FUTURAMA 4.05 âLeelaâs Homeworldâ
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â WASTELAND, BABY
original inspo | art | playlist | fic taglist
boba fett x f!reader
Rated E | 40k [complete]
tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, canon-typical violence & death, age gap, smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), outdoor sex, hurt/comfort, strangers-to-lovers, sort of slow-burn
The year is 2297, and your days in Vault 113 are spent among the pages of your books - of fairytale romance, of noble knights and handsome princes. That is, until you venture from your Vault, and are immediately thrust into the harsh and cruel world of the Wasteland.
And when you find yourself being rescued by a man in armor - you canât help but wonder if those beloved stories might just have come true.
i. the fear and the fire of the end of the world
ii. the stench of the sea and the absence of green
iii. the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on
iv. like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass
v. you are unbreaking, though quaking
vi. like the bonfire that burns, that all words in the fight fell to**
vii. be known in it's aching, shown in the shaking**
viii. youâll gaze unafraid, as they sob from the city roofs**
ix. i'm in love, i'm in love with you**
x. not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do**
series is now complete | reader is ânewâ to the world so knowledge of the fallout universe is not necessary to enjoy! đ
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ghoul of the week
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ok
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omg so thrilled to see this, thank you ozzie!! đ and yess love this gif as well!
â into the fire
cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader
rated e - 1.6k
Tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, rough oral (m rec.), 2 seconds of boot riding, flashbacks, sorta implied mutual pining, threatening with a gun, light degredation, spitting
a/n: please mind the tags! đ I heard him say âsweetheartâ (derogatory) and I was a goner. (Cooper is referred to as The Ghoul because I felt like he sure as hell wouldnât have given Reader his name yet.)
âBeen a long time since Iâve had mouth as sweet as yours.â
His tone then grows sharp, as the metal digs into your skin, âDonât make me regret it.â
(Or - when youâre captured for a bounty, you make a deal.)
Your knees sink dig into the ground, with the downward gesture of his finger.
Eyes tracking the hand that now wraps around his belt buckle, then up to the tongue that traps between parted teeth.
No more than a week ago, he had lassoâd a rope around your throat. Bringing you to the ground - his weight of his hips pinning you solidly against the earth.
âThereâs a bounty out for a Vaultie like you.,â The Ghoul had growled, as you bucked uselessly against him. âYou know that?â
The days since were spent leashed by his side - almost like a pet, with the way he kept a handle on the rope twined tightly around your wrists.
Making you walk ahead, a sharp tug that sent you stumbling if you wandered too far.
All the while, you still felt that gaze that slipped over you.
Dipping with the zipper that had dragged down, pinched between fumbling fingers. Just wanting to feel the breeze against your skin - luxury you never had in the Vault. It lingered where the sweat beaded, nestled down in the shadow between your breasts.
If he needed permission to want you, youâd give it to him.
âYou can use me,â You had told him - desperate, one night. âWhatever you want. Please, I canât go back.â
âYou best think twice about what youâre offerinâ, sweetheart.â The Ghoul has rasped. A tilt of his head, as his eyes dragged over you.
You let them, your own eyes wandering as well. Across gaunt eyes and roughened skin, trying to piece together the man beneath.
Picking up on tiny things in the days that followed. Clinking spurs, his accent - akin to old programs they used to show back at your Vault. Hints that heâs been around a long, long time.
The Ghoul was terrifying in a way that thrilled you. Youâd never seen someone move like he did, drawing faster than you could blink. A nightmare shrouded in a tattered leather coat, moving like a ghost.
He could rip your throat out with his bare teeth.
But he hadnât.
You hadnât had much to bargain with but you begin think even if you had caps - you might have ended up right here anyways.
But he hadnât made a move to touch you.
Not until today, when your packaged water had run dry.
Until he saw the way you eyed him, envious. Another ten miles of desert road ahead, the sun following you from above and your throat growing drier with each one.
âYou want some?â He asked, letting you watch the bead of water that rolled down his chin. âThen I think you know what you need to do, sweetheart.â
Heâs collecting on your offer, now.
Adjusting himself, under the shadow of a crumbling building. Your thighs parting as you find your balance, fists pressing into uneven ground. The rope tied around fixed firmly under the heel of his boot, leaving you unable to use them in a manner youâd like.Â
The Ghoulâs hat shields his eyes, but he canât hide the curve of his cock against his pants - the interested twitch, when he frees himself.
âDonât get shy on me, now.â He clicks his tongue, fingers wrapped around the base, âThis was your idea, after all.â
Thereâs a warmth pooling in your belly, as you shuffle closer. The part of your lips, the peek of your tongue against the tip.
Itâs much like the rest of him. Pulled-tight pink skin, roughened and wrinkled divots. Velvety and warm, as you take him into your mouth and suck.
He swells, as your lips wrap around him. As he inches deeper, with the shallow bob of your head. Heavy against your tongue, itâs not long at all before heâs fully hard.
You try to take more, struggling with your limited balance, the full size of him. Teeth scraping against skin, when his hand twists in your hair.
Thereâs a ragged groan rattling in his throat - then thereâs the cool press of a muzzle against your cheek, the low growling drawl of his voice.
âBeen a long time since Iâve had mouth as sweet as yours.â
His tone then grows sharp, as the metal digs into your skin, âDonât make me regret it.â
Your heartbeat thuds beneath your ribs. His message clear - fuck around, use your teeth on him, and you wonât live long enough to find out.
You donât test him. His grip lingers, until you go loose. Eyes lifting to meet his, letting him guide you.
The tightness in him unknots as well, when you let him into your throat. A low grunt, risking a glance down to see how well you take him - an unconscious buck of his hips into your waiting mouth.
âNot even two weeks out and youâre already sucking cock,â He grits out, âSo fucking eager to do it, too. You like ghouls sweetheart? Or just me?â
His voice rips into you, sending your nerves alight. He leaks against your tongue as you trace the rough skin, unable to help groaning.
âFuck,â The Ghoul growls, âJust mine. Let me hear you say it.â
His grip loosens, pulling himself from you. Spit clinging from the head of his cock to your lips as you swallow. A hand pinching at your chin, forcing your face to stay tipped up to his as you answer.
âJust yours.â
âGood,â He thumbs at your chin until you open again, tongue waiting against your lip. Filling you slowly this time, until heâs nudging against the back of your throat. Tears prick at your eyes, as you try not to gag around him.
The slow saw of his hips picks up. Itâs difficult without your hands - messy, with the way he uses you. Though thereâs something about it that itches at you, deep inside.
Something that makes the tight Vault Suit feel even more constricting. More than aware of the dampness that pools between your thighs. How the sound of his groans, the tight tug of your hair in his fist makes you clench.
Itâs has your thighs pressing together, as he fucks your mouth. A shift of your wrists so you can press the back of your hand against your center - easing some of the ache.
The pull of the rope beneath his boot has his eyes flicking further downwards. A cruel smile, when he sees.
âGetting off on this, sweetheart?â
You whine, and the smile widens.
âFilthy thing, arenât you?â He drawls, with the shift of his thighs. The other boot knocks against your wrists to move them, before fitting it between your thighs. Nudging against your center, giving you something to grind against.
Itâs not enough, but you both knew it wouldnât be.
It would be too kind, otherwise. And heâs shown that heâs sure as hell not nice.
A tear tracks down your cheek with the steady roll of his hips, your nose brushing hot skin with each thrust.
Your eyes shut - mindless, a soft buzz in your throat as you moan around him. Focused on his breath, how it grows short and panting and ragged.
Until heâs pulling himself from you with a grunt, his fist wrapping around his length.
âUnzip, darlinâ.â He growls, as he works himself, âAs much as Iâd love to fully use that pretty mouth of yours, I ainât about to share my RadAway.â
It takes you a second to catch the zipper on your Vault Suit, dragging it down. From your sternum to your abdomen - revealing the worn, white cotton of your bra, the inches of smooth skin beneath.
A hand frees from his grip in your hair. Touching you again, yanking at your suit and bra until it bares the tight peaks of your nipples.
âGoddamn,â He growls, âJust look at you. Bet youâre nice and messy beneath that suit.â
Fingers cup the weight, before heâs pinching down. Eliciting a soft moan, as his eyes sweep across your face - soft and half-lidded as you watch him.
âShouldâve just fucked you. Wouldâve taken me so well, wouldnât you?â
âYes,â You breathe - imagining it. Bent over one of the broken tables inside. His cock buried in your cunt instead of your mouth.
The moan he makes sounds feral - bitten back between clenched teeth. His other hand sliding to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you in place as his fist tightens.
âLook at me,â The Ghoul commands, and you do. Meeting his gaze with pupils that are blown wide, watching how pretty and ruined you look as he comes.
His groan is long and low as he spills across your cheek. The next against your lips, then chin. The jerk of his fist working himself empty across your breasts, until youâre marked thoroughly with him.
Smeared sticky against your skin, leaving you empty and aching as he admires his work. A whine when The Ghoul tucks himself away, his hat tipped down low again.
âOh,â He mocks, âYou think I forgot?â
For the briefest moment, you think he means to touch you. To ease your need - or offer something to clean yourself with - but instead heâs pulling the canteen from his bag.
âOpen.â He commands, before heâs taking the last remaining pull.
The protest is caught, as his hand grips your cheeks. As your lips part, like he told you to.
His jaw rolls, pooling the water against his tongue. And with the dip of his head - he spits.
This time, you swallow.
Nothing more was said, after. A cut-up scrap of cloth from his pack, tossed at you. He still clings to your skin, beneath the suit.
But as you start traveling again - as a crop of building rise up along the horizon in the north, that you realize -
Youâre pretty certain the path has changed.
ahh I just finished Fallout! What did you all think?? I loved it, and I canât see what they do with Cooperâs arc in s2 (and of course everyoneâs, I loved Lucy as well!) (And would love to know what you thought about this, as well! I have thoughts on a follow-up if thereâs interest!) đ
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pleaseeee whisper sweet nothings in my ear
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đ· Who's up for a creative challenge? đ·
If it's not apparent already, I love flowers and I love the Pedro Boys! So, what could be more fun than combining the Pedro Boys and flowers in a creative challenge? đ·đȘ»đ»
Perhaps Marcus brings you flowers on date night, Dave's scattered sumptuous petals leading you up to bed, you and Ezra get stranded on a planet with alien-esque florals, or you're showering sweet Javi G with his favourite blooms for his birthday... đ·đȘ»đ»
Running during the month of May, I challenge you to write and share a fic - or fics - featuring any of the Pedro Boys and flowers. đȘ»
You can also make mood boards or art if you're not a writer - or don't want to write - but still want to participate! đ·
đ» See below for the full challenge details! đđ»
The challenge deets:
Must feature at least one Pedro Boy - can be any character Pedro has played, no matter how popular. You can feature more than one Pedro Boy too, if you like.
Must contain flowers or plants in some capacity. đ·đȘ»đ» Can be the main feature of your story, or a background aesthetic. Florals, plants, succulents - you name it, you can feature any of them!
Can be as smutty or fluffy as you want! Hot, soft, gentle, fun, quirky - you've got freedom on whether you wanna write smut or not.
No word limit - you write as many words as you see fit.
Any Reader type! You can write in X Reader, original character or just the Pedro Boys engaging with one another. Any gender/race/size or physical ability of Reader is absolutely welcome too! đ This is an inclusive house! đđ»
Mood boards, video edits and original artwork is also welcome - but must feature a Pedro Boy and flowers, and must be your own creation.
No limit to the number of submissions - you can write more than one fic, or submit more than one artwork, but the Pedro Boys must be different for each submission.
Tag me in your work and use the #jettsflora&faunachallenge so I can add it to a Masterlist.
This challenge will run from 1st May - 31st May 2024 and I'll add works as they're posted.
âđ» Don't worry too much if you miss the deadline, life happens, and you'll still be able to submit your fic/art after the deadline. Just let me know. đ·đȘ»đ»
đȘ»đ·đ» And as a flowery bonus...
I will pick one piece of work submitted at complete random, when all the works are posted, and will send that person a bunch of flowers!* đ
I hope you'll participate and have fun & I can't wait to see what you'll come up with! Would really appreciate a signal boost too - thankies đ€
A-Z of Flowers Database Look up your flowers đ·đȘ»đ»
*I can send flowers worldwide. In order to send them, I'll need a name & a delivery address. I appreciate it if you don't feel comfortable sharing that info with a stranger, however please rest assured those details will stay with me and only me. The recipient will be picked at random using a generator. If you have floral allergies, I can send a substitute little floral themed gift instead. đ€
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The way I had 3 âooohâsâ đ going at once - the fact that itâs HIM, that summary, and then the realization it was you!! đ
Oh I love their banter already, how familiar he is with their home, enough that heâs able to sneak in. How comfortable he is, with his hat on the bedpost, scooting himself right in.
The âsleepingâ / âthen sleepâ âdonât bother me, none.â Oh my god, that exchange was so good and so him - how they both know why heâs there, how they let him take what he wants. The fact that heâs a tease feels so right. And the bite! I love how you write him.
You liked when he was mean. Liked how rough he wasâenjoying how he just took and took from you. He filled you in ways that you knew ruined you for anyone else. And yet still you loved it all so very much.Â
God he is so mean but thereâs tenderness you wove in, again with that familiarity of their past meetings, still denying them (your smut was so good!!!) - how they both need each other, I was transfixed reading this!!
And that fleeting kiss! How much there was in it, that honestly and vulnerability. They say they donât know much but itâs clear how much he trusts them. And the annoyance!! And the âSome of us got shit to do in the morning.â had me grinning, such an ass.
Your ending ripped my heart out of my chest!! That angst you wove in - I hate how itâs so something he would do. How much they want more, leaving those marks he left. God this was beautiful, I loved this so much!! đ
Nighttime Affairs (The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Reader)
You and the Ghoul, Cooper Howard, have a complicated relationship with each other. One which involves him paying you some nightly visits when he passes on by that little home of yours out in the lonesome wasteland.
Warnings: 18+, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, bit of orgasm denial, bit of dirty talking, creampie, biting (its cooper i dunno what you expect, he's going to bite you), oral - reader receiving, complicated relationship, bit of yearning/pinning, fluff, cuddling, kissing, splash of angst, not beta read
Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x gn!afab!Reader (reader's gender is never mentioned but they do have a vagina)
Wordcount: 4256
a/n: made the smut a bit angsty at the end there by mistake. whoopsie daisies. Anyway, like it says above readers gender is never mentioned. But they do have a vagina (because I have a vagina, and I want to fuck the ghoul). Nothing about reader's chest is ever mentioned either. Also I usually write fluff/non smut fics, and only tend to post that. I have written smut before, but this is just my first time actually sharing some of it. So like ;-; Okie dokie? okie dokie.
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics (much love j â€ïž)
Nights in the wasteland were always a deadly affair. All sort of creatures made themselves knownâboth human and non-human alikeânever having the friendliest of tendencies. It was why you always made sure that your windows remained boarded up. Double checking the door of your home to be firmly locked, before finally making your way to bed.
You always kept a gun hidden beneath your pillow as you slept. Easy to grab in case of a break in. Acting like a sort of safety blanket. Hoping that such a comfort would help you sleep soundly, though most nights you still found it difficult. Restlessness haunted you. Plagued your mind. Never truly able to rest easilyânot with danger lurking around ever dark corner.Â
 Sometimes that unease proved helpful. Such as tonight, while on the brink of sweet slumber, there had been a shift in the room. The sound of worn floorboards creaking jolting you awake. It wouldnât be the first time some wanderer had tried to get the jump on you in the middle of the night.Â
Hand quick to grab your gun, you point it at the new body in the room. Adrenaline pumping in your veins. Heart on edge. Ready to fire at a moment's notice.Â
âEasy there sweetheart.âÂ
Your tired eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Trying to clear away your sleep clouded vision enough to properly comprehend the familiar figure currently standing in the center of your tiny room.Â
âCooper?âÂ
The Ghoul grinned at you in the darkness. Hazel eyes almost seeming to shine from the moonlight that managed to filter in. His head had tilted to motion to the gun in your hand. An amused hum leaving him. âBit of a rude way to greet your guests.âÂ
âWouldnât call you much of a guest.â You lowered the gun and rubbed at your face with a sigh. âMore of a nuisance if anything.âÂ
âAw, your words wound me darlinâ.â His words drawn out and mocking, as he feigned being hurt, before he had turned from you to continue removing his gear. Setting it all wherever he liked in your room. Acting almost as if he owned the place. Not a care in the world that he was currently invading your home uninvited. Again.Â
You could only seem to roll your eyes as you watched him. âWhat are you doing here so late?âÂ
âOh just passinâ through.â The Ghoul said with a casual hum. Pulling out his own gun, its barrel glinting just as his gaze had earlier, before he set it on your nightstand. The tossing of his hat onto your bedpost quickly following. âNeeded a place to stay.âÂ
It hadnât been a question. He wasnât asking. Never really did when he chose to invite himself into your home. It used to scare you way back when you first met the Ghoul. You never knew if the next time he came would be the one where you met with a bullet.Â
But you learned quickly that Cooper only ever did what he felt he needed to. Wouldnât take the life of someone he found to be useful. He didnât kill pointlessly like that. Everything had a reason with him. Even if you couldnât quite see it at first.Â
âWell why donât just make yourself at home then.â You grumbled. Annoyed. A bit more bite to your words then usual. Though it hadnât seemed to phase him in the slightest.Â
âAlready on it sweetheart.âÂ
You glared at him, but he continued to barely pay any mind to it. As you went to put your own gun back beneath the pillow, you had laid down again. Rolling to face the wall, and letting out a tired breath, as you tried to settle. Let the exhaustion claw at your mind and allow your eyes to flutter close. Trying to ignore him just as he did to you. âJust donât make a mess.âÂ
The Ghoul hadnât replied. Which had been a surprise. He always seemed to have something to say. But there was none of that. Instead there was only the sound of more shuffling in the room before the bed finally shifted with his added weight. Pulling you back from the brink of sleep just enough, as he joined you among the tattered sheets.
 Your bed was cramped. Meant for only a single soul, and yet that never seemed to bother him as he fit himself in how he liked. It didnât take very long for you to feel the press of his cool body against yours. An arm finding itself around your waist, as lips sought out your neck and trailed over your skin.Â
âSleeping.â You said. Quiet. But still you shifted. Legs parting ever so slightly. An invitation you knew he wouldnât refuse.Â
You allowed him to take what he wantedâhis true reason for being hereâand he did so greedily. Without any ounce of hesitation, bare fingers smoothing down and slipping past the waistband of your pants into their front. Immediately finding the prize he wanted. Your breath hitching as they ghosted over your clit. Teasing.Â
âThen sleep.â Lips caressed your ear. His breath hot on your skin. Rough hands had molded you into his liking. Feeling yourself growing wet beneath his fingers all too quickly, as two of them slipped into your heat at first chance. âDonât bother me, none.âÂ
Desire bloomed inside you. Arousal coiling tight. He left marks where he could. Harsh kisses that had teeth grazing your skin. Fingers moving inside of you to pull any sound from your lips that he could. Touching you in ways that had you burning, as if you would be engulfed in flames at any second. Toying with your body and purposely bringing you so close to the edge without ever actually bothering to send you over.Â
âStop teasing.â You had shifted again. Trying to provide more space for his devilish hands. Moving yourself against him to seek the feeling you so desiredâthat last bit of pleasure that he denied you so easily, and would continue to do so.Â
âI thought you were sleeping.â His words had a teasing tone to their depths, as he nipped at your skin. Pressing himself closer. Grinding. His own arousal hard against your hip. Just as worked up as you were it seemed. But somehow still not nearly as desperate.Â
âWas trying to.â You sighed out a moan. Leaning impossibly close into him. Hand gripping at his wrist tight as he worked you. Letting his touch consume your very being. âHard to sleep with someone messing around in my pants.âÂ
The Ghoul chuckled. âWell letâs fix that then.âÂ
And suddenly his hands were slipping away.Â
You felt your eyes open at the loss of him. Hadnât even realized they were still closed until that moment. You had gone to protest. Reaching out in the darkness to try and stop him from leaving. But he hadnât gone far. He had moved you to lay fully onto your back before you could really react. Your pants and underwear removed by him in an instant. Lost to the dark depth of your room's floor. Not to be seen again until morning light.Â
The Ghoul loomed over you. Eyes amused, and hands gripping your thighs. He spreads your legs out for himself wide. Exposing your arosural bare before his gaze into the open room. Fitting himself comfortably in between. Almost like there was nowhere else he belonged in the world. Ready to devour you whole.Â
And what was worse is that youâd gladly let him do so too.Â
âFucking filthy thing you are.â He had whistled as he looked down at the debauched display he had made of you already. Fingers moving below to run along your dripping lips. Sending another shiver of pleasure up your spine. âYouâre soaking and yet Iâve barely done a thing.âÂ
You couldnât help but squirm a bit beneath him. He hadnât bothered to remove any of his own clothes, save for the jacket and gloves he must have tossed somewhere in your room. He never really did remove his clothes when fucked you. Couldnât remember anytime you had even seen him without a shirt.Â
At first you thought he had been shy over his predicament. He wouldnât have been the first ghoul you met to have struggled with the change after all. But that had been a foolish thought, because Cooper Howard wasnât ever shy. It was just another thing he couldnât be bothered with.Â
It wasnât worth it to him to remove, simply put. Probably even still had his boots on at the moment. Trucking sand and only god knows what into your bed. Youâd usually lecture him for it. But like with many things tonight, he wouldnât give you the chance.Â
Before you knew it he had leaned down to put his mouth on you. Sucking at your clit. Lips and tongue working you in all the right places. Fingers gripping your thighs to keep you open for him. Devouring you whole, almost like he had been starved for days.Â
It didnât take much of this for you to be brought to that edge. It had been so long since you last saw himâlast had himâand his skillful tongue had your orgasm approaching rapidly. Your one hand fisting the sheets below while the other reached for his scarred head. Pulling him in impossibly close. Trying to keep him there. But true to his nature just as you felt those sparks begin to fly he stopped. Lips leaving you and letting your pleasure fall. Hot breath only fanning over your soaked folds.Â
He did this often. Riled you up to the point of breaking. Allowing your pleasure to grow high before sending it crashing down again suddenly. Denying that bliss you always found yourself so desperate for when with him.Â
Most nights you were brought to tears by it. Begging him to let you have that sweet release. Frustration with his teasing at its peak. Tonight you did not beg or plead though, not yet at least, instead you sat up to lean onto your elbows. Insult for him at the tip of your tongue, ready to lecture him for all he was worth, but any complaint you had quickly died in your throat.
 The Ghoul had bit your thigh. Hard. Whether to silence you, or just because he wanted to, you didnât know. You just gasped. Trying to pull away, though his hands remained firm. Fingers digging into your skin almost too harshly and holding you in place. Only finally pulling back just enough to swipe his tongue over the mark he left.Â
You had winced from the pain, the mark aching, but despite it your arousal only seemed to course through you still. Stronger even. âThat was just mean.â
âYou like when Iâm mean.â He smirked as he sat up again to overlook you. Your blood still staining his lips. âBesides, youâre supposed to be sleeping. Remember?âÂ
âYeah and whoâs fault is it that Iâm not?âÂ
âNo idea what you mean sweetheart.â The Ghoul had let go of your legs then. Leaning back onto his knees to free himself. Belt unbuckling to pull out his aching cock. Squeezing himself briefly before guiding it to your drenched hole. Teasing at your folds. âJust here enjoying what was given to me after all.âÂ
It was quick the way he entered. No ceremony or grace. No time to say another single word between you two. Barely gave time for you to gasp again. Sending a shock through your system. He didnât wait. Thrusts downright filthy as he took you all for himself. Both of your moans and heated breaths filling the room. The air suddenly feeling suffocating and hot.Â
Your hands had gripped at his forearms, hoping to ground yourself and failing miserably, all while his own fingers dug into your hips. You tried to meet his own cruel thrusts, but the rhythm he had set was unrelenting. Pleasure all too consuming. He was right. You liked when he was mean. Liked how rough he wasâenjoying how he just took and took from you. He filled you in ways that you knew ruined you for anyone else. And yet still you loved it all so very much.Â
You were getting close again. Could feel your peak just at the horizon. Waiting to burst. You moved your hand. Fingers desperate to finally bring yourself that last bit of pleasure to send you over the edge that youâve desired all night. The one heâs been denying you all evening. But of course he notices immediately. Knocking your hand away before you get any chance.Â
âNot yet.âÂ
You all but whine at his words. Almost pathetically so. Tears finally prickling at the corner of your eyes from being denied by him once again. âCooper.âÂ
âYou know the rules.â He thrusts a little more roughly as if to punish you. A warning. âYou take what I give you.âÂ
âPlease.âÂ
âLook at you, the mess you are.â He groans out at your begging. Eyes burning hot with desire. Thrusts still unwavering. âYouâd let me do whatever I want to you if it meant I fucked you, wouldnât you?âÂ
He had chuckled as you could only seem to nod. Clinging to him. Any kind of words from your lips caught between gasps and moans. You were so overwhelmed. The air was too hot. Everything felt too much but too little at the same time. And it was all because of him. The Ghoul who seemed all too good at taking you apart piece by piece. The mess you were was his fault, and he knew itâreveled in it.
 You could never seem to get enough of him, and he knew it too. He could give you everything or nothing, and youâd still thank him for each little bit of it. He was the same. Even if he would never admit it. He always needed more of you. Both of you were addicted to the other. Needed to feel him just like he needed to feel you. Like a chem neither of you could shake. Didnât want to shake.Â
Cooperâs thrusts had begun to grow sloppy now. His breathing more ragged. Hands squeezing your hips so tightly you were sure to bruise by morning. Your head was swimming. Drowning in the pleasure and losing it in the feeling of him. Mind too far gone to think of anything else. A mere mess of moans and gasps, as tears streamed down your cheeks. So close to unraveling at the seams for him. All just for him.Â
When he reached his end he didnât give you any kind of warning save for a low moaned fuck. Making sure to thrust into you deeply. As far as he could go. His cum filling you to the brim as he did. It was only then when his fingers found your clit again. Rubbing the nub in harsh brutal circles that finally sent you crashing over as well. Ripping your orgasm from your body like he was owed nothing less.Â
âThere you are, take all of me.â He groaned out as you squeezed and clenched around him. Breathless. Eyes watching how you came undone. Making sure to take in every bit of you that he could as you lost it beneath him. âCome for me darlinâ.âÂ
Your nerves felt on edge as the pleasure wrecked through your system. Body shaking while you could only seem to cling to him tighter. Hands fisted into his shirt and your legs squeezing around his hips, trapping his form to yours all while riding out your orgasm.Â
It wouldnât be until the high began to dwindle where your mind would begin to clear again. A gentle throb at your core. Your body relaxed in his arms, limbs growing heavy, and breath beginning to return. The night's air starting to feel cool against your heated skin.Â
He hadnât pulled out yet. Just stayed inside with the mess he made, as you both came down from your pleasure. Your oversensitive walls still clinging to his softening cock despite how completely wrecked you felt. Eventually you had almost felt sticky laying thereâcovered in your own sweat and grim. You tried to move away. Trying to free yourself from his grasp, but the hand he still had on your hip stopped you. Squeezing gently.Â
âCooper-â You had begun to question him, eyes fluttering open and looking to Ghoul who still hovered above, but found yourself unable to finish when you finally met his gaze. Breath and words caught in your throat all over again.Â
Intense. Soft. There was a strange feeling that swarmed there in his eyes. Something you werenât quite used to seeing from him. Something you just couldnât place. It surprised you when he leaned in. Made your heart flutterâstomach flipâas his lips found yours.Â
The Ghoul rarely kissed you, and when he did it was rough. All teeth and bite, just like everything else about him, but this kiss wasnât anything like that. There was an odd softness to it. So gentle, and unlike anything you had ever shared with him before, but it was good all the same. Left your heart feeling like it was going to fall out of your chest right then and there. Â
 It had all been fleeting though. That fluttering feeling. That sweet kiss. Lips pressed to yours only for a moment before they were gone again. Like it had never happened in the first place. Just another piece of memories from him to add to your imagination. Never to be addressed.Â
There wasnât a word spoken between you as he finally pulled out from your sensitive walls. The touch of his bodyâhis handsâleaving you, as he moved to settle at your side again. He didnât look your way, but you couldnât help lull your head over to gaze at him. Still stuck in that dreamlike feeling. Watching. Quiet as he leaned over the bedside to rummage around in his bag. Pulling out the vials you had seen him take so many times by now.Â
You still hadnât a clue to what they were really. Knew it kept him from going feral, but beyond that you knew nothing. Which is how he liked things typically. He never told you too much. Thatâs just what it was always like between you two. You hadnât even known his name till quite recently.Â
It was during one of the last few times he had visited, if you recalled. Between moans and bated breaths. Pleasure so close to reaching its peak when he first told it. Cooper. You still remember how desperate he sounded. Caught off guard by the unfamiliar tone from the Ghoul you were beginning to know so well. Nameâs Cooper darlinâ. And youâd never forget the way he practically crumbled to pieces as you said the name back. Soul exposed to you in ways you never thought possible with him.Â
Honestly, you didnât even think he had a soul until that moment.Â
The Ghoul hadnât been back for months after that night. For reasons you could only guess at. There was a point where you didnât think heâd ever be back to seek you out again. But of course he was always full of surprises. Almost half a year passed until you saw him again at your doorstep. Acting as if nothing had happened since last, like he hadnât been gone far longer then he ever had before. Familiar bite and taunting words greeting you fondly. All back to his normal selfâor what was normal of him to you at least.Â
âCooper?âÂ
He inhales the chem. Doesnât pay you any mind in the slightest. Which is fine. Doesnïżœïżœt stop yourself from shifting closer to him. Allowing for one of your hands to trail up his chest. You feel him pausing briefly at your touch, and your eyes meet his as he glances your way. Heâs unreadable as he gazes at you, hazel eyes holding yours for a mere second, before theyâre focusing back to his life saving vials.Â
He doesnât go to stop you though, so you take the chance to tuck yourself into his side. Head resting on his chest. Your eyes feeling heavy once more as you do. But still you donât sleep yet. Not when you know how little time you have left with the Ghoul. So instead your fingers draw shapes over him, and play with the button of his shirt he still never bothered to remove.Â
âThought I told you to fuckinâ sleep.â His voice brings you away from your thoughts, as he finishes up with his chem. Sounding almost annoyed, probably was, heâs not one for showing much bouts of affection after all. Doesnât even really like when youâre clingy either. But somehow that still doesnât stop his free arm winding itself around your waist. Holding you close. Â
âCooperâŠâÂ
âSleep.â The Ghoulâs voice had been quiet but firm. He had pulled his hat from the bedpost to wear again, tugging it to rest over his closing eyes. âSome of us got shit to do in the morning.âÂ
You didnât bother to point out how he had been the one disturbing you up till this moment. There was no point in arguing with him though. He wouldnât listenâa stubborn bastard through and through.Â
Not that you could find a good reason to do so anyway. Especially not with how your eyes kept trying to flutter shut, or how comforting it felt laying there in his arms. Listening to his breathing. His very subtle heartbeat somehow loud to your ears.Â
When sleep finally took you it would be peaceful for once. Something about knowing the Ghoul was there made you feel calm. Even though you knew that it should have been the opposite. He was deadly. Could kill you in a second. But somehow that hadnât bothered you in the slightest. Not anymore, at least. Instead it made you feel at ease.
 Safe.
The sun would be barely rising as you woke to the early light. Gentle rays illuminating your small room in a warm orange glow. You had stretched, yawning, before naturally going to feel for the Ghoul that had invaded your home last night. His spot had been empty, of course, long grown cold now that he didnât occupy its space.Â
He never stayed for long. Any night he spent with you he was always gone before you ever had the chance of waking. Itâs just how he was. How things were meant to be between you two. You had understood since the very beginning, all those years ago when first taking him into your bed.Â
And yet still your fingers ran over the spot. An ache settling in your heart. You knew there was no reason to be sentimental. There was no reason to miss something that wasnât truly yours. But there was a part of you that did. A piece of you that wanted more than thisâwanted what you couldnât truly have for yourself.Â
The Ghoul, Cooper Howrad. You wanted him. More than just for sex. His heart, his soul. You wanted it all. Every piece of him. Craved it even. More than you ever desired something in your entire life. That thought of being his, and him being yours rattling around in that silly little heart of yours.Â
Heâd never allow it.Â
Sighing, you pulled your hand away from his spot and sat up. Wincing. You had almost forgotten about it. The bite mark he left on your thigh still painful. Carefully you looked it over. He hadnât taken a chunk out of you. Thankfully. Just left you looking like some sort of chew toy like he usually did.Â
It wasnât worth a stimpak. Not like youâd ever consider using one anyway for such a minor injury. It would be a waste otherwise, and being wasteful out here meant death even on a good day.Â
Sometimes you wondered if that was why he marked you up so much. As if he knew you wouldnât bother to heal them so quickly. You wondered if he enjoyed knowing that your body carried signs of him for days. Bites and bruises like some sort of possessive claim. Every mark from him a reminder of just who exactly had left them there in the first place.Â
You doubted it all the same though, he probably just thought it was fun to bite and mark you up. Probably did it to everyone he spent the night with. You were sure there were others. Even if heâs never said so, you werenât dumb enough to think otherwise, as sad as it made you to think about sometimes.Â
Leaving bed, your morning would end up being the same as any other. Youâd get yourself ready, tidy up the room, and eat what little food you had. After youâd work the day away. Maybe even head into town for a little bit before heading back home. The simple mundane routine so natural to you now that it went about like clockwork. Doing what you needed to survive before the sun would fall again. The moon taking its place easily in a sky painted by shining stars.Â
And as youâd lay in bed once more. Youâd look out to the wasteland through those cracks in the boarded window. Wondering if heâd show, eyes searching for any kind of sign of him. Waitingâhopingâfor the Ghoul to arrive again.Â
But of course, he wouldnât.
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A cowboy ghoul...what more could I ask for?
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â common ground [into the fire, part iii]
part i | part ii | masterlist
cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader
rated e - 4k
tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, sex for favors, 1 spank, sub/dom elements, light degradation, use of chems, shotgunning chems, riding, PiV, canon-typical violence and death
a/n: the scene where he complained about doing all the work had me like đ (reimagining), so here we go! đ
âSâthat right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?â
His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, âWell, Iâd sure like to sweetheart⊠but it seems to me like Iâve been doing an awful lot of work around here.â
âFindinâ this place. Cleaninâ it out. Gettinâ you clothes.â A sigh, before his voice drops, âMakinâ you come.â
âThink you oughta return the favor, donât you?â
"Fuck!â
You crouch outside as another loud shotgun blast fires - the wooden door next to you peppering with bullets.
This wasn't what you had in mind.
You had thought you'd find a chem station in the next town. A pharmacy, an old hospital. Something somewhat respectable - not standing watch as the Ghoul blew his way through a long-abandoned two-story home.
The layered yelling dies off with each pull of his trigger, until everything going silent.
He finds you there a moment later, still curled in on yourself. A roll of his eyes when he sees you - still unused to the violence.
"It's clear." The Ghoul beckons, "Let's find that station."
You follow him inside, your gaze boring a hole into his back. Trying hard not to look down, nose wrinkling when you almost trip over a set of legs that sprawl across the floor.
A hand pinches at your elbow, keeping you upright.
"What?" He asks, at your expression.
"Did you have to..." You start, as he checks down the hallway.
It's empty - the doors leading to two bedrooms. The bed frames bare and rusted, the rooms already picked through.
A shrug, "They shot first."
"You goaded them."
You could hear him, even from outside. That knowing tone - some kind of warning. A rough laugh, and then the firefight had started.
"We're looking for a chem station, sweetheart." He scoffs, head cocking as he backs you up against the door he just closed, "Think they're gonna share with you like youâre on a goddamn play date?"
"They-" You blink up at him, "They might have."
He clicks his tongue, giving you a long look,"You still got a lot to learn, Vaultie."
A second, before he steps away.
"These weren't those kind of people."
You find it in the basement. A man slumped just outside the cracked-open door, the weathered lab coat stained and splattered red on the left-hand side.
Anything salvageable from above must have been brought down here. Three threadbare mattresses behind a makeshift wall. A long couch that faces a television that still runs, the picture blurry with static.
The station sits along the back wall. A beaker still bubbles over the burner, the smell acrid. Bottles litter the surface - something being made in a batch.
Your mind is already racing ahead, eyes scanning for things you'll need. Too-large gloves shoved on, disposing of the burnt mixture while you search for an empty glass.
Missing how he angles the couch to watch, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table. That ever-steady wariness waning with your focus, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sinks into the cushion.
You're too busy to notice. Sorting the different ingredients, littered across the counter.
There's an excess of toxic soot flowers, their petals papery between your fingers. Opened packages of Med-X, a spilled pile of Buffout. A jar of acid. Â
Psycho. Cut with something else, something stronger. You think the Ghoul was right - maybe you had been foolish to underestimate them.
You try to shake the thought away, as you gather what you need. Antiseptic, from your own bag. Three jars of glowing fungus, found beneath the sagging counter. Ground up and tipped into a dusty beaker, the heat turned down low.
"Can you get me some water?" You call from over your shoulder, a jar held in your hand.
There's no answer. Silence, until something hard presses into your back, pinning you against the table.
It feels familiar, the way his hips nudge against yours, and it sends your mind back. An urge to arch - bend low. Mimicking the days before, where you can still feel the twinge of him with the stretch of your thighs.
"You think you're callin' the shots now, sweetheart?" His voice is low, the brim of his hat brushing your head as he leans over your shoulder.
"No," You squeak - caught off-guard, "I just-, I can't leave this until it thickens."
"Mm.â His hum is low. âToo bad. Would've liked to see you try.â
Heat blooms in your cheeks at his words, that rough drawl, even after the last couple days. A thin layer of suggestion in his tone, as he shifts closer - his chest bumping into your back.
Your mind flickering through possibilities, before his voice cuts through.
âSaid you need water?â
"Yes. Please," The nod you give is small - you have to start your stirring over, losing your rhythm, "I saw a few cartons in the kitchen. If you don't mind."
"Polite little thing, when you're distracted," He husks, "I'll have to remember that."
The Ghoul makes no effort to move, though. Fingers wrapping around the glass. His other hand gripping the edge of the table, boxing you in. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart thuds in your chest, eyes fixed firmly on your work.
âWhereâd you learn to do this?â
It takes you a second to answer - heâd had never offered many questions. Responses that were no more than a couple of words, over the stretch of long hours on the road.
âUh, my Vault. We were short on hands, my mother was a chemist.â Your words are slow - a still-painful topic, âUsed to make all kinds of stuff. Medicine and⊠and chems, alike.â
People who left were always brought back. Dazed and half-sick from the world above, whatever they had seen. Left at your doorstep to be patched up, if they made it that long.
You always told yourself that wouldnât be you.
That when you were gone, youâd stay that way.
âHm.â His tone flattens, âWouldnât have guessed. Donât seem the type.â
âYeah?â You head turns, catching his shadowed ones. Leaning into the welcome diversion, âWhat type do I seem like, then?â
The Ghoulâs eyes narrow, an unconscious flick down to your mouth.
âTrouble.â He husks, with a shallow roll of his hips. You canât help the short inhale that heâs certain to hear, the way your fingers tighten around your instruments.
âThough Iâm still workinâ out what kind.â
Itâs there that he leaves you. Flustered and silently revisiting evenings before, a familiar anticipation curling low inside you.
The steps creak behind you as he slips upstairs. Returning some time later with what you need - twirling a dented pot found in the kitchen, so you can purify it. Folding himself onto the couch when you tell him it will be a while.
A cut glass decanter salvaged as well, that he drinks directly from. A rough gasp as the bitter alcohol floods through him. Helping himself to the chems that litter the tabletop - before his feet kick up, the hat tipped low over his face.
You think he does rest - a rarity.
You examine him then - as you wait for the water to boil, and then cool, before you can use it to mix with the other components.
Taking the rare chance to do it freely.
In the Wasteland youâve learned to stay cautious. That you canât fall behind. That surely he would notice, if your gaze lingered on him for too long.
But here, time seems to slow for a moment. Nothing to do but wait, as your fingers drift to your neck. Pressing into the bruise, as if you could feel the indents of his teeth.
His presence feels the same.
A mark left on you. Something you canât help but want to touch, even if it aches. A reminder that lingers, and thereâs a part of you that wishes it would stay.
It has you wondering, as your eyes sweep across him. Over the long-faded clothes, hiding rough and reddened skin - every inch of him wrapped away.
If you got close enough-
Would you find that he bore a mark of his own?
You make enough for a little over two weeks. Carefully poured and sealed into a variety of small bottles and tubes youâve scavenged, scraping out every last bit that you can.
In the less-than-stellar conditions, it didnât turn out so bad. The vials you had seen him buy was a thin, piss-yellow that had made you cringe. Poor work to begin with, and that was even before it was cut with more water.
What you offer out to him is thick - a sheen clinging to the glass as it sloshes, when it passes from your hand to his.
Liquid gold, in comparison.
âMm.â The Ghoul hums - eyes greedy, as he examines, holding it up to the bit of light.
Before theyâre focusing on you. Flickering from head to toe - considering - before his legs spread a bit wider. A hand clapping down against a thigh.
The look you give him is blank. A squeak when his fingers hook around one of your belt loops and pulls - hauling you onto his lap.
âYou think Iâm just gonna take somethinâ you cooked up?â His brow lifts, hands pinching against your hips, âNot a chance, sweetie. I think we oughta try this together.â
The Ghoulâs fingers slip up then, rucking up the hem of your shirt. His tone turning knowing.
âAnd I donât think youâve got enough in you.â
Your cheeks burn at his insinuation. More than aware, your breath catching as the rough tips of his leather gloves drag across your skin.
âBet Iâve been leakinâ out of you since last time.â The Ghoul rasps, âWouldnât want to waste this, would we?â
Heâs solid beneath you. Your thighs splitting on either side of his waist, knees digging into old cushions. Close enough to kiss - if you werenât so certain heâd bite.
Lost though, on how to proceed. You donât know the rules to his game. Always keeping you at arms-length - wrists bound, caught in his grip.
Would he let you touch him?
He mistakes your hesitance, his brow pinching.
âSpent enough time starinâ. Lookinâ like you wanted to take a ride.â Acid slips into his tone, teeth bared, âChange your mind, now youâve got a front row seat?â
That knocks you out of your thoughts - embarrassed that you were caught staring at him. Annoyed by his assumption. A scoff, as your hips start to move, a slow roll. Hands coming up to rest against his shoulders, meeting his eyes.
Theyâre pretty, like the rest of him. Shades of light brown - looking like theyâre caught the sun, even underground. Thick lashes, above the deep hollow of sunken eye sockets, the split cavern of his missing nose.
Something that had startled you, the first time you saw him. Now, you hardly even notice. And his mouth -
âIâm not scared of you.â You murmur, watching the way his lip curls in a sneer. A soft sound bitten back as you grind down, feeling how heâs stiff beneath you.
You wonder how long heâs been this way. Hard, from watching you work. Waiting.
Another exchange, though you wish you could tell him it doesnât have to be that way. You had meant what you said, when you had made your offer - even if you mean it a little differently, now.
Maybe you still could.
âYou should be,â The Ghoul growls - hands ghosting over your sides, up to the thin cotton, âIf you had any goddamn sense. Letting me touch you like this-â
A hand is cupping your breast now. A hard swipe of his thumb against your stiff peak, your fingers biting down into his jacket.
Your hips jerk against his. A soft moan, when the seam of your pants catches against your clit - leaving you clenching around nothing.
âI want you to.â You confess - catching the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, âTold you, whatever you want.â
The Ghoul makes a rough sound in his throat, watching as you tug the cups down to fit beneath your breasts, putting yourself on display for him.
âHavenât learned, have you?â He warns, his voice low, âDonât make an offer you canât follow through on.â
The pinch of his fingers sends an ache down to settle between your thighs, the hint of pain pairing with your pleasure.
Your own hand wandering, wanting to see more. Sliding against a leather vest, the stained shirt beneath that was once as blue as your suit. Frayed, looping embroidery on the faded collar.
Feeling the warmth of his skin as you tug at the snap at his throat. An inch, and then another, before heâs catching your hand.
Dragging it up to his shoulders, fixing you with a look, âYou best keep those right here.â
âYou donât want me to touch you?â You ask, eyes flicking down to the peek of skin at his throat.
âI want these off.â He tells you instead, snapping the waistband of your pants against skin.
You have to leave him to do it. Watching the way his arms stretch across the back of the sofa, as you kick the pants off, then your underwear beneath.
Bare again, as you settle. Fitting yourself against the curve of his cock. Leather and metal kissing your skin as you move against him, until his lips are parted with a ragged breath.
You can feel your muscles clench. The slick slide of your pussy against his bulge, barely nudging at that deep-seated ache to be filled.
âMakinâ a mess, sweetheart.â He husks, his hips lifting to meet yours. Gloved hands moving to curl around your waist - pulling you down to meet him, coaxing a lazy rhythm from you.
âRubbinâ up against me like a bitch in heat. Should make you clean that up.â
It coaxes a whine from you, as you let him move you. The sound does something to you - the layered approval in his tone, the low rasp of his voice. Not so unaffected as he seems, with how hard he is beneath you.
He must see it in your expression, a hand leaving the couch to grasp at your chin.
âYou need it that bad, sweetheart?â
Making you meet his gaze, as you answer. All dark eyes and the flash of teeth, under the brim of his hat.
âYes.â You keen, âI need you, please-â
âSâthat right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?â
His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, âWell, Iâd sure like to sweetheart⊠but it seems to me like Iâve been doing an awful lot of work around here.â
The hand leaves your chin to drop down. Slowly loosening a belt buckle, letting it pool on the cushions. Your cheeks heating when you see the slick shine to the front of his pants, where youâve rutted yourself against him.
âFindinâ this place. Cleaninâ it out,â His eyes are on yours - your breath short as he tugs the zipper down. âGettinâ you clothes.â
A sigh, before his voice drops, âMakinâ you come.â
You moan at that, a soft sound caught behind your teeth - fingers pinching into his shoulders.
Waiting for him to draw his cock out - fist wrapped around the base. Flushed and thick in his palm, inches away from where you need him.
The Ghoul does grin then, a wicked thing that shows his teeth.
âThink you oughta return the favor, donât you?â
Heâs giving you an inch - seeing if youâll try to take a mile. A firm handle, still wrapped around a fist, but loosening the reins.
Letting himself watch.
âSeems fair.â You manage, breathless.
âThen go on,â He husks, âShow me how you can take it.â
Your hand reaches down, but then heâs clicking his tongue - fingers fixing back on his shoulders.
Leaving you to lift your hips. His cock slipping against your slick core, your teeth biting into your lip as you line yourself up - the rough head catching at your entrance.
Itâs different this time. Sinking down on him, feeling each inch as it splits you open - instead of suddenly filling you to the hilt.
âFuck,â You sigh, with the stretch. It twinges deep inside you, where his hips fit against yours.
Lifting yourself only to sink back down, his arms flexing beneath his coat as he lets you ride him, your pace slowly picking up until youâre bouncing on his cock.
As much as you enjoyed last time, there was something about this. Fully able to watch the way his lips part, hear the rattling groan when you tighten around him.
See the way his eyes skate across the bruise on your neck, only to drop down to watch the sway of your tits as your fingers lace behind his neck.
âGoddamn, sweetheart.â His hand flattens against the small of your back. The other gripping your hip, tugging you towards him, âYou sure know how to ride.â
Not giving you time to answer, before his head is dipping. The brim of his hat knocking back when it hits your chin - the tips of your fingers just catching it. Slipping it on your own head for safekeeping before he can protest.
It earns you a sharp nip against the curve of your breast, before his lips close around the tight peak of a nipple and sucks.
You cry out, chasing the pressure that builds in your belly. Growing even more wet with the slick swirl of his tongue and the scrape of teeth - his cock grinding against a spongy spot inside you as you arch into his mouth.
âPlease,â You whine, fingers flexing and then curling. Needing more friction against your clit, where your heartbeat has dropped and settled.
Trying so hard to listen, a whine between your gritted teeth. Your tits glossy with spit when he leans back, giving you a knowing look.
âYou wanna come?â He husks - his eyes dropping, as you nod, âOnly if you lean back and show me, sweetheart.â
Relief sings in you, as you adjust. Thighs spreading, as you grip onto his shoulder. Leaning back until he can watch the way he spears into you. How he shines, all slicked up, with each roll of your hips.
Your other hand loses its grip in his coat to slip down, press where your bodies meet.
Fingertips circle, a low moan at the much-needed touch. Your rhythm grows sloppy until his hands hook beneath your thighs. Guiding you into a harsh rhythm, each pound of his cock winding you higher and higher as the couch creaks beneath you.
âCome on, cowpoke.â He rasps, his hand cracking down against your ass, âIs that the best you can do?â
It builds - your fingers pressing harder against the slick bud. Whimpered noises that are more sound than words, as his thighs spread, feet planting so he can drive up into you.
âI said come on.â He growls, âWanna feel you come on my cock again.â
Like before, it feels like the control slips through your fingers. Your own touch brings you close to that edge, but itâs the pounding of his cock that makes you fall.
Your back arching, crying out as your core clenches. Pleasure bursting deep inside you, racing up your spine and down to the tips of your fingers and pointed toes.
The quick thrust slowa into a lazy grind. A low âatta girlâ that he grits out, as he feels the way you come hard around him.
Eyes dropping from your face to watch the greedy press of your fingers as you draw it out - until his own hand is wrapping around your wrist.
Tugging your hand away as the pleasure still courses inside you, hips still chasing the last ripples as you ride his cock.
Bringing your fingers to his mouth. Fitting them against teeth and tongue as his lips close around, tasting the slick that clings to them.
It makes goosebumps raise on your skin. The briefest thrill of fear. Certain that if you pulled your fingers free right now, the flesh and muscle would peel from you - leaving only bones behind.
He groans loudly around them, teeth indenting your skin. Tongue swirling against your knuckles, his hips rocking up to meet yours.
Freeing you, only to grasp at your hips - urging you to move faster. A loud slap of skin until his jaw is clenching - and heâs bringing you down once more against him with a rough sound.
Coming inside you again, but this time you get to see the way his head tips back with his snarl. How his fingers bite into your skin as you feel him throb - throat bared as he spills deep inside you with each rough jerk of his hips.
A flare of something flicking to life in your belly, knowing you did this to him. The groan he made when he tasted you echoing in your mind, giving you something to keep.
You make to move when he goes still, but a hand grips at your hip - holding you in place. Keeping you full of him, as the afterglow still glitters in your veins.
His eyes are dark, fixed on you. Taking in your half-lidded gaze - sweat-dewed and bare skinned against him.
A hand digs around in his bag. Pulling out the inhaler for his serum. Snapping it together without his gaze leaving you.
Bringing it to his mouth after - sucking in a deep, held breath. Those eyes closing with a low, contented groan.
A broad hand slips from your hip to splay across the back of your neck, fingers digging into your throat. Pulling you down to him - just as his head tilts to press his lips against yours.
Just as you soften, he exhales - the RadAway flooding through your parted lips. A stinging, metallic taste of iodine that makes you shudder, before you realize heâs deepening the kiss.
You lean into it without thought. The ache in your gums fading with the brush of his tongue. His grip anchoring you in place as he takes, licking into your mouth while his cock still fills you.
Leaving you breathless. Letting him, as your own arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close. Meeting the messy scrape of teeth and swirl of tongue. The sharp taste fading, layered with the whisky and a hint of you that still lingers.
Before heâs pulling back far too soon, eyes dark as he pants.
âFuck.â He rasps - his tongue tasting where yours had been, flicking across a lower lip. Before heâs looking at the inhaler - shaking it for another use.
âLooks like I might just have to keep you around.â
You make what you can with the rest of the supplies afterward - waste not, want not. An extra stimpak. Swiping the rest of the mentats, keeping the grape and berry ones for yourself. Refilling your canteen with more of the purified water.
The rest of the chems you gather - packing them in a tin. Tossing them his way, a low whistle when he sees whatâs inside.
Itâs late enough that the Ghoul decides itâs best to stay here, and leave at dawn. Certain that he will catch up to the bounty tomorrow, already sure of two places where he might be offloading the stolen wares.
You donât mind. The uneasy thought of sleeping in a house with corpses quickly overshadowed by the real mattresses waiting in the basement. Stained but thereâs still bedding - patched up blankets.
A fire, that he coaxes to life in the fireplace upstairs. Dinner, roasting over it.
It almost feels like something. A moment you can play pretend - that these walls will keep you safe.
That maybe you could clean it up.
That maybe he didnât despise you, and maybe heâd want to stay.
Itâs a foolish thought, a sigh as you push it from you. Digging a spoon into the rusted can of Pork âN Beans you had scavenged - not trusting the look of the skewer he had been tending.
A thumb running across your lower lip, as you chew. Remember how his had felt. Examining the angry marks pressed into your knuckles.Â
His shadow crosses over you, then - you have to crane your neck up to see him. His hat back where it belongs, much like your own clothes.
The tilt of his head, as he considers you again. Before his hand is slipping into the bag that slings across his shoulder.
Gloved fingers curling around something - tossing it silently into your lap, before heâs disappearing upstairs to finish his sweep of the house.
Itâs golden, in the light of the fireplace. Seems like heâs already done a little looting of his own. A rolled up bag, the tube and needle tucked inside.
And a bottle of the RadAway you made for him.
save a horse, ride a cowboy and all that đ€ đ (thank you so much for reading! would love to know what you thought if you enjoyed!)
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ahh sarah thank you so much! đ so happy you liked this, your comments on my alfred fics always make me feel like a million bucks!
â all I want is you
alfred pennyworth x f!reader
rated e - 4.5k
tags: pfyt request, jealous and possessive!alfred, light angst, copious amts of tooth-rotting fluff, split pov, semi-clothed semi-public sex, return of the daddy kink (light), marking, creampie
a/n: inspired by this lovely thot by @csboz đ references part ii and vii of penny for your thoughts but not required to enjoy
When a gala brings you face-to-face with your ex, Alfred realizes that seeing something in a photo is a lot different than seeing it in person.
Alfred had never considered himself a jealous man.
Maybe life had been simpler, then. He had known his place, where he fit in. A perfectly-made mould, sculpted just for him.
Solider. Bodyguard. Lover.
The lines of each were neatly set. Not just drawn in sand, but etched into stone.
Rules and regulations only blurring in the evening, behind closed doors. In the same slow way that evening bleeds into night - red to orange to deep indigo. Only to right itself the next morning, with the clear coming of dawn.
As man of routine, it had been easy to follow. He had never given it much thought, this throbbing ache in his chest. Fingers that itch to reach out, and take. The poison that pulls at his brow - the permanent furrow above narrowed, watchful eyes.
Itâs uncomfortably new, and unwelcome.
And now, small part of him wonders if itâs because he never had anything that was really - truly - his.
Not the way that you are.
As much his and he is yours. The band on your finger, that promise, had felt like enough when he had sunk to a knee before you.
Now, heâs resisting the urge to drape you in jewels. To whisk you away. To give you anything you want.
It had been different, seeing that photo. Static, splashed across the screen in black and white.
Another insecurity had dug its claw into his mind then, convincing himself that he wasnât good enough. Acutely aware of just how undeserving he was.
You had set him straight. Itâs a night he still remembers, one he cherishes deeply.
The night you told him, even if it had taken him a while to return those words to you.
He had thought he knew better. That such emotion had no hold over him.
But a photo doesnât move. A photo doesnât have roving eyes, doesnât give a look that he doesnât much care for.
You looked beautiful, of that he had no doubt.
An hour ago it had been almost all he could think about. The thoughts of the Gala and those he must meet with Bruce severing - splitting down the middle, as you had modeled your dresses for him.
Asking his opinion, twisting and twirling in front of the mirror. Letting him undress you after each one, his lips against your spine as he worked the zipper. Black and bronze and silver, all wrapping around you, until you had picked a favorite.
Wanting to get things right. No longer just the messenger girl, but now seen often at Bruceâs side. Someone that was recognized, that was sought after.
Heâs always seen you. Then and now and in the bedroom, tucked away, he had been so proud.
And when you had slipped your arm in his in the Tower, neatly curving your hand into the crook of his arm, he had thought it would be a long night.
Eager to end up right back here, to strip the fabric from you, one final time.
But now⊠it feels like an eternity.
Thereâs an uneasy flip in your stomach, when you see him.
Itâs lessened over the months since that first meeting. Youâve run into Harvey a few times since the Parliament, though you havenât stepped foot in the building since. Those days were long behind you, buried deep.
Your path with the newly-elected DA would continue to cross, as long as Bruce was working with him to improve Gotham. It was something you had thought about, had decided to bear. Another thing from the past, that you were convinced would no longer take up a worried residence in your mind.
And it was different, this time.
This time, Alfred is with you.
Not physically with you at the moment, but the comfort still lingers. He had just stepped away - offering to get you a drink while the guests work their way into the banquet hall, after the silent auction.
Leaving you next to the ornate seating chart - trying to pick your name out of the hundreds of small groupings.
And it seemed like Harvey Dent had the same idea.
âThought I would see you here, doll.â The handshake he offers turns into a hug, his hand pressing against your shoulder. You own giving a half-hearted pat against his back.
âAnd I figured you would be too. To see Bruce, I mean.â You smile tightly before your eyes are drifting back to the list, âIs Gilda with you?â
His arm brushes yours as he moves to your left, to look for his own name, âNot tonight. Sheâs getting ready for a show next month.â
His fiancée. The girl he dated after you - the girl he was set to marry, once his position was settled.
Thereâs no twinge in your stomach this time. No weird, lingering feelings that you hadnât been able to process.
Just a sense of pity, that he had to come alone. Thinking back - you canât remember the last event sheâs been to.
You never minded going to these things. Half the time it was your job. But it was always better when Alfred came with you.
âWhat about you? You here with anyone?â Heâs asking, nodding towards the cane tucked under your arm - but then you hear your name. The press of a warm hand to the small of your back, as you are gently moved to the side.
âThere you are, darling.â Alfred coos, as you grin - making room for him. The flute passed over from where he stands between you and Harvey, before heâs turning.
âMr. Dent,â His left hand extends, âPleasure.â
Harveyâs eyes flick down for the briefest of moments. Following the path of the arm that curls around you. To where you lift the glass to drink, the glitter that reflects off one of your fingers.
He smiles, as he takes the offered hand. You miss the way Alfredâs knuckles whiten, for the briefest of moments. The slightest wince in reply, before theyâre letting go and Harvey is pivoting to face both of you.
âHeard about the accident. I didnât think youâd be out and about just yet.â
The reminder almost makes you flinch. Itâs been months, but you still have nightmares - racing down endless bleached-white halls, trying to find him. Panic flaring when a siren wails down the street, your eyes automatically leaping to the sky.
âIt would take more than an amateur to get rid of me, Iâm afraid. Much less Master Bruce.â Alfredâs knuckle graze along your back, soothing. A small smile sent your way, âBesides, I had the finest care you could ask for.â
Thereâs a presence at your elbow then, the feeling of a heavy shadow.
âTable Twelve.â Bruce tells you in greeting, after a quick glance at the chart - before heâs turning to Harvey, âI heard youâre working on the Nashton case.â
âNot much of one,â Harvey grins, a hand smacking Bruceâs shoulder before he sends you a wink. âDonât worry, youâre safe with me. Iâll make sure that freak stays in Arkham.â
There's a tightness in Alfredâs jaw, his hand staying firmly in place. A tell-tale tap of annoyance of the cane youâve handed back, against the marble floor.
You're certain that you're the only one who notices, besides Bruce - the briefest flicker of a look before he's lassoed back into the conversation.
There's a shuffle, when you sit for dinner soon after. Your arrangement differs from what's been noted on the namecards, as Alfred pulls out the seat to his right, instead of left. You take it, without much thought - fitting yourself between him and Bruce.
The conversation from before trickling into dinner, silted by the way Bruce has to lean past both of you - an elbow digging into the table - to talk to Harvey.
Your mind has drifted elsewhere. That unease of seeing him again disappearing completely with Alfred's arrival at your elbow. With his touch now - the hand that slips beneath the tablecloth. The breadth of his palm as it presses down, high above your knee.
Curving the silky fabric of your dress against your thigh. His touch firm enough that you can feel the slow drag of his fingers, circling strokes that press into your skin.
Reminding you of his touch, somewhere else.
Distracting you terribly, thoughts drifting back to the stolen moments as you dressed. Barely able to manage not to squirm in your seat, as the food is served.
Heâs attentive as you eat - his voice low and smooth in your ear, as he points out people you should make note of. His gaze always on yours - the grip of his hand tightening each time he leans, sometimes slipping higher for the briefest moment.
A welcome distraction, as the courses are served.
The first of the notes are plucked from the big band on the stage when dinner is cleared - a modern cover played in an old jazz style, the notes drawn out and bright.
Harveyâs arm slings across the back of his chair, as he leans to catch your attention.
âI nearly forgot about them,â He gestures with a smile, a two fingers tipping towards the stage, âBristol County Club, do you remember?
You did.
It had been before you were together, back when you were just friends - a senior banquet, right before graduation. Month spent on a fundraiser that pulled out all the stops.
Catered food, black-tie, a hired band. Compared to now it felt so small - but back then, it was the most extravagant night you could imagine.
The memory makes you smile, and just as your lips part to answer thereâs a touch to your arm - a voice cutting through.
âWould you like to join me, dove?â
Alfredâs hand extends in front of you - waiting, his seat already pushing back. His cane tucked against his chair, to be retrieved after.
âExcuse me,â You manage to tell Harvey - before your hand is pressing into his, and heâs guiding you away.
Winding in between the other tables, joining the couples that spill from their own, onto the dance floor.
âIâve been looking forward to this all night.â Alfred tells you, as the dance floor slowly fills, âYou look beautiful. Have I told you that already?â
It makes your cheeks heat, âMaybe once or twice.â
Thereâs couples swirling around you, each caught up in the endless flutes of champagne, the energy from the live band on the stage.
You stay close, though. A slow, sway - the movement familiar, even if the details are different this time.
How the hand that should cup yours, now entwines - fingers lacing together.
How the palm that guides you slips lower on your back. Not so far that itâs improper, but you can feel the warmth and pressure on the curve of your ass, inside of your spine.
It sends up a spark that follows the path his lips took earlier. A soft press of his lips as the zipper lowered, each time.
You had wanted him, then. The only thing that kept you in check was knowing how heâd never give in, if it made you both late.
Leaving the memory sizzling under your skin.
Stoked by these slow moments of change. Because youâre starting to put things together now - all those little details perhaps imperceptible to an acquaintance.
But not to you.
It takes you another two songs to figure things out fully. The circling steps taking you into the middle of the floor, and then out to the opposite side. Far away from the shared table.
You havenât really seen him quite like this before. If you didnât love him so much, perhaps youâd want to laugh.
And you think that maybe - maybe, you should do something about it.
His fingers slip higher on your back, but itâs only to press you just a little bit closer. Your lips brush against the peppered-grey scruff on his beard, just before you press a kiss against his cheekbone.
Keeping your fingers clasped as you step away, back towards the edge of the dance floor.
âCome with me.â You coax, but you donât have to.
He follows - would follow - you anywhere, a hand in yours until the dark corners of the room surround you, the music fading as you slip with him down a corridor.
Itâs near-deserted - a thick ornate rug running down the hall. Small groupings of those discussing business, paying you no mind as you wind down one more hallway.
Your name is a whispered question as you try the handle - the room you open is not in use, like you knew it would be. Year-old memories of helping Hazel set up in these halls are still fresh in your mind.
Perhaps at one point, it had been set up for meetings, or a small, private party. The wallpaper pretty and patterned, but at least a decade old. Matching furniture pushed around - heavy wooden tables shoved to one side. Stacked rows of chairs in another corner.
A dim and dusty table lamp that you click on, as he shuts the door behind you.
âYou look like you could use a minute.â You tell him, with a knowing tilt of your head.
The corner of his lips twitch, âAm I that obvious, dove?â
âMaybe just to me,â You smile, hands finding his, as you walk backward. As he follows, again.
Another glance around the room, before youâre adding, âFeels a little familiar, hm?"
His stern look softens, as he remembers.
Your second meeting, that flurry of feelings. Him, thinking might have changed your mind. Your own anxiety, thinking he wasn't going to call.
Leading his hands to your hips, as you lean against a table that bumps up against the wall. A second, before youâre pushing yourself up, to perch on the edge.
"I think I loved you, even then." Your admission is soft. Cheeks burning in the darkness, even after all this time, "Well, I knew when we danced together in your kitchen. But, I mean... even that early, I knew you would be important to me."
He laughs - a short, rough thing. It startles you, a little frown as your chin tips up.
"I'm sorry, darling. I just-â He sounds almost breathless, in the dim room, âThat night... for me, too."
Your smile is bright, blinding. If asked, youâd say it was impossible to love him more, but with his answer comes a surge of affection, a little flip of your heart.
His own lips curve, when you meet them. Hair shorn short and velvet against your fingers as your hand slips against his neck. Sighing into his mouth as he leans into your touch, into the kiss.
Pressing himself snug against the table, as your thighs have to inch wider. Your knees digging into his hips, as his hands find your waist.
Possessive, in the way he grips onto you. Fingers pressing into the fabric, your skin. The smallest tug to bring you forward, closing those last few inches of space.
His confession finally coming in the breaths between your mouths meeting - quiet, in the dark room.
âI donât like the way he was looking at you,â Itâs almost a growl, as your lips press against his cheek, âLike he was reconsidering things.â
You do laugh then, but not at him. The sound low in your throat, bitten back, âYou know, it would have to go both ways, right? That I would want to want that, too?â
Before your voice lowers, âYou know that youâre the one Iâm going home with.â
His eyes seem to darken at that, his voice a low rasp, âI know.â
âThen you realize youâre being silly?â You press, gently.
Alfred does smile, then - a small, rueful thing.
âIâm well aware.â An inhale of breath, then, âI havenât felt this way before, but then again Iâve never-â
His words break off, as his eyes drag down you for just a moment. Admiring, but itâs more than that. The same feeling that was stirred with his greedy touch, the delicious shiver at the growling rasp his voice.
It does something to you - your pulse quickening, something hungry awakening in your belly.
âDo you need me to show you, again?â You offer sweetly, learning forward to let your lips brush his again.
His answer comes as a ragged sigh, âJust once more, love.â
Expecting words, perhaps another soft press of your mouth, before you return to the party.
Not the way that the soft layers of your skirt gather in a hand, bundled near your hip. How your other catches his palm, guiding his fingers beneath.
Cupping you. Where youâre so warm and where the thin fabric clings to you - worked up from before, and during, and now.
He sucks in a breath as you bite back your own sigh. Your hand still on his wrist as your lips press against his throat, to the hollow under his ear.
A bitten-back groan as your teeth graze his earlobe, just before you croon.
âYou could take me in here, you know that?â
The hand on your waist tightens, just as his fingers begin to move. The tips of two fingers crooking against the fabric, slipping up to circle against you.
âThatâs what you want, right? To send me back out there, full of you?â
Alfred wouldnât ask it of you, youâre sure. Too proper to suggest it, himself⊠but to have it offered so prettily and openly.
But he is only human, after all.
You can feel his groan against your lips, the flex of his muscles as he swallows.
âYes.â He rasps.
The fingers that circle halt, but only enough so he can slip them beneath your panties. His eyes dark in the dim light of the room, fixed on yours as his touch teases you. Drifting along your slit, before dipping lower.
A rough curse growled out as the tip one fits inside you easily. Youâre slick, the fabric damp and sticking to your skin, coating the fingers that presses deep, before heâs working in another.
âOh fuck,â You sigh, thighs nudging wider. Hands wandering, fingers hooking around his belt and tugging him closer, âPlease, Alfred-â
âI will.â He promise, before his mouth is pressing against yours. Fingers working you open, as you tug at his zipper, trying to slip your fingers beneath.
Finding him more than half-hard from your words, thickening with the touch of your hand on bare skin, as you work him free. His other hand rises - cupping the back of your neck, just as his fingers press deep and curl.
His desire thrills you. Not often does he give into your whims when youâre out like this. Preferring to make you wait, make you suffer until heâs got you alone again.
More than once youâve ridden him in his car, but that was an extension of his space. Fingers have drifted during dances, during long dinners.
A promise for later, but not now.
Youâd be worried if he hadnât already admitted just how self-aware he was.
But he needs this.
You can sense it - the tick in his jaw, the not-so-subtle flex of his hips into your fist. The way his fingers pound, as if trying to rip the orgasm from you.
It has you clenching down hard, whining. Your other hand drifting - across his chest, tugging on his tie to keep him close. Parting your lips with the soft brush of his tongue, so he can taste you as his hand slips free.
Working it over his aching cock twice - marking himself fully with you, until itâs slick with your need.
âCome here.â He reaches for you, his other hand guiding your hips to edge of the table, âIâll give you what you want dove, but you need to be quiet.â
Nudging your thighs wider with his hip, your legs rising to hook around his waist, opening yourself up more. One of your hands bracing behind you, flattened across the tabletop.
Heâs so broad like this. The shadowed light cutting across his features, his strong shoulders. The loosened tie, the clinking belt the only pieces out of place.
The velvet soft length rubs against you, as he steps closer. Your eyes drop to watch the slow twist of his fist as he rubs the tip against your folds.
âAs much as I want everyone to hear youâre mine, Iâm not too keen on sharing.â
It makes you throb, the edge in his tone. How aware you both are of the unlocked door. The hundreds of people just outside, the muted music that crashes against the walls.
Too far gone to stop, as eyes narrow - letting himself look, now. To where youâre exposed and open - so needy for him that it makes him ache.
He wonât leave you waiting.
With the next roll of his hips, heâs splitting you open. Not with the slow tease of home - fitting just the tip, making you earn every inch. No, this makes you cry out - the feeling of his cock making a home for himself in your warm cunt.
He swallows the sound, his own groan rough in his throat.
âChrist, I missed you.â Alfred rasps, as if it had been weeks instead of hours. Eyes fixed on your own, how they go half-lidded with the drag of his cock, as he begins to move.
âMissed you too,â You whine, as you start to lean back, your dress still fisted around your waist.
Thinking heâd like to watch - see where you stretch around his cock, where he fucks you open. How he gleams with your desire, with each sharp rut of his hips.
Instead, Alfred catches your wrist. Holding it against his chest as he tugs you back up.
âNo,â Itâs close to an order, except for the way he sighs with need, âStay close darling, just for a moment. Please.â
Your legs hook around him, instead. Doing as youâre told, as your hands drop your dress - sliding across his shoulders instead, fingers entwining behind his neck.
The âgood girlâ he murmurs shoots straight to your cunt, a shared look that tells you he knows exactly what heâs doing to you.
His thrusts grow harder, deeper. A steady pound that will leave both of you aching tonight, not that either of you mind.
In this moment itâs just you and him, everything else fades into soft shades of nothing. Your focus caught on the spots where youâre connected. Eyes, hands, mouth. His cock, pressed deep - dragging against a spot that sends a rolling wave of pleasure to lap low in your belly.
And when his hand leaves your wrist to drift down, circling against you once again, you feel as if youâre about to break.
His name is garbled, another soft plea. Your hips rocking into the perfect pressure of his touch - further proof of his devotion. Every detail tucked away so carefully, keep safe in a mind that never forgets.
âOh fuck, donât stop-â You whine, forgetting about your promise. Each breath short and harsh as your nails sink into fabric, desperate to cling to this moment.
Alfredâs forgotten too, his growl lower than the low murmur of before.
âNever.â He rasps, âCome on, darling. Let me feel you-â
Everything winds tight, your breath held. And then - it snaps, fracturing and splintering. The music fading out to white noise.
You come with him wrapped around you. Caged in - an arm wrapping around, hand pressed between your shoulder blades. The other steady and unmerciful against your clit, drawing your pleasure out. He groans with the tight pulse of your orgasm, pressing himself deep, so he can feel each throb.
âThere it is, thatâs my girl.â Itâs murmured into your sweat-dewed skin, as he mouths at your neck.
This is what heâs been craving. His mind a seismograph - those jittery waves of emotions now slipping flat and smooth. A reminder that heâs the only one that makes you feel this way.
Loose-limbed in his arms. Your grin lazy as you squirm against him, trying to catch the fingers that push you towards too much.
You feel a low laugh against your skin, as bristle of his beard tickles your cheek. Then, against the soft column of your throat. His lips following, as he starts to fuck you again.
Just as teeth scrape and then pinch the curve where shoulder meets neck. A rough groan against your skin, just before his lips close - sucking hard against the same spot.
Youâre sure it will leave a mark. High above the strap of your dress. Near impossible to hide, and you find yourself thinking that he did that on purpose.
Tongue trapped between your teeth as you smile, going soft. Letting your hands drift now, smoothing over the soft fabric of his shirt. Slipping beneath his open jacket to hook your fingers into the hem of his pants.
Urging him to a quicker pace, as you tell him what he needs to hear.
âYours.â
Finger pinch at your hips, angling them so he can drive deeper. You can just barely hear the wet suck with each thrust, again and again and again.
âMine.â He echos, teeth gritting.
This time when you lean back, he lets you. A heave of his chest as your fingers drift down, until they slowly circle your clit.
Pleasure throbs but your touch is more for show, for him, letting him watch as your fingers split - framing where he sinks into you. That steady thrust starting to stutter, the only unsteady thing about him.
âTell me you want it.â That harsh, pleading tone is back.
âGod, I want it.â Your teeth sinking into your lip, before you sigh sweetly, âPlease, daddy.â
It catches him off guard like you knew it would, his eyes darkening. How you offer up a piece of yourself like a tempting piece of fruit - how you would burst so sweetly on his tongue if he were to sink his teeth in.
âOnly me, yeah?â
Only him.
He knew it was true. A hushed confession in the late night hour - a warmth in your cheeks as your face rested against his bare chest. Rising and falling with his steady breath, tender feelings betrayed by the flutter of his heart beneath your ear.
âI havenât called anyone that before. Only you.â
âOnly me, hm? Then perhaps you should let me hear it again.â
âYes, daddy. Always-â One of your hands slips from the table, entwining with his, âI want you to come in me. I want to feel you, too-â
He comes with you begging for it.
A rough grunt paired with the rutting of his hips, until they press flush against you. Little shallow thrusts, keeping himself buried deep as he spills inside you - the last dregs of his jealousy swept along with the sharp burst of pleasure.
Leaving Alfred feeling foolish, a throbbing ache in his chest that matches the galloping of his heart.
Youâre always so good to him. Thighs tightening against his hips, keeping him inside until youâre sure heâs been milked dry - until the throbbing twitch of his cock has ebbed.
He pants a breath, fingers still wrapped in yours. Wrinkling the fabric as his hips press flush with yours, keeping himself buried in you for another long moment.
Your mind always runs away with you.
Imagining slipping your panties down your thighs. Thinking how pretty they would look as a pocket-square - or tucked beneath, right against his heart.
Instead, he groans as he slips from you. A slow smile, as his lips brush yours, as you slump back fully against the tabletop.
Youâre sure you look debauched - the dim light leaving you glowing, after your orgasm.
The straps of your dress slipping from your shoulders, skirts hiked up to where he has your panties still pushed to the side.
His fingers drifting across where you still gape from him, for just a moment. A look crossing his face that is almost smug, if he could be - before heâs tucking the lacy hem carefully back into place, tugging it snug against your cunt.
âBetter?â You ask, breathless. Pushing yourself up, reluctantly starting to out yourself back together.
Relishing in the stolen moment, but knowing the night was not quite over. That it would be a little while longer before you were home - already dreaming about the hands that would wander beneath the warm water of a shared bath.
His fingers press down as he cups you. Grazing against the fabric, where itâs damp with him. Dripping from you and sticking to your skin, now that his cock no longer keeps it inside.
Alfred smiles, as he answers.
âYes.â
(and then the table was purchased for a sizable donation as part of the âauctionâ and kept as a beloved souvenir đ)
thank you so much for reading!! and for giving me an excuse to dive back into them again, it has been missed đ
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â common ground [into the fire, part iii]
part i | part ii | masterlist
cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader
rated e - 4k
tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, sex for favors, 1 spank, sub/dom elements, light degradation, use of chems, shotgunning chems, riding, PiV, canon-typical violence and death
a/n: the scene where he complained about doing all the work had me like đ (reimagining), so here we go! đ
âSâthat right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?â
His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, âWell, Iâd sure like to sweetheart⊠but it seems to me like Iâve been doing an awful lot of work around here.â
âFindinâ this place. Cleaninâ it out. Gettinâ you clothes.â A sigh, before his voice drops, âMakinâ you come.â
âThink you oughta return the favor, donât you?â
(Or - you take the Ghoul for a ride)
"Fuck!â
You crouch outside as another loud shotgun blast fires - the wooden door next to you peppering with bullets.
This wasn't what you had in mind.
You had thought you'd find a chem station in the next town. A pharmacy, an old hospital. Something somewhat respectable - not standing watch as the Ghoul blew his way through a long-abandoned two-story home.
The layered yelling dies off with each pull of his trigger, until everything going silent.
He finds you there a moment later, still curled in on yourself. A roll of his eyes when he sees you - still unused to the violence.
"It's clear." The Ghoul beckons, "Let's find that station."
You follow him inside, your gaze boring a hole into his back. Trying hard not to look down, nose wrinkling when you almost trip over a set of legs that sprawl across the floor.
A hand pinches at your elbow, keeping you upright.
"What?" He asks, at your expression.
"Did you have to..." You start, as he checks down the hallway.
It's empty - the doors leading to two bedrooms. The bed frames bare and rusted, the rooms already picked through.
A shrug, "They shot first."
"You goaded them."
You could hear him, even from outside. That knowing tone - some kind of warning. A rough laugh, and then the firefight had started.
"We're looking for a chem station, sweetheart." He scoffs, head cocking as he backs you up against the door he just closed, "Think they're gonna share with you like youâre on a goddamn play date?"
"They-" You blink up at him, "They might have."
He clicks his tongue, giving you a long look,"You still got a lot to learn, Vaultie."
A second, before he steps away.
"These weren't those kind of people."
You find it in the basement. A man slumped just outside the cracked-open door, the weathered lab coat stained and splattered red on the left-hand side.
Anything salvageable from above must have been brought down here. Three threadbare mattresses behind a makeshift wall. A long couch that faces a television that still runs, the picture blurry with static.
The station sits along the back wall. A beaker still bubbles over the burner, the smell acrid. Bottles litter the surface - something being made in a batch.
Your mind is already racing ahead, eyes scanning for things you'll need. Too-large gloves shoved on, disposing of the burnt mixture while you search for an empty glass.
Missing how he angles the couch to watch, feet propped up on the wooden coffee table. That ever-steady wariness waning with your focus, the tension in his shoulders easing as he sinks into the cushion.
You're too busy to notice. Sorting the different ingredients, littered across the counter.
There's an excess of toxic soot flowers, their petals papery between your fingers. Opened packages of Med-X, a spilled pile of Buffout. A jar of acid. Â
Psycho. Cut with something else, something stronger. You think the Ghoul was right - maybe you had been foolish to underestimate them.
You try to shake the thought away, as you gather what you need. Antiseptic, from your own bag. Three jars of glowing fungus, found beneath the sagging counter. Ground up and tipped into a dusty beaker, the heat turned down low.
"Can you get me some water?" You call from over your shoulder, a jar held in your hand.
There's no answer. Silence, until something hard presses into your back, pinning you against the table.
It feels familiar, the way his hips nudge against yours, and it sends your mind back. An urge to arch - bend low. Mimicking the days before, where you can still feel the twinge of him with the stretch of your thighs.
"You think you're callin' the shots now, sweetheart?" His voice is low, the brim of his hat brushing your head as he leans over your shoulder.
"No," You squeak - caught off-guard, "I just-, I can't leave this until it thickens."
"Mm.â His hum is low. âToo bad. Would've liked to see you try.â
Heat blooms in your cheeks at his words, that rough drawl, even after the last couple days. A thin layer of suggestion in his tone, as he shifts closer - his chest bumping into your back.
Your mind flickering through possibilities, before his voice cuts through.
âSaid you need water?â
"Yes. Please," The nod you give is small - you have to start your stirring over, losing your rhythm, "I saw a few cartons in the kitchen. If you don't mind."
"Polite little thing, when you're distracted," He husks, "I'll have to remember that."
The Ghoul makes no effort to move, though. Fingers wrapping around the glass. His other hand gripping the edge of the table, boxing you in. You wonder if he can hear the way your heart thuds in your chest, eyes fixed firmly on your work.
âWhereâd you learn to do this?â
It takes you a second to answer - heâd had never offered many questions. Responses that were no more than a couple of words, over the stretch of long hours on the road.
âUh, my Vault. We were short on hands, my mother was a chemist.â Your words are slow - a still-painful topic, âUsed to make all kinds of stuff. Medicine and⊠and chems, alike.â
People who left were always brought back. Dazed and half-sick from the world above, whatever they had seen. Left at your doorstep to be patched up, if they made it that long.
You always told yourself that wouldnât be you.
That when you were gone, youâd stay that way.
âHm.â His tone flattens, âWouldnât have guessed. Donât seem the type.â
âYeah?â You head turns, catching his shadowed ones. Leaning into the welcome diversion, âWhat type do I seem like, then?â
The Ghoulâs eyes narrow, an unconscious flick down to your mouth.
âTrouble.â He husks, with a shallow roll of his hips. You canât help the short inhale that heâs certain to hear, the way your fingers tighten around your instruments.
âThough Iâm still workinâ out what kind.â
Itâs there that he leaves you. Flustered and silently revisiting evenings before, a familiar anticipation curling low inside you.
The steps creak behind you as he slips upstairs. Returning some time later with what you need - twirling a dented pot found in the kitchen, so you can purify it. Folding himself onto the couch when you tell him it will be a while.
A cut glass decanter salvaged as well, that he drinks directly from. A rough gasp as the bitter alcohol floods through him. Helping himself to the chems that litter the tabletop - before his feet kick up, the hat tipped low over his face.
You think he does rest - a rarity.
You examine him then - as you wait for the water to boil, and then cool, before you can use it to mix with the other components.
Taking the rare chance to do it freely.
In the Wasteland youâve learned to stay cautious. That you canât fall behind. That surely he would notice, if your gaze lingered on him for too long.
But here, time seems to slow for a moment. Nothing to do but wait, as your fingers drift to your neck. Pressing into the bruise, as if you could feel the indents of his teeth.
His presence feels the same.
A mark left on you. Something you canât help but want to touch, even if it aches. A reminder that lingers, and thereâs a part of you that wishes it would stay.
It has you wondering, as your eyes sweep across him. Over the long-faded clothes, hiding rough and reddened skin - every inch of him wrapped away.
If you got close enough-
Would you find that he bore a mark of his own?
You make enough for a little over two weeks. Carefully poured and sealed into a variety of small bottles and tubes youâve scavenged, scraping out every last bit that you can.
In the less-than-stellar conditions, it didnât turn out so bad. The vials you had seen him buy was a thin, piss-yellow that had made you cringe. Poor work to begin with, and that was even before it was cut with more water.
What you offer out to him is thick - a sheen clinging to the glass as it sloshes, when it passes from your hand to his.
Liquid gold, in comparison.
âMm.â The Ghoul hums - eyes greedy, as he examines, holding it up to the bit of light.
Before theyâre focusing on you. Flickering from head to toe - considering - before his legs spread a bit wider. A hand clapping down against a thigh.
The look you give him is blank. A squeak when his fingers hook around one of your belt loops and pulls - hauling you onto his lap.
âYou think Iâm just gonna take somethinâ you cooked up?â His brow lifts, hands pinching against your hips, âNot a chance, sweetie. I think we oughta try this together.â
The Ghoulâs fingers slip up then, rucking up the hem of your shirt. His tone turning knowing.
âAnd I donât think youâve got enough in you.â
Your cheeks burn at his insinuation. More than aware, your breath catching as the rough tips of his leather gloves drag across your skin.
âBet Iâve been leakinâ out of you since last time.â The Ghoul rasps, âWouldnât want to waste this, would we?â
Heâs solid beneath you. Your thighs splitting on either side of his waist, knees digging into old cushions. Close enough to kiss - if you werenât so certain heâd bite.
Lost though, on how to proceed. You donât know the rules to his game. Always keeping you at arms-length - wrists bound, caught in his grip.
Would he let you touch him?
He mistakes your hesitance, his brow pinching.
âSpent enough time starinâ. Lookinâ like you wanted to take a ride.â Acid slips into his tone, teeth bared, âChange your mind, now youâve got a front row seat?â
That knocks you out of your thoughts - embarrassed that you were caught staring at him. Annoyed by his assumption. A scoff, as your hips start to move, a slow roll. Hands coming up to rest against his shoulders, meeting his eyes.
Theyâre pretty, like the rest of him. Shades of light brown - looking like theyâre caught the sun, even underground. Thick lashes, above the deep hollow of sunken eye sockets, the split cavern of his missing nose.
Something that had startled you, the first time you saw him. Now, you hardly even notice. And his mouth -
âIâm not scared of you.â You murmur, watching the way his lip curls in a sneer. A soft sound bitten back as you grind down, feeling how heâs stiff beneath you.
You wonder how long heâs been this way. Hard, from watching you work. Waiting.
Another exchange, though you wish you could tell him it doesnât have to be that way. You had meant what you said, when you had made your offer - even if you mean it a little differently, now.
Maybe you still could.
âYou should be,â The Ghoul growls - hands ghosting over your sides, up to the thin cotton, âIf you had any goddamn sense. Letting me touch you like this-â
A hand is cupping your breast now. A hard swipe of his thumb against your stiff peak, your fingers biting down into his jacket.
Your hips jerk against his. A soft moan, when the seam of your pants catches against your clit - leaving you clenching around nothing.
âI want you to.â You confess - catching the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, âTold you, whatever you want.â
The Ghoul makes a rough sound in his throat, watching as you tug the cups down to fit beneath your breasts, putting yourself on display for him.
âHavenât learned, have you?â He warns, his voice low, âDonât make an offer you canât follow through on.â
The pinch of his fingers sends an ache down to settle between your thighs, the hint of pain pairing with your pleasure.
Your own hand wandering, wanting to see more. Sliding against a leather vest, the stained shirt beneath that was once as blue as your suit. Frayed, looping embroidery on the faded collar.
Feeling the warmth of his skin as you tug at the snap at his throat. An inch, and then another, before heâs catching your hand.
Dragging it up to his shoulders, fixing you with a look, âYou best keep those right here.â
âYou donât want me to touch you?â You ask, eyes flicking down to the peek of skin at his throat.
âI want these off.â He tells you instead, snapping the waistband of your pants against skin.
You have to leave him to do it. Watching the way his arms stretch across the back of the sofa, as you kick the pants off, then your underwear beneath.
Bare again, as you settle. Fitting yourself against the curve of his cock. Leather and metal kissing your skin as you move against him, until his lips are parted with a ragged breath.
You can feel your muscles clench. The slick slide of your pussy against his bulge, barely nudging at that deep-seated ache to be filled.
âMakinâ a mess, sweetheart.â He husks, his hips lifting to meet yours. Gloved hands moving to curl around your waist - pulling you down to meet him, coaxing a lazy rhythm from you.
âRubbinâ up against me like a bitch in heat. Should make you clean that up.â
It coaxes a whine from you, as you let him move you. The sound does something to you - the layered approval in his tone, the low rasp of his voice. Not so unaffected as he seems, with how hard he is beneath you.
He must see it in your expression, a hand leaving the couch to grasp at your chin. Flexing up and into you, letting you feel the hard ridge of him.
âThis what you want, sweetheart?â
Making you meet his gaze, as you answer. All dark eyes and the flash of teeth, under the brim of his hat.
âYes.â You keen, âI need you, please-â
âSâthat right? Need me to fuck you? Fill up that greedy little cunt?â
His head tipping back as he hums, as if disappointed. Each word exaggerated, with his slow drawl, âWell, Iâd sure like to sweetheart⊠but it seems to me like Iâve been doing an awful lot of work around here.â
The hand leaves your chin to drop down. Slowly loosening a belt buckle, letting it pool on the cushions. Your cheeks heating when you see the slick shine to the front of his pants, where youâve rutted yourself against him.
âFindinâ this place. Cleaninâ it out,â His eyes are on yours - your breath short as he tugs the zipper down. âGettinâ you clothes.â
A sigh, before his voice drops, âMakinâ you come.â
You moan at that, a soft sound caught behind your teeth - fingers pinching into his shoulders.
Waiting for him to draw his cock out - fist wrapped around the base. Flushed and thick in his palm, inches away from where you need him.
The Ghoul does grin then, a wicked thing that shows his teeth.
âThink you oughta return the favor, donât you?â
Heâs giving you an inch - seeing if youâll try to take a mile. A firm handle, still wrapped around a fist, but loosening the reins.
Letting himself watch.
âSeems fair.â You manage, breathless.
âThen go on,â He husks, âShow me how you can take it.â
Your hand reaches down, but then heâs clicking his tongue - fingers fixing back on his shoulders.
Leaving you to lift your hips. His cock slipping against your slick core, your teeth biting into your lip as you line yourself up - the rough head catching at your entrance.
Itâs different this time. Sinking down on him, feeling each inch as it splits you open - instead of suddenly filling you to the hilt.
âFuck,â You sigh, with the stretch. It twinges deep inside you, where his hips fit against yours.
Lifting yourself only to sink back down, his arms flexing beneath his coat as he lets you ride him, your pace slowly picking up until youâre bouncing on his cock.
As much as you enjoyed last time, there was something about this. Fully able to watch the way his lips part, hear the rattling groan when you tighten around him.
See the way his eyes skate across the bruise on your neck, only to drop down to watch the sway of your tits as your fingers lace behind his neck.
âGoddamn, sweetheart.â His hand flattens against the small of your back. The other gripping your hip, tugging you towards him, âYou sure know how to ride.â
Not giving you time to answer, before his head is dipping. The brim of his hat knocking back when it hits your chin - the tips of your fingers just catching it. Slipping it on your own head for safekeeping before he can protest.
It earns you a sharp nip against the curve of your breast, before his lips close around the tight peak of a nipple and sucks.
You cry out, chasing the pressure that builds in your belly. Growing even more wet with the slick swirl of his tongue and the scrape of teeth - his cock grinding against a spongy spot inside you as you arch into his mouth.
âPlease,â You whine, fingers flexing and then curling. Needing more friction against your clit, where your heartbeat has dropped and settled.
Trying so hard to listen, a whine between your gritted teeth. Your tits glossy with spit when he leans back, giving you a knowing look.
âYou wanna come?â He husks - his eyes dropping, as you nod, âOnly if you lean back and show me, sweetheart.â
Relief sings in you, as you adjust. Thighs spreading, as you grip onto his shoulder. Leaning back until he can watch the way he spears into you. How he shines, all slicked up, with each roll of your hips.
Your other hand loses its grip in his coat to slip down, press where your bodies meet.
Fingertips circle, a low moan at the much-needed touch. Your rhythm grows sloppy until his hands hook beneath your thighs. Guiding you into a harsh rhythm, each pound of his cock winding you higher and higher as the couch creaks beneath you.
âCome on, cowpoke.â He rasps, his hand cracking down against your ass, âIs that the best you can do?â
It builds - your fingers pressing harder against the slick bud. Whimpered noises that are more sound than words, as his thighs spread, feet planting so he can drive up into you.
âI said come on.â He growls, âWanna feel you come on my cock again.â
Like before, it feels like the control slips through your fingers. Your own touch brings you close to that edge, but itâs the pounding of his cock that makes you fall.
Your back arching, crying out as your core clenches. Pleasure bursting deep inside you, racing up your spine and down to the tips of your fingers and pointed toes.
The quick thrust slowa into a lazy grind. A low âatta girlâ that he grits out, as he feels the way you come hard around him.
Eyes dropping from your face to watch the greedy press of your fingers as you draw it out - until his own hand is wrapping around your wrist.
Tugging your hand away as the pleasure still courses inside you, hips still chasing the last ripples as you ride his cock.
Bringing your fingers to his mouth. Fitting them against teeth and tongue as his lips close around, tasting the slick that clings to them.
It makes goosebumps raise on your skin. The briefest thrill of fear. Certain that if you pulled your fingers free right now, the flesh and muscle would peel from you - leaving only bones behind.
He groans loudly around them, teeth indenting your skin. Tongue swirling against your knuckles, his hips rocking up to meet yours.
Freeing you, only to grasp at your hips - urging you to move faster. A loud slap of skin until his jaw is clenching - and heâs bringing you down once more against him with a rough sound.
Coming inside you again, but this time you get to see the way his head tips back with his snarl. How his fingers bite into your skin as you feel him throb - throat bared as he spills deep inside you with each rough jerk of his hips.
A flare of something flicking to life in your belly, knowing you did this to him. The groan he made when he tasted you echoing in your mind, giving you something to keep.
You make to move when he goes still, but a hand grips at your hip - holding you in place. Keeping you full of him, as the afterglow still glitters in your veins.
His eyes are dark, fixed on you. Taking in your shadowed, half-lidded gaze - sweat-dewed and bare skinned against him. His hat, still perched on your head. Looking like it belongs there.
A hand digs around in his bag. Pulling out the inhaler for his serum. Snapping it together without his gaze leaving you.
Bringing it to his mouth after - sucking in a deep, held breath. Those eyes closing with a low, contented groan.
A broad hand slips from your hip to splay across the back of your neck, fingers digging into your throat. Pulling you down to him - just as his head tilts to press his lips against yours.
Just as you soften, he exhales - the RadAway flooding through your parted lips. A stinging, metallic taste of iodine that makes you shudder, before you realize heâs deepening the kiss.
You lean into it without thought. The ache in your gums fading with the brush of his tongue. His grip anchoring you in place as he takes, licking into your mouth while his cock still fills you.
Leaving you breathless. Letting him, as your own arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close. Meeting the messy scrape of teeth and swirl of tongue. The sharp taste fading, layered with the whisky and a hint of you that still lingers.
Before heâs pulling back far too soon, eyes dark as he pants.
âFuck.â He rasps - his tongue tasting where yours had been, flicking across a lower lip. Before heâs looking at the inhaler - shaking it for another use.
âLooks like I might just have to keep you around.â
You make what you can with the rest of the supplies afterward - waste not, want not. An extra stimpak. Swiping the rest of the mentats, keeping the grape and berry ones for yourself. Refilling your canteen with more of the purified water.
The rest of the chems you gather - packing them in a tin. Tossing them his way, a low whistle when he sees whatâs inside.
Itâs late enough that the Ghoul decides itâs best to stay here, and leave at dawn. Certain that he will catch up to the bounty tomorrow, already sure of two places where he might be offloading the stolen wares.
You donât mind. The uneasy thought of sleeping in a house with corpses quickly overshadowed by the real mattresses waiting in the basement. Stained but thereâs still bedding - patched up blankets.
A fire, that he coaxes to life in the fireplace upstairs. Dinner, roasting over it.
It almost feels like something. A moment you can play pretend - that these walls will keep you safe.
That maybe you could clean it up.
That maybe he didnât despise you, and maybe heâd want to stay.
Itâs a foolish thought, a sigh as you push it from you. Digging a spoon into the rusted can of Pork âN Beans you had scavenged - not trusting the look of the skewer he had been tending.
A thumb running across your lower lip, as you chew. Remember how his had felt. Examining the angry marks pressed into your knuckles.Â
His shadow crosses over you, then - you have to crane your neck up to see him. His hat back where it belongs, much like your own clothes.
The tilt of his head, as he considers you again. Before his hand is slipping into the bag that slings across his shoulder.
Gloved fingers curling around something - tossing it silently into your lap, before heâs disappearing upstairs to finish his sweep of the house.
Itâs golden, in the light of the fireplace. Seems like heâs already done a little looting of his own. A rolled up bag, the tube and needle tucked inside.
And a bottle of the RadAway you made for him.
save a horse, ride a cowboy and all that đ€ đ (thank you so much for reading! would love to know what you thought if you enjoyed!)
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ahhh sil!! đ I would absolutely love it if charlie snuck his way into your writing, to say I would devour it would be an understatement!! and I am so happy you liked this - I didn't think I'd be able to write Carlisle, but they have such a fun dynamic together + the double soft!dom dilf vibe is such a dream. thank you so much for reading!!! I was so excited that you checked this out! đ„čđ
Watch What Happens | Day 29: Candles
carlisle cullen x f!reader x charlie swan
Rated E | 5k
Tags: soft filth, est. open relationship, threesome, voyeurism, implied mutual attraction, brief mention of alcohol, sub/dom elements, fingering, oral, unprotected PiV
Thereâs moments Carlisle canât share with you, as soft and human as you are. Luckily for you, he finds out he likes to watch. And even more fortuitously - you both find out that Charlie likes to give.
Heâs hard to resist.
It could be what he is - so much about him calls to you, makes you starry-eyed. Inhibitions and the filter on your mouth disappearing - leaving your mind as foggy as a chilly winterâs morning.
But you think maybe itâs just him. The silk of his voice, the cool slide of his fingers raising goosebumps in their wake. Trailing down between your breasts, his chest pressed against your back as you knees open between his.
The little shiver when his lips press against your neck. A sharp inhale, the brush of his tongue against the spot where your pulse thuds - a balm against your burning skin.
Your breath comes out a shudder, how heâs so close. His sweet cologne has you sinking against him, his fingers pausing at your mound, sliding over soft skin.
âCarlisle.â You breath his name, and he can feel the gasp in your throat, a hum coming from low in his throat as he indulges you.
Fingers dipping lower as your thighs nudge wider. Feeling where youâre slick and hot and oh - he wants to bury himself in you. Feel that warmth wrapped around him, so soft and so yielding.
Instead, the tip of his finger drags up. Slipping against your clit, first a slow, small circle, and then another. Until your head is tipped back against his solid shoulder, your hips bucking into his touch.
âPlease.â You whine, and Carlisle makes a comforting sound, his other hand splayed across your belly, thumb stroking the valley between your breasts.
âYou know I canât.â He admonishes, but itâs soft edge tempers the rejection - your teeth clicking together as they clench.
Lips parting as you pant, close enough to the edge that youâre not above begging, âBut youâre - you can handle it. I know you can.â
A mess for him, and heâs still so composed. Not a hair out of place, the only signs are the wrinkles in the clothes where youâve clung to him, and the hunger that burns in his eyes.
âI donât think I could hold back.â He admits, though he says it without shame.
Just the truth - why he keeps you at arms length in some ways. Giving you his fingers and his mouth, but no more - even in spite of your sweet pleas.
Youâre protesting again, something about how he manages just fine as a doctor - that if he can handle that then certainly this has to be easy - and his kiss is sweet against your temple.
The softest tsk as he chides you.
âItâs easy not to want what youâve never had.â
And then an intake of breath, the sound sharp against your ear as he inhales you, your scent. Fingers sliding down until theyâre slipping into you, unable to resist giving you just a tiny bit more.
But no more than that.
âAnd you must remember⊠Iâve tasted you, darling.â
âââ
An idea forms, just a small bud of a thing. Slowly growing, blooming - unfurling at each meeting.
It hadnât been hard. Carlisle had seen the way he looked at you both, the lingering glances. A curiosity, your eyes flicking Charlieâs way when you think no one is looking. When he looks to Carlisle, and then you when he makes a some sort of jest or snarky comment, waiting for a soft smile.
A loop, ebbing and flowing.
Carlisle brings the idea to you when youâre in the car, after picking you up for the evening. Broaching the topic just as you pass the Police Station, the neat flick of his eyes towards the parking lot, automatically checking to see if heâs still there.
Heâs not, and the car keeps going.
âWhat do you think about Charlie?â Carlisle asks you, as if heâs asking about your weekend plans, what youâd like to have for dinner.
You frown, âAs a person?â
âYes.â He hums, âMore than that, but yes.â
It takes a second to form words, the thoughts tumbling around. Not sure where heâs going with his question, but you try to answer honestly - there were few secrets between you. Many things laid bare, expectations discussed.
Even if you poked at them, sometimes, in the heat of the moment.
âHeâs been a good friend.â You settle on something vague, though a heat rises to your cheeks as you glance out the window, âI like him.â
A thumb taps against the steering wheel, once, twice. His gaze always has a weight that settles over you, a gravity that always pulls to back to him.
So you glance, where heâs smiling.
âI like him, too.â
You blink, âYeah?â
âMhmm.â He watching, gauging your reaction. If you understand, or if heâll have to leave more breadcrumbs.
But he doesnât need to worry. Itâs something youâve discussed - just whispers in the dark, cozy with the afterglow. Sometimes, you think itâs just a dream, the memory of some unconscious thought.
How he imagines, sometimes, you with someone else. Wanting to see just how much you could take in the hands of someone who didnât have to be careful like he did.
How well you might listen to them, under his instruction. How you might look, pinned between them, each of his movements so measured and careful as he finds his own end.
How youâve thought about that, too.
âDoâŠâ You hesitate, before surging forward, âWhat makes you think heâd say yes?â
Thereâs the slightest curve of his lips, the hint of a dimple.
âHeâll say yes.â His voice is certain - the same tone he uses in the office. A hand reaching, cool to the touch as his fingers fit between yours.
âI wouldnât bring it up if I wasnât certain, love.â
âââ
Itâs on a chilly December night when Carlisle asks him.
The subject broached after an evening of pizza and beer, a game on Charlieâs television half-watched in quiet companionship. Bellies filled with drink and food - sitting cozy on the couch, before Carlisle finds the perfect segue. His pitch clean and effortless, much like everything he does.
Charlieâs brow pinched and furrowed as he listens to the solicitation - not sure if heïżœïżœs heard correctly.
A quick darting of eyes after, as he glances your way. Over the years in Forks heâs gotten used to not asking questions too many - taking opportunities at face value.
If anything he looks like heâs not sure why youâre asking him, and it makes you smile at his obliviousness. Fingers passing over and smoothing the edge of his mustache as he processes.
For a long moment, you wonder what heâs thinking about - if the two of you have gotten this all wrong. Not too worried about discretion, both of their jobs made keeping knowledge quiet second nature. But you didnât want to mess up the friendship that had formed, over the past few years.
But Carlisle is right - as he always is.
âI donât like⊠â His hand waves in the air, discomfort evident, âComplications. So as long as it not-â
âNo complications, I assure you.â Carlisle smiles warmly, âJust the occasional favor, if youâd prefer to think about it that way.â
âHell of a favor.â Charlie huffs, his mustache twitching with a bemused smile - but heâs intrigued, leaning back against the worn couch.
A beat, before he nods slowly - a sense of finality to his answer.
âFine with me.â
âââ
Heâs warm beneath you.
Youâve forgotten what itâs like - too used to the feeling of carved marble in human form. Sculpted by the gods and shaped in their image.
But Charlie, he gives. Your hand flat against his chest, sliding up to his shoulders. Fingers digging into the thick muscle as his own grip at your waist.
Hot-blooded, with the way those hands squeeze, tug. Rocking your hips against his as you straddle him, his back bumping against the headboard.
The room dark with the wintry, evening light. Ending up at your place together - an almost tangible tension in the room after the conversation. A mutual agreement that there was no sense in waiting until another night, not with all possibilities so beautifully ripe and swirling in your mind.
Candles illuminate the cozy space - one on your dresser, another on your bedside table. Carlisle thought it would soften him, make him blend in.
He was right - about more than just that, tonight.
If you turned your head you could see him from his seat in the cozy, overstuffed armchair you liked to read in. Looking like heâs been bathed in gold, achingly beautiful. As close to human as youâve seen him.
You can feel the weight of his gaze, where he watches - still as stone. But another shift of your hips brings you back, rocking you where Charlie is thick in his jeans. A low breath of a moan as you push the flannel from his shoulders, your lips dragging around a stubble-lined cheek as he tugs his arms from the sleeves.
The shirt and bra youâre wearing goes next, disappearing over the edge of the bed to join your pants - discarded before he had pulled you onto his lap moments before. Fingers roaming over newly-bared flesh, his touch greedy as he palms your breast, eyes dropping to see how they look in his hands.
âChrist, youâre beautiful.â Heâs murmuring, as your fingers slip around the buckle of his belt, âYou sure you want this?â
Charlieâs gaze flickers over your shoulder, just to the side. A careful confirmation, and you use this distraction to palm him, your hand curling and cupping.
âGod, yes.â You breath, as he groans, a small thrust of his hips into your touch. Fingers pressing and teasing and stroking him over his jeans, as he finishes loosening his belt, popping open the buckle.
âBe good for Chief Swan, sweetheart.â A soft voice chides, capturing your attention. Your head turns, meeting his gaze as the edge of his lips tilt in a knowing smile, âCan you do that for us?â
It has you nodding, turning back to Charlie, so he can see too. Easing back off him, kneeling on the bed as you wait for him to work the zipper - lift his hips. Helping him tug the fabric down his thighs, before settling between them.
His t-shirt pushed up to his abdomen, the thick curve of his cock resting just below against a dusting of coarse hair. Legs spread across the top of your thick, soft comforter, one still bent at the knee, foot flat against the bed.
His leg straightens, muscles flexing, when you take him in your mouth. Nose brushing against his abdomen as your head dips, lips parting to wrap around the flushed tip, enveloping him.
You can be good. Make him moan with your mouth, your hands. More - if he still wants that, if he hasnât changed his mind.
But you donât think he has, not when his fingers are brushing over your shoulders - wide hands coming to cup your jaw as your head bobs.
Seeing the way he sinks into your pillow, the small, unconscious thrust of his hips as you meet his eyes, something youâre sure Carlisle catches.
Eyes closing as your tongue swirls, over velvet-soft skin, taking him as deep as you can into your throat. Pleased when you hear the broken moan in response, his breath harsh.
You like this. Itâs different, how responsive he his. Soaking in the rising of his chest with each breath, the throb of his cock against your tongue. Words you donât quite catch as your thighs press together, trying to relieve an ache of your own.
Itâs not as subtle as you thought, not from where your lover sits, near the end of the bed. Fingers curled underneath his chin, his elbow resting on the padded arm as he watches beneath sharp, half-lidded eyes.
âTouch yourself, kitten.â Carlisle tells you, âI can see how wet you are. I want you messy when he fucks you.â
His words make you clench, the hand on Charlieâs thigh gripping on a little tighter as you moan. Your lazy pace slowing as your eyes glance up unconsciously, where heâs watching you, too.
âYou let him call the shots like that?â Charlie asks - a thumb swiping over your cheek, as he rests heavy on your tongue.
His question is amusing to you, youâd smile if your mouth wasnât so full - an answer coming as your fingers slide between your thighs, feeling just how soft and soaked you really are.
Fluttering shut as you suck on him, as your fingertips circle, pressing at your clit. Basking in relief as your own throbbing is answered and eased.
Shifting your weight for balance, leaning more onto his sturdy thighs. Itâs hard to do this much at once, your brain fuzzy with desire, your own pleasure now at war with the need to make him come with your mouth.
Charlieâs voice breaks through your thoughts, the words rasped out, âYou like being told what to do, baby?â
You nod automatically, in between the slow bobs of your head, the sharp exhale of breath through your nose as you concentrate.
Thereâs a rumbling groan in his throat, as he pieces more things together. What you like, what he likes, what all three of you do.
âFuck. Can you make yourself come for me?â His voice lowers, gaining a hint of an edge, âI wonât fuck you until you do.â
Thereâs a low hum of amusement and approval from the corner, a curving smile as you melt with Charlieâs words. Leaning into his permission, as your attention shifts. The teasing touches becoming more focused, knowing that you donât have to keep yourself on the edge anymore.
Almost making you forget keep moving, an apologetic look thrown Charlieâs way as you take him deep again. Not that he seems to mind, his gaze fixed fully on the movement of your wrist, eyes watchful and greedy.
âI know itâs hard, darling.â Carlisleâs soft voice chimes in, a balm and an accelerant to the building ache, âJust hold him in your mouth, okay? Keep him nice and warm.â
Thereâs a hiss of breath at his words, Charlieâs hips rocking into your mouth. They make you tremble too, a tightening in your belly as your fingers slide over soaked skin.
Closer, closer closer - getting lost as he fills your mouth. As you bring yourself to edge, and then plummeting over.
A muffled whimper buzzes in your throat before youâre releasing him, your face pressed against the curve of his hip as you ride out the pleasure with your fingers. Moaning senselessly as your thighs flex, as the pulsing relief grows and spreads throughout your body. Leaving you to catch your breath, panting through kiss and cock-swollen lips.
Limbs pliant as Charlie moves you with a gentle, âTurn around for me, baby.â
Propping yourself up on your knees, letting your back curve down so your head can rest on the bed - until the thudding in your chest wanes, a sigh of contentment leaving your lips.
Only then does he move, pushing himself up as well. Hands tugging the shirt from his shoulders, before palming the curve of your ass - the slightest tug as his movement bares you.
âGod, just look at you.â
The words are no more than a rasp, fingers tracing slick skin, down to where your thighs are damp with your release. Tracing up to puffy lips, your thighs tensing when his thumb nudges your clit, where itâs still tender.
Fingers moving to press at your opening, until the tip of one sinks into the first knuckle, and then deeper. Pumping slowly, working you open before the second notches at your entrance.
âSo fucking tight.â He growls out, âNeed to get you ready for me.â
You had been expecting him to take you, to fill you. His tenderness is something that makes you warm, as you peek over your shoulder at him. Where heâs backlit by the candlelight, his features becoming softened and movements fluid.
A gentleman, though in a much more different and gruff kind of way than Carlisle. Not for the first time, but certainly the most realistic, you imagine both sets of hands on you - the contrast making you shiver.
Your fingers curl in the blanket, holding on as Charlie nudges at a spot that sends up sparks in your belly. A soft moan as he pauses for a second, before doing it again. Feeling how you clench, imaging himself how youâll feel wrapped around other parts of him.
Scissoring you open, the briefest pause before thereâs the sound of his body shifting, then a soft and warm exhale of breath against your thigh. Followed by the wet brush of his tongue as he tastes you around his fingers, making your sleepy eyes snap open.
âFuck.â You groan the word through clenched teeth, an arch to your back as his tongue sweeps against your clit.
Fingers withdrawing to grasp your thighs, holding you steady and open against his mouth. Dipping inside to taste your release, the sound of skin against skin as a hand leaves your hip to wrap around his cock.
âTaste so good, honey.â He murmurs the words against your skin, pulling back to press a kiss against the sensitive skin of your thigh, âSo fucking sweet.â
Your eyes lift, to where Carlisle sits - seeing how heâs watching, the hand propped under his chin now moving. Ghosting over the front of his trousers, gently palming where his cock strains against the woolen fabric.
It does something to you, his look hungry when your slow sweep meets his. Knowing what he wants to see, wanting to give that to him.
âI want you.â You beg, your eyes on him, a two-edged meaning to your words. His eyes drop to your lips as Charlie groans behind you, a hand pressing down against your back for leverage as he pushes himself up until heâs kneeling.
The kiss of his cock as it presses against you, the head just nudging against your slit. Holding himself there, one last confirmation, âIs this what you want?â
You shift against him, trying to press him into you - voice clipped with the effort, âYes.â
âOh darling, I know you can do better than that. Ask him nicely.â Carlisleâs soft tone cuts in - itâs almost annoying how easily he finds the words to fluster you.
The hand on your back curls, biting into your skin as thereâs a sharp exhale of breath. Your eyes hold for a second longer before your head tilts, your ear pressed into the mattress.
If he wants to watch you beg, you will.
âPlease fuck me, Charlie.â You whine, fingers curling into the blanket, rocking back towards him. Feeling the head of his cock just starting to press into you, as he makes no effort to hold himself back or move away.
Too far gone himself, to actually deny you of anything. It fuels the heat in your belly, making you want him even more, for him to take you, âOh, I want your cock so bad.â
Youâre the one watching as his jaw clenches, the way his eyes darken. The hand on his cock leaving to curl around your hip, tugging you back onto him. Splitting you open as your plead turns into a long, high moan - filling you with a single, sharp thrust.
âChrist, sweetheart.â He grits out, feeling the way you clench around him. Ages since heâs had someone like this - so soft and sweet and begging.
Hands still gripping on as he pulls back, no more than half-way, a grunt as he buries himself again.
âIs she warm, Charlie?â
When you finally move your head, you see how Carlisle has shifted. Thighs spread open, his elbow pressing into his knee as he leans closer. Almost on the edge of his seat, no more than a few feet from you now.
Thereâs a huff of breath, the slow slide of Charlieâs cock as he thrusts. Once, and then again, grinding himself deep until youâre moaning.
âYes, your girl is gripping my cock. So fucking tight and warm.â His voice is close to a growl, coaxing your hips into a rhythm.
Watching the way your ass bounces against his hips, the peek of his wet cock when you rock forward. Disappearing into your cunt as you arch into him, using your grip on the bed for leverage.
You donât know how to interpret the look Carlisle gives you. Almost wistful, his lips parted with the memory of a breath he no longer has, soaking in the bliss on your face.
âAnd how does he feel, love?â He asks you,
âGod,â You gasp, âYou feel so fucking good, Charlie.â
Thereâs a flush on his cheeks behind you, a groan in his chest as his hips slap against your thighs. The wet squelch each time you take him, slick from desire and your release and his hot, warm mouth.
His strokes nudging where his fingers had been, your mind going fuzzier with each stroke. Eyes focusing on where the fabric pulls tight against Carlisleâs crotch, a question you are just barely able to voice.
âYou want me to take care of you?â
Carlisle has said he preferred to just watch. Something that had been discussed, something that Charlie agreed to, but had almost seemed almost surprised about. Like he had assumed otherwise, when he had agreed.
His eyes flicker above you, a glance at the other man. Lips curling with a knowing look that youâre not sure you understand, a flash of white teeth that only you can see.
âNext time.â He promises, âOkay, kitten?â
The nod comes quickly and eagerly, but heâs not done with you yet. His hand lifting, his first finger curling under your chin. Shifting you, the angle making you groan, as his thumb presses against your lower lip.
You open for him, lips wrapping around and sucking - his thumb cool when it presses down against your tongue. Giving you something else to keep your mouth busy, letting his own mind wander to stolen moments together.
Feeling each muffled moan as it buzzes in your throat, the warm suction of your mouth as you feel the pressure building again. Letting your teeth scrape over the pad of his thumb when a thrust pushes it deeper into your mouth, knowing you canât hurt him.
Already close from Charlieâs fingers and his mouth - a throbbing bloom of pleasure that feels close to bursting. The sounds becoming more rhythmic, drunk on the feeling of being so full - content to let it build until it becomes overwhelming.
When your eyes start to go hazy is when he pulls back, smearing the string of spit over your lower lip, leaving it glossy. Surprising you as his mouth presses to yours, a low, pleased hum in his throat when your lips brush.
âWhat do you need?â Carlisle coos, stealing one more kiss before leaning back. Knowing that it wonât take much for you to shatter - content to watch from his seat so that he doesnât miss anything.
The answer is easy, the answer is on the tip of your tongue when Charlie beats you to it.
âI know just what she needs.â
He had slowed to a grind when Carlisle teased you, but now he man-handles you. An arm curling around your waist, pinning you in place against him. His thrusts sharp and shallow, shifting until he hears you gasp, feeling you clench down hard around him.
âChrist, thatâs it. Good girl.â Charlie croons, fingers reaching to pet the bud of your clit, touching you like he had watched you do before.
âI want you to come for me. Want you to cream on my cock, sweetheart. I know you can do it.â
His voice is soft and low, an edge like before - circling and pressing, his cock pounding into you - youâre so close that you can hardly breathe.
âOh god,â You murmur, toes curling, muscles stringing tight in anticipation, âOh my god, please-â
âThatâs it, come on.â Charlie urges, the words sounding fuzzy in your ears - drowned out by the thud of your heartbeat.
A cool hand nudging at your chin, tilting your face from where it dips between your shoulders.
âShow me.â Carlisle murmurs, just for you.
And so, you do.
Letting him watch the way your brows pinch, the stiff arch of your back as you come. Eyes focused on his, the light of the candles dancing off dark pupils, until stars are exploding behind yours as they flutter shut.
Your release torn from you, leaving you gasping and moaning, half-formed words as his cock makes you gush. Soaking him like he wanted, each thrust slicker and louder in your small bedroom.
Another low whisper, just for you, âGood girl.â
Itâs only his centuries of self-control that prevents you from seeing just how far gone Carlisle is. Watching you take and take - the bliss crossing your features as you came undone.
So much more carnal than the gentle lovemaking that heâs limited himself too - worried about getting too lost in the moment, unable to forgive himself if he ever injured you.
Never wanting to test the limits of his abilities as much as he did right now. If it were possible to feel pain, he thinks heâd be throbbing right now with need.
But the evening is not over - even as your wanton cries turn into contented moans. The sharp pulses turning into waves that leave you relaxed and euphoric.
Letting Charlie set his own pace, hands grasping at your hips, tugging you to meet each thrust. Not far behind, not after the way your pussy clenched around him, as he heard the way you sighed his name.
The grind of his hips turning shorter, faster. His voice matching his need, low and rasping, âIâm close, sweetheart. Where do you want me?â
âYou can come in her, Charlie.â Carlisle answers for you, his eyes glittering in the dim of the room, âI assure you, itâs safe.â
Charlieâs groan is strangled, a stutter to his hips, âFuck. You hear that baby? Is that what you want?â
You clench down around him, murmuring a dreamy, âmhmmâ as he groans.
Only lasting a few more sharp thrusts before heâs there - chest pressing against your back as he bends over you. Shoving himself deep as his cock throbs, spilling into your heat.
You take him, every last drop, until heâs easing himself out - until his release threatens to drip from you. Waiting until heâs collapsing back on your pillows before you join him. Suddenly shy, in spite of everything.
The bed dips with added weight a moment later, as Carlisle finally moves from the armchair. Fitting himself on your other side, pushing you closer to Charlie. Hips bumping against yours as his hand slides up your thigh, to where your legs are still parted as you catch your breath.
Fingertips trail over the sensitive skin - down to where youâre puffy and slick. Watching you with golden eyes as the tips of two of them press into you - as youâre unable to stifle a gasp of surprise, and then a moan.
Nudging deep, where youâre wet and filled. The sound lewd as his fingers pump, and then curl.
Your head tilts fractionally, as your eyes slide to where Charlie is stretched out beside you. The arm he had thrown across his face has lowered, moving behind his head. His own gaze focused on the careful movements between your thighs.
âSo warm.â Carlisle hums, his lips curving as he finds a spot that makes you to jolt, clench around him. The flash of pretty teeth as he smiles.
A hand drifts to rest on your hip, moving slowly. A very warm, very human hand - sliding over skin as it moves up to your waist.
Charlieâs bare chest pressing against your shoulder as he curls onto his side. His thumb brushing the underside of your breast, a soft back-and-forth. Flatting his palm when you arch into his touch, and you can feel the exhale of his breath against your ear.
Their touches, the attention, feels overwhelming. Your breath coming in short pants, a sharp âahâ with half-lidded eyes as a thumb slides across your clit.
As Carlisle dips down to steal a kiss, a swipe of his tongue against yours. A noise almost like a growl - the flickering light dancing across the arch of his sculpted cheekbones, almost making him glow.
The press of a hip against yours, as Charlie shifts against you. Trapping the taut peak of your nipple between his knuckles, the breath youâre holding dragged out in a moan.
âYou got one more, honey?â He murmurs, his eyes dragging from where Carlisle leans over you, his gaze heavy and curious and wanting.
Your lips brush his next as you nod, and you wonder if he can taste Carlisle on your tongue. If heâs thinking about him, wondering - though the thought is quickly slipping from your mind.
Sliding through your fingers like smoke as his thumb presses just a little harder, as Charlieâs fingers pinch and tug and itâs all too much.
Your back bowing against the bed they bring you over the edge - fingers slowing, pressing deep. Keeping you full so the spend doesnât leak from you, not yet.
Enjoying the tight clench of your cunt as you pulse around his fingers, listening to each gasping breath, the sound of your moans. Committing your pretty, human, reactions to memory - the thudding of your pulse, the way you gaze at him so reverently.
Until gently, his fingers slide from you. Slick and shining with you - with Charlie. The flash of his pink tongue appearing between parted lips as he sucks the tip of one clean, before taking both into his mouth.
Slowly sliding them out - licked clean - before his head is dipping to kissing you again. His tongue already seeking yours before your lips fully meet.
âShit.â Charlie hisses next to you, carefully watching every moment.
Carlisleâs laugh as soft as his voice, when he pulls back. His thumb running over your lip, as his eyes find Charlieâs.
âThank you.â He tells him, and you think only Carlisle could sound so composed after such an evening.
Charlieâs ears and cheeks flushed pink - a huff of an incredulous, pleased breath.
âUh, sure.â He manages, a hand brushing through his hair, yet not making any attempt to move. Still uncertain that this wasnât a dream, a fantasy.
âAnytime.â
(No pressure tags: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @jedicouncilmember)
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