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puppyplayhouse · 3 days

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Step brother Hyunjin things

Warnings: puppy reader, degradation, blackmail, choking at some point, dub con, kissing.

Lil headcanon of mean step bro Hyunjin (who maybe is possessive) being a dick (it's so delicious tho)

Has known you since you were both little because your parents were family friends before their respective divorces, so he knows every button to push.

Constantly using Dad against you. It's a core part of his blackmail, really. Every time you're a little less than compliant, he pulls up one of the thousands of pictures he's taken of you during your times together and asks what you think Dad would have to say about it.

Calls you puppy when people are around just to get you flustered. He's amazing at playing it off so that nobody questions it because well, he's just a good brother and you've always been SO close.

Any time he sees you alone on the couch, he's tugging his pants down and tapping his cock against your cheek. Of course, you protest. You tell him that you don't know when your parents are getting back. He doesn't care, though. He tells you that you should shut up and get to work if you don't want them to find out.

He's not always mean, though. You'd even say he's somewhat nice when you've had a really hard day and you come to him reluctantly, kneeling in front of him because you just can't be in control right now, and he's the only person who can take that from you.

He rewards you so well for that. For any willing submission you offer him, he returns it by making you cum over and over again on his fingers before he fucks you nice and slow, rolling his hips lazily into yours to drag out the low, whimpered moans that you let slip. He's only gentle with you when you earn it.

He loves to make you cum. He loves it even more when your pretty mouth is objecting to it and telling him he shouldn't be doing it, but your hips are bucking against him and your nails are digging into his arm in a pathetic attempt to ground yourself.

And he takes pictures every time. Sometimes, he'll force you to pose and use his fancy camera. Those are the more tasteful shots of you in pretty lingerie with wide doe eyes. Other times he's using his phone to capture the tears that spill down your cheeks as you gag around the length of his cock. He loves both equally.

He always has to degrade you. He'll pin you down completely still the movement of his hips as he makes you beg, always something along the lines of "C'mon, puppy. You were all talk before begging me to stop and now you're panting like a bitch in heat. Tell me you want it. That's it, more. I know you can do better than that. Tell me you're my worthless slut."

He knows you like it because your pussy is always dripping and practically pulses around him.

He would never admit it, but after a while you become the only person he fucks. Sure, he could have his pick, but he knows nobody else would look as cute as you do when you're staring up at him wide, panicked eyes, and tear stained cheeks.

He fucking loves seeing you cry. He loves watching you bite your pillow when he finds you laid on your bed and forces your pants down without a word, easily sliding his cock inside of you because you're always soaked at this point.

At some point he starts making you tell him that you love him. He has a firm grip of your throat and you're overstimulated to the point of becoming delirious as he uses one of your toys on you, thrusting it in an out of your aching cunt. "Tell me, and I'll stop, yeah? All you have to do is tell me how much you love me."

And you do. You say it like a prayer. You say it over and over again even after he's stopped, and he's got your cheeks cradled in his hands, cooing at you because you took everything he gave you without a complaint this time.

He was recording it, of course.

Recording you is his second favourite form of torture. He has so many videos of you sat pretty between his legs, your hands in fist infront of you like little paws as your tongue sticks out of your mouth, drool dripping down onto his lap to create a messy wet patch on the fabric of his pants. Those are his favourite to get himself off to.

Sweet brother Hyunjin is always nice enough to let you know when he's getting himself off to you. Which is every time. He sends you videos and pictures of his gorgeous cock fucking up into his hand and it's the only time he seems out of control, desperate for it to be you that he was burying his cock into instead.

Very rarely does he lay back and let you do the work. He likes taking charge and making a mess of you, but very rarely when you're being a good dog and sitting patiently, waiting almost excitedly for his next round of abuse, he lets you do the work. He'll pat his lap and wait for you to climb on top of him, watching in amusement as you fumble with his zipper and shove his pants down, messily grinding yourself against his bulge until he quietly tells you that if you don't move on, he'll leave.

You always perk up at that, taking it less as a threat and more as permission to sink yourself down on his cock. This is when he praises you.

He tells you how pretty you look and that you take his cock so fucking well, looking up at you with something akin to adoration sparkling in his eyes. He might even kiss you. His kisses are the ultimately reward, always slow and sensual. You become ravenous when he kisses you.

Maybe he'll even tell you he loves you. That you're his favourite puppy. He knows he loves you, and he has accepted that. But maybe he'll let you know when your grinding down onto his cock like the well trained mutt he has made you into.

He doesn't make it too sweet though. More like, "that's it. Take my cock, baby. Fuck, I love you. My desperate little slut. All fucking mine, yeah?"

#hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut

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luveline · 2 days

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hello lovely angel!! humbly requesting zombie!steve au, perhaps more of jealous steve? i love their dynamic so much💗 maybe someone is flirting with reader, and enter protective steve:)

thanks for requesting! fem, 2k

You tend to think of it in two weird halves. You love Steve, and you never would’ve known that without the end of the world, so things are okay. Sometimes you wonder if he ever could’ve loved you if he hadn’t been so close to you for so long, but he loves you in this insane capacity of softness that says otherwise. Like, soulmate style.

It didn’t begin that way. Steve your reluctant guide, and you his unlikely saviour. You’d stopped him from dying at the very start of it all and he couldn’t leave you behind. And Steve, he’d been mean to you. He didn’t want to take care of you initially, but you’d grown to get along. You’d argue black and blue and he’d still rub your back at night.

There are so many moments you’ve shared that make what you have all the more special. A hundred different memories from before you’d ever kissed. You think about it now, watching him across the firepit as he shows a young girl, Cassandra, how to braid her hair.

The one that’s sticking today is when Steve got really bad food poisoning for the first time. When you’d known you were in love with him for a while, and when he’d stopped pretending he didn’t know. He’d been sick everywhere, on both your shoes, and you’d rubbed his back through everything.

It was nice to take care of him. Nicer that night when you’d shared a bed and he’d hugged you half to death.

He has no idea how much he means to you, or how much those moments with him kept you going when you were all alone. You’re lucky now to have found community, but those stolen hours in bed with him hugging him and getting to be his support, you wouldn’t have made it here without them.

“Hey.”

You look up as a man sits down. A boy, a man —what do you call twenty somethings? You don’t feel like a woman most of the time, but you are.

“Hi,” you say.

“I’m Jamison.”

“You’re Eddie’s friend, right?”

“Who, Munson?” Jamison makes a kidding face, a disgusted scrunch of his eyebrows that falls away to more friendly fondness. “Yeah, we go back. You’re Eddie’s friend too, right? I saw you guys taking out some laundry a few days ago.”

Jamison is handsome. He has tan skin, short hair, and a crooked nose. His smile is disarming. If you hadn’t fallen in love with the handsomest guy around, you might feel nervous under his gaze.

Time spent ugly under Steve’s reverent handling makes you confident. You genuinely feel prettier knowing Steve loves you, and it makes it easier to be yourself with strangers.

“Eddie’s awesome,” you say easily. “I thought he was gonna kill me when we first met, but he’s too nice.”

“Nice, really?”

Jamison is casual, as people go. You wonder what his motivations are for talking to you at first, but as conversation stretches, littered with the cracking pops of the fireplace and brief pauses of surprisingly comfortable silence, you realise he’s just talking. Maybe he’s lonely. You know how that feels.

He tells you that he and Eddie had been in a rock band together before the apocalypse. You’d known to some extent that Eddie was in a band, but Jamison tells you all the details you’d been missing. They were called Corroded Coffin, four members, Eddie played guitar and Jamison thought he was pretty fucking good at it, actually.

“I don’t think we would’ve been, like, Metallica. But we could’ve been good. We were gonna make a record.”

You smoke sympathetically. “I bet you could’ve been.”

“What were you doing? Before all this?”

“I honestly barely remember,” you say quietly. Your life before Steve is a blur, and it’s painful, too. “Things are harder now, I know that. I wish every day that we could go back to how things were, you know, I miss TV and grocery stores and my family.” You lick your lips. “I wish things were different, but somehow, I think I like my life now. I have stuff to do. Is that crazy?”

“It’s not crazy. Everything fucking sucks,” —you both laugh— “but that’s not crazy. I’m lucky, I still have my dad, and my friends. There’s purpose in being here.”

You nod emphatically, just once. “Exactly.”

You have purpose, now. You get to be a friend, a girlfriend, a confidente. You take care of people.

It all comes back to Steve, at the end of the day. Would you change the world if it meant never having met him?

Nope.

You glance across the fire for him, but he’s not there.

You put your arm behind your back and bend, looking for him.

“Looking for someone?” Jamison asks.

You deflate with relief when you spot him standing near the gaggle of tents about fifty feet away. He’s looking at you from over Robin’s shoulder. You wave, and he waves back with a big smile.

Something seems a little wrong.

“Steve,” you explain.

“He’s your boyfriend, yeah? Eddie told me you’ve been together since the start.”

You don’t bother correcting him. He might not mean together as how you’re thinking it. “Yeah, that’s him. Have you met him?”

“Kind of. We all thought he was a huge dick, back then.”

“He sort of was,” you say. “I mean, we all had our own stuff going on. I get that I’m biased, but he’s my favourite person I’ve ever met. He’s so kind, I don’t think I could describe it to you or anyone just how much he cares about people. I wouldn’t be here without him, and… I don’t know, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but if you ever wanted to meet him again, he’s amazing. He’s a great friend. He’s so fucking funny, he makes me laugh every day.”

“He’s sort of giving me the stink eye,” Jamison says.

You wave your hand weakly. “He has raging jealousy issues.”

“Shit, am I getting you in trouble?”

“No, never!” you say, tempted to laugh. “He doesn’t get mad at me for stuff like that. He’s normal, I promise. Just sensitive.”

You tell Jamison that it was nice talking to him because it really was, but you’ve been missing Steve for hours already and you need to get back to him before you go totally bonkers.

He’s sitting on the floor in the tent. The weather has been beautiful lately, you could sleep under the stars if you weren’t scared of being zombie charcuterie. Steve has stripped down to just his jeans and socks, no t-shirt or shoes to be seen. He has his sketchbook splayed open on his thigh, but he abandons it the moment you kneel down.

“Hey,” you say.

Steve folds his book closed, pencil between its pages. “Hi. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”

You shuffle in to take his hand. Clumsy touches, his fingers warm and a tad clammy between yours. “You told me yesterday that I have a smile like an angel. I know you were kidding, but I still felt it.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says, wrinkling his nose with a smile. “You think every compliment is a joke.”

“Don’t make me laugh so much, then.”

He squeezes your fingers gently. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to Jamison. Just, I knew him already from school. And he did not like me.”

“That’s okay. He seemed nice, I think you’d get along if you met now.” You kick your shoes off and crawl as close to him as you can get. He looks up at you, but you look down at his lap. “What are you drawing?”

“I was just trying to touch up that landscape I did of the river,” he says, a sheepishness to him as he opens his sketchbook.

You read it with affection, trace lines and hatchings in awe. “Steve, I really wish you had time and space to do this stuff properly. Not that you aren’t doing it properly, just, I know you could make something just as beautiful as this with paint.” You slide to be sitting properly, putting you both at the same height, so you can meet his eyes as you continue. “Did you know what you wanted to do, when you were finishing school? Did you ever think about art?”

“I thought about it.” His lips quirk. “Mostly about how my dad would’ve kicked me out if I said something that stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“I know.”

That would’ve been a nice life. You and Steve living together, with a basement for his paintings, or a garage turned studio. You’d read books together every night like you do now, and you’d scrub paint smudges off of his cheek.

You love him so much it must give you an aura.

“I’ve got nothing to worry about, huh?” he asks softly.

You drift in, tipping your head back for a kiss you don’t take. “I don’t know, Steve, Jamison used to be in a rock band.”

He scoffs in disgust. You think it might be a mixture of anger at Jamison and himself. “Who wants to date a rockstar?”

“I might’ve.”

You’re teasing, of course, smiling as your kiss draws nearer, and nearer.

“Well, I can be a rockstar,” he says quietly, warmth of his breath on your lips. “Just give me a chance to get there.”

You brush the tip of your nose against his and hold your breath. “That’s okay,” you say, letting it rush out of you in a huff, your excitement to be kissed too much to bear, “I like my guys all mixed up. Preferably good at track, and swimming, but with a soft side. Kind of guy who fills a sketchbook up with my face.”

Steve lists to the side. Your lips are so close, you can feel the phantom of them against yours as he moves in. “It’s not just your face… it’s your hands, your arms… your everything–”

He cuts his own explanation off with a soft kiss. That softness swiftly hardens, turns rough, ten long seconds of sweetness before his hands coming up behind your head and he’s pressing inward, deepening the kiss, and giving you little room to breathe.

You have no intention of dating any rockstars, but his jealous streak has nothing but upsides for you. Steve knows that his jealousy over the innocuous is his own problem, his own insecurity that he’s working on, and while you sympathise with him (after all, haven’t you yourself worried he’d find someone else he liked more?), you have to confess to enjoying the edge to his kissing.

You make a pleased, humoured sound as he breathes you in like you’re a drug he’s been waiting for. He gets sloppier, and you can’t help pulling away to laugh.

“What?” he asks, thumbing at your cheek in a soft juxtaposition. “Sorry, am I being a dick?”

“No, it’s fine. Kiss me how you want to.”

Steve kisses your cheek softly. “He knows you have a boyfriend, right?”

“He knows.”

Steve hums like he’s smiling and nudges your nose with his, until you part your lips, and he wades in for another dose.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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just-a-ghost00 · 3 days

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You got mail 💌

Let’s find out what the person on your mind has to say to you. Pick one of the following emojis and discover your reading.

🌍 🩵 🌄 🤠

Group 1 🌍

I may not show it to you but I am really happy we met. Everyday with you feels like a new adventure. Though we are worlds apart and so different from each other, I really feel like we match perfectly. You make me feel like I belong. Every moment spent with you is so much fun. It makes me want to jump forward and explore. You are so sweet and generous, so playful that I can’t help but to play along. I feel so lucky being with you. There is so much I want to do with you. I want to hang out with you and get to know you more. Maybe we could have a couple drinks, play in a park, have a little date by the river… if you wish. I feel so boring compared to you. With me, everything is always black and white. But you, my love, are so colorful and bright. I wish we were a family. I wish I could wake up in the morning to find you sitting at the table, eating breakfast with a smile on your face. I wish I could share with you my favorite spots and take you to every place I get to see. I wish I could find a way to express all that you mean to me. I tend to see the glass half empty. But when I’m with you I want to believe everything is possible. You have filled my cup with your love and I am so thankful for that. I can’t find the words to tell you how much I owe to you. You’ve made me a better person and I feel like I could never return the favor.

Group 2 🩵

I may look like all is well and fine but to tell you the truth I feel hollow. And I could use some fun. I always seem so busy, always the life of the party, making everybody laugh and ensuring they have a good time. But deep inside, it’s getting tough. As the days go by, I feel my energy depleting and my motivation as well. I don’t even know why I do this anymore. I force myself for the sake of keeping appearances but honestly I’m not sure I like it at all. I’m afraid that if you dig deep enough, you wouldn’t like what you find there. I am much more fragile than I seem. Also much more mellow and soft when I get the chance. But lately I’m more of a zombie than anything. I don’t think I could bring you much joy nor comfort. I’m afraid I’ve turned bitter. It’s all about work and making sure the money gets in and less about enjoying what I’m doing. I need to pay the bills. There’s competition around. I can’t afford to lose. Everyone’s counting on me. People look up to me. I sacrificed a lot to get there. I can’t back down now. Who would I be if I did? I can’t disappoint. It’s all a masquerade but it’s for a cause. It might not look great to you but it means a lot to me. So, sorry if I’m acting cold but… it’s all for you baby. Don’t go thinking I found someone better. Believe me I don’t have the time for that.

Group 3 🌄

Hold on a minute ! I know what you’re gonna think. What the heck is he/she saying? But hey, let me explain you’ll get it ! I may not be the strongest, the wisest or the most impressive of them all but one thing that’s sure about me is that I only have good intentions for you. I am ready to fight for you if that must be done. Thought I’m not good at that. Listen, my point is I really like you. I want to be with you, have fun with you, chat with you. I want us to take our time and get to know each other and hopefully to grow old together but that’s another story. With you I feel like a kid again. Sometimes, I gotta say, the feeling can be irritating. But at the same time it is freeing. I don’t have to chose a side. I don’t have to act a certain way to be accepted by you or understood. And that’s crazy! I’ve never experienced that before. Usually I would try to conform and play nice, show my best side and stick to the plan. But ever since I met you I want to free myself of those restraints. I want to find my home. I want to express my full potential without fearing being rejected or not belonging. I know you’ll never kick me out. Because you are the same aren’t you? The things I’ve seen, what I’ve been through, you’ve been there as well, right? I want to make a promise to you. Whatever comes our way, I swear I won’t run away. Even though it is scary and seems impossible, I will always work hard and do my best to make it. I may not be exactly your type or what you imagined a partner should be, but I am willing to learn. I am willing to tune to your melody and shelter whatever we may build together, not matter how unstable it may seem. I want you to feel comfortable with me. I want you to feel as safe with me as I feel with you. So if you’ll let me, let me fulfill that promise. You won’t regret it.

Group 4 🤠

To be honest, at first I didn’t get the best of vibes from you. I was a little intimidated and didn’t want to get to know you. Especially considering what people were saying about you. But I tried to see past your exterior and once I got to know you I found out that you were very chill. Maybe it was because I didn’t know you. Maybe I feared the unknown territory you represented. Maybe I was just afraid of going deep. But curiosity got the best of me. And luckily for both of us I stayed around long enough to make my own opinion. And I have to say that you are quite surprising. I won’t lie, being with you asks a lot of efforts on my part. But every second spent with you is worth it. In your presence, I feel comfortable. Being with you reminds me of my childhood. I think of my mother and my family, of the days we spent together before I moved away and followed the wind where it took me. Every page of our story takes me deeper within. I see sides of myself I never noticed or didn’t want to remember. I remember the innocent days where doing something new weren’t as terrifying and meeting new people sounded like a thrill. Being with you I feel blessed and content. There’s a light heartedness and a warmth in my heart I wouldn’t trade for anything. When I’m alone at home you’re all I think about. When I’m at work also. There isn’t a single moment when you’re not on my mind. When I’m with you I feel hopeful. I think that maybe life isn’t as tough as I thought it would be. That maybe there is more waiting for me. Please, show me more of your different sides. Tell me more about what makes you happy. Let me in and let me see for myself what you are made of. I’m begging you don’t shut me out. I want more of you.

#just-a-ghost #pick a card #pac reading #spiritual pac #love pac

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blixabargelds · 2 days

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PLS do more cnc, nobody ever writes it :( you are a fantastic writer

thank youu 🥺 cnc my beloved ugh especially when it’s ill advised and under negotiated and ends in tears <3 but also also~

modern clegan au,. gale meets this real attractive guy at a bar, a little older, rough around the edges but he seems nice enough. and gale’s nervous because he’s never touched a drop of alcohol in his life but he’s had a rough fucking week, wants to see what the fuss is all about, take the edge off the noise in his head. and this guy sits down next to him, and gale’s playing nervously with the straw in his vodka lime soda staring into it, and this guy says ‘hey, doll, you gonna drink that?’

so gale does. he takes a sip, and it sort of stings on the way down, but this cute guy, says his name is john, smiles at him so wide like he’s pleased with him and that smile is like a shot in itself, so gale finishes the drink. and john, he can see this quiet kid is relaxing a bit, so he gets him another. and john’s hardly touching his but gale’s halfway through this second one, and christ he’s a lightweight, so he barely notices he’s the only one getting wasted.

and gale gets a little bold with it, he’s flirting with this guy now, and when john offers to drive him home he accepts because the world is tilting a bit, and he seems so nice.

and when gale kisses his cheek as a thank you as they get back to gale’s, this guy- he won’t leave. he sticks a foot in gale’s door and won’t let him shut it. and this big smile john had, it won’t leave his face as he looks at gale and says ‘you do this a lot?’

gale doesn’t know what he means, goes to say no and sorry, but john’s bullying his way into gale’s apartment and saying ‘you like to lead guys on? you do this a lot, leave good men high and dry? nobody ever told you that’s pretty fuckin rude?’

and gale’s gut twists and he goes to say something else, but john’s switched. he ain’t so friendly anymore. he’s grabbing gale by the hair and throwing him down onto his bed. he’s bigger and stronger, and gale’s head is swimming, and he can’t breathe as john’s tugging his pants down, shoving his face into the pillow so when gale shouts for him to get the hell off him nobody’s gonna hear. and gale’s maybe starting to cry as john fingers him once, twice, then fucks into him with spit and the sheer force of a violent stranger, and gale thinks he might pass out.

and he’s never done this before, either, and he tells this guy as much, begging him not to, he doesn’t understand his body’s reaction when this guy fucks him so deep he’s hitting something gale’s only found with his own shy fingers before, and gale wants to die because he’s getting hard, he’s gonna come from this man roughly taking something gale didn’t want to give. and when he does, just from his cock against the sheets and john splitting him apart, he sobs into the pillow, begs john to get off him bc he’s ruining him, and when john pulls out and flips gale over and puts his hand on his neck he tells him ‘you never saw my face, nobody’s going to believe you’.

and he’s choking gale so tight his eyes are rolling back, and the vodka and the terror and the lack of oxygen make him slip, and he thinks he can hear the ocean rushing in his ears and as john’s grip finally loosens he’s gone.

and when john touches his face, brings him back around, everything’s fuzzy. and gale looks up at him, and he smiles so hard john drags in this breath like he was the one getting throttled.

and gale says, ‘you never asked my name’

and john says ‘shit, buck, where d’you learn to act like that,’ and ‘did you tell the bartender beforehand to just give you soda?’ because of course gale would plan that far ahead, and ‘where did the fucking virgin thing come from?’

and gale says, ‘you told me i could improvise,’ and ‘did you lock the door? never know what kinds of people there are out there these days.’

#🫡#frankiefic #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #clegan

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pandapetals · 3 days

Text

Runaway

old man logan x afab!reader - i guess angst, inspired by rihanna's song desperado, set from the film logan, logan being nice, no y/n used, no reader description, mutant reader but no powers mentioned

Logan sees you on the side of the road and decides to pick you up.

read on Ao3

Logan hadn’t planned on stopping, let alone picking anyone up. But there you were, standing alone on the side of a dirt highway, the heat shimmering off the asphalt like a mirage. He didn’t know what made him slow down, what made him pull over and let you climb into the passenger seat of his beat-up truck. Maybe it was the way you looked—exhausted, dirt streaked across your face, bag slung over your shoulder like you’d been walking for days. Your skin was burnt, the blazing sun having made its mark, and yet your eyes, though heavy with fatigue, were sharp. Watchful.

Something about you reminded him of himself.

He didn’t regret it, though. In his old age, Logan had learned to appreciate the silence of a long drive more than anything else, and it seemed like you did too. You’d only said three words to him— “Thanks for stopping” —and he’d replied with three of his own: “Don’t mention it.”

After that, the two of you had settled into a companionable quiet. No questions, no small talk. Just the hum of the engine and the endless stretch of desert before you.

You'd relaxed a bit when he'd glanced over at you and muttered, “Take it easy.” It wasn’t a command, more like permission. To breathe, to let go of whatever had weighed you down on that lonely highway. And for a moment, you did. Your shoulders softened, your eyes closed, the tension in your body unwinding bit by bit, like you hadn’t felt safe enough to let your guard down until now.

Logan noticed but didn’t say anything. He just kept driving, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the cigarette between his lips burning low, the smoke curling out the window.

It wasn’t until he pulled off the road at a dusty old gas station, the kind that barely had enough lights to flicker, that things shifted again. The limo rolled to a stop, and you opened the door, stepping out without a word. At first, he figured you were just stretching your legs, shaking off the miles. But then he saw the way your bag was slung back over your shoulder, the determined set of your jaw, that wild, lone-wolf glint in your eyes.

You weren’t planning on sticking around.

“Hey,” Logan called, his voice gravelly, rough from years of too much smoke and too little sleep.

You paused, your back to him, your body tense like a coiled spring. Slowly, you turned, eyes meeting his with a wariness that hadn’t left since the moment you’d climbed into his truck. “Yeah?”

He stared at you for a beat, trying to read you, trying to figure out why he cared whether or not you left. “Run in and get me a beer,” he said, flipping a couple of crumpled bills toward you. The cash hit the dirt, fluttering at your feet.

For a second, he thought you might bolt. He could see it in the way your body shifted, like a rabbit ready to dart from a predator. Part of him expected it—half of him even wanted you to run. It’d be easier that way. No good ever came from sticking around people too long.

But you didn’t run.

You just sighed, like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders, and bent down to pick up the bills. With a flicker of resignation, you shoved the money into your pocket and walked into the convenience store, your bag still hanging off your shoulder like it was always ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice.

Logan watched you disappear inside, the glass door swinging shut behind you, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He lit another cigarette, the paper crackling in the quiet, and leaned against the limo.

He didn’t know why he felt relieved you hadn’t taken off. It wasn’t like you owed him anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to people sticking around. But something about you... maybe it was the way you’d stood on that highway, all defiance and exhaustion, or maybe it was the silence you carried like a second skin. Whatever it was, it gnawed at him, like he could see a piece of himself in you—another drifter with nowhere to be and no one to answer to.

When you came back out, a cold beer in hand, you tossed it to him without a word. He caught it mid-air, popping the cap off with a flick of his thumb, the hiss of carbonation breaking the tension.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice gruff.

You nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you stood there for a moment, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, like you were still trying to decide whether to stay or go.

“You know,” Logan began, his eyes fixed on the darkening horizon, “you don’t have to keep running.”

Your shoulders stiffened, but you didn’t say anything. The weight of his words hung between you both, thick and heavy like the dust that clung to the desert air.

“I’m not running,” you muttered finally, your voice low, almost too quiet for him to catch but he knew it was a lie.

Logan took a long swig of the beer, watching you carefully from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, you are,” he said after a moment, his tone even, almost resigned. “We all are.”

For the first time, you looked at him— really looked at him—and in that instant, something shifted. The walls you’d both built, the ones that kept you safe but alone, cracked just a little.

“Doesn’t mean you gotta keep doing it,” he added, voice softer this time like he wasn’t sure why he was even saying it.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you walked around to the back of the limo and climbed into the passenger seat, setting your bag down at your feet, the decision made. Logan didn’t ask where you were headed, didn’t push for answers you weren’t ready to give. He just slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and let the old engine roar to life.

The two of you drove off, leaving the gas station behind, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert.

For the first time in a long while, Logan didn’t feel the weight of solitude pressing down on him. Maybe it was the silence between you, or maybe it was just the comfort of knowing someone else was out there, wandering the same road.

Hours had slipped away, the sky outside now washed in soft hues of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Logan kept his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes locked on the road ahead. He could keep driving—hell, he’d driven through worse—but the soft sound of your head bumping gently against the window caught his attention. You were fighting it, he could tell. Your head kept nodding forward, then jerking back up as you tried to resist the pull of sleep.

Logan had lived long enough to master the art of sleeplessness. Nights on the run, nights on missions, nights spent haunted by things he couldn’t quite forget. Sleep was optional when you had the kind of past he did. But he could see it in you, the weariness sinking deep into your bones. He wondered how long it had been since you’d slept in a real bed—if you even remembered what that felt like.

Your exhaustion bothered him in a way he couldn’t quite name. So, with a quiet sigh, he pulled off the highway, easing the limo into the parking lot of a rundown roadside hotel. The flickering neon sign buzzed weakly in the evening air, casting an eerie glow over the mostly vacant lot. The engine rumbled to a stop, and the sudden silence jolted you awake.

“Why’d we stop?” Your voice was groggy, your eyes still hazy with sleep. You blinked, confused, disoriented, like you couldn’t quite understand why you were no longer in motion.

Logan’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice—how startled you were by something as simple as stopping. It reminded him of things he didn’t want to remember. “You need to rest,” he muttered, the words rough in his throat. “Can’t sleep sittin’ like that.”

He stepped out of the limo without waiting for your response, the night air cooler than he expected as it brushed against his skin. The neon light buzzed above him as he walked inside the hotel, the faint smell of old carpet and stale cigarette smoke hitting him the moment he opened the door. The place was barely a step above a motel, the kind of spot that wouldn’t ask too many questions, and that suited Logan just fine.

A few minutes later, he returned to the limo, the weight of a key card resting in his hand. He opened the door and slid back into the driver’s seat, holding the key out toward you.

You glanced at the key, then at him, an odd expression crossing your face as you squinted in the dimming light. “You got a room?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Logan nodded, but then shook his head slightly, grunting in frustration. “No... I mean, yeah, but it’s not for me. It’s for you.” He shoved the key into your hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours for just a second—enough to feel how rough and worn his hands were like they’d spent a lifetime in battles you couldn’t begin to imagine.

You stared at the key in your hand, then back up at him, shaking your head. “I can’t take this,” you murmured, a hint of something like guilt creeping into your voice. “I don’t need—”

“Hey,” Logan cut you off, his voice gruffer than usual, like he was uncomfortable with the whole situation. “I’m bein’ nice here. And I don’t do nice shit, so take it.” His eyes, though hard, had softened just a fraction, as if he was daring you to argue with him but hoping you wouldn’t.

For a moment, you didn’t move. The weight of his offer hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been. There was more to this than just a bed—it was an unspoken acknowledgment of something. Trust, maybe. Or the fact that Logan, in his own rough-around-the-edges way, saw that you needed something more than just a seat in his limo.

Your fingers curled around the key, accepting it with quiet resignation, but your gaze lingered on his. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice low, the question carrying more than just curiosity. There was a vulnerability in it, a hint of something deeper, like you were trying to understand the man sitting next to you.

Logan looked away, his jaw clenching slightly as if the answer was something he didn’t want to say out loud. He exhaled through his nose, a heavy sound in the quiet cab of the limo. “Just get some rest,” he muttered, his tone clipped like he didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Maybe not ever.

You hesitated for a beat longer, then finally nodded, pushing open the door and stepping out into the cool night air. The pavement felt rough beneath your feet, a reminder of how far you'd come from wherever you started. The worn-down hotel loomed in front of you, the neon light casting strange shadows across the parking lot.

As you walked toward the door, you glanced back over your shoulder. Logan was still sitting there in the driver’s seat, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He didn’t move, didn’t watch you go—at least, not that you could tell. But something in the way he sat, rigid and tense, told you he was still paying attention. Always paying attention.

Inside the hotel room, the bed was lumpy, the sheets threadbare, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. But it was a bed—a real bed. And that was something you hadn’t had in a while. You dropped your bag by the door, staring at the worn carpet for a moment, feeling the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

As you lay down not bothering to change, your body sank into the mattress, the tension slowly easing from your muscles. You closed your eyes, the hum of the highway distant now, Logan’s quiet gruffness still echoing in your head.

Outside, Logan leaned back in the limo, staring out into the fading dusk. The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore—it felt like something else. Something that neither of you could name yet.

He stayed there, in the parking lot, engine off, his thoughts far away but still somehow with you, watching over you in a way he’d never admit to until he finally let sleep take him.

You awoke to the damp feeling of drool on your chin, blinking groggily as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. The unfamiliar room slowly came into focus—the peeling wallpaper, the dim light filtering through the blinds. You sat up, glancing around as your mind caught up with your body. For a moment, you weren’t sure what time it was, until you peeked outside, pulling the blinds open just enough to see the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink.

The sun was setting. Still early.

The limo was still parked in the lot, right where it had been when you’d gone inside. A part of you had half-expected it to be gone, leaving you behind with nothing but a vague memory of a quiet, brooding man who had given you a ride. But there it was.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the bed, and stretching out the stiffness in your back. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that looked just as tired as you felt—hair tousled, eyes puffy from sleep. You splashed some water on your face, trying to freshen up, wondering just how long you’d been out.

As you towel-dried your face, a thought hit you: You didn’t even know the guy’s name.

You paused, staring at your reflection. Great. I got in a car with a complete stranger. A stranger who could’ve easily left you out there on the highway, or worse, done something while you were out cold. But he hadn’t. You knew instinctively that he wouldn’t. He could’ve hurt you, sure, but there was something about his demeanor that told you he wasn’t that kind of man. Reserved, gruff—yes—but not a threat.

Besides, there was something about the way he moved, the way he watched the world with an edge of suspicion like he was always prepared for the worst. It felt... familiar. Maybe that’s why you’d felt okay getting into the car with him. He was like you—a mutant. One of the few left in the world, just trying to survive.

You stepped outside into the cool evening air, pulling the door shut behind you. Logan sat in the limo, leaning back with his arms crossed, one hand tapping lightly against the worn leather of the steering wheel. His gaze lifted the moment you stepped into view, those sharp, unreadable eyes tracking your every move.

“Didn’t think you’d wait around,” you said as you approached, your voice carrying more uncertainty than you intended.

Logan shrugged. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be,” he replied, his tone casual, but there was a heaviness behind the words like maybe that had been true for a long time.

You opened the passenger door and slid in next to him. The limo smelled faintly of smoke and old leather, the scent oddly comforting now. You settled back into the seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“What’s your name?” you asked suddenly, realizing how strange it was to have shared a car—and now a bit of trust—with someone you didn’t even know.

“Logan,” he answered, the name grating out of his throat like it wasn’t used to being said. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his eyes staying on the horizon, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. “Yours?”

You hesitated for a second before giving it. It felt strange to be exchanging names after all this, but something in you wanted to fill the quiet between you with more than just silence.

Logan nodded once, letting your name hang in the air for a moment before glancing over at you. His gaze was hard to read—those deep, weathered eyes that had probably seen too much for too long. “How’d you end up out here?”

You shifted slightly, the question bringing a surge of memories to the surface—memories you weren’t sure you wanted to unpack right now. But there was something about the way he asked, so direct, so unflinching, that made it easier to answer.

“Been moving around,” you said simply. “Trying to stay off the radar, keep to myself.” You shrugged, glancing out the window at the fading light. “Guess I was just looking for somewhere quieter than the last place.”

Logan grunted like he understood more than he was letting on. “Not much quiet left these days.”

You both sat in the heavy silence that followed, the kind of silence that said more than words could. The world had become hostile to people like you—mutants, outcasts, whatever they wanted to call you now. It didn’t matter where you went; there was always a sense of being hunted, being watched like you were something dangerous to be kept in check.

“How long have you been running?” he asked after a while, his voice softer now, less gruff. There was something almost... knowing in it, like he’d been running, too for much longer than you could imagine.

You exhaled, the question hitting closer than you wanted it to. “Feels like forever,” you admitted quietly. “But really? Only a few years. Things started getting... bad.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at that, his fingers gripping the wheel until his knuckles whitened. “Yeah. They always get bad.”

You didn’t need to ask if he was speaking from experience. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the air between you—the weight of survival, the cost of staying alive when the world seemed determined to tear you down.

“Why’d you pick me up?” you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. It had been nagging at you since he’d stopped on that highway, and now, sitting here with him, it felt safe enough to ask.

Logan’s eyes flicked over to you, then back to the windshield. He was silent for a long moment like he wasn’t sure how to answer. Finally, he shrugged, the movement almost imperceptible. “Seemed like you needed it.”

That was it. No explanation, no deeper reasoning. Just a simple truth, spoken with a kind of raw honesty that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t the type to offer anything he didn’t mean, and for some reason, that made his answer hit harder.

You nodded, accepting the answer for what it was.

Logan cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “So, what’s the plan now? Where are you headed?”

You stared at him, then out the window focusing on the hotel neon sign, unsure how to respond.

You hadn’t thought about the future beyond getting through the next day. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Keep moving, I guess. Same as always.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and distant. “Same as always.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, but the silence felt different this time—less heavy, more like a shared understanding between two people who’d been walking the same lonely road for too long.

Logan turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life beneath you both. “Where to, then?” he asked, glancing over at you with a look that said it didn’t really matter where you went. Not as long as you were both still breathing.

You met his gaze, feeling the unspoken question beneath it. You could keep running. Or maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do it alone this time.

“Anywhere but here,” you said, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

Logan nodded, pulling the car into gear and easing back onto the road, the fading sun casting long shadows across the landscape as you drove toward whatever came next.

#wolverine #x men wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan howlett x you #x men logan #logan x reader #old man!logan #old man logan #logan x you #wolverine x reader #logan xmen #marvel #mcu #female reader #mutant reader #rihanna

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storiesbyjes2g · 2 days

Text

3.171 Happy birthday to ya

When it got closer to party time, Sophia and I moved the couch to the backyard for more seating options. Our parties always end up fragmented with some sims eating in the house and others on the patio. My goal is to keep everyone together, so hopefully this will help. We also moved the picnic blanket and put the portable crib outside to accommodate the little ones. Because we're friendly again, I invited Yasmine and her girls, but she declined. She doesn't know the other guests and didn't want anyone asking questions about Stacey. I completely understood but feel bad for her. This spellcaster business has really trapped her and the girls in their home.

Apart from my baby aging up, I'm most excited about having Dub and his family in our home for the first time. Between the deaths and parenthood, it's been super hard for us to connect lately. I guess I was naïve enough to believe it would be easier being in the same city, but life keeps proving it doesn't matter where we are. Life is going to life, and that's that. I suppose I'll have to be more intentional about hanging with him too.

"You got it smelling good out here, bro," a voice says from behind me.

That Henford accent is unmistakable, and I was so glad to hear it. I turned around and embraced him.

"Wassup, man! Did you find us okay? Welcome! Finally!"

"Right? Took you long enough!"

"Don't even play, man. You know how life is sometimes."

"Sure do. This house is nice! And the view!"

"Thanks. If you're able to stick around later, I'll give you the tour. Hey, where's Maia? Is she coming?"

"Yeah, she's running a little late. She's just finishing up a project for a client."

"Ahhh. See? San Sequoia has been good to you already. I'm glad her business is picking up."

There's no way Dub showed up alone, so I looked around for Tambara, knowing she couldn't be too far behind. I spotted her toddling across the yard, trying her best to catch up with her daddy.

"She's getting to be extremely independent these days," Dub said when he realized I was watching her. "She won't even let us pick her up anymore. I don't mind that so much, but waiting for her really slows me down."

"She'll get faster," I said, thinking about Desiree's determination. "Just give her time."

Tami and Desi look nothing alike, but I see glimpses of the immediate future in her proud face and wobbly gait. I want Desi to grow up and change the world, but I can't part with my little girl. At the same time, I'm anxious to see her continue to grow. I love watching her smash these milestones like the boss baby she is. Ugh. Fatherhood is just a melting pot of contradictions. How can I be happy and sad, proud and scared at the same time?

Tami finally made her way over to us, so I waved.

"Hey there! Do you remember me? I'm Luca. That's a pretty dress."

Her face lit up, and I knew it didn't matter if she remembered me or not. I was currently her new bestie. Flattery works at all ages, hee hee.

"What do you say when someone gives you a compliment?" Dub asked.

"I know," she shouted.

Me and Dub had a good laugh. She's so precocious, and I love it. Kids really do say the darndest things, and I can't wait to hear what Desi will have to say. Hopefully that's not a be careful what you wish for situation, heh.

"That's right, Tam," I said. "You better know it."

"How are you holding up?" Dub asked, wiping the smile off my face.

"I'm good. As good as I can be, rather. It gets a little better every day."

"I'm glad to hear it. I can't even think about what that's going to be like."

"It might sound morbid, but you should start thinking about it, man. It's the shock that's hard to get over."

"You play dollies with me," Tambara shouts.

That was probably supposed to be a question, but she's too excited about her new, big friend and it's too cute.

"Oh, no," Dub says to me. "You start that and she'll never let you go."

She's adorable, looking just like both of them. I hope she and Desi will like each other. It'll be a shame to have them fighting or snubbing each other when we hang out.

"You can play with Desiree later, okay?" he says.

"Speaking of... We should probably get this show on the road soon. Let me finish these ribs."

(makeovers and family photos below!)

Dub and fam by @mysimsloveaffair

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #banks collab #luca winston murillo #wade banks #tambara elise banks #sophia aguilar #desiree amari murillo #alessia amina murillo #lex murillo #arvin murillo #breanna murillo #hope they threw away that cake lol #all that baby spit lol #sophia loves boots so she had to get her baby some :-D

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sentoooo · 3 days

Text

ʜᴏᴡʟɪɴ' ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ

✭ pairing(s): boothill x amab reader

✩ inspo: Make U Cum by Ayesha Erotica (yeah. yeah yeah yeah.)

★ in which: Boothill's fresh out of the mechanics with a new mod, and he just couldn't wait to try it with you... Unfortunately, he forget to mess with the settings and turn down his sensitivity.

✧ a/n: THIS WAS AN OLD DRAFT I WROTE WHEN I WATCHED HIS TRAILER AND GOOD LORT. yeah. i LOVE FROTTING!!!!!!

🗒 cw: SMUT, gn! amab reader, porn with absolutely no plot, frotting, mention of anal, overstimulation, praise, he whimpers. a lot. teehee, dumbification (?), not proofread im just so down bad

✎ wc: 1.8k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Boothill, the man you knew as cocky, strong-willed, perhaps even dominant. Reduced to a babbling, whining, crying mess beneath you. Fresh out of the mechanics with a new ‘upgrade’ that he had been waiting years for. He talked so big, about how finally there’s even more of him for you to enjoy, how you would feel ‘so forkin’ good’. And yet, here he is, nearing tears– a function he thought he didn’t even have anymore– at the slightest touch of your cocks. Okay, that is an understatement. You two were already a round in, you had been fully seated on his cock a moment prior.

“Please, p-please, oh— fudge– d-don’t just–” Boothill whines, his voice quivering. You have never heard him so… needy before. His voice is cracking left and right and all he can do is moan even at the slightest touch. It’s quite worrying, really.

Your hand hovers around your cocks, yours leaking precum, and remnants of your first orgasm. His is sleek, a mixture of synthetic skin and silicon, completely black except for some weird tiny barely noticeable gray markings. It was slick, yet there was no cum… anywhere. Aside from yours that painted his lower abdomen. When given the choice for synthetic semen, he said no. Said it was too messy, and it’d be too much to maintain. All that mattered to him was that he got off. If it weren’t for that, you were pretty sure he would’ve cum thrice as much as you have already.

“Do… do you want me to turn dow–?” You pant out, all his whining has you nervous.

“No! Fudge no!” That was the most coherent Boothill’s said since he sank into you, his hands grasping at your waist. You worried that his sensitivity was all off before you two had started, and you were certain you were right. “Don’t– Don’t mess with a-anythin’! Jus’ keep g-goin’... p-please…”

You can’t remember the last time the cowboy had begged you for… anything. Maybe a drink… years ago? Regardless, it’s kind of refreshing to hear such a stubborn man beg you for more. Normally it was you in his position, begging him for more as he lapped lazily at your cock, leaving you teetering on the edge until you (almost) take matters into your own hands.

You snap out of your thoughts at the feeling of Boothill’s insistence, bucking his hips up with a heavy whimper. His face is flushed, lips parted, and eyes glossy. He gives you such a pathetic, needy look, a far cry from his usual toothy grin. His hair is disheveled, a few strands sticking out and some sticking to his forehead. You didn’t even know he could sweat. All of this was unexpected, but very much welcome, nonetheless.

“F-fuuuhhh….” He breathes out, eyes half-lidded and mind hazy. The friction provides quite the sensation, leaving you breathless. Though, that might be the previous orgasm messing with your nerves, a familiar heat crawling through your body. Boothill doesn’t react differently, still overly sensitive, still loving every second of it. “Th-that’s it… that’s it— nnghh…”

You lean your forehead against his, eyes locked on your lewd actions. You move at a moderate pace, but you yourself feel impatient, bucking your hips and stuttering every now and then. You can’t help but moan, too, the way the underside of your cocks press together, your tip flush and drooling, the pre-cum providing a nice stand-in for lube as you continue to fuck your hand.

“Ungh… S-Sweetheart…” Boothill groans, rolling his head back and bucking his hips up. Underneath all his pants and moans and whines, you can hear his systems going into override, the soft whirring of his body’s fans trying to cool him down from this sensory overload. “S’good… s’good, s’good, s– ngh!”

Slurred praises fall from his lips as he tries to gain some semblance from control, his hands trailing down to your thighs, squeezing gently as he breathes heavily. You lean in and press a kiss to the seam between his human skin and his cyborg body, as you feel both heat up. You can’t help but moan against his skin, causing Boothill to jerk his hips forward, groaning when you pick up the pace of your hand.

You can’t tell what is getting to you faster, your hand, or the way you’ve been bucking your hips up into it. You feel your body temperature rise and your mind becomes hazy, zeroing in on the need to come, to let the coil snap, and by Aeons, Boothill needs it too. You can tell by the way his whimpers become more frenzied, how he slurs your name and drawls out praises and all sorts of pet names for you.

Your head spins as you feel warmth curl up beneath your stomach, your balls tighten and with one more stroke, Boothill’s cock flush against yours, you come, and you swear you can see Boothill’s eyes glitch as those silken tendrils paint his torso once more. You can’t help but moan out his name, too spun up in your wanton desires to stop, continuing to stroke the two of you off.

It’s something you can’t help. You’re drunk off of his moans, how he’s just so sensitive, and it doesn’t help that he begs you to keep going. He’d adjust his sensitivity later, he will, but for now he wants to revel in this feeling. So many years with moments where he wished he could feel something, anything, all of his frustrations built up. He could care less about how much of a whiny ‘snitch’ he is at the moment, all he cares about is that he’s feeling it. It may never be the same, but by Lan, the way your cock feels against his, the way your hand works him so well, he doesn’t care that he’s in a daze.

However, Boothill snaps back to reality, panting heavily as his own high comes down. He regains some semblance of his composure, perhaps even his dominance, though still ‘sweaty’ and flushed, still heady and needy. He urges you back onto the bed by pushing your hips down, and you follow without any protest.

He gives you a sloppy grin, before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss hungry and demanding, panting when your lips part in between moments. Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against yours, resuming your earlier ministrations. He moans into your mouth, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed as he loses himself in the heat once more. The faint tingling sensation in your groin gives way to the same heat that snaked beneath your belly, your hands finding purchase within his hair. You tug at it ever so slightly and he whimpers, before picking up the pace. He couldn’t let you get away from that, even in his hazy state.

You arch your back as he continues to rut against you, the friction delicious in its own right. You can’t help but chase after it, raking your fingers through his hair. You mutter his name once more and he moans a little louder, feeling especially tender. You feel an edge build up to your pleasure, a slight tingling feeling creeping up as well.

“Yeaah… yeah, b-baby…” Boothill groans in a shaky voice, his eyes fluttering open. “One more, g-gimme one more…”

You can’t tell if he’s asking you or commanding you, but he shows no intention to stop, and you sure as hell don’t want to, either. One more round, it is. Your thighs twitch, knees pressing up against his hips, which causes him to moan, picking his pace up. Now, you aren’t sure if he’s doing this for you, or for him. His whimpers and moans have grown scratchy, weak, as if his vocal cords (or whatever substitution) were raw.

Boothill begins mumbling ‘one more’, unable to gather himself and bring himself up from the depths of his wanton desires, only focusing on his sloppy thrusts and your mewls. If he weren’t so incoherent, he’d be doing his best to fluster you, trying to make more pretty noises spill from your lips. Now, his mind was riddled with lust and need, and possibly a virus. You weren’t sure yet.

There’s no time to dwell on it, as the heat bursts forth once more, your cock twitching as you cum. A few measly strands spurt onto your abdomen, leaving you panting as you do your best to regain your composure. Words fail you, opting to simply push at Boothill’s shoulders. The pleasure leaves you cramping ever so slightly, your legs shaking as you reluctantly fall back. Boothill grunts, leaning back up and shuffling away ever so slightly with hesitance. Despite that, and his oddly lustful state of mind, he knew when to quit. He’s satisfied, however, and his face gives way to a grin, eyes heavy with what can only be described as euphoria.

In a matter of seconds he’s back to his old self, pushing off the bed entirely. He pats your thigh, giving it a squeeze, before turning on his heel. Despite his mind stabilizing, he can’t find his own words, so he simply leaves without saying anything. Nor can you, however, watching as he walks into the bathroom, before allowing your head to fall back once more. The ceiling seems like such a wonderful thing to stare at suddenly, as your body starts to cool down and your own mind starts to unblur.

You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at the ceiling, but Boothill’s form hovering over you breaks you out of the most comfortable stare you’ve had in a while. He gives you another sappy smile, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He presses a warm washcloth to your stomach, wiping down the remnants of your release.

“C’mon now, can’t have you fallin’ asleep before I can treat ya,” He coos, his voice gentle and almost undisturbed. “Got a nice warm bath runnin’, would ya like it?”

All you can do is nod weakly, earning a chuckle from Boothill. His hand slips underneath you, helping you up, before his other arm slips underneath your legs. With great ease, he lifts you, keeping you close to his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. Despite the short walk, your skin against the cool metal is enough to help rouse your mind once more, a pleasant hum of satisfaction (despite how spent you felt) ran through your body. You look at him with half-lidded eyes, and he meets your gaze, before pressing another kiss to your forehead.

#⁺◟sentooo #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill hsr x reader

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