Another Smoker lover

You weren’t thinking. It’s been so long since the gang had gone out to a saloon with all this running back West and you’d gotten so used to getting to do what you want affection wise. Dutch, however, did not forget. He was, and always is, thinking so very deeply about everything imaginable. So when you leaned over and brushed your hand against his, he noticed. He noticed like that voice itching the back of his brain said everyone else did.

So he grabbed your arm, fingers bruising at your bicep, and hauled you out and into the alley. A somewhat confused Arthur and Hosea following after and lingering just off the street as Dutch pulls you into shadow.

“The hell are you thinkin’, boy?” Dutch huffs, squeezing harshly at your arm.

“I didn’t--”

“Folks in this state get killed for that and we don’t need the goddamn heat.” His eyebrows fall downward into an angry crinkle. “Do you understand?”

You watch the twitch of his eyes, the way they scan over your face like a man that’s never seen you before. And seeing Dutch so irate with nerves makes words catch in your throat, so you settle for nodding.

“Go get on the damn horse, boy.” Dutch huffs, shoving you towards the awaiting Hosea and Arthur.

You stumble, but do as you’re told. Arthur joins you as Hosea talks to Dutch, both waving the two of you off.

Arthur turns his horse towards the south road. “You can stay in my tent tonight.” He mutters. “‘Less you wanna have Dutch yelling all night.”

So you do. You lie down on your spare bedroll under the same tent as Arthur, who snores louder than a train, utterly and completely restless without Dutch holding you. All because you forgot you can’t be such an invert outside of camp. That’s what echoes in your head until you fall asleep late into the night.

The morning isn’t much better. Grimshaw comes by, kicks your leg to wake you up and shouts at Arthur as she rattles off chores for the day. You try to lose yourself in cutting wood that morning. Hosea’s usual Dutch Damage Control, patent pending, keeps the rest of the gang from asking questions. Even Uncle keeps away while you have an axe in hand, not daring to ask for money while you’re in this state.

It isn’t until your arms ache that someone finally stops you, a hand landing on your shoulder and squeezing. You freeze, knowing it’s Dutch from the familiar rough rings digging into your skin.

“You’re overdoing it.” He mutters.

“I’m fine.”

His hand squeezes harshly, enough to make you want to squirm but Dutch trained you out of that a long time ago. “Tent, boy. Now.”

When his hand leaves your shoulder, you drop the axe without another word. The walk to his tent is silent. The whole camp is on edge as Dutch drops the flaps of his tent. You wait in the middle of the wooden platform of a floor, knowing he’ll tell you where to sit. He does, gestures to the cot.

As you sit, he stares for a moment. His eyes look over you and he adjusts his rings before he speaks. “Hosea said I was too harsh with you.”

“It was fine.”

“Shirt.”

You look up at him for a moment before taking it off. His hand comes to your arm the second it’s gone, fingers brushing the bruises that formed from his grip.

“Just needed you to understand what’s at stake.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“You’ve done worse.”

“Only when asked.” Dutch shakes his head, moving his hand to tilt your head up. “I never get carried away like that. I… I was simply worried, my dear.”

“You don’t have to explain.” You turn your head away from his hand. “Just Hosea’s words anyway…”

“Stop that.” He snaps. “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

You take a breath, staring off into nothing for a moment before nodding lightly.

“Then believe me when I say I’m sorry.” Dutch sighs as he sits beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you to lean against him. “If I’m gonna run cons in town, I need to seem respectable. That’s all.”

“I know.” You mutter.

“I’ll take you out this week, a dinner away from camp… nice hotel.” He chuckles. “But if anyone asks, you’re my nephew.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me, Dutch, just don’t go crazy like that…” You speak softly, leaning further into him until he puts his arms around you.

“Did I scare my boy?”

“Not that much of a pansy.” You mutter.

He sighs, running a hand through your hair. “I missed you last night.”

“Could take a nap.”

In retrospect, it was a terrible idea to listen to Uncle. The man and his terminal lumbago got a tip, slinked away to let everyone else risk their necks, and now you’re stuck hiding from the law until the heat dies down. Might not be so bad if everyone stayed together, but Charles and Arthur were on the other side of the tracks and there was no time to get the horses over. So you’re trapped with Javier and the nagging field of hatred that envelopes both of you.

You’re not entirely sure where it comes from and you don’t really have the energy to care. Javier is annoying, a bully at best. He might play the guitar with a pretty voice but that doesn’t earn him praise. Most days, you avoid him, but it’s not most days.

“Third patrol I’ve seen go by.” He says, peeking out of the window. “Might be here ‘til morning.”

You sigh, your head leaning back against the wall as you sit by the door. He looks at you, giving a dismissive expression before he walks back to the small bed and falls into it. You look up at the ceiling, mind playing through the robbery. You and Charles took the cargo cars, Javier and Arthur took the passengers. Everything was fine until…

“Who shot first back there?” You ask, looking at Javier. “Didn’t see any law until a few minutes after the first shot.”

Javier doesn’t move as he speaks. “There was a deputy, I shot him.”

“Couldn’t have used those knives you like so much, kept it quiet?”

“You trying to blame me?” He asks, sitting up.

You shrug. “Law wouldn’t have heard us if you were a little quieter.”

“You wanna start something, puto?”

“Shut up, Escuella.”

He stands. “Why don’t you make me?”

“Fuck off.” You sigh, your head falling back against the wall again.

You don’t hear his footsteps as he nears, but the knife on your throat and his fist balling into your shirt makes you more than aware that he’s kneeled down to your level. This isn’t the first time, but Dutch is usually around to break you up.

“You’re always starting something with me, cabrón.” He presses his blade into your skin enough to sting. “Maybe I will use the knife. Keep it quiet so no one knows, say you got shot by the law.”

You stare at him, halfway scared he may actually slit your throat. “Watch your temper, Escuella.”

“Watch your mouth, asshole.”

For a moment, your eyes are locked as you glare at each other and for a split second you feel a trickle go down your neck but before you can register much of it, Javier surges forward and forces his lips to yours. You still, unable to register a man you hate kissing you, and it gives him the opportunity to remove his knife and replace it with his hand. He grips your throat, squeezing as he guides you to the floor with his lips not leaving yours for more than a second. You begin to oblige him, kissing back against his soft lips and easily opening your legs for him to settle between.

“Only thing you’re gonna be saying is my name, puto.” He mutters against your lips.

You hate that you can’t hold back the gasp as his hips grind into yours, feeling his dick through his pants as it brushes yours. It makes him smile before he pushes his tongue past your teeth. For a moment you think about biting down on it, but you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing for a second, instead you settle for digging your nails through his shirt as you grip hard at his waist and pull him against you more.

His hand leaves your throat and he starts at your shirt, fumbling for buttons until he can press his hands against your chest. They wander over your pecs, squeezing lightly all around until he trails down to your pants. You get a moment to focus as he moves to kiss your neck, it ends up being more biting than kissing. Your fingers fly over the buttons of his vest, eager to see his thin frame without clothes in the way. He helps you, sitting up to pull off his vest and shirt while his hips move down against you.

“You feel bigger than I thought you’d be.” He mutters as he presses down against you and grinds back and forth.

“Shit, Escuella.” You breathe, your head falling back as your dick rubs against the hard fabric of your pants.

You look up in time to see him toss his shirt away, his thin shoulders moving as he does and making you thrust up idly. He covers you again, adjusting this time so he’s sitting on your waist, his ass now grinding against you as he hunches to meet your lips again. Your teeth clash a bit before he lets you explore his mouth this time and your hands move to his hair to tug out the ponytail so you can pull at it. He groans when you do, digging himself back against your clothed dick.

It seems you have both forgotten why you started this in the first place.

Javier sits up again, fumbling with his pants as you move to do the same. He pulls his off entirely, leaving him bare above you, but he stops you from removing yours. Instead, he settles back down and presses his fingers to your mouth as he returns to biting at your neck. You take them slowly, coating them in spit and groaning around them when Javier starts to bite at your chest instead. After a particularly harsh bite to your collarbone, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and you watch with great interest as he moves them behind himself.

And he whimpers when he pushes his own fingers inside of his hole.

Your mouth falls open at the sight. His back arches, his free hand resting on your stomach for support as he fucks himself open on top of you. You can’t decide where to look because everywhere is a damn sight. His face is scrunched in focus as little noises escape his lips, but his hand digs at the skin of your stomach and it looks so damn good that you want to see it around your dick, but the movements of his hips are what you settle on. He makes little ruts as his hand does most of the work to fuck himself open for you, but the little twitches are enough to keep you invested. His dick bounces slightly as he moves, slapping up against his stomach lightly with each little jut of his hips. Maybe you’d get to see the real show some other time. The thought of Javier spread out in front of you, his legs open so you can see his hole stretch as his fingers do their work, it makes your breath hitch.

“Like what you see, puto?” He breathes.

Your eyes move back up to his face and you meet his eyes. Even if you didn’t think you were about to fuck him, the fact that Javier is staring down at you while he fucks himself on his fingers is enough to make you happy with the night. But you still hate the bastard, even if he looks pretty in the low light as he bounces.

“I’ve seen better.” You mutter the lie, making sure your voice doesn’t betray you.

Javier leans down, draping himself over you and connecting your lips in a harsh kiss again. He doesn’t stop fucking himself, his hips still moving with his hand and making his dick drag along your stomach. You press your hands harshly onto his ass and pull enough to spread his cheeks apart, making him whine. His arm brushes against yours as he picks up his pace and his lips move to your ear.

“Come on, puto, fuck me.” He whispers, his voice too high a pitch to resist.

You bend your leg, pushing to give yourself the momentum to roughly flip Javier onto the floor. His hand leaves his hole as he catches himself and he rolls onto his stomach, not resisting as you climb behind him. Your hands grip his hips and he arches his back automatically like some whore. For a moment you just look down at his fucked open hole, his cheeks hiding most of it. You move your hands to spread them again so you can look properly. And damn, Javier looks so open and fucked with a bit of wet spit around his rim that you can’t help it when your hand fumbles for your pants.

You’re lined up in a matter of seconds and pushing inside. You watch every inch disappear inside of the man beneath you, slowly pulling his hips back into you and making him do the work. Javier moans shamelessly, not hiding a hint of the whorish sound. He props himself up on his elbows and presses back until you’re fully settled inside of him. If it was anyone else, you’d let them adjust, but after all the teasing and your underlying sick desire to hurt him a little, you start fucking him right away.

Javier has to dig his arms and level his shoulders to keep himself up. You snap your hips into him, your balls slapping against him and jostling in a way that feels so damn good when paired with Javier’s tight heat. Your nails dig into his hips more with every thrust and you speed up with every whimper and moan Javier lets out. His arms give out after a while and he slumps onto the hard floor, his hips only held up by you as you continue to drive into him. You don’t stop him when he reaches under himself and starts pumping, you just watch the obscene motion of his arm in tandem with your dick disappearing into him.

He releases first, his voice high as he whines something out in Spanish. His arm slows gradually and he focuses on rocking back into you, seemingly unbothered by any kind of overstimulation. You lean into him a bit for your last few thrusts, pushing him down against the floor so you can bury yourself in deep as you cum. You give idle, tiny thrusts as you’ve both settled flat and you kiss his shoulder mindlessly.

Javier’s breathing is heavy as he groans. “Fuck you, puto.”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

On the average night, it’s you that’s paying them attention. Both needy, one a brat and the other well behaved. It can get hard to balance, so sometimes it’s nice to just let things happen.

“Who knew ya could get so desperate, love.” Sean smiles.

His mouth tastes like you, his slobber coating your rim where Kieran now presses his fingers. It was a stupid dare from Sean that brought this about. As usual, he was being a brat. He bragged that he could take both you and Kieran if he wanted to, you said he’d be a shivering mess the whole time.

Let’s see you do it then, big man.

Sean went at you with his tongue first, the man all too good at using his mouth in every situation. Now you're slicked and Kieran works you open with pomade for good measure while Sean distracts you and muffles the groans that escape when Kieran hits the right spots. It’s not that they haven’t fucked you before. In fact, Sean has a great love for both you and Kieran riding him. Kieran prefers being closer to you, intimate and cuddly fucking. But, both of them filling your ass concerns you. Despite your mocking, Sean might’ve been the better choice. He has much more experience as the taker, always the first to volunteer laying himself out or bending over for you or Kieran. But it’s too late to back out now.

“How… uh, how’re we doin’ this?” Kieran asks, pulling his fingers out to soothingly rub your thigh.

Sean chuckles, spit lingering between you as he pulls away from your kiss. “Ya lay on yer back, him on top a’ ya, the me on him. Easy.”

Kieran blushes a bit at the image. “Are ya ready, darlin’?”

You meet his eyes, though your vision seems blurry from all of the attention. “Y-Yeah, ready.”

“Go on then, Kiery.” Sean grins. “On yer back.”

Kieran flushes further at Sean’s silly nickname and lays back on his bedroll. Sean helps you move, getting you up onto Kieran like you’re about to ride him. Kieran’s hand automatically finds your hip, the other holding his aching dick still to help you move as you lower yourself onto him. You nearly collapse from the stimulation. All that buildup makes you think you’re not going to last very long.

“Ya alright, darlin’?”Kieran asks softly, holding you as you hunch down into him. “Ya wanna take a minute?”

You shake your head. “Just get it going.”

Sean’s hands find your legs, easing them to relax. “I good ta get in ya, love?”

“Go ahead.” You say through deep breaths.

He does it slowly, clearly giving you warning as he circles around where you and Kieran are connected. He presses his fingers alongside Kieran, trying to make room for himself. Slowly, they lift your hips up so they can press their dicks alongside each other, then they help you back down. Twice the stretch makes you need to muffle your noises in Kieran’s shoulder. It burns and aches and feels wrong for the first minute, but you adapt and the full sensation takes over. Stuffed full on your sweethearts’ dicks, both of them whispering praises and giving gentle touches, you’ve never felt better in your life.

“God, I love ya idiots.” Sean mutters, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Kieran and you both laugh lightly, finding each other’s lips for a kiss.

“You can start now.” You say, burying your face back into Kieran’s shoulder. “Just start slow.”

“A’ course.” Kieran says, kissing your head.

Sean wiggles his hips a bit, making you groan. “Sorry, love. I’ll do my best.”

He’s the first to slide, rubbing your walls and Kieran’s dick in the process. Kieran’s head dips back against his pillow as you move your hips a bit, the three of you feeling all new sensations. Kieran’s hands steady on your hips so he can start moving himself. He thrusts up at the awkward angle as Sean tries to match him. The rhythm is messy and uncoordinated, but it doesn’t really matter. Being fucked so full feels amazing and the sounds your lovers make go straight to your dick

“Gimme yer hand, Kiery.” Sean mutters, reaching his hand out.

Kieran obliges, letting his hand leave your waist. Sean guides them both to your dick, stuck between you and Kieran. Their hands wrap around you and the noise you have to muffle makes you think you should’ve done this far out in the woods where no one could hear you.

All at once, Sean speeds up and guides both him and Kieran to pump you fast. Kieran thrusts with Sean, just not quite at fast. It still feels damn good. The full state of your ass and the hands gripping so nicely at your dick make you cry out as you cum. Sean picks up his pace, following you fast. Kieran fucks you through it all, trying to find his own end. His hands find your head, pulling you from his shoulder to give you a kiss as he lets go. Sean has slumped against your back and you feel more than spent by the time Kieran stills inside you.

“Christ alive.” Sean mutters. “We gotta do that again, boys. Tha’ was…” He groans, attempting to pull out but stopping. “Don’t think little Sean wants ta leave.”

Kieran catches his breath, smiling up at you. “Maybe if we get on our sides it’ll be easier.”

You nod, shifting slightly to let them both move with you.

Sean pulls out first, sliding with ease this time and collapsing back onto the bedrolls. Then Kieran, carefully pulling out and giving you a kiss and a smile.

“Ya feel alright?” Kieran asks, his hand cupping your cheek. “It hurt?”

“A little.” You wince, trying to find the right way for your legs to rest.

Sean shuffles behind you before holding a bottle in front of your face. “Thought I’d be the one needin’ it.”

It has been two hours. Walking along a barren trail with your tired horse and listening to the endless and constant complaining of John Marston. The man is undoubtedly irritating, wholly annoying. But Dutch picked you for scouting, so you to try to tune out that stupid scratch in his voice and focus on looking for a new spot closer to Blackwater.

“I just don’t get what her deal is.” John continues.

You feel the distinct desire to bash your head against your saddle horn. Maybe that would end this insufferable ride. Why couldn’t Dutch have picked Javier or Charles or someone quiet? At least Micah talks about interesting things on occasion. Bill can crack a joke. None of them have this apparent need to vent whilst riding.

“She just doesn’t-”

“Marston.” You groan. “Shut up, for the love of life itself. Just be quiet for once.”

“Oh, are my problems annoying you?”

“Yes, jeez, just shut it.”

He huffs, looking away to pout like a child.

“No one wants to hear about you and Abigail, the whole camp already has to listen to you go on and on about how the kid isn’t yours. No one cares.”

“Fuck off.” He mutters.

“I wish I could.”

There is a blissful minute of silence before he opens his mouth again. “You think he’s mine?”

“Fuck, Marston.” You sigh. “I have no clue, just shut the hell up.”

“He ain’t.” He mumbles. “Can’t be.”

“You won’t have to worry about it if you keep talking, because I’ll shoot you.”

“Why’re you always so damn irritable?”

“Because you annoy me to no end, Marston.”

You pull on your reins to move towards a clearing that looks promising, only slightly visible from the narrow path between trees. Finally sliding off your horse, you stretch your legs a little and look over the spot.

“How do I annoy you exactly?”

You rub at your eyes, feeling the ache forming behind them from having to listen to his voice. “In every possible way you could ever imagine.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’m not the one bothering other people with my problems.”

“At least I find the time to bring money in instead of lounging around camp all damn day!”

That, now that, brings a twinge of much more than annoyance to buzz around in your head. Not only have you been bringing in consistent money since you joined, you just pulled a job with Mac and Davey that scored the camp funds upwards of eight-hundred dollars. So, naturally, you punch John in the face for suggesting otherwise.

“Shit.” He mutters, recoiling and tackling you to the ground.

You roll for a while, exchanging punches and losing your hats along the way until you find yourself atop John. You sit across his thin torso, your fist curled into his shirt as the other stands ready to lay another blow. But, John, he goes still, as if he’s afraid to move. For all the scrapping and talk, you know you’re not scary enough to make him freeze like this so you lower your raised fist and look over your shoulder. You half expect to see lawmen or O’Driscolls or something, but it’s just the forest and the horses grazing by the trees.

“What’s your problem, Marston?” You ask, shifting slightly on him.

Then you feel it, barely brushing against the back of your thigh as you move. John Marston is hard in his pants from being beaten up by a man that hates him. His face flushes and he claws at your arm, but you just push him down harder into the grass. Your mind races for a moment, thinking of the roads you could take. You hate the man quite a bit, but you’d be a fool to deny he’s attractive and something in the back of your mind is begging you to find out what that raspy voice sounds like when it’s full of want.

“We tell no one.” You mutter, giving John a threatening look.

John’s chest moves slow as he processes, then he nods quickly. You lean down and connect your lips, catching the taste of tobacco and the scruff of his stubble. John’s hands find your hips, urging you down to grind against you but you resist.

“You’re not in charge here, Marston.” You murmur against his lips. “You just lay still and let me use you, understand?”

His eyes dart around yours quickly as his face gets redder by the second. “Y-Yeah.”

You move down to unfasten his pants and as he kicks them off, you fish a tube of gun oil from your pocket. It has always been a suspicion of yours that John gets around more than he lets on, and it is all but confirmed by the way he stuffs his pants under his hips and spreads his legs.

“You some kind of whore on the side, Marston?” You ask, fixing yourself between his open legs. “That why you got on with Abigail, a shared profession?”

“Shut up.” He mutters.

He intends to say more but you cut him off easily by inserting your slicked fingers without warning. His back arches, pressing into the feeling as he chokes on a bit of air that turns into a whimper. You’re not going to give him the time to rest or adjust, he doesn’t deserve it after talking all day. So you crook your fingers, running them along until his hips jolt from the contact. Then you focus and focus hard, pressing into that nice sensitive spot inside of him until he can’t even speak to warn you. He releases across his stomach, his softening dick untouched.

His head lulls to the side as he catches his breath and you slip your fingers out. You move as fast as you can, not wanting to hear any of his protests about being sensitive. He’d whine about it, you know he would, so you grip his hips and press inside in the midst of his recovery. John chokes on air again, muttering as he covers his red face with his arm. Only one eye peaks out at you as you start your pace and you ignore it, focusing on the act rather than the who. If you don’t think about it being John, the image of your dick disappearing inside such a nice ass and the feeling of gripping such a slim waist make you groan to yourself. If it were any other man, you’d praise him for feeling so good.

John, however, does not have that control. “God, you’re… fuck you’re good.”

It’s the moan that gets you, raspy just like you imagined, and completely wanton. You double your effort because that sound was so good for something that came from John of all people. And, to your delight, it happens again. As you slam into him, your balls bouncing enough to truly earn the nickname, John begins to pant. Your eyes are drawn to his dick as he reaches for it and stops it from slapping against his stomach. His hand wraps around and pumps in time with you.

You lean down a bit, enough to speak over John’s lewd noises. “You better get yourself off before me, Marston. I’m not helping you otherwise.”

He groans, seemingly all too happy to be treated like nothing but something to fuck in the grass of the gang’s next camp spot. You watch his hand, your eyes flicking down to watch your own fucking on occasion. Both are such a sight. John cums again, spilling a little on his hand this time. The sound he makes, such a shaky and raspy guttural moan, hits the right things for you and sends you right over. You slow your thrusts, milking yourself before burying deep inside of him.

You could feel the bark of the tree making marks on your back, your shirt having road all the way up your chest. You wrapped your legs around Arthur’s waist, holding on a tight as you could, damn near getting bucked off the man with every thrust of his hips.

You pants were hanging off the edge of your boot, while Arthur was fully clothed, his coat being the only thing that he took off, hanging it up on one of the sturdier tree branches before this all started. He held you tightly, keeping you from slipping. Panting and whimpering with half lidded eyes you tried not to claw to hard on the man’s back.

His cock stretched your hole in an almost painful manor, but it only helped further the pleasure he gave you with every brutal thrust. You could feel him so deep inside you, filling you up.

“Arthur..” you whined, resting your head on his shoulder, you could hear his ragged breath and his deep moans.

“Almost there, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Then, as though the goddamn devil himself had spoken.

“Arthur, Y/n, where the hell are you!” Shouted Micah somewhere in the distance.

You both froze, locking eyes for a moment. You'd forgotten about Micah. You wanted to bang your head against the damn tree, especially when Arthur started to pull out.

“Arthur, please..” you whined.

Pressing a kiss on your temple, then another on your lips he said,

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

You wanted to throw Micah off a cliff.

You did eventually get yourself situated and presentable, just in time for Micah to come bustling through the clearing you'd found.

“Where the hell have you two been?”

“Hunting!” you said harshly, glaring at the man.

Snatching your rifle from it's place against the tree, you left the two alone in the clearing, off to go actually hunt.

“The hell’s wrong with him? ‘ the two of you get into a fight again?”

Snatching his coat off the branch, Arthur said,

—

It was midnight, precisely 15 minutes past 12 AM. 

For the past 3 days, the current patient House’s team is diagnosing has been going from stable to unstable in a matter of hours. With each problem they solved, another pop-up, and with the week ending it seems like you'd have to cancel your weekend plans if the patient's condition keeps deteriorating. 

You’ve just finished the last batch of blood tests, eyes grimy as you try to blink away the claws of sleep. There were a couple of times where you had to violently jerk yourself away, and then hold the urge to stick a needle of adrenaline into yourself just to keep testing stuff.

Somewhere in your head, about a couple of hours ago, Cameron came by to tell you that House might still be in his office until late. She was the only other doctor who knew of your little crush on the diagnostician, and pity you for it. You don't blame her. After knowing what the girl went through with him, you can't help but be sympathetic, though, despite her blatant warning, your heart can't seem to stop doing flips whenever House is around. 

A machine beeps. You grumble, standing from where you sat to retrieve the result.

“I should check in on House…” You mumble, betting on him still being around. 

Stumbling through the halls, you finally made it to your Boss’ office, and while it’s disappointing, you're not surprised he’s no longer present. The man must've gone home ages ago, he probably was packing up when Cameron informed you of his overtime possibility. You sigh, dropping the results of the blood tests on his desk before your eyes glance at the couch, enticing you with its soft cushions. 

The tests are done, and the results are on House’s desk. Surely he wouldn't mind you taking a short nap before checking in with the patient, right?

You check the perimeters, around the office and into the hall. House is nowhere to be seen. The night shift nurses as milling about, busy with their patients to monitor. Finally, you nudge the door to close softly, the glass making a short clink, before you drape your aching body onto the sofa. After hours of testing and sitting hunched on the stool, the sofa comforts your back. Groaning as you stretch your arms above your head, fringe dropping slightly as your head leans back.

You sigh, relieved, a mixture of boredom and sleepyness a toxic concoction luring you to close your heavy eyes. You drape your arms around yourself, your lab coat long forgotten somewhere in the office. Bringing your legs to your chest, you lean slightly to your left, resting your cheek on the headrest, eyes fluttering close. Surely House, if he was still even here, wouldn't mind, right? 

If he did he would've shouted at me by now, that was the last thought you had before darkness slowly engulfed your vision, even the insistent tapping of a familiar cane didn't wake you.

—

“–ow are they so comfortable together? That couch is way too small,” 

“And House is all long limbs and- Honestly its impressive,” 

“Can't you two just hurry up and grab my phone? I can take a picture of them!” 

Soft light slowly penetrates your grogginess, eyes blinking open, trying to adjust to your slow-awakening nerves. You yawn, sighing at the feeling of being well-rested, it felt comfy and warm, something soft draped over your body, and someone’s long arms wrapped around you. Leaning back slightly to try and greedily soak up what is left of the person's warmth, a small smile makes it way to your lips when-

Wait. Someone? 

“Are you three going to keep gawking or should I test how hard I can throw my cane?” House’s voice snaps at your senses, vibrating through you as your ears are pressed beneath his collarbone. You hear the man behind you groan, knowing House he probably gave the team the worst eye roll known to mankind. 

“I thought I asked for the test results last night? I don't see them on my desk,” His tone drops lower. Instead of seeing, you hear a quick sequence of shuffling and shoes shuffling on carpeted floors, knowing it must be your other co-workers hurrying out of the office. 

You gulp, finally finding your voice after you're sure it won't crack. “The results are already on your desk, know…”

House nods above you. His chin rests atop your head. “I’ve read through them.” 

He pauses. “You got the PTT wrong.”

“No? I’m sure it didn't…” Your voice fades.

You feel House shift. He moves your legs to drape over the couch’s armrest, alleviating more of his limped leg. “No, but I just bought us another half an hour, so unless you want to go back to acting professional, I suggest you-”

“No,” You croak out. “No it’s…. Fine. Thanks,” 

You feel House sighs. Either way, you decide to push your luck as you lean deeper into the doctor's neck, sighing, and pull at the blanket further. Something deep in you worries, a ball of anxiety growing steadily. You don't know if House knows of your little infatuation, if he resents it or lets it fester to consume you whole. He and his puzzles are too advanced for you to understand, though eventually, it boils down to his entertainment. Is he letting you do this to see how far you’ll go? 

Suddenly, you feel House’s hand rest on your shoulder, one finger tapping gently. “You lucky I was also staying late last night,”

You hum, relief settles in. Despite the outcome of this predicament, sleeping in House’s embrace while the man himself seems content enough to let you off the hook, you cherish this and compile it into your memory. 

Content Warnings: Chase is giving head to an older guy, power imbalance due to the positions held, office blowjob, under the desk blowjob, somebody walks in at the end, sex in front of somebody else but they don’t explicitly know

Word Count: 628

Authors Note: I’m just posting some brainrot that I’ve been sitting on. Should I try to make a part 2 of this one or just leave it?

“Four years of college, four at med-school, two years residency, another four years of sub-specialty training, and where do I end up?” “Between my legs with my cock down your throat, now stop talking and put this back in your mouth, Dr. Chase.”

How the fuck did he get himself in this predicament? He had a old ass but very attractive man fisting his hair in one hand and with their other hand pressing his fingers into the sides of his jaw to keep his mouth open wide. His throat had been bullied by what he’d personally call an oversized cock for what felt like hours but he knows it hasn’t. There was a clock on the shelf behind the desk he was currently hidden under that he could read. Yes, he’s under the desk of the Administrative Assistant, in his office at the hospital that they both work at.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he knows he shouldn’t be giving head to his technical boss and especially not at his place of work! But there’s something about an older man just using his mouth to get off that seemingly fixes something (somebody get this man a therapy session and a dilf).

“Come on, put it in your mouth and make me feel good.” He urged, leaving Chase to grind against the older man’s outstretched leg with a slight shudder before finally taking the throbbing dick back into his mouth. He reached a hand down to the tight tent in his pants, borderline humping his hand in an attempt to relieve some of his need for friction. “There you go,” he grunted before a guttural groan slipped past, causing the older man to look towards the door to his office. He couldn’t tell if it was locked but he didn’t have any meetings scheduled so there shouldn’t be any interruptions. He wasn’t going to pull the young man off his length anyways.

“You can go farther than that, take it all,” Chase looked up to him through his lashes, asking if he had to because the amount he had taken was already a lot. “Don’t give me that look, you’ve taken all of it in every hole you have. You can do it again, brat,” He looked down at him with his lids half closed and a type of lust written on his entire face. Chase moaned lightly (to the best of his ability given his mouth being full) at his words. How can a professional speak that vulgarly?

His boss felt that he was taking too long to comply so he lifted up his hips, thrusting deep into his mouth and causing the poor man to gag, choking at the sudden intrusion. His hands immediately shot up to grip at his thighs, his lashes now clumped together with tears. He was trying so hard to even out his breathing and relax his throat, his nails digging into the flesh and leaving little crescent moons in the skin. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment only to open them widely when he heard the door to the office open.

His boss scooted forward in the chair, pushing Chase back further under the desk but also pinning him so he couldn’t take his cock out of his mouth. He grunted and the feeling of having his dick so far down his throat that he could feel Chase’s nose pressing against his stomach slightly. Chase could really only hope that this would be a short conversation otherwise with how sensitive the Administrative Assistant is currently he might end up just blowing down his throat. Especially with how he’s still rocking his hips in and out of Chase’s mouth while talking to.? Who came in again? “House? What are you doing here?”