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imaginedisish · 3 months ago

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Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This took way longer than expected, and I also sort of got carried away...Hope it still lives up to the requester's expectations (I also saw that the anon asked for fluff...and this ended up being fluff and smut...hope that's okay). Def some errors...I only proofread twice. This one is also inspired by "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan's kindness towards you is strictly friendly. Until it's not just friendly anymore...

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI! Unprotected PIV, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms (uh, they're outside...), grumpy!Logan, cursing, major angst, comfort, fluff, references to canon typical violence/death/conflicts, f!reader/afab!reader (reader has hair at the nape of her neck but no description of length/texture/color), mutant!reader, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,662 my back hurts

It had been a long day. Every day was a long day. There were the kids to worry about, and then there was the rest of the world. There’s a war coming, you see it everywhere you look, and hear it everywhere you go. The news. The papers. The kids whispering in hushed echoes late at night when you’re walking the halls sleeplessly. You don’t want a war. You want a life.

The mansion is still bustling—it always is—but it’s slowly winding down. You listen as kids walk up the stairs in waves, heading into their bedrooms for the night. You know you should too, but you like it when the mansion gets quiet. You like knowing that everyone is safe, tucked away. You like it when no one else is around—when you can be alone, the stillness and quiet of a dark and sleeping house cradling you like a mother.

You find yourself in one of the living rooms, the T.V. still on, playing reruns of a cartoon you recognize from years ago. You smile as laughter erupts from down the hall, the padding of small feet echoing along the floorboards and the sound of much heavier boots following close behind.

“Hey! Watch it!” A grumpy, familiar voice shouts as kids run past the doorway to the living room, giggling mischievously. “Fucking kids.” You turn towards the sound of Logan’s voice as it bounces off the walls, his frame entering the doorway.

He has a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other as he strides over to you.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, smiling up at him. He’s in his beater and his jeans and that leather jacket that hugs him just the right way. You try not to think about how good he looks as he places the plate and the glass down on the coffee table in front of you. Friends don’t think about friends like that, and that’s all you two are: friends.

“Thought you might want a snack,” he mumbles, pointing to the cookies. “And maybe someone to talk to. You’ve got that look on your face.”

You roll your eyes, staring at him incredulously. “What look?”

“That sleepy, stressed face you make,” he starts, walking around the coffee table and taking the spot on the couch right next to you. “When you’re listening to everyone, making sure they’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for a cookie. Logan sits up and grabs the glass of milk, extending it out to you. “Really, I am,” you promise, but you know he can tell that you’re lying.

You take the glass from him, and his hand falls to your thigh. The feeling of his skin against yours is intoxicating. He works his jaw and opens his mouth. “What’s going on—”

“Logan?” Storm cuts him off, standing in the doorway. Her gaze is focused on Logan’s hand resting on your thigh. “Did you make tea?”

His eyes flicker between you and Storm. You tilt your head, waiting for his response. “Yes,” he answers, his hand lifting from your thigh as he stands. The spot is suddenly cold. You want to grab his hand and yank him back down.

“Well, the water is about to boil,” she says, smirking as the kettle begins to whistle.

Logan mutters a quick shit under his breath as he prowls out of the living room and down the hall to the kitchen. Storm giggles as she watches him, shaking her head. She squints at the cookies and milk, and then at you. You nervously place the milk back down on the coffee table.

“Wow,” is all she says, her arms crossing her chest as she leans against the frame of the doorway. You can hear Logan shuffling around the kitchen, closing cabinets and cursing. “All this for you, huh?”

Your jaw drops just a bit at her words, their meaning instantly smacking you in the face. “O-oh, no,” you stutter defensively. “It’s not like that.”

The conversation quickly ends as Logan walks into the living room with a cup of tea, passing Storm and heading to the couch. He sits down next to you and places the tea in front of you. The tag of the tea bag hangs over the side of the mug, steam wafting off the top.

“You like tea, right?” He asks as you lean over and grab the warm mug in your hands. The heat feels good, but not as good as when his hand was on your thigh.

You nod, swallowing those feelings down as you blow into the cup to cool the hot liquid inside. “Thanks, Logan.” You smile, and he smiles back.

Storm is still in the doorway, a soft laugh stuck in her throat. “I’ll leave you two alone.” And before you can protest, she’s gone, her heels clicking down the hardwood floors of the hallway.

Alone now with Logan, you can’t help but feel nervous. You bring the mug to your lips and finally take a sip, the hot tea dripping down your throat. Was Storm right? No. This is just a friend looking out for a friend. There’s no deeper meaning. So what if Logan brought you cookies and milk? So what if he made tea for you? He’s just being nice, kind, caring. That’s what he always is…to you at least. Maybe only to you—

“Hey, everything okay?” Logan’s voice yanks you back to reality, his palm suddenly warm on your thigh again. You jump at the sensation, accidentally spilling tea on Logan’s hand and all over your thighs.

“Shit,” you mutter, the liquid stinging just a bit against your bare skin. “I’m so sorry,” you say, placing the cup down on the coffee table. When you look back up, Logan is gone. You can hear scuffling in the kitchen again, drawers opening and slamming closed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Logan?” Scott’s voice chastises in the distance.

Logan scoffs, his footsteps echoing against the tile floors. “Fuck off, Summers,” he chides, and you can’t help but laugh at their bickering.

“Think that’s funny?” Logan teases, suddenly in front of you. He rushes over, kneeling next to you. He has a towel in his hand. “You okay?” He asks. “Anything hurt?”

You shake your head from side to side. “Nope, all good,” you say, grinning, ready for him to pass you the towel. But he doesn’t—he’s cleaning you up himself.

He rubs the towel gently across your thighs, sopping up all the tea. His touch is soft and careful. You can feel heat rise to your chest at the closeness—the intimacy of it all. You take a deep breath, struggling to calm your heart as he takes his time taking care of you.

“You sure you’re alright?” He whispers, his eyes suddenly searching yours. The towel hikes up a bit further, the tip brushing against the hem of your shorts. You’re dizzied by his touch, by the comforting way he smiles up at you as he lets the towel fall to the side. Both of his hands are on you now, one on each thigh. His thumbs brush soft shapes into your skin.

Just friends, you say to yourself. Just friends just friends just—

“Hey gu—oh,” Bobby stutters, standing in the doorway with Peter. “S-sorry to interrupt. We didn’t mean to—”

“What do you two want?” Logan cuts him off, his hands slipping off your thighs as he stands to face the boys. You can hear the gruff annoyance in this voice. “No privacy in this goddamn mansion,” he mutters under his breath so low you almost don’t hear it.

“Charles told us to come get you, Logan,” Bobby continues nervously. “He has to talk to you about something.”

Logan groans, irritated as ever. “Fine. Tell him I’ll be there in a second.”

Bobby and Peter nod, too nervous to say anything else, and walk away. Logan is still standing in the same spot. You can tell he’s thinking, contemplating something.

“You better go,” you say, cocking your head towards the hall. “Can’t keep the professor waiting,” you joke. You watch as the corner of his mouth twitches up. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the sight of turning his frown into a smile.

He turns his body so that he’s completely facing you. His throat bobs as his hands curl into fists at his sides. He looks like he’s holding back, resisting—but what? You can’t quite tell.

“Logan?” Charles’ voice calls from down the hall.

“I wanna see that plate clean when I get back,” Logan finally says, pointing to the cookies.

You let out a laugh as he walks to the doorway. “Yes sir,” you pledge, hand on your heart. His smile widens, his eyes grazing up and down your body, as if committing your form to his memory. What you’re seeing can’t be right; it has to be an illusion. You almost think he doesn’t want to leave you—can’t leave you. His feet are planted on the ground, his arms tucked against his chest.

He opens his mouth, but the Professor interrupts him before he can get a word in. “Logan!”

Logan steps out of the doorway impatiently, fists still clutched at his side. “Meet me on the lawn in thirty minutes, okay?” he huffs out, walking down the hallway towards Charles’ voice before you can give him an answer. Charles calls him again. “Yeah, yeah, old man. I hear you!”

Thirty minutes. Just thirty minutes. You can—absolutely cannot—wait thirty minutes.

God. You are so lovesick.

Twenty-five minutes later you’re sitting out on the lawn, far away from the mansion, waiting for Logan, popping the last cookie into your mouth.

You lay down on your back, the cold, wet grass sending a shiver down your spine. There’s a light breeze in the air, bending the green blades and the leaves of the trees back and forth. You look up at the stars, imagining just how hot they are, just how bright they can shine.

“You finished the cookies!” Logan’s voice calls from a few feet away. You sit up, watching the shadow of his form make his way over to you. You can see the smile spread across his face as he reaches your slide, crouching down and sitting next to you.

“Of course I did,” you say. He’s looking down at you, his eyes flickering across your face. You want to look away, but you can’t. It’s like he’s got you stuck there—he always does. He is the one thing you can’t resist.

Logan’s shoulder bumps against yours, the sudden warmth reminding you just how cold you are. You shiver, crossing your arms and tucking them into your chest.

You instinctively and involuntarily lean into his touch, searching for warmth. He catches on to what you’re doing before you do. “Cold?” He asks, shuffling a bit in his spot as he lifts his jacket.

“O-oh no it’s okay you don’t—” But then he’s taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Better?” He asks, his arm wrapping around your shoulders too, inviting you to lean into him completely.

“Y-yeah,” You stutter, letting your head rest against his chest. You close your eyes, too nervous to keep them open. His jacket smells like him—pine and tobacco and musk. Every breath you take is intoxicating. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. It’s overwhelming, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than with him.

He sighs, his breath fanning against your forehead. “So, what’s the matter?” He asks, tugging you in tighter.

You shake your head, looking up at him. “Nothing,” you say, doing your best to be convincing. “I’m fine.” But you know it’s no use. He can see right through you. It’s like knowing when you’re lying is part of his mutation.

Logan raises his brows. “You’re stressed.” It isn’t a question, it’s a fact. “I could see it before, when we were inside. I can see it when you’re teaching the kids.” He rubs his hand up and down your arm, the feeling almost distracting you from his words. His eyes search yours for the truth, for an answer. “You can talk to me, darlin’. I’m right here.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as those last three words replay in your mind. You swallow your nerves down, searching for the right thing to say.

“What if we’re in danger?” You stumble over the sentence quickly, shooting it out into the air like it’s something you’ve wanted to get rid of for a long time. “What if the stupid war they’re always talking about comes, and we aren’t ready?” You can feel your heart racing, tears brimming behind your eyes.

Logan presses a kiss to your forehead, the warm feeling of his lips unexpected but welcome. “Hey,” he coos, his lips still pressed against your skin. “It’s gonna be okay.”

A tear slides down your cheek. The words come out like vomit, each syllable slipping off your tongue in rapid-fire succession. “But what if it’s not? What if I can’t protect the kids or the team or you for fuck’s sake?” You can’t stop the floodgates—tears flowing freely down your cheeks. You’re speaking between sobs now. “What if they get to us before we can convince them that mutants aren’t something to be wiped out or some disease to be cured? What if—”

Logan’s arms wrap around your body, tugging you against his chest, pulling you as close as possible. “I’m not gonna let that happen,” he murmurs. “We’re going to figure this out. We’re going to be okay.”

“H-how do you know?” You choke, your chest heaving against his. “What if—"

“No more what ifs,” he whispers, his hands rubbing against the leather of the jacket—his jacket—on your back. “No one’s gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Gonna keep you safe, okay?”

“O-okay,” you mutter. “Gonna k-keep you safe, too.”

Logan hums, the bassy timber of his voice filling your ears, calming your mind. “Don’t worry about me,” he pauses, one hand reaching up to the nape of your neck, rubbing circles into the sensitive skin there. “Just let me worry about you.”

“Always gonna worry about you,” you say, not backing down.

You can feel his heart beating against yours. “You don’t have to right now,” he soothes. “Let me take care of you.”

You don’t protest—don’t try to fight him this time. You let him pull you into his lap, let him hold you closer, let him play with the hair at the nape of your neck. You can feel his lips on the crown of your head. He’s so close—closer than he’s ever been before. He feels so good, so firm and solid underneath you, so steadfast and constant. He’s a lifeline, a necessity. A safe place—asylum.

It has always been him that you need, and you’d be a liar to say otherwise.

Logan finally breaks the silence. “What are you thinking about?” He asks. You, you think.

“Me?” What?

“Did I just…” you trail off. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah, you did,” he husks, his hands lowering down your back, slipping under the jacket and your thin t-shirt to the bare skin underneath. His palms are warm, and his touch is tentative, hesitant. “This okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, and Logan starts to draw patterns and shapes across your back. “Feels nice.” Your voice is soft and shaky as he explores your skin.

“I’ve been thinking about you too, you know,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. His nails drag across your back. You move your legs to straddle him. “You’re the only thing on my mind, princess.” He presses his forehead to yours as if to show you, to prove to you that he’s telling the truth. You shudder at the words, at the thought. He presses a chaste kiss to your nose, lowering his lips until they’re just centimeters from yours.

The world feels frozen. You’ve long forgotten you’re outside, the breeze cutting across the grass. You’ve forgotten about the stars twinkling above you. They’re nothing—just balls of heat burning out millions of miles away. You’ve forgotten about all the hatred you’re forced to face, all the variables and lives at stake in this stupid war. Your mind is calm. Everything is suddenly nothing.

Everything is him. Logan.

“Logan,” you mumble. It’s a plea, a prayer, a demand. And he knows exactly what you’re asking for as his name hangs in the air between the two of you.

His lips crash down onto yours, tasting you, savoring you. But it isn’t languid or slow—it’s rushed, frantic, starving, as if your world is ending; it very well could be. He’s pushing you down onto the grass, his muscular arms on either side of your head, caging you in underneath him.

“Wanted you this whole time,” he pants in between kisses. “Needed you, couldn’t stop thinking about you. Still can’t.” He pushes the jacket open with one of his hands and hitches your shirt up. He lowers himself onto his forearm as his nails drag up your stomach, settling just under your ribs. He spreads his palm, feeling the expanse of your skin, tracing your curves and the dips of your body.

“F-fuck,” you stutter, arching your back off the grass and into his chest, offering more of yourself to him.

He bites your lower lip and kisses the pain away. “You gonna let me take you right here?” He growls, his fingers playing with the hem of your bra. “Gonna let me fuck you outside, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you whine, lifting your hips against his, feeling his erection straining in his jeans. “Need you, Lo.”

He curses under his breath as he sits up, his hands pawing at the leather jacket, tearing it from your body and casting it aside. You sit up too, keeping yourself close to him. He’s yanking at the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and over your head. He takes off his beater next, but you don’t get the chance to admire him. Everything is a blur, the throwing of clothes, the way he’s shoving you back down to the grass as his fingers unclasp your bra. The straps fall down your arms, and Logan slips it off the rest of the way.

He pauses, taking you in, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, lowering himself back down over you, balancing on one forearm as his free hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, finally settling on your chest. He cups your tits, squeezing gently, his thumb brushing over one nipple and then the other.

“Perfect. You’re so goddamn perfect,” he praises, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and then to your chin. He continues his trail down to your jaw, your collarbone, the center of your chest.

He takes a detour, his lips latching onto your nipple and biting lightly, his tongue flicking out and soothing the ache away. He kisses across the valley of your chest, bringing his mouth to the other side. He flits his tongue across your other nipple, and continues his trail down your stomach, peppering innocent kisses as he travels lower and lower.

He stops at the hem of your shorts, looking up at you under hooded eyes. You can see the lust, the desire, the need. “Please,” you whimper. And then he’s hastily unbuttoning and unzipping your shorts, wasting no time as he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and throwing them carelessly into the grass.

Logan pushes your thighs open. “Keep your legs spread for me, sweetheart.” You can feel his breath on your clit. “Wanna taste you,” he rasps, kissing your core teasingly. “Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

And then his tongue is pushing through your folds, lapping at your juices, all the way up to your clit. It’s already too much, your hips lifting off the grass. Logan brings his arm across your hips in response, keeping you down. “Stay,” he grunts, his voice vibrating against your heat. “Don’t know where you think you’re going, princess.” He’s looking up at you now. You can see the desperation and the hunger in his eyes.

He's starving for you.

He buries his face back into your cunt, swiping his tongue through your folds again before finally settling on your clit. He latches his lips around the bud, sucking harshly. He flicks his tongue out, drawing sweet, sacrilegious circles against your core.

His free hand climbs up your inner thigh, spreading your legs wider for him. His nails ghost across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He finds his way to your folds, spreading your slick, teasing your entrance. You moan his name as he presses your squirming hips down firmly into the ground. “Doing so good for me,” he breathes against your swollen clit. “Such a sweet fucking pussy.”

He sinks two fingers deep into your cunt, humming against you, savoring the taste of you. He pumps in and out, deeper every time. “F-fuck Lo,” you cry out, your hands grasping the blades of grass beneath you for purchase. “Feels so good.”

Your walls flutter around him, your muscles already contracting as he works you open. “That’s it, princess,” he huffs, his teeth grazing your clit as he sucks, hard. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers, can feel you getting close.”

“S-so close,” you choke out as he fucks his fingers into you. His pace becomes faster, relentless. He laps at you like he’s a man who has never eaten in his life.

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothes. “Come on my tongue, darlin’. Know you can do it.” He’s working you through it, swirling his tongue, flicking your clit, licking thick, hard stripes around the bud. His long fingers scissor inside you, rubbing against your walls deliciously. It’s all too much, but it’s just what you need. “Let go for me, pretty girl.”

You feel your walls contract as the fire in your belly spills. You chant his name—Logan. It’s a prayer—no—a promise. It hangs in the air as you come undone underneath him. His fingers pump in and out of you slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm. He carefully pulls out after a few more thrusts, but his face is still buried in your cunt, still lapping at your swollen, overstimulated clit.

“Lo,” you whimper, looking down at him. He looks up at you, his tongue licking one long stripe before he stops completely.

He presses a chaste kiss to your clit as he sits up and unbuckles his belt. “Gonna have to taste that pretty pussy again later, yeah?” He throws his belt to the side and unbuttons his jeans. He slides the zipper down, too, and hooks his fingers inside his jeans, shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs in one quick movement.

You can make out just how big he is in the moonlight. You swallow at the size of him. He lowers down onto you again, resting on his forearm, guiding his cock towards your entrance.

He captures your lips in a kiss as he nudges against you, teasing you, spreading your folds open for him. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he coos, kissing you again. “Gonna make you feel good.”

You wrap your arms around his back, bringing his chest flush to yours. “Need you, Logan. Need you inside me.”

“I know,” he whispers, nudging teasingly against you again. “I know.”

And then he’s shoving himself deep inside you, filling you up. You can feel his cock twitching, throbbing, searching for more of you. He pulls all the way out and buries himself back down to the hilt.

“F-fuck,” you curse, your nails digging into his shoulders, searching for support. “It’s s-so much. So big.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he husks, setting a slow, easy pace, letting you adjust to the size of him. “Taking me so good.” He’s working you open with every pump, his cock rubbing against your walls and stretching you out.

Logan brings his free hand between your bodies to your still-swollen clit, stroking gently as he plunges deeper into you, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You moan his name, your chest coming flush with his as you arch your back. The contact feels so nice—just what you needed. He’s fucking you out, pounding into you over and over again.

He's erasing every fear, every bad dream, every horrible vision you’ve ever had. It’s what he does to you. It’s just him—Logan—always has been and always will be.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts. “Letting me fuck you out here.” His hips snap against yours—building his pace, growing faster and deeper as he thrusts into you. You can feel yourself growing closer, crumbling underneath him. You can’t last much longer, your walls fluttering around him, squeezing him tightly.

He moans your name into your mouth, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip, tasting you. “You feel so good, pretty girl,” he groans, rocking into you. “So soft, so tight. Know you’re close.” He flicks your clit, and then circles roughly. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.”

“G-gonna…” You trail off, a bumbling mess, unable to finish your sentence as Logan fucks into you.

“I know, pretty girl,” He soothes. “I’m right here, I’ve got you. Come for me.”

You can’t hold back anymore. You can feel yourself letting go, your walls fluttering around him, taking him deeper, holding him tighter. Your orgasm washes over you, like sun stretching across your skin, like a fire spreading in a forest. It’s all too much, too good.

Logan isn’t far behind. You can feel his cock twitching deep inside you, his pace faltering, his thrusts becoming sloppier. His fingers leave your clit and travel up your body. His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you gently as he pumps into you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Wanna come inside you, pretty girl,” he moans, pulling you closer, taking you deeper.

You nod against his forehead. “P-please,” you stutter, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Don’t want you to leave yet.”

“F-fuck,” he growls, your words sending him over the edge as he spills inside you, filling you up. “You’ve idea,” he chokes, “how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” His thrusts slow as he rides out his orgasm, pumping in and out a few more times before pulling out of you.

He doesn’t break contact—doesn’t rush to get changed. He rolls onto his back and pulls you with him so that your head rests on his chest, your body tucked tightly into his. You can hear his heart beating deep inside—hear his shaky breaths become more stable. The air is no longer cold—the breeze a welcome contrast to the hot summer night air.

Your legs tangle together. Somewhere in the distance birds sing. A branch creaks. The wind whisks through the grass. You close your eyes and listen. The calm before the storm. This peace can’t last.

“Lo?” You call, breaking the silence.

He kisses the crown of your head. “I’m right here.”

“I know, but—”

It’s like he can read your mind. “I’m not going anywhere. No one is.” He tightens his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“I’m just scared to lose you, to lose all this.”

Logan presses another kiss to your head. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I promise.”

Nothing’s gonna take you from my side.

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rafesangelita · 1 month ago

Note

farmer’s!daughter!reader surprising rafe with her cheerleading costume!

warnings: cowboy!rafe, sexual innuendos, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl, use of the name ‘daddy’ (just once), pet names, slight praise, cream pie

a/n: you can find the halloween costumes for all my !reader’s here <3 thank you for your req!

“okay! you promise you won’t laugh?” rafe sat up against the headboard of your bed, waiting in anticipation as you hid from him behind the bathroom door. “i promise, ‘darlin, just come out.” he watched as you stepped into his view, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. there you were, the prettiest girl he has ever known in a cheer costume get-up. “..well?” you smiled, shimmying the pom poms at him as an amused expression took over rafe’s features.

“woww,” he nodded approvingly, “do a spin for me, doll face.” you giggled, bending over slightly for him to get a full view of your ass peeking out of your shorts. he clenched his fists at the sight. you were just too dang perfect. his eyes ran down your form, a deep breath leaving his lips when you stepped closer to him. “does this cowgirl like reverse?” he raised a brow at you. leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his lips before whispering; ‘mmhm, she loves it..’

shortly after you said that, rafe had you bouncing on his cock, his large hands squeezing the flesh of your hips where he fucked into you with vigor. “fuck, baby,” his forehead rested on your back as you moved on top of him, “riding your favorite cowboy, hm?” you cried out, nodding even though he couldn’t see your face. “mm, f-fuck— yes, ray!” he grunted, fingers snaking down to stroke your sensitive clit. your nails dug into his thighs, your pom poms long forgotten on the floor.

you looked so sexy, your needy pussy swallowing him whole with every deep stroke. “goddamn, you’re taking it like a fuckin’ champ.” he landed a hard smack to your ass, shushing you when you cried out at the stinging sensation. “nghh— you feel so good, sweetheart, holy—” you sat back on your hands, grinding on him slowly while resting your head against his chest. “wanna make you cum so bad, daddy.” you whimpered, letting him litter your neck with wet kisses.

rafe couldn’t think straight. with the way your cunt had a death grip on his cock, he found it nearly impossible to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. balling one of your pigtails around his fist, he yanked you down, using you as leverage to thrust into you at an unforgiving pace. your tits bounced with every snap of his hips, your hand holding onto the nape of his neck for balance. rafe felt your walls flutter around his length, a telltale sign that you were going to cum soon.

“s’my little slut gonna cum?” he rasped in your ear, the pads of his fingers rubbing mercilessly on your swollen bud. you hiccuped, a gasp leaving your lips when he licked a stripe up the column of your throat before kissing you sloppily. rafe groaned inside your mouth, the build up of his peak beginning to take effect. “please! want you to fill me up..” you whined, his large arm wrapping around your torso to keep you close. soon enough, you were shaking in his embrace, your thighs threatening to shut around his hand.

“doing so good, baby, m’gonna fill you to the brim.” he bear hugged you against his chest to keep you still, spilling inside of you as you squeezed around his length. he was panting against your skin, trailing kisses up your shoulder. “m’tired now.” you mumbled, letting rafe take what was left of your costume off. “i know we don’t celebrate halloween, but damn we need to do that more often.” he laughed tirelessly, stroking your cheek.

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aemondfairy · 2 months ago

Text

Thawed Out

summary: Frustrated after losing a game to your brothers’ team, you let Cregan take his frustration out on you.

pairing: Modern!Cregan x Targtower!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Explicit smut, semi-public/rough sex, spit, p in v, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Sorry it’s been a month since I’ve posted!! Watch this flop asdfghkl

Your eyelids flutter as Sara lightly dabs glittery eyeshadow onto them with her ring finger.

“Try to hold still,” she tells you, just as your reflection catches her eye in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door.

“Oh no,” she frowns, making note of the jersey you’re wearing, “Cregan is not going to like that.”

The jersey — all black, has no distinctive feature of any team, but it does have the name “Targaryen” etched onto the back, and 01 on the front, which is your brother Aemond’s hockey number.

Cregan is number 13.

“Targaryen is my last name,” you remind her, “and besides, Cregan is the one who wants to hide me. If he wants me to wear his jersey to games, he will have to make me more than just a fuck buddy,” you shrug.

Her lips turn downward into a frown, but she nods her head in agreement with you.

Very few people are aware of your relationship with Cregan. He’s a good guy with a big heart, the complete opposite of a fuckboy or a player. The main, if not only, reason why the two of you decided to keep things a secret was so you wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash from your brothers.

Cool air whips against your face, and tensions are high with only a few minutes left remaining of the game.

You watch on eagerly as Aegon pulls a move that is supposedly illegal, but the ref’s don’t seem to count it. Resulting in your brothers’ team winning the game.

You can’t help but wince as you watch Cregan rip his helmet off and make a beeline toward Aegon on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Aww,” your eldest brother frowns in response, “Run home with your tail between your legs!” he calls. Cregan grunts in response while the rest of Aegon’s teammates, Aemond included, howl maniacally like wolves. Making a mockery of Cregan and the rest of his team.

You roll your eyes at the scene and push your way out of the stands and through the crowd.

You pick at your fingernails nervously as you wait outside the locker room, refusing to enter until the remainder of Cregan’s teammates pass you by.

The smell of sweat fills your senses as you enter the abandoned locker room.

“Cregan,” you call, “baby?”

The locker room is quiet and dim. The only audible sound in the room is the faint buzzing of one of the poorly lit fluorescent lights.

Cregan is sat on one of the benches, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You reach your arms around him.

“Hey,” you offer, “for what it’s worth, you did great.”

“I’m just so fucking pissed off!”

Cregan’s deep voice echoes through the locker room as he throws his stick to the floor. As mentioned earlier, Cregan’s a stand up guy, but his temper is a force to be reckoned with; and nothing sets it off quite like losing a hockey game.

“I know you’re upset baby,” you state empathetically as you dig the pads of your fingers into his shoulders. An attempt to massage the tense tissue, he all but grunts in response.

“You wanna take it out on me?”

“What?” He asks in a deadpan.

“Your frustration … you should just take it out on me.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows at this but he takes no time to react. He stands up quickly, his thick frame hovering over yours before he shoves you against the lockers abruptly. Gripping at your chin with force, he demands you to open your mouth. You oblige and he spits directly down your throat, you swallow obediently with a content mewl as wetness pools at your center.

A pathetic “please” is all you’re able to muster out to him as he stares at you hungrily.

He takes a seat on the bench, tugging his uniform pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion, exposing his cock.

His calloused hands lift you onto his lap with haste. A shiver runs through your body as he yanks down your leggings and underwear in a quick swoop, causing you to hiss as cool air fans your cunt. It isn’t long before Cregan’s warm hand is cupping you, his fingers playing in your slick.

You want to cry out when he removes his hand from you but once his hands are at your thighs again, spreading you open, you feel the throbbing head of his cock prodding against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, egging him on, “come on, I said, take it out on me.”

A growl erupts from his chest as he forcefully spears you down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes flutter shut and you try your best to suppress a moan as he begins to split you open.

He continues with unrelenting thrusts while his grip on your hips only tightens, taking full control.

“Fuckin. Targaryen’s,” he says through gritted teeth, harshly slapping the swell of your ass. Your head snaps up as you glare at him disapprovingly.

“Obviously not you baby,” he coo’s reassuringly, running his fingers along the red handprint that’s forming, soothing the pain before kneading at the tender flesh.

“It’s just— Gods, do they fuckin’ rile me up,” he mumbles as both his hands make their way to your waist again, helping him thrust into you even harder.

“I know, baby, I know” you whimper, pressing your forehead to his as he continues to fuck into you at an unrelenting pace.

“But you know just how to make me feel better, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out as he perfectly angles his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah you do, this sweet little pussy is all I need.”

You can feel the tension building in your body at his words, your breath coming out in short gasps as he expertly moves inside of you.

His fingers trail down from your hips to your cunt again, sending hot waves of electricity through you.

His intense, grey, gaze never leaves yours. With each thrust, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his length has you closer and closer to the edge.

Cregan moves with determination, his body pressed hard against yours as he takes you to new heights of pleasure. His digits finally find the apex of your thighs and pinch at your throbbing bud, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Urging him on as he expertly works his fingers over your most sensitive spot. Each touch sends waves of pleasure through you. With one final pinch and a flick of his thumb, you’re cumming around him — gasping and trembling as the walls of your cunt tighten around his length.

His breathing comes labored and heavy, his eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. His own hips stuttered as he felt you continue to pulse around him. Unable to keep his composure any longer, he lets out a loud groan and spills himself inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuckin’ Targaryen’s,” he drawls, this time his tone is filled with appreciation.

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chilumi-shipper · 4 months ago

Text

Little Lamb (3)

Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Reader / Wanderer x Fem!Reader / Alhaitham x Fem!Reader x Kaveh

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Lambgirl!Reader, Dumb and Innocent Reader, Manipulation, Pseudoincest, Size Kink, Overstimulation, Praise, Slight Degradation

Summary: Genshin men fucking innocent little lambgirl you.

Go check out the other boys (Diluc, Kaeya, and Xiao) and (Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha, and Thoma).

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Kamisato Ayato

His parents took you in when you were both just little kids.

The young Ayato's curiosity about you began the very moment you entered the estate with a confused look on your face.

"Ayato, this is Y/N. She really needs our help." His mother was gentle when she introduced you to him.

His mother said to him in a soft voice, she spoke about how you were a poor, helpless girl that they rescued from Kairagi Samurais who were planning to sell you because of your extraordinary features.

Young Ayato's hands couldn't help but reach out for your soft and cute ears in fascination, but you backed away before he could feel the fur of your ear on the pads of his fingers.

"Oh, she's a little shy. But I hope you can treat her like a sister." You hid behind his mother, looking at him as he stares at his mother in disbelief.

"Is that understood, my darling?"

His light purple eyes stared at your small form, looking up at him with such innocent and soft eyes.

"I don't want her as my sister." Tears welled up in your eyes as you hear the young boy say those words.

"...Ayato?!" His mother was at a loss for words, she didn't expect such an answer from her well-mannered son.

When you were rescued, you heard all about Ayato and Ayaka, the former was still a baby, but you were told that Ayato was a kind-hearted and polite boy, and that he will surely accept you within his home.

A family is something that you have always wanted.

Ayato knows that. Although... he has never viewed you as a sister, back when he was a child, you somewhat acted like a pet, especially towards his parents. And now, you act like a servant, constantly trying your best to please him in hopes that he starts to view you as family.

That was all you wanted, so for so many years, you have done everything in your power to meet the young lord's expectations.

As you both grow older though, his demands turned... more unusual.

Your tasks are not akin to the ones of a regular servant.

According to him, your tasks are... more of familial matters, something more important.

"I c-can't... I-I can't do it, Ayato..." Your whimper was accompanied by a few sniffles, tears coating your eye as you held your body up on top of him.

He wrapped his hand around his dick, caressing your folds with his tip. "But it would really really make me happy if you ride me, darling." He pouts at you, and you could only look away for that was your greatest weakness.

You were both fully naked, him laying on his bed and you holding yourself up to try and straddle him. However, for the past five minutes, you were only able to get the tip of his cock in before you turn into a whimpering mess.

"But Ayato... It h-hurts." You frowned at him, your ears folding as a sign of your sadness.

He sighs, his hips shooting forward a little to push some of his length into your cunt. "There..." He grunts in your ear, causing an uncontrollable wiggle of your tail that somehow always happens when he does something like that. "Now keep going..."

You felt his hand tighten around your waist, probably due to your pussy immediately clamping down on him despite not even half being pushed in.

After a few seconds, you try again, pushing yourself down on his length to take him in some more.

You cry out only halfway in, looking desperately in his eyes and shaking your head. "No no! Ayato, I can't..."

You just couldn't anymore, normally, he would be the one to do all the work of fucking you. You felt ashamed, not even being able to fulfill his request.

Ayato merely sighed in disappointment, before switching your position so that he was on top of you. Then, he slammed his cock all the way in, making you scream out in euphoria as you cling on to him for dear life.

He breathes heavily as he fucks into you, "When you can finally do what I ask you to do, perhaps... I'll finally acknowledge you as family."

Underneath him, you acquire some new-found determination, next time, you will try your best so that you can finally be a proper Kamisato.

Scaramouche (Wanderer)

Nahida has been hearing the prayer of a certain lamb girl trying to get into the Akademiya. She senses the pure heart and determination within you and decides that she will help you out.

"I know someone that can tutor you so you can pass your entrance exam!"

And that's why you ended up in the home of a grumpy looking scholar with a big hat. You smiled brightly at him, clutching your books to your chest.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali said you're really smart and that you would love to help me!" You looked at him expectantly, not faltering under his intense gaze.

Much to his annoyance, he couldn't possibly go against Nahida, so he opted to sit you down and actually try to teach you.

Quickly did his annoyance grow when he realized that nothing sticks to that brain of yours except food and delusions. You talk all about getting into the Akademiya but you could not even grasp the easiest subject in the entrance exam.

Your first session wasn't the best, you left his home disappointed and Wanderer knew that Nahida would question him about what had happened and why you looked so sad.

For your second session, Nahida gave him an advice: "Why don't you try quizzing her and giving a prize when she gets a question right. Don't put her down with those insults you usually give."

This ultimately sparks an idea in his head.

You were bent over his counter top, your skirt hiked up and your underwear on the ground. You breathe heavily and closed your eyes as he sinks his cock deeper into you.

"Now... which Darshan in the Akademiya specializes in biology, and the study of medicine?" He whispers in your ear, and he almost chuckles as he sees your tail wiggle, which he know at that point means that you know the answer.

"Amurta!" You answered enthusiastically, your legs twitching as he starts to play with your clit with his fingers.

"That's a good girl..." He started to thrust slowly into you as he plays with your clit. You moaned, feeling warm from his rare praise.

It's simple really, nothing is a greater prize for you than receiving praise, feeling good all over. He knows that you would do anything to be called a good girl, to be acknowledged as smart, you have always been submissive like that.

He's been setting up quizzes like these ever since your second session, and it's proven effective, if you get a question correct, he starts to fuck you play with your body the way you like, throwing in a praise to get you going, but if you get it wrong or take too long to answer, you get a spank and most likely get degraded by him. If you pass the quiz, you get to cum and be treated like perfect little princess, if you fail, you get to go home with a red butt and watery eyes.

"What is the name of the border that separates the desert and the rain forest?"

Your blood runs cold, and he notices it immediately. You know that one, but for some reason it's blurry in your mind.

Wall... Wall of... Saa...

Smack. You yelp as you feel a slap land on you clit. He feels you squeeze around him in surprise, making him thrust according to what speed he wants..

"Wall of Samiel." He spits out, roughly pounding into you. "Stupid slut."

"I-I knew that!" You cried, feeling disappointed that you couldn't piece it together in your mind faster. You cling onto the counter as his brutal thrusts shake your whole body.

At the end of that session, you got an 13/20. Could be better but he decides to let you cum that day, as well as fill you up with his own seed before cleaning you up and sending you on your merry way.

"Bye bye, Hat Guy! Tomorrow, I promise you don't have to spank me once!" You waved him goodbye, oblivious to the weirded out stare the people passing by gave you. You merely thought about how many praises you're gonna get tomorrow.

Alhaitham and Kaveh

He really should charge Kaveh twice as much of his rent.

"...and you will be staying in my room with me!" Kaveh exclaimed excitedly as he proudly presented to you his room.

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the well-kept room, everything neatly in place, thought there were some crumpled paper pooling from his desk, and the decor well-chosen for his own preferences.

"Woahhh!"

As your eyes scanned the room, Alhaitham managed to catch your gaze, merely standing on your left with his arms crossed.

"I don't seem to remember allowing someone else to live in my house." He spoke directly to Kaveh, before he focused his eyes on your ears sitting on top of your head. "Or do you plan to excuse her as your 'pet'?"

You hide behind Kaveh, hoping he would jab at the gray-haired man for you.

"This is both our house, I pay the rent too y'know!"

"Barely."

"Whatever, you just don't understand what being kind is." Kaveh grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, before shutting the door in Alhaitham's face.

"Ignore that guy... he's just a bitter lonely scholar!" The blonde said the last part particularly loud, intending to let his roommate hear what he said.

You giggled, nodding as you take in the room you'll be sleeping in.

Kaveh isn't coming home tonight. Apparently, he's gonna be spending the entire night at the Akademiya working on a project that he's been neglecting for a month.

That leaves you all alone with the gray-haired man that you fear so much. Though, without Kaveh to rile him up, he's quite nice to you.

He even made dinner for you and him to share.

As you ate, you keep thinking about Kaveh, if he's gonna come home or not. You've never slept alone, and you are quite afraid.

Alhaitham took note of your troubled expression, "Kaveh isn't coming home tonight." He says, and you begin to panic, shaking in your seat.

"I-I can't..." You shake your head, looking down with watery eyes. "Can't sleep... a-alone."

He merely sighs, not wanting to hear the bleats of a panicked lamb in the middle of the night. "Sleep with me then."

...

He didn't expect to see you fully undress yourself after bringing your pillows into his room. "What are you doing?"

You look up at his clothed form, looking at him as if he's the crazy one for not taking off every garment on his body for bed. "Kaveh says that the only way to sleep right is if you sleep fully naked."

You took off your underwear, making Alhaitham sigh, "Did he now...?" His words were laced with skepticism that you were too stupid to notice.

You nod, making your little nest on your side of his bed. "Mhhmh, the air is nice and chilly, and the blanket keeps you warm." You cover yourself with his blanket. "You should listen more to Kaveh, Mr. Alhaitham, he's smart and nice and caring...."

"And stupid..." He muttered under his breath, taking off his top to expose his toned upper half. Despite his suspicion on what exactly happens in the confines of Kaveh's room, he can't exactly deny his intrigue in you, so he indulges.

He rids himself of his clothes, his weight dipping into the cushions as he lays next to you. Under the blanket, the skin of his muscular arm feels the pads of your searching fingers. He turns to you, seeing you already looking at him while your hands finally wrap around his arm.

You look cautiously at him, all while you guide his hand between your legs. "Did Kaveh teach you this too?" Alhaitham looks at you unbothered, letting you place his fingers against your core.

"Yeahh... when I can't sleep... iiih" You squeal out when his fingers start moving to rub your clit. You held onto his wrist, ever so slowly grinding down on his hand.

Alhaitham pries his hand from your hold, making you whimper as you chase after his touch. "How lazy..." He shakes his head, sitting up to position himself above you. "When you go back to his room tomorrow, why don't you show him what I'm gonna teach you."

You look at him curiously, his hand reaches for his cock, holding it at the base and nudging the tip at you clit. He rubs the tip continuously at it, occasionally running through your hole.

You instinctively open your legs wider for him, moaning as you feel wetness pool out of your pussy. "M-Mr. Alhaitham..." Your ears fold, feeling overwhelmed by such a large thing being pressed against your sensitive part.

As he moves to line up his length to your cunt, his tip leaving your clit covered in his precum, he feels the vibration of your shaking tail near your heat.

"Excited?" Alhaitham scoffs at the sight of your hole leaking with cum as he pressed his tip against it.

You nod, a deep blush evident on your face. "M-Mr. Alhaitham... I like this..." You let him know, nodding at your self-realization.

He eases himself inside you, breathing heavily at how you clamp down on him immediately. "Kaveh ought to treat his little pet better, I bet fingers aren't enough to get you off now, huh?"

Feeling how incredibly tight you are, Alhaitham grips your waist for support, pulling you closer to sink himself deeper into you. You flutter around him so sweetly, welcoming his cock with such warmth and pleasure that it has him lost for words.

Soon enough, he pounds away at you, hitting your sweet spot that pushes you to let out some cute little bleats. While you were losing your mind being fucked by his cock, his expression was as if he was reading a book, blank and intense.

While you were tearing up from the pleasure, slurring as you say his name over and over, your body shaking, he rams into you with feverish intensity, so composed and dominant.

It's when he combines his fingers, rubbing at your clit, with his hard thrusts did you finally scream so loud at him. "M-MR. ALHAI.... AHHH." You held desperately onto his wrist, trying to ease of of the pressure off your pussy, but he was relentless.

"Cum with me." He says so stoically, but it remains a command in your ears, even if you don't necessarily know what it means.

You let go of... something... a knot-like feeling in your tummy, and next thing you know, there was something incredibly hot flowing inside you, filling you up with warmth.

Alhaitham pulls out, and you get a glimpse of his softening cock with cum still staining the tip. "Tell your beloved Kaveh that that's how you get a little lamb to sleep." As he mentions it, you feel your eyes droop, tiredness taking over you after that mind numbing orgasm.

"I will, Mr. Alhaitham..."

...

"He did what?"

You merely nodded at his question, pointing at his pants. "Yes, Master Kaveh... with his cock, almost like yours!"

You were sat naked on his bed, nice and ready for bed, and as Kaveh was reaching out for you to initiate your nightly routine, you started to talk about last night.

"I really like what Mr. Alhaitham did, Master Kaveh. He's really good!" You smiled all innocently at him, unaware of the current eruption of emotions in his mind.

"Good, huh?" Kaveh places himself on top of you, pinning your hands on the bed. "That's the last time I'm spending the night at the Akademiya."

He reaches out to kiss at your fluffy ears, just like he knows you love. "Since you loved it so much, why don't I show you how it's really done. I'm sure Alhaitham is to stiff to let you get the full experience."

You feel your tail shake with excitement, and as he noticed it, he smiled, his hand reaching to rub your glistening pussy.

Long story short, Alhaitham hears some bed creaking and loud bleats from a certain lambgirl coming from Kaveh's room for many hours that night.

He's had a chance to think about it...

Perhaps if that cute little lamb would accompany him in his room more often, then he can let Kaveh get away with not paying rent for a couple of weeks.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Little Lamb in this day and age?!?! (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠)

Hahahahah, yeahhh, it's been a while, I hope you enjoyed!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin x reader #kamisato ayato smut #scaramouche smut #kaveh smut #alhaitham smut #scaramouche x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader

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pasukiyo · 4 months ago

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RIDE EM', COWGIRL

tyler owens x f!reader word count: 1,168 warnings: SMUT! tornado sex?, riding, masturbation (both m & f), very sloppy writing, i was just horny after watching twisters okay lol synopsis: it's like he always says, you don't face your fears, you ride em' cowgirl...

“You take it so fuckin’ well, fuck!”

Rain pounds against the windows of the truck along with quarter to ping pong sized hail but she rides Tyler faster, his cock pounding faster against her cervix than the little balls of ice that strike the steel of the truck. Her fingernails etch hooks into his shoulders, reminiscent of the hook echo in the supercell on the radar behind her. His palms knead at her hips, guiding her up and down his length, her walls clenching around him.

“It’s headin’ east!” Boone’s voice emits from the comms and her hips slow, but Tyler’s hands tighten around them, heaving her up and down his cock himself. Her eyes roll and her head lolls, a string of curses tumbling past her lips.

“Come on, baby, almost fuckin’ there,” he mutters beneath his breath like it’s sacred prayer, canting his hips towards hers, bringing her within inches of her end.

“Tyler, shit!” She gasps, sinking her nails further into his skin, deep enough to draw blood. “Slow down! I can’t… I can’t fucking take it…”

He shakes his head, a low rumble thundering deep in his chest like a crack of lightning. “Yes you can, come on,” he groans. “You do so well, takin' my cock so damn good.”

“Tyler, the hell you doing? We got a vortex on the ground at your six, so are we ridin’ this thing or not?” Boone’s voice sounds from the comms again and Tyler hisses, pressing the pads of his fingers down into the flesh of her waist, hips angrily thrusting up into her.

A sob wracks her body and she slumps against him when his hips finally still, his cock sitting dormant inside of her. Every muscle aches in her body and her core practically screams for more, feeling the blisteringly white hot bliss she felt mere moments ago begin to slip away. Perspiration drips in beads down the slides of her face onto his sweat-slicked skin and she lets her lids flutter closed, feeling Tyler’s chest heave up and down beneath her cheek.

Tyler huffs and reaches for the transceiver, bringing it up to his lips. “Yeah, we’re ridin’.”

Her eyelids snap open as Tyler practically shoves her into the passenger seat and she hisses when the back of her head meets the window. “Tyler!” She exclaims as he buckles himself into his harness, gesturing for her to do the same.

“Harness on, baby,” he snickers. “This ain’t your first rodeo.”

As her orgasm slips further away, she scrambles to sit upright in her seat, buckling herself into her harness as Tyler shifts the truck into drive. She hardly has time to get herself properly fastened before she’s being jostled about, slippery palm struggling to find its grip on the handle above her head.

The truck bobs up and down against the unsteady ground it drives on, her thighs instinctively closing together at the friction against her core. Tyler glances over when she does, feeling his dick twitch until it’s unbearable— he can’t not take it into his fist.

She turns her head almost as soon as he does, feeling her stomach do a somersault as he pumps himself in one hand, steering the truck with the other.

“Tyler, we’re driving straight into a fuckin’ tornado right now and you’re jerking yourself off?” She asks with a dent between her brow and he turns, grinning as he does it.

“‘If you feel it, chase it,’ amirite?” He says with a wink and she’d admit— it makes her clit throb. He side-eyes her sore, puffy clit before turning back to the mass of churning wind in front of them. “You should really take care of your situation down there. It’s good for the nerves.”

Blood bites her cheeks as he steers them closer to the tornado and all she can do is stare as he pumps himself, her own hand itching to be between her legs. Tyler drives them into the twister and she can’t fight it anymore, one hand sliding over her clit, the other tightening around the handle above her head.

Tyler’s laugh thunders the small interior of the truck, even as rain and wind and hail pound against the top of the vehicle. He anchors the truck into the ground and fires off the rockets, tightening his fist around his cock, tugging angrily, damn near ferally.

Tyler’s a fucking animal, anyone could see that. But he’s a whole new breed when they’re alone, absolutely primal.

The pads of her fingers race back and forth over her nub, her legs shaking as she brings herself back towards that edge Tyler nearly pushed her over moments before. His name stumbles past her lips in a whimper and she feels his hand snake around her head, bringing her closer.

“Fuck, come here,” he growls against her lips before enveloping them with his, his tongue like a bull she struggles to stay atop. There’s a knot building at the pit of her belly that’s on the precipice of rupturing, closer and closer with every flick of her fingers against her clit.

“Gettin’ close?” He asks against her mouth and she mewls, nodding. He grins against her lips, “do it.”

The wind pounds against the steel of the truck and the vehicle rocks as the vortex twirls around them. She used to think this was crazy, absolutely utterly insane and it is— but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t equally exhilarating. She thinks risk is what she’s been missing all her life— and then she met Tyler. It seems risk has been her new normal ever since they started dating.

But this?

This was unlike anything she’s ever done before.

When she finally felt herself tip over the edge and her orgasm wreaks havoc through her body, like a cyclone meeting the ground, carving a path into the earth in its wake. A loud string of curses tumble past Tyler’s lips as he, too, meets his end and they’re two identical supercells, spinning into one another until they become one. His mouth is a seal over hers, warm and wet when they meet. Her mind is numb with sex and all she can think to say is his name, chanting it over and over like it’s holy word.

The tornado dissipates around them and she can hear the crew cheer through the radios when Tyler finally pulls away, a thread of saliva a bridge between their lips. She falls limp against the back of her seat, the aftershocks of her release rattling her bones.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that, Owens?” She finally says once she’s come to and Tyler laughs beside her, caressing the side of her face with his knuckles.

“I always say, ‘you don’t face your fears, you ride em’, cowgirl,” He adds with a wink. Her eyes roll and she reaches for her panties he’d thrown in the backseat, pulling them up her legs.

“Jesus, you can’t get any cornier, can you?”

a/n; outing myself as an oklahoman (yes, i do in fact live in the sooner state unfortunately but maybe fortunately in this context lmfao) because the inner storm enthusiast inside of me is SCREAMING after watching twisters. please don't mind my sloppy ass writing here, i was just incredibly horny after watching it LMFAOOOOOO (this is also not proofread!)

🌪️ if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

#twisters 2024 #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens twisters #glen powell #twisters movie

3K notes · View notes

punkshort · 5 months ago

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dad jokes

Pairing: (Hallmark) Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel and Sarah celebrate Father's Day with you and your family. Your sister's newest addition brings up a topic you've never discussed before with Joel.

Warnings: language, fluff (the cheesy hallmark kind), established relationship, reader has a nickname previously explained, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (m receiving), flirting, dirty talk

WC: 6.1K

Dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

No matter how many times it happened, waking up in Joel's arms always put a smile on your face. His thick forearm laid heavy across your stomach and his broad chest was pressed against your back, cocooning you in his warmth. Even though it was mid June and the Texas heat was already beginning to rise, you refused to wiggle out of his grasp. You would rather overheat than not feel his exhale tickling the back of your neck or smell his familiar, intoxicating scent so close.

You cracked one eye open and glanced around his neat bedroom. Soon to be your shared bedroom, once the lease on your apartment was up next month. He had already insisted on bringing some of your things over and slowly your lives began to blend together. The end table closest to your side of the bed housed your things: a pink jar of lip balm, phone charger, a book, a few stray necklaces and some moisturizer. It looked like your things always belonged there, never out of place. Your eyes drifted towards his closet, which was already reorganized and you could see a few articles of your clothing hanging inside from the crack in the door. Your favorite purple blanket, although discarded for the past month or so now due to the temperature, was draped over an armchair in the corner of the room. Your smile grew when you saw the framed photo of the two of you Tommy took at Sarah's Christmas recital sitting prominently on the dresser.

Just when you thought your life couldn't get any more perfect, you felt Joel stir behind you and tighten is grip around your waist before his gravelly voice mumbled mornin' and his hand wandered down, slipping underneath the sheets to pluck at the hem of your sleep shorts.

"Happy Father's Day," you whispered over your shoulder. You felt him smile against your skin.

"Thank you, baby."

His hand slipped beneath your underwear and you sighed, arching your back when he began to tease, the rough pads of his fingers petting lightly between your legs. You felt his hardening length twitch against your ass and you bit your lip, temporarily getting lost in the moment before you remembered Sarah's surprise and you begrudgingly put your hand on his arm to stop him.

"We can't."

"Why?"

Just then you each heard a clattering in the kitchen below you and Sarah mutter something before the sink turned on.

"Sarah's making you pancakes."

Joel groaned. "But I don't want pancakes, I want somethin' else," and he began to rub his finger against your slit again, making you gasp.

"Joel," you whined as you began to pull away, "she's been planning this all week, come on."

He shifted onto his back and gave you a pathetic look. You giggled and rolled out of bed. "If I promise to give you your gift after she goes to bed tonight, would that make you feel better?"

"You bought me a gift?" he asked, suddenly becoming alert.

"Well, I wouldn't say I bought you something," you said as you began to change out of your pajamas. "But you'll still be thanking me."

Joel grinned and slid out of bed to join you in front of the closet, his arms wrapping around your waist and his lips latching onto the crook of your neck. "I like the sound of that."

"Dad!" Sarah called from the bottom of the stairs. "Hurry up! I have a surprise for you!"

"Go," you told him, pushing against his chest playfully. He pretended to stumble backwards, making you laugh before heading out into the hall and down the steps.

By the time you changed and washed up, Joel had already devoured half his breakfast. You stopped short when you entered the kitchen and burst out laughing when you saw the cheesy #1 Dad blue ball cap sitting cockeyed on top of his messy curls.

"Oh, this is just too good," you giggled before grabbing your phone out of your pocket and snapping a picture. "Great job, kiddo," you told Sarah when you passed by, ruffling her hair. She shot you a killer smile and went back in for more pancakes.

"What time is the barbecue again?" Sarah asked with her mouth full.

"Four, I think," you replied, pulling out your phone to check the text from your mom. "Oh! Bring your swimsuit. They want to use the pool."

"Yes!" Sarah whispered, triumphantly pumping her fist. "That pool is the coolest."

"Tiles in the center of the pool are hand painted by this artist your folks found just outside of the city. She had those ready to go before the concrete guys were even ready to pour, if you can believe it. Did I ever tell you 'bout the concrete guys?" You and Sarah exchanged amused glances and shook your heads, letting Joel ramble on. He was the contractor who built your parents' house the year prior and it was no secret it was one of his favorite projects, even before he got to meet you. Your parents adored him, as well. So much so that they invited him, Sarah and Tommy to their annual Christmas party, where you first met.

When breakfast was done, you volunteered to wash the dishes, which, after looking around the kitchen at the tornado Sarah left behind, you instantly regretted it. Naturally, Sarah noticed that she trapped you and before anyone could ask her to help, she disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom.

"I'll help, baby," Joel said as he tried to take the towel from over your shoulder. You scooted back, just out of reach, and shook your head.

"It's Father's Day, you shouldn't lift a finger," you replied. He grinned and leaned up against the counter instead, picking at some leftover bacon while you got to work. "Maybe this was my gift for you all along," you added with a wink. His hand froze halfway to his mouth, a piece of bacon hanging limply from his fingers as he stared at you.

"I was really hopin' it was somethin' better than doin' the dishes, darlin'."

"Yeah? Like what?" you asked innocently, batting your lashes, making him grin. His eyes drifted towards the door to the kitchen, making sure Sarah didn't sneak downstairs when he wasn't paying attention, then took a step forward.

"Like maybe you let me finish what I started this mornin'," he said, his voice dropping an octave. Your heart fluttered in your chest, your body already betraying you with just one small sentence, but you tried to keep your cool as you scrubbed a plate in the sink.

"Now, that would require lifting a finger, wouldn't it?" you teased. He gently brushed his knuckles against your back, taking yet another step closer while you rinsed the plate.

"It would require a couple, actually, but I'm more than willin' to put in a little work."

"So generous of you, but I was thinking I could be the one doing all the work tonight," you whispered, turning to ghost your lips over his and blindly washing a fork.

"Yeah?" he breathed, practically falling into a trance as he stared into your eyes.

"Mhm, but I wouldn't stop you if you used those fingers to pull my hair when I'm on my knees with your-"

"Dad?" Sarah called from the top of the stairs, making you both jump. You stifled your giggles when Joel took a deep, ragged breath and raked his fingers through his hair before adjusting himself and walking towards the kitchen door.

"Yeah, baby girl?"

"Where are the beach towels?"

"Sarah, it's ten in the mornin', we ain't goin' to the barbecue til later."

"I know, but I wanna lay outside for a bit before it gets too hot."

Joel rolled his eyes and you grinned while you finished up the dishes. "I think they're in the basement, I'll get 'em." He turned back to you and pinned you with a familiar, heated look. "We ain't done here."

"Is that a promise?"

He chuckled and shook his head before swinging open the basement door and disappearing down the stairs.

It was on the car ride over to your parents' house when it hit him: this was the first Father's Day where he didn't have to do anything. Before you, Joel was completely alone. Sure, Tommy helped when he could, but Tommy also had his own life. For so many years it was just him and Sarah, and as much as she tried to take things off his plate as she got older, she still wasn't old enough to make her own money or drive a car to get him a gift for any special occasion. At Christmas, Tommy helped her out, but his birthday and Father's Day were always different. Those were times he gave her money from his wallet and pretended not to watch which stores she filtered in and out of at the mall.

He loved his little girl more than anything and he was happy that she even cared enough to put any thought into a gift for him over the years, but this year? It was special. You took Sarah to the grocery store to get supplies for breakfast when he was at work. You took her to the mall and you helped her wrap that stupid hat and the DVDs of a couple action flicks he'd been wanting to see.

In just six short months, you managed to change everything.

His hand drifted across the seat to your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze, his fingers curling around your leg lovingly. You turned your head from the open window, hair flying every which way in the wind, to give him a dazzling smile while his daughter listened to music in the backseat, her bathing suit on underneath her clothes and a towel tucked under her arm.

How could he ever properly explain to you what you've done to him? To the both of them? You probably didn't even think twice about taking Sarah to get him a gift, it just came second nature to you. But to him, it meant the world.

He released your thigh and found your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles before stretching your arm across the seat, flipping your hand over and then pressing a kiss in your palm, all the while keeping his eyes pinned on the road.

You wiggled your fingers, tickling his chin playfully, making him smile. At a stop light, he glanced in the review mirror at Sarah smiling down at something on her phone.

His life finally felt complete. The only thing he had left to do was make it official.

Sarah leaned forward, arms stretching over the back of the seats to show you her phone. She was excitedly telling you about some famous pop star that just announced he was releasing a new album at the end of the month along with tour dates and you nodded along, pretending to be just as enthused.

"I mean, look at this album cover. He's so dreamy. Isn't he so cool?" Sarah asked with a goofy smile on her face.

"Mmm, absolutely. The coolest," you replied.

"Well, you know why he's so cool, don't you?" Joel chimed in. Sarah frowned, confused. "'Cause he's got a lotta fans."

The corners of his mouth pulled into a grin, eyes flicking back and forth between you and his daughter, waiting for a reaction that never came. You both just stared at him blankly. "Oh, c'mon, that was a good one!" he moaned as he pulled into the driveway. You hid your smile behind your hand as Sarah rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Don't quit your day job, Dad."

"I bet your old man'll find it funny," Joel said to you after Sarah piled out of the truck.

"I have no doubt about that," you told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out of the passenger seat to trail after Sarah, who had ran right to the gate leading to the backyard.

"Happy Father's Day!" you sang out when you opened the gate to find your dad messing around with the grill. His eyes snapped up to yours and his round face lit up before stretching his arms open wide for a hug.

"Thanks, Buck," he murmured into your hair, arms so tight around your ribs that you could barely breathe.

"Happy Father's Day, Mr. Paul," Sarah chirped, and your dad released you in favor of pulling her into a much more delicate half hug.

"Thank you, sweetie. Where's your old man?"

"Right here," Joel replied, closing the gate behind him. "Happy Father's Day, Paul," he added once he got closer, reaching an arm out to shake your father's hand, but your dad grabbed it and pulled Joel in for a hug and a loud slap on the back. You giggled and looked away when you saw Joel's face. Your father was a big man and sometimes forgot his own strength.

"Happy Father's Day, Joel," your dad answered once he finally released him. "C'mon, lemme get you a beer from the garage." The two of them wandered back down the path towards the gate while you and Sarah hopped up the stairs to the deck. The sliding glass door was partially open and you could hear your two month old niece's wails before you even stepped inside.

Your mom, who was busy flying around the kitchen in the same green apron she's owned since you were little, planted quick pecks on your cheeks before pulling plates of burgers and chicken out of the refrigerator.

"Sarah, honey, could you take these out to Mr. Paul for me? Then feel free to jump in that pool, it's getting too hot out there."

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah said excitedly before jumping in to help.

"Bucky, can you find your sister and see if she needs any help with Anna?"

"Already on it!" you called over your shoulder. You peered into the living room, spotting a baby swing and portable crib with a loose pack of diapers shoved underneath, but no baby. You followed the noises down the hall to your father's den where your sister, Cassie, and her husband, Josh, were desperately trying to quiet down your niece. Just one look at them and you knew they were beyond exhausted. Their eyes looked a little red and your sister's hair wasn't styled in her usual, meticulous fashion.

"Hey, why don't I give it a try?" you offered, stretching out your arms. Your sister and Josh looked at you, relief flooding their faces.

"Oh, thank you, Buck," Cassie said before handing over Anna. Josh draped a fresh burp cloth over your shoulder so you could press Anna's chest against yours, her perfect little face screaming into your shoulder.

You shushed her and gently bounced on the balls of your feet. She continued to yell but you could tell her voice was beginning to quiet down a bit. "Why don't you guys go relax and I'll come get you if I need you?"

"Are you sure?" Josh asked, but Cassie was already grabbing his hand and pulling him out the door.

"Consider it your Father's Day present," you told him with a wink. He grinned and mouthed thank you before following your sister back towards the kitchen.

"Alright, Annie, it's just you and me now. No need for all that drama," you murmured into her ear. She took a few deep breaths then yawned, occasionally filling the room with a tiny shriek but otherwise seemed to be calming down. You walked back and forth across the room, whispering whatever you could think of to her, knowing it didn't really matter because all that she really liked was the vibrations in your chest, anyway. When you ran out of things to say and she was still awake, but quiet, you began to hum. You stood in front of the bay window, looking out at the front yard and admiring your mother's garden, swaying back and forth and humming some song you heard on the radio when Joel snuck up the hall holding two beers. When he spotted you, your back to him with Anna falling asleep on your shoulder, he stopped dead in his tracks.

He couldn't stop fucking looking at you. The image made his breath hitch in his throat and his stomach clench. Suddenly, sleepless nights where he carried Sarah around on his shoulder flashed before his eyes. He was so young and scared and convinced he was doing everything wrong. But watching you in that moment he somehow knew you would be a natural with a baby of your own. You always had a way that made him feel calm, secure, safe.

You never brought up the topic of having kids before. He always wondered but he worried he would be asking too soon. Then he realized how foolish that seemed when he had an engagement ring already purchased and hidden in his dresser.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to move, quietly entering the den. You turned around at the noise and smiled.

"Is she out?" you whispered. He crept forward and tilted his head, noting Anna's eyes were shut and her pacifier was dangling from her lips. He nodded and you pretended to wipe sweat from your brow. He shifted out of the way so you could slowly sway out the door and back into the hallway where the pack and play was set up. You could hear your family's voices muffled through the sliding glass door and the faint sounds of splashing coming from the pool as you carefully leaned forward to put Anna in the crib.

"Can't believe how big she is already," he whispered, hooking his chin over your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I know. Did it feel like Sarah grew up this fast?"

Joel laughed softly and kissed the back of your neck before stepping away. "Actually, no. Doin' it so young was tough. I was so nervous, every hour felt like a year. And Char wasn't a huge help before she left. She wasn't really present."

You gave him a sympathetic look before taking the beer he held out for you. "I'm sorry, Joel."

"No need to be sorry. Everythin' worked out exactly like it was supposed to." He tipped his bottle to gentle tap against yours before taking a sip, watching you nervously as you did the same. He cleared his throat and glanced over at Anna once more, too anxious to look at you when he asked, "is that somethin' you'd want one day? Kids?"

Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise before you shifted your weight. Were you nervous, too?

"Uh, well, yeah, sure, you know, but it's not, like, a dealbreaker or anything." The embarrassment crept up your chest and neck, making your cheeks feel hot under his gaze.

"What'dya mean, 'dealbreaker'?" he asked curiously, and you shrugged.

"Well, I'm not trying to jump way ahead or anything, I know we haven't been together long," you began to explain, flicking your hair and fanning the back of your neck. You were nervous. The thought made him smile. If you only knew. "I just mean, you've already done the baby thing, so if it's something you didn't want to do, I'm totally fine with-"

"I do," he said immediately. Your gaze snapped up and a huge smile spread across your face.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said breathlessly with a smile matching yours. "With you? Hell yeah."

You laughed softly, glancing at Anna to make sure she was still sound asleep. "Well, then. That's... yeah. Wow, okay, glad we covered that." You sounded so damn cute when you were all flustered and nervous he couldn't help but cup your cheek and press his lips against yours, putting a stop to your rambling.

"I don't care how long we've been together, I love you," he whispered against your mouth. "Never loved anyone as much as I love you."

Your eyes glistened when you gazed up lovingly at him, your small hand tucking a stray curl around his ear. "Me too, Joel," you gave him one more chaste kiss before pulling back and taking his hand. "Why don't we go rejoin the party?"

He nodded and let you lead him through the kitchen and back out onto the deck where your family was relaxing under the shade of the umbrella, watching Sarah show off her diving skills.

"Hey, Joel, help me out with the grill, yeah?" your dad called from the patio. He tipped his chin in acknowledgement before kissing the top of your head and jogging down the steps.

"She's down?" Cassie asked when you collapsed into the patio chair next to her.

"Yep, sure is."

"You're a miracle worker, Bucky," Cassie sighed before tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

"Nah, she just loves me the most."

Without looking, Cassie shot one leg out to kick you, hitting you squarely on the thigh.

"Ouch! Mom!" you whined, rubbing the spot on your leg. Joel turned around from the grill when he heard you and grinned.

"Bucky, be serious. You're both adults now, do I really still need to referee your fights?"

You pouted then scowled when you saw the smirk on your sister's face.

"Hey, this might be a bad time to ask, but do you think you could watch Anna next Saturday?" Cassie asked sheepishly, making you laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so," you said. "I was going to move some more of my stuff into Joel's place but I suppose I could change my plans for my favorite niece."

"Oh, that's right. Your lease is up soon, isn't it?" Josh asked and you nodded before taking a sip of your beer.

"Next month."

"Big step," your mom said, but she had mischievous a look in her eye that matched the small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah, I guess so," you replied, giving her a curious frown, "although I spend so much time at their house as it is, it hardly feels like it."

"Oh, you never know. It might take you by surprise," she said before taking a sip from her cocktail. Cassie looked back and forth between you with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you talking about, mom?" she pried, but your mom waved her off.

"Oh, nothing! I'm just trying to say it's a big, exciting step." She checked the time on her watch and stood up. "I have to check the mac and cheese," she said, then disappeared quietly inside the house.

"That was weird," you muttered, glancing over your shoulder to check on Sarah.

"She's always been weird," Cassie shrugged. "But things are going good with you guys I take it?"

"Yeah," you replied, borderline dreamily. "Things are great."

Cassie leaned in, her sister intuition tingling, silently urging you to elaborate. You bit your lip, glancing quickly at Josh who appeared to be half asleep in the sun.

"He asked me if I ever wanted to have kids," you whispered, but her high pitched squeal blew your cover when both Joel and your dad turned around to look at her.

"She saw a bee!" you called over to them and they shrugged before turning back to the meat on the grill.

"Sorry!" she whispered, then clutched your hand. "Bucky, that's so exciting! What did you say?"

"Well, I was honest with him but I really didn't think he would want any more. Sarah's a teenager already, I thought he was past that point in his life, but..." you trailed off and snuck a peek in his direction, your gaze sliding over his broad shoulders and tanned skin. "I was wrong."

"Oh, my god, Buck. What if we were pregnant at the same time?"

"Shh!" you hissed with a finger against your lips. "You just had a baby and you're already thinking about the next one?"

"Our kids could grow up together and be best friends. Oh, my god I'm so excited, I could die!" she said, ignoring you.

"Cas! I'm not getting pregnant tonight! There's a few more steps that usually happen before having a baby."

"Well, shit, if he's asking you those types of questions, I have a hunch he's got the big question locked and loaded," she replied before putting on her sunglasses and leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

Your eyes went wide and your pulse thrummed excitedly in your neck. "You think?"

"Mhm."

You had been so focused on moving in with Joel and Sarah the past few months that you never really thought past that step. For whatever reason, being with Joel always felt natural. Like you didn't belong anywhere else but right by his side. When you thought about your future, Joel and Sarah were always a part of it, like it was a given they would be in your life forever. But, naturally, forever generally implied an engagement and wedding, something you never gave much thought to. Then your mind drifted back to the night before Cassie gave birth, when Joel came to your door after he and Tommy had to much to drink at a bar nearby and he casually mentioned he wanted to spend his life with you, that he already bought a ring. Even though he quickly backtracked and claimed it was a joke, it still stuck in the back of your mind.

You looked over at Joel again, trying to envision him in a tux and standing under an altar, gazing down at you with tears in his eyes. And then suddenly, mid-fantasy, he turned to you and smiled. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach when you smiled back and he gave you a wink.

"So I said, he's got a lotta fans, get it?" Joel finished saying, sending your dad into a fit of laughter. "Told ya he'd think it was funny," he said when he turned to you with a grin. You just rolled your eyes and took another bite of chicken.

"Yeah, then I told him not to quit his day job," Sarah piped up from the other side of the table. Joel leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Well, I'd tell you a construction joke, but I'm still workin' on it."

The whole table cracked up at that one, Sarah included.

"Joel, where's Tommy today?" your mom asked. "He knows he's always welcome, doesn't he?"

"Oh, 'course he does. He's been busy with a new lady friend," Joel replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Hey, that's great," your dad said.

"He's such a handsome man, I'm so glad to hear he's found someone," your mom added.

"Handsome? What'dya mean by that, Martha?" your father questioned, crossing his arms and pretending to be jealous. You and Cassie exchanged glances and rolled your eyes.

"Oh, stop it," she replied, swatting his arm with her napkin while trying to hide the flush that was creeping up her neck.

"Sarah, how'd you do on exams?" Cassie asked as she lifted Anna onto her shoulder to burp her.

Sarah launched into a full breakdown of her school year, highlighting her favorite classes and teachers. Joel watched with a dopey smile on his face while she told the table she was going to continue violin lessons over the summer and she also planned on trying out for a summer soccer league.

"Sounds like you'll be busy, Joel," Josh joked with a nudge.

"Yeah, what else is new," he replied, pretending to be exasperated but in reality, he couldn't be happier. Seeing his little girl so full of life and energy was all he ever needed. "But at least now I'll have a bit of help," Joel added, draping his arm across the back of your chair.

"Oh, Joel, do not let Bucky take Sarah to soccer," Cassie warned. Your parents were already laughing, knowing what she was going to say. "She takes sports way too seriously. If you're not careful, she's gonna be out there in the middle of the field yelling at the refs and getting Sarah thrown out of the game."

"I will not!" you exclaimed defensively, but Sarah and Joel were already laughing.

"Bucky, c'mon, don't make me remind you of fifth grade softball-"

"Cassie, that was ages ago!"

"What happened in softball?" Sarah asked excitedly, picking up on the energy from all the adults.

Cassie went on to tell a very elaborate and exaggerated version of events in which you felt like the pitcher was intentionally trying to hit you with the ball and it nearly caused a fist fight amongst both teams. You just sat back and rolled your eyes, then you felt Joel's fingers graze the back of your arm.

"Don't listen to her, she's a liar," you told him quietly so only he could hear. He grinned and leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

"That's too bad, I like the idea of you gettin' all fiery and worked up."

Your heart skipped a beat at the tone in his voice and you mouthed the word bad, making him chuckle.

Joel didn't want to rush Sarah out of the pool and the weather was so perfect, it was close to nine when you finally decided to pack up and leave, Cassie and Josh already having left hours before to put Anna to bed.

"I'm so tired," Sarah yawned from the backseat.

"Swimming and all that sun'll do that to you," Joel told her.

"Mr. Paul offered to take us fishing one day, Dad. D'you think we can go? He says he knows a spot where the bass are over a foot long each."

Joel smiled to himself. A year ago, all he and Sarah had was Tommy and a few cousins who came by twice a year from out of town. Now it seemed like they had a whole new family, and it was all because of you. "Yeah, sure. Sounds like a great time."

You were fresh out of the shower, inspecting your skin for any sunburn when Joel entered your bedroom looking beat. He slid off his jeans with a groan and collapsed into bed with his forearm thrown over his eyes.

Flicking off the bathroom light, you wandered over to the bed, dragging a finger up the inside of his thigh. He moved his arm so he could look at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Too tired for your gift?" you asked sweetly.

He smirked and shook his head. "Never too tired for you, baby."

With his arms spread wide, he motioned for you to join him on the bed. Starting at his legs, you slowly crawled up his body, maintaining steady eye contact the whole way until your nose was nudging gently against his.

"I liked all your dad jokes today," you murmured right before placing a tender kiss against his plush lips. "Really very fitting for the occasion."

"Mm, got one more f'you," he replied, voice matching your low tone.

You tipped your head back a bit so you could see his eyes.

"Let's hear it."

He grinned and pulled you back towards him, nuzzling his nose into your neck, breathing in deep the smell from your floral shampoo. "What goes in hard and comes out soft?"

You giggled and you felt him smile against your skin.

"Um, I can think something," you whispered, nipping playfully at his ear. Then you dropped your hand to cup him between his legs and his breath stalled. You pulled down the waistband of his boxers and looked at his erection bobbing heavy between your bodies. You hummed and gave him a coy smile before leaving a trail of kisses down his neck and, shimmying down between his legs, carefully wrapped your fingers around his cock.

When he first felt your tongue flick out and tease him, he inhaled sharply and gently combed his fingers through your hair with a sigh.

"Fuck, baby, you dirty thing. I was gonna say pasta," he moaned when you took his swollen tip into your mouth and swirled your tongue around, allowing your saliva to pool and drip past your lips. When he gasped and rolled his hips, you felt a flutter in your lower belly, your own arousal building just from listening to him fall apart from your mouth.

You relaxed your jaw and tried to steady your breathing as you took him deeper, making sure to keep your tongue moving, sliding up and down his smooth skin. You smiled around him when he groaned so loud he had to bite his fist, his display of weakness only encouraging you to move faster, hollowing your cheeks and taking him a little deeper each time you sunk back down.

"W-wait, stop - shit," he gasped before giving your hair a gentle pull. You released him and gazed up into his eyes, your lips all red and wet as you panted for air.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin', just gonna come if you keep goin'. C'mon, take these off-" he reached for your shorts but you squirmed away with a frown.

"I told you, Joel. You're not lifting a finger on Father's Day."

"But what 'bout-"

"I wanna take care of you, Joel. Will you let me? Please?" you asked with a little pout. You could see it in the way he looked at you now, you had said something he really wanted to hear. So you tried it again. "You do so much for everyone else. Let me do this for you," you whispered, and when you felt his fingers loosen and fall from your hair, you grinned and turned your attention back to his cock. Slowly, you stroked him up and down, admiring his length before pressing a few kisses to his leaking tip.

"Goddamn, that feels nice," he whispered, closing his eyes briefly to savor the feeling of your warm, soft mouth enveloping him once again. You hummed and he jolted underneath you, the vibrations sending a shockwave through his limbs. "Oh, yeah, there you go," he cooed when you began to take him faster, your tongue swirling around him as you bobbed up and down. "Fuck, you look so good like this, y'know that? You -" he gasped when he felt the tip of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his fingers immediately got tangled in your hair once again. It took everything you had to keep breathing and not gag around him.

"Oh, god," he moaned, his jaw clenching as he felt himself getting closer and closer to his release. You rubbed your thighs together, the ache between your legs unbearable with all the praise and noises he was lavishing on you since you started.

"Fuck, baby, I'm - where? W-where? Quick," he whined as his hips involuntarily bucked up into your mouth. You didn't want to take him from your mouth to answer so you caught his eye, his face looking wrecked and sweaty, and gave him a wink, hoping that would convey your message.

His hand cradled the back of your head as he suddenly bent forward, whimpering your name with a string of curses attached and that was when you felt his warmth first hit your tongue. You moaned quietly at the salty taste, swallowing down each spurt of his release until his muscles relaxed and he fell back onto his pillow with a groan.

"God," he whispered, his chest heaving. He watched in a daze as you carefully drew back, giving the tip one more kiss and sending a shudder down his spine before wiping the corner of your mouth with a grin and climbing up to lay next to him in bed.

He rolled over and cupped your cheek, kissing you with his tongue sliding past your lips. You could feel his heartbeat thumping against his chest, against your chest, and you moaned into his mouth.

"Happy Father's Day," you whispered hoarsely when he pulled away to kiss your forehead.

"Thank you, baby. But now it's your turn," he told you with a sly smirk. He began to inch his way down your body, his lips dragging over your chest, but you stopped him.

"I told you, you're not lifting a finger today."

His eyes shifted to the clock next to your bed. "It's past midnight," he told you before he continued to work his way down, leaving kisses down your stomach before tugging at your shorts.

You sighed and settled into the pillows, eyes sliding shut. "Well, in that case..."

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#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #hallmark couple #hallmark #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader smut #joel miller au #joel miller fluff

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superhoeva · 2 months ago

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Older boyfriend logan who walks in on you touching yourself and takes over for you…? 👀👀

for a while, logan just watches.

eyes burning and lip pinching when he bites it to contain his groans at the sight of you rubbing at your wetness with a feverous hand. with the way your chest arches in the air and how little mewls of pleasure slip from your parted mouth, logan's becoming painfully hard. eyes still settled upon you, he has to squeeze himself through the crotch of his pants.

he can only hold on a second longer before starling you by storming into the room and right for the bed.

ignoring your gasp, logan slinks onto the bed with ease, his hips grinding against the mattress for some kind of release while his arms circle around your thighs.

"decided to start without me, huh?" the question comes with a thick lick that has your eyes flicking down to meet his gaze. one of his hands bends to grab your wrist that tries to pull away to make room for his tongue. "uh uh. didn't tell you stop, did i? you keep goin', rub her nice and good for me."

logan sprinkles the words between wet, moving to pepper kisses across your spread thighs. eyes twinkling, he huffs out a moan at the way you dip the pads of your fingers into your leaking slit before rubbing a few circles around your clit.

his mouth falls open a little at the way your hips roll, pussy almost feathering against him when you squirm. you clench around nothing as your digits hasten in pace, desperately gliding your slickness. you feel another rush of warmth when logan continues his rumbling, cheek pressed against your thigh while he watches, mesmerized.

“ooh, that’s good. give her what she wants, yeah. give my pussy whatever she wants.”

fuck, he’s drooling. breaths huffing and cock twitching, logan oozes out a glob of spit from his lips that only adds to your wetness. you flinch in delight at the feeling.

“good fuckin’ girl,” he praises when you collect the saliva and knead it into you, back arching with a low whimper. logan forgets all ounces of his restraint when you buck again, allowing his tongue to glide against you, all the way up until he’s nosing your fingers out of the way.

logan licks at you again with a long inhale and gritty moan when your legs tighten around him. he holds you as you shake, pussy grinding itself along his mouth and chin while he noisily drinks you up.

he’s pulling away after a few more slurps, licking his lips and burning the taste of you into his brain once again. before you can think, more kisses are pressed into your puffy clit, and logan’s eyes crinkle with a tiny grin when you jerk.

logan keeps his lips on you, small pecks melting into messy snogs. the grunt that bubbles from his throat has you gasping, and the knowing glance his eyes swipe at you as he sinks his tongue into deeper your hole tells you only one thing.

…you’re in for a long night.

#older bf!logan #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #logan x you #logan howlett #wolverine

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daycourtofficial · 5 months ago

Text

Azriel’s Girls

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 2.6k | warnings: none

Summary: you overhear a conversation between Azriel and his brothers that has you second guessing your boyfriend’s faithfulness. What will you find when you follow him out one night?

Author’s note: two fics one day! This is crack lmao I wrote this in a blur this afternoon from a silly convo with @milswrites @prythianpages and @ninthcircleofprythian lmao

You and Feyre came into the River House giggling over the amount of paint that covered the both of you. The two of you stop laughing long enough to look at each other, before devolving into fits of giggles once more. One of the boys in the studio had insisted on today’s topic being finger painting, which led to the children essentially dipping their hands into paint before smearing it over all of your clothes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to shower here?” Her voice is soft and kind, a slight rasp to it from talking to the kids all afternoon.

“Thanks Fey, but I’d rather shower at home so I can slip into my pajamas and go to sleep.” You look away from her, as if you could see him through the walls. “Maybe I can even convince Azriel to rub my back. I shouldn't have given some piggy back rides.”

Feyre hums, a soft ‘told you so’ on her tongue, but you give her a pointed look and she keeps it to herself.

“Well, I’m going to go wash up. Good luck finding the boys.”

Her voice floats down the hallway she takes, and you start thinking about where to look - the most obvious place being Rhys’s study. Your feet pad through the halls until you start to hear three loud laughs coming from the cracked study door.

You keep moving towards the source, ready to make your presence known, when you hear Cassian say, “when will you see them again?”

Your boyfriend responds with a soft, “tonight”, eliciting raucous laughter from his brothers. You still, pressing yourself towards the wall, tilting your head in contemplation.

Azriel had told you he had plans tonight, that he was doing something important for Rhys. Had he lied to you?

Cassian’s voice cuts through your train of thoughts, “I’m sure the girls at Rosehall have been missing you.”

Rosehall?

You scrunch your eyebrows, trying to remember if you had ever heard of Rosehall. Was it somewhere in Velaris? Was it a pleasure hall? Who were these girls Cassian spoke of?

Had your sweet Azriel been sneaking around, and his brothers were aware of it? Had they been condoning it?

“I haven’t been able to see them in a while, they’ll be glad for the company.”

“I’m sure they’ll be crawling all over you, brother.”

Their laughs were knives in your heart. Did everyone know? Were you nothing more than a fool to them? Nothing more than a mere joke to these males? Your mind was racing, not paying any mind to the rest of the conversation as you ran down the hall into the kitchens, getting yourself a glass of water. You chugged it, the cool liquid giving your racing thoughts something else to focus on. Like a plan to figure out the truth.

After a few minutes of allowing yourself to seethe and panic, you retraced your steps towards Rhys’s study with your plan in tow: get to Rosehall, find out who these girls are, and yell and scream at Azriel and his brothers for playing you for a fool. As you approach, the males within were now speaking of some sporting event you were not the slightest bit interested in. Azriel’s face brightens as you knock and enter, pushing the door that was slightly ajar. You hate the way your heart picks up a bit at seeing him, at seeing how his face lights up at your presence, your cheeks heating at his attention.

He’s a lying, backstabbing, good for nothing-

“How was painting with Feyre?”

The attention from all three of them pulls you from your thought spiral and you choke on your own spit, coughing a bit. Azriel’s smile turns into a look of concern as he watches you, but Cassian chuckles. “Did you eat the paint by accident?”

Rhysand’s low tone chimes in, “I believe she’s wearing half the paint in Feyre’s studio, and I’m sure my mate’s wearing the other half.”

You chuckle, “uh yeah, Feyre was heading to shower when I left her.”

Rhys dips his head, “that's my cue to leave. BRothers, always a pleasure until better things come along. I’ll see you all later.”

Cassian laughs as Rhys disappears in front of you all, “horny bastard.”

Azriel glares at his brother, “and the pot calls the kettle black.”

Cassian scoffs, flicking his wrist in the air, “pish posh, Azriel. The past is the past.”

“Your past was last week when everytime I came back to the House of Wind for two weeks I got front row seats to your ass.”

“Well, it's our house. And I have a fantastic ass.”

Cassian flexes his thighs, as if Azriel just had to see it to mitigate his annoyance.

“I live there too.”

Cassian shrugs, as if this was a matter of opinion to just accept differences over.

Azriel looks back to you, his eyes making you feel warm, just as they always did. But the warmth was quickly devolving into a ball of anger and sadness, warming your stomach with jealousy and annoyance.

You slap a smile onto your face as you look towards Az, taking in his lazy grin as Cassian slaps him on the back. “I’m off to see Nes. You kids have fun!”

Cassian walks toward the balcony, taking to the skies. Azriel turns toward you, offering his hand so the two of you could embark as well. You accept his hand in yours, a little part of your mind telling you this is the last time you’ll do this. You laugh, pushing the thoughts to the side as you allow Azriel to pick you up, the two of you shooting up into the air.

Azriel flies you back to your apartment, his wings expertly moving over the streets of Velaris. You can’t help the smile on your face as you two fly through the air, watching the people below you until he lands right in front of your home.

You open the door for the both of you, and he follows closely behind. He chuckles at your paint covered clothes, and you fidget slightly, wanting him to make the move to leave.

The clock in your living room chimes, and his gaze moves towards it. “It’s getting late, I have to go. Will you be okay?”

You nod, your arms tightening around yourself. He takes your nervous energy as your hatred for sleeping alone, not wanting to upset you further by making you speak about it.

“How long will you be gone?”

He ponders for a moment, “I should be back tomorrow or the day after.”

He turns toward the door, but you shoot out your hand to grab his wrist. “Can I have one of your shadows? To keep me company? I like having them around.”

One shadow in particular dances at your words, coming from behind Azriel, practically spinning in the air as it immediately rushes to you.

“I hope you like that one because I don’t think it’ll let a different one stay with you.”

You giggle as it weaves through your hair, picking it up into a ponytail before dropping it.

“Perfect, so I’ll have someone to be witness to my antics.”

You giggle, but his face is solemn as he looks at you, something feeling so off about your behavior.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His words are so soft, and every part of you wants to tell him no, I’m not okay, because you are seeing other women who will be crawling all over you once you leave from here.

Instead you nod, making up an excuse about your eyes being tired from all the painting. He kisses your forehead, his lips soft and light against your skin before pulling away and stepping out of your door before winnowing away.

You count your breath for a few beats before turning to the shadow, “do you know where Rosehall is?”

Of all of your terrible ideas over the years, this one was perhaps the worst. You had asked the shadow where Rosehall was, expecting it to be somewhere in Velaris, likely in the parts of the city you were less familiar with. You did not expect the black wisp to wrap around your wrist and begin tugging you away from Velaris very forcefully.

You had started getting nervous when it kept pulling you towards the outskirts, but you were in it now, and you were going to see this ridiculous scheme through to the end.

The shadow had been pulling you for hours it seemed, across landscapes, your feet killing you as you walked, and somewhere several miles away from Velaris, the shadow’s hold loosened on your wrist, opting to move up and down your arm, as if telling you this was your destination.

“Are you sure this is right?”

The shadow danced all around you as if it were confirming your statement. You looked at the gated entrance, the estate so lush and green and not at all what you had expected, it took you by surprise.

This was where he brought women? To do scandalous things and have nights full of debauchery? Was this some beautiful and well-tended pleasure hall? Before you can debate going through the gate, the shadow moves forward, unlatching it and pushing it open for you.

You sigh, thinking to yourself no going back now.

You enter through the gate, preparing yourself to hear the sounds of females giggling, perhaps even moaning, but you are completely taken aback at the chorus of meows you hear, followed by a door opening, and Azriel’s soft voice calling out, “if you’re here for my mother, she has stepped out-”

His voice stops as he takes in the sight of you, the two of you standing before each other across the lush estate. His eyes swim with confusion, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him at such a loss for words or the situation before. He continues to look at you, before realizing he’s carrying a tray of various raw meats and fish. He takes no notice of the dozen or so cats circling him, several trying to climb up his legs toward the food he carries.

“You- what are- how did you get here?”

You lift up the shadow that was entwined with your arm before it skitters off to join the other shadows playing games with the cats who weren’t paying attention to Azriel. You try not to wear the confusion on your face, hoping desperately to have some upper hand here.

“Is this Rosehall?”

Azriel sighs, setting down the food as one of the cats lunges to bite at his arm, missing and falling back into the pool of cats at Azriel’s feet.

“Yes.”

You puff up your chest, confusion seeping through your features as you ask, “and where are the females? The girls?”

“The girls?” His voice is incredulous, and you want to roll your eyes at it.

“Yes, the girls. The ones who wish to climb all over you because you haven’t been paying them attention.”

His long legs start to make their way across the front garden, the sea of cats at his feet parting as he makes his way through them. “The girls who climb over me?”

You sigh, exasperation evident, “must you repeat my words? Yes, okay fine. I overheard Cassian speaking of your plans this evening with ‘your girls’. Now why don’t you bring them out and show me to be a fool?”

A deep, belly laugh comes from his mouth, and you are utterly offended.

“Azriel, I came here to put you through the ringer for stepping out on me, and you find it funny?”

He steps forward, trying to put his arms around you but you step away from his embrace. His laughing continues as he asks, “you walked all the way here?”

“Yes.”

You stick out your chin, determined to look strong and confident.

“You walked all the way from Velaris to here, to find out I had cats?”

“Why yes, I did walk all the way here to find out-”

Your words die on your tongue as you look around, not seeing any other females anywhere. You picked up the scent of one, but the scent smelled so much like Azriel, they had to be related in some way.

He watches your nose twitch, separating out all the smells beneath the ever present smell of cat.

“My mother lives here.”

He coughs, the joyous look from his laughter gone, his hands moving behind his back. He rocks on his feet, and you found it quite endearing.

“With my cats.”

“Your cats?”

“Yes, but they’re not really mine. They just show up.”

“Your cats show up? What does that mean?”

“It means, if I spend any time in Illyria the cats seek me out. I’ve already fixed the stray cat problem in Velaris.”

He opens his arms wide.

“They’re all here. Problem solved, I suppose.”

You blink, slightly convinced Rhys had finally broken your mind and made up the most ridiculous scenario he could imagine. You feel one of the cats rub against your legs, and you bend slightly to nuzzle its face. It was pitch black with bright green eyes. It was so little, you couldn’t help but pick it up despite its verbal protests.

“You have cats.”

“Yes, and Rhys and Cassian despise the cats. Rhys says he’s allergic, but I think he’s just too worried about his damn furniture.”

“And Cassian?”

“Cats hate Cassian.”

He says this as if it’s an uncontested fact.

“How can all cats hate one person?”

“He likes to swing them by their tails.”

You nod, “okay, maybe all cats can hate one person.”

As the two of you spoke the shadows had lifted a cat up onto Azriel’s shoulders, where it stood meowing and pawing at the black wisps. You watched in bewilderment, unsure if the shadows were playing pranks or not, when the cat slid from his shoulder into the crook of his elbow, nuzzling into the warmth there.

You cross your arms, heat blooming in your cheeks at your rash decision making. “So there aren’t beautiful females here?”

“There’s one.”

“I knew i- oh. You meant me.”

You deflate once more, letting the adrenaline seep from your body. You were exhausted, well and truly. He nodded before putting the cat down, watching it scamper off into the grass. “I shouldn’t have lied about where I was going. Several dozen cats are just… a lot to spring on someone at once.”

You look to the ground, fingers scratching the ears of the kitten you were holding, “and maybe I got a little…. carried away.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “you picked the wrong shoes to hike out here from Velaris.”

You looked down at your sneakers, chuckling, “uh yeah, I definitely need to soak my feet for a bit.”

“Do you want to come inside?” He watches you hesitantly before asking, “Or I could take you home?”

You look toward the beautiful estate before peering back down at the wiggling kitten in your arms, before deciding that you did want to see Azriel’s mother’s home and to hopefully meet her. “Are you going to tell your mother about how I got here?”

He chuckles, slow and soft, “of course I am. She’d be endlessly amused.”

“Do you have any black felt? I’d love to make this little guy some wings.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he puts an arm around your shoulder, leading you inside. “While you play arts and crafts, I can formally introduce you to all of the other cats.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @ninthcircleofprythian

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar writing #azriel fluff #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader

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eupheme · 9 months ago

Text

— Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

Hancock (FO4) x Sole Survivor!F!Reader

Rated E - 5.8k

Tags - 3rd person very loose pov, sole survivor!f!reader (no descriptors), canon-typical raider violence & death, mutual pining, teasing, partners to lovers, two idiots in love, waiting out a storm, mention of food/eating, SS!reader gets dicked down wearing Hancock’s coat, the hat stays on, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, manual restraints, multiple orgasms, PiV, creampie, mention of a cigarette/smoking, references to chems

started this while doing research for wasteland, baby - and was consumed with thoughts of a slightly softer “oh fuck, I’m in love” Hancock

It’s a dangerous thing - to have feelings for the person you’re traveling with. Too many things can go wrong in an instant and yet… here they are. Steadfastly ignoring the something that has been building, thick enough to taste.

Luckily, an incoming rad storm might just be the push they need.

He’s fucked.

Figuratively, not literally. Unfortunately.

That’s part of the problem, if he could call it that. And he probably shouldn’t - because it’s not her fault. Just his.

It was a rookie move, falling for his traveling companion. Should have kept it just professional - strictly business. No ‘get to know you’s, no inside jokes.

But he had never been the professional type. Not his style.

And somewhere along the way - between getting the shit kicked out of them, the close calls, the long miles of barren road - something had started to grow. Curling around his ribs and filling his guts up like ripe tarberries.

Letting it grow and flourish.

Unable to shake it.

It hadn’t been long before he had known something was up.

That it was something besides that urge to get away from it all, to wander, that kept him sticking with her.

That along the way, the idea of this stranger having his back became comforting. That he knew he had hers - even if he half-thinks she have a death wish, with the way she rushs into things half-cocked.

He can’t understand, but he tries. The bits he’s gleaned from late nights - passing the bottle of whisky back and forth even though it makes her grimace. The pieces of her past that have slowly been revealed, forming a half-completed picture.

It’s enough to make his blood boil, that scorching feeling of vengeance curling in his chest, eating up his insides. It’s been a long time since he felt that way - making him think back to the night where he had stained his hands with all that red.

He’d do it again, for her.

It’s that realization made him think that just maybe - he cares.

And not just in a friendly kind of way.

He thinks it began in the middle of a firefight.

Bullet whizzing past their heads. A nest of raiders flowing out from a jutting wreck of scaffolding they had missed.

Several downed already, lost among the ruins. A souped-up pistol in her hand, as the other shielded shrapnel from a hand-made grenade.

Missing the two that snuck up, flanking them.

He had taken one down. A nasty shot to the gut, the Raider gurlging as his legs gave out. Her shot going wide - he can still remember the look on her face as she reached for the gun on her back.

The other Raider taking the moment to bowl him over, a padded shoulder to the chest. Knocking them both against a piece of metal fencing that creaked under their weight - his shotgun clattering to the pavement.

An arm pressed against his throat, choking him - as the other fumbled for a knife. Ironic, he thought, that he’d be gutted, after all he’s done.

But she had swooped down. Fingers twisted around the barrel and forestock of her rifle. Bringing it down on the raiders head like it was a louisville slugger, snarling like she herself had gone feral.

Her hand, warm in his as she hauled him up, the other splaying across his chest. Face streaked with grease and splattered with blood but in that moment, she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He had murmured.

Her smile had been small, as she pressed the gun back into his hand, “Can’t have you getting stabbed. I’d miss that mouth of yours.”

Such a small thing - her own joke. The way he filled the space with chatter on the road. But he’d been smitten.

He had been good looking, before. He wasn’t half-bad now. Charisma could get you a long way, and his silver tongue hadn’t rotted like the rest of him.

Charming words - flirty and sometimes filthy - slid easily from him in the heat of battle, the wind-down after. When he was feeling good about things, the words coming without thought.

Choking on them, when she turned to give him a look - embarrassed, sometimes. So goddamn cute and flustered, it made him want to do it more.

Other times - a look, that was soft and lingering.

“Yeah?”

Almost a challenge in the way she said it.

He could never follow it up.

Follow through.

Because back home, it wasn’t an issue. A rejection meant nothing other than a soft blow to his ego. Brushed off with a hit of a favorite indulgence, finding company in another.

But here - it had a weight. It could ruin something he truly has enjoyed. Throwing in with her had been one of the best decisions he had made. He couldn’t fuck that up. Not this time.

So he swallowed his words - before she was racing off, and he was following at her heels. Off to trouble that could be their last, and here he was - that clever tongue tied in a knot.

That’s when he knew that he had it bad.

Bad enough that out of the two of them, he had been the one peering up at the sky overhead. Where the muted hazy grey was rolling into a sickly green, rain starting to drop down. A rumble of thunder.

The first to suggest stopping at the next place they could, as the spaces between the raindrops started to dwindle.

“We can make it.” She had shrugged, as his jog slowed to a walk.

Catching her arm at the elbow, gesturing with the muzzle of his shotgun to the side.

“Not if you don’t want to end up like me, sister.”

Ignoring - but not missing - the chastising look she shot him. His head tilting towards the roof that looms just over the ridge.

An old diner - rusting chrome and shattered windows, but it would do. Well past soaked by the time they scrambled over the hill and down. Grateful to find that it was abandoned.

Picked over, for sure - but as long as there was a roof over their heads, he hadn’t cared. Combing through junk was her thing, anyways. He was just the pack mule.

Now - he’s multi-tasking. Trying not to think about what he’s thinking about.

About her changing in the room behind him. Peeling the patchwork raider gear off her curves. All that soft, smooth skin underneath.

Distracting himself by eyeing the radroach that is skittering across the pavement outside the front door - just out of range of his shotgun.

Because of course, out of everything in the wasteland, that was the thing she was scared of. Not super mutants, not even the pack of mirelucks that had them cornered, just the week before.

A goddamn bug.

He laughs, a soft hushed thing. Catching himself with a grimace.

Because, like he said.

He’s fucked.

The rain that patters overhead would be calming - if it had been 200 years ago, and not dripping with radiation.

She shivers, draping the tattered pants and worn shirt over the back of two rotting, wooden chairs - a makeshift drying rack. Missing that insulated warmth of her Vault Suit, trading it back at Sanctuary for worn clothes - old and salvaged Raider gear.

It had become hard to blend in, in all that blue.

It had made sense at the time, but in the dark and chilly backroom, she finds herself regretting it. Thinking that next time - she’ll pack it with her.

Trying to find the dampest parts of the packed gear to lay out, next. Lining up the bedroll next to the glow of the lantern.

Don’t need any more must or mold than there already was.

Pawing through her bag afterwards, coming up with something to pass for dinner. A can of cram, their only good fork wedged between two knuckles. A sweet roll split in two - the sticky crumbs clinging to her fingers as she nudged the door open.

Feeling vulnerable in the faded undergarments she wore underneath. Dreading facing him, not because of what he’ll say - that part, she is actually curious to hear.

She’d given up on the idea of modesty long ago. Traveling on the road and through the dirt and blood and grime will do that.

It was almost freeing.

No. It’s because - it makes her hope. Makes her think that dressing down might actually get him to notice her, in a way that’s more than the surface-level, flirty conversation she’s seen him have with dozens of people.

In the old world, maybe she’d wear a dress for him. Something red and cut low in the front - bare arms and legs.

Now, it’s faded cotton and vulnerability.

A “I can trust you like this” and a “Maybe if you like it, it will make me brave enough to ask.”

Rejection dressed like this would sting, surely. Even if it’s her fault, for having a crush on someone who doesn’t see her that way.

Her eyes linger on his back, where he stands watch. Where he hadn’t heard her open the door just yet, drifting to the other side of the counter to watch the rumbling, green storm roll in.

The tin clatters on the counter, drawing his attention. A flicker of lightning illuminating his profile as he turns, eyes widening.

Hancock’s eyes drop automatically. Quickly and then a slow drag - it’s like watching him after she’s taken a hit of Psycho.

Dark and glittering under her own careful watch, before they’re snapping back up, and he’s blinking.

Pulling himself back.

“Is that dinner?” He asks, clearing his throat when the words come out rough and low.

Her face falls, just for an instant. A small smile replacing it, as she scoops up the tin of cram before tossing it his way. He catches it neatly - popping the lid open, plucking the fork from her fingers.

She should have known better.

Hancock was just a flirt, never taking her bait. It was a good thing, she thought. Honorable, despite the grey that’s soaked into both of their moral codes.

He digs the fork in, breaking off a piece of the preserved meat. Handing the first bite to her, unable to help another quick look as he lowers himself to one of the stools that curves around the diner countertop.

Not that he hasn’t seen her before. Never quite this bare - but close enough, from the quick times they’ve had to change clothes.

It didn’t mean anything.

“So uh, what’s with the getup?” Hancock can’t resist asking, his tone deceptively light, “Or should I say, lack thereof?

“Clothes are soaked,” She snorts around the mouthful, trying to sound disinterested, “Besides, you’re always telling me it’s not good to let the rads soak in.”

He’s curious now, catching that slight edge. Not usually so defensive - that expression she makes when she’s flustered. It makes him want to nudge at it, poke at that little crack.

“Hey, you don’t hear me complain’, sister.” Hancock grins, taking the fork back, “That’s a real good look for you.”

Always a joke.

Her eyes roll as she sits down on the stool to his left, her knee knocking against his. The halves of sweet roll balanced on the curling, discarded tin, for after.

They share the makeshift dinner. Passing the fork back and forth, trying not to think about how easy it feels to be like this.

Companionable silence, beneath the rumbling, dark green sky. Tucked away and sheltered from the storm.

She stares out across the wasteland, lost in thought. Moving on to other things, already planning for the morning. If there’s any stops they need to make on the way back to Sanctuary.

While his eyes wander - a sideways glance that drifts down her form greedily, only to shift away when her own lift.

A breeze cuts through the building where windows once lived, making her shiver. Arms moving from the countertop to wrap around a bare middle, curling in on herself.

“You cold, sunshine?” He asks with concern, bringing her back.

She hadn’t noticed, but now she does. The chill starting to sink in, now that she’s not moving, not covered in the layers and padded armor.

Goosebumps raise on her skin. Arms crossing tighter across her chest, as her lips part to answer.

But Hancock is already shrugging off his maroon frock, swiveling in his seat to swing it around her shoulders.

She rarely seen him without it. Fuck, he even sleeps in the damn thing - a prized possession, if he ever had one.

“Thanks.” The word is layered with sincerity, as she pulls it close around her, the high collar brushing her cheek.

Warmer already. The inside is soft against her skin, the fabric worn and stained and smelling like him.

Silence lingers for a moment, as they stare at the darkening sky. The heavy blanket of rain that still patters on the rooftop, a slow drip down to the tile floor on the other side of the room.

"Hope this lets up by morning," She says as she leans, warmer now - elbows pressing into the stained laminate counter.

Eyes out of focus, thoughts already running off without her. "Stop by Sanctuary, pick up some things for Tenpines. Haven't been there in a bit, been wondering how they've been holding up."

He mirrors her - feeling bare without his coat. A heavy lean on his left elbow, the swivel of the chair bumping his knee against hers, "’m sure they're fine. Gotta be better off than they were before."

A smirk crosses his features, a glance from the corner of his eye, "'Sides, not every day you get saved by the fearless leader of the Minutemen. That oughta keep 'em going for a while."

There's a groan as she slumps, the heels of her hands pressing into her eyes. Garvey's enthusiasm and her recent promotion to General a source of embarrassment, even if she bore the weight of it well.

"Yes, the fearless leader," She mocks, her head turning his way. Pushing herself up, her arms spreading wide, "If only they could see me now."

And they might not be able to, but he can.

Not just the soft expanse of her skin, peeking out from beneath his coat. The hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast and the strain of her tits against worn fabric that will be forever seared into his mind.

Not only just that, though. That something that he can see inside her - that was there when he had decided to leave Goodneighbor. That lingers with him, tethering them together as he follows at her side. And yes, he does stretch the truth - who doesn’t? He wouldn’t make half as many deals, otherwise.

But he’s isn’t, now.

She is unaware of the thoughts that tumble through his mind, quick as old snapshots. A curling amber film strip, tucked into a canister.

Instead, there’s a roll of her eyes as her comment of "really, only you could pull this coat off" lands on ears that had been muted, in the way his mind drifts. How the low pooling of warmth in his belly turns sharp and cramps, at the thought of Preston Garvey spending time in such company. Like this - without him.

"I wouldn’t say that." He hears himself saying. Voice a little lower, raspier, than usual.

Maybe it's bravery. Maybe it's him finally seeing her intent - maybe it's the moment where he's realizing that after tonight, she's no longer just his again.

His eyes drag over her again, slower this time. And he lets her catch them.

"From here, things are looking pretty good."

She stills, eyes rounding. A swivel of her chair until knee-to-knee becomes thigh-to-thigh- something akin to hope slipping into her tone.

“Yeah?”

He reaches - fingers tracing the collar of his coat, thumb rubbing against the hollow of her throat.

“I’d say so.” Hancock tells her, “Look like a goddamn dream, if I’m being honest.”

She’s tired of waiting. She’s done enough of it. Eyes on his as her chin tilts up, just hovering.

He’s tired, too.

With a lean, he takes the offering. Ruined lips press against soft ones. Ones that part for him, a soft sound at the greedy dart and swipe of his tongue, until she’s meeting him.

She’s sweet - he can taste the sugar on her tongue, melding with the taste of her. Fingers press against his chest, where his heart hammers. Sliding over lithe shoulders until they’re wrapping around, pulling him closer.

He’s stronger than he looks. The seat squeaks when he leans, his palms tracing her waist, her hips. Tucking beneath her thighs - right against the curve of her ass as Hancock lifts his hips, taking her with him.

She moves, his name a soft sound in her throat. Letting him lead, letting him ease her onto the edge of the counter. A sense of relief and hope floods through her, dripping down to settle warm and wanting between the thighs that spread open so he can step between them.

His cock swells, where it’s trapped inside his pants. Easing the ache with a roll of his hips, pressing himself against the thin fabric covering her core. The breath she inhales in response is shaky. Another soft sound, so different than the assured tone he’s used to.

He wants to hear it again.

It’s easy to set the pace - the pointed press of his hips. Her hand finding his, drawing it up to her breast. Letting him cup her, the soft weight. Letting him press his thumb against that tight peak, catch it between his fingers until she’s gasping against his grinning mouth.

Her mouth drops, catching his chin. The tip of a tongue between parted lips press against his cheek, warmth breath against his jaw making him growl.

“Please-” She’s murmuring, against his skin. Against muscle and sinew, as his own lips follow.

Fingers biting into his skin, as his teeth graze her jaw. Her head tilting back, baring her throat to him, as her hips rock to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut as her chest heaves, as his other hand curls against the curve of her hip, keeping her close.

His tongue peeks out, dragging against sweat and rain-dewed skin. A groan rattles in his throat, his own voice distant and rasping.

“Fuck, I need to taste you.” He can feel her moan, against his lips at his words, “Lean back for me, doll.”

She’s soft, pliable. Unwinding herself from him as she obeys, only for those hazy eyes to open - meeting his beetle-black ones.

“Wait,” She’s protesting, hands slipping to press flat against on his chest. A sudden realization - shoulder curling back so his coat slides off it, “Let me take this off.”

“Leave it.” Hancock’s head lifts to kiss her again, his hand curling around the back of her neck.

She huffs against his mouth, before it turns into a sigh. His tongue brushing against her lower lip, before she pulls back again.

Not wanting to forget her train of thought.

“What if I make a mess on your coat?”

He groans at that, the hand on her hip drifting lower. Cupping her over the thin piece of fabric, fingers pressing down.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He husks, “I’d fuckin’ love that. Never gonna take it off.”

It makes her scoff, cheeks burning, “You never do, anyways. You-”

He shuts her up with his fingers - tugging at the elastic waistband, pulling them down until she’s bare. Letting her kick them off, before he’s pushing her back against the counter.

Arching over her soft form as his mouth wanders, his hips grinding against hers. Teeth nipping at her throat, lips brushing where her heartbeat flutters. Clever fingers tracing the seam of her sex, brushing over soft lips - teasing.

She’s so fucking wet, he can feel how his fingers glide over her skin. How it smears on her thighs, as they spread wider for him.

“What do you want?”

It makes her sigh - that voice, so low and rasping - and she’s clenching around nothing already.

“You,” She’s unable to help but whine, “Please, you-”

His laugh is rough, a rattling chuckle in his throat, “You have me, sunshine.”

Middle finger parting her, teasing at her entrance, the calloused pad of his thumb circling around the bud of her clit. Sinking into the wet heat as she groans, starting a slow pump of his textured finger.

Pressing deep with a slow thrust. Another, and then another, until she’s taking a second. Stretching her wide, as her fingers twist in his stained shirt. Grasping for his shoulders as her hips buck into his touch.

“Should say how do you want it?” The kiss he presses against her throat is almost reverent, “Because I don’t think I have it in me to go slow right now.”

“Slow, later.,” She moans, as his fingers press deep, “Need you.”

He grins, “Love how you think, sweetheart.”

Hancock’s head ducks, moving down to her collarbone, then lower. She’s already reaching to tug the cups of her bra down, baring the curves of her breasts to him.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He hums, fingers brushing over the soft weight again, cupping one in his hand. Still fucking her open with the other, curling and stroking until she’s panting.

Tongue peeking out to flatten, and then drag across the tight peak of her nipple. Her hands grasping for him again, as there’s the briefest pinch of teeth.

“Hancock.” She grits out, a swivel of her hips against his, grinding into his fingers.

His own rocking against the back of his hand, where he’s hard and aching. Never thinking he’d know what it’s like to have his partner begging like this.

He wants to hear more. Every little sound she makes, as his mouth moves lower. Licking wet stripes against her stomach and abdomen.

Until he’s plunking down on the padded chrome stool he’s been straddling. Gazing at where she’s wrapped around his glossy fingers.

Watching how she twitches and bucks and gasps when his thumb swipes across her clit, his name on parted lips again.

“Love hearin’ you say my name like that.” He purrs, “Can’t wait to hear how it sounds when you come.”

Leaning forward, inhaling her scent before his tongue swipes above his fingers. Her hips leave the countertop, the moan loud as he laughs - his other hand pressing flat against her stomach.

Holding her down, as he teases her again. Short, pointed licks against her throbbing clit. Her cunt is as sweet as her mouth, his own groan caught in his throat as his tongue dips inside her.

Mourning all the nights he could have spent like this. Spending the time as evening turns to night, then again as night turns to dawn. Drowning in the taste of her instead of clenching his teeth until his jaw aches, as he tries to keep quiet. Dreaming of this.

He leans back, just enough to press a wet kiss against her clit. The soft suck a sharp contrast with the texture of his rough fingers as he fucks her open.

She was right - it’s messy. Dripping down the curve of her thighs, the damp stain mixing with others on his weathered coat.

Everything is so dry, in the wasteland. Dirt roads and dead trees. He relishes in the wet suck of her cunt, how it’s this way right now because of him.

His cheeks hollow, a swirl of his tongue before he’s adding to it. Leaning back to let his spit drip down, his thumb dragging it across the tight bud.

She’s whimpering. It’s been ages since she’s had anyone - the low throb in her belly swiftly building.

In the before - she thinks she’d be embarrassed to be splayed out like this. Stripped near-bare on the counter of a diner, thighs spread wide as his fingers pump into her aching cunt.

But he eats her like a meal, left hand moving from her belly. Wrapping around a thigh to tug her closer, hiking it over a shoulder.

Groaning into her pussy as his tongue flicks against her clit, smearing slick across his chin. Pressing closer, unhindered by the usual curve of cartilage and flesh as he molds himself against her.

“Hancock.” His name is a sharp gasp, as she clenches around him. Breath held in her throat as she watched with half-lidded eyes.

Focused on the tight string that winds with each careful curl of his fingers. He slips in a third and she all but sobs, chasing her pleasure with a needy rock of her hips.

Chanting him name as it curls low in her belly.

“Hancock. Hancock-”

And then, the prettiest of all.

“John. Fuck, John, I’m going to come-”

It’s goddamn music to his metaphorical ears. Better than that - better than the sing of gunfire in his favor, of the sweet rush and hum of that first hit of Jet.

He watches through those dark eyes as she falls apart. Her cry loud in the empty diner, as she’s struck - the livewire crackle of her orgasm ripping through her.

Better than she can ever remember. Thighs squeeze around his neck but it only makes him moan - breath hot against her cunt as his fingers continue to pump. And his tongue dips to taste her, slipping between knuckles.

The pleasure throbs - the stained ceiling spinning, looking like the clouded stars high above them to her hazy mind.

A disbelieving and dazed laugh caught in her throat as his mouth moves. Pressing against her mound, the sensitive curve where thigh meets hip.

It’s only then that she’s unhooking her thighs - a heat blazing in her cheeks at the brazenness. Too caught up in the moment to see herself - splayed out across the countertop, heels digging into his spine.

But she does see him - the need etched across his face under the tip of his hat, the wet shine against his lips and chin. Deadly in a new kind of way, mixing with the prowess he shows on the battlefield.

There’s another low throb, deep inside her. The lithe way he moves, rising - a hand planting next to her hip, the other working the heavy buckle open.

She meets him - pushing herself up. A hand coming to cup him, feeling the hard length that strains against his trousers. Tasting herself on his tongue when her head ducks to kiss him, swallowing his groan as her fingers palm and squeeze.

“Drivin’ me crazy, sunshine.” His voice is like gravel, as he works at the zipper - her fingers slipping past to wrap around hot skin, “Enough to make a ghoul go feral, you know that?”

Her smile is pretty - pleasure-drunk, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. Her hand soft and warm where she eases him out, the brush of her thumb over the head making his cock throb.

“Me too. I need you.” She begs, and he knows it’s more than that just that.

That it’s not just fucking, right now. That a line has been crossed, that they’ll never be able to not want this again. More than ready to tumble over into the unknown, together.

“My mouth wasn’t enough?” Hancock grins. Fully intending to have her every way she’ll let him. Unable to resist making her squirm.

The look she gives him makes him chuckle - the gentle pull of her fist, the little frown. The way her thighs spread again, aiming the flushed tip of his cock over slick skin. Against the tight nub of her clit as she shivers, lips parting with a gasp.

“Hancock, don’t tease-” Some of that bite is back, desperate. Not begging but it’s close, as her hips lift against him again.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” He promises, “Just like hearing you say it. Come on, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to hold himself back, when she’s notching him against her opening. His hands sliding to her hips, liking the way his fingers sink into her skin.

How it dents around his calloused ones, soft as the rest of her.

“Fuck me.” Her eyes are on his, watching where they drag from his fingers to her pussy. Watching how his chest heaves beneath his vest, where his chest peeks from loosened buttons.

“I need you in me. I need you to fuck me, I want to come on your cock-”

“Fuck.” He groans, and then his hips are snapping forward. Feeling the tight, warm squeeze as he buries himself in her, as she cries out at the intrusion.

“Goddamn, sunshine.” He has to hold himself there for a moment, hilted inside her. Feeling the way she clenches down around him, fingers mirroring it where they wrap in his shirt.

Almost sharing a breath as he inches out, only to press deep again. Again, and then again - until there’s the slick slap, the creak of the floorboards beneath his heavy boots as his feet spread wider.

It’s better than his fingers. He’s deeper, filling her completely, stealing her breath. Those hands tugging at her hips, urging her to meet each thrust, as he picks up speed.

Hearing the changes in her pretty sounds - the gasps and the scrape of fingernails against his skin. Spearing her on his cock, where she can feel the worn and rough ridges gliding against a spot that has been sighing.

But, he wants more. Wants her like before - splayed out. At his mercy, in a way that he knows she’d only do for him. Knowing that she trusts him - wondering if he would be worried that the thought makes his cock jerk inside her.

“Give me your hands.” He rasps - and slowly, her finger uncurl from the edge of the counter, the vice-like grip on his shirt.

Hancock grasps at her wrists, joining them together with one of his own. Pushing her back, dragging them above her head and pressing them down hard against the countertop.

Arching over her as his eyes sweep over soft curves and bare skin. His coat spread out beneath her, the worn red so pretty next to her skin. Better than his best fantasy, and he’s already thinking about a next time.

The choked out “oh!” she makes with the next rock of his hips shoots straight to his cock - knowing full-well she could break free if she wanted.

Instead, she lets him take.

Giving up the control as he ruts into her, spearing his cock deep again and again. Trying to meet the messy swipe of his fingertips that drifted down to press against the bundle of nerves - her pleasure in his hands.

“Look good like this, sunshine.” His eyes drag over her breasts, still shining from his tongue.

“Real fuckin’ good.”

Down to where her thighs tighten around his hips, arching into him, “Should keep you like this all the time. Just in my coat. Wear it better than I do.”

A sharp edge to his voice, one that fuels the aching pressure that builds and builds. Her head thunks back against the laminate counter, eyes falling shut.

The words starting slow, growing louder, then running together.

“Feels so good-”

“Hancock don’t stop. Oh my god-”

There’s an electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the storm. His hand biting into her wrists so hard that it hurts, but the pain only loops into her mounting pleasure.

It’s different than his dalliances before.

Before, it had filled his time. Finding someone to spend the night with a couple times a week, enjoying the shared company with another.

That frequency dwindling after they joined up, though he hadn’t been the type to stop. He just no longer had the time, that same desire.

Finding that he no longer focused on chasing his own pleasure. His interest shifting - until there was only one face that drifts through his mind, in the stolen moments at night when his hand slipped beneath his trousers.

Embracing the crave of a new kind of addiction, the urge hooking its claws into his brain.

“Say my name again.” He tells her, feeling his own release winding and tightening. Trying to stave it off, as he tries to think about anything else, “Fuckin’ scream it for me.”

Her eyes are on his when she says it.

“John.”

First soft, and then pitching up - louder.

And in the moment, he’s just John. The John before and the John now, man and ghoul and so focused on the circle of his fingers, on her cries.

It’s too much - all she can do is lean into it. Never realizing how much she’d like letting go for him, knowing that just like in the Wasteland, he had her.

Always liking his quips and rasping tone but never experiencing it like this - honey-sweet and hungry.

Learning so quickly what she likes - how quick he was to adjust the angle, the slick swirl of his fingers.

His name is on her lips again as he brings her over the brink. More like a prayer this time, her body stringing taut beneath him, eyes wide. Mouth rounding on a high gasp as the pleasure shudders through her, radiating up her spine and down her limbs.

Seeming to reach across from where they’re joined, that steady rhythm stuttering as she flutters tight and warm around him.

“Fuck. Fuck, sunshine. You feel so fucking good, gonna make me come-” His teeth grit, a silent question.

Her answer coming in the way her thighs tighten around him. Keeping him pressed deep inside her, until his thrusts turn short and sloppy.

“Oh, fuck yes.” His grin is closer to a snarl, “Thank you-”

His fingers bite into her hip. Her name hissed through clenched teeth as the pressure builds, before spilling over.

As his hips rut until he’s pressed as deep as he can, a choked groan as he comes. His cock twitching with each throb of his orgasm, as he fills her. Emptying himself into her heat - until she’s milked him dry. Until he slows, leaving himself buried, deep and warm.

His eyes drop, as he comes back down. Where she’s watching, just as hungry as he was.

Leaving them staring at each other. His back arched over where his hand has slipped. Loosening on her wrist, until her fingers has twined with his.

There’s no going back.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs. It’s night - dark now, but the flickering of lightning following the peals of thunder cast green shadows over her body. Eyes drifting up to where the rain patters on the metal roof.

A languid exhale, breathing out the smoke from the cigarette he fished out of the coat pocket. Dangling between two fingers, the cherry gleaming in the dim light.

Then back down, to where she still rests - beautifully drowsy and limp-limbed. Thighs still parted, where she gleams with him.

He’s certain he’ll be dripping into those clothes of hers for days.

It does something to him, an interested twitch from his cock. Stepping closer to fit himself back between those thighs, where they close to bracket his hips again.

“Didn’t you say somethin’ ‘bout slow, later?” Hancock asks, his hand petting down a hip, thumb brushing against her skin.

Stubbing the rest of his smoke out on the counter, letting it fall to the tile below.

Her smile is sweet as she pushes herself up. No use leaving while the storm raged on - and she’s pretty sure the bedroll was well on its way to dry by now.

Fingers catch on the collar of his ruffled shirt, starting to push it from his shoulders. His own hands tugging at her, until he pressed snug against her again.

“Mm. Is it later, now?” She asks - as more of him is a bared - her hands running across rough skin.

Hancock grins.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

I know this dropped out of nowhere for a 9 year old game but I can’t get the mayor out of my mind 💕 thanks for reading!!!

#the tags on this are going to sound cursed ->#john hancock x reader #John Hancock x sole #John Hancock x Sole Survivor #hancock x sole survivor #hancock x reader #john hancock #fallout 4

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januaryembrs · 5 months ago

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Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force.

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in.

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder.

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice.

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?”

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist.

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre.

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!”

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine.

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine.

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly.

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler.

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself.

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate.

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold.

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him.

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #moonknight x reader #oscar isaac x reader

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moonstruckme · 24 days ago

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Hi lovely! Can I have wolfstar (or either of the two boys, it’s up to you) with reader who is just not having the best time, but doesn’t like being comforted/taken care of (even though she rlly needs it once in a while) because she doesn’t like the feeling of not being totally independent if that makes sense-? Like, she feels if she gets help then that means she can’t manage stuff on her own, and she wants to be able to manage stuff on her own. But at the same time she needs comfort rn yk?

I swear the way you write wolfstar has me kicking my feet every time. I fucking love your writing! Bye bye and thank you 👋

Thank you for your request lovely! I adore them <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Coming home and taking off your coat doesn’t hold the same relief as it used to lately. The weight of the day stays with you, coiled up around your ribcage like a snake that squeezes incrementally tighter every time you think of it. Still, it’s nice to come home to the smell of basil and the sound of Remus’ music playing from the kitchen.

You set your bag down, going to find your boyfriends but spotting a plate of brownies on the table. You slow looking at it, and Sirius meets you halfway. He kisses you hello and wraps you up in a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” he murmurs conspiratorially. “Remus’ knee is hurting him, but he won’t say and he won’t get out of the kitchen. I need you to distract him.” You hum your assent, and he chuckles at your distraction, kissing beside your ear. “How was your day, beautiful?”

“Fine,” you say. “Are those brownies?”

“Yeah, Rem made them. The kind with the dark chocolate you like. Now, a real answer, please. How was your day?”

“Oh, it was…it was okay.”

Your voice sounds hesitant and melancholy even to your own ears. Sirius coos, hugging you tighter. He strokes up and down your spine, encouraging you to relax into him. “M’sorry, lovebug.”

You shrug him off when he starts to sway you gently, shoving down on the emotion that rises in your throat.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, offering him a little smile. “It was fine.”

Still, Sirius looks sad. “Okay,” he says. “Why don’t you go put on something more comfortable, and I’ll make sure our lovely boy is ready for you when you come back.”

You huff a laugh. “Is that code?”

He grins wickedly. “It is if you want it to be, gorgeous. Go on.” He turns you by the shoulders towards your bedroom, giving you a pat to your bum. “Go. Remus,” he calls towards the kitchen, “our angel just told me she really wants a cuddle from you. Sounds like you should join her on the couch.”

It surprises you when Remus actually is waiting for you when you get back. He’s stretching his knee out, foot propped on the coffee table, but he smiles when he sees you.

“Hi,” you say, your own lips tilting as you sit beside him. “Did you make me brownies?”

“Well, I’d like to have at least one.” He takes your face in hand, kissing you with a grin on his lips. “But they’re mostly for you, yeah.”

“That was sweet of you.” You take his hand in yours. The pads of your fingers rove the lines of his palm. “Thank you, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he says simply. His gaze is warm as he watches you, so knowing you have to look away.

“Did you leave Sirius in the kitchen?” He nods. “What’s he making?”

“Pasta for dinner. It’s nearly done.”

“I should help.” You start to get up, but Remus holds onto your hand.

“He’s got it, sweetheart. I wouldn’t normally trust him in the kitchen, but even Sirius can boil water.”

“I know, but—” You extricate your hand from his gently, making it up with a smile. “—you’ve been doing stuff in there all day. It’s my turn to help.”

Remus calls after you. Sirius must hear, because he apprehends you as soon as you enter the kitchen, keeping you from going further.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Stop,” you laugh, pushing against his hands. “I want to help.”

“No one has any faith in me,” Sirius complains. “Remus has already done the hard work of chopping the basil and everything. I’m perfectly capable of boiling water.”

“That’s what I told her,” Remus defends himself from the living room.

You look behind Sirius for something that needs doing, but the collection of prepared ingredients gives you pause. You know this recipe. It’s your favorite pasta, your comfort food.

“Why am I cursed with beautiful, stubborn partners who won’t take a rest when they need it?” Sirius laments. Now that you’ve stopped resisting, he’s able to bully you out of the kitchen, back towards the living room.

“My knee doesn’t hurt,” you argue.

He levels you with a look. “No. But that’s not the only thing that could cause someone to need a rest, is it?”

You frown at him. The snake in your ribcage gives a malicious squeeze. “I’m fine. I don’t need to be coddled.”

Sirius’ expression softens. “Sweetheart…”

“No one is coddling you, lovely,” says Remus. “You’re going through a lot right now, and maybe you are fine, but it’s okay if you’re not, isn’t it?” He gives you a significant look. You press your lips together. “Either way, we only want to make things easier for you.”

“I appreciate it,” you say, voice growing softer, “but I don’t need you to. I can manage it myself.”

“Hey, who said you couldn’t?” Sirius asks. His eyebrows are bunched together, imploring. “You are managing it, gorgeous, and you’re doing a killer job. Really, it’s impressive, but we—”

“We can still be there for you at the same time,” Remus finishes.

You waver. Some of the playfulness comes back to Sirius’ expression. He cocks a brow at you.

“So,” he drawls, “if you can handle all that by your lonesome, I don’t want to hear any more complaints about me boiling water without supervision. Got it?”

You crack a grin. He mirrors it, giving you a shove so that you fall back onto the couch.

“Good,” he says, turning around and starting back for the kitchen. “Take a rest, you freaks. Let me handle dinner for once.”

“There’s a reason that doesn’t happen often,” Remus murmurs, drawing you into his side. He presses a kiss, soft and warm, to the bridge of your nose. “Are you going to be okay if your favorite pasta is al dente, lovely?”

You laugh quietly, and he smiles for hearing it. “Yeah, I think I’ll live.”

“Good. Because I’m afraid it’s all but guaranteed.”

585 notes · View notes

astralnymphh · 1 month ago

Text

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬)

summary: your suspicious encounter has given ellie her five minutes and her knife—but can she truly measure insincerity? reader discretion advised: seattle!ellie x fem!reader, angst (with comedic and romantic undertones), reader is a stranger, reader has a sibling, inevitably changes the trajectory of the canon storyline, inherent tensions, interrogation tactics; knife (obviously), drawing blood, smacking, punching, collectively getting beaten to a pulp. ellie has ran into someone who matches her energy, maybe even dominates it. whew. lots to interpret. memo: this came to me in a daydream!!! yay for getting beat up!!! footnotes: word count (4.3k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, proofread by the lovely @caraphernellie!

It is an aching, scathing thing: this world.

In the mornings, the most godless sounds awaken. Salvation takes pitiless dances with self-righteous societies, and the meek have inherited the earth.

If you have a bounty—an idea of revenge—you must be fain to bleed every happy accident dry of information, and bleed yourself.

“Where's Abby?”

You are a happy accident. Urging for an alibi, your appetite stared down the barrel of several guns. The soldiers of this hospital you sought out on eroding patience were not helpful. If anything, lethal. They seemed guilty of selling out; failing to fulfill their scrap of the bargain, dodging explanations and lily-whiting themselves with some careless, out-of-the-blue, bullshit argument for why the agreement changed, why they acted against the inertia. All these sour months, yet nothing to compensate for time. Just conflict.

You were owed fifteen guns from this deal. Fifteen!

The debate fired in a deep corridor, right above the bowels of the hospital. Some bitch—Nora, you think, plated the verdict first and coldly before making off someplace else. Almost like you weren't really there. Still bleeding for clarity, you had everyone else in the hospital browbeaten, interrogating one after another, interrupting their plans to clear out the place. You used the threats in your mouth and the appetence of your revolver to show them you meant blood and business, simultaneously. Some heads went rolling.

Then, the place got infiltrated, making you an emergent exfiltrator. Like fire in a timber house of innocents, death caught quickly. Gunshots cracked at a singularity. A couple fired, then there would be a pause, muffled commotion, a horrifying scream, and a shallow rain of bullets come again.

It became instantly understood that it was a single person; a party would bring more noise. Frightened seconds became bodies on the floor in minutes, the melody of throats choking on blood padding the halls, and like time in a nutshell, one note of that melody played right outside the room you lurked in.

You recall a muttered echo: “Fucker,” which taunted the loud gurgles of blood, and rang as a sign that it was too late.

Her narrow and thorough eyes had the emptiest and deepest rooms flipped upside without warrant. Not even the silent take-outs, blind-covered windows or the secrecy of your location evaded interest. She craved some of that action.

You interrogated one room of stubborn people, only to be interrogated by a trespassing 'nother. Fucking coincidence, right?

God, and this girl is just terrible at cross-examination! Don't let her in a courthouse, of any quarantine zone. If they exist.

Ever.

It has gone on for a minute now. She continuously asks these redundant questions and tries cheap intimidation tactics her daddy probably demonstrated on several unlucky incidents like yourself—or maybe it's improv. Sure fuckin' sounds like it. And, not to mention, an extravagant amount of profanity that even the devil himself would blush at.

Fingers snap in your face. “Hey,” she barks. The table beside you is one of her foresaid tactics. It gets slammed. “Where is she?” Her wrathful gesture makes you glance only by a virtue of instinct. Clearly, this hand gets all the action.

Simmering reds from all that yelling have curled up her cheeks, painting her in a flit of desperate, pathetic rage. She is a strange clash of auburns and browns. In eerie-black rivers, bleeding up the walls, she is a darling brunette. But in the closeness of light, it washes into a gutsy auburn. Blinding and fiery. Those eyes have you engrossed too, damn: a penetrating, cat's-eye green you could fuck up in the sightline of. Her mother give her those?

Whatever. Why she needed to find this girl, you have no clue. Where this girl in question is—you still have no clue! This is useless. In fact, to her pursuit, you are useless. Files would better serve her mission, which thousands upon thousands sit in this hospital waiting to enlighten the blood-hungry half of the population with information. Surely she knows how to fucking read, right?

Yet, your sun of escape had set indefinitely, predestining you to writhe and mope in this tangle of uncomfortable ropes for however long until she was satisfied—or suffocating you. Fight, fight, and fight all you want; there is no abdication in negotiation.

“Did you ever think to ask the guards before slicing their throats?” You cock your head, sassy, contemptuously, without a care. It's an easy antidote for you to suggest given your mental innocence to the horrors outside that door. The prelude to this tangle of ropes is an interpretation of screams and guzzles—your favorite! “Too late now, though. Oops.”

Annoyance rolls from the pit of her teeth “Oh, my fucking..” She sounds irritable, eager to snap, and she turns her back to you for the sake of her sanity.

There is a faint sound of her fingers, squeezing on the mechanics of her lovely handgun. Maybe, just maybe, she'll knuckle under now; abdicate in the sweetness of another murder? Shut your trap by boring a bullet through it?

“Do you ever quit it with the snark?” She swings back around, hunching arms-crossed.

Nevermind.

You chart your own thoughts for a possible half-genuine, mostly clever answer, eyes rolling up. “Hmm..” Checking if it lives on the ceiling, like a perfect spring apple, ripe and pendant for picking. “Not recently, no.”

That strikes a nerve. “Oh, great,” she bluffs, that empty ink of doubt rich in the short, artificial reply. Certain smilings you often earn from fed-up someones. “Guess I'll have to try harder to get it outta' you, huh?” Her face fades, broadcasting something a little more serious, though those hooded eyes are the least daunting thing.

“Oh, so hard—”

Bam! Nailed right in the cheek. No sign, no second-rounds needed. The faithfulness of four knuckles pulled through your jaw, your teeth. It aches, and your sense of vantage is knocked for a moment, flopping your head back from where she clocked it.

You swish your cheek against the throbbing, staring with provocation. She stares, too. Through the old, grimy light above, you see her conscience emptying out: upper lip snared up, brows pulling to meet a center, heavy breathing. You believe judgment exits through every exhale.

“I saw you in here, rummaging through files and shit. You know something.” Her chin becks to you, foregrounding you as the first pawn of evidence. “Where'd she go?”

“Up my ass, bitch.”

Her mouth flinches at your immature fulmination. Offended, or disgusted. Rigid cords accentuate in her neck. “You smart-mouthed cunt!” she seethes, and her angrily mumbling that leads too smoothly into another blow to the maw, getting all up in your twisted face. “Where?”

You sling back. “Clearly not right in front of you, damn it!” Spitting the blood stilling in the pockets of your gums, you damn her; aim for the tip of her converse. Panting, you bring your eyes up slowly to glare. “Who shit in your rations?”

“We don’t—hmph, I don’t do rations.”

Throwing a joke put a cork in her incursion, slipping up her words. You have to laugh. Furrows pinch between her brows, then she scans you up and down, face contorting into slow inspiration. They widen, discern; something you said alludes.

What is she thinking?

”Are you FEDRA? Undercover soldier?”

Your smile fades. “What? No.”

She motions to the bodies entrailing the floor. “Then why'd you kill them?”

“Got in my way.”

Her lips press into a line, and she huffs. Appraisal demanded conjectures, and you weren’t giving her anything. Things that may nail the target right in the eye, or miss by a small mark. You came here for one thing and one thing only, and that's none of her business—but, she wants to make it her business. Clothing you in warfare made it psychologically easier to absolve herself.

Two can play at that game. “Are you an undercover soldier?” you spin the question, blood in your mouth stirring a grudge. This situation might fall more into place if tongues point to yes. “Which zone hired you for reparation? Or would that be the Seraph—”

“Not a soldier.” Her interruption is resolute. She holds something harsh in-between the teeth, a stiff rehash, unable glarings. “I'm not FEDRA, I'm not a Scar..” The floor seems to interest her eyes. “Actually, what I am is none of your goddamn business.” She only looks up at you at the end, eyes narrowed.

“Neither am I yours.”

For smart-mouthing, you expect a third kiss of violence to erupt your gums—nostrils, perhaps—and she relents. Silence perverts the room, leaving an uncomfortableness to stretch from her stare. Gulps, blinks, and breaths that invocate. She expects you to give her a thesis, glaring like a hawk. A glare that depicts, “You are my damn business.” without ever having to gorge a throat.

You watch her right fist fumble together, blanking out on the earth-stained nooks. “Just assumed someone so blood-hungry would be an undercover soldier that has it out for rebel militia groups trying to battle authority. Maybe you wanted to snuff out the Firefly legacy? Once and for all?”

The coarse skin of her tattoo looks storied. Covered in things you lack context for.

But are you not self-same?

“Ex-Fireflies are finicky fucking people,” you begin to rasp in the vowels, clearing your throat. “Fuckin' hate them.”

Nothing is said on her end. Nothing of solace, nothing of condemnation, not even a different opinion. She traces all the lines quietly; squints at your lowered face, weighs your scars, conjecturing what your reputation must be to wear wounds like these. They must be gorgeous enough to ignore, because she prowls closer and slips into her back pocket, pulling a switchblade. Mahogany, and storied indeed. Fresh blood, old blood.

You peek up when you hear it flick. “Last chance,” the rigid-lipped girl warns. And like she has experienced an earnest, diabolic and pardoned shift in mind, her eyes look prepared to see you choke. “What's it gonna take?” She would slice you if it meant bleeding the infinite resolve out of you.

Fingertips dance on the handle of it. Pitifully, agitatedly dancing under the shadows. “Reasons, maybe?”

“Yeah? Wanna be like that?” She braces an arm on the chair, caging you, leaning in. Warm, arrowlike words hit you. They smell of breath. “Someone was hunted, tortured and killed, right in his own fucking town. Planned attack, too.” The cold, keen edge of the blade is pressed against your pulse, provoking a swallow through you. Tight in freckled hands, bloodspill is ensured. “That enough for you?”

“Oh,” you chuckle unamusedly. “Revenge doesn't solve shit.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?” The growing pressure of her hand leaves a thin, immaculate cut, no drippage. Your subtle stonewalling escalates the tension in her, and so, she slowly buckles under; teasing the knife with a little taste.

Muted pain hisses from you. “Not revenge,” you plume, showing her your eyes. “Wolves got somebody I know held hostage and is unfairly expending them for their work. They won't let 'em off as agreed.”

Eyes reveal lies.

“Bullshit.”

You disengage from the delicate stinging on your neck, confounded by her. “Okay, and what makes your excuse more plausible?” Either you wear an embittered smile, or it wears you. Her cynicism is almost predictable. “I was owed shit from these assholes.”

“Which assholes?”

Of course, every detail is of the essence. You get her, to a degree; she is enraged justice in the form of a girl, but is overwhelmingly that. Rage. She spreads her pawns inside out and envisages a judging of gospel in their exposed guts. Interpreting the files, the conditions, the realisms of things said. Was that soldier truly vulnerable? Did they die weaponless, fearful, and innocent? Is innocence even a condition, given the crimson in her eyelines?

She looks lost in all the blood.

The temporary break opens to your heavy sigh. “Think her name was Nora.” Lasting throbs from the punches minutes before worsen as you speak. You crinkle your face against them. “'Dunno, don't care. Just want my brother back.”

You cannot tell if your answer brings satisfying insight, hearing only her inhales go in, and out. Knife laying inert, you receive no pain for it, but no freedom from it, either. She opens her mouth a bit, and bloomed breaths fan over you, like a response is meant to come out. Then her bloodied, bottom lip folds in, rubbing against her top, brows set low, and you know the contents of her mind are crafting a narrative.

Measuring your high-stake sincerity.

“Is that enough for you?”

Her eyes are sharp when you ask.

The weight of inflection, the material of fluency. Both are determiners. You, for the past five minutes, have acted a soft and blunt manner in the face of one jury. Maybe facetious, too, but it changes little.

She picks herself up from her wander-faced brainwork, and concentrates outside of her mind. “'Kay,” she drones, cocking her head. “Where is Nora, then?”

You sigh. “Probably upstairs.” The fight for life continues. Behind the chair, your wrists contort quietly for a weak knot. “Or gone. Depends how long you take to untie me.”

One corner of her lip crooks. “Huh, you really think it's that easy?” Her face compliments the eerie line perfectly. She slides the blade past your collarbone, without pressure, and pierces it into your sleeved arm. Slow torture of twisting. “Tell me where, exactly.”

Gouging torments worse than simple incisions. With cuts, you can leave ugly reminders. But with a debased conscience and an end goal, she hopes to wind the information out clean; create a perpetual torture that loosens your tongue. She does not flinch, does not glance with hesitation while the tip draws a sweet, ugly, crimson vortex above your inner-elbow. Those steady eyes bore other holes into yours. Lingering, reading your pain.

Your windpipes fill with a groan, and you clutch at the bundle of knots behind you. “Fuck!” The pain does torture you. She is exacting in the way that it does. Torturing your skin, your thoughts. It forces a puncture of annoyance in your gut for not having much else to say while she bleeds you for it. You try to fathom her situation at large.

“Fuckin' lucky I haven't slit your throat yet.”

Then, it clicks.

“Come on, where?” Her impatience hits home.

You know where the blind spots are in this situation. Context shines clearly. “It's not just some random guy you're getting revenge for, huh?” Struggling under knifepoint, your words slip out with the violence of a tear. Scratchy, compressed.

But the gouging technique of her fingers stop, saving you a second.

“What?”

Her face and voice incarnate offense identically. There had to be some nasty reason backing your statement, another round of your clever inaction to distract a sure demise. Yet, it still chokes. She wants to finish this, but you are by far the most thought-provoking victim her switchblade has ever laid infliction to. You can make a girl hesitate pretty damn well; it frustrates her. Makes her culpable, a gilded conscience whispering in low tones to let it back in. Reverting her to one of the many things that Seattle made her find fucking sickening: empathy.

Thinking.

She slaps a band-aid on those exposed nerves, keeping her heart small, and begrudgingly narrows her eyes into confrontational lines. The knife softly listens.

You continue. “Obviously, this someone is special,” attesting brashly, not so formally as a court would mandate. Just loud enough to film over the sound of your binds loosening. “Who goes all this way for somebody they don't share blood with?”

Regardless of how bold, how unoriginal this shot in the dark is, the revenge-high girl drops her lip. She's trying to pin a conceivable falsehood to your words, but it conflicts with the perfection of them; you aren't entirely wrong.

An irritated sigh claws open the air.

Forget it—she isn't looking to be mutual. She didn't chase a rumor to carve sympathy. Histories shall keep to themselves. “So? Don't play fucking stupid with me,” she reproaches you, introducing the pressure of her knife down on your thigh. “If she's gone, you're gonna show me right where she's headed.”

You watch her empty hand reach back. “Then?”

The sounds of paper halt. She frowns at your strange cross-questioning. “Then—I'll let you go.” Her reply is reluctant, so full of an unsure breath. “But only on the condition that you aren't fucking bullshitting me.”

The hand once-empty arcs from her back pocket, unfolding an outdated map of Seattle before your eyes. Damn, does she need an exact time too?

“Where?”

Hence that, the knife eases silence with pain again. There are tense cords on the crest of her palm from pushing it in. You almost absently and sullenly admire the true beauty of the flesh wallowing in contemplation; chances are, you may know too much now, and could cause wounds in her plan if let go. Providing her the intel she thrives for won't save you—it will kill you.

So, while so much as a long wince takes up your throat, you think of something else.

“Come on,” she nags, twining the knife into your kneecap. You counter with a cry, the vulnerable, warm shine threatening to paint your undereyes. “Could be done with this already. Eyes up here.” It crept up so quick.

But before you succumb, the roughness around your wrists becomes a nothingness, and your fingers grasp for light. Reprieve, a pardon to injury; you take it into your own hands.

The scene shifts like rain. Shock jerks her eyes wide when the chair clatters, and you drive her backwards—heels scattering, hands thrashing in a flit of desperation—and her special switchblade is suddenly against her. You swipe it tracelessly, catching her off-guard and cursing. Threatened palms puncture you repeatedly in the shoulders, trying to shove you off as she is slammed into the wall, knocking out the incentive she held so dearly like a candle.

Her hand dives below where you can see, definitely headed for the leather gun holster that clasps her thigh. She struggles to unload it. Before she can even wrap a finger, your reflexes are a step ahead, ridding her of that precious, immediate solution. You bash the damn thing into her nose.

“Fucking cunt!” she shouts with her lip snared down, the raging shape of her teeth evinced. Her hips struggle against you, palms now reaching to eclipse your sockets, both in a desperate fight to recapture her authority. Careful, she might bite!

Everything transpired so quickly. You feel whiplash as you toss the gun, brace her arms and show her precisely what lies ahead—scratching the surface, knife on her pale pulse.

Struggle exists no longer; the weapon buys you surrender. She focuses her lingering energy on catching air, slack under your fingers.

“Well, shit!” Your chest opens with a degrading laugh, one she abhors. Screw looking at you. “Guess it really was that fucking easy, huh?” You begin a soft dint in her neck with the pricked end, inciting her to swallow a lump.

It does not fall quietly. She cracks open her lips and blood from her nose weeps in. “Please, stop,” she pleads, loud and clear. Instead, she is entrusted meekness as a desperate measure. That flesh you loom could be wool, a startled wool, and she would be a lamb. An innocent condition. Either fits her, since either way, she is tense and looking at the inanimate space behind you. Guiltily, flinchingly.

Only one curiosity will complete you. “Name?”

“Ellie.” It rushes like another life is at stake. Since when is she soft with a heart that can break? Whatever it is, it got her in this pretty predicament. “Why?” she raises, tone wary.

“Harder to kill somebody with a name.” Cute name for a murderer.

Her teary eyes narrow with confliction.

Ellie all but understands you. Your enigmatic nature has brought her to enmity and pity thus far—and on the precipice of murder—but now you're offering complete mercy? That's a hard thing to want to accept. People these days almost prefer, by an all-embracing scale, the venom, the simplicity, and the diabolical origins of the ethos of this apocalypse. Sometimes, it comes easier up and down the throat. Belonging eroded, and this country is a skeletal memory of itself, nothing will endure. Ellie understands that; she was born into it, and so, it is her and that is eternal.

So why you choose to spare her, has her scrunching her nose and pinching those signature frown-brows. Though, in the lurid light of her being that somebody with a name, she appears more strangely relieved, even if death sits at her throat still. Getting her to end this was your why and wherefore. You don’t care, you don’t have the time. So, you let the sun set.

Her eyes quirk up, and meet an equilibrium between her and you. They look dimensional with intrigue, somewhat proportionate to almonds. Gentle, springtime in the middle. “You're not gonna kill me?” Eyes you won't harm.

“No,” you announce it like it is solace, hard-fought. Tucked eyes and no strings attached, you sure are serious about this. “You aren't an issue to my efforts or some soldier telling me to come back tomorrow or to fuck off, so.. yeah.” The switchblade flicks back into the shell. You hold it out to her, and that itself sells the deal. “Congratulations.” A simple resign.

She lets it slip into her palm. Hugs the weight, rolls the wood on the curls of her knuckles. “Hm,” she hums timidly. Feeling it now, eliminating you would have changed nothing. If anything, weighed on her conscience in the dells of nightfall.

But she still lacks information. She needs to get it somewhere, somehow.

Thoughts begin to trickle: if her fingers can do such fragile things as plucking a guitar, should they be considerate?

Should she start now?

After a silent break, and a wipe of her bloodied lip, she decides to try. “Is your brother with them?” Wearing some sympathetic face absent of a smile; you're too preoccupied to notice if she does. “Sounds tough what you're going through.” Yeah, she cares enough to try.

You recess from looting. “The Wolves?” Crouching low.

“Yeah.” Her voice cracks, involuntarily.

God, this girl is a paradox of hypocrisy. First, she doesn't want your sympathy, and now she is a fraying thread of it. Loosened seams all over. You grin at her, rooted tall to the floor several feet away, but you are too in favor of doubt to look grateful now. “Oh, so now it's not bullshit?”

“That was before,” she laughs tentatively, traipsing closer. You leave her fidgeting, the natural gravity of her hand not knowing what to do, where to fall to. Debris crunches under her converse as she stands stock still before you, her stillness an invitation.

Again, she says nothing. Nothing as you aimlessly stare and travel over her little chafings. Waiting on your reply, your movement, your hitches of breath. Hidden languages of the body. There, you would make this mutual, or tell her to fuck off.

Maybe she believes you can benefit her still. Benefit each other.

Yeah, right.

Nothing promising sprouts from what is uncomfortably introduced.

It makes you scoff. “If you’re proposing some sort of win-win deal, then..” You heave briefly from your chest lugging up your backpack as you stand. “I've had my fair share. No thanks.” Telling her to fuck off, cordial as possible.

“Yeah,” she rethinks. “Dumb idea.”

Seeing her face shift is quite the telling. An easy withdraw. Whatever she wanted to do, it wouldn’t work in the long run.

The steel door is guttural when you push on it. Groaning in the hinges, it instills a tension over your shoulder; she is still back there, reloading her guns, probably watching you. It gets you thinking, your hand hesitating. You may have no clue where to go yourself, but it would snip your thorny curiosities if you knew her destination. You know a small something.

“Check the operations base.”

Her shotgun clocks open. “Operations base?”

“Near the stadium. Think Nora is heading there,” you disclose, to entice, glancing over your shoulder. She needed that. “Be careful though, you’re public enemy number one now.”

She collapses her gaze. “Yup.” Her hatred was safely disposed of, so she takes your concern gently.

After all, you remain strangers.

“Hope you get where you’re going.” The shotgun locks back in place.

Now is when you say nothing. You leave, without a spontaneous prayer or hope for her future.

Better to forget this ever happened.

“She wasn’t in any of the polaroids.”

Day closes inside the theater. Abdication takes place in the far-back dressing room, where wounds are dressed, and afterthoughts are festering. Ellie thinks restlessly about it.

What were the chances?

Ellie takes the needle into her riven skin without a flinch. The back of her lungs fill into, with long breaths, the tender palm of Dina, who asks, “Did she have information, at least?” as the suture threads through.

“She could've killed me.” Her fingers creep up her neck, feeling at her collarbones. The thought makes her mind turn. “But..”

Dina finishes with a knot on the carnic reminder. “But you're okay,” she conveys her gratitude. To higher powers, to luck, to you—whoever. She collects the hand from her collarbone, shielding her own over and embracing it against Ellie's abdomen. “Scratched up, obviously, but here. Safe.”

The gesture is fragile. Ellie clutches softly at her own stomach, grooving trails of her fingers. She wants to say something, but her mind everlastingly obsesses over your intel. “She said Nora's stationed in their operations base.” Her arm kindly slips from Dina and ravels into her shirt, tossing it over her head. All this bloodshed has given her a one-track mind. “Somewhere west of here, near a stadium, uh—think that's site two on our map.” She stands and smooths the crinkles. “Thanks for the help, babe.”

Dina can only hope well. “Mhm.” But she loathes this metamorphosis. Day after day, it leaves her feeling secondary. “Just be careful tomorrow, okay?” She has to continue physical contact to keep herself above, rising after Ellie. “We're rootin' for you.” Pressing a smile into her warm neck.

It repurposes itself onto her lips. “Yeah, like my groupie?” Certain smiles Ellie tends to forget she can share, and kiss, even if fleetingly. Thought fades all.

Hard to forget what happened.

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celabi · 1 month ago

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hm.. dad scummy mouche…hm I’m going to get him pregnant hm.

i feel like, no matter how many years have passed since scaramouche has evolved into a proper man and has some what [not really] outgrew his scummy teenage and early adult years, he still gets a little embarrassed around you. like, no matter how long you’ve been married, or how many times you’ve seen him nude, he can’t help but look away shyly when he catches you staring, or sigh shakily when you compliment him. so, he’s glad that he’s got his little helper to help him express his love to you on the days where he’s feeling just a little embarrassed.

thirty years old. no longer this scrawny teen with pimples and greasy hair, no. he has stubble on his chin, tattoos on his arms, piercings in his ears…and yet he gets nervous around his wife, and bribes his daughter with ice cream, to compliment her for him.

scaramouche hums when he feels a little tug on his pants, and when he turns his head down to see what it is now; he meets the eyes of his little girl, who stares back up at her dad with gleaming cheekiness. he smiles, and wipes the dish soap off his hand and on the fabric of his shirt before bending down and scooping her up into his arms. she beams happily, reaching up to tug on his purple hair. “daddy! mama told me to say to you… ‘thank you’ and that she thinks you’re very um, gor—jus? as well!” her little grubby hands tug on his locks with more force then she probably realises, and he can slowly start to feel a headache coming along from how hard she’s pulling. “she’s right! you are gor—jus daddy!” she swings her feet, twisting and turning the strands of his hair between her little fingers.

“hm, not as gorgeous as mommy, though…” he sighs wistfully, staring blankly at the wall. the little girl in his grasp playfully gags at the look in her fathers eyes. “dad! that’s so gross! don’t you think you love mommy a bit too much…?” her chubby fingers moves to poke at his cheek, which drags him back down to earth.

he shakes his head in slight, “no, mommy likes it.”

“are you sure? mommy probably thinks you’re weird with how much you look at her…”

he frowns, “yeah, okay… that’s enough of that.” and bends down to place her back to the floor, making her huff and puff in disbelief. he sighs, rubbing his temples: “how about instead of poking fun at daddy… you go and tell mommy that I think she looks pretty, and that i’ll make dinner for us tonight.” he shoulders sag, making him chuckle as he lightly pats her head. “aw again? your cooking blows, and mommy is gonna get sick of you if you tell her that all the time…”

he tuts, and shakes his head. “yeah right… she had all of her life to get rid of me, i’m not going anywhere, anytime soon… so suck it.” he teases lightly, flicking her forehead, which has her scowling.

“ugh, dad you stink so much!” she stomps her little feet as she runs off. “this is why mommy always stops to say hi to mr.capitano at school!”

“huh?! she does what now?!”

scaramouche likes to think he’s a good influence on his daughter, but his wife digresses.

scaramouche watches as his daughter pulls you by the hand and towards the front door, where she carelessly flops on her behind and raises her legs up into the air, shoes dangling off her feet. “please tie my shoes mama!”

he sighs, leaning his cheek in his palm. a cozy little home with both of his favourite girls… life is good, he thinks, and mentally pats his past self on the back for having such amazing rizz… [stealing your underwear and chewing your gum had really paid off]. the sounds of tiny feet padding along the floor pulls him out of his thoughts, makinghim look down, where his little girl is beaming back up at him with her arms stretched, waiting for her hug. heof course does, and bends down to pick her up, where her head flops onto his shoulder. “bye papa, see you after school!” so energetic, so early in the morning… scaramouche doesn’t know how she does it. either way, he huffs, and moves his hand up to smooth down her hair, ridding the knots and strays caused by her excitement.

“have a good day, baby… and remember what I told you? if any of those nasty boy teachers smile at mommy when she drops you off… tell them that your daddy kills people.”

“got it, dad!”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #scummy? scara :(#yandere genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x female reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scummy scara :(

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peachesofteal · 2 months ago

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Simple Math / Part Sixteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 3.5K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD, references to domestic violence and sexual assault, panic attack(s). Explicit sex, daddy kink, praise kink, blow job. Therapy. Flashbacks (shocker)

Days turn to weeks.

They pass with frightening speed, sun rising and setting, turning over and over, spinning around and around like you’re on a carousel.

The carousel never stops turning, isn’t that what they say?

You, Simon and Johnny begin to sculpt a path for the now, and even one for the future. It’s a wild concept, the idea that you even have a future, that you’d even want one.

Lingering doubt, terror, lurks in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences. Your happiness with the guys and Penny is not enough to quell the anxiety, though it does a good job of soothing it. Settling it. Nearly silencing the raw edges of your brain, the ones sharper than a razor, their ability to slice and kill slivers of sunlight lurking on the cusp.

Simon holds you gently. Johnny cradles you passionately. Together, they're a solar flare. One that burns across your body, your skin, your mind, wiping the slate of the earth clean, planting flowers anew.

The scars scratched into the soft matter of your brain will never, ever let you forget. The broken bits of your bones, torn muscles, damaged cartilage, will never, ever not be there. Carried inside you, a painful imprint on your soul.

Has he been back? Is he looking for you? Will he get close?

They try to wheedle information out of you. Questions here and there, bits and pieces offered to assuage them.

It’s become less about protecting them, and more about protecting yourself.

If you don’t tell them, it will never touch them. Or what you have. The darkness will never shadow their doorstep.

You’re slipping into the same kind of delusions you had before he found you last, the ones where you convinced yourself you were safe. Hidden.

It’s easier now, because there are others doing it as well. Simon and Johnny consistently comforting you, reassuring you, taking care of you. Encouraging you to take your own steps forward while they’re a step behind, waiting in case you stumble or fall.

Sometimes at night the girl in the mirror scoffs at you. She chides you. She accuses you of playing house, playing dress up, acting like a child who never grew up.

Who believes in fairytales such as these?

Simon always notices. Anticipates, even. You tense in the bed, leg slung over Johnny’s thigh, Simon’s palm flush on your hip. He’ll squeeze you, pet you, trace the shell of your ear.

“Close your eyes, bunny. Count Johnny’s breaths.”

Johnny’s are easier. They’re loud with a hint of a snore, and you can focus on them more than your own. After a few dozen, it’s not hard to slip away to sleep.

“How was your week?” The soft green couch has just the right amount of give to it as you sit down, therapist settling into her usual chair across from you.

“It was fine.”

“Any panic attacks?”

“Umm… two, I think.” She waits, settling into the silence, encouraging you to elaborate. “I uh, I spilled something on the rug.”

“Alright, alright. What’s the matter?” Fat tears fall down Penny’s cheeks as she cries, wriggling around on the changing table like a worm. “Almost done, okay? Just hold still, two more seconds.” The padded table of the playpen is smaller than the one upstairs, and she’s so big, her arms and legs kind of flail to the sides, giving her free range to swing them as wildly as she can. “All this fussing for nothing.” You murmur, pulling her up and bouncing her in her arms. She calms down quickly, and you place her back onto the floor in front of her toys. You left your full glass of juice on the coffee table, and as you pull it into your fingers, it slides too close to the edge-

And falls on the floor.

The blood rushes in your ears. You sprint to the kitchen, pulse rapid under your jaw.

Towels. Carpet cleaner. Anything.

You race back to the living room and drop to your hands and knees. “It’ll come up. It will.” You work the stain frantically, Penny watching, fascinated. “It will… it will, I promise.”

“Bunny?” You freeze.

“I spilled. I… I’m going to get it out.”

“Ach, it’s an old rug. Dinnae worry about it.”

“No, no. It will come up. I p-promise.” Your bones ache, both hot and cold, elbows tucked into your ribs.

Just fix it. Fix it fast. Fix it, fix it, fix it.

Johnny is still talking, but the words are more melodic than you can make sense of, bits and pieces strung together on a tightrope, one you cannot walk across. You’re watching yourself lose control, spiral and drown.

Fingers curl beneath your arm, and you jerk.

“Hey, ‘s just me, pretty girl. Just me.” You find his eyes. Still the same crystal blue. The ones you’ve been staring into for months now. In the morning, at night. The soft, kind ones.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s just a carpet.” He covers one of your hands with his. “But ye’re gonna rub your hands raw. Need ye stop now.” You want to stop. You know you can, but you keep moving on instinct, oblivious until he says your real name.

He smiles, and the world falls away.

“And how did you handle it? The spill.”

“I uh… got scared and started to panic clean it. Kind of got lost, didn’t know where I was right away. Like, I knew… but I didn’t. I felt like I was outside my body.” She nods, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to spoil the silence. “I guess I just reacted on instinct.”

“Any others?” Your fingers wrap together, a link to yourself, sanity, and you shrug.

“The light, Johnny,” they shift in the dark, Simon’s arm slipping under your back, the other one smoothing over your forehead. “Sh-shhh, sweetheart.” You cling to the rope, the one trying to pull you from the depths, shivering between them. The light flicks on, and your eyes flutter closed. “Just a nightmare, bunny. You’re safe.”

Your chest aches, burns, stomach turning over as you press closer, nose to a neck, heat closing in around you, settling you, bringing you back to consciousness, awareness, piece by piece.

“Sorry.” It’s the third one in two weeks, third time you’ve woken them up, and the guilt piles on in heaps.

“’s alright. Ye’re alright.” Johnny hums at your back, lips to your shoulder. “Close yer eyes, pretty girl. Ye’re with us.”

The therapist touches on her usual things, coping strategy, your feelings, your approach to future panic attacks or overwhelming anxiety, before moving onto the next usual topic.

“How are you feeling during intimacy?”

“Um… better.”

Simon’s hand smooths down your back. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I think… I want… I want to move.”

“Okay. Let’s take it slow, there’s no rush.” You experiment with rolling your hips, Johnny vibrating beneath you, hands clenched in the sheets.

“Shite.” He grits, Simon leaning in to kiss him.

“You’re doing so good, sweet boy, being so patient, so proud of you.” Johnny whimpers into Simon’s mouth, and then pulls away with a pant, finding the fullness of your ass, squeezing and needing as his legs shake.

“This fuckin’ arse- be the death of me.” You’re so full, slowly working yourself up and down, fractionally, carefully, slick sliding across his cock. His thumb skates across your bottom lip, and when you rock your hips, his jerk, jolting upwards at the same time. You gasp.

They freeze, Simon white knuckles Johnny’s good wrist and growls. “Easy.”

“Sorry,” he whines, fingers twisted together in the light grey fabric, brows knitted together so tight he looks like he’s in pain. “Ah… I’m sorry, bun.”

“It’s okay.” It really is. It felt good, there was no sour tinge in it, no foul rot spilling across your heart. It just… felt good. Really good. “It was good, Johnny. Reeaaally good.” Your knees flex, pulling you upwards and back down, experimenting, searching for the sharp burst of pleasure. “Johnny.” You whine, and he glances at Simon hopefully.

Simon nods. They both hold you, Simon slipping down over your folds to your clit, building slow, heavy circles around your swollen bud, Johnny experimentally thrusting in even, steady strokes.

“Fuck.”

“You look so good, bunny. Riding Johnny’s cock like that, so pretty.” Simon coos, pressing harder, electric shock shooting up your spine. “Our pretty girl.”

“It feels…” the words slip away under the momentum of your bodies moving together, the three of you, scales perfectly balanced, world just right for a moment, moments that seem to be stretching longer and longer across your life, spoiling you in the sunlight. “I-I… please.” There’s nothing to be said to convey the ocean’s worth of emotion you’re holding in, and Simon kisses you, stealing the words, taking them in.

“You never need to ask us for your pleasure, bunny. We’ll never keep it from you.” It’s a straight shot through your heart to the marrow of your bones, light exploding into a million stars, and you rocket into the atmosphere, sweat and slick and moans melding together in the room, Johnny still working a leisurely pace amongst his groans as you cum around his cock, jerking and writhing in their arms.

“I’ve definitely been more comfortable, been able to go farther.”

“Any panic, or spiraling thoughts? Racing thoughts?” You shake your head.

“No, I’m… I’m able to keep myself pretty clear, we’ve been working on… other things. Like, position wise, but it’s harder.” You’re getting better at talking about this with her, but it’s still a little awkward.

“What do you feel like you need to get yourself there, if that’s what you want?” You mull it over.

“More time.”

“Stick your tongue out.” Simon lightly taps the head of his cock against the flat of your tongue, smearing it across the warm flesh there, before slowly pressing it in as Johnny rubs your back. “You’re sure you’re alright? Don’t lie to me, it’s okay if we stop.” You nod, but you’re rattling inside, one foot in reality, the other one in a nightmare.

You’re pushing yourself too hard, but there’s a nagging need to try. To be good at this, be good for him.

Simon strokes your cheek. “Good girl. Breathe through your nose f’me.” You’re trying, but when he slides behind your molars, you lock up. Memories flash, fuel to the fire. Your mouth is empty, Simon on his knees in front of you, but he’s hard to see. Only the warmth of his palms on your shoulders resonates.

You see Phillip’s face instead. Phillip’s anger when you wouldn’t hold still, the way he’d shove himself down your throat until you vomited, fingers dug into your neck with a vengeance, windpipe struggling to its job.

There’s are voices through it all, different accents, ones that ground you, hold you, keep you safe. Manchester, and a Scottish melody.

You break through the darkness, and push back towards the light, finally seeing them both clearly, sparkling eyes drenched in concern.

“’m alright.” You swallow, and Simon shakes his head.

“Tha’ was my fault, pushed it too hard.”

“I wanted to- to try.” The disappointment breaks upon you like a wave, and Simon tilts your chin.

“I know, and you did. You did great, bunny, but it’s my job to take care of you.” He kisses you where your eyelashes feather onto your cheeks. “I’ll do better.”

“How are things with Penny?” You smile.

“Good, I think. Great, almost? I feel like we’re bonding. It’s a little scary but…”

“Why does it scare you?"

“Because it could all go away. I could lose her, and them.”

“Bunny,” Penny then signs for more, and you spread the rest of the sliced banana across her tray.

You watch her as she eats, little face lighting with glee, fingers tactfully scooping the mushed fruit to her lips. Her fine motor skills are advanced, from the signing, you think, and her words are coming along almost too well.

“Bunny wea?” Read. You smile.

“You want a story after lunch?” She signs yes, messy and sticky with banana, and you nod. “Alright. We can read before nap time.” It’s her favorite thing to do with you, sit on your lap or next to you as you read her a book, her head curled up on your chest or belly. “Where’s your Da, huh? Is he sleeping?”

“Da seep?” She makes the sign along with the words.

“Yeah, sleep.” You mimic her hands, less graceful than her practiced expertise at this point, and she giggles.

“Your progress is inspiring.” She smiles, and it occurs to you that she’s kind. She’s patient. You think you might actually like her. “What about building relationships outside your romantic partners?”

“Oh, uh. Lou and I had lunch the other day, at her house. It was nice.”

“Does it scare you? When he goes off to work.” She rolls her lips and nods, faraway look etched in her eyes before she sighs.

“Every time, but there’s nothing I can do. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I keep busy. Try not to watch my phone or the calendar too much. John makes me promise not to count the days until it gets past thirty.” The difference is stark. You remember how it was when Phillip went away, putting you on edge for a completely different reason. Each day that passed, you hoped for an end. You hoped to receive the call, the one that would finally set you free.

It never came.

“Are you worried about it?”

“Just… with the circumstances I met Johnny it’s like, I know the worst that can happen. Or almost the worst, I guess.” She reaches for your hand, and you don’t pull away.

“Well, luckily, it’s a ways off. And you’ll have me.” You nod, a smile coming naturally.

“Yeah.”

Your therapist lightly probes at the past. She’s still learning to navigate you, to understand.

You know you’re supposed to talk about it, about him, but you can’t.

She tells you it’s okay, that she’ll wait until you’re ready, but for some reason-

You always end up feeling like a failure when you block her out, sitting in the chair across from her, antsy and impatient for the session to be over when it gets to the point where she starts tugging at the darkest parts of your memory.

“That’s okay,” she promises, “we’ll try again. No rush.”

Simon waits for you on the sidewalk. His eyes always crinkle at the corner when you come out, and today, the sun is shining. It’s so bright you squint, fumbling with your sunglasses, natural smile curving your lips in return. He reaches for your hand.

“Alright?” You lean your head on his shoulder, and his lips dot your crown. “Let’s go home.”

You tuck your toes into the seam of the couch cushions, curled up next to the arm. Dinner’s over, Penny’s getting a last few minutes of playtime with Johnny, and Simon is in the armchair, reading glasses perched on his nose, a book’s spine cracked in his hand.

It’s perfect.

You memorize the moment, tracing it over and over, praying it burns like a brand, something that’s always with you, even in the dark.

I love you.

It rings loudly in your heart, a tolling of bells, a signal of shifting winds.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It doesn’t hurt. It’s not a thing of despair, of fear. The girl in the mirror doesn’t cower, only takes small steps forward, a hand extended in trust.

Have you made it out? Are you finally safe?

It’s a difficult thing, to know. To let go of. She’s not convinced, not wholly, but the beginnings of something greater are there, lying in wait, an olive branch extended towards your family.

Your family.

That’s who they are now, you realize, straightening in your spot. This is your family. Your sunlight, the cogs and gears and mechanisms all pulling together as one to move the hands of the clock forward, unable to stop and linger on the past.

“I want… can we try it?” You’re panting, hips shifting in small circles astride Johnny, his hands greedy, palms full of your ass. You’re not afraid to ask now, built up and up, lifted on top of their shoulders and higher, encouraged. Loved. Given everything you need.

“Ye sure, pretty girl?” You peek over at where Simon lays on his side, thick fingers and palm stroking the heavy shaft of his cock.

“You’ve been spoiled, Johnny,” The words heated in the twilight of the evening. Orange and purple play out across the floor under the curtains, the last of the sun sinking under the horizon.

Simon’s hand covers Johnny’s, and then slides to the plush of your ass. He squeezes, hard enough to make you moan, but still gentle, gentle enough you know where you are, who you’re with. He’s good with the lines, the push and pull, the balance between too much and not enough.

He tugs. Johnny whines, but Simon swallows it with his mouth and a chastise. “Be good.”

They shift you, arranging arms and legs until you’re on your side, Simon’s front to your back, the bulk of his mass curled around you, possessively.

“We’re gonna take it easy,” He murmurs into your neck, moving your leg over where his knee juts forward. “You tell me if it’s too much.” The head of his cock slides through your folds, notching against your clit with sparse friction, before settling at your entrance.

For a second, you tense, trying to examine the reality of the situation, the unsettling question at the tip of his tongue. How is going to fit?

“Shhh,” he soothes, “’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I know.” His first thrust is painfully slow, stretching your walls, pulling away, and you whimper. He holds you by the collarbone, elbow nestled against your belly, thumb rubbing delicate circles in your skin.

The next one is further, and further. You’re burning up, coiled, eyes closed, and he kisses your temple. “Too much?”

“N-no.” Johnny strokes himself, squeezing at the base, eyes so soaked in lust he looks like he’s drowning, tip of his cock flushed red and drooling precum down to his fingers. “Please.” You squeak, trying to jerk backwards, but Simon holds you tight with a chuckle.

And then thrusts until he drives deep.

You choke, gasp turning to a howl, electricity pulsing and snapping through your blood. “Oh god.”

“No,” he licks your cheek, “just me sweetheart. Just us.” He looks up at Johnny who smiles, and your heart fills, overflowing towards an explosion. “Can you take more?” You nod.

He starts a rhythm, a slow, measure rhythm, long thrusts that make you shake, pant, pussy tightening with each one. Johnny rubs his thumb over your clit, back and forth, and it’s not long before you’re whining.

“More.” Your nails find Simon’s forearm, and he pushes harder, deeper, a quick snap of his hips that has you seeing stars.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you pant, bodies moving together, controlled by him, held by him. “Y-yeah, daddy.” It slips from your lips so easily, so naturally, and you barely notice. He groans.

“Fuck.” He’s moving faster now, words coming in a waterfall. “That’s it- so good, you’re so good for us, such a good girl.” He ruts into you, hips moving in a circle, deep enough tears start to spill down your cheeks. “Daddy’s sweet girl.”

It sends you overboard. Pushes you into the water, tugs you beneath the waves, your orgasm crashing over you in a tide, a tide pulled by them, only them, in your body, your heart.

Johnny kisses you. It’s deep and full of tenderness, he holds your face to his, foreheads together as Simon fucks you through the waves, falling apart as you cling to them, balanced between their bodies.

It’s only after, you realize you’re crying. When you see Simon’s panicked expression as he rolls you to your back, cradling your cheeks, saying your name again and again. Your fingers curl limply around his wrist.

“I’m okay,” you croak, looking between them two of them, “I’m okay. I’m just…” your breath stutters, and you find again, find the floodgates and release them.

“I’m happy.”

#simple math #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #john mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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