!" you groaned as you were on the last bit of your strength, still drilling your cock inside her.

"Mmmh! That's it.... finally figured me out! So, fuck me like your life depends on it!"

It was a challenge, one which you weren't going to lose. None of you kept track of time when you were finally done, all you could see was that the sun was setting down. You rested on the couch together with her nestled in your arms like a lover, but the reality couldn't be further from it. Langley looked at you from the side then grabbed your jaw and planted a supple kiss on your cheek, her dark lipstick leaving a mark.

"Here's my answer. I don't sleep around with colleagues and officials, you are the only exception and always will be."

Your heart fluttered at her unexpected answer, all you wanted was a simple yes or no from her. Langley smirked sensing your silence then snuggled her head on your shoulder again, her hand caressing your thigh and leisurely pumping your softened cock. You let out a sigh and put your arm around her to embrace her.

"....Sorry, I got worked up hearing all those rumours...."

Langley chuckled, "It was an adorable state, I should cause it more~"

You rolled your eyes, "Fine fine. Anyways, want to take a shower here? I'll drop you wherever you have to go next."

Langley hummed, "I'll take up your offer then. You can drop me at my house~"

You smirked, "As you say, boss. Also, I agree to your orders. Tell me what to do next."

[feizon]

LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU

warning: nfsw + fem!reader

summary: He was a typical workaholic who enjoyed the thrill of his job. Many claim that he never smiles but only those who he unveils his cold facade to would beg to differ. His eyes always sought out for order that needed to be restored but when he first laid them upon you, he held nothing but romantic intentions. But when he's away from you for to long, he needs a stress reliever he can always count on.

note: note proofread

I'm so down bad for this man that I came out of hibernation just to write about him. anyways enjoy!

He was always on the go, always ready to assist in any situation that my cause his beloved city harm. He had a very strong presence, one that demanded respect and cooperation from those who witnessed him perform his day to day tasks. He was phenomenal at what he did, leaving many in awe as they couldn't help but feel safe in his presence.

His eyes were always on the search to restore balance wherever needed as his stern and authoritive gaze was rather effective at many things, one of them was to enforcing the law while the other was leaving your panties absolutely soaked.

"m-missed you so bad Gerpard..."

You were currently in a heated make out session in the comfort of your shared bedroom. It started with innocent touches before your hands shamelessly lusted for the one another, always you managing to spark such a fire in him first. The exotic exchange of oxygen somewho managing to leave you both breathless, your body was already littered with love bites wherever his mouth made contact with your skin.

Today exchange of pleasantries was due to the time intervals between each time he left your body trembling in pleasure becoming longer and longer then the last. As expected his job is rather demanding, him being given a mission almost everytime he breathed made it harder and harder for him to return home to your warm and loving embrace each time he was dismissed.

He was the definition of warrior in the streets and loving in the sheets but when he needs a desperate recharge he seeks the warmth of your walls, squeezing around him so tightly while hearing you moan oh so sweetly. He was currently slipping you out of your very skimpy silk night dress as your panties were next in line. He slipped in two fingers with ease as it seems you had gotten needy during his sexual absence.

"I barely even have to touch you... "

He already has you seeing stars with you desperately clench onto his shoulder at how persistent he was at targeting those spots deep inside you with ease. He wasn't much of a talker in such sinful acts but boy did his actions make up for it.

"C-Cumming!"

He then slides his fingers out as he licks his fingers covered in your arousal, making sure you could see just how much he enjoyed the little rewards. He then hovers on top of you as he postions you into a mating press, you knees getting closer and close to your chest.

"m going to be a little rough today princess... tell me if it's to overwhelming for you..."

He says before kissing your forehead almost as an apology in advanced. He hooks the back of your knees over his shoulder as he strokes himself a few times, the smearing of his own pre cum making him let out a light moan at the feeling. He then slides in painfully slow to ensure that you felt the way he stretched your cunt out so well as his girth hand your toes curling.

Once he bottoms out he gives you time to adjust due to no amount of times of you taking him being enough to numb that tiny sting of pain. You then give him the greenlight and he starts to thrust slowly two or three times, in and out of your cunt, to test the waters before his pace quickens.

"mmm fuck...!"

The longer he went, the sooner both your bodies were covered in a sheer layer of sweat as his dusty blonde hair started sticking to his forehead a bit. He then began to leave open mouthed kisses all over your face as you were already a babbling mess due to his ministrations. The sound of skin slapping almost pornographic as his tip kissed your womb repeatedly.

He was so deep as it was evident from your belly budge of his big, fat cock. he pressed down on it, gradually adding pressure as he wanted you to cum so hard on his cock to the point that you would be sucking out all his pent up sexual frustration.

"Ah.. can feel you in my belly Gepard!"

You say as your arch your back off the mattress at how hard your orgasm hit you, feeling shock was all over your body from the impact. You were so tight now, practically trying to milk him for every second he wasn't embedded deep within your walls, just a few more sharp thrusts and he followed soon after you. His load was more than usual as some of it mixes with all the other love juices you both shared as it soaked your sheets.

He then gave you a passionate little kiss before pulling out of you completely, still a bit sensitive form his release.

"Hope I wasn't to much this time..."

@feizon

[thepaperpanda]

Warnings: smut, aged-up Bakugo (21+ yo), fem!Reader, daddy kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, spanking, choking, face slapping, dirty talk, degradation

Synopsis: Bakugo returns home, seething with anger. To his surprise, he notices that his rage seem to ignite a spark of desire within you

Author: @doumadono

A/N: Welcome to the second day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration! I'm absolutely ecstatic to share this delightfully naughty piece of fiction with you, and I hope you find it thoroughly enjoyable! Today's prompt: overstimulation

💥Masterlist💥

From the early morning hours, you were glued to the TV screen as a massive battle unfolded in the city center involving a villain group. Each time the camera focused on Bakugo in the background, your boyfriend appeared not only frustrated and angry but seething with rage. It was evident that the cooperative action wasn't going as planned, and it was taking much more time than initially estimated.

The front door's lock emitted a beep as he pushed it open, his crimson eyes ablaze with dark fury. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock audibly clicking into place.

"Katsuki, I saw everything because…" The words faltered on your lips as he strode across the living room, his hand abruptly making contact with your cheek. A sharp sting spread across your skin, and a rush of desire coursed through you. His large hand effortlessly wrapped around your throat.

"What did you just call me?" His voice was nothing but a gravelly, almost a menacing growl, intensifying your shock and arousal. "You know better, fucking slut."

Oh, he was so exasperated.

“Sorry, daddy,” you squeaked out. Your soft whimper of desire elicited a wicked grin on Bakugo's face, and he pressed his lips firmly against yours. As your mouths met, a low, sensual moan escaped your lips, merging with his hungry kiss. His skilled tongue danced with yours, igniting a fiery passion between you. "I'll be good, I promise, daddy," you panted between gasps as he bit the soft flesh of your neck after breaking the passionate kiss. "I'll help you ease the anger, kay?"

"I know you fucking will," Bakugo growled, letting go of you as he swiftly took off his own shirt. "You're always a good little whore when daddy's angry," Bakugo taunted, a sly smirk crossing his face. "Now, strip for me."

You hurriedly shed your last pieces of clothing, slipping out of a snug pair of shorts and a tank top.

Bakugo's gaze bore into you, desire igniting his crimson irises, sending shivers of anticipation down your trembling fingers. As you stood there, completely exposed to him, his strong fingers returned to your head, gently guiding you over the edge of the couch. You pressed your face into the sheets, a faint blush of embarrassment warming your cheeks as the cool room air brushed against the dampness between your thighs that already managed to form.

"Well, well," Bakugo mused.

You detected a sly grin in his tone as his fingers lightly traced over the curve of your ass.

"Look at you, so aroused and eager. Does my anger really turn you on that much, dumbass? How pathetic. Aren't you a little, pathetic whore for daddy, hmm?"

All you could manage was a quivering gasp as he slid a broad finger along your drenched folds, teasing your sensitive clit. In an instant, his finger vanished, replaced by a sharp, stinging slap against your asscheek, eliciting a cry from your parted lips.

"Use your fucking words, you knucklehead. I asked you a fucking question."

"Yes, daddy," you moaned weakly as his hand struck your ass once more, the pleasurable sting sending shivers directly through your core. "You make me so wet, daddy…"

Bakugo chuckled, giving your ass a soothing caress before delivering another firm smack. "Tsch, you fucking whore. Did you think about my hard dick while watching me on TV, hmm? Are you such a dirty slut?" One of his hands slipped between your thighs and his calloused index finger rubbed fast circles over your clitoris.

"Yes, daddy!" Your voice quivered, ending with a small gasp as you heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle being undone while he was brushing his fingers against your vulnerable spot, making your thighs shiver.

“Oh fuck, princess," Bakugo emitted a low, primal growl as you sensed the mushroom tip of his rock-hard dick pressing against your slick entrance. “Just what daddy needs, fuck. You're so hot and wet, dumbass.” He slid inside you with ease, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "You're nothing but a cumdump for daddy."

You were reduced to incoherent pleas beneath his rough assault; each buck of his hips driving him to penetrate you deeply, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "Dear God, daddy! Oh! Ah!"

He wrapped your hair around his fist, jerking your head upwards as he thrust faster. "God, you're so fucking tight," Bakugo gasped, his words strained through clenched teeth. "Fuck. I can't believe your petite, little cunt can fit me so fucking well."

Your body clenched around his thick dick involuntarily as his words sent shivers down your spine. Fingers gripped the couch cushion desperately, seeking stability amidst the intensity of his rough pace. “Daddy…" You moaned weakly, the tightness in your core growing. Your slick walls quivered around him, eliciting a bestial groan as his hand moved from your scalp to your neck and pulled you flush against him. "Fuck, please!" Your voice was a keening mewl as you scratched weakly at his strong arms, your orgasm on the brink, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He chuckled lowly in your ear as his other hand snaked around you, two large fingers pressing firmly and massaging your swollen clit. "Yes," he moaned, "Come for daddy like a good little whore. Soak daddy's cock, princess. Show me what you've got."

As though waiting for Bakugo's permission, you surrendered with a shuddering cry. "Daddy!!!"

He continued to work you through the sensation, slamming his thick dick into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as his fingers played your clit expertly like an instrument.

You panted and moaned loudly for him, already feeling yourself approach your second orgasm quickly as he squeezed your throat softly.

“That’s daddy’s good little slut,” he growled in your ear, nibbling your earlobe as his thrusts increased furiously as you came again, soaking his hand, your pussy clenching around his cock convulsively. "My little, horny bitch in heat."

Once the high began to ebb, you whined softly, wiggling your hip, trying to free your clit from the overwhelming feeling of his calloused fingers pressed there.

“Tsch, slut," the smirk in Bakugo's voice was evident as he continued pounding inside you. “Daddy’s not at all done with you yet.”