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Summary: While traveling with Dante and slicing through the roots of the Demon Tree, you accidentally cut through a flowering bud that sprays you with demonic sex pollen. Dante rushes you into a nearby, abandoned building and helps you burn the pollen out of your system.
Word Count: 13,844
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Dante's Devil Trigger, Sex Pollen, Dubcon-ish
Author's Notes: I started writing this while playing DMC5 when it first came out, and then never finished it. The new anime inspired me to pull it out of my drafts, and now we're here. Enjoy this absolute filth.
I do try to establish consent before the pollen sets in, but some might still consider this dubcon. Read at your own risk.
Additional Notes: Takes place during the beginning events of DMC5, before Dante's first battle with Urizen, so he's still in his normal Devil Trigger. Although, I've got plans for a Sin Devil Trigger follow-up to this }:]
“It’s a good thing we don’t have a garden,” you huff, jamming your sword into another glowing red section of the giant, demonic root. “Because I would probably burn the whole thing to ash after dealing with this damn demon tree.” You twist and shove the hilt of your sword, cutting a deep slice into the root. The color of it changes to a sickly grey before the whole thing turns to ash.
“Don’t think you could keep a cactus alive, let alone a whole garden,” Dante quips back, thrusting his own blade into the weak spot of a different root.
“Hey! I’ve managed to keep you alive this long. At least a plant won’t talk back.”
His mouth tilts to the side, beginning to form that devil-may-care grin he’s known for. He grips Rebellion’s hilt with both hands, jerking the blade to the side to create a horizontal gash down the length of the root. He pulls the sword back out right before the Qliphoth root turns to ash as well. He swings the blade upward, resting it casually against his shoulder as he saunters toward you.
“Tell you what… When we get out of this mess and kill whatever sorry excuse of a demon is lurking up in that tree, I’ll get you a plant and you can decide if you want to keep it or light it up. I’m sure it’ll be therapeutic for you either way.”
Your lips split into a matching grin. “I appreciate you saying when we get out of this and not if.”
He lifts his free hand up and shrugs his shoulder. “When have you ever known me to be lacking in confidence?”
“Good point,” you laugh.
The two of you make your way down the city street and turn the corner, only to find a whole other series of roots tangled together and blocking your path.
“Damn it,” you groan. “Better make it something cheap, because it’s getting more and more likely that I’ll torch the damn thing.”
Dante chuckles lowly. “Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ tired.”
You tighten your grip on your sword and make your way to the closest root. “Not tired. Just annoyed with how repetitive this is getting.” You raise the sword high above your head, and swing it straight down. You pierce directly through the weak spot and slice the root into two separate pieces.
Once the root has turned to ash, you find that three Riot demons have been waiting behind it for you. The tails on their reptilian-like bodies swish from side to side as they immediately begin to close in. Razor-sharp claws click against the pavement with their every step.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Dante tells you with an amused smirk.
“What, this?” you smirk back. “This is just foreplay.” You shoot him a saucy wink before jumping right in and taking on the first demon to reach you.
You and Dante work together seamlessly, dispatching the demons and sending them back to the hell from whence they came. Dodging swipes of their claws and the swings of their tails, the two of you make quick work of them, along with the three others that spawn during the fight.
Dante finishes off the last one as you approach the next Qliphoth root.
“Well, this is new,” you mutter to yourself. Instead of glowing red, this root is glowing green and it has flowering buds growing off of it. Without much thought, you square your stance and raise your sword. “Let’s see if you come apart just as easily as the others.”
You dart forward just as Dante looks over. His eyes widen when he sees what you’re about to do. “No wait!” he shouts in warning, but it’s too late.
Your blade has already pierced directly through the middle of one of the flower buds and deep into the root. In an instant, the bud bursts from your attack and bright yellow powder shoots directly at you.
You gasp in shock, immediately inhaling a lungful of the sickly-sweet smelling powder.
“Shit!” you can vaguely hear Dante’s curse. He uses a burst of demonic energy to dart toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back.
You cough and hack for breath, but the yellow dust is all over your face and stuck to your hair and clothes. Dante grits his teeth, smelling the scent of it. His eyes dilate, and his mouth waters.
“Fuck, that’s not good.” He mutters under his breath. He takes a quick glance around the empty street before lifting your body into his arms and kicking the door down of a nearby building and carrying you inside.
It’s an empty bar. Dante quickly deposits you on the cushioned seat of a booth against the back wall. He then bee-lines straight for the bar, easily hopping over it, rather than going around. You continue trying to cough the powder from your lungs as he riffles around behind the bar.
When he comes back to the table, he sets down a bottle of expensive whiskey and holds a damp wash cloth in his other hand.
“What’s that for?” you question around your coughing.
“This is for you,” he raises the wash cloth up and sits next to you on the bench, reaching over to wipe the dust off your face. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. His touch is unusually gentle as he swipes the wet cloth over your features. Across your forehead, over your brows, down the slope of your nose. He’s close enough that you can hear his shallow breaths. It sounds like he’s intentionally trying not to breathe too deeply.
After he’s wiped the dust from your eyelids and cheeks, your eyes flicker open, catching the concentrated look on his own face as he finishes with a swipe over your chin and a light tug against your lips. He stares at your mouth for another moment, his blue eyes smoldering, before his gaze lifts to yours.
When he realizes you’d been watching, he swallows thickly and shifts back, tossing the cloth onto the tabletop. “This is for me,” he continues, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and uncorking the top. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes several long gulps.
His actions are a slight cause for concern. “Dante… what did I just inhale?” you ask, feeling your heartrate picking up slightly.
His face pulls into a grimace. “Fuck,” is all the response you get before he slams the bottle back onto the table and pushes himself out of the booth. He starts to pace back and forth, looking lost in thought as he absentmindedly runs his fingers through his snowy hair and across the stubble on his jaw.
“Dante.” You say again firmly, trying desperately to keep a level head, even when you feel the panic building inside you. “Am I going to die?” you ask, point blank. You weren’t exactly one for sugar coating and wanted to know exactly what you were up against.
Dante comes to a stop, releasing a long sigh and placing his hands on his hips. “No, you’re not going to die,” he informs you, finally meeting your gaze once more. “But you might feel like it.” His gaze remains serious as it holds yours, watching for your reaction. “You just inhaled a shit ton of demonic sex pollen.”
It takes a second for his words to register in your mind. Once they do, you release a shaky breath as you start to realize all that entails. “Well, fuck.” You reach for the bottle of whiskey and take several swigs of your own. The liquor burns even more than usual with your throat already raw from coughing up the pollen. You slam the bottle back down and wipe your lips with the back of your hand. “How long before it sets in?”
“Not long,” Dante shifts his stance from one foot to the next. “Which is why we need to come up with a game plan before it does.”
You furrow your brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Dante gives you a flat look. “Babe, you’re about to be hornier than a werewolf in heat. You will do and say just about anything to find some relief, so before that starts impacting your decision-making skills, I need to know now if you want me to, you know… get involved.”
You stare at him blankly, pretty sure that his implication may have short-circuited your brain.
He grimaces again, running his hands through his hair once more. “Look, I know I’m an asshole, even on a good day, but I’m not about to take advantage of you when you’re hopped up on sex drugs. So, before the pollen takes effect, you gotta give me something.”
“Yes.” You manage to choke out, embarrassment making your face hot.
“Yes, what?” He coaxes, needing there to be absolutely no doubt.
“Yes, you have my permission to… help.”
“Okay,” he nods once. He holds your gaze for a long moment before moving back and stepping toward the next booth. He pulls Rebellion off his back and sets the sword down on the table. He shakes his head slowly and releases a long sigh, “Damn, this is not how I imagined this going.” He unholsters Ebony and Ivory next, setting the dual pistols down on either side of his blade.
“Imagined what?” you ask, desperate to keep him talking, to keep your mind distracted from what’s about to happen to your body.
He unsnaps the fastenings on the back of his leather gloves. “You and me finally breaking the sexual tension that’s been brewing since we started partnering up.” His eyes meet yours as he lifts a hand to his face. His lips soon part right before his teeth sink into the worn leather of the glove, and he uses that to leverage it free. He maintains the eye contact as he does the same with the other glove.
You squeeze your thighs together when a throb develops between them from watching the erotic sight in front of you. You’re the one to break the connection and look away this time, letting out a dry scoff. “I think you may be exaggerating that a little,” you play off. “As I recall, there was a good amount of hostility brewing in the beginning there.”
Dante shrugs his shoulders casually. “That’s because someone has an authority complex and can’t take orders for shit.”
You can’t help but smirk at that. “I’m glad to hear you can admit that about yourself now, Dante.”
He rolls his eyes, but is inwardly relieved that you seem to be falling back into your usual banter. He was fairly good at hiding it, but internally he was completely freaking out. He’d only had one other previous encounter with sex pollen in his life and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He’d also only inhaled a small fraction of what you’ve been exposed to. He had no idea what to expect from this.
“But seriously,” your voice startles him from his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that you had moved and were standing right next to him. You place your hand gently on his shoulder and meet his gaze. “There isn’t a single person on this earth that I trust more than you, Dante. You know that, right?”
He looks deep into your eyes, feeling your sincerity pour down into his soul. “I know,” he confirms.
You push lightly on his shoulder to get his body to turn to face yours. He does so without protest, watching as your other hand moves up to cup his cheek. His stubble tickles your palm as you cradle his jaw. You run your fingers over the coarse hairs for a moment before you begin to guide his face to yours.
You release another shaky breath right before your lips press to his. Dante’s lips are soft and warm. A contrast to the scratch of his stubble against your smooth cheeks, but even that is a pleasant sensation. It sends prickles of awareness through your whole body.
You feel his hands grip your hips and he begins to respond to your advances. He kisses back long and slow, like he’s got all the time in the world. You feel your heartrate pick up, your body lighting up under his touch. You release a whimpering moan and pull him even closer.
You arch your back to knock your hips against his and rub up on him like a cat. You’re pressed close enough that you feel the erection beginning to form in his pants. A jolt of excitement runs up your spine, right before you feel a pang deep in your belly.
You pull out of the kiss with a gasp. “Dante,” your hands fall from his face to his shoulders, where you then grip the lapels of his coat. Another painful twinge rips through you. Your legs buckle as you hiss a breath through gritted teeth.
“Whoa! I’ve got you.” Dante pulls your body into his before you have the chance to fall. He grips the back of your thighs and lifts you up, guiding your legs around his waist. He quickly moves back to the next booth, gently placing you on the empty tabletop. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips pressed to your temple.
“God, that hurts like a bitch,” you release a low whimper as another pang builds up. It feels like menstrual cramps on steroids. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”
“Unfortunately, yeah.” Dante quickly shrugs out of his signature red coat and tosses it onto the next booth with the rest of his belongings. “But that’s what you’ve got me here for.”
You reach out for him, trailing your fingers down the worn fabric of his black Henley and slipping them beneath the bottom hem. You drag your hands back up, over the hardened contours of his abs. “Take off your shirt,” you urge, wanting to explore him with more than just your hands.
He releases a low chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he complies, gripping the back of his collar and pulling the garment off in one fluid motion. “Now, don’t you think you might be a little overdres- Holy Hell!” His hips jerk forward, rocking against the juncture between your legs as his body reacts to the feel of your tongue licking a long, wet stripe from his collarbone and up the side of his neck, while your nails simultaneously rake down his pectorals. He blinks down at you in shock for half a second before a sly smirk tilts his lips. “Not sure if I should be getting turned on by that, but I’m totally into it.”
“I’ve kind of always wanted to do that,” you admit, your filter beginning to malfunction as the pollen takes even more effect. “God, you smell so good.” Your eyes close of their own accord as you breathe him in. The scent of his musky cologne, combined with leather and gun powder, makes your head spin. “Ah!” you cry out as another pang hits you, more powerful than the others. “Dante! I need you now!”
His smirk quickly falls and his hands move up your sides to rest on your waist. “Lay back and let me take care of you.” He guides your body down onto the tabletop.
You writhe on the hard surface, back arching as the pain and blistering need pounds between your legs. “Dante!”
“I know,” he soothes, lifting your tank top up enough to access the front of your pants. He works quickly, popping the top button and dragging down the zipper. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them halfway down your legs. “Oh fuck,” a jolt of electricity surges through him when the scent of your arousal hits him. Pulling back the denim reveals the significant wet patch that has developed in your panties and if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly was now. He’s never smelled anything so divine.
He yanks off your boots and finishes removing your pants, tossing them quickly to the side. You spread your legs shamelessly, the cool air actually feeling somewhat nice against your heated flesh. Your hips jerk up of their own accord, feigning a sort of humping motion. “Dante, please!” you whine pitifully.
“I’m here,” he assures you, gripping your hips and dragging your ass to the edge of the table. “I’ll make you feel good. I promise.” Without wasting time, your panties are the next to go, getting flung somewhere behind him before he falls to his knees and guides your legs over his shoulders.
The table puts you at the perfect height, so he doesn’t have to strain his neck or hunch over you. This is normally the part where he would start teasing you with little nips and kisses on your thighs, but he knows that you’re in no state for getting teased. You need relief fast before you start getting sick from the pain.
So, he dives straight in, using the flat of his tongue to drag over your slick folds, getting his first taste of your wet heat. The two of you groan in unison, Dante from the taste of your sweet nectar on his tongue, and you from the first shred of relief coursing through your body. He continues to lave against your dripping entrance, back and forth, side to side.
You’re not normally this sensitive in that area, but with the pollen in your system, it feels like he’s painting a masterpiece with his tongue and your body is the canvas. Each brush stroke adds a burst of color and more wetness to the piece. “Oh God! Dante, don’t stop!” you plead. You lift your head to look down the length of your body.
Dante’s gaze flicks up to meet yours. His cerulean eyes seem to glow despite the dim lighting of the bar. The sight of him buried between your legs is enough to get another surge of wetness out of you. It’s a sight you’ve only been able to imagine so far. Dreams so filthy, you almost couldn’t look him in the eye when you saw him the next day. None of it compared to the real deal.
Your head falls to the table once more, eyes rolling back when Dante’s tongue moves up to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the tight bundle of nerves in languid strokes. You can’t help but rock your hips against him, your body begging for more. He’s more than happy to oblige, his grip tightening on your hips.
He feasts on your body like he hasn’t eaten in years. Lapping up your slick like it’s the only source sustaining his life. His hands slip down your hips to grip the tops of your thighs. With light pressure, he guides your legs open just a little more, while still keeping them pinned to his broad shoulders. This allows him to push his face that much closer, his prickly cheeks brushing right against the apex of your sex.
You reach down, weaving your fingers into his silver locks and grip them firmly. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he practically purrs with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. You thrust your hips against his tongue, guiding him to where you need him most. Your body thrums, soaring to heights you didn’t even know existed. Yet it’s still not quite enough to push you over the edge. The higher you seem to go, the more desperate you become for release.
“Dante. More! I’m so close!” you cry.
He focuses his mouth on your clit while one of his hands slips off your thigh. You feel the press of his fingers to your entrance. He circles the pad of his middle finger around and over your folds, collecting your arousal to slick the long digit. Your whole body quivers in anticipation before he slides his finger inside you. You release a low whine, hips jerking into his touch until he’s pushed completely into the knuckle.
“Damn,” Dante chuckles deeply. “If this is how tight you’re squeezing my finger, you’re going to absolutely strangle my dick.”
“Don’t stop,” you urge, tightening your grip on his hair in order to shove him back where you want him.
“Wait. Hold up,” Dante resists the pressure you’re putting on him. You lift your head back up to protest, but stop when you see the concerned furrow of his brow. His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath. His pupils then completely dilate for one second before they shrink down into two thin, black, demonic slits. “Babe, you smell like-” he cuts himself off when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His lips twist into a smirk. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a guy when he’s going down on his lady?”
You look back at him, confused, before you hear the low growl of a demon nearby. You unweave your fingers out of Dante’s hair and push up onto your elbows. Sure enough, three large humanoid-looking demons carrying dual meat-cleavers, and two grim reaper-type demons have appeared inside the bar. Hell Antenoras and Hell Cainas. The Antenoras swing their giant cleavers to knock tables and chairs out of their path. While the Cainas follow in pursuit, their scythes raised high and at the ready.
Dante begins to extract himself from between your legs, a dark grin splitting his face. Your body grieves the loss almost instantly. “Sit tight. I’ll make this quick.” He winks, licking your slick from his middle finger. He stands fluidly, quickly re-holstering his guns and grabbing rebellion. He moves to stand defensively in front of you, his jeans hanging low on his hips and his back muscles tensing to ready for the fight. “Like hell am I going to let any of you near her.”
He darts forward, straight at one of the Antenoras. It swings one of its cleavers in anticipation of the attack, but at the last second, Dante drops to his knees, sliding against the floor underneath the swinging blade. As he slides past, Dante uses his own sword to slice at the Antenora’s legs.
It falls forward as Dante stands back up behind it. He jams Rebellion straight through its back and unloads Ebony into the back of its head until it’s defeated and sent back to hell.
Dante yanks Rebellion back up and turns just in time to block the falling scythe from the Caina behind him. Watching Dante fight was always a sight to behold. His movements are so effortless, smoothly transitioning between his blocks and attacks. It’s almost like watching a dance. Hypnotic on its own, but watching him fight shirtless had you salivating.
The clench and release of his muscles, strengthened by years of battle-hardened labor, draws your attention. The veins bulge in his arms and his abs tighten when he braces for an attack. Then his back muscles flex as he parries before he launches his counterattack.
You want to memorize every single inch of him. First with your eyes, then with your hands, and follow that up with your mouth. Everything from the tops of his shoulders down to where that V at his waist cuts into his jeans.
You’re so enraptured by him that it takes you a second to notice one of the other Caina demons has been approaching. The tip of its scythe drags against the wood flooring, leaving little curls of wood shavings in its wake. The jaw opens to its skull-like face and some sort of black liquid begins to ooze out of its mouth. Your face scrunches in disgust when you realize that the demon is drooling.
“Not in a million years, Pal,” Dante’s voice comes from directly behind the beast. You barely see the flash of metal as Dante cuts through its neck, detaching the head from the body in one quick swipe.
He meets your gaze as the demon falls and returns to hell. A light coating of sweat now dampens his skin and adds a slight sheen to his already defined muscles. “Dante, hurry,” you whine, your hand slipping between your legs to flick your engorged clit as another pang builds up inside you.
Dante's gaze darkens, and the bulge in his pants grows uncomfortably tight. “You heard the lady,” he announces, turning to the last two demons. “Time to wrap this up.”
He takes them both on at the same time. Shooting at one with one hand while parrying and attacking the other with Rebellion. He strikes a series of rapid jabs at the Antenora, not giving it enough time to block with its cleavers before jumping above the Caina and landing a harsh blow with his blade from above.
The two, even attempting to fight together, are no match for the legendary demon hunter, and soon they have both joined their friends back in hell. Dante wastes no time in making his way back to you, a determined march to his steps as he quickly sets his weapons aside once more and begins unbuckling his belt.
“We need to make this first round quick, because you’ve got this whole place smelling like a she-devil in heat and it’s only a matter of time before more demons come to investigate.”
“Wh-what? What does that mean?” Nearly delirious with need, his words are almost beyond your comprehension.
Once Dante is back in front of you, he grabs your hips and drags your ass back to the very edge of the table, wrapping your legs back around his waist. “Those demons came here to mate with you.” Dante looks deep into your eyes to make sure you’re listening. “And the only way to stop more from coming is to cover your scent with mine.”
There’s some tiny part deep in the back of your mind that knows the idea of mating with demons should disgust you, but you’re so fucking horny, all you can focus on is the fact that Dante wants to cover you in his delectable scent. You breathe in deeply once more and your eyes glaze over. “Yeah… I like your scent.”
His serious features melt into his devil-may-care grin. He knows it’s the pollen that’s making you more candid, but his ego still perks up at the praise. “Take off your shirt.”
You comply immediately, gripping the bottom hem of your top and peeling it off your body. Dante’s hands are already working at the clasp of your bra before you even had a chance to toss your shirt to the side. Both articles of clothing are thrown carelessly against the bench seat of the booth.
Dante’s hands press gently against your back until your bare front is molded against his. “Stay close. Wrap your arms around me. We want as much body contact as possible.”
You happily do as instructed, wrapping your arms around his neck and arching up into him. His hands leave your back to unfasten the buttons down the front of his pants and push the denim and his boxers halfway down his thighs.
He releases a sigh of relief, now that the strain of confinement has been lifted from his aching cock. “I had no idea how painful fighting with a hardon could be.” He gives himself a few smooth strokes before lining up with your entrance.
The pollen is truly starting to set in, making your blood run hot, while your core weeps with need. With a steady pressure applied against your entrance, Dante slips the head of his cock inside you. He intends to take things slow, wanting to give you time to adjust to his size, but you’re so fucking wet and ready for him that there’s practically zero resistance.
Unbeknownst to the both of you, it’s the pollen that’s made it so easy to get him exactly where it wants him. You’ve been perfectly primed for getting him in deep without struggle, like bait set out for prey. Before he even realizes, his hips have become flush with yours and he’s pushed in to the hilt, but like a spring-loaded trap, your walls suddenly clamp down on him from all sides.
“Holy shit,” Dante’s entire body shudders, not expecting that to have happened. You immediately begin swirling your hips in little circles to better feel his thickness inside you, which is devastating to the last shreds of his self-control. Your walls contract and flutter around his overly sensitive cock, squeezing and pulling at his length. “Babe,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit. Honey, you gotta ease up a little, or else I’m gonna-”
His hands tighten around your waist, but it’s not enough to stop your frenzied movements around his cock. Especially not the movements happening inside you. He huffs out a strained breath when one particular twinge of your walls hits him just right and sends him reeling. “Fuck! Fuckkk,” he tosses his head back, jaw slack as his cock twitches and fills your body with his sudden release.
His hips jerk against you for a few more seconds, the muscles in his jaw and neck straining.
Your movements halt, a brief flicker of clarity breaking through the desperation. “Dante, did you just…” you question, unsure if that really just happened.
“Come in two seconds flat like a teenage boy at his first strip club? Yeah,” he confirms through gritted teeth. “Damn that’s embarrassing.”
You can’t help the primal grin that you flash up at him. “I’ll take it as a compliment. The great Dante, brought low by some wet ass pussy.”
One of his hands gently cradles the back of your neck. There’s humor in his eyes when he speaks, “Just don’t hold it over my head, or I’ll say it was because of the she-devil pheromones you’re giving off. On the bright side, at least my early release should help with our demon problem. Nothing quite says ‘this one’s taken’ like a pussy full of cum.”
You have to fight your amused smile as you tighten your arms around him. “How romantic,” you quip sarcastically.
He grins openly. “Ain’t nothin’ romantic about sex pollen. We’re gonna fuck like rabbits until you pass out. If you want romance, you’ll need to take me out to dinner first.”
“Promises, promises, Dante. When are we getting to the ‘fuck like rabbits’ part?” your walls clench around his cock, more than ready. Your body very quickly starts to remind you that it has yet to reach its own climax.
Dante’s grin turns wicked. “You’re lucky half-demons don’t have much of a refractory period. I’m like the fucking Energizer bunny.” To prove his point, Dante snaps his hips against you, his rehardened length dragging against your walls and squelching back into your cum soaked cunt. “And besides, I’ve now got a reputation to salvage.”
“Oh yes!” you moan as he sets a brutal pace and the pangs in your core finally begin to ease. The steady thwack of his balls hitting your ass fills the empty bar, along with your panting breaths and heady mewls of pleasure. He fucks you hard, fast, and deep. It’s everything your body has been craving. “Yes! More. Dante, I need more!”
“I’ll give you everything I’ve got,” he vows. He keeps one arm tightly bound around your waist to keep your torso flush with his. The other moves to thread his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck. He cradles your head before slamming his lips over your own. He devours the decadent sounds that are coming out of your mouth like they’re lifesaving ambrosia.
He swallows your moans, tongue slipping between your parted lips. He explores your mouth with languid strokes, much like he had when his head was between your legs. Your hands desperately grip the back of his shoulders while you pull your body as close to his as physically possible. Even with him filling you from both ends, it still doesn’t seem to be enough. You still need more. More of him on you. More of him in you.
You’re not entirely sure if you want to completely consume him or be completely consumed by him; all you know is that you never want this to stop.
His hand at your neck slips down, fingers ghosting over your fevered skin before his palm closes around your breast. He molds the supple flesh with his whole hand then pinches your budding nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A helpless whimper escapes from your throat as the erogenous zone in your breasts seem to have become amplified tenfold by the pollen. His thumb swirls around the stiff peak and you feel the jolts of pleasure in your core as if he was directly stroking your clit.
Your entire body quivers and shakes, utterly helpless to the bombardment of pleasure that Dante is unleashing upon you. He continues to rut into your sopping wetness, like a man possessed, tongues battling for dominance, and hand fondling your breast. The pleasure builds like a snowball rolling downhill, growing in both speed and size. With a carefully timed tweak of your nipple and an angled slam of his cock into your g-spot, that giant snowball plows into you like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Your mouth rips away from his when you throw your head back and you release the most carnal sounds you’ve made in your life. You can’t tell if they’re words, praises, or just incoherent ramblings from your utterly fucked out mind. You moan, and writhe, and scream, and pant, all while your orgasm shakes you to the core.
The gush of arousal that leaks out of you allows Dante to keep pounding into your pussy, despite the vice-like grip it has on his cock. The scent of wet, sloppy sex, along with the sounds coming out of you, are enough to push him back over the edge. Just a few more thrusts after you’ve come, Dante suddenly pulls out and grips the base of his cock while thick white spurts of cum splash against your thighs and stomach. He strokes himself until his cock is spent.
The next few seconds are blocked out by the blood rushing in your ears until you start to come down from your high. You meet Dante’s lidded gaze, both of your kiss-swollen lips parted and panting for breath. You release the grip you have on his shoulders and lean back enough to look at the mess he’s made across your skin. “Marking your territory?” you question, swiping a finger over a thick white glob before slipping that finger into your mouth.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Dante breathes, watching you suck his cum off the pad of your finger. He can’t help but imagine that pretty mouth sucking off his dick and drinking that cum from its source. Any softening that may have started to his cock is immediately reversed. He tries valiantly to push the thought out of his head, reminding himself that your needs and well-being come first. “How are you feeling now?”
You pull your finger out of your mouth with a wet pop and look back down at the mess between your legs. A steady, throbbing heat is still going strong inside your core and you’re just as wet and ready as ever. “Now?” you start, lifting your gaze back up to meet his. “Now I want you to cum all over my ass.”
With that, he’s definitely back to full mast. “That can be arranged.” He kicks off his boots and fully removes his pants and underwear, then he scoops your body back into his arms and moves to the bar. He sets you on your feet next to a plush barstool. The floor is surprisingly clean, though you’re certain it won’t remain that way for long.
With a gentle press to your back, Dante guides you in place until your torso is draped over the cushioned stool and you’re up on your tiptoes. He widens your stance with a slight kick to your ankles before he settles between them and sinks back into you from behind. The wet, greedy squelch of your body accepting his once more should embarrass you, but it only turns you on even more.
The tightening of his hands on your hips is your only warning before he’s pounding into you again. Balanced on your toes, there’s not much you can do other than just take the full force of his thrusts. He ruts into you like a beast in heat, which drives you wild. There’s nothing sweet or gentle about it, only carnal desire in its rawest form.
Dante watches your pussy stretch around his cock with every thrust and knows this sight will be seared into his memories for the rest of his life. The lights behind the bar reflect on the wet sheen covering his length before it disappears back inside you. He feels a hot trail of his earlier cum dripping down his balls before it splatters to the floor between your spread legs. Where he should feel guilt over the mess you’re both making, he only feels anticipation and excitement, wondering how much more of a mess there will be by the time you’re both done.
The steady thwack of his balls slapping against your clit becomes even faster as Dante works himself up into a frenzy. He’s spent so long wanting you and now that he has you, he doesn’t want to waste a single second. Your body feels like it was made for him, so hot and wet and supple and perfect.
He’s so wrapped up in how amazing you feel around him that he realizes too late when his balls have pulled in tight and the first spurt of cum is already shooting out of him again. He pulls out with a startled jolt and hurriedly jacks off the remaining shots of milky white cum over the globes of your ass.
“Dante…” his name comes out as a needy whine, tinged with disappointment. Your empty cunt throbs angrily, not even close to her next release.
“Fuck, babe,” he releases a low groan. “I’m so fucking sorry.” How the fuck has he already come three times when you’ve barely had one?
He normally prides himself on his stamina, but the tiny dose of pollen he got seems to have absolutely destroyed his ability to hold off his climax. Whereas you seem to be having the complete opposite problem, and the pollen has pushed your limits so far out, it’s getting harder and harder for you to reach them. You press yourself back up to standing and turn to face Dante with a determined gleam in your eyes.
“Get up on the bar.”
His eyes widen at the order, but he complies without a fuss. You follow him up onto the polished wooden surface and push his chest until he lays fully back, then you’re instantly straddling his thighs. As promised, it only takes a few jerks of your hand around his cock before he’s fully hardened once again. You line yourself up and sink back down onto his length. Once fully seated, you steady your hands on his chest and begin to slam your hips up and down.
You ride him like he’s a prized stallion and chase after that pleasure that continuously flutters just out of your grasp. He grips the back of your thighs and meets you thrust for thrust. You might be the one on top, but he’s not going to make you do all the work. His tongue darts out to moisten his lower lip as he watches the way your tits bounce. “You’re so fucking sexy,” his head has become clouded with such overwhelming pleasure, and apparently three mind blowing orgasms are all that’s needed for him to open his mouth and start spilling his deepest secrets. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve wanted you?”
You continue bouncing on his cock, lips parted to release your panting breaths as you hold his gaze. “How long?”
You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows thickly. A tiny part in the back of his head can’t believe the confession he’s about to make, but any inhibitions that might have stopped him before seem to have completely flown out the window. “Ever since that time I stole your demon bounty and you got so pissed, you kicked me in the chin and I bit my tongue hard enough it started bleeding.” It’s a struggle to get the full sentence out while you’re relentlessly fucking yourself above him, but he manages it through clenched teeth.
Your bouncing slows before coming to a complete stop as you stare down at him. Surely, he can’t mean what you think he means. And yet, even after all these years of knowing each other, it’s unmistakable what time he’s referring to. “Dante… that’s literally the first day we met.”
He swallows once more. “I know.” There’s a flash of uncharacteristic vulnerability in the depths of his crystalline gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. His hands squeeze your hips like he’s scared you’re about to extract yourself from him and bolt out the front door. “And I spent nearly every day after that trying to figure out how I might get you to like me back.”
You release an incredulous laugh and raise a brow. “You were an insufferable asshole for months after we first met.” Your fingers trace the lines of his abdominals, an unconscious gesture of reassurance to let him know you’re not going anywhere.
He gives you a tilted half-grin, “Never said I was smart about it.” He waits with baited breath for your full response to his confession. It’s impossible for him to build up any sort of defense when neither his heart, nor his cock, fully belongs to him in this exact moment. You have full possession of his most sensitive pieces and all he can hope for is that you won’t break them. Break him.
You run your nails over the coarse, silvery hairs on his chest while you begin to swirl your hips torturously around his cock. “Wanna know how long I’ve wanted you?” A sultry smile slides languidly across your lips
Dante grits his teeth to prevent his eyes from rolling back while you tease him relentlessly with your rolling hips. He’s both desperate and terrified of the answer to your question. “How long?” he huffs out eventually.
You move to place your hands on either side of his head and lean down until your nose is nearly brushing his. Mercifully, your hips still their movements so that Dante can hear your own confession without any distractions. “Ever since the first time you apologized by taking me to get strawberry sundaes.”
His gaze flickers between your eyes while he takes a moment to process your words. It’s not hard to trace back to what time you’re referring to. In fact, it’s quite easy. “…That’s also the first day we met.”
The look of pure, tender affection on your face makes him forget how to breathe. “I know,” you respond before leaning the rest of the way down and pressing your lips to his. He grips the back of your head and kisses you back, moaning deep and low when you start moving your hips again.
This time, it’s a little less hurried and a lot more sensual, your bodies pressed together and moving as one. You feel the hair on his chest tickling your nipples. The hard cut of his hips flush against yours. Every place where you meet, flesh against flesh, burns with awareness. Years of secretive pining, aching longing, and pretending not to want each other have culminated into this very moment. The line has been crossed, and there would be no going back.
Dante’s free hand grips your ass while he rocks against your movements. A zing of pleasure jolts up your spine when your clit catches against the ridge of his pelvic bone. Your mouth rips away from his as you release the most delicious sounds he’s ever heard. “That feel good, babe?” he questions, rocking his hips the same way again.
Your breath shudders next to his ear, as the stubble on his jaw scrapes against your bare cheek. “Dante…” You can no longer think, yet alone formulate a response. All you can do is feel. Feel the heat coming off of him. Feel the brush of skin on skin. Feel the rush of blood in your veins. The stretch of your pussy around the cock that’s practically tattooed inside of you at this point. “Oh, Dante!” You find that spot that makes your clit go haywire and you grind into it like there’s no tomorrow.
“That’s it, babe,” he encourages, both hands gripping your ass now. “Use me. I wanna make you feel so good.”
“Right there. Ah!” you release a breathless whimper, hips circling even faster. You can feel the pleasure building in your system, but the peak still flutters out of reach. “Dante, I’m so close!”
“Touch yourself,” he grunts from the back of his throat. “Show me how you like it.”
You sit back up and with his assistance, start bouncing on his cock once more. Your middle finger swipes through the mess of cum still splattered across your lower stomach to use as a lubricant against your aching clit. You rub yourself in quick feverish circles, too keyed up to even consider any light teasing stokes. You use your thumb to push back the hooded skin, exposing even more of the rosy bud to the onslaught of your touch. “Fuck!” you cry out, the sensations in your clit so intense, they’re nearly painful.
“So fucking hot.” Dante doesn’t know how absolutely everything you do could be such a damn turn on. Watching you pleasure yourself while riding his cock is so fucking sexy, he’s going out of his mind. “Fuck yes! Just like that. Wanna feel you come around my cock.”
Your heart is pounding, your thighs are burning, and your clit throbs, but you don’t let up. You’re so fucking close! Dante’s hands grip your ass even tighter and he slams you down so hard onto his cock that it has you seeing stars. “Oh fuck! Dante!” you scream his name as you’re finally catapulted into your release. The fire that had been growing low in your belly explodes into an inferno, consuming you from the inside out.
Pleasure licks up your spine in waves, causing you to shudder and writhe above him. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Just a few more thrusts up into you and he’s following you over the precipice. The sensations of your climax are too much for him to ignore and he’s soon filling you with even more cum from his aching balls.
The muscles in your body strain against your heady orgasm before losing their strength altogether as soon as it starts to ebb away. You collapse forward onto Dante’s chest, both of you panting and heaving for desperately needed air. The sweat on your bodies has your skin nearly fusing together, but neither of you seems to mind. You hear the rapid beat of his heart with your ear pressed to his chest. The sound of it is grounding, along with the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.
“That… was pretty damn incredible,” he mutters as soon as his thoughts begin to function again.
You hum in agreement, watching your fingers as they trace feathery patterns across his chest. They follow the line of his collarbone and down the middle of his pectoral muscles before diverting course to circle around his nipple.
He sucks in a breath and shifts slightly beneath you. “Okay, I know I said earlier that I’m like the Energizer bunny, but I think I need a ten-minute breather after that last round.”
You swirl your fingers around him once more before lifting your head and sucking that nipple into your mouth.
“Oh fuck!” Dante’s hips buck of their own accord. “Okay, just like 5 minutes and I promise I’ll be good to go,” he all but begs for mercy.
Your tongue flicks over the hardened bud. “Dante…” you coo his name so disastrously tempting.
“Two minutes!” he counters. “Just two and I swear-”
“Dante… I want to fuck your demon cock.” You sit back up and look down at him with a molten stare.
That sure as hell shuts him up. He gapes, slack-jawed, at you for a long moment. “Come again?” Your comment has completely fried his mental circuits, that he doesn’t even notice the double entendre behind his question.
“Fuck me in your devil trigger,” you tell him in a way that can’t be misinterpreted.
He blinks once before releasing a heavy breath and moves to sit up. His hands are firm but gentle as he lifts you off of his lap, his soaked cock sliding out of you and landing against his thigh with a wet thwack. He reaches behind the bar for a clean hand towel and presses it between your legs.
“You have no idea what you’re asking me.” There’s no trace of humor on his face and he won’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to focus on cleaning the cum off your skin.
“Yes, I do,” you insist. “It’s not just the pollen talking.”
He finally meets your gaze with a dubiously raised brow.
“Okay, fine,” you admit with a sigh. “Maybe the pollen is influencing this, but I absolutely know what I’m asking here.” You cup the sides of his face with your hands to keep his gaze locked with yours. “I may not have as much demon fighting experience as you, but I know my own body. It feels like an itch so deep under the skin that no amount of scratching can reach it. What we’ve been doing is providing temporary relief, but it’s not the treatment. There’s a reason why I’m giving off she-devil pheromones and why those lesser demons came running. We need a demon’s essence to counteract this demonic pollen.”
He reaches up to pull one hand from his cheek and places a stubbly kiss to your palm. “This sounds like a really bad idea. I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit before, but this is a bit extreme, even for me. Honestly, I don’t even know if I can,” Dante tries to get you to see reason. He laces his fingers between yours and holds your hand in his firm grip. “I know you’ve seen me in that form, it’s not like there’s anything dangling between my legs. And even if I could, it would be so fucking easy to lose control. Not only could I hurt you, I might accidentally end you. That’s not a fucking risk I’m willing to take.”
“Dante, I know you would never hurt me.” You try to argue, but you recognize the stubborn glint in his eyes.
“Not intentionally maybe, but even if it wasn’t on purpose… I would never forgive myself.” The thought of causing you pain is more terrifying than facing a thousand demons.
You want to continue arguing, but then you notice the distress hiding behind the stubborn tilt of his jaw. You decide to relent. “Okay,” you turn your joined hands and place a kiss to his knuckles. “Then we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing and wait it out.”
Dante releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. You wiggle your hand loose from his grasp and jump off the bar top. “Where’re you going?” he asks, following your movements with his eyes.
“Ten-minute breather, right?” You glance at him over your shoulder before moving across the room. “I’m gonna clean up a bit in the bathroom. No offense, but wiping me down with a dry cloth isn’t really-” You’re cut off by a pained gasp and stumble against the wall while your hands clench your abdomen. Rippling pain and heat claw at you from the inside.
“What the hell?” Dante is by your side just in time before your knees give out. “What’s wrong? Fuck, you’re burning up!” As Dante lifts your body into his arms, he can feel how hot to the touch your skin has suddenly become. “Hey, look at me,” he urges, using the wall to help keep your body propped up, but your eyes are unfocused and your head lulls to the side. “No. No, stay with me,” he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth to keep you awake. He realizes that the pollen must be hitting its peak potency and it’s too much for your body to handle. If he doesn’t do something fast, you’re going to pass out from the pain.
“Fuck! Okay. You win. I’ll fucking do it. Just stay the fuck awake.”
“D-Dante?” his voice sounds far away, and you can’t entirely understand what he’s saying. Your vision goes hazy for a moment and you’re seeing two of him. You blink slowly and try to shake your head, but it takes too much effort. When you open your eyes, the silver-haired man you expect to see is no longer the being in front of you. In his place stands a hulking figure with dark, leathery skin and glowing red eyes. You gasp, eyes widening in shock, before you realize it’s still him.
He towers an extra foot above you, the heat rising off his body rivaling your own feverish skin. The scent that wafts over you isn’t what you expect. Where before he smelled like fire and brimstone, now he smells like burning incense, warm spices, and smokey oud. You’re tempted to press your nose to the orange glowing center on his chest and inhale a lungful of the tantalizing scent.
You realize that the pollen must be playing some sort of mental trick on you, because you’d never considered yourself a monster fucker before, and you’ve fought by Dante’s side a long time without ever thinking about how attractive his devil trigger is… and yet, here we are. Your hands reach out, ghosting over the horn-like protrusions along his jaw. They then fall from his face to his chest, just to either side of his molten glowing center. His skin, though tough, is smooth like aged leather stretched taught over something very solid and very warm.
“You still with me?” he asks, leaning gently into your touch.
You swallow the mouthful of saliva in your mouth before responding. “Yeah.” Were you seriously about to drool over the idea of fucking Dante’s devil trigger? You mentally scream to get a hold of yourself, but your body is in full demon seduction mode. It seems to recognize the nearness of a potential demonic mate, as the pain temporarily eases. A part of you wants to mention the “I told you so” about needing demonic essence to fight against the pollen, but that would start another argument and be counterintuitive to your current end goal.
“Babe, you know I can’t keep this up for long, so we need to figure out how to do whatever it is we’re going to do and quick.”
You meet his dragon-like gaze, “Do I still smell like a she-devil in heat?”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. You notice the black slit in his eyes dilate. “Yeah, you sure fucking do. But you also smell like me, which is making the primal part in the back of my brain go crazy.”
The corner of your mouth lifts in pure female satisfaction. “Good. Focus on that.”
One of your hands immediately falls to the armored plating over his groin and you start exploring. “Fucking hell!” he exclaims, rocking into your touch. You feel around for a few seconds before you find the hidden slit tucked between two plates of armored skin. His wings flutter anxiously behind him, but the rest of his body goes perfectly still.
You sense the tension rising in him, so you stop your probing and look back up at him. “Dante, do you want to fuck me?”
His entire body shudders. “I don’t know, but this is making me feel really fucking weird.”
“Dante,” your fingers start moving over his slit again, coaxing whatever might be tucked inside. “Are you going to fuck me?”
He makes a tortured sound from the back of his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he reiterates, but his hips are still grinding into your touch.
You feel something move beneath the skin, something hard and thick. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you say with a confidence you’re not entirely sure you can back up now that you’ve got the barest hint at what you might be working with. Your other hand tilts his chin down so you can place a chaste kiss against his lower lip, being careful not to cut yourself on the sharp teeth peeking out from the permanent grimace on his demonic face. “I trust you, Dante. I know you’ll stay in control.”
One clawed hand slams into the wall above your head, rattling the trinkets and pictures hanging there. He releases a long exhale that almost feels like steam from how hot it is. “Fuck. You’ve got me quite literally in the palm of your hand,” he admits right as you feel the slit open against your fingers and something begins to poke through.
The head of his cock glows the same glowing ember color as his chest before tapering to a dark leathery red and then to black at the base. His veins pulse with that same glowing light from root to tip. He’s fucking massive and if it weren’t for the pollen in your system making you salivate at the sight, you might have actually turned tail and ran. You hope that all your previous rounds with him have made you loose enough to take in this new girth.
He makes a sound at the back of his throat that’s both pained and relieved once the whole of his length has been unsheathed. “Gotta admit, staring at my own demon dick was not on my bingo card for this year.”
You scoff out a dry laugh and then hike up one leg to rest it atop his thigh. The dragon-like scaling over his leg feels hot against your bare skin, but is otherwise smooth. “Less staring and more shoving,” your patience is growing thin.
His hand quickly moves to support your lifted leg, being mindful of his claws. “First of all, there will be no shoving. Only a nice, gentle insertion of the very tip-”
With a quick hop, you’re wrapping your other leg around him. “Dante, if you don’t put that inside me right now, I’m going to climb you like a tree and ride you till the cows come home.”
He pins you to the wall with his chest before you have the chance to fall. “Whoa, slow down there, cowgirl.” He gets that you’re eager for this, but his mind is still wrapping around the fact that he actually has a cock in this form. Yet alone that it’s a weird ass retractable cock.
You reach down and touch a finger to the liquid pre-cum dribbling out of his tip. It has a luminescent-orange sheen that sticks to your fingers like honey. You spread that wetness across the glowing head of his cock and Dante nearly loses the will power to stay upright.
“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “That’s really fucking sensitive.” He knows that his senses get dialed up to eleven when he’s triggered, but just the simplest touch from you seems enough to bring him to his knees.
If you weren’t in such a hurry to get him inside you, you’d thoroughly enjoy taking your time exploring every inch of him, but your body knows what it wants, and there’s no time for leisure explorations. You tilt your hips and drag your dripping folds against the underside of his cock. “Oh fuck, Dante!” your entire body shivers in delight. The bulbous head of his cock catches against your clit and the glowing fluid coming out of the tip evokes a tingling sensation where it meets your tender flesh. Your clit pulses with renewed vigor and the need to get him inside you becomes the very core of your existence.
“Holy fuck!” An animalistic growl escapes him, five clawed indentations piercing through the plaster of the wall where his hand rests above your head. His steaming breath wafts across your face as he leans in a little closer.
You glide the head of his cock between your folds, mixing your slick with his own fluids and delighting in the way that tingling sensation spreads. “I need you,” nearly delirious with desire, you rub yourself all over his cock.
“I can’t,” he grunts, claw marks dragging down the wall. “If I move right now, I’m gonna fucking rip you open.” He’s barely hanging on by a thread. Your pussy is so close, so inviting, so wet, and it’s right fucking there, ready for the taking. But his control is slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and soon there will be nothing left. “You have to do it. Guide me inside you. But please… be fucking careful,” he begs with the last shred of his humanity.
You don’t have to be told twice. Gripping the base of his shaft, you keep him steady and align his tip with your entrance. You sink down and feel the stretch instantly as your folds spread wide to accommodate the larger cock. There’s a bit of resistance, but the pollen has prepped you enough that soon the head of his cock slips passed your pulsing muscles and is finally nestled into your velvety softness. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling of being breached by something so massive, and yet somehow, it’s not horribly painful. You certainly feel like your cunt is stretched to its limit, but it’s so fucking good!
It feels so incredible, in fact, that you find yourself shifting your hips back until you’re empty once more, just so you can immediately slide back down to feel him penetrate your walls all over again. The warning growl that rips out of Dante’s throat stops you from doing it a third time. Although a part of you wants to ignore his warnings and keep teasing at the head of his cock, a bigger part of you is more eager to see how that stretched feeling of fullness will increase once he’s fully seated as deep as your body will allow.
You hook your ankles around his back and brace yourself before steadily sinking further and further down his ribbed length. “Oh fuck!” you whine, your pussy stretched so taut that a fleeting flicker of panic manages to push past the sadistic need from the pollen. You slap three fingers over your clit and rub so frantically that your hand nearly vibrates. The tingling fluid from Dante’s cock has made your clit so engorged and sensitive that the ripples of pleasure from your touch are able to get your muscles to relax just enough that he sinks in another inch without tearing you apart.
You continue in this manner until he’s completely sheathed inside your body and you’re fully seated against the valley of his thighs. You’re both panting heavily, but for entirely different reasons. You’ve never felt so full in your life. It’s like your insides have been rearranged to make room for him, and you practically feel him settled against the base of your throat. His cock pulses and thrums inside of you and he’s so hot. The simmering heat of your core is like a flickering candle compared to the molten heat of him.
Meanwhile, Dante isn’t entirely sure how he’s remaining upright. You’re so fucking tight! Every clench and tug and squeeze from your cunt can be felt all along his length from base to tip. Every single inch where he’s buried in you is in both pleasurable agony and devastating ecstasy. The muscles in his neck, arms, and abs are all tensed, bracing against the instinct to rut into you like a wild beast. He wants to fuck you so bad. He wants to fuck you so good.
“Dante…” The way you say his name is utterly ruinous. “You’re so fucking big!”
He can’t help the single shallow thrust that follows. Pure male pride is like kerosene to the blazing inferno heating his blood. “Don’t fucking say shit like that right now,” the threat of the destruction he will wreak upon you can be heard in his voice.
But you’re too far gone. Too high on lust and pollen and demonic sex pheromones. “I’m so full with your cock! You’re so deep! Fuck me, Dante! I need to feel you wreck my pussy.”
The growl of a monster pushed past its limits reverberates throughout the entire bar, making glasses clink and liquid ripple within their bottles. Flecks of paint and drywall powder flutter to the floor as Dante extracts his claws from the wall and moves to evenly grip both globes of your ass. You feel the very tips of his claws against your skin, not enough to cut or draw blood, but the promise of danger sends a thrill through you.
“I told you to shut the hell up.” No more warnings, no more sifting sand, no more threads of control.
His hips snap back until only the head of his cock is still notched within your quivering heat. You’re given no time to brace before he’s surging forward and filling you once more. A frame clatters off its hook, glass shattering as it hits the floor. You hardly notice. Dante doesn’t stop, continuing to pound you against the wall as more objects come to a crashing end. Pictures of celebrities, various trophies and medallions, signed jerseys from the local sports teams, everything clatters one by one, worked loose by Dante’s brutal thrusts into your supple frame. His leathery wing flare before those clawed tips right at the first joint hook up into the already ruined wall. They serve the purpose of entirely caging you in while simultaneously protecting you from any of the debris showering down.
The screaming voice in the back of his mind begging him to be careful with you, that you’re so fucking tiny compared to his massive frame, is so far away, it might as well be a whisper. Primal instinct and carnal desire are all that drive him right now. The need to fuck. The need to claim. The need to breed. There’s no stopping now. Not until he’s filled you with his seed. Filled you with his spawn.
The thought should horrify him. God knows he’s already got enough family drama that just the idea of bringing in another fucked up, part-demon kid into this world should be more than enough to kill his libido. It should be kick-starting his common sense. And yet, his demon lizard brain wants what it wants, and instead of slowing down, he starts rutting into you even faster.
You’re not fairing much better. If someone with their logic and reasoning still intact were to suddenly switch places with you, they would probably be worried about their spine shattering from the destructive onslaught of Dante’s thrusts. But all you can do is moan and wail and scream your praises about how good he’s fucking you. “Ah! Yes, Dante! Wreck me with your massive demon cock. Filling me so good! So fucking deep!”
The ridges of his cock grind against your g-spot with every frenzied thrust. Feral, raw, untethered pleasure clouds every single one of your senses. Dante’s own demonic mating pheromones start mixing with the ones coming from the pollen. It’s a volatile cocktail of savage cravings and endless appetite. The heady scent of burning incense and warm spices is so thick, it coats your tongue. It compels you into wanting to taste even more of him.
Your hand reaches up, fingers clasping around one of the devil horns protruding past his temple and you angle his face closer to yours. He yields to your touch until your scattered breath tickles his cheeks. Your tongue darts out, licking a wet stripe across his lower lip. He purrs at your boldness. You slip further into his mouth, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sharpened point of a fang. With a steaming exhale, his jaw opens and his own tongue slides out to greet yours. It’s thick and rough and wet as it slips passed your parted lips.
Your moan is muffled against the thick appendage now exploring your mouth. Dante’s already proven that his tongue is rather dexterous, but this one is almost prehensile. It seems to wrap around your own and fills your mouth in ways you didn’t know were possible. He fucks your mouth with its unimaginable length. There’s no battling for dominance between you, just complete and utter subjugation. The conqueror and the conquered.
Dante has taken the direct source of your body’s pleasure and has crushed it within a clawed fist. It feels like a lightning strike shooting through you before your entire body starts to convulse. Pure, white-hot ecstasy fills you from head to clenching toes. Your hips buck wildly against the ruthless assault of his thrusts into you. Your breasts scrape against the rough, leathery armor of his chest. Drool slides down your chin, and your eyes lose their focus. Your mind has been fucked into oblivion.
Dante pulls his tongue out of your mouth when your jaw goes slack. He takes in the mindlessly blissed out expression on your face before a flood of fresh wetness soaks his cock. He looks down and realizes you’ve just cum so hard; you’ve squirted all over him. Your walls squeeze him so tight, he’s almost forced out of your tight hole.
His eyes blaze with determination as he fucks you through the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. He pounds into your drenched cunt, the sounds too obscene to describe. Choked cries of pleasure leak from your raw throat every time he slams home. He’s so fucking close. All the blood and heat and energy in his body seem to concentrate at the very base of him. It pulses and throbs and grows until it’s too much for him to contain.
With a mighty roar, Dante hits his final release. Energy explodes out of him, knocking over tables and chairs, shattering glass, and splattering the walls with various types of liquor. His wings stretch and twitch with every spurt of his cock as he empties himself into the deepest parts of you. Your womb fills with his demonic seed until you’re so full that it starts to force its way passed the cock that’s blocking your entrance. Golden and luminescent, it’s thick like molasses and sticks to your skin rather than running down it.
From your understanding of higher demon biology, you know that fertility is rare, so you figure the extra sticky cum must have evolved as a way to boost the chances for fertilization. You realize a bit too late that you’re not sure how well your birth control will fend against demonic sperm. The thought gets pushed from your mind as a wave of heat envelops Dante’s body, and then he’s back in his human form. His legs immediately lose all remaining strength, and he sinks to his knees, your body still connected, sliding down the wall with him.
Your arms wrap around his neck, holding his shuddering body close. Damp tendrils of white hair brush at your cheeks when he rests his forehead against yours. His cock is completely spent, though it continues to twitch from overstimulation inside you. His balls are pulled in so tight, he’s almost afraid they’re about to shrivel up and fall off. His arms barely have the strength to leave the curve of your ass before they’re curling around your back and are crushing you against his chest.
“Please tell me you’re okay,” his words are barely a whisper, ghosting over your lips, mere inches away.
“I’m okay,” you respond immediately between hastened breaths.
His eyes blink open, the blue so bright it’s like the skies after a heavy rain has cleared all the haze away. He takes in your features. Swollen, spit soaked lips. Cheeks flushed with heat. Hair sweaty and tangled all around you, sticking to the wall and your face. You’re a god damn mess, and yet, still so devastatingly beautiful. “Are you sure?”
A single breathless laugh is like a balm to his soul as you reach up and push his own sweaty bangs off his forehead. “I’m sure.” Tomorrow you might feel like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck, but for now you’re good. Well and truly satisfied. “The she-devil has been satiated.”
His own huff of amusement feels cool against your heated cheeks. “Good,” he remarks, nose brushing playfully against yours. “Because I’m completely tapped out.”
You release a low hum, feigning disappointment. “We might need to ask the Energizer Bunny for a refund.”
His laughter is lighthearted in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. “When we’ve finished dealing with this damn demon tree, I’m gonna take you home and make you eat those words. Let's see how long you last against me when you’re not all hopped up on sex pollen.”
You meet his challenging stare with a vicious grin. “I’d rather you make me eat your cock.”
The smirk slides right off his smug face. “Fucking hell, babe. Can you please have some damn mercy on me?!” His dick twitches valiantly inside you before going flaccid. It’s like the final death rattle of the last remaining soldier to die on a battlefield.
He can feel your joy as you laugh against him. “Sorry!” You don’t sound apologetic at all.
You’re too damn beautiful as you look up at him, eyes sparkling in post-coital bliss. He doesn’t even bother to resist the urge to slant his lips over yours and kiss that beautiful look right off your pretty mouth. You moan helplessly against him.
He pulls away and you find yourself chasing after him until your eyes reopen. “What was that for?” you ask blearily.
“Because I wanted to.” He grins at the surprise widening your eyes. “Because you’re fucking beautiful.”
Your hand grips the back of his neck to pull his mouth back to yours. He complies without fail, kissing you long and slow. It feels so damn good to be able to do this with you that he can’t believe how long he’s resisted it. How much longer would he have gone ignoring his feelings for you? How long denying himself from the privilege of getting to cradle your body between his arms?
His lungs feel tight with emotion and the need to breathe when he pulls back once more. He could spend the rest of the day within this bubble of bliss you both have found yourselves in, but he knows there are more pressing matters waiting beyond these four walls. He summons the strength to stand, still cradling you close. When he’s sure that he’s not going to immediately collapse back to the floor, he steps uncaringly over the bits of broken glass and splintered frames to take you back to the table where all of your things are. He sets you down on the polished wooden surface before finally pulling his limp cock out from between your legs. Your thoroughly abused cunt gapes open for a moment and he can see how full you are with glowing golden cum.
His brain seems to short-circuit and all he can do is stare until you clamp your thighs together. Embarrassment prevents you from being able to look him in the eye. “Somehow, I don’t think a wet washcloth is going to be enough for this, Dante.”
His gaze softens immediately, and he reaches a gentle hand out to lift your chin. “I’m still going to do the best I can.” He leaves a parting kiss on your lips before moving back behind the bar. He fills a large bowl with warm water and grabs a stack of towels. You try not to count how many need to be used in order to get the both of you at least somewhat decent.
Once you’re feeling mostly human again, you hop off the table and start shuffling back into your clothes. Dante does the same, keeping one protective eye on you the entire time. When you’re fully dressed, you move to grab your sword where it was haphazardly left when you both busted in here, but Dante reaches for your outstretched hand instead.
“Why don’t you head back to the shop?” he asks, his voice a little too steady. “You can use my shower to finish washing up. Power’s on, so there’ll be hot water.”
You stare at him incredulously. “Dante, what the hell are you talking about? We need to go after Urizen.”
His fingers tighten around yours, the only sign of his desperate plea. “I’ll rendezvous with Trish and Lady at the tree. The three of us will be enough to take him out.”
You square your shoulders and your gaze turns icy. “Don’t do this. Don’t start pulling some over protective bullshit just because our relationship has changed. You know we fight better together. We always have.”
“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath and then drops all pretenses and steps closer. His hand cradles the side of your neck, “I swear I’m not doubting your abilities. I know how fucking badass you are. But this guy is different. He’s going to be like nothing we’ve ever faced before. The moment he smells my demonic essence on you, he’ll see it as a challenge and will hunt you down without mercy.”
Your hand lifts up to cup over his. “If that’s true, then shouldn’t both of us go home and shower?” you ask dubiously.
He laughs without humor. “Doesn’t quite work like that. A claimed female is much more appetizing than a claimed male.”
Is that what happened here? Did you claim him? And did he claim you? In a way, you guess that maybe you have…
“Okay,” you relent just enough to try to come up with a compromise. “I’ll run home, shower really quick, then meet you back at the tree.”
He releases a low sigh and drops his forehead to yours. His actions make you feel like you’re not going to like his next words. And he knows it. “I need you to intercept Nero.”
You try to reel back, but his grip on your neck keeps you in place. You grab a fistful of his shirt instead and yank threateningly. “Are you seriously planning to keep me completely out of this fight?”
His gaze flickers between yours. “You know what he’s like. He won’t listen to me, but he’s sure as hell not strong enough to get involved in this. You’re the only one I can trust to keep him safe. You know what the kid means to me.”
“Fuck you, Dante.” Your words might be harsh, but he can tell his request is pulling on your heartstrings, and you’re starting to sway.
“Just this once,” he begs. “Stay out of the fight just this once and protect Nero.”
You bite your lip to stop the words you want to lash out at him. You understand exactly where he’s coming from regarding Nero. He may only be 1/4 Sparda, but he’s just as stubborn and blockheaded as the lot of them. “Damn it,” you huff, already feeling yourself giving into him. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”
If you weren’t staring at him so closely, you might have missed the relief easing some of the tension in his brow. He grins in that devil-may-care manner you’ve grown all too familiar with. “Haven’t come across an opponent that could beat me yet.”
You roll your eyes. “I just did about 10 minutes ago.”
He huffs out a short laugh, his forehead rocking against yours as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t count when you’re already my ultimate weakness.” And you realize that this is what Dante’s request is truly about. He scared. Not because he thinks you’re weak, but because you make him weak. You are the chink in his armor. The second Urizen realizes this, he will exploit that weakness until it becomes Dante’s undoing.
“Fine,” you release with a long breath. “I’ll stay out of the fight with Urizen. But as soon as this is all over, you and I are going to have a much longer conversation about this new dynamic. And we will be setting some ground rules.”
“Sounds like a wonderful conversation to be coming home to…” he mutters sarcastically.
“Dante, I’m being serious.”
“Oh, I know,” he responds lightly. “And I’m seriously going to be reimagining what it feels like to be inside of you, the entire time we’re apart.”
You make a sound of disgust and shove him away from you. “Ugh, you’re a pig.” He releases a low chuckle as you finally take hold of your discarded sword and attach it to the holster on your back.
He’s still smirking to himself while he finishes reholstering his own weapons.
Once the two of you are fully geared up, you move to the door and step back out into the hellscape that has become of Red Grave City. You look toward the giant demon tree looming in the distance. You know that whatever’s waiting up there… It’s going to bring one hell of a fight. Then you turn and look back toward the direction you’d come. Toward the direction of home. You clench your fists but resolve yourself to following Dante’s request.
You turn your gaze once more to find him already staring down at you. His gaze is carefully neutral, but there’s an anxious tick in his jaw as he waits to see what decision you’re going to make.
“You’ll come back to me, right?” you finally ask.
His shoulders drop slightly with released tension. “Always.”
You nod your head once, then turn a final time and begin heading back to the shop. Dante watches your first few steps, then turns and begins walking in the opposite direction. Neither of you looks back. You have no idea what the future has in store, but you trust Dante to give it his all. If he says he’s coming back, then by Hell or high water, he will. And you’ll be there, waiting for his return.
No. Not again. Not you. @the-faceless-bride
Summary: The Ghoul of the wasteland had accepted the man he once was is dead. He isn't caring. Isn't loving. Isn't feeling. Friendship, companionship, partnership... love? Wasn't for him. Not anymore. But all that comes crashing down when he meets you... you brought something back from the dead.. though it isn't as 'good' as it used to be...
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Animal Instinct @ghoulbrain
Summary: When you're both ambushed by raiders, Cooper comes to understand the lengths he'll go to keep you safe.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Jealousy @bountydroid
Summary: The sweet reader is always doing unnecessary favors for him, like secretly giving him discounts on rad away and supplies, taking care of dog meat, and getting him information on bounties. Until he brings along Lucy, misunderstanding the whole situation, the reader’s heart breaks thinking the worst and slowly stops trying and acting cold and distant, making Cooper notice that the only tolerable person he has ever known in this god forsaken world is ignoring him.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
On the Surface @moonlitdesertdreams
Summary: Lucy knew traveling with the Ghoul would be tough, but no one told her it would be so... weird. Especially when he stops to pick up another companion along the way.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
stormy weather. @villainsoftheweek
Summary: you and the Ghoul have tried to kill each other, forget each other, outrun each other — and failed every time.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
lacy, oh lacy… @sexy-monster-fucker (X)
Summary: Lucy has just joined the group and the Reader is growing jealous of how Cooper acts around her..
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Mine @midryss (X)
Summary: Immortal and disfigured as a result of surviving a vault, you become the monster society expects you to be. But in a constant battle to survive the wasteland, you form a strange relationship with the fierce cowboy Ghoul along the way.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
songbird @buryustogether
Summary: you used to be a singer in your vault - that skill comes in handy when you least expect it, and least want to use it. but who are you to say no when cooper tells you to sing for him?
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
As A Dog @ghoulfuckersincorporated
Summary: The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog
Warnings: intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication
Special Tag: None
Unnamed @forever-rogue
Summary: None
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Hand That Feeds @plutoswritingplanet
Summary:The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Only for you, darlin @your-averagewriter
Summary: Cooper heads into town in search for some RadAway for you when he stumbles upon a cute gift
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
bewildered @htchnr
Summary: Reader asks to borrow his hat to keep the sun out of her eyes and maybe Lucy is there just watching in disbelief as he actually loans reader it for a while
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
Take the damn shot @moonlitdesertdreams
Summary: A single quiet day in the saloon is all you wanted. But somehow, your Ghoul partner is pulling his gun and you're covered in another person's blood. Honestly, it's just typical.
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
no use cryin' over spilled milk @ghoulphile (X)
Summary: being an experiment from vault 4 where you may be the first rad resistant human pregnant with a possibly rad resistant baby, and you come across the ghoul who helps you get to a safe place but then he gets attached with you and the baby
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
A Helping Hand @roseghoul26 (X)
Summary: A discussion with The Ghoul reveals things that you never wished to tell him, including your views on intimacy, and lack of experience. When he offers to show you what you were missing out on, how could you say no?
Warnings: None
Special Tag: None
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Smut with plot PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU'RE A MINOR!
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Warnings- Loss of virginity, rough sex, fingering, p in v, creampie, biting, light degrading, mention of self harm, claiming, mild sub/dom dynamics
Word count - 4604
Summery- Immortal and disfigured as a result of surviving a vault, you become the monster society expects you to be. But in a constant battle to survive the wasteland, you form a strange relationship with the fierce cowboy Ghoul along the way.
Escaping a vault was no easy feat, but you’d take the hell of the wasteland any day over the torture they subjected you to in that vault. Your resilience was tested those first few weeks in the blistering heat of the desert, starvation and dehydration set in quickly and as much as you hated to admit it, all the tests and experiments you suffered in your vault was quite possibly the only reason you survived for so long.
Wastelanders couldn’t believe you were a vault dweller at first. They had some unrealistic notion that all vaulties were living the life of luxury below the surface - that is until you showed up in Filly covered head to toe in scars of various shapes and sizes with a vicious gleam in your eye. Their perception of vaults and their occupants changed once word got around that the Vaultie who couldn’t feel pain arrived in town, and word travelled fast round Filly.
Soon enough you became the town freak, allowing people to add to your scar collection in exchange for caps. “Can you make her flinch!?” The sign was painted in your own blood to draw in sadistic wastelanders. No one was able to of course, no matter how hard they tried, your regenerative abilities and incredible pain tolerance meant you could withstand almost anything. It was humiliating, but with nothing else to offer it was all you could do to survive.
Eventually, you earned enough caps for decent leather armour and a couple of weapons. You didn’t really have much of a plan by that point so you just wandered, picking up odd jobs from various settlements and scavenging junk until eventually you became pretty handy with a gun.
After a few years your reputation as the “vaultie who couldn’t feel pain” became a thing of the past, along with the faded memories of that cursed vault and the experiments you had endured.
You picked up bounties at first, but the hassle of keeping someone alive was tiring so you turned to assassinations. Your chosen occupation certainly brought in the caps which made your life easier, but you were undeniably lonely. Finding solace in the Ghoul communities, you figured they understood what it was like to be looked at with wary eyes and leave strangers too frightened to approach. It was one such place where you first met The Ghoul. He had been tracking a bounty down which led him to one of your favourite bars, unfortunately his target happened to own the place which resulted in a pretty hefty fight. One ghoul up against a bar full of territorial patrons didn’t seem like fair odds to you. In all honesty you thought he was an idiot with a death wish until you witnessed for yourself just how good he was. He was far more skilled than you but your regenerative abilities tested him, and he only had so much ammo. You still claim he cheated when he whipped your ankles with that damned lasso and tied you to the bar. But you knew you were a challenge for him because he never untied you, knowing you were too much of a risk to let loose, so you’ve been learning to wield that lasso of his ever since. Trying but failing miserably. You often wondered why he didn’t just put a bullet between your eyes, you're not even sure if that would have killed you, or if you can be killed at all, but since that day he’d certainly tried to find out.
It became a game of sorts for you both. When caps got low and contracts ran dry you would turn to a bounty board, often sabotaging his bounties or just being a general menace to him. At first you claimed it was revenge that drove you to get in his way after he destroyed your favourite place to unwind, but after some time you just continued doing it for fun. You figured he hated you at first as you had more than a few close calls with his bullets ghosting past your face and neck when he shot at you. But he soon warmed up to the game as you chased each other down in a flurry of bullets or sent subtle distractions at each other in crowded markets, all to reach the bounty target first. It was an unwritten rule you had, whoever reached the target first won the game, and although you had never spoken to one another a strange relationship blossomed between you as you began to watch over each other. Sometimes, when you were on a job you’d catch a glimpse of his silhouette in the distance and stumble upon the bodies he left in his wake, never too far from your camps, and in return for his protection from afar you would “accidentally” leave behind various chems and made sure to keep an eye out for those yellow vials of anti feral fluid to leave for him.
This strange relationship you had continued for months before you finally crossed paths in a hotel bar. You had never been to this particular town before, it was always a bit too lively for your taste - too many unsavoury folk passed through, from raiders to perfectly dishonest scammers. It was difficult to let your guard down when a bullet could penetrate your flesh at any moment from anywhere. Not that it mattered much to you, but you spent far too much time washing your own blood off yourself as it is, you were one step away from committing to wearing red permanently to avoid cleaning the stains constantly.
The bar was rowdy, it was barely nightfall and it was already too crowded for your liking, raiders and common drunks were so far gone they didn’t care how close they got to the disfigured girl anymore. It was a stark contrast to the way they would treat you if they were sober and in the light of day.
You barged through the crowd to reach the bar, scowl clear on your face. Should have just camped out again you thought, fingers tapping impatiently against the sticky wooden top of the bar.
You had contemplated just getting a room and calling it a night until a tall brown bottle slid your way. The Mr Handy bar tender told you it was sent to you by the Ghoul in the corner booth and sure enough there he was, tucked away in the dullest corner . The cowboy silhouette tipped his hat to you, lifting his bottle in a friendly greeting which you returned before making your way over to him.
“Not planning on shooting up this bar too are ya, cowboy?” you asked with a cheeky grin, recalling the day you met. He smirked in response to your playful remark.
“Not today, Darlin” he shuffled across the leather chair to make room for you.
“Oh so it’s only the decent bars you destroy?” you smirked, sinking into the couch beside him, stretching a dusty leather boot across the table with a sigh.
He chuckled “Not enough ghouls here for your liking?”
“Just too many assholes here” You took a big gulp of the mysterious alcohol, immediately regretting it when the liquid assaulted your throat “the fuck is this stuff!?” you spluttered, scowling at the bottle, searching for a label or some hint as to what it was, The Cowboy smirked, watching you grimace at the foul liquid.
“That’s the good shit, Sweetheart! Couple more swigs and you’ll see” he took a big gulp of his own drink before turning his attention back to the crowd of raiders who were beginning to get a little too rowdy. You followed his gaze, glowering at the commotion unfolding.
“Savages, the lot of them” your tone was laced with venom as you took another mouthful, spluttering again. The ghoul only sighed in amusement
“Put ya claws away, sweetheart and enjoy the show” you glared at him but leaned back in the leather seat regardless in an attempt to relax a bit. He was right of course. You never allowed time to just watch the world go by, your guard was up at all times and it was wearing you down. You inhaled deeply reaching your arms above your head, allowing your shoulders and spine to finally stretch and loosen the stiffness that had bothered you for days.
“Atta girl” he purred
That tone, that tipsy gaze that held no shame as he watched your toned body contort stirred something within you, something new and exciting. No man had ever checked you out before, you weren’t sure how to respond but you knew you liked the attention from him.
“Behave” you playfully kicked him from across the table, preparing for another excruciating gulp of mystery fluid.
He was right about the drink, you warmed up to it quicker than you had expected, becoming numb to its foul taste as you watched the raiders throw each other across the bar in a frenzy. It didn’t take long for a bar fight to break out, drunk patrons launched bottles and each other across the bar.
So much for a quiet night in you thought turning to look at the Ghoul. Everything started to feel fuzzy, whatever was in that drink was acting fast might as well make the most of it.
“Betcha I could take more of them out than you” you challenged with a devious grin which he returned.
“Alright, Darlin, most kills get that lovely lasso there” He gestured to his weapon wrapped neatly around your belt. You watched his eyes flick up your body and back to your face, feeling your heart flutter in your chest.
You blinked a few times before refocusing “Okay but no guns, I ain’t wasting my ammo on these fools” He thought for a moment before holding out a hand, shooting a sideways grin at you.
“Got yourself a deal, sweetheart”
You hesitated to take his hand at first but after a moment you gently shook it before snatching it away, embarrassed by your scars. No one in their right mind had ignored your disfigurement like he did, did it not bother him? Or was he just pretending to try and make you feel normal? He didn’t allow time for questions as he stood from the dingy booth, stretching his arms out before unsheathing his hunting knife and diving into the frenzy. You followed suit, whipping your own knives from your thigh holsters and slashing your way through the sea of drunken raiders and unsavoury folk.
The mysterious alcohol made you sloppy, more carefree and a little tingly. But despite the slight blur in your vision, it didn't take long for yourself, the ghoul and the bar to be drenched in blood. Few managed to escape the madness, many foolishly thought in their drunken state they could take on two strangers, they now lay in pools of their own blood with you and the Ghoul panting heavily over them.
“21” You announced your kill count proudly, stumbling over the bodies to reach the bar where a Mr Handy obediently waited to serve drinks.
The ghoul smirked, leaning across the splintered bar top “22” you could hear the cockiness in his tone as you ordered another drink.
“Fuck off!” You glared at him as he reached for his lasso, you followed his eyes as they wandered over your body- slowly this time, with purpose. You blushed but allowed him to tug you towards him by your belt. His smug grin widened upon seeing your flustered reaction, fingers lingering teasingly in your belt loops. You glanced around wildly having no idea what was happening, you felt your cheeks heat up and you avoided his gaze as he tugged your belt loops firmly, testing your reaction. He was amused at the blush creeping up your scarred chest, keeping your hips firmly pressed against him. Normally you would never allow this type of behaviour, normally you would convince yourself you were far too unappealing to be desired but The Ghoul was different, he treated you as an equal and you felt so normal around him. Maybe it was the drink but he didn't seem to even see the scars, or if he did they didn't bother him.
“You know it just unclips, right?” you mustered up enough courage to regain your voice, meek as it sounded. You mentally scolded yourself for sounding so pathetic in front of him.
“Oh I know, sweetheart, just enjoying the show” he teased. You cast him a questioning look and he glanced down at your chest with a feline grin. Following his gaze you gasped as your hardened nipples poked through the fabric of your blood stained tank top.
He laughed as you squeaked in embarrassment, shoving him away to cover your perky breasts with the flannel shirt tied around your waist.
“Have I looked like that the entire time!?” you shrieked, your tone uncharacteristically high.
“Only when you were close to me… S’almost as if I make you feel a certain type of way” he raised an amused brow, dropping the hint but you were too humiliated and inexperienced to pick up on it.
“Don't be stupid, my body is just broken, I can’t feel stuff like that” you chuffed, hiding your bright red face from him.
“Tellin me you’ve never been turned on before?” he asked in disbelief
“I can’t feel, remember? That includes…you know…that” you were mortified to even be having such a personal conversation. But you couldn't deny your curiosity of course; hearing stories from girls around various settlements often made you wonder what it felt like to be touched by a lover, to feel the big O they always talked about. But after years of not even feeling a tingle you had accepted it just wasn't on the cards for you, and you doubted the ghoul would change things.
“Well…” you heard his footsteps stride confidently towards you “...there’s a first time for everything, sweetheart” he pressed his body against your back, caressing your arms with force, trying to make his touch known to you.
“W-what are you-” you started with a surprised gasp but he cut you off.
“Shh, you’ll never feel it if you keep runnin, darlin” he whispered gently, your entire body was tense, you were guarded and your brain swam with questions. No one had dared to get this close to you before, you were disfigured, repulsive in the eyes of society…but so was he. This was the first time you had spoken to the Ghoul and yet you had already considered him a friend, looking out for each other in the wasteland, playing your games, there was a mutual respect there and you already trusted him.
As if he read your thoughts he spoke quietly, tenderly almost, as if talking to an injured animal to not scare it away. “Relax, sweetheart, trust an old Ghoul'' he continued his aggressive caressing up your arms, to your neck, tangling in your hair and back down again. Slowly, you began to sink into his touch.
“That’s it, atta girl” he began to nip at your neck and shoulders with his teeth, dragging his tongue along the splatters of blood across your flesh and you felt…something. An almost tingling sensation in your gut accompanied by the dull ache in your shoulder from his teeth biting your flesh. Unable to hide your giddiness at the new sensation, you released a sound somewhere between a gasp and a giggle and tilted your head to allow him more access. That permission alone was enough to allow his hands to wander from your arms to your belly and chest. He groped at your bare flesh beneath the confines of your clothing greedily, like a starved man. Your hips were pulled roughly to meet his, earning a sharp moan from you, a sound neither of you expected. He chuckled, releasing you from his jaws.
“You like that, sweetheart?” He asked so sweetly despite the roughness of his actions. You nodded in response
“I’ve never felt…like this before” You couldn’t hide the grin on your face and the bliss in your hushed tone, not that you wanted to. You wanted him to know your every feeling, every thought, every time he made you feel good.
“Please…more” you weren’t entirely sure what you were begging for or what else he could do but you wanted to find out. He grinned, spinning you around to face him. You nibbled your chapped lip suddenly growing shy beneath his dominant gaze, cheeks growing red from embarrassment and for the first time in your life- arousal.
“More? Greedy little thing aren’t ya?” he tilted your head up by the chin with gloved fingers, forcing your eyes to meet. You didn’t think something as simple as a look could make you so weak, but the way his eyes bore into you made you melt. Your expression was perfect and he drank in every detail, the hitch of your breath, the way your plump lips parted, silently beckoning him closer, your widened eyes desperate to feel more, the deep red blush dusting your scarred cheeks. He held a gloved hand up to your lips, slowly dragging his thumb across your bottom lip “Take it off” he gestured towards the leather glove. You tried to pull away but he stopped you, pulling your small frame back to him by your waist with his other hand.”Ah, ah…” he tutted “with your teeth” you relaxed into him once more, opening your mouth to allow his fingers inside. You gripped the tips of the leather glove by your teeth and pulled.
“Good girl” he drawled, that alone made you swoon.
You spat the leather away “Say it again” You whispered breathlessly, he smirked in response “I will when you do something good” he captured your lips with his in a demanding kiss. The foreign tingling in your gut grew at his forcefulness, you whimpered against his lips as he guided your body backwards until your spine collided with the stained bar, trapping you between his body and the rotting wood. You were breathless beneath him, a pathetic whimpering mess, his actions brought out a side to you which you never knew existed. You clung to him, gripping the collar of his jacket as you submitted to him completely.
His hands began to undress you impatiently, breaking away from your lips only to remove your tank top, leaving your chest bare for his eyes to feast on, but he didn’t stop, not even to look. His bare hand stroked and grabbed possessively at your flesh, you barely felt it but with your eyes closed your other senses were heightened. For the first time you felt the faint warmth of his flesh upon yours, the light tingling of skin to skin contact sent shivers down your spine, it was distant, like a ghost but it was there nonetheless.
You moaned into the kiss as his bare fingers pinched your nipples, you wondered if he was purposefully rough with you in order to make you feel his touch or if he was this aggressive with every woman. Another hard pinch of your nipple made your body jerk into him and you pulled away from the sloppy kiss to catch your breath.
“Fuck, Cowboy!” he grinned smugly
“Feel good, princess?”
You nodded enthusiastically, nibbling your bottom lip to stifle another moan.
“Aww, c’mon Darlin’ use your words” He teased, watching you squirm beneath him
“Y-yes sir” you whispered watching his eyes gleam at his new title.
“Good girl” he grinned almost sadistically as his hands groped their way down your body. His lips found your neck and suddenly you felt everything all at once: his own marred flesh exploring yours, his teeth harshly nibbling your neck, his wet tongue dragging across your scars devouring you like a starving animal and you loved it.
You felt him shimmy your battered jeans down your waist along with your now soaked underwear. Your eyes locked on him and you felt shame rise, your body tensed once more as he examined every inch of you with a hunger you had never seen before. He caught your rising discomfort and he didn't like it, with a stern glare he pinned your wrists to the bar.
“Don't you dare hide yourself from me, Princess. Been waiting to touch you for too long” he was demanding, desperate almost, the thought of another being needing you this badly was so foreign to you but it filled you with such warmth you could only smile, still nibbling your bottom lip in embarrassment.
He smirked before slowly sliding a finger between your wet folds, watching your every twitch and gasp of pleasure as his fingers slowly slid to your clit. His touch was never gentle with you but he didn't have to be, he always kept a perfect amount of aggression to ensure pleasure shot through you but not too much to overstimulate you too soon.
“F-fuck” you stuttered as he rubbed harsh circles around your clit, your hips involuntary bucking against the rough flesh of his fingers. Your moans turned into whimpers as that unfamiliar tingling grew and intensified, your fingers gripped the edge of the bar as you chased that incredible feeling the Ghoul gave you.
“Oh, is my good girl getting close?” he teased, knowing full well what he was doing.
You had no faith in your voice now, so you simply nodded, biting your lip harshly. The Ghoul let out a low chuckle, roughly palming at your breast with his free hand. He pulled and squeezed your hard nipple, earning strangled sounds of approval from you as his skilled fingers sent you over the edge for the first time.
Sheer arrogance oozed from him as you came to your senses from the first orgasm in your life. You wanted to glare at him, scold him for that cocky attitude but you were so full of satisfaction, so gleeful you just smiled.
“I-I felt… You made me… “ you were so full of bliss and overwhelmed you could barely string a coherent sentence together.
“Oh princess, we're just getting started” he attacked your neck again as he lay you down on the bar. His fingers found their way back down to your quivering pussy, slowly sliding one into your soaking core.
You inhaled sharply, feeling the slight stretch as his single digit pumped slowly in you. Despite how rough his previous actions had been, you were pleasantly surprised at his tenderness as he allowed you to adjust to the new sensations. He pulled away from your neck briefly to examine your expression - breathless, cheeks rosy and eyes fluttering closed with desire.
“more?” he whispered almost as breathless as you, he couldn't deny watching you writhe beneath him sent him mad with lust.
“Y-yes… Please” you moaned, almost begged. He grinned watching your face contort as he slid a second finger in, picking up the pace. Your hips bucked to meet his pace in a silent plea for release once more.
“F-fuck!” you exclaimed as he suddenly slid a third finger inside and curled them in a way that made your back arch and grasp desperately at his chest and shoulders.
“atta girl” he praised as he pounded that same spot relentlessly. You whined and moaned loudly beneath him, intense pleasure grew rapidly within you and as your walls twitched and tightened around his fingers, he pulled his hand away.
You made a sound of protest, not quite able to find the words and he flashes you a cocky grin, bringing his cum soaked fingers to your lips.
“suck, and I'll let you cum on my cock”
You didn't even hesitate, dragging your tongue along the length of his fingers, his other hand unbuckling his belt. You wrapped your swollen lips around his digits and sucked the sweetness of yourself from his fingers like he ordered. Like a good girl.
Finally free from the constraints of his pants, he teased you with the tip of his cock, sliding up and down the length of your wet slit before slowly forcing himself in your tight pussy.
You threw your head back against the bar, crying out in a blissful mix of pleasure and pain. He hissed as your walls gripped him tightly as he forced his full, hard length inside before slowly sliding out and plunging back in. The feel of his ghoul cock stretching your virgin hole made your head spin and your body tremble. You grasped at his collar desperately clinging to something real, like somehow you would wash away in a wave of pleasure if you didn't hold onto him.
“You're doing so good for me, Princess. So fuckin good” he growled as he picked up the pace, you could only release a string of moans in response, as that dull ache in your gut grew and that incredible sensation creeped up again.
“F-fuck…harder” you begged to the ghouls delight.
“filthy thing, you my little slut now?” he growled almost feral.
“y-yes!” you cried out as he lifted one leg over his shoulder and pounded deeper into you.
“good girl” his eyes burned with lust as he watched you desperately chasing another climax. Any thought he once had about patiently savoring your first time disappeared in a heartbeat after you begged him to fuck you harder.
“Come on, little slut” he roughly slapped your clit making you cry out “wanna see you cum on my cock” he pounded into you mercilessly, making sure you felt every inch of him and you absolutely loved it. Another swift slap to your sensitive clit sent you tumbling into oblivion. You think you screamed but you were drowning in pleasure too much to notice or even care.
“F-fuck” the ghoul faltered for a moment as your swollen pussy squeezed him tightly encouraging his own climax. He didn't allow you to regain your senses as he gripped your hips and forced them to meet his in a final rush of lust. Overstimulated and thoroughly fucked out, you let him use your body any way he pleased as he praised you.
“good fuckin slut! Taking my cock like you were made for it” your body went limp on the bar, you could do nothing but moan in bliss as your pussy swallowed him obediently. His cock pulsed inside you as he buried himself deep in your core, spilling his thick cum inside. He snarled, biting your calf which was still dangling weakly over his shoulder as he pumped his seed in you, making sure you were claimed thoroughly.
“you're mine” he panted, flashing you a feline grin. You returned it with a breathy laugh as he started cleaning himself up.
You could only lie on the bar, covered in sweat, cum leaking from your abused pussy with the biggest grin plastered over your face. You were speechless, utterly overwhelmed and so relieved that finally, you could feel pleasure.
He tossed an old dish cloth at you to clean yourself up with “Get some rest, Princess. We'll head out in the morning”
You shot him with a questioning look “we?”
The Ghoul stalked to where you lay on the bar, reaching a hand behind your head and taking a fist full of your hair harsh enough for you to feel it.
“you're mine now” he reminded you.
You couldn't hide the grin that crept on your face at the faint sting of his grip on your scalp.
Summary: "Perhaps sensing your discomfort, he smiled, and the thin remnants of his lips cracked open to display yellow teeth. 'You ain’t never seen a ghoul before, vaultie?'"
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) canon typical violence and lots of it, threatening language, angst, description of a panic attack, descriptions of cannibalism and dead bodies, age gap obviously (Cooper is canon 200+ years old; reader is written as early 20s), guided masturbation (f receiving), themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism, a ton of dirty talk, very mild degradation, phonetic spelling of Cooper's accent because I can, if I missed anything please let me know!!
AN: part 2 here!!
You had miscalculated just about everything about the surface.
You’d underestimated the ability people had to be cold and calculating in their cruelty. You’d underestimated the difficulty of navigating the endless Wasteland. You’d underestimated the effects radiation might have on you, leaving you fatigued and nauseous despite the Rad-X you’d been sure to pack away safely in your satchel.
Maybe you should’ve read the warning label.
What was worse, you thought, was how badly you had overestimated yourself. You were so certain you would be able to make a name for yourself—make a name for those you would meet; find kindness in the sand and friends in low places.
But you were just a small drop in the bucket, and nobody wanted a name. They wanted to survive in silence and safety.
You were out of rations, and nearly out of water. You’d sweat gallons through your vault suit, making the fabric itchy as it clung to your skin, and causing you to shiver sporadically as the setting sun invited a chill over the landscape. You dragged your feet over the sand, leaving a path behind you, and part of you wondered if you should just drop dead right there. The sand was soft, warm, and maybe dying on your own accord would be more comfortable than dying by the hand of someone who would kill you simply for the sheer rush of spilling blood.
You stopped moving, slumping down to the ground and coughing. There was a deep ache in your lungs, and heaving up dry air did little to quell the overall discomfort.
You wove your hands through the sand, letting it fall through your fingers.
Could you just go home? Had you ever really had a home?
You pushed down a wave of nausea, swallowing the bile that pushed up against your throat, Tumbledown buildings crumbled around you, and for once in your life you felt truly small. Once, when you were young, you had been sent to your room, and in a moment of frustrated panic you’d felt as though the walls were caving in on you. You’d stood on your bed, pushing up on tiny tiptoes, pressing your hands to the ceiling, refusing to let the walls squeeze you into a cube of yourself.
You smiled at the memory. You wished now more than ever that you could stand on your toes and push against the sky.
You heard something echo in the distance, and, flinching, squinted up into the horizon. Metal rooves reflected against the fading burden of the sun; another echo sounded, something like spurs on scrap, and you sighed, heart heavy in your chest.
Maybe this town would be the one to offer solace.
You stood on tired legs, making haste in the direction of the noise.
~~~
The tinny sounds had ceased long before you walked through the broken arch announcing the town. It was desolate, as if everybody had vacated the area before you’d made contact. Part of you took it personally, and you pouted rather childishly.
In the dimly lit dusk, you roamed the empty paths under flickering lights, stepping over caps and carts that had been turned over. When you came across a body, it became apparent that the clamor you had followed was the result of a gunfight.
You stepped over the body, too.
You had never stared at death before making your way to the surface, and it had come as a shock to you that it didn’t bother you more. Blood wasn’t as bright as it was in the movies, nor did killers give any heated last words before pulling the trigger. Any executions you had seen thus far were dull and hurried. You thought back to an old movie you watched once, one that ended with a cowboy executing a rowdy criminal, and you wondered if anybody bothered to monologue their slaughters the way he had.
You’d long forgotten the title of the film and the name of the actor, but you remembered finding him handsome.
You stooped on bent knees to pick up a piece of fruit that had fallen from one of the overturned carts. You sat there, gnawing at it, feeling the sour bites you took fall into your empty stomach. You made it to the core, tossing it over your shoulder and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. But you paused, remnants of the bitter juice still on your lips when your head shot up to analyze your surroundings.
Someone was watching you.
The sound of footsteps approaching were made all the more unsettling when paired with a boisterous, ugly laugh. Still on your knees, you squared your shoulders, looking up to meet the eyes of a man in bloodied garb and a gun on his hand.
“Saw you eating that,” his teeth were sharp, and his voice high, “Not good to litter, vaultie.” He stopped in front of you, hands on his hips as he scrutinized you. “Why don’t you go crawl over and pick that up.”
You didn’t move. He put his hands on his knees to lean over you, fumbling with his revolver.
“No,” you tried to sound confident, though your voice was quiet and didn’t carry far, “I don’t want to. Thank you.”
He howled, and it made you wince. “Thank you, now that’s sweet,” his gun came up to poke under your chin, “Thank you…I wasn’t asking, girl.”
You tried to find your voice again, but the barrel of the gun was pressed into your neck, and you knew he would seize on any reason to pull the trigger. You inhaled through your nose, trying to buy yourself some time.
A shadow came up behind you, wrapping you in darkness as something approached soundlessly. The man in front of you faltered, and you watched as the confidence drained from his eyes.
“Ain’t that sweet…” A drawling voice, almost saccharine, came from the source of the shadow, and you knew then that it was someone. “Find y'self a toy there, Otis?”
The man—Otis, maybe—who had previously seemed so cocky with his demands, retreated into himself slightly, straightening back up to his full height to meet the eyes of whoever stood behind you.
“You’re not welcome here, Ghoul,” he scowled, “Finders keepers.”
“Well, now, I don’ think y’really in any position to give orders.” It was only now you that wondered whether you were being fought over not out of any sympathetic, weeping heart on behalf of the person behind you, or whether this was a battle for who got to see your blood flow.
“Yeah?” Otis chuckled, “Why’s that?”
You saw the man behind you gesture with his gun in your peripheral. “You got a hole in yo’ neck.”
You watched Otis squint in confusion in the split second before a shot whirred above your head and hit him clean through the throat. He crumpled to the ground, gagging on death, before he let out a damning noise and ceased all movement.
You took deep, shaky breaths, finding the courage to stand up, to turn around and get a good look at your savior.
When you did finally came face level with the man called ‘Ghoul,’ you felt that your initial instinct in referring to a thing behind you had been more apt after all.
His skin was reddened and chapped, marred with scars that covered his face and ran down his neck. He was hairless, as far as you could tell, and his eyes were sunken deep below the ridge where his eyebrows should’ve been. He was decked out in a cowboy costume, long duster to match his Stetson, gun strapped to his hip that paired nicely with his ammo belt.
He had no nose.
Perhaps sensing your discomfort, he smiled, and the thin remnants of his lips cracked open to display yellow teeth. “You ain’t never seen a ghoul before, vaultie?”
You continued to scan his face, and after a few fleeting moments you met his eyes; you couldn’t tell what color they were, if they were hazel or brown or maybe just yellow, muted by the evening, and the shadow cast over his face by the brim of his hat.
No matter the color, you thought they were pretty all the same.
You hesitated, shaking your head.
“Well, ain’t you lucky. Now yo’meetin’ The Ghoul.” His eyes widened, menacing but amused, and you took a step back, nearly stumbling on Otis’s lifeless feet.
“Th—um. Thank you,” you ignored his grandiose introduction, “For…” You gestured behind you.
The Ghoul tipped his hat forward, “Not a problem.” He took a step back, mirroring your movements, “C’mon now. S’dark.”
You made a face, “Oh—no, I…Thank you, for, you know, for helping me out, but I don’t—I’m not really looking for—”
He whistled, and the shrill cut you off, “You really don’know a question if it hit ya in the ribs, sweetheart.” He smirked, “I wasn’t askin’.”
“But I don’t,” you started, watching as he unraveled a rope from his side and tied a knot into it, “I would rather not go with you. I’m—you caught me at a bad time, really, I’m usually just fine by myself.”
“Well…” He tightened the knot, “you keep tellin’ yourself that while we walk.” He swung the rope over his head, and you realized too late that he had been tying a lasso. It came down around your midriff, trapping your hands at your sides when he pulled.
“Hey!” You tried to fight, moving your elbows beneath the constraint and burning your skin in the process.
The Ghoul circled you, stooping down to pick up the gun that had fallen off of Otis’s person, before his face came to peek over your shoulder, cheek to cheek with you. “Hi, there.” He smirked, tugging your restrictions.
~~~
You were used to endless roaming by now. It’s all there was to do; outrun the danger before it could find you, then do the same again when faced with a new conundrum. But the Ghoul walked fast, long strides made tuneful with the help of the spurs on his boots. There was a nice consistency, the metal almost sounded like a lilting voice, though you wished it was less frantic.
You had lost feeling in your fingers, unable to grip your belongings properly, and in a kind gesture that you hadn’t expected from him, the Ghoul hoisted your bag onto his shoulder. You were stiff and sore, and maybe the rope was keeping blood from rushing to your brain, because you couldn’t stop staring at him from behind, watching the way his gloved hand pressed into the bag—your bag—on his hip.
“Where are we going?” You piped up, breaking the silence you’d been stewing in for the past hour. You got no response, so you pushed on. “Where are you taking me?” He didn’t break his stride, pulling you along like the lost puppy you were. You pulled your body against the strain of the rope, digging your heels into the ground and stopping in your tracks. “And what’s a ghoul?”
You watched his shoulders slump as he, too, came to a halt. He let out a sigh, turning around to face you. “Nowhere,” he counted on his fingers as he began to answer your questions in order, “Wherever I go. Me.”
You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “So…you’re the only one?”
“Never said that.” He turned his back to you again. “Y’see that clearin’ there,” he pointed into the distance at a group of rocks sunken into the sand. “That’s your bed t’night.” He started walking again, and you followed suit.
The night cast long shadows over the expansive nothingness, and the air made you shiver. The wind pushed at your hair, which in turn clung to your temples with the excess sweat of the day.
“You aren’t the only one, then,” you kept talking, “Are you—is it the radiation? Or are you a…a people?”
He let out a short chuckle. “The only people left. Far’s I’m concerned.” He skirted around your question, leading you around the rocks and finding a comfortable spot that left you hidden in the darkness. He dropped the rope, tossing your bag to the side as he did so, and you grumbled about how he shouldn’t be so careless with things that weren’t his own. He ignored you, walking over with an expressionless face and deftly tugging the knot from the rope. It fell in a heap around your ankles, and you let out a thankful, happy noise. He tossed a glance your way, eyeing you almost curiously, before beginning to make a small fire at the center of your open-air hideout.
You fell to the ground, exhausted, and addled by the events of the past few hours. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back. The rock behind you may well have been a pillow, the ache in your bones finding comfort in even the most unyielding of resting places.
You opened your eyes tentatively, reluctant to see any more of the Wasteland that you had so callously thought would welcome you with open arms. When you finally blinked up, the blackness of the night blanketed you, and with it, there were stars.
Not stars like the ones on a TV screen. Not stars like the ones behind your eyes after staring into your lamp for too long. Not stars like the ones you drew on your ceiling as a child. Not stars like the ones projected in the common area during a dinner you were told was meant to authentically replicate a Fourth of July celebration.
Real stars.
Gaseous beings that reflected against the sand, lightyears away but close enough to touch, if you could just reach out and grab one; cradle it in your cupped hands and let the fire permeate your palms.
Treat it like a child. Treat it beautifully.
“What’re you lookin’ at,” the Ghoul’s rasp broke you from your existential musings.
You looked forward, finding his sunken eyes across the light of the fire that paled in comparison to the light above you. “If you…if you wanted to kill me, I’m ready now.”
You watched weathered skin stretch taut across his yellowed teeth. You knew it was, perhaps, a bit inappropriate, but for a moment you couldn’t ignore the way the word ‘beautiful’ bounced around your head when you looked at him.
“Not gonna kill ya,” he poked at the fire with a stick, “No good t’me dead.”
“Well then, what?” You lost your filter, uncaring. There were stars in the sky, there was air on your skin, and you didn’t care if you died in the middle of the barren land your ancestors would have once called home. “What good am I to you alive?” You let a laugh out, thin and strained, “Are you just keeping me around so I—so I don’t get lonely?”
He tossed the stick to the side, and the sand caught it with a pathetic thump. “How long you been in them vaults?” He leaned forward.
You made a face, searching for a tone in his gaze. “My whole life,” you scoffed. He knew that.
“’N how long you been up here for?”
You looked away, embarrassed, and tried to hide how you attempted to count the days on your fingers. “I…don’t know…” You gave up.
“You don’ know,” he stared into the fire, “Don’t know shit about lonely.” There was a beat of silence, and the whisper of the wind filled the gap in conversation. He straightened out, meeting your eyes again and smirking as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just been thrown back to a time when he would’ve come home to a freshly cooked meal and his daughter on his hip and his dog circling his feet. “Plus,” he rustled a hand in his pocket, pulling out an inhaler and taking a puff, “You’ll make good bait.”
“Good bait?” You interrogated him.
“Ya noticed how bad news seems t’follow you round here?” He stretched his arms behind his head, and you felt a sudden heat on your cheeks that you chalked up to sunburn. “Pretty thing like you pro’ly has a whole army o’folks after her. ‘N I’m guessing them folks ain’t the kind you’d like t’hang around.”
“Like you?” You raised a brow, throwing his words back at him.
“You’d like that,” he huffed. “Darlin’, I’m playin’ the oldest game there is: set a trap ‘n the critters will fall into’t.”
You mulled over what he’d said, narrowing your eyes and looking at your hands as you came to your conclusion. “You’re talking about—you’re a bounty hunter…” You looked back up at him, and he was grinning. “And you’re talking about using me as a decoy!” Your posture straightened, and you stared daggers into him.
“Guilty as charged,” he tilted his head at you.
“You can’t do that—I’m not just going to let you do that.” You fumed.
“Don’t have to,” he shrugged, jutting out his lower lip, “Can leave right now, ‘f’ya want.” His features morphed into a grim smirk, “But I don’t think a li’l vaultie like you knows a goddamn thing 'bout what’s waitin’ round the corner.”
You swallowed, trying to form a biting response, but he continued.
“But, hell, f’you wanna risk it…” he put the inhaler back into one of his pockets, “Be my guest, vaultie. Free t’go.”
You huffed, and he smiled. He was right, and you both knew it; left to your own devices, you'd be dead in that town he found you in. You settled into your fate.
“Don’t call me vaultie.” You muttered, tired of the way the seemingly derogatory title had been hurled at you since you first emerged from the safety of your life underground.
“Gonna have to tell me y’name, then,” he tilted his head, waiting. You told him your name, and he laughed. “Look’it that. Friends already.”
“You’re not my friend,” you didn’t know where the venom was coming from; somewhere between him helping you out and him sitting in front of you now, you’d decided he was attractive, charismatic, maybe not the worst company you could be stuck with. But after learning what your new role was, you felt more than a little cheated.
“Damn right I’m not.” He whistled, and you turned away from him, curling into a ball on the ground.
“’M going to sleep,” you grumbled. “Wake me up if you decide to go fishing,” you raised your head for a moment, “You’ll need your lure.”
That got you a real laugh, the first genuine sound you'd heard from him.
And you liked it, despite the ire you felt towards him now.
~~~
You woke up under the blazing sun with sand in your hair. You blinked hard, trying to remember where you were, how you got there, and what had happened to your bag.
Your questions were answered when a shadow engulfed you from above, and you looked up to face the Ghoul.
He had his hat off, letting you gather more evidence to support your belief that he was completely hairless. He stayed quiet, looming over you and watching you groan under the misfortune of wakefulness.
You grunted at him, pushing yourself up to stand, shaking the sand from your body as you did. “You didn’t wake me up last night.”
“You complainin’?” He knit his naked brow.
“No…just, I figured you might want me to keep watch,” you dug sand from your ear, “You trying to tell me that you’re fine just going without sleep?”
“Succeedin’, by the sound of it,” he smirked, and you pursed your lips. “You can stay up as late as ya want next time, darlin’. Don’ let me stop ya.”
“I won’t.” You snatched your bag from his hand and turned to find a way out of the maze of rocks you’d slept in.
He grinned. “Lead on, then.”
And you did, spending several days on a loop; walk, rest, walk, sleep, wake up, pick a direction, repeat. He shared rations and water, he let you sleep when he could’ve forced you to take watch, but he was quiet. It was as if he was so used to life as a predator that he couldn’t even toy with the idea of letting his guard down when there was nobody but you around for miles upon miles. And it wasn't as if you were any threat to him.
It drove you crazy. The benefit that came with having someone like him, skilled and sharp, was greatly dampened by the lack of any real socialization.
You were grateful, at the very least, that it had only taken him a night to decide you no longer needed to be constrained; you liked being able to carry your own things, and, even more, being able to use your own hands. Your arms still felt raw, fading rope burn wounds licking shallowly at your skin under your sleeves, but at least you were free to stretch them now.
The Ghoul stayed several steps behind you when you walked, always keeping his distance but watching closely as you struggled to pretend to know where you were going.
Now, you wiped sweat from your forehead, stopping momentarily to let a cool breeze whip at your face.
“Hell are you doin’ now?” The Ghoul’s dry voice was carried to you by the wind. It was the first thing he’d said to you, unprompted, in two days.
“Feels good,” you sighed, turning to him with your eyes closed and holding your arms out beside you, “The wind. It’s nice.”
“Won’t be in a second.” You opened your eyes to green clouds in the distance behind him. “Because that,” he motioned back at the clouds with his head, “s’a radstorm. And you,” he tipped his hat at you, grazing the brim with his fingers, “Ain’t gonna do too well out in it.”
As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot down, followed by a loud clap, emphasizing the Ghoul’s words.
“Better have some Rad-X in that bag, sweetheart,” his lips were parted, and you noticed that, although his teeth were yellowed by years of chewing on god knows what, they were remarkably straight. “Oughta get ya under cover.”
You’d heard about radstorms, and assumed, in your naivete, that you’d be able to make it through one without any problems. But the speed at which the disagreeably green clouds approached, and the tone of voice used by your companion, made you feel as though this, too, was something you’d been wrong about.
Maybe you went pale, looking as nauseous as you felt, but then there was a guiding hand on your waist. You jumped, unprepared for any contact and ready to gripe about it, before following the man’s gaze beyond a small sand hill.
“C’mon,” his eyes stayed trained on a ramshackle house just a short distance away, “Can wait it out.”
You nodded, falling over your own feet when he began walking at a brisk pace. The hand he’d placed on the small of your back worked as leverage to get you to hurry up and match his stride.
You closed the door just as the wind started to pick up.
“Woo,” the Ghoul raised his arms above his head, stretching. “S’a nice place we got here.”
You looked around the building; some remaining wallpaper clung to the walls for dear life, there was a couch that looked to be more sand than cushion, and a single table, overturned, in the corner.
“Is it?” You questioned.
“Ya wanna go check outside, see f’ya prefer that?” He challenged, and you backed down, scowling at him.
“How long will the storm last?” You trailed your eyes over the cabin, trying to see if there was anything worth looking at.
There wasn’t.
“An hour,” the Ghoul situated himself on the sofa, “A day. Maybe two.” He took off his hat, fanning himself with it.
“So…we’re stuck here?” You finally let your eyes wander over to him, finding yourself oddly enamored by the way his high, hollow cheekbones framed his face.
“You got somewhere you wanna be?” He stretched his arms over the back of the couch, leaning back and spreading his legs. You blamed the pulse that went through you on radiation, turning away to rummage through your pack for Rad-X.
“Just not much to do.” You swallowed the pill, kicking at a pile of sand that had found its way onto the wooden floor.
“Welcome to the surface, darlin’,” he gestured vaguely, and you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile that etched itself onto your lips.
“Doesn’t help that you don’t talk.” You tried to fill the silence that you knew was imminent.
“Talkin’ now,” he shot back, moving his hips from the couch to get properly settled, and you knew you couldn’t blame radiation for the way you squeezed your thighs together.
“Yeah, but,” you acquiesced to your urge to join him on the old sofa, “I’ve known you for less than a week, and even I can tell it’s a rarity.”
“Maybe I just don’t like you,” he smirked, putting his hat back on, and you frowned at him.
“Then you wouldn’t be keeping me around for company.”
“Bait,” he corrected you.
“Call it what you want,” you let your head fall back onto the couch, “Still choosing to keep me around.” You waited anxiously to see if he would point out that it was you who had taken the opportunity to stick with him, after his vague threat of what loomed in the wastes made you back down from your plan to run that first night.
You closed your eyes, listening to the storm batter the house outside. He took the moment to look at you, analyzing your features. He took in the positive glow that reflected off of you, yet to be rubbed off by the experiences you were sure to have.
Maybe he’d be able to buy you some time. Maybe that glow wouldn’t fade.
“Sure,” he nodded, “Whatever y’wanna tell yourself.”
You nudged his knee with yours. It was an adolescent approach, something you would’ve done during classes; playing footsie with the boy you thought was cute, with his hair slicked back and his vault suit pressed and tidy. Something done for attention, in the hopes that maybe he’d take even the smallest of hints and return the childish gesture of affection.
The Ghoul was not pressed and tidy. But, and you were slowly admitting it to yourself, he was cute.
You couldn’t see yourself ever admitting it to him.
“You never answered my question yesterday,” you realized now was as good a time as any to quiz him, stuck with you while the storm raged. “What’s a ghoul?”
“Yes, I did,” he had let his eyes close, too, “I am.”
“That’s not a good answer.” You tsked, “I wanna know—I want the real answer,” you moved to sit on your knees, “Give me the real answer.”
He opened his eyes, scanning you up and down. “Yer damn good bait, sweetheart,” he nodded, giving in and facing you. You thought maybe he was paying you a compliment, but you swallowed the urge to ask him what he meant. “I don’t know what to tell ya other than I am a ghoul.”
“Why?” You pressed.
“Why’d’ya think?” He countered, “Case you didn’t notice, we ain’t in one o’your underground lairs. Radiation’s gonna get us all, and when it does,” he leaned forward, “Y’gonna look just like me.”
You swallowed, unsure if this was a threat or a warning. You looked down at his gloved hands, then back up at him. “Does it hurt?”
His expression was blank. You continued.
“Your—is it your skin?” You tried to clarify, “Does it hurt?”
His expression gradually changed to one of confusion as he processed your words; nobody had ever asked him something as simple as that. “Don’t hurt. f’I get shot…stings for a sec, but…y’get used to it.”
“So, you can’t really feel it?”
“Oh,” he let out a low chuckle, “I can feel it. Where it counts.”
You stuck out your tongue, and heat crept over the back of your neck. “Don’t be crude.”
“Ain’t try’na be,” he smiled, “You’re the one whose mind’s wanderin’.”
“So it just feels like skin?” You changed the subject, “Or is it more like muscle…or scar tissue?” Without thinking, you raised your hand and extended it forward, curiosity getting the best of you. He caught your wrist in his hand, the leather on his fingers pressing softly into your bone. You gasped, and he looked at you, cautious, fingers shifting on your skin. As if in slow motion, he raised your hand to his face, and you stretched out two fingers to ever so gently graze down his cheek.
His breath caught in his throat, startled by the intimacy of having someone touch him just to touch him. To feel him.
Similarly, you’d stopped breathing all together.
His skin was ridged and rough, but the small grooves between the scarred flesh were smooth, almost downy. You didn’t look him in the eyes, though you could sense his as they bore into you. You chose to examine the rest of his face instead, the bumps and scars and jagged edges that your hand ghosted over. Finally, you gave in, looking into his eyes for only a brief moment.
He had eyelashes. Small lashes, barely noticeable beneath his hat and the sunken hollows of his eyes, but they were definitely there. He looked pretty, this small part of him capturing some kind of hidden essence of humanity underneath his daunting character. The tiny detail had caught you off guard more than the act of being allowed to touch him had, and your fingers faltered, stuttering against his skin.
You let your hand go limp in his grip, and he let you retract it.
“So?” He questioned after a beat.
“What?”
“What’d’t feel like?”
“Oh,” you remembered what had led you to the opportunity to touch him in the first place, “Scar tissue.” You landed on, easier to say that than trying to explain that you thought his skin was as comfortable as velvet to drag your fingers across.
He lifted a brow, nodding in approval.
“How come you don’t have a nose?” More questions bubbled from your throat before you could stop them, eager to force the tension in the atmosphere to dissipate.
“God almighty, y’ask a lot of fuckin’ questions,” he wiped a hand down his face, “Decades of radiation ain’t forgivin’ on cartilage.”
“Decades?” You narrowed your eyes playfully.
“Don’t you go askin’ more, now,” he chided, “Ain’t polite to ask someone their age, they not teach you that down there?”
You dropped it for now. “You still have ears. Those are cartilage.”
“Not part of the original model.” He smirked, and when he saw you tilt your head, confused, he took a deep breath and continued, “Sometimes, darlin’, ya gotta use what ya find.”
Your eyes went wide, “They’re—you stole body parts?” Your eyes narrowed again, “You’re lying.”
He didn’t answer verbally, just shot a devious smile your way.
“How come I can’t see your brain?” You bounced to your next question.
“Would ya like to?” He shot back, and you cringed. “Didn’t think so.”
“But how come—”
“Jesus Christ,” he dipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his inhaler and taking two short puffs, “Can I get a word in, here?”
You let your next question die in your mouth, shelving it for later. You nodded.
“Why’d you come up here?” The Ghoul’s voice took a softer edge, and you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or if he had some genuine interest in your case.
Either way, you thought it was improper, and you shook your head, barely enough for it to be noticeable. You’d been trying to ask the obvious questions, things you were certain he was asked all the time, that he’d have answers for at the ready. You hadn’t asked about his life, how he got out here or why he dressed like a goddamn gunslinger. You could’ve, but you were trying to be at least a little bit polite.
“That’s not fair.” You said simply.
“Alright, how come you got a nose,” he smirked, letting his words hang in the air before they dropped at his feet when he saw the way your demeanor had changed on a dime. “Now, look—I didn’t mean to make y'upset, sweetheart—”
“I, uh…” You took a long breath, gearing up for the challenge of communicating a logical answer. “…Do you ever sit somewhere so nice for so long, and then after a while you start thinking that it’s too good to be true?” You looked up at him, and the tears in your eyes were evident, “Like, maybe you sat on something, or the whole time there was a snake in the grass right next to you...or something?”
The Ghoul watched your face intently, hardly nodding.
“And even though the snake didn’t lunge at you, or, you know, you got to enjoy the peace and quiet before getting up and noticing you sat on something, it’s like, you’re flooded with these what ifs about what would’ve happened if you’d been sitting just a second longer…” You were looking at him, but you weren’t, really; your eyes went right through him, and you pictured a time when you thought nothing could ever go wrong. “Or if you’d never sat there at all.” You blinked, shaking your head, and you wiped a tear that had dared to breach over your lash line. “I had to get up, right? Outfit was stained…and I could see the snake getting ready to…make quick work of me.”
You cradled your chin in your hands, trying to control your breathing so you wouldn’t have to subject yourself to the embarrassment of crying in front of someone that likely wouldn’t care.
Your explanation echoed in the Ghoul’s mind. He thought about his divorce, that dumb fucking suit he’d been conned into wearing without really knowing what it meant.
A snake and a stain. He understood.
“Ain’t no snakes up here,” he tried his hand at reassuring you, “Can’t promise y’won’t get dirty, though.”
“I know,” you sniffed, “Got blood on me already.” You knew it was stupid to complain about, but you didn’t even know whose blood it was.
“There’ll be more,” he sighed, “But you’ll care less.”
You let yourself laugh softly. “Yeah,” you wiped your eyes, “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”
“I tend to be.” He smirked, back to his carefree, cocky demeanor. You rolled your eyes weakly, laughing quietly, and you found yourself leaning against him. His shoulder was stiff beneath your head, like he wasn’t sure how to hold himself in the situation that you’d put him in. You turned your head slightly, nosing his neck, and he didn’t stop you, though he stayed rigid.
You let yourself breathe him in; arid and smoky, the leather of his clothes mingling with the scent of sun that clung to his skin. There was something else, a note of iron buried under the warmer scents, the cold bouquet of dry blood. Having death flood your nose like that, you recognized, probably should’ve been alarming, perhaps even petrifying. But it wasn’t—not on him.
You liked it.
You sat back up, your face close to his, and if he had a nose, you were sure it would be touching your own. He didn’t look upset as his eyes darted over your face, which felt reassuring, even though you already knew you hadn’t really done anything wrong.
“Y’hear that?” He muttered.
“What?” You turned your head, trying to listen for whatever he was hearing.
“Storm stopped,” he cracked a small smile at you, and you breathed a sigh of relief. He stood up, making his way over the floor. “C’mon, darlin’,” he gestured to the door, “See if we can catch ourselves a rainbow.”
You let out a real, honest to god laugh. It gave you a hint of whiplash, how the Ghoul had managed to save your life, make you hate him, and then make you want to kiss him in such rapid succession over the course of only a few days.
You found yourself suddenly aloof to the idea that he was threatening to use you as a lure for unsuspecting bounties. He was keeping you around, keeping you safe, and you liked him just fine.
Maybe even a little more than that.
~~~
How far, at this point, had you walked? Miles of ground in front of you, miles of ground behind you. It felt like you’d gone nowhere, despite the thousands of steps you’d taken over the course of the week. You were going nowhere, you reminded yourself; aimlessly trekking across the Wasteland and finding what there was to find, looking at what there was to look at.
The Ghoul didn’t seem to have a job at the moment. He’d made it clear that he was employed—if you could call being a bounty hunter a regular nine-to-five—but he hadn’t made any moves to imply that he was searching for anybody, or anything, unless you were to count the vials and chems he ransacked from every hole and hovel he came across.
He continued to surprise and delight, and occasionally disgust, you. You’d seen him eat the raw flesh of dead and desiccated creatures—some that looked human—off the sand. (“Remember what I said, ‘bout usin’ whatcha find?” “That’s disgusting, you don’t know what kind of germs could be crawling around there.” “Think someone that looks like me’s worried ‘bout germs, sweetheart?”) You’d seen him draw a weapon faster than you could take a breath; you’d seen him kill a man without blinking.
But you were wowed by him all the same, the rasp of his voice and the way he whistled through his teeth, the life behind his eyes that teemed with stories of a past you hadn’t been able to shake out of him yet. You hadn’t touched him, had barely closed the often yard-wide gap between the two of you that had become the unspoken norm, since the day the radstorm hit.
Maybe it was for the best. What would your family say about him? They'd be disgusted, horrified by the mere thought of him.
That just made you want him more.
“Can we stop soon?” You withdrew yourself from your thoughts, tired of the way your muscles tensed with every step. The Ghoul didn’t respond, side-eyeing you from beneath his hat. “I’m tired. My legs hurt.” He smirked, and you thought you heard him huff a laugh, but the distance between you was too vast to pick up on the smaller sounds. “Don’t laugh at me, I can’t help you if I can’t move.”
That got his attention. “Y'think you’re helpin’ me?” He smiled.
“Not burdening you…” You argued about what he’d left unsaid.
“Not doin’ much work, either.” He grunted, and you shot him a dirty look. “Keep on walkin’, darlin’.”
“I don’t want to.” You stomped your foot, regressing into the same shielded, spoiled vault-dweller you knew he thought you were.
“Then how ya gonna get over there’?” He nodded forward, and you followed the direction of his gesture, squinting to see a large, semi-burnt down storefront. “C’mon, sweetheart.” He kept walking, picking up his pace and forcing you to speed up after him. “Y’wanna break, or what?”
The building was in alright condition, as far as the other spaces you’d seen; the windows were broken, the glass finding its way to the ground and becoming sand after what must have been centuries of effort. Someone had started a fire, and ash flaked off the brick. You forced yourself on tired limbs to close the distance between yourself and shelter.
“Go on,” the Ghoul leaned against the doorframe of the store’s entrance, “Check it out.”
“You’re not coming?” You whispered. You knew he wasn’t. This, too, had become common: you were sent in—bait—and he followed behind you at a distance to keep an eye out on who- or whatever might jump out.
He stayed quiet, showing his teeth, and you pouted at him, making your way deeper into the old store.
There was no electricity, but the sun seeped through the cracks in the walls as it began to dip in the sky, creating an almost cozy ambiance. It was huge, the ceilings were high and the store itself must have once housed a near infinite amount of material goods.
You’d be lucky now if you could find a corner that hadn’t already been raided.
Everything was bathed in grays and blues, and you couldn’t tell if it was just the way your eyes adjusted to the dim light, or if the building had been standing for so long that the color had drained out into the desert. Either way, it was eerie, and your finger trembled on the trigger of the rusted pistol the Ghoul had given you as a means of self-preservation. You didn’t really know how to use it, but it was the principle of the thing, you figured.
You maneuvered your way around spent bullet casings and glass, trying to stay silent despite the echo of your footsteps. You heard spurs behind you, the Ghoul following your trail at a safe distance. There was a clamoring, something further into the building down a dark hall that sounded like machinery groaning. You jumped, and the gun in your hand slipped from your grip, sliding across the floor with a harsh skid.
You froze, wincing, and listening for any sign that you’d been heard. The sound of the Ghoul’s steps behind you had also stopped, and you knew then that you’d fucked up—if he was listening, waiting the way you were, then there was cause for alarm. With your heart beating in your ears, you bent forward, fingers creeping across the floor until you managed to get a grip on the tarnished metal of the gun. Standing with a sigh, you worked on regulating your breathing, trying to ease the way your heart beat in your ears.
And then you heard the snap of glass shattering, the rhythm of voices without any real words besides grunts and snarls. You jumped, and your back hit a wall with an unceremonious thump before you fell to your knees.
The sources of the noise approached, surrounding you and leaving you with no route out. You looked straight ahead at withered limbs, clothing torn around ankles and skin peeling off of bone.
And when you looked up, it was him.
Except it wasn’t, not really; the Ghoul was only one man, and before you stood four. All similarly scarred, with broken teeth and missing noses, but there was no individuality—no light in their eyes to tip you off as to who they may have been, once upon a time. The sounds they made were inhuman, screeches that seemed torn from their lungs, maybe due to pain, maybe due to joy, you couldn’t tell. And as they circled you, you didn’t want to find out.
You fumbled with your pistol, unsure of whether the safety was on or off. Your aim was unsteady, and the darting movements of the figures that crowded you made it even more difficult to find a proper target. You winced, aiming at a leg and pulling the trigger.
There was a bang, but it didn’t come from your weapon.
“Gotta do all th’fuckin’ work,” you heard the Ghoul, snide and confident even despite the gravity of the situation. He shot to kill, quick to find weakness, and chuckling when they fell in heaps atop their own feet.
You watched him kick at a corpse. The noise subsided as he holstered his weapon, but you had covered your ears and were unwilling to remove your hands.
“Hell was that?” The Ghoul was standing in front of you now, his voice muffled through your palms. You stared past him at the bodies on the ground, at one point daring to let your eyes dart from the deceased to the man who killed them and back; the similarities were glaring, and it made bile rise to the back of your mouth, fighting your throat’s constriction as you choked down tears.
And suddenly you were sobbing, pulse beating hard against your skin and sweat collecting on your back. You felt sick, you felt scared—maybe even betrayed. You were panicking, unable to breathe or speak or think, only aware of the fact that you were utterly terrified.
“Well, now—hey,” You’d uncovered your ears, wrapping your arms around your knees and squeezing them to your chest, letting the Ghoul’s voice travel to you with more ease.
“Y—” you felt like you were hyperventilating, “You.” Trying to voice your concerns proved difficult in this state.
The Ghoul watched on, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he debated what to do.
He didn’t like you like this. He liked you feisty and stubborn, chatty and glowing. In the dark light of the building, splattered with feral blood and choking on your own breath, you were far from what he’d gotten used to. It startled him a little, not the image of you crying—he’d seen you cry before, and he'd seen far worse from others—but the knowledge that, to an extent, it was his fault.
And he could blame his response on the part of him that still felt shame, something that morphed into a nagging urge to defend himself against accusations of being a downright monster. But he knew, deep down somewhere, that it was because of the part of him that still felt compassion; empathy, even fondness, for you.
That’s why he sat next to you, sliding his back down against the wall while you spluttered and coughed through tears.
He eased the old pistol away from you, pushing it into a crack in the wall and cursing himself for letting you have it in the first place. You’d be better off without it; he’d do all he could to keep you protected.
“Not me, darlin’,” he kept his voice low, “Ferals. Of which I am not one…” Yet, he could’ve mentioned, but even he could choose denial.
“They look—had your face.” You heaved, rocking back slightly.
“You really think I’m that ugly?” He laughed, but you remained despondent, painted with a thousand-yard stare. He took on a different approach. “Listen, now. C’mon, sweetheart, look.” He draped a hand over your shoulder, and despite the loose, open-ended nature of the touch, you felt significantly more grounded. “’Member how I said this face’ll be everybody’s someday?”
You nodded, remembering his jab at your question during the radstorm. Your heartbeat wailed against your skull.
“’N then, someday…” He hadn’t experienced difficulty in picking his word choice like this since trying to answer Janey’s question about where babies came from. “Someday it all turns to shit. You turn into a—a nameless drop in the bucket.” He said, frankly. “But it’s, uh…it’s preventable, to an extent.”
“You don’t have a name.” You stared at him, skin blotchy and eyes swollen. It broke his heart a little. “You already don’t have a name.”
“Happens to the best ‘f us.” He tamped down the stutter in his chest, finding a way to circumvent your unspoken question. "All ghouls, eventually...go a little feral."
“All ghouls turn feral…” You repeated the moral of his story, and he nodded.
He fished a vial from him pocket, holding it out to you. “Long as I got these, I’ll be jus’ peachy.”
You let him drop the vial in your hand, looking at the off-color liquid inside of it and squeezing it in your palm. “I don’t want…” You let go of the glass, holding it back out to him. “I don’t want it to happen to you.”
“Makes two of us,” he put the vial back into his pocket, sighing. “But I got plenty o’these, ‘n there’s always more t'be found.”
You stayed quiet, letting your limbs finally relax and spreading your legs out in front of you. There was a long pause that you spent calming your heart rate, letting your lungs relax.
“I like you the way you are.” You whispered, and it was those words that finally made him own his feelings; the way you are. Not the way you were, not who you could’ve been or who you were meant to be. You appreciated him as he was, and it was the first time in more than two centuries that he had felt any sense of warmth from another living thing. It was the first time in just as long that he’d felt like a man and not a monstrosity.
It was why he didn’t fight it when you wrapped yourself around him, arms tugging him down into a tight hug. He scoffed at the display of what he assumed—hoped—was affection, but he let his arms circle your body.
Your face pressed into his neck, firmer than the brief moment you’d shared on the couch, and you breathed him in now just as you had then; the heat and the tin of his skin, the leather of his duster, and the iron of his ammo belt that dug into your front. He was softer now, malleable to your touch, unlike the stiff, unmoving man he’d been when you leaned up against him all those weeks ago.
He rested his chin on the crown of your head, taking a long, deep breath. “’N I like you much more when you ain’t blubberin’ like a goddamn newborn.”
You giggled, knowing that it was the closest he'd get to telling you that he cared, even a little bit.
“The stars,” you mumbled against him, and he pulled back, trying to look down at your face.
“What’s’at?”
“That first night, outside. You asked me what I was looking at,” you explained, “And I told you that you could kill me if you wanted, instead of just answering you. But I was looking at the stars…” You sighed, settling back against the wall.
He scoffed. “Jus’ stars.”
“No.” You argued, “Not just stars. They’re everything.” You tilted your head at him, and he accepted with a shrug.
He let his head loll back, removing his hat and scanning the surroundings. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral, a wide crack in the upper part of the wall that let the night seep in. He elbowed you, nodding his chin in the direction of the hole that opened the building to the sky.
“Look‘t that.” He smiled at the way you lit up next to him, and he followed your gaze to appreciate the view in silence with you.
Comfortable next to him, centimeters replacing the usual feet between you, you saw life in the stars the same way you saw life behind his eyes. And he didn’t understand your excitement, until he looked hard enough and saw the same shimmer in the sky that he saw in you.
“Cooper.” He mumbled, still looking at the stars. You turned to him, lips parted in preparation to ask what he was talking about. “My name. I got one—Cooper.”
You smiled, an inexplicable sense of tranquility washing over you as the new knowledge settled in your brain. “Cooper.” You said, testing the weight of the letters on your tongue.
“Don’t go usin’ it up. Make me regret tellin’ ya,” he smirked, trying to hide his satisfaction upon hearing you say his name behind a veneer of callousness. “Got a reputation t’keep.”
You breathed deep, not quite a yawn but more than a sigh. “I know, Cooper.” You rested your head on his shoulder, not to test the waters or attempt a romantic gesture; it was just pleasant to experience something quiet, personal, like this. “I know.”
~~~
“Christ, you sleep like a fuckin’ rock.” His voice was the first thing you registered when you opened your bleary eyes. Your neck was stiff, your cheeks felt crusty with the residue of dry tears, and the floor was crooked. You’d fallen asleep on him, perched just under his shoulder, and he’d let you. “Snore, too.”
“Yeah, well,” you sat up, rolling your neck and wincing at the cracks that sounded from your joints as you stretched, “Sleep comes easy when I have my guard dog watching out for me.”
He scoffed, a small smile forming on his lips. “Don’ expect me to bark for ya, sweetheart.”
“All you do is bark.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to find the motivation to stand.
“S’not true,” there was a glint in his eye that you couldn’t read into fully, “Could bite ‘f’I wanted.”
You’d seen him land a shot without so much as glancing at his target. He was telling the truth.
You sighed, finally standing. You folded yourself over your front, touching your toes and trying to loosen the knots in your back. “Well, Coop,” you straightened, “Can I call you Coop?” You second guessed your courage, unsure of whether or not he’d take kindly to you shortening the name he’d only just entrusted you with.
“You my fuckin’ publicist?” He quirked a brow up at you, recalling the dozens of conversations he’d had that had begun just like this.
“I should be,” you straightened out, rolling your shoulders and shooting him a grin. “You could use one.”
He scowled at you. “Y’gotta question or what?”
“What now?” You shook out your limbs lazily.
“What now?” He echoed your words. He stayed on the floor, legs in front of him crossed at his ankles. “What’ya mean, darlin’?”
You didn’t really know what you meant; usually it was him calling the shots, but he seemed to be waiting for some kind of prompt. “You know, I mean…what should we…do…today?” You spoke slowly.
“Today?” He laughed, “Today…sweetheart, today’s come ‘n gone.”
You knit your brow, confused, and he pointed in the direction of the crack in the ceiling. It was still dark—dark again if you understood him correctly.
“You let me sleep all day?” The notion made you feel a bit frantic for some reason, having grown accustomed to sleeping for barely four hours at a time over the past few weeks. His constant need of movement made it hard to rest easy.
“You needed it,” he shrugged, picking at a spot on his duster.
And you had needed it, but the idea that he had let you doze for what was, as far as you could tell, close to a full twenty-four hours was more than a little puzzling; that he had let you sleep on him for the duration is what really threw you for a loop. Maybe the fact that you knew him by name made him nervous. Maybe it made him nervous enough to let you make decisions for the both of you now, for fear of the fallout.
Or, and much less likely, you thought, but much more appealing: maybe he just wanted to let you rest. Because you needed it. And he didn’t mind acting as a placeholder for a pillow.
The butterflies in your stomach made haste upwards in your body and settled in your heart.
“I did.” You deflated a little. Regardless of any reason behind why this had happened, you still felt guilty about making him lose the span of an entire day that could have been spent wandering in whatever direction called to him. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Ain’t got a reason to be.”
“I made you—”
“Didn’t make me do a goddamn thing, sweetheart.” He ground his teeth together, jaw swaying back and forth.
“We could be somewhere else by now.” You tried to argue, squaring your shoulders.
“Got nowhere to be.”
His words were spoken with a sense of finality, and you knew when to back down.
“I been thinkin’,” he piped up again when you got quiet. He finally made the move to stand; he winced as he bent his knees, his body having grown accustomed to staying in the same position for so long.
“About?” You watched him stretch.
“You still wanna wear that?” He waved his chin at your figure, forcing you to examine the tattered sleeves of your vault suit that were caked in dirt and debris—and more than likely a few pints of blood from various donors. “Just—seems like more of a hindrance than anything.”
“It’s fine.” You sneered at him, unsure of why you decided to get defensive. It was a creature comfort, of sorts, and while it certainly got the wrong kind of attention out in the open, getting rid of it felt like stripping yourself of the only identity you’d ever really had.
And he knew that, which is why he had voiced his thought. Not only was it something people would use—and they had used it—against you, but it was obstructing your ability to move on completely. He felt a sense of responsibility in ensuring that you managed to maintain a level of dignity in your soul searching.
“It’s hangin’ off o'you in shreds.” He continued, and you shifted on your feet. You couldn’t deny that any emotional connection to your outfit was outweighed by discomfort of the holes and tears it had collected. You bit your cheek, looking down at the floor and back at him in silent acknowledgement of his point. “Y’gotta change o’clothes in that bag?” He grinned, and you frowned.
“No...” There was no use now in coming up with any snark retorts. He licked his top teeth, staring at you “So, what?” You tried to find his point, “You want me to strip down and wander around naked?” If he asked you to, it was more than likely that you would obey without a second thought. By now, you knew better than to feel disgust for confessing things of this nature to yourself. But even so, you knew this admission was probably not a good reflection of the unrelentingly self-contained attitude you tried to show him.
Not to mention that nobody had ever so much as seen you without a shirt on, let alone the whole nine yards.
He bit back any response that might expose the interest he had in your suggestion, though he raked his gaze up and down over your body, smirking, before sucking his teeth and shaking his head. “We’re in a fuckin’ store.” His eyes finally met yours, and you stared back at him blankly. “Full ‘f clothes.” He continued, and you understood.
“There’s nothing left,” you spread your arms out for emphasis, gesturing to the run-down remains of gutted shops.
“Ooh, I bet ya there is.” He turned on his heels, taking long strides that had you jogging to catch up with him as he made his way down a corridor and towards a defunct escalator.
The sound of his boots against the tile floor echoed across the building, and even despite your long period of rest, you felt sluggish and unprotected; your back was an easy target, and with every click of his heel you found yourself turning your head, peering back into nothing, just in case.
“Nobody here,” Cooper noticed the constant swivel of your neck, “Relax.”
“How do you know?” You tried to cement your gaze forward.
“Would’a heard.”
“That’s—you can’t expect to hear people coming in this building, it’s huge.”
“Can hear you,” he gave you a pointed look, and you quieted yourself. “Here we go.” He nodded to a heap at the far end of the open space you’d found yourselves in. You squinted at the pile, and you could make out individual shapes and parts.
Bodies. Stacked atop one another as they wasted away into soggy organic matter. You began to make out whole people, some fresh enough that they could still leave an identifiable fingerprint.
“Cooper,” you froze, shoulders rigid and eyes wide in fear and disgust, “I don’t—”
“C’mon now, sweetheart,” he walked right up to the collection of putrefying bodies, bending down to peel a strand of flesh from a bloated arm that flopped out of the mass. “Clothes for you, meal for me.” He smirked, rolling the loose skin in his fingers before putting it in his mouth.
You sucked your lips into your teeth; the primal actions he often displayed made you feel pure in a way you wanted to rinse yourself of, shower in the wild side.
But only if he was the one scrubbing.
You shook your head. “This is the best you could do?”
“Tailor’s outta town,” he sneered, “Could’a just said thank you.”
“I—no, I respect the…attempt…” You dug your toe into the worn floor.
“But…” Cooper tilted his forehead at you, picking skin from his teeth with his tongue.
“But this is gross. Come on, even you know this is gross.” You crossed your arms, peering up at him beneath knit brows.
“Use what’cha find.” He said simply, reiterating his mantra. You huffed, letting him have the final word.
You rounded the pile of bodies, looking out from behind Cooper as he sorted through the gore to find a suitable mark for his next move. He let out a triumphant noise when he turned over a man who was yet to begin the latter process of autolysis, providing the ability to smoothly undress him.
“This feels wrong.” You grit out when Cooper had removed the corpse’s overshirt. “This goes against—this is unethical.”
“You wanna change o’clothes or not?” Cooper rolled his eyes, and you piped down.
Despite your protests, spoken and cringed, you continued to watch as the body was stripped of its earthly possessions. Shirt, shoes—lucky bastard even had socks. Cooper tossed them all your way, throwing the clothes over his shoulder and at your chest. When he reached to undo the man’s belt, you felt your chest tighten; it wasn’t discomfort, per se, but it wasn’t anything pleasant, either. Something about seeing someone naked for the first time in this context made you feel melancholic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, both in the sense that you felt that you were invading the privacy of the dead, but also in the more selfish sense that you felt it would be ruining something for you.
You turned around, trying to find something else to stare at instead of following the Ghoul’s hands as they roamed over the corpse for any hidden gems. He didn’t notice your movement, holding the jeans he’d unfastened from the dead man behind his shoulder to pass on to you.
“What the hell’re you doin’?” He turned to face the back of your head after a minute of shaking the denim at you. “Don’ tell me you decided t’get squeamish now, darlin’.”
You turned around to swipe the pants from his hands. “Not squeamish,” you started walking away, scouting out an area that would offer some seclusion, “You’re just being gross.”
“Me?” He feigned shock.
You stopped walking, turning to face him, rolling the skin of your cheeks between your teeth. “Come on…smells bad.”
Cooper waved you off, unsheathing a dagger and butchering a nearly unidentifiable limb off of a corpse. He flopped the meat over his shoulder, putting the dagger back into the sleeve it had been pulled from. After fiddling for a few more moments with the bodies, discovering two more vials of his precious chem in threadbare pockets, he held the carved appendage out to you; he swayed it as if it were part of his own arm, urging you forward. You scoffed, turning to walk away, staying several steps ahead of him.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
~~~
You had to hand it to him, Cooper knew how to scavenge; the clothes he’d taken off the body were only slightly too big on you. It was nothing rolling the cuffs up and tearing off some excess fabric couldn’t fix. You felt less constricted—free to move about without the limitations, both physical and mental, of your ruined vault suit.
“Couple holes.” You ducked out of the old storage room you’d found to change in and made your way back to the Ghoul. He’d started a campfire on the linoleum flooring, and you didn’t question how or why.
“You’ll live.” He tore chunks of flesh from the decomposing arm he’d procured. “Better than what ya had.” You watched as he rotated the meat clumsily over the fire with his hands, barely giving it enough time to rise back to living temperatures before taking it off the flame to gnaw from the bone.
“Yeah,” there was no point in arguing. He was right, and you felt silly for finding issues with what you supposed he might consider a gift.
You sat next to him in silence, knees grazing but not creating any real tension. Something about him was so much more reassuring now, a sort of consolation to being stuck in a world so far from what you’d imagined, than just the mysterious man with no nose or empathy that you’d pegged him for that first day.
Even if he was noseless, you tried not to laugh at your internal monologue, he definitely had more feelings than he let on—he cared and commiserated and let you sleep for way too long.
And you felt safe in a way you’d never felt safe before; far from any made-up threat you’d been taught to watch for in the vault, faced with genuine danger for the first time in your life, you still felt that, somehow, by his side, no harm would come to you.
It was more than a feeling. It was a fact.
You stared, unashamed, as he continued to take bites out of the disembodied arm. Cooper glanced at you from his peripheral and slowed his chewing, daring you to say something.
“What’s it taste like?” You finally gave in.
“We playin’ twenty questions again?” He shot back, swallowing what was in his mouth and throwing what was now mostly bone and muscle to the side.
“Is it like regular meat?” You pushed on, ignoring his quip.
“Y’ever had reindeer?” Cooper leaned back on his hands, and with his face only a few inches from yours, the position felt oddly intimate.
“No…” You tilted your head.
“Gamey,” he explained, “Like beef.” He smiled, “Course the flavor, it varies…person to person.”
“Funny.” You stuck your tongue between your teeth. You still thought it was gross, but you couldn’t deny that he made even cannibalism a light subject.
“Yeah? My turn now.” He sat up, “Why’d you get weird ‘round the bodies back there?”
“I was weird with the bodies?” You tried to play dumb.
“Got all prissy.”
“Did not.”
“Oh, yes y’did.”
“You were being disgusting…”
“When am I not?” He pointed out, grinning, and you conceded with a small smile and a nod of your head. “Cmon sweetheart…did it really bother you to see me doin all’at?” He seemed genuinely puzzled by you in this moment. You looked away, staring at your thumbs as you twiddled them in your lap. He took a chance, gloved fingers coming up to your chin and brushing your skin ever so gently. He refocused your gaze on him. “…Cause I won’t do it no more if it makes y’feel…weird.”
“No. it’s not…” You took a deep breath. Maybe it was stupid to get sensitive about it, maybe it was stupid to feel strange about the situation in the first place. You doubted that anybody in the Wasteland ever thought twice about seeing another person’s body—dead or alive. “I’ve just never seen anybody naked before.”
Cooper’s hand dropped from your face and into his lap. “Y’fuckin serious?” He grinned, “You’re kidding.” He was clearly on the verge of laughter, whether from amusement or shock, you couldn’t tell.
“No, I—look. I know it’s not a big deal, it’s probably not something people even think about up here. But it felt—something about seeing another person naked when they’re not…like, when they’re completely lifeless and unaware, it felt wrong to do that.” He didn’t respond, so you continued, “And honestly, it probably sounds insane, or, at the very least, maybe, a little selfish, but I felt like it was wrong because it would be stripping them of a choice, but it would also be stripping me of any choice. You know? Like, maybe it doesn’t matter to everybody else out here, but I’d like to…I mean, I want it to matter as much as it can, at this rate.” You sucked in a breath, deciding that you were done with your rant.
The Ghoul stared at you, his eyes wide but his bald brow knit in an obvious combination of delight and curiosity.
“You never seen a naked body before?” He tried to make his voice come out evenly, hiding his amusement.
“I…never like…” you failed to think of something that might lessen the blow of your revelation, “Not really, no.”
He let out a whistle, shaking his head. “Hell are y’all doin’ in the vaults if you’re not fuckin’?” It was rhetorical, you knew that, but you still felt defensive.
“There’s plenty to do.” The words came out flat, and you laughed nervously to lighten your tone.
He chuckled. “I bet.” He sucked his teeth, letting his eyes flicker over you again. There was a pregnant pause. Dead air hung between the two of you while you tried to ignore his gaze, opting to pick at a loose thread on your new shirt.
“Plenty to do…” You tried to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—that would help ease the tension.
“Yeah,” Cooper let his head loll back, “Let’s hear it, then.”
You scooted back on your hands to give yourself the room to properly face him, situating yourself a foot away to allow for the physical space to think.
“Movies to watch and…chores to do…” You tried to think of anything worthwhile you’d done growing up in the vaults but found yourself coming up dry. “Sometimes there were, you know…events.”
“’N you never found yourself at one o’those events with some arm candy?” He was taunting you, and he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit that he was getting a sort of sadistic thrill out of seeing you squirm under his playful interrogation.
“Slim pickings.” You huffed, staring into the fire.
“I’ll be,” he smirked, “For someone so sure of herself, you ain’t seen nothin’, have ya?” He was thinking out loud, analyzing you to your face.
You felt the need to correct him, both out of self-preservation, but also because, and this was a bigger reason than you cared to own up to, you wanted him to know that you weren’t scared of anything—especially not the thing he was implying.
Maybe you were naïve, but you weren’t stupid.
“Don’t really need another person to have a good time.” You made a point to catch his line of sight, eyes holding his as you tilted your head against your shoulder.
The Ghoul whistled, long and low. “Well, now. Talk about self-sufficient.”
You felt heat rise in your face, dappling your neck with a rosy veil. “I’m not stupid, Cooper. I know what you’re talking about.”
“What am I talkin’ ‘bout, darlin’?” He goaded, fingers toying with a button beneath his collar.
“Just cause I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I’m some sort of—I dunno, some sort of…poor shrinking violet who can’t figure it out,” your heart was in your throat now, afraid to take the conversation too far but so desperate to get a reaction out of him. “I know how to…to, you know…” You let your voice fade, chickening out when he failed to change his facial expression.
There was another long stretch of silence. Cooper let his head fall forward, arms coming to rest, folded, over his stomach, as he anticipated the end of your sentence. When you didn’t come out with it, he prodded you verbally.
“Know how’ta what?” He grinned, yellow teeth on display and tongue darting between them in a movement you were sure he wasn’t even conscious of. He leaned forward further, moving his face towards you without actually budging an inch from his spot on the floor. “You don’t know how to deal with death, how t’use a gun—y’barely even know when you’re too tired to stand…” His tongue pushed through the crack in his top and bottom rows of teeth, wetting his lips. “But ya expect me t’believe that y’know how to make yourself cum?” He let his tongue rest on his bottom lip before closing his mouth, sneering mischievously. There was a bright speck of something in his eyes that seemed to be fighting with the more devious glint brewing in him, and paired with his brazen statement, it tugged at your core.
And despite it all, you felt completely at ease; the sudden suspense and the violent thrum of your heartbeat aside, you were almost entirely calm. You knew you were safe, that the solace he cloaked you with spanned to even the most random and uncertain situations or conversations.
So you continued on.
“Took some trial and error,” you felt nervous laughter bubble up from your throat, “But I got the hang of it.” You smiled, before quirking your brow and addressing yourself more so than him, “I think.”
“You think…” He repeated, eyes narrowing as his gaze turned inquisitive.
“Just, you know…” You squirmed under his gaze now, “Not really a how-to manual on touching yourself…”
He exhaled, laughing through the hole where his nose should’ve been. “Maybe not in the vaults.” He dug in his pockets, unsure if the lightheadedness he was feeling should be blamed on a lack of chem in his system or on the topic of conversation. He took a puff before settling again. “Plenty o’guidance up here.”
“You mean, like…porn?” You smiled, shooting him a knowing look.
“At one point. Not anymore,” he sagged a little, “Lucky if ya find a fuckin’ playboy mag up out here.”
“You seem disappointed by that,” you prodded, teasing.
“That’s cause I am,” he shot back, stretching his shoulders.
“Well, all I’m saying is I know what I’m doing.” You rested your back against the wall, hands clasped in your lap.
“And I’m sayin’ that I sincerely doubt it.” He put the inhaler back into his pocket, deciding it was definitely the conversation that was to blame for the way his head swam.
You let his words hang between the two of you momentarily. Then, on a whim, figuring that you’d had plenty of chances before, and being unwilling to let another one slip away: “I could show you.” You didn’t look up at him, but he stiffened, his eyes unwittingly falling to stare at your hands. “How I…how I touch, I mean.”
You braced yourself for rejection, looking up sheepishly and letting your hands fall to your sides. He was already looking back at you, lips parted and eyes half-lidded—he could say no, and he thought about it for a moment. But, Christ, it had been a long time. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t say no.
Not to you. Not when it came to something like this, a vision, a woman untouched by the grit and grime of the surface, offering up something that now seemed so holy.
He sucked in a breath; he had never been a church goer. He thought maybe now was a good time to make up for all the sins he’d committed—worship at the shrine of you, talk you through your own wrongs and absolve himself of the thoughts he’d been having since he’d first encountered you all those weeks ago.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, sweetheart…go on ahead…”
You exhaled shakily, not even realizing that you’d been holding in a breath. You scrambled to lose the jeans he’d gifted you, eager to expose yourself, immensely grateful for the chance that had dropped in your lap.
“Hold’t,” his voice cut through your motions, and you froze. You’d gone too far, surely. He recognized the error he had made by giving you the go ahead and was now taking it all back. “Y’gonna listen when I say you’re doin’ it wrong?” He sucked on his lips.
“I won’t—I don’t do it wrong.” There was no bite to your argument.
“I asked ya’a question,” he continued, “Y’gonna listen t’me? Gonna fix your mistakes ‘f’I tell ya to?” He bent one knee, resting his hand limply between his legs. “Do what I fuckin’ say to do?”
You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to hide the impact his words had on you. “Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, Coop. I will.”
You thought maybe you heard him growl, but any noise coming from him was muddled by the sound of your zipper finally coming undone.
“Good,” he nodded, “Knew you could be a good girl. Just need’a blow off some steam, huh?”
This time, you couldn’t avoid the soft moan that slipped past your lips. Cooper let out an amused exhale in response, eyes trained on your hips as you wiggled your way out of the pants.
“Yeah, you like this,” he got comfortable, resting one arm behind his head, only nearly knocking his hat off. “Like gettin’ bossed around more than you let on, darlin’.”
“Shut up,” you tried to keep it together, kicking the jeans off your legs and tossing them to the side. But your words were unconvincing, especially with the way you barely smiled, breath hitching already and eyes wild and blown out. You did like it—but only because he was doing it.
He tsked at your response. “Not very nice. Big talk from someone with no panties on.”
In such a short time span, you’d already forgotten that you’d ridded yourself of your underwear. It was gross, and you’d had no change, and it wasn’t as if you’d be thrilled to peel the undergarments off a corpse. You figured commando was the most obvious way to go.
“That a bad thing?” You goaded him, running a palm down your naked thigh and seeing how long it would take to break his collected demeanor.
“Never said that,” he drawled, following your hand on its path down your leg. “Y’gonna keep puttin’ on a li’l show f’me, or ya gonna do what’cha promised?” He licked his lips.
“You don’t like a little showmanship?” You squeezed your thighs together, not missing how his chest rose.
“With my killin’,” he found your eyes, “Not with my pussy.”
If this was a competition to see who could keep it together the longest, you’d be losing by a landslide.
“Spread those legs f’me, baby.”
And with all the pet names he’d given you in your time with him, something as simple as the word baby falling from his lips and landing on your skin had you flooded with arousal.
You did what you were told, straightening your legs and feeling the tile of the floor cling to your skin as you opened them. The Ghoul’s gaze flickered between your face and your core, both positioned perfectly towards him.
“C’mon,” he nodded, “Show me how good ya make yourself feel.”
You knew what he wanted to see. Even after his claims of disliking the display you were putting on, you could tell that he was just being impatient for show. You wanted to draw this out, watch him come undone in sync with you despite the physical distance.
You let your hand roam over the tops of your thighs, feather soft touches making goosebumps erupt on your skin in anticipation for what was to come.
“How y’feel?” He disrupted the otherwise silent escapade you were undertaking.
“Soft…” you mumbled, “Warm.” You didn’t know if he was asking about your emotions or for the physical description of what your skin felt like on your fingers, but your mind was blank with adrenaline, so you subconsciously chose to focus on the latter.
He took a deep breath, afraid that if he were to blink, he would miss something. “How ‘bout you drop that hand a li’l lower.”
You sighed as you followed his instruction. The pads of your fingers brushed your clit, and you squeaked out a moan.
How long had it been since you’d gotten any time to enjoy yourself? Certainly longer than the month or so you'd been on the surface; with Cooper, you never had the solitude or time to let yourself unwind, and even before joining him, you were more focused on surviving than you were on unwinding.
You let your fingers circle your clit, building the pressure with every swipe. The friction made you buck your hips gently, sweat-slick skin sliding on the floor. You could feel the way your cunt began to drip, and you spread your legs wider, wanting to give him a proper view. You looked up at him, your face painted with an underlying uncertainty behind the overarching pleasure.
“You got it, sweetheart,” he reassured you, briefly biting down on his tongue when he saw the way your slit glistened, “Show me.”
You relaxed into your own body; fingers dropping lower to tease your entrance were met with a backing score of delicious wet sounds as you let the pads graze beyond your folds and kiss at your hole. You moved your hand at an angle to allow one finger to push into your cunt down to the first knuckle, but Cooper tsked at you.
“Not yet,” his breath was already becoming labored, “Show that pretty pearl a li’l more love first.”
The timbre of his voice made you shiver despite the heat that engulfed your skin. You nodded, staring up at him for guidance, just as you always did—though this circumstance was far different.
Your fingers came back up to toy with your clit, and you let out a breathy sound. He had been right to tell you to slow down, to continue to enjoy the friction instead of diving straight into the penetration; you felt light and malleable, like your body was taking a natural route towards the apex of pleasure without needing the frantic thrust of your finger.
Another moan slipped past your lips, and the Ghoul groaned in front of you, eyes glued to your center as you massaged gentle shapes onto your clit.
“Knew ya didn’t know what y’were doin’,” he chastised softly, voice uncharacteristically tender given the state of events unfolding. “Impatient thing like you just needs some instruction. S’at right, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, bending a knee, “Needed someone to tell ya how t’do it so it feels real good?”
You bucked against your hand, in the midst of discovering something new about yourself; maybe you did need it—maybe you liked it. It could have been the simple fact that it was him taunting you, telling you what you wanted and how you wanted it, but his words had you keening, and you let go of any remaining inhibition.
“Yeah,” you mewled, “Yes…” Your movements were getting sloppy, fingers frantic against your swelling bud. “Like—like it like this.”
He growled, pushing air through gritted teeth that formed a menacing smile meant only for you. “Slow down there,” he wanted to grab your wrist, to replace your hand with his own, but something about the chaste, urgent nature of how you touched yourself made him all the more eager to watch how your own movements played out. “Don’ gotta rush it, baby.”
You knew you'd been right—he did like a little showmanship.
“But—” You wanted to argue; it felt good, and the thought of stopping made you squirm harder. But with his eyes on you the way they were, and his hat tipping forward to emphasize his demand, you let the response die in your throat, slowing your fingers.
“Atta girl,” he praised, and your smile was paired with a small whine. “You like the way I’m talkin’?” He was playing with you, flirting while making sure the waters were still welcoming.
“I do,” you responded with a whimper, thrilled by the noises you made, having only ever touched yourself in silence for fear of getting caught.
“Good. Cause I’m’a keep goin’,” he leaned back once more, shifting slightly to ease the tightness that had sprung up in his trousers. “Give that pussy what she needs—slow, now.”
You pressed a finger into your hole, watching it soak in the wet that dripped from you. You wanted to go faster, to push it in completely and fuck yourself on it, but you refrained from the urge to do so and went leisurely as instructed.
“Fuck,” you breathed when the webs of your fingers stretched over your lips, as deep as you could get inside yourself. “Been a—it’s been a minute since I’ve done this.”
“Easy, now—s’why I’m goin’ slow.” He spoke as if he was the one touching you, as if his finger was buried within you in place of your own.
“Can I…” You fidgeted around your hand, “What next.”
“So fuckin’ eager t’please,” he chuckled, “Where was’s obedience out there, huh?”
“Had to make you work for it,” you smiled, your words carrying no malice as your hand became more saturated with your juices.
“Curl’at finger up,” he ignored your retort with a blunt demand, “Like yer callin’ me over.”
You did, and the spot your finger grazed made your limbs buzz and your core tighten. Your face must’ve changed to display your sudden pleasure, because Cooper let out a proud grunt.
“Didn’know’at was there, did’ya?”
“No…” You didn’t bother to explore the shameful feeling that nipped at your heels for being so unfamiliar with your own body after talking such a big game, too focused on exploring the tantalizing feeling that traveled through you when you nudged at the spot again. “Fuck, that feels good.”
“I know,” he looked smug, clearly impressed with himself for teaching you something new about your own body. “Add another.”
“Another finger?” Your skin flushed.
“Go on.”
“I—I’ve only ever done one.” You explained, more embarrassed about this fact than you had been to strip and fuck yourself in front of him.
“Y’can do it,” he shot you a jagged grin, “Would I ever lead y'astray?”
You swallowed your reminder to him that he used you as a lure in any situation he could get away with. Your head drooped, and you watched as you pulled your hand back enough to press a second finger to the one that had been nestled inside of you. You prodded your entrance, sinking them in slowly as you had with the first one. You hissed, unfamiliar pressure filling your abdomen, though not in an unwelcome capacity; it was a warm tension, weighty and grounding, and you quickly found pleasure in the new sensation.
The way you stared down at yourself, legs spread and lips parted, nearly made him snap; you were so curious, so hungry for instructions to follow—so deeply trusting of him. Cooper’s mouth went dry, and his hand fell to his crotch, palming at the growing tent there.
“Look’t that,” he licked his lips, “Y’feel the stretch, sweetheart? Feel nice?”
“Mm,” you whimpered out an answer, remaining focused on the way your hand met your cunt, swallowed to the last knuckle and still wanting more.
“Curl ‘em again f’me,” he muttered, squeezing his cock through the fabric of his pants.
You did, throwing your head back and hitting that same spot he’d directed you to earlier. The sound you made was desperate and primal, coming out husky from deep in your chest.
“God!” You felt like crying happy tears. Something built inside you that you couldn’t stop, and it felt good—it felt right.
“He can’t help ya now, darlin’,” the Ghoul’s mouth hung open, hypnotized by the urgency in your sounds and the way your body contorted as you tried to keep up with your own pleasure. “Now pull ‘em out ‘n’do it all again. Fast, now—you got it.”
Hurriedly, you pulled your fingers back, then pushed them back in with equal haste, bending them upwards and grazing the delicious spot you’d been missing out on for god only knows how long. You did it again, and again; your repeated movements helped you chase the high you were looking for, hurtling you towards the finish line, and you wanted him to see it as badly as you wanted to feel it.
“Look’t me,” his voice was gruffer now, a dominant edge finding its way in by way of his own lust. “Lemme see y’feel good, sweetheart.”
“C—ooper,” his words hit you exactly where you needed them, finding his gaze with your own and falling apart completely. You pulsed around your fingers, gluey and hot, your skin pricked with gooseflesh despite the humidity and the rush of warmth you felt all over. You moaned, loud and long, but your ears buzzed and your eyes screwed shut so that not even your own sounds could distract from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over you.
When you opened your eyes, squinting in the light of the fire while you took heaving breaths, you expected a blanket of embarrassment to wash over you, some type of mortification for what you’d just done—exposed to another person for the first time, allowing him a view you’d rarely ever even given yourself.
But when you peeked up at him through heavy eyelids, gulping down air, he looked dazed, his mouth agape and eyes wide. And suddenly you felt pride more than anything—you’d managed to leave the most feared man for miles at a total loss.
His hand was still on his crotch, raking his eyes over you, your form illuminated by the campfire. His throat felt dry, and he coughed a few times, hunching over to collect himself before he made eye contact with you again.
“Goddamn,” he gasped, swallowing his coughing fit, “Fast learner.”
“Good teacher,” you grinned, toeing at the discarded jeans that had been left in a heap at your feet.
“Pretty when you cum,” he rolled his shoulders back, still foggy with arousal after seeing you whine and writhe for him.
That made you blush, not out of embarrassment, but because it was the first real compliment he’d paid you. “Never done it like that before.”
“Never had a ghoul teach ya how t’do it right.” He joked, and you smiled at the way he returned so quickly to his usual snark.
“Never cum that hard, that fast.” You admitted, shooting him a glance before leaning forward to grab the wrinkled denim off the floor.
“Had me fooled,” he took out his inhaler, “Needy fuckin’ thing.” That sent a buzz through your body, and you pressed your thighs together to alleviate the ache in your cunt.
“You liked it.” You quirked a brow, dropping your gaze to your legs and pulling the oversized pants back on.
“Never said I didn’t,” he pointed out, “Almost made me cum my pants like some fuckin’ schoolboy.”
“Never done that either,” you yawned, “Made someone else cum.”
“Don’t think it’d be a hard lesson for y’t’learn,” he smirked, “Natural’at you are.”
“It’ll have to wait,” you didn’t know why you assumed it would happen at all, subconsciously hoping that this wouldn’t be forgotten in a day’s time, “Tired.”
“Course y’are,” he offered no explanation, shifting in his spot. He raised an arm and beckoned to you, encouraging you to come closer.
You did, no stranger to doing what he told you to do, and found yourself curled against his side. He smelled like smoke and sex—musky and dewy in a way that made you feel at home.
“I got first watch, y’fuckin—” he cut is taunting short when he looked down at you, seeing you fast asleep.
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hii! it's my first Kinktober and I'm so excited.. I'll be writing multifandoms, and I'm super excited to share that with you! of course you can ask to be tagged and submit a request for empty days, here! (end. september 20th)
Synopsis. From now onwards, you’re the madam of the Gojo clan - and your clan leader husband is going to prove it to everyone.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, EXHIBÍTIONÍSM, initiations, aphrodísiacs, wedding nights, oraI (fem + male), face-sítting, p talking, BRÉEDING, creampíes, matíng presses, first times (Gojo), use of “my wife” and “ma’am”, spítting, cúmplay, MARATHON S, overstím, Gojo is FÉRAL (and slightly ínsane), the elders are awful, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 8.0k
A/N. This was NOT supposed to be this long but yk what I’m not mad.
“I vow to love. I vow to heal. I vow to stand by my wife with a respect not deserved of even myself.” Every single elder at the shrine shivers when their clan leader’s blazing gaze narrows. Gojo Satoru. Death, himself, in his hauntingly beautiful form. “And I vow that everyone here - everyone - will know that.”
---
“A-an initiation?”
The sweet older women surrounding you don’t look even the tiniest ounce as confused as you feel right about now. They hum a low tune, bustling around you in a whirlwind of hands that tug and pull at your decadent robes.
“Ah, it’s just a long-held Gojo tradition, madam-” Madam - the word seemed so strange still. “-and the young master will make sure to take good care of you.”
“But-”
“Very good care.”
Maybe it was the way the fussing crowd around you burst into titters, maybe it was the way your silky yukata was left ever-so-slightly open - in a way you were sure the elders would cry scandal at. But, somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different to this clan initiation.
Something more.
And it’s something that plagues your mind over and over even by the time your make-up is finally perfected, and your reception robes brushed down for non-existent dust.
“Beautiful.” your attendants breathe, gracing you with a synchronized bow so low that it almost looked painful. And with a few more appreciative nods, they’re guiding you out of the sweetly-perfumed dressing room, wordlessly leading you into the uproarious traditional meeting hall.
“You’re not following?” you turn to ask, once you had almost one foot stepped cautiously into the room.
At this, the woman stood at the very middle of your entourage flushes. A bright, blinding red that matches the way her lips sputter helplessly, “I- I’m honored, madam. But this is er- as far as I can go.”
Strange.
And with that, the sliding mahogany doors shut.
Despite what you may think about the council of elders, you had to begrudgingly admit that they’d decorated the chamber lavishly. Fit for a king - or, more likely, fit for the new leaders of the household, after your marriage today.
Dimly-lit with lanterns, and already heady with the smell of expensive sake, your eyes dart around the seated upon seated of clan leaders, elders, and prominent officials you couldn’t even name. All positioned around a long table encircling a strangely raised platform in the middle - as if a stage - it seemed that everyone and anyone was here to assess the new Madam of the Gojo household.
To watch. To wait.
And at the head of it all - your husband.
Gojo Satoru was known by none to be a soft man, not even by those foolish enough to claim themselves close to him. More accurately fabled as the most vicious young clan leader in history; an angel of death that you’d be lucky to so much as even snatch a glimpse of before you never can once more.
Yet, the way he beams once his summer blue eyes lock on yours made him seem like anything but.
“Ah- my wife. My wife is here.” Gojo’s deep baritone sounded so reverent - out-of-breath, like he’d been whispering those very words to himself like a mantra all night. In the middle of it all, you hadn’t even noticed the way the hall had quieted deafeningly - not until his words echo throughout your ears. Rich blue yukata rippling when he’s patting softly at his chair, and you notice with a jolt that there’s no seat next to him.
Damn elders.
“Hah? Elder Tanaka really did it!”
“You know I never wanted the riffraff to sit at the table- not a place for-”
“Well what else? A madam should be as a madam is.”
You’re gritting your teeth, making determined strides past all the withering stares and hushed whispers. Stepping closer and closer up to your shifting husband-
“Take-”
And then you sit.
Plopping yourself down unceremoniously onto the clan leader’s lap - from behind you, you’re hearing Gojo suck in a feverish breath. Panting. You’re washed over with his piney, syrupy sweet scent when his strong forearms immediately wrap around your waist to steady yourself comfortably onto his large, manspread lap.
And in front of you, you stare defiantly back into every wizened snarl shot your way. If looks could kill, then this would be a massacre.
It takes him a few gulps to regain his senses - hell, it takes you a few more. And Gojo was so warm, practically burning when he whispers in a rasping voice against your ear, “I was going to tell you to take my seat but…whatever my wife wants, hm?”
“The look on their faces,” you try to hold back what would be deemed an utterly unlady-like smirk. Back pressing up against every hardened curve and ridge down Gojo’s washboard abs through his clothes. “But, I-I’m sorry if-”
His arms around you tighten. “Why would you ever be sorry?”
CLAP! CLAP!
“The reception shall now commence.”
Perhaps it was to stop your quiet muttering, but soon enough your vision is promptly being filled with delicacies that make your mouth water.
“I would advise you not to drink the sake, pretty.” Gojo waves off an attendant that offers another chair, starting to sift around the steaming contents of his own plate. And despite how you seemed to be the main scrutiny tonight, you let him feed you tiny bites, anyway - all for the haughty council to scoff at. Their master being so happily used by his wife “Seems we’ve been gifted with something special to drink for the initiation tonight.”
Something about his tone was strained. It makes you bat your lashes up at him in a way that has Gojo adjusting his lower robes with a gulp. “Something special? Is it poisoned?”
He chuckles out, “No- even worse-” Lowering. And you jolt when his gleamingly sharp canines sink into your earlobe. Dangerous. “-one sip of that for both of us and I’ll be showing this scum here exactly how you’re mine.”
Oh.
Oh.
Shit, your spine sits ramrod straight at that purring little undercurrent in his tone - the implications. And just that slight jostle of your hips makes Gojo urgently dig one set of his slender fingers into your waist. It makes him hunch over, it makes him gasp, “O-or we might not even need that sake, heh-”
Eyes drifting to the platform, “I want to, though.”
And for just a second, the entire meeting hall stills.
Every figure around the table barely even bothering to hide their blatant staring right now, some covering their gaping mouths - because the infamous leader of the Gojo clan was smiling.
Smiling. A humorless, crazed little smile directed at you. “Then…” Barely drifting an inch even when his own free digits clasp around a tiny sake bowl, he cheers his sake cup with yours. Echoing over the twinkling clink! “-whatever my wife wants.”
And yet, you feel nothing out of the ordinary in the first few minutes - nothing but those billowing stares and Gojo’s warm proximity to you. Huffing out tiny bouts of laughter that tickle the crook of your neck, and your face burns at the stray peck or two he’s leaving down your exposed skin.
Not even in the first hour.
Or the second, and you’re half-wondering whether this initiation was nothing but a hoax.
But veering into the third-
It happens.
Something snaps.
“S-Satoru?” you breathe out unsteadily when he’s suddenly growing quiet. Head craning to take in just how pretty Gojo looked right about now - robes hanging off his sculpted deltoids. A sweet strawberry blush taking over his high cheekbones, his collarbones, down further. “Are you okay?”
Of course, he wasn’t. Right now, Gojo Satoru felt so ruined he thinks he could faint.
“Shit-” Gojo hisses from above you, snowy brows knitting together. You can’t even react before his muscular thighs bounce ever-so-slightly, shifting you just a degree higher on his lap. Just enough for him to seat you prettily by the edge of something big. Curved. Rock-hard. “Shit- shit shit- m’- m’feeling so-”
Gojo’s chopsticks clatter onto the tatami mats with a soft thud! And those fingers find themselves latching onto you.
You, you, you - burning down the curves of your waist, sliding up your trembly thighs and just below where your robes were hiking up. He couldn’t get enough.
“Sa-toru-” your words come out wobbly. Clutching at the slight opening of your yukata to drag in a useless attempt to drink in some cooler air. You felt like you were melting, and so were your words now. “Toru, I feel so-”
“What did you say?”
It takes you a few syrupy moments to even realize that it’s your husband speaking - because Gojo’s voice was several octaves higher than usual. Husky, like he was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. Spitting a pained, “What did you say, honey?”
You bat your teary lashes - shit, when did you even get so stimulated - up at the thoroughly drunken elders that were sneaking peeks at the two of you.
Just for a split-second - barely enough to catch anything.
But enough for Gojo to curl the thick pads of his fingers around your throat, pulling in a roughened tug to have your back hugged even more flush against him. “Hey hey hey- look at me, pretty. Look at your husband.” Flexing his powerful back muscles in a drool-worthy way, bowing over in two to practically shove you into the cool surface of the table when he puffs up against your ear. “S-say that again?”
You’re pinned on top of the mahogany with his full body weight - and you can barely breath, barely even think before uttering out. “T-Toru?”
And that makes Gojo Satoru shiver.
Entire body wracking so violently, his nose buries into the tender column of your neck. Not just breathing you in - basking in you.
Muffling out, “Again.”
“Toru.”
“Again.”
“Toru–”
It makes the strongest snap his glassy, cerulean eyes almost-comically open in a flash - winking his droopy gaze through molasses once, twice at the platform right in front of him.
And Gojo’s barely even in control of his limbs when the mountains of his palms glide hurriedly underneath your thighs. In only a split-second, you’re carried in his arms in the easiest princess carry - but Gojo doesn’t stop there.
No, he doesn’t simply walk out of the room like you’d expected him to - he does the complete opposite.
Every widened eye in the room can only watch as the clan leader steps swiftly upon the now cleared-out table and onto the raised platform in only two treads. Splaying you out gently onto the firm tatami, you’re gazing up at a heaving Gojo.
Because despite the rich dinner tonight, Gojo was starving.
The soft yolky glow of the lanterns overhead illuminates that greedy glint in his eyes - the way that his lips glisten with the slightest trail of translucent drool at the very ends of his parted, rosy pink lips.
He’s never looked more ruined.
“Please.”
And it’s all but whimpered out into your mouth - pathetic and raw.
You’re gasping sharp heavals of air when his candied lips attack yours, and through that delicious thumping between your legs that you could feel in even your ears - you hear the gasps. With a sweet, sweet whine you’re blinking your eyes open enough, “Th-they’re watching.”
“Oh.” But Gojo’s more worried about losing contact with the heaven that was your lips, chasing after to press wet peck after French peck. “S’what? You wan’ me to kill them all?”
The room drops a few chilling degrees in temperature for everyone but the two of you.
He could - he would. If you hadn’t shaken your pretty head frantically, that is, not quite ready for a bloodbath on your wedding night. Yet, you needed him so bad.
“Then- m’only gonna show them who ya belong to- who I belong to.” Calloused, rounded tips of his fingers bearing down your yukata, Gojo’s slipping in one of his cold digits between your robe to snap! snickering at your low keen. “And you’ve made it so oh- easy f’me to.”
He was so greedy.
Stealing little spying looks down at the way your legs were splayed out, Gojo utters out a guttural, “Open- open up f’me, my wife. Show them how wet your husband’s made ya.”
And shit, you didn’t know whether it was that sake acting out on behalf of your limbs, or whether it was the way that you were so needy right now. But you could feel your thighs jittering open as soon as those humming syllables were out of Gojo’s mouth.
“S-so embarrassing-” you whine, one hand swiping away your thin layers to show him that glistening wet plump of your pussy. Drenched. Seeping through the useless fabric of your panties to wink up at him- and oh, that makes Gojo groan.
It makes him throw his head back with a hiss - for only a split-second, as if he couldn’t take it. Before drunkenly shifting back to your pretty cunt no matter what.
“Oh, shit.”
THUD!
The body of the one such rowdy clan heir that’d dared speak up right now hits the ground faster than your eyes hit their target.
Fuck, you didn’t even see Gojo pull out one of his famed daggers from beneath his sleeves - but the thought of what more might hide underneath made your thighs clench.
And Gojo notices - of course, he did. Why the fuck wouldn’t he?
“F-fuck. What a naughty pussy gettin’ drenched from just that.” he shrills - before bursting out in a bout of laughter. Laughter, humorless and feral. “Gonna be the death of me- f-fuck- you’re gonna-” For a second, you feel your skin burn in embarrassment, and your legs cross. Only for his eyes to glow a burning blue in disagreement, tutting out a low, “Tell me- hah- tell me what you want.” He’s burning up with every slow kiss down the edge of your mouth, thumbing open your glossy maw further to wrap his lips around your tongue and suck. “Anything- I’ll get ya anything.”
You’re pretty sure that everyone is gaping at the worshiped leader of the Gojo clan on his knees and begging.
But you didn’t care - not when his solid index was drawing a slow line down the middle of your sopping slit. Bucking your hip up into an arch off the platform that makes Gojo’s achy cock twitch, and the aphrodisiac rush back to him with full force. Mewling, “Wan’ y-you, Toru-”
Eyes twinkling, “Me what, honey? The madam’s gonna hafta use m-more hah- big girl words than that.”
You want him.
You need him now.
“So mean.” you’re huffing and puffing, yet Gojo only grins at the way he can feel your sloppily wet lips down there kiss him even wetter. Dribbling a soaking sheen down to his wrist, “Want you t-to touch me- p-”
You don’t get to say that magical word “please” because Gojo Satoru would never have you say it.
He’s plunging out his long digits to hold up to the attractively dim lighting - yet, they’re already dazzling with the slick coating from your pre-soaked cunt. And he’s looking at a few elders right in their downturned bows as Gojo sticks his long, tender tongue out and licks. “W-whatever the madam wants. Dontcha think, elder Tanaka?”
You were the madam, and you’d be treated as such.
And shit, what that old man’s response was - whether he even responded - Gojo doesn’t give a shit.
Because just one ounce of your sweet, sweet juices on Gojo’s tongue shoots his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Hips bucking up with a low moan, a few slurring swears falling from his lips when he feels his achy cock gush-
“Need you-” he’s gasping wetly, shuffling urgently down the expanse of the platform. Moves frantic - needy. Down, down, down until you feel his hot pants down at your cunt. “Need to- wanna- gimme a lil’ peck, m’kay?”
The syrupy ends of his sentence are slurped up down a long glide of the very edges of Gojo’s tastebuds down your swollen folds. Through your panties.
Barely even shifting them even an inch to the side when he lets your glissading juices down his tongue, drawing a sultry circle. He’s letting his eyes droop half-closed, murmuring a little growl at the very back of his throat. “Just one more-” Gojo’s voice cracks, two sets of nails pressing crescents down into your thighs with just how hard he pulls. Kisses. “-and me more-” And another. “J-jus’ one more- oh-” Another.
And you’re barely even realizing it before Gojo’s latching his pretty lips with yours, squelching wet noises ringing in your ears and throughout all four corners of the room.
“Th-tha’s” you manage to scoff, fingers threading into his cloudy locks and pulling. But not even that’s enough to get Gojo to part even a millimeter, in-fact he’s pushing himself even more nose-deep, rolling his tongue down your slit - like he’s trying to push through your panties. “-more than one.”
And fuck - he titters out a pussydrunk giggle down into the edges of your sloppy hole. Teasing tongue dipping just barely to circle around the very edge and then-
“Can you blame me?” Gojo smiles with his rubbed-raw lips. So fucked-out that you hear yourself gasp. Your slick was already drip! drip! dripping down his curved chin, smearing a wet gloss that sits all prettily on his features. “M’gettin’ practice to do this fer the rest of our lives.”
And everyone could see just how addicted the clan leader was.
Everyone.
Slack-jawed and moving like he was mindlessly drawn to your pretty cunt, you’re being faced with a wet drawl of his lips down your sodden folds. Pressing the pointed tip of his nose against your plump clit he’s breathing you in all filthily.
“Could get used ta th-this-” he spits. Once. And then literally, salivating down a wet glob right inside your snug cunt that makes you shiver. “-heh, fuck that- s’too heavenly to. I need-”
And then you’re flipped.
So fast - so sudden that you barely even register what’s happening before you’ve got Gojo Satoru smushed onto the tatami platform. Bleary eyes gazing up at you and fixating right onto your pretty face, your hips sat shamelessly on his face.
“Toru what-”
“T-take those- off f’me, honey- please-” He couldn’t even bear to specify right now. You looked so unfairly pretty on top of him like that, even prettier when your soft, luxury robes are hitting the floor. Well, everything except those panties-
“Toru, those are gonna rip-” you yelp when you feel the stinging clench of his teeth biting down the plush of your thighs. Resting onto the sopping wet fabric of your underwear, it smears down a wet glide at his cheek. “-they’re so expensive.”
RIP!
Gojo spits back the tatters of your flimsy excuse of panties beside him - and then another saturated wad of saliva up into your cunt. “Have ya forgot that you’re the ah- madam now?” He’s snickering, curved fingertips swatting a wet smack! onto your ass, cold wedding band branding. “-jus’ use my black card ta buy the whole fuckin’ store. Dip into the hah- council’s funds fer all I care.”
And for those shocked elders snapping their eyes up - they’re met with the most obscene sight of Gojo’s gleaming tongue spreading your puffy pussy lips wide and proudly open.
“Shit-” he’s bursting out in whiny keens. Spitting and sloshing the wet waves of every pearlescent slick that beads of you - and there’s so much of it. “Gonna get my face s-so soaked heh-” So much that Gojo was utterly ready to feed with his sliding tongue, swirling past your wet rim of muscle and fucking up into you languidly. “-didn’t even need a fuck- ch-chair, anyway.”
Your cunt sloshes all around his tongue, dragging up and down up and down up and- Thoroughly done teasing out your hole pliant, he’s dragging his lips up to suck around your peaked clit - before pinching it in a light bite.
“Oh!” you yelp. Searing a grip into his scalp, “S-so mean-”
“Mhm— m’your big, bad mean husband- fuck-” Such syrupy, desperate whines that Gojo really can’t help but babble - over and over. “-that sake…feels like m’burning- m’dying-” He can’t stop, won’t stop, roughly attaching a hand onto the globes of your ass to help you ride. “-n’ m’fuckin’ addicted- so won’t ya toy with this hah- p-pretty pussy a lil’ n’ get even wetter for me? Please?”
God, it’s so subconscious the way that your fingers toy over your clit - tight, pressurized circles just the way you like it.
“Like this?”
“Ohhh, yeah, wifey- let it all down m’tongue-” And Gojo’s in a hypnotic trance at how much more of your honeyed glosses of precum that soak and travel down his tongue. It works. Even more. More and more. Maddeningly.
Until he just can’t fucking take it-
“S-stop that f’me. None of that t-touchin’ anymore oh-” he gruffs out, throat dry. “Let me-” Fucking jealous of you that he’s pushing his fucking sanity to gritting through his teeth. Gojo meanly slaps away your hand before taking it over with his own. Absolutely no warning before feeding your drooling pussy with inch after inch of his fingers.
Two at a time.
Three.
Your gooey depths are clinging to him so tight, taking him like a fuckin’ champ when they’re curling at the very knuckles to press deeply. “Oh yeah- makes me w-wonder jus’ how nicely you’ll take my fuckin’ cock, too, hm?”
You’re barely able to even babble out a few incoherent moans before the very tips of his digits brush up against the bulging bullseye of your g-spot. Hard.
“There-” you gasp. You all but cry. “R-right there, Toru-”
Swat!
“I love you, honey- oh, I love you- but right now…” Gojo’s petering his voice away, too in a heady trance with the sight of that rapidly thumping pulse at your cunt to focus on stringing any sentences together right now. And he’s licking back into your snugly-filled entrance, squeezing past the jostlie of his thickened digits to doubly penetrate you. “...jus’ wanna hear this c-cute cunt speak.”
It’s like Gojo couldn’t decide where he wanted to be next - licking up every wet dredge of your juices smearing down his wrist, hollowing his cheeks out when he sucks on your neglected clit, or drawing out the prettiest moans when he joins back in to fuck your quivering hole ragged.
Every movement bruising - claiming.
They’re cold inside your toasty walls. Reaching mushy nooks and crannies inside you that you didn’t even know were possible, rolling his tongue into your tight channel to drape your gummy walls with a sheen of his spit. His six-inch fingers pressing harsh against your sweet spots, you could scream-
“Oh she’s real talkative- s-so cute-” But your swashing cunt was doing all the talking for you, wringing out drippingly wet slurps and squelches that Gojo nods along drunkenly to. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was the way he was squeezed oh-so-tightly between your thighs - a lightheaded way to go that Gojo definitely wouldn’t mind. Because he was agreeing. “Mhm- I agree- hah- oh, I agree with ya, cutie-” Thick, white lashes bat innocently up at you, “-my wife would look s-so pretty when she cums, hm?”
And he’s right.
Drunken.
Because when you do, the sight is so pretty that Gojo himself thinks that he could cum right there and right now in his boxers - the only thing holding him back being the stabbing need to cum inside you more than anything.
Your thighs are desperately attempting to close around his ravenous head, greedily slurping up every bit of your juices. Every bead, every splatter, every slow gush with your mess of an orgasm.
“D-didn’t even ngh- see it-” you whimper, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and making your spine arch in such a slutty way. “-didn’t even think I’d- oh-”
“S’quite alright-” he’s murmuring wetly. Head lolling all the way back to let you fuck your high on Gojo’s pretty face, convulsing cunt slobbering a translucent pathway all down the middle of his face. “Heheh- could never get mad- c-could never- oh fuck- use me.”
You’re gasping over distantly shocked mutters, “W-what?”
“Use me-” Gojo’s crying out, hips rutting up into the air like an animal. And he’s dangling helplessly onto the curve of your hips, jostling you desperately to fasten your vice-like grip on his hair. To ride him faster. To use him. “M’begging, my wife- fuck- let em’ see- let these fuckers see the way you u-use me.”
Voice breaking pathetically, eyes fighting not to scrunch shut, gasping and gulping for you to grind your dribbling pussy in smooth, sultry gyrations down rougher across his mouth.
And when you do, Gojo thinks he could faint.
He’s letting out a rasping ah! ah! ah! curdle at the very back of his throat with every jolt of your hips, with every push of your cunt down his mouth that has him gasping for air. Every drawn circle making his fat head swell even girthier. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.
It’s everything he could ever think about even when your high evolves into mere tingles, when the twitches of your legs slow down, and you find yourself lifting ever-so-slightly off of Gojo’s red, red flushed face.
He looks so wrecked underneath - happily, so.
Flashing a brilliant smile that was dripping with all the coatings of your sloshing wet slick towards that little audience that you’d even forgotten you had. “Heh, next time my madam wants a hah- s-seat, she’ll have one. One way or the other.”
“T-Toru–” you’re whining, clamoring off to seat yourself down on his painfully hard lap. “-think they got the ngh- point.”
But, oh, the very moment your glossed pussy lips were meeting the thick bump of Gojo’s angry head through his clothes, you feel the syrupy rush of the aphrodisiac boil through your veins once more. You couldn’t even imagine how Gojo felt right now without even cumming once.
Slotting over to resound a damp schwf! of skin on fabric. Barely giving you a moment to even recollect before you need him. You want to ruin him.
Purring lowly, “Toru…”
And the strongest gulps - Gojo Satoru gulps - a shiver thrumming down his hulking body and onto his gushing cock. It twitches up in a sodden little perk underneath you, and Gojo’s fingers attach themselves to your waist. “Y-yes, ma’am?”
“Really wanna taste you-” your lips drag across his and he keens with a slow suck on your bottom lip. “-wanna see if the r-rest of you is just as sweet?”
“Fuck!” You bounce up precariously when Gojo bucks up wildly, like he’d rip through his wedding robes and fuck you right now if he could. “Such filth from such a s-sweet mouth- ya really are gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
And to hear the most notorious clan leader admit shamelessly like this. To hastily untie his yukata and let it fall to the side, hear him break out in a sullen whimper when you kiss your way down his toned body, down, down, down his bulging pecs, his heaving abs, all the way to those soaked tufts of white at his pelvis-
“D-don’t tease-”
Gojo just gasps at the hit of cool air when you’re shuffling down his stickily wet boxers in a fluid, sudden pull. Head throwing back before meeting your own widened ones - he was so big.
You don’t think you’d ever get used to the sight, to the way that his swelling hot girth expands up a few sizes fatter at the hot puff of your feverish breath. Thumping veins prominent and blushing strawberry pink in flavor. Reddened and bulbous tip already slick with a gleam of precum, and one swipe with your thumb makes him gush out in a stringy gush of more and more-
“Shit-”
Gojo’s letting his pathetically drooling lips sag open, eyes widening when your deft digits circle around that creamy white ring down Gojo’s length - down his underwear.
He didn’t even realize.
Curling his fingers around his thick base to glide over your lips like he was painting it in a pretty white lipstain. Letting your open lips drool and make a syrupy mess with his excess ribbons of cum. “Fuck- look what you do to me-”
You’re gasping with the realization that Gojo Satoru had cum in his pants from just eating your pretty pussy out - and it makes you grin.
Pressing a sweet, sweet peck onto one remnant of his thick dredges of his slightly salty seed, it makes him rut at each of your kittenish peck after peck on his weepy head. Circular and hot. “Ya are sweet.”
And then you can’t speak anymore - because Gojo didn’t want you to speak anymore. Doesn’t think he could manage it without his hefty balls clenching dangerously once more - it was his first time, after all.
“Handle- ah, handle me delicately, m’kay? Never done this b-before-” Biting down on his swollen lower lip when he’s watching your mouth stretch. Bulging out through your cheeks with the solid inches he was feeding you - throbbing length disappearing into your plushy mouth.
Gojo’s so ridiculously big when the rotund ends of his cock kiss wetly against the very back of your throat. Branding a bittersweet bruise. You were sure that had it not been for just how needy you were with the sake, it would have been physically impossible to milk the entirety of his fucking soul out of him like the way you were right now.
“O-oh-” he gasps - he pants. Chest caving it at how swelteringly hot you were inside, hugging around his sensitive cock so hard that Gojo sees stars. “Is- is this what it feels like?”
You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru’s voice shiver just this way, you’ve never seen him so broken. Bouncing off the elders that see their precious leader this defiled.
Thighs juddering up and flexing in a way that makes you salivate to lock around your neck. He’s practically headlocking you - whimpering out tiny pleas as if you could answer. “Can’t believe you’ve been holding out- can’t ah- A lil’ deeper- please? Please I know you can-” Shifting his hips up in a slow gyration of back and forths until your tongue was flattening to slide over every vein down his underside. Twirling over particularly sensitive spots at the jagged crevices that make Gojo whine. “-aww, tha’s right. My good girl- my good fuckin’ wife.”
He’s never felt like this before.
And when you hollow out your cheeks and suck - oh, it has him hunching over rapidly. Shoving your nose up against that neat white happy trail, you’re breathing in his addictively masculine musk.
Moaning out a throaty, “Mmpf-”
“Shhh shh sh-” Gojo massages his finger down your neck, sneaking greedy feels for the outline of his thick cock down your throat. “Jus’ take it- fuck fuck fuck- don’ hafta do anything else, lemme take care of it, pretty.”
He didn’t even know what - he didn’t know how.
But fuck-
You swirl your tongue over and underneath the sensitive bump of his slit, lathering it in a slow glissade of your salivating tongue that makes him jump. And he feels like he’s already seeing cloud nine and the pearly gates itself by the time you steady yourself into sultry, sucking bobs.
Dancing a hand up to rub over his tight, cum-filled balls - and maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was just him - but it felt like he was about to burst already.
He was going to.
A slight hiss - not from you, not from him - manages to emanate its way into his melty mind, and Gojo’s finding it in himself to let his head throw back with a sudden laugh. Glassy eyes barely even focusing on the jaw-dropped figures around the table, “Y-your madam’s hgnh- taking me so well, isn’t she?” Head tilting drunkenly back at you, “Wontcha say she’s doin’ a damn good job-”
Only a few mutters - a few scoffs.
And Gojo’s finding his digits twirling tightly to latch onto your scalp, hissing through clenched teeth. “Say it.”
A unanimous, humiliating “yes” echoes from all sides of the platform.
And one from your wrecked husband right in front of you - “Yes- hahah-” he giggles. Brushing over the splattered mix of precum and cum that drips down the side of your thoroughly open mouth when you suck all his fat inches. Popping it into his mouth to taste. “-doin’ so well f’me I think- hngh- think I might-”
Of course, at this, you’re speeding up your greedy bounces. Fucking Gojo so heavenly with his mouth that he thinks he’s memorized every curve and twist of your tongue, every single tastebud-
“Naughty girl-” You’re being gifted with another smack! on your ass, and he’s having to haul you off of his reddened, angry cock with a tightened grip around your throat. With one, two slow pumps right in front of your face. And then up, up, up enough for him to hum into your mouth in an attacking French kiss. “-I like that.”
Gojo’s bulging biceps ripple when he seats you all prettily on his lap - just like earlier on tonight. Except, this time, you were facing him - and feeding your drooling cunt all angry inch by inch of his rock-hard cock.
“O-open up those hngh- pretty legs.” he murmurs in a heaving hot breath into your ear. Eyes blaring down at the way your squirmy legs were adjusting and readjusting around slender hips. “Open ‘em and t-take me-”
The way you do makes him gape, makes him gasp, makes him impatiently wrap two arms around the small of your back to fuck up past that tight little ring of resistence and into your walls depravedly.
Just hitting the very back of your spongy cervix with the upwards curved tip of his head before gushing out thick, wet splatters of cum. The gripping cling of your cunt too good, the way you were sucking him up still fresh.
And perhaps because of the aphrodisiac, but he was cumming so much.
Such voluminous loads of seed that dump out into your gooey insides, it sloshes all around him and makes such squelches that reaches his ears. Drooling through the very edges of your sopping wet slit-
“S-see what happens?” Gojo’s whimpering in a way that a clan leader decidedly was not known for. Being the strongest, too. Driving a thumb along your bulging slit, he’s taking the opportunity to smear your pussy lips even wider to swallow more of him. To plug his cum back in. To show off. “See how ah- see what you do to me? Let everyone see-”
And Gojo sounded so desperate, gasping out little utterances and praises into your mouth while he’s shoveling his swollen cock upwards into you. Taking the lewd advantages of years of combat to pummel every recoiling wall of yours with punishing, pressurized thrusts.
“Wh-what do I do to ya, Toru?” you hum curiously, half-delirious.
“Drive me fuck- insane, tha’s what-” he’s hissing, sparks behind his eyes. Swiping down to where he could feel the drilling nudge of his weepy cock, pressing down- hard. He’s mushing over the sensitive slit of his cock accidentally, “Oh- makes me wanna do this forever-” He’s nosing down the crook of your neck now, hiding away that innocent blush of his. “-to fuck you, make love to you, to breed you.”
You sputter out a sudden clench that has Gojo falling back down onto his elbows. Back hitting the tatami mats, your hands hitting his cushiony pecs. “Y-you wan’ to breed me? Hngh- you w-want an heir, Toru?”
An heir - an heir.
An heir, an heir, an heir. God, it’s thundering throughout his mind and syrupy slowly turning into just about all he can think about.
“M-me? Want an heir?” He’s shuddering out, massive palms splaying out on the two globes of your ass to stretch your taut pussy further down his cock. “What makes you think- oh- what-” Until your perky lips were kissing his heated pelvis, your pulsing clit scratching deliciously down his tufts of white. And at this very second, peering up at you through hooded eyes, gaze half-curtained with his hair, drunken - all that Gojo can imagine is how pretty you are. And how much prettier you’d be as a mama. “C-can I get you hngh- p-pregnant- please, ma’am?”
Mere seconds of his thrumming shaft stretching you open pass as he looks dazedly to the side, “After all- s’what th-this initiation is for, right?”
And then you feel like you’re being spearheaded all the way to your lungs with all of Gojo’s girth.
“Toru-” you whine, nails dragging little red lines down his broad neck and all over his shoulders. “-deeper. More please- it feels so-”
He’s barely even answering his own question - let alone allowing you to answer.
Because Gojo’s taking this as the cue to restrain your two wrists behind your back with one of his own, forcing you to whine and shudder out little sobs when your thighs strain to meet his jackhammering cadence.
Ass stinging at the bruising slap! of his sharp hip bones, the way his heated cunt was swirling around your sweet spots so right. It felt like you were burning from the inside out-
“Ah ah-” Gojo tuts, snapping you out of your woozy reverie. Free hand coming to knock away one of your trembly palms snaking down to your neglected clit - when did you even start that? “Can’t ask me for m-more n’ do this. Move that hand so I can f-fuck you proper, honey-”
You barely even have the time to whine about it before he’s spitting a streaming waterfall of saliva onto his fingers, pinching at your clit.
“Heh, don’t think I f-forgot about ya-” You whine at the way he was drawing dizzying circles, the cool burn of his matching wedding band. “Th-they say ya needa have the hngh- mother cum, too, ta make kids.”
Plural.
“K-kids?” you muse.
“Mhm-” he’s nodding like he doesn’t even realize. “How about- six-”
Maybe from the shock, maybe from the way that he was filthily spearing against your g-spot so good, you collapse readily onto your elbows. Feeling every slick and slide of Gojo’s abs rubbing up against you.
Each singular thrash into your cervix has Gojo’s babbles running more nonsensical - more pussydrunk. “Thinkin’ wh-whatever ya want- hngh- to fill ya up- Have you all r-round and ha- glowing.” Like it pained for him to even say, like it hurt with every sloppily wet thwack! of his heavy balls on your ass. “Have you be m-my madam- the mother of my kids- hngh- all with your pretty eyes-” he’s sobbing now. Swirling around his rounded tip till it hits sweets spots you didn’t even know you had. “-n’ my hair and hah- your personality- c-can’t imagine fighting over them for ya- wh-what do you think, cutie?”
But as soon as you’re cracking your mouth open to fervently agree - at least, as much as your hazy mind could at this point, Gojo’s raising his right hand to palm over it.
With a drunken smirk, “M’askin’ her, my wife- dontcha w-worry-” Nuzzling your cheek, “-haven’t forgotten about the mother of my kids.”
And the saccharine-sweet sloshing is enough to ring throughout Gojo’s ears like his favorite melody - and he’s memorized every note. Pumping out more and more spurts of hot precum to stain your insides and dribble uproariously. Sleazing a grin your way, “Almost there- almost- but first-”
Every single elder he’s glaring upon jumps when Gojo graces them with one of his looks - even as barely-lucid and fucked-out as he was. He leers, “How about it? Heh, wanted a-an heir so bad n’ now you’re gonna get it. Happy now?”
As expected, no answer.
But Gojo didn’t need one anyway - not when your ringing slurps as you swallow up his cock thunder across his ears. “O-oh, she’s tellin’ me something-”
“Wh-what is she sayin’, Toru-” you whine, lips wobbling uncontrollably in much the same way that your pussy folds were right now.
“She’s sayin—” Gojo’s voice takes on a whimpering lilt, and he has absolutely no idea how you haven’t noticed that determined clenching of your gummy walls, the breathless pants of yours. So he only smiles, teeth sinking playfully into your ear lobe, “-that my gorgeous wife’s about to cum.”
Stars flurrying behind your lids, your toes curl and hips slam with enough force to rock the platform rickety.
But if you didn’t notice your high - then Gojo certainly didn’t notice his, either.
Too caught-up, too busy rutting up in solid strides into your dripping cunt to notice that he was splattering your squeezing walls to be sopping wet with oozes of cum. There are so many gushes of it that Gojo feels dizzy, he feels like he’s about to break.
“Wait- wait wait m’cumming again-” he gasps. Pinching your clit with two fingers to feel the way that jittery convulsion has Gojo’s potent seed coating his cock a glistening white. Something marshmallow creamy that makes him swallow. “D-didn’t even know I could hngh- c-cum again-”
Didn’t know if he even wanted to but- but of course, he did.
He’s hissing at the dredges of wispy white that drip from between your slit, the very sight itself tipping Gojo over to sprinkle out a few more velvety ribbons that knock at your womb.
“Heheh- think this t-took?” Those mere words feel so sinful on his tongue, and Gojo’s ears flush a ruby red. But he can’t find himself stopping when he plugs out of your snug cunt, whimpering at the sensitive cling of your cunt as if she didn’t want to part ways. “Whoops-”
You whine at the warmly wet gush of your still-convulsing cunt, “Don’t think it t-took if you’re pulling out-”
SLAM!
You don’t know who’s actually gasping - the elders, Gojo, or you. Still reeling from the way you’re immediately flipped over onto all fours, cheeks smushed against the tatami mat so hard that Gojo wonders whether it’ll leave a mark for tomorrow.
Assuming the two of you get out of this alive, that is.
“Let them see-” he’s hissing, cupping your pussy to leave a few wet smacks that smear your abundance of his cum down onto the platform. So much of it. “-let them see how th-their heir is made since they wanna hah- see so badly.”
And god, the sight was supposed to taunt those in the fucking audience - but it has Gojo’s slick-sheening cock twitching up in interest once more. Barely even knowing what he’s doing before spreading open your pussy lips with one swipe of his bawling tip, and then inside-
“You d-didn’t think we were done, ngh, did you, my wife?”
As if you could ever be done with him.
Pound after pound.
Gojo was so painfully hard right now he felt like he was going to explode - and he wanted- no, needed to be deeper than he ever has inside of you.
Which is what found him placing an unapologetic foot on top of your head, the slight jostle in angle making him swoon in a probing push against the very ends of your cervix. And every shaky thrust too hard made you feel like he was going to fuck an heir right into your awaiting womb.
“M’sorry-” he gasps, tearily. Wet splatters of the salty substance hitting the side of your shoulder as Gojo bends - and folds and folds you pliantly right along with him. “Don’t mean to- hngh- didn’t- fuck but I need it so badly- s-so deeply- don’t think I’ve bred this cute cunt ‘nough.”
Pushing you down with his utterly full bodyweight, you’re pinned to the platform. For every eye to see the snapping, creamy strings that connect his glossy cock to your overfilled cunt. It sprinkles across your ass and down your legs, and he’s eyeing down at the glossy pool of mess sticking between your two sweat-sheened bodies from before.
So badly.
It’s so much - too much.
Placing kiss after gliding kiss of his syrupy precum down the very bottom of your pussy, whining at the slight recoil that has him pushing back from the elastic depths of your cunt. Such a splitting stretch that bullies you wordless.
And it could’ve been hours - it could’ve been minutes until all that you can manage is a tiny huff that leaves your pouty lips with every wet squelch, and only makes his fat cock bludgeon even harder. He’s fucking you thoroughly, almost as if he hates you.
Yet, sounding so badly apologetic that you can’t help but crack a smile - at least, as much as you could when your sweet insides were being ravaged by him. “S’all f-for an heir, isn’t it, Toru–?”
God- and then he’s cumming.
Embarrassingly, almost-painfully - but still so needily.
It’s splattering and overfilling you so much that you feel your elastic walls pull taut at the sheer inflation, making you strangle out a sudden moan. Splat! splat! splattering a thin sheen down your inner thighs, the wet pumps have him fucking it even harsher to coat your spongy womb with his cum, knocking- begging for any sort of entrance.
Messy. So fucking messy that you feel your skin burn.
He can’t help it - oh, he can’t control himself when he’s pulling out for just a split-second to shuffle downwards and press his face right into your sopping folds. Latching his spit-slicked lips around your sensitive nub of a clit. Humming, sucking-
And through it all - you can just barely make out Gojo’s voice. Raw, broken. “D-don’t think it took…don’t think my h-heir took.”
“...”
It slowly evolves into Gojo’s own personal little manga - the very same that he gasps out over and over into your open mouth on the third round. Just a few more tears, a few more of his sloppy strokes in a prone bone that his aching body can barely even hold up.
Now well past the aphrodisiacs, and the allotted time for your initiation. But your audience was still seated, and the fatigue setting into both of you as you both cum with strangled cries - and Gojo’s stream of sweltering hot seed now noticeably wispier than usual.
But still - still it wasn’t enough.
And by the fourth round, you’re wondering how the hell it was that neither of you had broken any bones, yet. Especially considering the sloppy full nelson that your greedy husband had somehow managed to wrangle you into.
Slipping and sliding across one another in a way that had Gojo crying out in frustration, drool dripping down the side of his lips - all he really wanted to do was stuff his angry cock into you again.
The fifth and sixth rounds start before the previous one had even ended, you think. And you’re riding on a constant wave of high while Gojo’s weepy cock sobs out a few more spurts of seed all throughout.
Teeth clacking against your own in a mess of a kiss, voice dragging in tiny breaks at the very end of his throat. Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the rounded divot at the end of his overstimulated cock shivers out nothing.
And Gojo knows he should be cumming - he feels like he should be cumming.
But all his poor, half-softening cock can do is let out a gush of nothingness. Big, fat tears glistening down Gojo’s cheeks when he cums dry in the meanest mating press possible for both your tired bodies. Yet, still fucking you like he was with his cum again and again-
“You all-” Everyone jumps at the sudden, hoarse voice coming from the leader, having resigned himself to mere whimpers of your name and “heirs” by now. And the elders can’t even hold his droopy, barely-there gaze. Dangerous. “Bow. Bow to your new madam.”
Can we get a fic with John Hancock with a shy, innocent virgin f!reader? I feel like he would just go feral with corruption/breeding kink and possessive/jealousy?! Like just wanting to ruin her for anyone else and mark her from other ghouls. Bonus for fluff as well. I love the idea of him falling for her softness and trying so hard to be a gentleman out of respect, thinking she deserves better while internally he’s thinking the nastiest filthiest shit.
(Also maybe you could do a Howard version sometime? I know you get a ton of requests so if not it’s fine, but I'm curious how he would be too) Either way, thank you ❤️ your blogs amazing and I appreciate it!
Carnal Lessons
Pairing: John Hancock x Virgin!Female Reader
Word Count: 19,965 (yes, for real)
Warnings: very sexual pining, loss of virginity, corruption kink, reader's first "real" orgasm, absolutely perverted thoughts, mutual and consensual drug use, shotgunning, discussion of addiction, canon-typical violence and bigotry, descriptions of wounds, mild exhibitionism, finger fucking, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), cock piercings, possessive sex, manhandling, hair pulling, breeding kink, slightly dishonest creampie, jealousy, self-hating John.
Notes: It's finally here! This thing absolutely refused to free me from its clutches, so I'm incredibly happy to have it all finished up. Thanks for the submission, Anon, and thanks for your patience while I worked through the forty-ish page fit it induced in me. I tried SO hard to keep this to a reasonable length (as I said, there's almost never a time when I'm not shooting to keep to around 5,000-7,000 words), I swear, but this idea really needed some room to develop. Please enjoy the first long-form piece on the blog that doesn't feature Cooper Howard in the lead role! As for the idea of doing a version of something like this with him in the future, someone else sent in a very similar ask that's been earmarked for just that.
Reader is a former vault dweller but is explicitly not Nora/the Sole Survivor. Post-Institute destruction.
John McDonough had always been more accepting of vault dwellers than most folks. A certain curiosity towards those who came from such different circumstances than him in youth had slowly grown over the years into some form of sympathy, even pity. There were those who looked down on the people who spent their lives hiding away in those armored chambers, saw them as craven and weak, but John found himself sympathetic to anyone who valued safety and stability for themselves and those they truly cared about. A hard-lived life of barely scraping by and sleeping in the gutter for years had granted him a thankfully varied perspective of the world around him.
When you'd first stumbled your way into his life, he had been very understanding of your plight; after all, you weren't the first poor schmuck that had left their vault, their safe little settlement, only to discover just how truly dangerous the streets and crumbling high-rises of Boston could be. You'd arrived in rough shape, though not the roughest he'd seen by far. Hell, you'd even managed to limp your way into Goodneighbor's front gates before collapsing, a bit of fortitude that had almost certainly saved your life.
Naturally, as the mayor, word of the collapsed, bloodied vault dweller laid out on the ground outside Kleo's had filtered up to him rather quickly, and his innate curiosity had gotten the best of him. Fahrenheit had tucked the information in between a few other pieces of news, seemingly hoping to keep it from garnering too much interest from her friend and boss.
"I think I'm gonna go check it out." he replied, rising from the rickety couch where he'd been perched, taking in his second-in-command's daily brief.
"I know you, Hancock. Maybe you shouldn't." she said, eyeballing him.
"I have no absolutely idea what you mean by that." he retorted haughtily before disappearing down the stairs and out the door. He made his way across Scollay Square, nodding to and greeting a few folks who spoke to him, cutting a wiggling path to the Rex where he'd been told they'd set you up in a room to rest after patching you up as best as they could. Seeking out the room number he'd been given at the desk, he was surprised when he poked his head around the corner to find Daisy still hovering over you a bit.
"Heard we might have a new friend. How're they doing?" he asked, leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets. The merchant turned, smiling politely at him and straightening her jacket.
"Hey, Hancock. She's doing much better now, fortunately. Poor thing will probably sleep for quite a while, though. I'm shocked she made it through." she said, taking a half-step back to reveal your unconscious form on the bed. "Tough for a vaultie. Though, I suppose I said the same about Nora."
He hadn't fully heard a single thing she'd said after she'd stepped away, completely distracted by the realization of what Fahr had actually meant. When she'd had told him she thought it was best he didn't come down, he'd assumed it was a joking remark about how he'd disappeared for months the last time a vaultie had popped into their lives, but now he truly understood what she'd been getting at when she'd remarked about how she "knew him".
You were breathtakingly gorgeous, even battered, limp, and filthy like you were. Soft in all the right ways, from your statuesque face to what parts of your body he could see unobscured by the old sheets. Your vault suit was unzipped and yanked down to the waist to expose the dirty tank beneath, the swell of your breasts rising and falling gently as you slept. Your skin and hair were so perfect looking under the sweat and grime that he felt himself overwhelmingly drawn to caress you somehow, his palms itchy. He'd been around the block a time or two, and he'd met plenty of gorgeous men and women, but something about you was immediately captivating, almost haunting.
After a moment, he came back to himself, making abashed eye contact with Daisy once more to find that she was studying him closely. Of course, the older woman knew him well enough to figure he didn't have ill intent towards you, necessarily, but she recognized that glint in his eye as he gazed at you, and it made her hesitant to leave the room before he did, her instincts too strong to be ignored. Hancock, for all his vices and shortcomings, was quite adept at reading a room and quickly picked up on her thoughts.
"Well, I'll let her rest. If you see her up and around later, send her my way so we can chat, yeah? I'm sure she's got interesting stories." he said, trying his best to sound lax and casual. The other ghoul nodded silently, already turning her attention back to you as he turned to leave. Rounding the corner right out of the Rex, he ducked into a narrow alley and lit a smoke, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes with a sigh, trying his best to turn his mind to other topics. It had taken longer than he'd care to admit, but he finally succeeded and returned to the day's business.
When you'd eventually awoken, he'd been very pleasantly surprised to find you chatty and rather accepting of your surroundings for someone who had lived underground their whole life. You were kind, agreeable, though shaken by your ordeal, obviously; he guessed that you'd likely seen plenty of other wild shit on your way in, and that a semi-regular (if a little unsavory) community of folks who mostly just happened to be ghouls wouldn't be that high on the list of things that would trip you up badly. Incredibly thankful for the assistance you'd been given when you'd first showed up, you quickly proved him correct, eager to work, to help out, to find a place where you could fit in.
Early on, you did a lot of running around for Daisy and Kleo, searching for things that had been requested from them, but you'd quickly grown tired of prospecting and shifted to more community-based work, something that only endeared you to him more. You mentioned casually at one point that you'd been something called an "irrigation technician" back home, so it was no surprise that he often found you knee-deep in dirt, picking at weeds, evaluating soil and water quality like it was second nature to you.
Everyone around the neighborhood loved you, almost too much for his liking. More and more, he found himself asking you to do completely made up tasks, or things that were already an assigned job, just to make sure you weren't spending too much time getting close to someone else when he was too busy to hang out with you. It left a bad taste in his mouth to think that he might miss out on the chance to get close to you because of nothing but circumstance when it had been circumstance that brought you into his life to begin with.
Eventually, he'd gotten a bit of that familiar wandering itch, deciding to pack up and make the trip to visit Nora in Sanctuary. He'd invited you to come along with him, both interested to see what his two favorite vaulties would think of one another and hoping for an opportunity to get more personal with you. Besides, he wasn't naive. He couldn't leave you behind and expect you to still be available when he came back, that he knew; Edward Deegan had been in town far more often since the Cabots had left, asking around for you more than once, and he knew that the older man had a certain reputation...not that he had room to judge.
He also knew that he wasn't the only one to worry about.
Thankfully, you'd agreed to come along, openly eager to see more of the countryside and secretly eager to spend more time with John himself. His plan to get closer to you ultimately worked, and far better than he'd expected, but not for the reasons he'd anticipated.
The trip from Goodneighbor to Sanctuary wasn't terribly long, a day or two at most depending on your urgency. In fact, travel times all over had seemingly reduced as the roads had grown slowly safer, busier with the increased presence of the Minutemen and those who felt aligned with them. He had even noticed several trading caravans, though heavily guarded ones, making their way south, something he hadn't seen in years.
Unfortunately, he'd gotten a little lax, perhaps a bit distracted towards the very end of the trip and the two of you had been ambushed just as you'd entered the outskirts of Concord. He hadn't anticipated raiders so close to Sanctuary; in his overconfidence, a small pack of them had managed to get the drop on the pair of you, nailing him with a single round to his shooting arm from some distance before quickly hemming you in from uphill. Fortunately, he was both quick-healing and more than familiar with fighting in pain; his resilience, combined with your own strength and ability to pick several off yourself at a distance, quickly thinned their numbers, leaving each of you dealing with one or two stragglers.
Hancock had been retrieving his knife from the windpipe of the final one standing against him when he saw you fall out of the corner of his eye, your weapon tumbling a few feet away across the split, buckled asphalt. He immediately threw himself towards you, sizing up the burly raider who loomed over you as you attempted to roll out of his reach. The hulking motherfucker pivoted on one foot towards you, crushing the arm that was reaching out for your fumbled pistol under his filthy boot and snapping the bone with a sickening, audible crack. The agonizing cry that left you was sharp and heartbreaking.
Somehow, he'd teleported the ten feet or so that he needed to close the gap between him and the man raising his laser rifle towards you. He couldn't consciously recall a time when he'd moved with such urgency. The blow he delivered to the back of the guy's head with the butt of his shotgun caved in his skull cleanly and dropped him near instantly like a sack of rocks, but John still unloaded two shells into what was left for the satisfaction, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline and worry as he turned to you.
You were either attempting to sit up or curling upwards in pain, neither of which seemed especially comfortable as your mouth laid open in a silent scream. He acted as quickly as possible, gently moving your guarding arm away from the injured one to examine it. Thankfully, the bone hadn't pierced the skin, but the angle your hand sat at made his stomach roll, along with the way you began to whimper and hyperventilate. Wanting to move you out of the open before he administered one of the doctor's bags he kept with him, but distrustful of the surrounding houses, he scooped you up into his arms, wincing along with you as you cradled your limp limb against your chest. Holding his breath almost all the way, he trudged up the hill until he came across the Red Rocket truck stop, settling you gently on the old work bench.
"I'm real sorry, but this is probably gonna hurt, kid." he said, allowing himself the far-too-intimate gesture of pushing your hair away from your face, cradling your wet cheek for a split second. "When we get to Sanctuary, we'll get you something for the pain, alright?"
You nodded, eyes clenching tight as you extended the injured extremity towards him as best as you could. He was as gentle as possible patching you, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving you suffering completely, even for just the short walk across the bridge and up the hill. Eerily quiet despite what he was certain was fairly great pain, you let him do whatever he needed.
It had taken longer than he'd have liked to carry you to the short rest of the way to Sanctuary, his pace encumbered by his fear of jostling or mishandling you.
"It's fine. I can walk the rest of the way." you'd protested halfheartedly, your unmarred arm wrapped tight around his neck as you held yourself up as best as you could. However, you made no move to extract yourself from him. He'd pointedly ignored the handful of inquisitive looks the two of you had received as he'd carried you past the guard posts at the end of the bridge, quickly seeking out the settlement's little clinic building.
Nora, mayor in her own way, had almost immediately heard of your arrival, and found him smoking on the crumbling curb outside, staring off at the old gas station on the horizon absentmindedly.
"Is your lady friend alright?" she asked, lowering herself down beside him and holding out a semi-cool beer.
He smiled at her, almost full-strength, and reached out to warmly shake her hand. His friend looked a little older now, her time in the Commonwealth and her mountain of accrued responsibilities taking their own toll, but she appeared wiser (and more content) for it.
"She'll be fine. If I'm honest, I probably didn't need to rush her up here like that, but, eh. I panicked a little." he replied, cheeks warm as she appraised him with that knowing look. She didn't dig further, thankfully one of his few friends who had ever mastered the art of discretion. John was glad to see her, certainly, and tried his best to focus on their conversation as they caught up a bit, each sipping their drink, but his mind was inside with you.
Soon, she was pulled away, but promised to check in again before disappearing down the street, leaving John as he had been: worrying away on the stoop.
After the doctor had checked you over, fully re-set your arm, and given you another stimpack, along with a sling, the ghoul had helped you to a cot in an empty room at the back of one of the semi-restored houses. He'd offered you Med-X, eager to alleviate the pain he could see lingering, but you'd just shaken your head wordlessly, a nervous glint in your eyes as you sized the syringe up, your breathing still rather shallow and shaky as you sweated lightly.
"You're worrying me here, sister. I'm begging ya to just take something. I know you're healing up, but..."
"I'm fine, John. Really. I just need to rest a few more hours and it'll be healed enough to not hurt so badly." you huffed, resettling your limbs along the bed to allow him some room to sit beside you. You calling him by his real name, the one no one ever called him, didn't even really register.
"I've got some booze." he offered, embarrassed at how desperate he felt to get you to somehow accept what little help he felt he had to offer. "Or weed? Would you try that? I know you're hurting."
There was a different sort of hesitation in your gaze at that, your arm still cradled close in your sling as you stroked over it absentmindedly, protectively with your good hand.
"I really do just need to tough it out a bit longer." you replied, though your tone was a little softer. "Plus, I don't like to drink, and I don't exactly know how to smoke weed."
He chuckled at that, relaxing just a little.
"Not much to know. Inhale, hold, exhale." he said, smiling warmly at you. "I've got a joint if you wanna try it."
You were quiet for a long moment, taking a deep, steadying breath in the cooling twilight.
"Are you gonna light it?" you asked.
And he did, taking a puff or two himself to get the thing burning properly before handing it to you, showing you how to pinch it between your thumb and forefinger and watching with rapt attention as you lifted it to your own mouth.
"Easy!" he said as you pulled hard, the end of the joint glowing bright as it burned. Unsurprisingly, you began to cough wildly a moment later, cheeks wet and shoulders shaking hard as you hacked and gasped, desperately pushing the smoldering little cigarette back at him so you could wipe at your face. Resisting the urge to chuckle at the relatability in your tear-streaked mug, he patted your shoulder gently. Taking another puff himself, he leaned against the wall behind him, giving you a few minutes to collect yourself and find your voice once more.
"Wow." you said eventually,
"Feeling it?" he asked.
"Definitely. Also, that really hurt."
He tittered a bit at your glassy-eyed look, genuine relief washing over him as he took in your relaxing posture and slow, even breaths. Knowing that you wouldn't fess up to still hurting, he didn't ask your status, taking comfort in the knowledge that you were at least somewhat relieved of your pain as he fully settled in beside you, sitting up with his back against the moldering wallpaper.
"If only my friends back home could see me now." you chuckled, playing absentmindedly with your fingers. His stomach dropped a bit at that, always frozen in captivation and fear of stopping you somehow when you got to talking about home in any substantial way, which was so rare.
"Can I ask why you left? Of course, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." he asked, each word an uneasy labor to force out as he fiddled with one of his rings.
You were quiet for a moment, just long enough that his retraction was ready to launch off of his tongue when you finally responded.
"They wanted me to get married and I wasn't ready." you explained simply, following up after a moment with a very hesitant "Well, it wasn't just that. They wanted me to get married and start immediately popping out babies and stuff. Had a guy picked out for me and everything. I just couldn't go through with it. It didn't feel right. You know?"
John faltered for a moment, genuinely unsure if he did know what you meant. Sure, he was familiar with the feeling of being expected to fall into a certain role and failing, or rejecting the system that wanted to put you into that box completely. He knew what it was like to feel at odds with those who felt they knew what was best for you. But, through all of that, he'd been able to make his own choices, even if he sometimes wished he could go back and make different ones.
"I know what it's like to feel like you need to just get away, for sure." he replied after a hopefully-not-too-long pause.
You nodded slowly.
"So, uh...did you leave, or did you run away?"
There was a long moment of silence, and you didn't look at him when you answered, your voice just a little bit quieter.
"Closer to the second thing."
He nodded, hesitantly placing his hand on your knee in a gesture of comfort, smiling when you placed your own hand over his.
"Was he ugly?" he joked after a moment, earning a gentle laugh from you.
"Nah. It wasn't him. It was all of them, you know? And me, I guess." you replied, eyeballing the stars through a hole in the roof.
"Yeah, I hear you."
He held the joint out to you once more, but you declined, directing the thing away with a smooth turn of your hand.
"You sure you don't want some more? One hit isn't very much, even if it feels strong right now. Probably won't last long."
"I don't wanna hog all your fancy drugs." you responded facetiously, grinning just a little. "Plus, I think I'll literally hack up my own windpipe if I take another drag off of that thing. It's so..."
"...hot-feeling? I could shotgun it to you." he offered, trying to ignore the way his cock stirred at the confused look on your innocent little face. "It means you inhale my exhale. Makes it way less harsh. Only if you wanna, though."
"And it still works? The, uh, smoke, I mean?"
"Yep." he smirked.
"Hmm. Yeah, let's try it." you agreed, much calmer than before as you sat up a little taller and scooted close to him, your hips touching as he filled his lungs with smoke once more.
"Alright," he explained, words strained as he held his breath, "put your lips to mine and take a deep breath in."
You leaned in closer to do as you were told, you cheeks dusted with a tinge of blush as he closed the short distance between the two of you. Softly, he touched his mouth to your own, holding his lips open as he slowly, steadily exhaled. Hesitating for a moment, you eventually caught on, and surprisingly managed to take a rather generous inhale.
What surprised him more, though, was when he moved to pull away and you leaned in again, only to kiss him in full, your lips wrapping around what remained of his own instead of just sitting there. It began as a lingering peck, but after you pulled back a few inches to exhale, coughing much less this time around, he leaned in again, hand moving to cup the back of your head as he held you tight. You'd slept close to one another before, but that was the first night you'd chosen to sleep in the same bed, cuddled close and both content.
From that moment, things began to genuinely progress between the two of you, your relationship quickly blooming from a warm friendship with occasional flirtatious banter into something that was becoming quite serious, at least in terms of the relationships John had had in the past.
You were a flirt, but not in the forward, raunchy way he himself often was. No, you were a much sweeter, more playful sort of tease, and while he quickly found your affection high up on the long list of things he had a major fixation for, it also hampered him in its own way. It made him feel like such a creep to make more forward advances towards you when your own 'moves' tended to be more romantic in nature; hand-holding, soft kisses, chaste cuddles. Granted, he tried to keep in mind that your lack of experience may have made you less inclined to start or say things, less confident to put yourself out there; you often came across as eager, but nervous. He kept that observation to himself.
You were also a rather remarkable person, driven by how much you wanted to help people and make the world you'd found a better place. He found it almost funny how you tried your best to make it clear that you weren't one of those vault dwellers, though you sort of inherently were. As much as you liked to deny it, to insist that all of the "we must rebuild and lead America when we retake the surface" talk they'd drilled into your head where you'd grown up hadn't taken root, he saw some of it in you, in the way you were so eager to help run things, start up new settlements, provide assistance with improvements that would make life better for everyone.
Perhaps you'd decided to embody those values in a different way than you were taught, but it certainly came across as leadership behavior to him. Nora must've seen it, too, the two of you becoming quickly and warmly acquainted, you eager to help her out in any way you could and her with plenty of tasks that could use more hands. One of those tasks, funnily enough, was deciding what to do with the still-untouched Red Rocket. Too small to really be a proper settlement, it was decided that it would be emptied out and sized up for stability and how easy it would be to wire the place. He also insisted on a new guard tower at that end of the bridge to keep an eye on any Concord stragglers. Though, not too close to the building.
The two of you spent the next week or so cleaning the place out together, hauling away rotted junk and evaluating the old building's guts and foundation, which were pleasantly intact overall, much to his surprise. Nora stopped by when she could patch together any significant time alone from the few minutes here and there that she often had between tasks, offering assistance and extra supplies to stock the place up with. Knowing her, she'd long seen right through him and his feelings towards you; his suspicions were all but confirmed when she remarked that it was "quite the little home the two of you were building together".
Occasionally, she would bring Shaun along with her, introducing him to you after a couple of months of feeling you out. For the sake of his cherished friend, John treated the boy as normally as possible, even playing with him a bit when he requested it. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to let go of his lingering wariness of the whole thing. Yes, he was happy that Nora had her son back in whatever form it may be; he had seen firsthand how devastated she had been without him.
After all, that was precisely why he found himself so suspicious when she'd told him about the young synth boy. John had never been a parent, himself, but he knew Nora's heart, knew how deeply her love for her child lived inside her; it was exactly the sort of loss that could be easily exploited. She insisted that the Institute wasn't something they needed to worry about any longer, but he sometimes questioned her confidence in this. The facility itself may have been gone, but there was no way of knowing that all of their plans and orchestrations had been annihilated alongside it. Hell, if they'd been worth their supposed salt, they'd have been smart enough to guarantee that exactly that wasn't possible, that they would still be able to continue their work somehow. Shaun had showed up at too perfect a time, in his mind, and for that, he constantly kept one eye on the child who seemed to genuinely like him, calling him "Uncle John".
It was rather clear to him that you noticed the wall he kept up between himself and the kid, but you didn't prod much into it, and for that he was grateful.
The weeks continued to pass by, the Red Rocket becoming your sort of base; close enough to Sanctuary to be useful, far enough away to have some privacy for yourselves.
"We should really get you some actual armor and people clothes, y'know." he said one evening, reclining back onto the little bedroll he'd been using while you two searched for a proper bed and staring hard at your ass as you rummaged through your things. "That suit might protect you alright, but it's like wearing a target on your back."
And it's way too distracting to me, frankly, he finished silently, perfectly envisioning himself accidentally wandering off a cliff to his demise because he was too fixated on your various assets waggling around in that damn suit.
Fortunately for him, you actually agreed, long past growing tired of the perception of naivete and vulnerability that the suit drew to you. Though, he knew you were rather attached to the thing, one of the few slivers of home you carried with you always. You feared it being stolen if you left it behind somewhere, and he understood, helping you rig up a really good hiding spot in the Red Rocket ceiling tiles. The clothes you eventually started to wear around were, thankfully, less well-fitted than the vault suit, scrounged up pairs of jeans and threadbare tees, old button-ups and road leathers you tried your best to keep oiled and stretched.
However, when you felt truly comfortable (and weren't helping with some of the more intense work around the settlements), you'd often wear one of a couple of dresses you'd managed to trade for or scrounge up in your adventures, button-up things that hung well past your knee, but took the "form fitting" issue the vault suit had and multiplied it. Not only did the things emphasize every one of your sweet curves just the right way, they exposed the soft, strong flesh of your arms and legs, the line of your elegant throat as it disappeared into the swell of your breasts. As much as he loved to see you dressed so nicely, almost otherworldly beautiful in just how much you didn't fit into the dingy, decrepit background, it made it difficult for him to focus on any one task. Frankly, it made it difficult to focus on anything but the thought of hiking the flowing skirt up around your hips and having his way with you.
Simultaneously, it made him hypervigilant of exactly how others carried themselves when they were around you.
It had been irritating enough back home to have to deal with the Neighborhood Watch guys tugging you aside to whisper little bits of info to you, Ham's gaze lingering on you as you two passed into the entrance of The Third Rail, the number of people who had always wanted to talk or dance with you when you got inside. Caravan guards and traders trying their hardest to tail the pair of you on the road, pursuing your attention hard.
But once the two of you had begun spending a great deal of time around Sanctuary, the problem only intensified, increasing directly with the number of smoothskin men around who obviously did not see him as any sort of threat. Though he couldn't quite determine if the way they wrote him off was intended to be more emasculating or generally dehumanizing, John remained on his best behavior, both for your sake and Nora's, unwilling to embarrass either of you by association. Regardless, he was infinitely relieved when the former lawyer began to ask the two of you to start running errands to other nearby settlements. Sure, his patience was often tested again as soon as you reached whatever your new destination was, but the alone time in-between stops was incredibly regenerating for him, eager to get his hands on you whenever he could.
This was particularly true at night.
Often the settlements you were visiting weren't all that far away, but the two of you would usually choose to bed down for the evening somewhere on the roadside before turning up, both of you giddy at the unfettered access to one another, the privacy to discuss and say whatever you wanted. More than anything, though, he was desperate to feel you, to kiss you, to have you cuddled up against his chest the way he liked, and he was too nervous to paint you with the scarlet letter of ghoul alliance to be all that handsy during the day. When the sun fell, though, you were all his.
At no point did you explicitly tell him that you were a virgin. You didn't really need to, frankly; the way your lips and hands fumbled nervously against him, your lack of confidence to lead in this single situation, communicated all he needed to know. He wasn't especially surprised, anyway. The place you came from sounded pretty buttoned-up the way you described it, but you were also just a fairly guarded person in general; warm, friendly, but not overly eager to let anyone too close without a thorough sizing up. Fortunately for him, he somehow fit the specs.
It didn't take long for the two of you to start properly fooling around, much to John's partial chagrin. He hated to feel like he was rushing you, but at the same time, his self control completely evaporated into thin air the moment you stripped down to your skivvies to relax. He'd been hooked on you from that first kiss and the withdrawals were some of the heaviest he'd felt.
The first time he watched you come apart on his fingers, it took every ounce of strength in his irradiated body to not pin you down and fuck you until you literally couldn't handle any more. It was the most erotic display he'd ever taken in, the way your exposed chest flushed and heaved, your big, wide eyes brimmed with overwhelmed tears. As you'd crested into your peak, his hand buried in your panties while the other supported your limp head, you'd cried out so loudly he'd had to cover your mouth, soaking his fingers as your body twitched and jerked tensely.
"Holy cow." you'd gasped a moment later, a light sheen of sweat delicately clinging to your face and chest. "I wasn't aware I was doing that wrong."
"Well, I dunno about wrong..."
"Wrong, not as good as you, whatever." you dismissed, waving your hand at him playfully. "I hope you know that that's gonna be your job from now on."
"Is that right?" he grinned lasciviously, leaning down to kiss you on the cap of your bent knee and forcing himself to not firmly plant his rapidly growing head between your thighs. "Since when do you delegate tasks?"
"Oh, don't be that way, McDonough. We're all taking on extra responsibilities for the good of everyone." you replied diplomatically, your cheeks rosy as you rearranged your limbs to lie along his body.
He laughed genuinely at that, wrapping an arm around you and moving to recline himself. The small tent the two of you had set up was filled with your sweet musk, and he strategically angled his hips away from you so you wouldn't feel how completely stiff he was as a result, petting your hair as you drifted off to sleep. John was no stranger to knocking out for long periods himself, usually to will away a nasty come-down or hangover, but he found himself staying awake longer and longer to watch you, caress you. He thought it a much more worthwhile use of his time.
A while later, you'd been sent to the settlement that'd grown up at the center of the former drive-in theater a bit down the road from the Abernathy place. You were rather enamored with the place, both because of its historical use and because it had a fairly interesting crop setup, attempting to squeeze the most use out of what parts of the ground weren't paved. Personally, he felt less welcome at this place than he often did at other settlements, though other settlements coincidentally also seemed to have more ghouls already living there. However, when you wanted to stick around for a bit, caught up in helping work out some kinks with their crop watering system, he didn't object or complain, happy to see you happy. He'd simply make himself scarce during the day, often scavenging or patrolling the outer edge of the place and leaving you to socialize and play in the dirt, which is where he found you upon his return one early fall evening, the air growing chilly as the breeze blew through the little farmyard.
"How was your day?" you asked as he approached, sitting on the steps of the ramshackle barn the settlers had constructed and knocking mud off of your boots and the cuffs of your pant legs. The sun was quickly sinking behind the ridge at your back, darkness beginning to envelop the edges of the place.
"It was great. Camped out watching the ridge for a while, so I'm pretty stiff. Wanna go for a walk with me, stretch your legs?" he asked, rolling a loose cig in his fingers before jamming it between his lips. Smiling, you nodded silently in agreement, sweeping the remaining dust and debris from your pants after you stood before moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, the two of you making your way northwest towards the other end of the paved lot. You chit-chatted a bit about the day's events, what each of you had accomplished. When you reached the decrepit building that made up the old movie screen, he took a pause to lean against the stained wall, finally lighting up his smoke. You busied yourself staring up at the stars quietly, leaving him to study you closely as he puffed away at the thing.
"Have you gone up top yet?" he asked eventually, exhaling the last of his cigarette through what remained of his nose as he tucked the butt into his pocket.
"No. Can you? I thought they had a guard post up there so I've been keeping away. I get so embarrassed when I get in the middle of their patrol routes." you asked, an excited glint in your eyes as you fiddled with the ends of your hair.
"They don't man it at night. Can't hardly see nothin' from it in the dark, strategically, and it's too hard to wire anything up there. Plus, anything happens and you're pretty far away, all things considered. Nor' says they're building a guard tower soon. Wanna take a look? Might still be neat."
You nodded enthusiastically, quickly reaching out to thread your fingers into his and tug him along, the slightly sickly glow of your Pip-Boy flashlight illuminating your way along the mostly intact path. The pair of you climbed the old metal stairs together, hand-in-hand, slowly making your way up to small walkway along the top of the massive screen.
He had been a little surprised that you'd never heard of a movie theater like this before you'd come here for the first time, since even he'd at least read about them once or twice (and vaulties often seemed to know so much more about the pre-war world than people from up-top), but Nora had gotten a kick out of showing both of you what remained of the massive projector in the decayed building at the far end of the lot, explaining to you how the whole place had worked back in the day. The wonder in your eyes had been adorable, and you'd spent quite a while afterwards talking about the few movies you'd watched growing up. It was rare for you to talk so much, so openly about where you came from, even if what you were talking about wasn't necessarily consequential information; he'd spent most of that night holding you in his lap, staring at you dreamily while you mused and remembered until you fell asleep.
"Wow. You can see so far!" you exclaimed quietly as you mounted the final step, pulling away from him by a few feet to look out across the scene. "Well, I bet you could see way further during the day. But still. How cool, John!"
He smiled, watching as you tested the strength of the hand rail before leaning against it cautiously, your head sweeping back and forth as you studied the inky horizon, dotted occasionally with flickering signs of life. There was a melancholic tang to the warmth he felt as he took in your excitement, your joy; this sort of small pleasure shouldn't be so novel to you, and it broke his heart just enough to color the moment.
Letting that feeling fall to the wayside, he leaned back against his own portion of the railing for a minute or two, fishing out the Jet container that sat in his pocket beside his smokes and hitting it quietly a couple of times. The pleasant, buzzing feeling of intoxication wrapping around his consciousness sent his head falling back laxly, lids heavy as he studied your silhouette against the moonlight, the lines of your body and the dancing form of your hair in the slight breeze. The smell of you in the air.
Nuzzling up close behind you after a beat, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his cheek to your temple as he held you close. His heart sped up further, already racing from the amphetamines coursing through him, when you relaxed into his grip, the back of your head resting along his shoulder. The two of you had been enmeshed in whatever your little entanglement could be called for a bit, and you didn't ever seem uncomfortable with him, personally, but sometimes more intimate contact still made you a bit skittish.
For a few minutes, he appreciated the view along with you, rubbing your sides softly, massaging the dip in your lower back where you often complained of tension after a long day. Eventually, however, his hands wandered further, grazing softly over your breasts and smirking at how you sighed in response, lips sliding down to tuck against your throat. Between his physical adulation and the growing chill of the dark, your nipples pebbled quickly, his fingers alternating between playing with each of them, setting you to squirming against him. He toyed along your belt line for a beat, forcing your attention to where his touch was landing as he gently unbuttoned your pants and slid his hand inside.
"It's alright, I gotcha." he assured you, supporting your stiffening form easily as his index finger teased over your swollen peak through your underwear, feeling a growing wet spot that made his core ache.
"I'm dirty, John." you murmured, voice hushed with embarrassment, your face and throat just a bit warmer under his lips.
"You think I'm clean?" he teased in response, nibbling at your earlobe.
The slightly worried fidgeting you were doing continued for another minute or so, but the more the damp patch expanded under his touch, the less nervous you seemed; still high-alert, but drifting further and further into his touch. Soon, you were relying on him to support most of your weight as your hips moved themselves back and forth against his hand. He could feel, see the signs of you approaching your orgasm, but dragged his fingers up and down the length of your slit a few times to tease you, to drag out the moment. The tension made you whimper sharply, teeth closing around your lower lip in an attempt to silence yourself.
"Better keep it quiet, cutie. You'll get us caught." he murmured, low and close to your ear; the shudder that broke down your spine, vibrating through your back and into his chest, was delicious.
His cock was aching against your backside, throbbing with anticipation, and it was unbearable. Head spinning, his hand that had moved to knead absentmindedly at your hip slipped further to press at the back of your thigh, pushing your knee skyward until your foot caught on the lower bar of the rail, balancing your leg there until you took over, bracing it there yourself. This new position granted him more reach, his fingers swiping lower along your now slightly exposed entrance.
"Mm, John." you whispered. A warning.
"Trust me, baby." he breathed in reply, stroking over the velvety soft spot a few more times before moving his fingers back to your needy clit. He wanted to sink his fingers deep inside you, to feel you wrapped around any part of him in that base, primal way, but resisted the temptation, sensing your hesitation.
Your more open stance also granted him easier access to roll your bud between his fingers, and quickly you were dancing along that knife's edge once more, your heat and sounds and smell all overwhelming him at equal speed.
His need had reached a fever pitch, your squirming and whimpering shooting sparks down his spine; this, combined with his already high proclivity for sexual behavior on Jet, was more than enough to send him wrestling his cock free through his suddenly unzipped fly. Your shirt had bunched up in the back, leaving a sliver of flesh exposed that he fixated on as soon as he'd noticed it. Stroking himself a few times in the cool air, he pressed closer, the pierced underside of the head dragging along your smooth, soft skin and making him hiss.
Feeling any part of your body against him like that drove him instantly mad, and he had to focus almost entirely on you to ensure that he didn't blow past you on his way to the finish line. Fortunately, it wasn't an issue, as you moved your hand down on top of his, pressing down hard, and soon stiffened completely against him, burying your face in his shoulder as best as you could to muffle your cries as you came apart; he followed you almost instantly, your sounds overwhelming him as he shot all over the ground.
The two of you savored the bliss of your aftershocks for a moment, clinging to one another, but quickly he felt you attempting to right your clothing, and he allowed you to pull away a bit. Probably smart anyway; neither of you had exactly been silent towards the end, though he couldn't hear anyone ascending the stairs.
"You alright?" he asked as he set to fixing his pants. You nodded silently, smiling shyly at him as you reached for his hand.
"Aht, watch out. Don't, uh, step in that." he murmured, guiding you to his side before you made your way down, passing by a couple people who side-eyed you on your way back to your shared bed, set up at the top of the projector room. Laid down for the night, your cheek on his sternum, he'd assumed you were asleep when you finally spoke up for the first time in a while.
"John." you whispered softly.
"Hmm?" he replied, eyes closed as his hand stroked your back.
You hesitated a moment, blush-heavy and squirming.
"Is your...ah..."
He allowed you some time to try and get your words out, but it was clear you were struggling.
"You don't have to be embarrassed, babe. Whatever it is, you can ask me. I won't be upset or anything." he assured, rubbing your shoulder gently.
"...is your penis pierced?" you finally whispered conspiratorially.
He was genuinely shocked into silence for a few seconds before breaking out in uproarious laughter, his head rolling limply to and fro as you giggled along with him.
"Wow, you could tell against your back like that?" he asked, rather astonished.
"I wasn't sure it's what I was feeling." you replied, sheepish. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be weird about it or anything. I just didn't know that was a thing that people did. Then again, I didn't know people pierced things in their faces until I met that lady at The Third Rail. Remember?"
He chuckled warmly at the memory, at your candor and the pink dusting your face as you sat up a bit, still looking at him curiously.
"You look like you wanna ask me more questions about it." he said.
"Did it hurt?" you asked quickly.
"Eh, it's been such a long time since I got it, I don't really remember all that well." he white lied, fully knowing he didn't remember how badly it hurt for entirely different reasons.
You nodded, the wheels in your mind clearly turning rapidly.
"Does it, uh..." The effort of forcing the uncomfortable words out of your mouth was clear on your face. "...does it have a function, or is it just for looks? Like, do you use it?"
"Oh, yeah." he grinned, ignoring the way he had started to grow stiff again.
You didn't ask for more elaboration on that front, but your mystification was clear, gaze wandering as the very faint smell of your arousal tinged the air. Eventually, you spoke again.
"What made you wanna get it?"
This question, shockingly, was the one that stopped him in his tracks. He'd told you not to be embarrassed when you'd first brought it up, the whole thing rather entertaining to him, but something about this specific inquiry agitated the ugly knot of shame that permanently lived at his core, his own face and chest suddenly feeling flush.
Was there even a way to phrase the truth that wouldn't just be embarrassing? What was the low-key way to say I was incredibly fucked up on Ultrajet at the time and it just felt like the right thing to do, so I did it myself?
There's only one thing he could think to say that wouldn't completely demean himself in your eyes, and it came out on the back of a halfhearted chuckle.
"Don't do hard drugs, kid."
Your face was unreadable in response to that, only for a heartbeat, but long enough to make him physically squirm in discomfort. But you simply chuckled in a satisfied, incurious way, laying a sweet kiss against his cheek before tucking in. He had trouble sleeping that night, but also found it tough to look too long at your sleeping face.
Eventually, you two made your way back northwest, making a very careful sweep through Concord as you went along. Both of you had jokes about what had happened last time; neither of you said a single word until you were turning into the crumbled Red Rocket lot anyway. The very first thing you did after you dropped your pack onto the ground was climb up and double check that your vault suit was still tucked away where you'd left it. When you were satisfied with what you'd found, you unpacked your things and asked if he'd like to go over to "town" and say hello. He agreed, ready for a stiff drink after how tense he'd been on the way back.
You held hands as you crossed the bridge, and it was a real labor for him to not actively gloat at the guards you always passed. After procuring a drink from the fairly well-stocked bar, he noticed you surrounded by the usual flock of folks who wanted to chat and exchange stories, so he stepped outside. Wandering over to where the handful of ghouls who'd taken up residence in Sanctuary usually hung out in the evenings, congregating beneath a little patched-up awning on some decently nice lawn furniture, he easily folded himself into the conversation and made himself welcome.
A few long anecdotes and one too many cigarettes later, the sun was beginning to dip behind the treeline to the west, and he figured it was time to make a reappearance and collect you. However, when he wandered back into the bar, grabbing another beer on his way through, he didn't find you. Exiting through the only other door, he cast his eyes downhill towards the waterfront and found you standing there with someone he never saw you alone with: Preston Garvey.
The Minuteman second-in-command wasn't a bad guy by anyone's report, nor an especially exciting one, as far as John could tell. He was friendly, obviously eager to help out and have a positive impact on things around him, but he was also far too close to you for the ghoul's taste, and his heckles were raised high as he quickly made his way towards you. His sharp ears picked up on the conversation in progress, his steps unconsciously light and quiet.
"...just don't want you to have to deal with that, you know? People can be so awful, and you don't deserve that."
"That's very considerate of you." you replied politely, your eyes seemingly glued to the ground. "But your concern really isn't necessary, I promise."
John had largely closed the distance between himself and the pair of you, lingering about ten feet away, just far enough out that he didn't draw Garvey's eye as he approached. He hesitated to move closer, though, afraid of how he may react if things didn't go his way. The sweating beer bottle in his hand was already clenched tighter in his grip than was likely wise. His entire body felt like it was made of lead, dense and frozen and so heavy that he was sinking into the soft ground beneath him.
"Well, I won't act like I know what's best for you better than you do. I just wanted to say that I think you're great, and that I think you deserve someone who will treat you just as great." the younger man finished up, taking another quarter-step into your bubble and placing his hand against your cheek for a beat. This, alone, was enough to make John apoplectic, but when Preston had the gall to slide his crooked index finger under your chin and lift it your face towards his, he lost it for a split second, the glass vessel in his hand suddenly exploding into a plume of tiny shards, a crumbled, wet, sharp mess remaining in his bloodied grip. Fortunately, you seemed to teleport a few steps back, your hands up in a bit of a defensive gesture.
Every non-existent hair he had stood on end in that moment, his entire body coated with goosebumps as the realization that he was about to make a grave, grave mistake settled onto him. The broken remains of the bottle felt far too useful in his hand, suddenly, and he tossed the whole dripping thing to the ground before turning and pounding sandy soil up the embankment and back across the bridge. John wasn't necessarily one to lose his cool like this often, but he knew well enough that he needed somewhere to direct this anger before it boiled over in a major way.
Shoving the door open, he stomped past the few pieces of furniture you'd dragged in, coming to lean against the old counter top towards the back, the one that you'd told him you'd like to get rid of. However, the two of you had been unable to figure out how to extract the thing because it was welded to the floor. For a few weeks, he'd been pondering how to remove it cleanly to surprise you. He'd been unable to come up with anything thus far.
Something about the presence of the thing only fueled his breakdown, and he delivered a vicious kick to the side of it, the metal and vinyl folding and splintering where his foot met the side. Typically, this little bit of destruction and catharsis would've been enough to quell him into stopping. But seeing the evidence of his anger and his lack of self-control only made him feel like more of a fuck-up, like more of the undesirable, unstable junkie he often saw when he looked in the mirror, and the resulting rage was blinding. Before he knew it, he'd wrapped his arms around the lip of the thing, yanking it once, twice, then a third time with all the strength at his command, until the whole thing broke loose from the base where it had been sealed to the floor. Bits of rusted-out metal and fat splinters of rotted wood clattered to the floor as he swung around, forcing it through the doorway to his right and throwing the thing as hard as he possibly could. It flew further than he'd anticipated, arcing rather high and crashing through the moldy awning of one of the Concord homes down the hill. There was skittering, the flapping of wings in response, frightened creatures fleeing the sudden sound as John stood there in silence, the burning in his muscles and the pain in his hands finally allowing him to focus on something other than his ears ringing in anger. After a long, dizzy moment, he turned and went back into the living room area, slumping against the wall as he studied all the metal shards sticking out of the floor where the counter top had been.
"I thought maybe you'd left." your voice came suddenly from the doorway.
"Nah, I wouldn't do that do you." he replied, trying his hardest to mean it, to not be exactly that type of guy. He couldn't make himself look at you. "Just needed to get away for a bit. Didn't wanna do anything stupid."
"Honey, your hand." you pointed out as you came closer, brow furrowed with worry as he examined himself; the back of his scarred appendage was bleeding somewhat generously, sliced by a nail or something similar in his momentary tantrum. He felt nothing about the wound, any pain he'd felt from what he'd done quickly leaving his body as the smell of you quickly filled the small space, further clouding his already racing thoughts. His beer bottle hand was already healing rapidly.
"It's fine. It'll be fine." he barely muttered in reply, reaching out to grab you just firmly enough by the wrist to pull you close enough that he could give you a thorough once-over.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
You nodded, eyes wide, hair wild and cheeks ruddy as you gazed back at him like a startled doe.
For once in his life, not using the Jet hadn't helped the situation, seemingly. His head still spun with conflicting emotions and thoughts, every muscle still wired with energy from the adrenaline and from your general proximity, making him fidget and grasp for words as his body rebelled, reacting strongly to you. He was drowning in your scent, the tang of your sweat, but it was realizing that Garvey's smell still clung lightly to you from your brief contact that was the final straw.
Your heart raced under your skin, your pulse flying under the press of his fingertips as he pushed you firmly against the decrepit wall. You exhaled harshly through your nostrils, hands coming to knot themselves into his work flannel as his mouth pressed forward with its assault on yours. He expected you to begin to push him away using the shirt for leverage, but couldn't force himself to pull back first through the blinding possessive rage he felt.
John had always been more of a “free love” sort of guy most of his life, jumping from partner to partner without much thought or care, and, because he'd never put much emotional investment or time into any particular partner, had never really cared enough about another person to feel possessive of them. Jealousy was such a negative, ugly emotion that he hated to waste any of his time on it, but the fire he'd felt in his gut from the moment he'd watched that asshole place his fingers under your chin to tilt your face up, obviously angling for a kiss, could not be ignored. This was the final straw.
He'd heard the whispers of the people around Sanctuary, around every settlement and trade outpost; the speculations about why a woman like you would choose to travel with a ghoul as a companion, why you'd spend almost all your time with him, how you were so comfortable touching and being touched by him. Criticism from shitheads about his own actions and choices rolled off of him like water off a mirelurk shell, valid or not, but it stirred him up fiercely to hear these people you'd worked so hard for, given so much of yourself to, judge you, as if they had any room. Some of the more hateful ones called you a fetishist and a freak when they thought no one else could hear, and if it weren’t for you specifically asking him to not start trouble around the settlements unless you started it first, he would have made those people swallow their own teeth long ago.
Preston had added himself to that list the moment he made it clear that he pitied you for your choices.
John hadn’t previously had much problem with the guy, save for noticing the glint in his eye when he spoke with you. He couldn't necessarily begrudge him his attraction to you, though; you were, after all, the most beautiful woman in the Commonwealth, hands down. Beyond that, you were kind, generous, hardworking, and terrifyingly smart. You’d give the clothes off your back to anyone who needed them, and would offer a stranger your shoulder to cry on if they needed. It was nearly impossible to not fall in love with you, just a little. He knew; he had tried and failed as miserably as he'd ever failed at anything.
The guy’s feelings themselves weren't the problem, though; the problem was that he obviously thought himself some sort of contender for your affections. Or, he was trying to make himself one. It couldn't be tolerated. Hell, replace him with Edward Deegan, that rat McCready, or any other random man plucked out of the ether...the conclusion was the same, regardless. If this trespass was allowed, every man in the Commonwealth who fancied you or cut of your under suit would feel comfortable trying to pick you up right in front of him, and it'd be nothing but trouble for everyone involved. John's tolerance for everyone else encroaching on what was his had finally run dry.
His mouth found the side of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips the way he knew you liked in a beeline from your clavicle to your ear. When you squirmed, letting out an airy moan as you yanked him closer, he latched onto your pulse point and sucked, bathing the skin with his tongue hard enough to leave a spotted, wine-colored mark that you wouldn't be able to hide the next day. You liked that, too, but you’d never admit it out loud.
Well, unless he made you, maybe...
A low, drawn out moan escaped your mouth, your hands moving up to cup the back of his head, pulling him still closer. He obliged you, pressing the line of his entire body against you, making you feel his throbbing need against your belly, and you whimpered in response, your hands finding the top button of his flannel and beginning to work it open.
He paused his ministrations, reaching up to cup your cheek gently, your own fingers stalling for a single beat as he gazed into your eyes, trying to reassure you that he wasn’t upset with you. And he wasn’t. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But he was upset at that guy’s uncharacteristically bold actions, his disregard of his place in your life. The disregard of the others. The disrespect.
He needed to assert his place. He needed to show you how he felt.
Promptly, he resumed his ministrations. By the time you'd managed to undo the last cracked button, he’d left a huge, oblong purple bruise along the side of your elegant throat.
“John,” you whispered in between harsh breaths, your hands moving to yank the thin shirt over your head. “I want you.”
The tone of your voice was sure and clear despite how it trembled. When he fully looked up to your face, you were gazing at him dreamily, your brow furrowed with effort as your hips began to move, trying to find some friction against his. Just like the previous night, like every night, he could clearly see your desire, your trust, in the way you gazed at him. Still, though, a tug of guilt in his chest had him chastising himself as he hesitated; he should protect you and tell you to not do this. Not only because of the societal response you could expect for being with a ghoul, but because he was far from anyone’s ideal man. He didn’t deserve you. He wasn’t sure he could be everything you needed, and wasn’t sure a man even existed on Earth who could be all that a divine woman like you deserved.
Even knowing this, he couldn't pull himself away from you. The overwhelming desire he'd felt since the moment you'd met burned too hot in his gut, long transformed from a deep want to a need.
“John.” you repeated, slightly louder though just as winded, and it sunk in just how much you made it feel like his name again.
His head dropped to your shoulder, kissing across it placidly for a moment. Your hands traveled up his back, eventually moving up to grab the tricorn from his head and toss it onto the counter beside you. He felt the warm bloom of self-consciousness as you pecked along his bald head gingerly, your lips feeling extra plush against his ruined skin.
“This really what you want, sunshine?” he asked, forehead coming to rest against your own as his hands rubbed your sides.
You didn’t respond vocally, but instead reached out to stroke his cheek like he had yours, thumb swiping back and forth for a few moments. There was a silence, but a warm, comfortable one that wrapped you together in your own little bubble. When your eyes met again, he had his answer.
He led you by your soft hand to the next room, ditching his shirt, the two of you dropping onto the mattress in the corner, chuckling at the plume of dust that rose from the thing as you cuddled close. Your hands absentmindedly petted at him, one twiddling at one of the frayed tails of his shirt, averting your eyes. Soon, the unoccupied hand began to move down his chest, stroking the wiry muscle of his exposed torso. Your palm was warm and soft against him as you explored his chest, eyes following your hand as it slowly moved lower. He tensed a bit as your hand swept along his abdominals ticklishly, fingertips dipping below the waistband of his jeans. You hesitated a moment, your fingers retreating slightly to sweep back and forth along the upper seam, toying with the loose threads there.
John was radiating tension at the way you were touching him; you had never been quite this bold before, and his head swam with the overwhelming amount of emotion that he felt as your fingers began to dip below again, shyly. He was proud of you, knowing how much work you’d put into getting over your nerves to get to this point; at the same time, he was beyond touched that he was the man you’d chosen to share these milestones with. Both of these tender feelings made the overwhelming arousal he felt at your soft hands on his body a little embarrassing.
His breath caught in his throat when the tips of your fingers lightly brushed his erection, the sound odd. You froze, eyes moving to his to assess; he gave you a small head shake to convey that you hadn’t hurt him or anything, his usually silver tongue caught in his throat.
Given the green light, you slid your hand just a little further down, warm against the side of his shaft as you gently explored; your ginger poking and prodding was unpracticed, almost clinical, your hand trembling a little as you made him squirm. He was already rock hard, electricity sparking from where you touched him, and his frazzled emotional state didn’t help in the slightest. He gave a little grunt, trying to remain quiet and calm but feeling a mounting need to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you down against the filthy mattress and make you come undone.
He wanted you naked.
Generally, when you two got to fooling around, you were more than okay with him touching you both over and under your clothes, and you responded to him beautifully, making it easy to figure out what you liked and what you didn’t. However, you were often very nervous to fully remove your clothes when he made it clear he actually wanted to touch you. In the past several weeks you’d been so bold as to let him push up the hem of your shirts or open the blouse of your dresses to softly fondle and kiss your breasts, which you held and shielded with your hands when he wasn’t directly touching them, your face dusted with a dusky, embarrassed blush.
It hurt him terribly to see that you doubted your own beauty; if he had his way, he would spend every day from here to the next end of the world showing you how gorgeous you really were. But at the same time, the lingering shyness you demonstrated drove him wild.
A sharp inhale left his mouth when you suddenly wound your index finger lightly around the head of his cock, the softly calloused pad collecting some of the precum that dribbled from the slit and dragging along his piercing. You jumped a little at the sound, but when he looked at you in the dim light, your eyes were wide and the corners of your mouth were turned up ever-so-slightly in an expression of gentle confidence. He didn’t dare interrupt you, not wanting to risk throwing you off whatever wave you were currently on, instead tucking what remained of his lower lip between his teeth as you shimmied a little closer to him, the new proximity granting you a little more length of your arm to slide into his pants.
When your soft fingers curled all the way around his shaft, he nearly lost himself.
He cried out, the sound embarrassing and dragging out as you moved your grip on him up and down, slowly, hesitantly, his face burning with the shameful realization that he’d nearly cum in his pants like a teenager from a single touch from you. He was grateful his blush couldn’t be read on his tarnished skin as he dropped his face to your shoulder once more, placing a series of little kisses across the tan softness there as your blush began to work it's way down to your chest. One of his hands swept down your spine, caressing you softly as it slipped low and came to rest in the small of your back.
“Fuck.” he grunted, his jaw clenched tight as you continued your gentle ministrations, “I wanna see you, baby. Please.”
Your hand paused for a moment, giving a couple more gentle strokes before pulling back. When he lifted his head again, you were looking at him straight-on.
“Only if I get to see you, too.” you replied simply, your voice just above a whisper.
He was surprised at that; John had no real issues being a ghoul, but generally made it a practice to stay mostly clothed during sex for the ease of things (and, you know, just in case someone decides they don’t like what they see). His shirt was already hanging open, exposing his chest to you, but he went shirtless or open shirted frequently, both at home and on the road. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to you. He pulled back from you a bit to straighten up, his hands coming to work the fly of his jeans down as he gazed back at you, lips swollen and throat heavily marked where you sat, leaning back against the moldering wall.
“Deal.”
At that, you sat up more yourself, fingers slowly moving up to work the clasps on the back of your now well-worn bra loose. John stood and busied himself removing his jeans, taking a few extra seconds to fold them before placing them on the floor with his boots. As much as he wanted to stare at you, to fix his gaze on you and savor every moment of your undressing, he knew it would make you anxious or self-conscious, and willed himself to keep his eyes on the floor or the wall for a minute. When he looked back over, you were stripped down to just your panties, your knees drawn up to your chest, obscuring your breasts from his view as you watched him, waiting.
He felt a sudden and unexpected wave of self-consciousness as your eyes traced over his almost-naked form, straining to make out the details of him in the rapidly fading light. He was grateful that night was falling. Following your lead, he left his boxers on and returned to the bed, sitting down gently beside you. You responded by leaning towards him, leaning your head on his shoulder. A few quiet moments passed, the only sounds the creaking of the ancient place's frame and the wind in the trees outside.
"Nervous?" he asked, unable to help himself.
You nodded, but softly; he cupped your face lovingly, kissing you a few times and feeling you relax towards him just enough that he could maneuver you down onto your back. Giggling, your smooth palms ran along his own body in turn, coming to rest along the crown of his head as he laid kisses down your torso. An approving hum escaped you as he let his tongue lathe across one of your nipples, a hand teasing along your mound, but you froze up a bit when he moved towards your stomach. Feeling your tension, he pulled up just enough to look at you.
"I'm sorry. It's not you." you said, eyes avoiding his.
"I know it isn't, honey. It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. Just relax, okay?"
Your eyes closed, hands petting at his head in soft affirmation as he dragged his lips along your soft skin, minding the few pale scars that decorated it. He could tell you were self-conscious about how soft you were in the middle, but he loved it, resisting the urge to sink his teeth into the plushness. More than once, a simple little peek at your tummy when you were reaching up or changing had been enough to turn him on so badly he'd had to excuse himself for a bit. You'd be incredibly sexy pregnant, he often thought. Moving lower, he switched up and laid some playful bites along the inside of your right thigh, and you let out the most adorable little squeak.
However, when he let his lips ghost over your bare mound for the first time, a heavy shudder broke down your back, your other noises choking down to nothing. It took a great deal of self-control, but he managed to drag out teasing you for a bit, barely letting his breath tickle you before peeking his tongue out to take a small swipe at your folds. He deeply suspected that he wouldn't last long once he finally made it inside you, and he wanted to make sure you were completely satisfied before that happened.
Soon, the temptation to dive straight into you got to him, and he closed his lips around your puffy clit, lapping and bathing it with the tip of his tongue. You cooed at the sensation, grasping at the back of his head and grinding your hips forward. He grinned, delving deeper into your most sensitive place. Quickly, you were trying your best to fuck his face, rubbing your slit along his tongue and nose until he was forced to hold your hips down, wriggling and writhing until you were calling out his name and coating his tongue in your taste.
He was lightheaded from how much blood had rushed to his groin by the time he lifted his head from yours, giving you a second to breathe and regain your vision before pulling himself on top of you. Petting and stroking his favorite parts of you, he found himself lost in admiration for a long second, holding his gaze on your face until you finally looked back at him. There was an electricity in the air between the two of you, a magnetism drawing him in until you were close enough to share breath.
A terse little noise left your throat when the head of him first touched you, just barely laying against you, nestled in the fold where your thigh met the rest of you. Though he’d anticipated it (advancing to a “new step”, as it were, always made you a touch anxious and jumpy at contact, but John’s skin crawled at the idea that he might be doing something to you that you didn’t want), his immediate instinct was to pull away, to hold you and tell you that the pair of you didn’t have to do this, that he cared for you for reasons other than what he could take from your body, and that it would kill him if you didn't feel that. But the way you wrapped your arms around his narrow shoulders, burying that beautiful face against the weathered side of his neck as you tried to pull yourself closer, steadied him. You wanted this, and he wanted to give it to you.
He rested there for a minute or two, not moving, letting you adjust to his presence and listening to your breathing. It was shaky, and he dropped his chin to place a few kisses along the crown of your head, lingering with each. Slowly, he brought a hand to your chest and gently groped your breast, thumb circling your nipple tightly in the way he knew made you crazy, earning a couple quiet whimpers from your lips. You loosened your grip on his neck a little, relaxing back onto the bed enough to allow him to kiss you again, his mouth distracting you while his free hand slipped down to grip his erection, giving it a firm squeeze to alleviate the nearly unbearable pressure he felt as he slid it against you.
He broke away from you before he was aware what was happening, pulling his mouth back to moan as he really felt the silky wet heat of you against him for the first time. Pins and needles of pleasure bloomed up his spine and across his scalp; he was so close to what he’d been fantasizing about for almost a year, what he’d spent so many late nights and hazy jet-fueled afternoons jerking off thinking about. Again, he throbbed dangerously, threatening to blow his load before he was ready.
Forcing himself to focus, to come back into his own body a bit and retreat from the heady pleasure he was slipping into, he braced himself and slid the blunt head along your wet little seam, collecting your lubrication as he stroked over your clit, the swipe of the little metal bar making you shudder. To his surprise, while you were trembling and he could still smell fear pheromones in the air, you let out a moan, your hips shifting to work against his, rubbing yourself back against him. Seeing you growing bolder in your actions, compared to how anxious and tense you'd been before, made his heart and his cock swell simultaneously.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.” he hissed, unable to keep a better handle on his filthy mouth; you responded with a sultry hum, seemingly appreciating his words but unsure how to respond. Your hips continued to cant against his, your breathing uneven, face pulled taunt in concentration. He groaned at the sight, rubbing himself against you a little faster. All the better if you came again before he slid home, he figured.
After another few minutes of continuing to stroke at your hard nub, you shuddered under him once more, moaning low and throaty as another rush of that shiny slick coated him. God, he’d been addicted to a lot of things in his life, but the best thing by far, and the only one he’d never be able to kick, was the sounds you made as you unraveled. No one else had ever heard your most intimate song, your sotto little moans and whimpers as you experienced feelings you'd been convinced you couldn’t feel before.
Pulling himself up from you just a little, his hand left his member and came up to brush your hair from your face once again, gently stroking your downy, flushed cheek as you worked to catch your breath. Never before had he wished he had a camera so badly; between your fully nude state beneath him, your kiss-bruised pout and throat, the wild crown of soft hair, and the way your deep, dark eyes beckoned to him as they slowly slid open, you were the most gorgeous sight he’d ever taken in. Cupping your face with both hands, he leaned in slowly, your eyes lingering on one another as he pulled you gently into another kiss. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his tongue.
For a few moments, he allowed the pair of you to fall back into you usual pattern of kissing; advancing, gently teasing, withdrawing before resurging once more like the sea. Slowly, his right hand pulled itself from your face, softly brushing the side of your breast and rib cage as it slipped further south. Fingers ghosting just barely over your mound, he gripped his aching cock where it hung heavy between you, giving a light squeeze around the shaft as he repositioned himself slightly, lining up. As the head of him nestled against your opening, you gave a small whimper, pulling back just enough to disconnect your mouths, lips brushing his as you spoke.
“John.”
He waited a long moment for you to say more, but you seemed unable to force whatever you wanted to say out.
“You ready?” he asked gently, voice a soft murmur against your mouth. His body was tense as he awaited your response, ready to pull back if needed, but you wordlessly cuddled up to him again and let out a deep sigh, wrapping your legs just a little tighter around his waist. Peppering your jaw and throat with small, distracting kisses, he pressed forward a bit, undulating his hips back and forth a few times until the head slipped fully inside. You tensed a bit, and he set to marking up the other side of your throat, drawing your attention and making you gasp and hum as he worked his way further inside.
When about half his length had been worked inside, he took a pause, sitting up a little higher to check on you, finding you staring shyly at him, worrying away at your lower lip. Your face morphed a bit when he gave a couple of thrusts of equal depth, and he watched you processing the new sensations, bringing his thumb to your clit again. Breathing heavily in response, you shuddered, and he let a low moan slip himself when you started to work your hips back and forth in a crude arc.
The way you were wriggling and clenching already beneath him set his hips to moving further, faster. Every muscle in his back and flanks burned with withheld strength, effort to not literally fuck you through the mattress, but eventually he'd built up to full-length strokes, using whatever bounce remained in the decrepit springs to move you easily back and forth along his length.
Taking in the bruising along the sides of your throat where he'd been kissing and sucking at your skin, John hummed approvingly, nuzzling you and taking a deep lungful of your rich scent. The lingering edge of his own smell that coated you turned him on more than he'd have thought, and he gave a much harder buck than he'd intended.
"Oh, f-" you gulped at the sudden stab before silencing yourself, the word he wanted to hear so badly teasing across his ears and sending him gnawing along your shoulder again.
"Go on, honey." he growled, his hips steadily picking up their pace, body pinning yours just a little harder. "Say it."
You didn't reply, your face as red as he'd ever seen it as his fingers moved to your abused clit again, earning a pitiful whimper as he began to rub at you again.
"Beg me to fuck you. I wanna hear you say it, baby. I need it."
"John...!" you gasped as he flicked the tip of his finger just right; however, he paused completely when you still refused to say the magic words, simply applying pressure near where you wanted it as he continued to pound away at you.
"Mmm." you whined, clenching around him over and over, those big eyes brimming with tears.
"Tell me."
"F-fuck! Fuck me, John! God!" you finally spat, everything tense and twitching and spinning as he fully let himself go, wrenching one of your legs up onto his shoulder and driving as hard into you as he felt he could let himself without splitting you in two, his fingers back at work. You squirmed under him at the almost punishing pace, fingernails digging firmly into his back; the pain made him growl again, and the sound was seemingly enough to push you over that edge, squeezing and fluttering around him fast and firm as you gasped and sputtered his name.
He was able to hold out for a few more strokes, his hips stuttering as the pins and needles creeping up his spine began to fully wash over him.
“God, baby, I love you.” he huffed breathlessly, overwhelmed and not giving you a moment to respond as his mouth crashed into yours once more. He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad or embarrassed for saying it; he did love you. He loved everything about you, and every day he loved you more and more.
Your reply, whether you'd fully heard what he’d said or not, was to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back deeply as your bodies continued to glide across one another, yours faltering and growing limp as he crested the peak.
John had never really wanted kids before. He felt himself far too unreliable, too unlike someone anyone should look up to as a father figure. However, that didn't stop the most primal part of his brain from whispering to him how perfect it would be to knock you up, for everyone to see you full to the brim with his child and know that you were his and only his.
"Fuck, I wanna cum inside you." he growled, quickly following up with "I can't get you pregnant." when you made worried, bleary eye contact. Your responding whimper made his gut tighten, hot and sharp and so ready, but he also felt a sting of guilt behind his breast at what felt too close to a lie. Still, when you fluttered around him hard once more, it was the end, his head falling heavily into the crook of your neck, his moans filling your ear as he filled you completely, throbbing into you again and again as you clung to him.
He wasn't sure how long he laid there, almost all of his weight pressing down on you until he regained the presence of mind to hold himself up a bit. Both of you panted like you'd been fleeing for your lives, exposing your overheated skin to the cool air while still desperately holding one another. There was so much racing through his mind, thoughts and creeping worries, but his exhausted body rebelled, refusing to allow him to even sit up. You appeared similarly situated, fighting your way into a comfortable position across his chest before letting your eyes close heavily. Quickly, your breathing fell even and gentle, your hair wild as it laid across his ribs. Somehow, you still looked so innocent to him.
Quickly, he followed you into sleep, clutching you close with no shame, his mind fogged with the smell of him all over you.
-
It was the chill of the very early morning air licking at your slightly exposed back that began to rouse you several hours of deep sleep later, a shiver breaking out up and down your spine as you curled yourself up closer to the man beneath your arm, staving off having to pull away and get up for a few more minutes by sapping his ample body heat as he snored lightly, blissfully unaware. You drew in a long, deep breath, stretching your back as best as you could without moving too much as the very familiar smell of him filled your lungs; tobacco, cologne, and that slight smell all ghouls seemed to carry that was somewhat like an old book. It was a great comfort to you, and soon you felt yourself beginning to drift back off into the inky embrace of sleep.
However, just a few moments later you began to feel the nagging tickle of your full bladder beginning to protest your posture, the feeling rapidly becoming more urgent as you laid there, trying your hardest to ignore it. You huffed, cursing your incredibly regular bathroom schedule mentally. Resigning yourself to your fate, you gently rolled onto your back, giving you just enough space from your still snoring partner to slowly sit up and look around the formerly abandoned gas station.
It was early, the night still holding its grip on the room as the sunrise struggled to break its way through the windows. Grasping around, you found your Pip Boy, strapping it onto your arm quietly as you rose from the floor where the two of you had constructed your makeshift bed set, tucking the blanket around your partner’s still snoring form as you gave another shudder, casting a glance around the room again in search of your jacket. When you didn’t locate it immediately, you made your way for the door, grabbing John’s long red coat from the table near the door where he’d left it instead, wrapping it tight around your naked body as you quickly padded outside. It wasn’t worth waking John up early if you didn’t have to just to turn your flashlight on.
Winding your way around the corner of the place, eyes scanning your surroundings for any new threats, you quickly made your way to the tree line in the back yard, picking a concealed spot before bunching the coat’s tails up around your waist to squat.
You hunched there, nose and toes freezing in the crisp air, and closed your eyes, trying to hurry though your task but distracted by your brain’s undeniable urge to run though last night’s events again in your mind, to dissect each moment for meaning and for the ability to store the memory away for later.
There were so many moments you wanted to keep hold of, turning each one over carefully in your mind as you cleaned yourself up, your walk back to the Rocket much less urgent; the way he’d pressed you against the wall, the heat of his insistent kisses and gropes, the sound he’d made as he lost himself deep inside you.
The sound of his rough voice, cogent, but overwhelmed, as he’d told you he loved you.
Your pulse raced as you remembered how those words hit you, how you’d struggled to try to return them against his smothering kiss. You’d loved him for what felt like eons now, and you were indescribably excited to have broached this particular milestone, despite the mild lingering doubts that he’d only been lost in the moment when he said it. The closeness you'd been building ever since you'd been introduced had always felt so easy, so natural, and so foreign to you, that you concluded it could really only be love.
As your bare feet stepped up onto the front stoop of the place you'd begun to see as home, you could hear the familiar sound of John’s lighter striking, your pace picking up as you hurried down the short hall to see him sitting up on the dingy mattress on the floor, tossing the old gold-plated lighter a bit to the side, onto his folded pile of clothes. Gaze lifting to appraise your body lazily as his head turned to face you, freshly lit cigarette dangling loosely between his thin lips, he smirked at you as you hurried across the cold floor, coat drawn tight around you.
“Well, ain’t this a pleasant surprise.” he mused, voice thick with sleep as he took a long drag, his face briefly lit up by the red-orange glow of the burning tobacco as he slowly looked you up and down. “I can’t lie, wearing my coat’s a real hot look on you, babe. Then again, you could wear a tato sack and look just as sexy. You really don’t need to try.”
Your cheeks burned with discomfort at the positive attention you were receiving, but at the same time, you giggled and felt a warm sensation deep in your stomach, standing a little taller as you approached. Shifting down onto your knees as you saddled up beside him, you kissed him on the cheek and leaned against him, seeking warmth beneath the blanket.
“Cold this morning!” you exclaimed, chattering your teeth as you snuggled your head into his firm chest. John wasn’t a large man in terms of his general build, but the muscle tone he did have was deceptively strong due to his ghoulification. He chuckled at your dramatic show of discomfort, slinging his free arm around you to hold you close, leaning back to blow his latest drag away from you.
“Sleep good?” he asked, rough palm rubbing comfortingly up and down your back, making the lightest of scratching sounds against the old wool.
“Oh, like the dead.” you replied, eyes peeking open to look up at him. “Better than I think I ever have before. I only even woke up because I was chilly.”
“You did seem like you were out pretty good. I woke up for a few a couple hours ago to readjust a bit but I was out. Turns out having the most gorgeous woman in the Commonwealth laying naked across your chest is quite the sleep aid.”
You blushed again as he threw a wink at you, giggling as you sank down further under the cover, your head coming to rest in his lap, the bit of blanket over his groin bunching up at the back of your neck. John had always been very flirtatious with you; he was a flirtatious man by nature, sometimes using it to disarm people, but he was also honest, and you knew he wouldn’t tell you anything he didn’t mean. You could see his attraction to you, the affection he held for you in his deep, soulful eyes when he looked at you, too, and it made you feel genuinely beautiful and not just objectified for the first time you could ever remember.
John finished his cigarette above you, discarding the butt by tossing it in the little sack in the corner for trash and junk, before leaning down over you, peppering your hairline, then your forehead and cheeks, with soft kisses, his rough lips brushing you gently. Working his way slowly down your face, he paused when your mouths aligned, bringing one hand down to cup your cheek.
“Think I’ve got a joint already rolled in the right pocket of my coat. Wanna split it?” he asked, voice low and soft, just a hair above a whisper. He was so close that his lips brushed yours and his body heat soaked into your face like you were laid out in the sun.
“Sounds wonderful.” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. His hand on your cheek slid around to the back of your head, cradling you against him as you smooched one another. In no rush to pull away, you stayed in his lap until he pulled back from you on his own before sitting back up, fishing around in the pockets of the old coat until you felt the little hand rolled cigarette, careful to not crush or bend it as you held it out to him.
“You wanna go first?” he asked, sifting through the pool of fabric beside him for his discarded lighter. “I’ll light it for you if you want.”
You thought for a moment, and then shook your head. You still weren’t confident enough smoking marijuana to not worry about looking silly.
“Nah, I’m not sure I’m cool enough for the first hit yet.”
A warm, raspy chuckle met your ears in response as he placed the joint between his lips, hand cupped over his face as he attempted to light it. The slight breeze that danced across the floor kept catching the flame, bending it before snuffing it out. You drew yourself closer once more, bringing your own hands up alongside his, expanding the shield and allowing him to light it. He smirked at you as he drew in the first hit, holding it in deep as he held the smoldering joint out to you; you grasped it between your thumb and forefinger, feeling self conscious as you lifted it to your lips and inhaled a small amount. When you offered the thing back to him, he insisted you have another, so a second little puff disappeared up into the air.
“Taking awfully small hits there.” he teased as he accepted the joint back.
You blushed, looking down to the tattered blanket that covered your bodies haphazardly.
“It’s just really harsh and I don’t wanna die coughing!” you gave a little chuckle as you spoke. You toyed with a loose thread for a moment before continuing. “Do you think you could do that thing again where you, uh, pass it to me? It doesn’t make me cough nearly as much that way.”
He chuckled as he inhaled another hit, his voice strained as he held it during his reply.
“If you want me to kiss on you, babe, you can just ask. You don’t have to ask me to shotgun weed to you as an excuse.” he jested, leaning towards you, chin tilted down as he angled towards your mouth. You smiled at him as your lips met, his parting as you inhaled his exhale. This time, your lungs didn’t burn at all, but you could feel more of a head change as you pulled back, lips pursed for a long moment before exhaling the rich tasting smoke into the cool air, the tendrils dissipating lazily above your head.
Your hands slid further across the floor behind you, leaning back a little, head cocked in John’s direction, watching him as he took another hit. When he tilted his chin at you again a moment later, you accepted another kiss, another puff, your body sinking a few inches deeper into the pool of tingling warmth you were beginning to feel. Your eyes felt weighty, and your lids drifted closed for a moment in response to the general feeling of peace; when they opened again, he was raking his eyes up and down the exposed sliver of your torso and stomach that was revealed by the gaping, unbuttoned coat opening as you leaned back. Briefly, you felt the familiar urge to cover yourself, but you let it pass, trying to bask in your lover’s attention. You liked when he looked at you.
Things stayed like that between you for a while, the deep indigo of the room slowly fading into lighter hues of periwinkle as the warmth of the rising sun outside began to seep in, the world beginning its gradual awakening as the earliest birds began to sing in the distance. You shared more nips between you, the kisses after each stolen breath growing longer, deeper with each pass, tongues tasting one another languidly as you moved closer over time. The joint was growing short in John’s fingers, and you watched him evaluate it from where your head was resting on the point of his shoulder, your arms wrapped around the arm he was using to support himself.
“Probably one good hit left. Want any more?” he asked, taking a long inhale as the little roach lit up bright red.
You nodded silently, shifting up and scooting in more, hip to hip with him as your lips met once more. You kissed again, but this kiss felt different, the air electrified. Your body felt sluggish and heavy in the most pleasant way, a warm thrum building up between your thighs as you felt yourself begin to slick.
He pulled himself up, now free arm coming to wrap around your waist; you anticipated him pulling you a little closer, but instead, he used his strength to lift you with the one arm, gently swinging you into his lap and pulling a surprised little giggle from you, trailing into a slight cough as the last hit you’d shared left your lips and disappeared into the air. After a moment, you’d cleared your throat successfully and settled yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up just a little when the cleft of your ass pressed down onto his manhood through the thin blanket, finding it stiff. Your lower lip drew between your teeth as you slowly allowed your eyes to meet his, your arms winding around his neck as he smirked at you.
You exchanged a few more kisses, his hands slowly moving up your sides beneath the open coat, stroking you softly. Though his skin was rough and whorled, the radiation emanating from within producing an energy all its own, his touch was a great comfort and only made you relax further; there was no pain to be had from his hands, only pleasure, your body told you. Slackening further against his chest, you wound your palms up and down his torso, eyes following them, dipping your fingers lower and lower into the darkness under the blanket each time.
When John’s hands slowly ran back up, passing the sides of your breasts to tuck into the sleeves of the coat and sliding it ever so slightly down your shoulders, you made eye contact once more, his hands pausing as he looked at you, very clearly asking permission in the nonverbal way you’d come to develop. You hesitated for a breath before pulling your hands back, straightening your arms to allow him to tug the heavy garment the rest of the way off, laying it on the bedroll behind you as you leaned forward again, curling up against him as his arms wrapped around your bare back.
You still felt the unease, the trembling feeling in your stomach as you reclined nude in his lap, but to a much lesser degree than you ever had before, more a sensation of excited embarrassment than ashamed embarrassment, and you’d felt enough of the latter to know the difference. Leaning up just enough to look into his face, you smiled a little at him as his hands continued to stroke your back lovingly.
“How’s your ride, sunshine?” he asked after another few quiet moments passed, now stroking your sleep-mussed hair.
Grinning, you closed your eyes and leaned back the few inches you could for a moment. you felt pleasantly weighty and simultaneously floaty, swaying just a little as you hummed.
“I feel great. Good sleep and now this? I haven’t been this relaxed in quite a while.” you mused, bringing one hand up to cup his rough cheek, thumb sweeping along his thin lower lip. “Though, I don’t think last night hurt me on that front, at all. In fact, I have a theory about why I slept so well...”
Despite always feeling a certain degree of nervousness, exposure at your genuine expression of attraction, you tried hard to give the energy John gave you back to him, to reassure him that you wanted and...loved him as much as he did you. You always tried to return his flirtation in equal degrees, something you didn’t think he was quite used to. The hesitation you felt, the tension within holding you back when you wanted to love him loudly, enthusiastically, was a burden of your own and not one that you wanted to saddle him with. You knew that, as much as he may embrace and shield himself with his image as Hancock, wild, free-loving party-time mayor of Goodneighbor, in reality, John McDonough was really a very insecure man. Particularly after yesterday's events, which you were loathe to bring up directly, especially since he seemed to be in such an improved mood.
He smiled at you, wide and bright and genuine, very clear even in the still relative darkness of the room, leaning forward to kiss you again. Your legs wrapped around his hips tighter as the kiss deepened, pulling your bodies flush together as his mouth broke away from yous, trailing across your cheek, down your jaw and the column of your throat, settling in the hollow of your neck, bathing you with his tongue in that way that sent electric shocks down your spine. Combined with the tickling sensation of his heavy breath in your ear as he licked and kissed you, you quickly began squirming in his lap, flushing bright red in your hiding place against his shoulder.
The only thing that separated your bodies now was the thin fabric of the tattered blanket, and as you attempted to press yourself closer to him, you could feel him even clearer beneath you, prodding your inner thigh as you both slightly undulated against one another. To your surprise, you felt none of the typical seizing fear at the sensation, only more want; you buried your face further into his neck and let out a pitiful little whimper, hips grinding down harder.
John grunted in return, arms around you clenching just a little tighter as he throbbed noticeably against you. Your stomach tightened at this, the previously chilly room suddenly way too warm.
“John.”
His name left your lips for the umpteenth quietly, a tiny little huff of sexual frustration so quiet it barely touched your own ears, but seemed to reach his fine, as he squeezed you once more in response, holding you much firmer this time as his hips shifted beneath your own, arcing to rub himself along your increasingly sensitive seam. His lips left the spot they’d been tending to on your neck, nipping and sucking their way back up to your ear, breathless as he spoke to you in the hushed tone of a needy lover.
“Wanna go again?”
The question wasn’t just for show; no matter how insistently he was grinding himself against you, how desperately his hands may grasp you, you could say no if you wanted. No guilt tripping, no anger, no coercion. But knowing that only made you want him more, made you want to push away your option to refuse him even more insistently, even as you trembled in his lap.
Your lips found his throat, kissing at it sweetly and breathing wantonly to him, almost embarrassed by your own needy tone as you replied.
“Yes, please.”
Your body was loose and weighty as he lowered you down onto your back, the wool of his coat warm against your skin once more as he laid you down, the blanket falling away from his body and yours as you readjusted. He was kissing you again, rather chastely this time as his own warm body spread over top of yours, shielding you as he slowly kissed his way down your neck, across your chest, ghosting down across your breasts. As he moved his body further, he uncovered more and more of your own to the room, increasingly bright with the coming sunrise.
Pulling himself up onto his haunches between your feet, his hands stroked you gently as your heavy eyelids drifted shut. Rough palms brushed the sides of your breasts, cupping and groping them almost reverently, his breathing increasingly strained as his palms continued their southward exploration. You flinched a little as he brushed across the expanse of your midsection, which had grown softer during your time in Goodneighbor, but when he dropped his head to lightly kiss you there, you couldn’t help but giggle, gingerly cradling his head as he peppered your belly and hips with pecks.
Distracted by his gentle affections, you didn’t notice his other hand sliding up through the sheets before you felt him softly grab at the back of your thigh, sliding up over and across your hip as he sat up straight, leaving you pretty much entirely exposed. A little shudder ran up your spine, and you peeked at his face through barely open lids, watching him as he watched you. His left hand slid back up to knead and brush your breasts with his fingertips, swapping back and forth between the two as his right hand stroked the sensitive median between your naval and your mound. You bit back a giggle at the slight tickling sensation, instead giving a shudder as his fingers dipped lower, softly petting over the damp, dark curls that framed you.
Ever patient and ready to put in the work to prepare you, to move at your speed, he stayed that way for a while, paying thorough attention to your sensitive breasts while lightly teasing your apex, slowly re-acclimating you to his touch between your legs. As you slowly felt yourself building towards something, you relaxed, letting your thighs fall open further, and John took this as his sign to increase the boldness of his touches, sliding only the very tip of his long middle finger right down your slit. You gasped a little at the electric, but brief feeling of his rough finger pad ghosting over your swollen, sensitive bud.
Your eyes slowly slid back open, fixed on his face as he repeated these touches over and over for a few moments, his own dark gaze pinned on his hand as he stimulated you. Working to slick itself in response to his touch, your body gave a few little clenches around nothing, making you shiver as arousal wrapped around you in a ticklish gossamer curtain.
"I wanna try something." you blurted, garnering a sudden glut of confidence. John smiled at you curiously, pulling back enough to allow you some room to move.
You yanked yourself over him with far less grace than you'd have liked, but he didn't seem to notice in the slightest, his eyes glued boldly to the way your breasts bobbed and swayed with your moves. Peppering his mouth and face with kisses, you gave his chest a gentle push to urge him down fully onto his back. Your lips trailed down slowly, exploring the whorled skin of his chest, and he smirked at you, the tent he was pushing at you twitching. It was only now, this close and lingering, that you'd noticed he only had one nipple, the other simply absent along the plane of scarred muscle.
Pushing yourself further down his legs, your face came to around his navel and you pulled back to look at him, studying his reaction as you let your fingers play gently over his covered erection. A hiss flew from between his teeth, the sound vibrating just right down your spine and pushing you to grip him more firmly through the sheet, stroking back and forth slowly as you lowered yourself down onto your belly.
John was watching you incredibly close as his cock sprung into view, and it only spurred you on to run your tongue up the side of his shaft quicker, drawing a delicious shiver out of him. Your eyes locked with his as you dragged the tip up the underside, but by the time you closed your lips fully around the tip, his had screwed shut, his hands forming balled fists at his sides. Experimentally, you allowed your tongue to drag along the tip, doing small circles around it and tasting the slightly salty precum gathered there.
The piercing didn't feel as sharp against your tongue as you'd imagined it would, though it was an intriguing feeling nonetheless.
But John had other plans, it seemed, pouncing on you when you were most distracted, yanking himself free from your bewitching oral grip and pinning you down on your back once again. His hands were much faster and less gentle than the day before, eager and greedy and excitable as they groped at your breasts and tummy, slid wetly through your soaked folds. You tensed as he toyed briefly with your peak, but tensed more when he slid one, then two fingers inside you suddenly.
"Tease." he growled as he stretched you, his thumb playing harshly with your nub until you were nearly bowled over with a sudden orgasm nearly out of left field. The feeling of you tightening and gripping around his fingers must've been too much for him, as he was filling you for real before you were completely aware.
He wasn't nearly as gentle as he had been the night before, and the thrill knocked the air right out of you. The tempo of his thrusts was increasing with each passing moment, the blunt head of him beating against your tender cervix rhythmically as your body clenched and trembled around him, dancing on the edge of coming undone yet again. There was no hesitation from John as you let out a gasping shriek in response, your breathing uneven and shaky as your eyes struggled to focus. His hands gripped wherever he could reach with bruising intensity, the sharp, pinching pain of his fingertips digging into your thighs as he forced them open for him only adding to the pleasure you was feeling.
You felt his teeth ghost over your shoulder, replaced by his tongue as he seemed to grumble at himself chidingly. You let out a little whimper as you felt the sharp edge of his jaw disappear, your overstimulated brain fixating on the feeling of his teeth on your neck when he kissed you there. For a long time, you’d wondered what it would be like for him to bite you with real force. However, you couldn't ponder on the idea too long, interrupted by John's primal, almost absentminded growling.
“You know, if I were still human, I’d knock you up.” he said.
His words were low and hot in your ear as he drove himself in hard and deep once more, punctuating his statement with a growl. The words themselves frightened you, a threat to strip you of your autonomy in the name of staking a claim, the very thing that you'd given up everything to avoid. However, the fear, as well as the possessive connotation of the words, also brought forth another wave of arousal so intense that you tightened painfully around him, whimpering as he ripped you right to the edge of yet another orgasm.
He smirked at you, free hand moving to cup your sweaty cheek as he teased you with a series of half-strokes, body pushing insistently against your own; your face pressed back against him, leaning into his touch to ground you as you fluttered around him. However, that grounding touch was quickly ripped away as his grip moved to your waist, flipping you off him and onto your stomach so quickly it disoriented you, your grunts muffled into the grimy mattress.
There was a slick sound as he guided his leaking cock back to your entrance, your body tense as the head played across your slit. He bucked towards you wildly, and when he failed to properly catch, the little metal bar along the underside just barely caught against your bud in an unexpectedly delicious manner, once, twice, a sloppy third time. The sensation made you coo enthusiastically, tossing your sweaty hair and arching your back towards him like a cat at the peak of heat.
"Beg me, baby." he said, teasing across your entrance.
You felt an instant wash of heat up your spine and into your face, equal parts pure arousal and the most genuine sort of embarrassment, and the sadistic look in his own eyes didn't help. Though your brain was running on reserve power, distracted by all the amazing sensations and pulled in a hundred different directions by desire, you knew what he wanted from you, and you were just cognizant enough to squirm over it.
"Go on. Tell me what you want."
Another half-thrust, another teasing bump against your clit. You forced your ass as high in the air as it would go, your voice embarrassingly whiny and nasal when it finally broke free.
"Please, John."
He chuckled darkly at that.
"As much as I enjoy your manners, kid, I'm sorta looking for the opposite." he chuckled, letting the hand that wasn't gripping his erection play along your slit again. "Tell me."
He was teasing you as cruelly as he knew how, forcing you to feel the pressure of the leaking head just about to breech you without the satisfaction of actually following through, and that would have been enough to frustrate you into begging. However, his teasing around your clit had also grown in ferociousness, sending your hips desperately searching out his fingers, and it was more than enough to break you down.
"Please fuck me, John." you whispered.
"Sorry? Couldn't quite hear you." he smirked, and it pissed you off more than anything.
"Fuck me, John! Fuck me!" you demanded, voice slowly growing louder out of pure sexual frustration. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
The last word didn't properly land, stuttered by the way he suddenly slammed himself home again and nearly collapsed you completely, but you managed to brace yourself against the bed just as he began to rut into you with wild abandon. His heavy, warm balls slapped against your clit harshly, making you whine even sharper than before. Your own fingers fought their way between your thighs, rubbing tight and fast circles around your abused clit, and it made you quiver around him. The feeling made him growl harshly, and he actually nipped at the back of your shoulder.
"Where do you want it?" he asked.
Confused and partially distracted by your approaching orgasm, you didn't say anything at first, unsure of his meaning until he clarified a stroke or two later.
"Where do you want me to cum, baby?"
You didn't have the brain power to truly string together a sentence, but you did, shockingly, have just enough control to say exactly what he needed to hear to lose himself in you completely:
"Do it inside." you sighed, and it's all he'd needed to hear before absolutely exploding, gripping at you with bruising force and jamming his cock as deep as physically possible inside you. Like the night before, you could taste him filling you up, an electric, almost acidic tang lining the back of your throat as you felt your warm cunt overflow down your thigh.
Again, the two of you clung tightly to one another in the aftershocks, but this time felt different; there were no rivals, no threats to what you had here, only the presence of love and admiration and the pure, unadulterated desire to express those emotions physically. John pretty much immediately collapsed down beside you, his throbbing, softening cock still buried inside you as he held you flush against him, running his tongue along your sweaty, bruised throat and humming.
"Man, you smell sexy like this, all full of me." he murmured, teeth playing along your earlobe. "Y'know, Garvey's lucky his nose isn't as sensitive as mine. I'd take you out there and walk you by him a dozen times just to make a point."
"Oh, John. Don't mention it. It was so embarrassing for everybody involved. He really thought that little chin lift was going to seal the deal and I have to live with the knowledge of that for the rest of my life!" you replied, playfully clamping your thighs on his hand as your cheeks heated.
The smile he flashed you was a warm one, content and confident in a way you didn't often see from the older man. You weren't sure you'd ever known him to be this...gratified.
"I love you, sunshine."
"I love you, too, John." you smiled, settling back against his chest to resume the lazy morning you'd been sharing together before the distraction. Things were quiet again, the only real sound the breeze in the trees, shaking and dancing together joyously as they shaded your perfect hideaway.
I really don't think there's enough fics involving butt stuff with The Ghoul. He defo strikes me as the type who fingers your asshole while fucking you from behind just to watch you squirm. It's like a dominance thing for him when you've been disobedient, but you'll never admit how much you love being his submissive little slut. Are readers and writers just not into it? Or have I just been looking in the wrong places?
To comment: from what I've seen in the years I've been consuming and writing erotic fan content, stuff that involves anal does, in fact, seem to be weirdly polarizing (depending entirely on the writer and the audience you're publishing to, of course). I'm not entirely sure whether that's due to writers' own personal taste, audience preference, stigma...a combination of factors? It's definitely a phenomenon I've noticed. I also wonder if there isn't just a contingent of folks who have no experience with anal and therefore no interest in it.
Personally, I try to incorporate lots of different tastes and "moves" into my work, and I think the people that subscribe to this blog have come to expect that. Butt stuff is nowhere near the most potentially scarring thing I've exposed y'all to, and will continue to not be. :)
However, at the same time, when I feature actual anal sex in any of my stuff, I try to be at least somewhat tactful and depict is as a realistic sex act, which can be kind of a task sometimes when you're trying to be both erotic and not completely impossible. Poorly written anal scenes both aren't hot and kinda ruin the vibe of the entire work, in my opinion. I think there's a difference between "suspension of reality for sexual fantasy" and "spreading bad sex ed information through fiction". There's certainly a place for pain play/painal type stuff, but there's also a place for the complete opposite. It's a bit intimidating for me when I write it sometimes; maybe some others feel the same, so they don't write it as often compared to other things? Complete conjecture.
To answer your actual ask:
You're absolutely right. That motherfucker absolutely loves making you squirm by giving you pleasure in ways that gross you out. He sees a sliver of his old self in you, himself when he was new to this ghastly world, when he clung desperately to anything that would give him a sense of normalcy. In this, there's a sick thrill for him; he gets to be the one to show you how things really work, his sheltered little vaultie. The world out here is even meaner and more disgusting than you could ever imagine.
He'll prove it.
You aren't inexperienced, but pretty much all of the experience you do have is vanilla, very straightforward sex. Exploration on this topic isn't exactly at the forefront of your mind, either, what with how much of an adjustment period you're having to go through after leaving home for the first time in your life. The stress of it all is what initially drives you into his arms, seeking any form of real comfort you can find from the only companion you have.
The sex is a good stress reliever when he isn't springing things on you. He is rather good for such a hot-and-cold old prick, and he clearly knows it by his demeanor; the way he preens over your crumpled form after he makes you cum so hard you forget how to speak is infuriating. You like fucking him, but you can't let him know just how much. He'd be genuinely insufferable if he found out.
Whether it's your reserved reactions to his obvious smugness, or something else internal, you're unsure, but he quickly begins to push your buttons for bigger and bigger returns. Most of the tricks he pulls you enjoy the feeling of, but the way he watches you to gauge your reaction makes it feel like he's winning, somehow, and it doesn't sit right with you. Doubling down your efforts, you try your hardest to be unshakable.
Unfortunately, the first time he slides his tongue down to tease at your asshole while he's eating you out makes you fold completely.
"That's disgusting!" you huff, wriggling beneath him. Telling him to stop doesn't follow like you want it to; the words get caught in your throat as he pushes the tip of the wriggling muscle into you, his other hand playing softly with your clit as your aching pussy throbs.
"Had my tongue much worse places, believe me." he replies, his eyes burning up at you from between your legs. It's so embarrassing.
However, the next time he's helping you out, before you even realize it, your hips are moving in a pronounced arc, trying your best to will him to slide his tongue further down without having to suffer the indignity of asking for it, of him knowing he's gotten this over on you. It feels amazing and you refuse to beg. Fortunately, he doesn't make you...this time.
When he's finished with you, he doesn't immediately pull away, both of you lying together in a spent puddle of limbs for a breathless moment.
"It's still gross, you know." you say, flat and halfhearted in exhaustion.
"Oh, shut the fuck up." he grunts back, eyes rolling as he pulls himself into an upright sitting position. "I didn't see you whining when you were tryin' to crush my head with your thighs, princess."
"I can't help it! It tickles when you do that!" you argue, indignant and searing hot in the face.
"Oh yeah, kid. I bet it tickles real good. That why you came so hard?" he smirks, leaning back so he can right his clothing, his eyes never leaving yours. You pull yourself up and storm off to the other side of the room to redress, annoyed.
And yes, probably his favorite overall move is to sneak one of his fingers or his thumb into your ass while he fucks you from behind; the shock in your posture, in your voice, along with the tight, hot feeling of your little hole (holes) around him...it's probably for the best that he can't see your face, no matter how badly he wishes he could. He knows he'd cum instantly.
As for you, the feeling is infuriatingly electrifying, right on the line between pleasure and discomfort. His long, nimble digit isn't even all the way inside you, only sunk to just above the second knuckle, but he's quickly working it further and further in, the rest of his hand curling to cup the roundness of your cheek as he supports your hips. The stretch isn't too intrusive, but his skin is so rough in texture that it makes you squirm as he presses on, spit and your other body fluids the only lubrication you're given.
"Fuck, be careful!" you hiss. His only response is a harsh swat to your bare ass with his unoccupied hand, which draws a yelp from your parched throat as he yanks you back even more firmly by the leverage he now has. Your hands scramble for purchase across the sandy desert floor, unable to hold yourself up properly as he hammers away at you with an almost possessed vigor. Quickly, your head falls further down with the force of his movements, sending you sliding forward a few inches.
He doesn't like that.
"Don't fuckin' run from me." he growls, the hand that isn't spearing you wrapping quickly around your shoulder to yank you back again. His hips snap into yours viciously, the pace increasing as he loses his grip on whatever remaining self-control he has. Your battered cunt clenches hard around him at the feeling, at his words, and soon you're both howling out your release as he digs his nails into your thighs, rutting you so hard you fully face-plant into the ground. When it's over, he at least has the courtesy to make sure you didn't bump your head too hard. He does not, however, apologize for the massive bruise on your ass from where he struck you more than once. Typical.
Eventually, you allow him enough control to restrain you, which you know is almost certainly a mistake. However, by now you're addicted to the feeling he gives you when he takes over, when he pushes your boundaries and uses you to sate whatever passion burns inside him. Besides, he's protected and saved you enough times by now to have earned your trust, even if you know that he'll sometimes use it against you for devious reasons.
The rope he always carries doesn't hurt against your skin like you'd feared it would, but he's also quite delicate in how he secures your arms and legs, each limb immobilized and leaving you on your back, completely at his mercy. He spends forever teasing you, worshiping every part of you with his mouth and hands until you're begging, begging for release, begging for him to stretch you.
"It's alright. I'll take care of you." he promises, the tone he uses with you now so much softer than when you met. You feel relief at his words, ready to feel your aching cunt wrap around him, but he doesn't move to expose himself. Instead, he produces a small bottle of what you quickly discover is some sort of neutral oil, which he applies liberally. The feeling of the cool, thin substance running down your folds makes you shiver in the best way, but you're tense when his teasing fingers move from your clit, prodding at your taut ass.
Slowly, he works his middle finger inside you, the sensation more pleasant now that you've become accustomed to it. After a minute or two, he's moving it back and forth freely, adding another dribble of oil before setting the bottle aside, placing his free fingers on your clit. The way he rubs at you as he fucks you with his other hand makes your toes curl, and you get lost in the sensation until you feel his index finger start to prod at you, as well.
"You trust me?" he asks. Your eyes dropping closed, you nod silently.
He's incredibly gentle as he works the second finger in alongside the first, stretching you further than ever before and making your mouth fall open in a silent groan. He watches your face, your body language, closely, trying his best to stay calm and steady as he begins to move his hand once more, the other never stilling on your clit.
The sensation is incredibly overwhelming, a fullness you've never felt before, especially when he eventually adds a third finger. Your body is lit up with sensation and twitching eagerly the entire time, both wanting to pull off of his hand and to plunge yourself down further. When he leans down and seals his lips around your clit, you scream out an orgasm that leaves you trembling against your restraints, which he actually lets you out of before fucking you so hard you literally cannot stand immediately afterwards.
"You're so mean to me, you know. I don't want to like this stuff." you sigh, mostly joking.
"Don't worry, I'll have you begging for my cock in your ass soon." he promises, that wicked glint back in his eye that makes you nervous.
You hide your burning face in his throat as he chuckles at you, the sound of him lighting a cigarette snapping through the air, his other arm wrapped around your waist as you lean against him. Biting your tongue, you hold back the urge to snarkily respond to him.
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I was bored. It was meant to just be Cyberpunk-2077 smut but I got carried away.
Word count: 9.3k+
CW: kinda suicidal and depressive thoughts. There's also sexual content inside though it is not the focus.
Summary: V tries to relieve stress after bottling up emotions.
If you found my A03 from this, no you didn't. Shut up.
There are spoilers for the game Cyberpunk-2077.
🚨Go to my main account "rorschach-retrograding-rotary" for commissions or requests🚨
🚨This was not proof read and I hate reading my work so I have no intention of proof reading it🚨
Feel free to commission me or donate
𝕙𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕤://𝕜𝕠-𝕗𝕚.𝕔𝕠𝕞/𝕤𝕒𝕪_𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖
The hiss of water as the shower turned on sent a sigh from her lips, the warm steam hit her in the face and promised a quickly achievable sense of cleanliness and relief after days of running through the filth covered streets of Night City. Blood, sweat, dirt and grime had made themselves at home in forming a layer, akin to a second skin underneath and on top of her clothes. Her hair practically crunched when she brought her hands to run through her tresses and push them out of her face. She gripped the sides of the sink, staring down the face that greeted her in the mirror as condensation covered the surface.
Dark bags under her eyes, an almost gaunt quality had taken over her face. A few weeks prior when she'd held her job at Arasaka tower through exploitive or deplorable manners of it needed, but typically through tossing enough money at whatever problem arose. The "old" V would've probably thought her current situation as unthinkable. Her? Running through alleys and picking up random jobs for cash to try and keep alive while also tracking down a way to keep a haywire biochip from eating away her brain. Nah. Lowly behavior. A cruel joke. Well hardy har-har. Funniest shit known to man.
She pulled back her gums for a moment, checking the small dribbles of blood that she spotted trickling from different cuts she'd scored from an almost constant set of scraps. The most recent fight with Razor had left her with enough respect on the streets than she knew what to do with, but an ache in her bones and muscles that left simply climbing the stairs to her apartment as a Herculean task.
Coughing up blood, bile and vomit had become a common occurrence as well. A migraine always tracing along the edges of her brain as she navigated different requests and jobs people tossed her way. She rubbed her fist over the mirror, clearing her face properly and allowing her eyes to trace her trembling form before the condensation devoured her visage again. Her right hand shook as she placed her pointer finger on the mirror and drew a shaky smiley face, almost in spite of herself.
"You're the reincarnation of Van Gogh. Mind turning on the radio?"
A disgruntled sigh left V's lips as her mental hitchhiker made his appearance. She spun on her heels with a spark of energy she hadn't realized she'd had, leaning against the rim of the sink as she watched the final pixels of Johnny's appearance settled in for the most part. Every few seconds she'd see him phase in and out of detail as he paced a few feet, lounged about on whatever debris or simply stared disapproving at whatever V was doing. A flash of bright cyan pixels that covered the entirety of his being occured as if on cue with V's train of thought.
"Just listen to the channel I've got." V brought her hand to her eyes, rubbing them a few times as if she might chase the fatigue away with a few scrubs.
"You've got shit taste in music. As a double, I've got no interest in feelin' like a wet cat."
There was always something that made things difficult with his almost parasitic relationship. If he was visible, great. He got to enjoy the same sensations that she did. Tapping into the receptors that the biochip had managed to already consume and replicate or that they were currently fighting for control over. The rollercoaster had been a fun treat for both of them and V would find herself often thinking about bringing up whatever giddy yelps he'd vocalized when the coaster had taken a nose dive down the tracks, the wind whipping through her hair and the smell of sea salt practically palpable. Whenever he decided to show his mug, he'd get to feel the the sun on his skin through V, get to feel the tang of liquor on her tongue, and the rough leather on her skin as she navigated the streets. During these times, he'd manage to tap into whatever technology she had wired into her skull, in turn her music and radio.
However, he could cut himself off from the sensations if he so chose. Slinking out of her body to leave her alone with the splitting hangover, leaving her to feel the violent punches of her opponents alone while he occasionally tossed out a comment or some kind of sarcastic encouragement. This usually resulted in a far lesser connection on his end as well. Staying out of her dopamine receptors, and nerve endings that would've given him the sensations, also resulted in a loss of connection to just about her entire head until he reestablished the connection.
He didn't want to feel the sensation of water on his skin but he still wanted music...great. and this was her problem how?
"It'll only be a couple minutes. You'll live." V rubbed the corner of her mouth as she waved a hand dismissively at him. She was met with a grimace from him as he opened his mouth, snapping out of and then into existence but in front of the curtain of the shower this time as he wiped his dry lips.
"Radio. Or I ain't screwing off and you get an audience for your shower."
𝘽𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝. 𝙒𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮?
His arms were crossed and the glare he was shooting her from behind his mirrored shades clearly stated that he was. He was still as a statue, determined in his decision, his jaw was set, a few strands of hair that lay in front of his eyes as he stared down at her. He wasn't particularly tall. V was sure she could point out a few people on the street who could easily trump him in size. And yet he was still held usually to the whim of V and where she decided to go and what she decided to do. She was sure his ego always took a beating whenever she shut down his ideas or suggestions, though he made sure to get his jabs in no matter what. Small battles he could win such as this.
V felt her eyebrows twitch as she leered at the engram, her hands ball-ed into fists at her side. She could always pop a few of Misty's pills, sure, but she was sure he'd come back with a passion whenever they wore off. Maybe even allowing himself to dip back into the violent and suicidal side he'd shown off in their first meeting.
She was cautiously optimistic now that he wouldn't parrot the sentiment again if put into the situation again. That they'd grown too close of "friends" for him to actively say he'd rather they both die together instead of exist with the notion that he a passenger in her brain and not at the wheel. Though a small part of her usually chimed up that she was giving too much credit. He may have found his vocabulary to involve more begrudgingly complimentary verbage and vocab towards her, but she was sure if pushed, he could find it in his heart to turn cruel and sour again. Maybe he didn't even care in the slightest about her well being and he was just buying time with a nice persona, hoping that she'd grow too attached and chicken out of getting rid of the biochip. Instead, letting him take over. Maybe he was-
"Earth to V." Dry humor in a haphazard tone. He snapped his fingers in front of her face before turning his pointer finger to the box on the counter by her couch.
"Radio. Water bill 'ill be sky high pretty soon."
She blinked for a few moments and flipped him the bird before storming off to the radio, tracing her fingers along the few buttons before flipping it on and listening to the music begin to fill what silence the static-crash of water droplets against the wall provided.
"Retro station. Might hear something of yours or some other fossil tune." Her snark was palpable but her fairly blank visage seemed to more than prove that it was more annoyance instead of anger that sparked her comment.
The distinct auditory cue of Johnny's disappearance resounded as V cast a glance over her shoulder. She managed to catch the final flashes of bright blue as his engram vanished from in front of the shower curtain and rematerialized on the couch, legs kicked high up on the back of the couch.
His face was upturned to the ceiling, his attention apparently too important to even toss her way now that he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Though he did give her a thumbs up, the metallic coating catching the light but not reflecting on anything properly on account of him not even being there. For something that didn't have any proper affect on the world as he was right now, he was an attention whore and still managed to cause her more strife than he had any right to on occasions.
She waved a hand absent-mindedly at him as she made her way to the shower sloughing off her jacket and boots which soon found a new home in a small pile by the sink. Her thumbs found the hook of her jeans, quickly finding herself casting another glance at Johnny, seemingly just to ensure his gaze had stayed intently focused on the ceiling, instead of a straying glance her way. Luckily, she was correct and his gaze was on the ceiling, the only proper change in behavior being he was making random gestures with his hands as he mouthed along the words to a song he seemingly recognized.
V wasn't sure if she could define the song by a genre even if held at gun point. In all honesty it just sounded like every other grunge rock band but evidently, Johnny enjoyed the sound enough to have not only listened to the song years before, but recognize it on a "retro" station after half a decade of hanging around in the mind-fuck that was "Cyberspace" as a whole.
She quickly yanked her top and pants off before slipping past the curtain and into the warm embrace of the water. Her gaze was low, focused on the stream of water as it stole the dirt, sweat and grime from her skin, leaving it to swirl on the floor of her shower before disappearing down the drain. She huffed softly, and dragged her nails along her scalp before slipping them through the strands of her hair, working knots out of her tresses.
The simple acts such as that were now things that seemed to be practically luxury now that she had barely had time to breath between jobs. There was always some Cyberpsycho causing a rampage, a race that needed to be run, or the emperor recent one, "Kerry's manager had signed a label without his knowledge and now all of a sudden it was her problem that needed solving too." After a few heated words had been shared, she'd found herself taking a picture for them, all together and smiling as if he hadn't been holding a gun at them and yelling like a loon mere moments before.
On the way home, she'd managed to find herself hit by a car after a few carless steps in the wrong direction and a few seconds spent focused trying to read a text from Claire and she'd found herself thrown across the street. The driver had quickly left and no one had said anything, 'course when she so much as made her ride jump the curb, every available unit had been on her ass before she could yell.
"Everyone, no matter what! Keep your eyes peeled for the gonk with the pink hair and Samurai jacket! No matter what she does, if you see her driving for even a split second, start shooting or T-bone her car!"
"Understood!"
Fuck off.
To be fair though, the last time she'd managed to mess up her driving, the police hadn't been there for a good long while, Instead johnny had also been keen on her about not scratching his ride after materializing in the passenger seat, insisting that she was being too reckless and should let him drive his Porsche instead.
"Show her how to really make it purr."
Screw off.
While Johnny taking over wasn't the worst thing known to man, it did leave her wife a killer headache and a queasy stomach. Especially the performance she'd allowed herself to be talked into as a last "hurrah" to Samurai. Her finger tips had been worked red if not bleeding, sure, but she could've sworn her ears had still been ringing, even hours after the gig had ended. Adrenaline still coursing through her body and making her feel more weary than she had any right to be when the high eventually ended.
She wiped water from her lashes, running her palm across the wet-canvas of her face as she exhaled. The warmth of her breath being lost in the swirl of steam that wafted form the steady flow of water. She blinked, a few droplets hanging on hard to her lashes as she stared down at her forearms as she held them firmly against the smooth tile of the shower wall. The vibrant colours of the Tyger Claw tattoo she'd gotten as well as the insufferable heart and arrow tattoo Johnny had gotten without her knowledge. She couldn't decide which tattoo made her more uncomfortable. The Tyger Claw's tattoo brought up memories of Wakako Okada and to some extent, Takemura, before he'd met his demise in the collapsing debris. If he'd managed to survive that, the Arasaka agents had probably ensured his brain had become well acquainted with a metric shit-ton of lead.
Takemura. Now that was someone she hadn't thought about in a hot minute. Why hadn't she? His blood was practically slathered on her hands, each handprint a deep crimson with all the other unfortunate souls she'd ended up killing on her own accord or simply as collateral damage. She'd planted bullet after bullet between the eyes of more people than she could count. Goro, Sampson, Jackie-
Jackie. That one still hurt. When they'd been sliding down the glass, the case containing the chip gripped tightly in his hand, she'd been sure she was going to die. The fall to the pavement below had driven a scream from her lips and she would've sworn up and down that she was was in more pain than she could put into words. Though the feeling that caught in her throat like bile when she'd seen Jackie clutching at the wound under his suit? Incomparable. His steps getting heavier as he trailer further and further behind, his breathing falling uneven as he attempted to continue shooting at enemies. The way his eyes had searched hers when they say in the car, a solemn expression on his face as he went limp. The way her breath had caught in her throat as she stared at his body- his mother. She had to tell his mother- she had to tell Misty- she had to- she had to-
Her throat tightened and her stomach churned as her knees buckled. A moment longer and she was forced to to watch whatever she'd recently ingested move down the drain, leaving her with a pale complexion and feeling grateful that Johnny had hopefully been too engrossed with the radio to hear her losing her lunch. It shouldn't have hurt so badly even this far past the actual event. Everytime she had saddled Scorpion's Apollo, she found herself feeling guilt gnaw at her mind. She owed it to Jackie to use his motorcycle, did she not? Though at the same time, she was terrified at the prospect of scratching it. Ruining the pristine condition he'd been convinced it had to be in. A bright coat of a paint and an engine that roared.
No. She didn't deserve to ruin that.
She would just fuck it up like she always seemed to.
As her stomach settled, she shoved her hair from her eyes again as she focused on the sensation of the tile against the tips of her fingers. The condensation clinging desperately to their section as V slid her hands back and forth across the tile. She was here. What was done was done. She could only hope she could do better in the future. A heavy exhale passed her lips as she blinked rapidly, the sound of the water slapping against the tiles filled the room, drowning out the sound of the radio in the other room.
Though the quiet chirp from her implants broke the monotony of the water before it could gain any proper standing. Panam. A nonchalant text about hearing about how the Aldecaldos had just moved again, a swift description of the environment before saying that she wished V was there. It set her stomach in knots again. Something she'd never managed to put into words was how desperately she had wanted to stay when Panam had offered. A moment of proper vulnerability as she attempted to explain why her staying would simply cause more strife than mirth. Though the Relic had malfunctioned and she'd fallen to her knees, waking up hours later. The explanation hadn't seemed in good place to put into words there. "I know you're worried that I'm dying but I'm not looking to burden you, bye!"
Panam wouldn't have allowed that excuse for a second. So instead, she'd gotten the concise phrasing that V had tried her best to keep to a script about. She was going to fix this. Fix the screwed up mess in her head and then she'd make her way back to Panam and she'd love among the nomads. Watch the setting sun fall beneath the dunes of desert rock and cacti, hear the wind whistle and the animals announce their presence during the dead of night. Spend hours around a campfire with people she could call family. But not right now. And not in the way V would like. Panam had rejected her advances before, seemingly downright uncomfortable much to the distress of a quickly apologetic V. V wanted something from Panam that she couldn't give, and she couldn't blame Panam for that. But she'd blame herself for being foolish enough to think it would work out.
V turned to the side, her back against the wall as she allowed herself to sit down on the shower floor, her gaze trained on the grout of the tiles as she laid her hands on her biceps, knees tucked to her chest as the water continued. She'd thought of them getting together since really the moment they'd met. A few anxious comments about beds or one room had been enough to tip Panam off, and V had spent that night laying in the twin bed staring at the wall, her back to Panam. Long hours spent envisioning and hoping that at some point she'd look over her shoulder and see Panam by the side of her bed, or that she'd find her lips meetings hers as she took a perch on the bed. But her sleepless night had ended with nothing except a few chortles from Johnny and a damp spot in her underwear.
The call came from the other room, though she didn't seem to care at the moment. "V! Mind toweling off and changing the station?" She was half-heartedly aware of the sound of the radio, the tune sounding more akin to something from a stereotypical boy band.
V moved a hand from her bicep, resting more on her hip as she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. An hour spent envisioning and day dreaming wouldn't hurt anybody. She brought her pointer and middle finger to rest slightly below her navel. It wasn't as though she was a virgin. She'd spread her legs more than a few times and allowed herself to be charmed by a few folks at bars. But she has never been big into masturbation.
"it's for lonely losers who can't get a proper lay." Would've probably been her response a while back. Well guess what, now she couldn't get a lay without having an almost perpetual spectator and commentator throwing in his two cents. A few moments chatting up a guy on Jig-Jig street had earned her a few comments from Johnny about how "This choom probably lets himself be cucked. Teeth like a beaver and hands that shake like a leaf. You really about to sleep with 'im? Everyone's got a low point I suppose." For the girls he'd jested about their tits, their hair, have much of their face was even 'ganic. Until eventually V had given up. Even if she'd managed to work through those comments, she'd have still be left with him casting judgement the minute the Omega Blockers wore off.
"Hundred eddies says you came faster than a choir boy getting dicked by a priest."
"Standards really got that low, huh?"
An endless barrage of condescending comments would probably be what she was met with whenever she came back to reality. Though in all fairness, it been a while since one of those comments had passed Johnny's lips. Or at least he made it more obvious that he meant it as good natured teasing as opposed to rabid mockery. Guess she was one of those sexually lonely losers now though.
"V! Station change. They're playing genuine shit now. I didn't listen to some of these songs when they came out so why the hell would I want to listen to them now?"
She ran her fingertips along the length of her vulva for a few moments, giving her clit a few flicks before sinking her fingers into the warmth of her cunt up to the second knuckle. It drove a startled grunt from her mouth, though she stifled it as best she could. A fake cough also being utilized Incase somehow Johnny heard her over the sound of the radio and the sound of the water. She felt like a skittish teen again, looking at pictures of things she's shouldn't have been, hands below the covers of her bed as she attempted to listen for the sound of her guardians footsteps.
Why the hell would Johnny care anyways? She'd already had the misfortune of viewing a memory of him screwing his old girlfriend, albeit that was from Brigitte's will and Johnny had held just as much influence over the viewing as V had. That is to say, they'd tossed a memory in his face and he'd been forced to relive it. Whether he considered it as a source of shame for his prior actions or a source of pride for his "glory days" she couldn't tell. It was always hard to pin things down with him. Though the point had still been that he had no control over what she saw or was tossed to watch in that instance. She on the other hand, was very much aware and in control of her actions.
Whatever. It was her body. After a few more moments, she went back to slow and tedious work with her fingers. Her thumbs rested on her clit, as she used her point and middle finger to work in and out of her cunt. She'd been expecting more of a reaction from herself in all honesty, some further flurry of arousal as she attempted to work herself up to an orgasm. Though she suspected her aforementioned views and the coinciding habits had very well left her as rusty in this area of expertise.
"Alright, just have to try something different."
V didn't own any sex toys. If she'd been horny, she'd find someone to sleep with. Instead, she let her eyes travel the walls of her shower in search of something to improvise with. Her shower walls were typically bare, though she'd bought a handled loofah a while back when she'd begun going to sleep in her undergarments and finding the stains of grime and blood that had been left in spots she couldn't reach. She reached up and over, unhooking the handle from the small hook she'd latched to the wall.
The whole item was probably a bit longer than her forearm, though she had little intention of pushing herself near that far. Instead, she attempted to mentally measure the length of the texture handle and the groves that sat in it, allowing someone's hand to grab hold of the tool easier. She'd never been the best at math or guess work but if she had to wager, she'd say that portion was maybe 5 or 6 inches long. She blinked and turned the item over in her hands a few times. She was desperate sure, but was she really this bored? ....yes
She turned the loofah part to face away from her, positioning the handle towards her cunt, where she began to languidly drag the handle up and down the length of her vulva. She watched the subtle twitch of her legs as the pressed and flicked her clit with the handle as she huffed softly. Another soft grunt left her lips as she sheathed the handle in the warmth of her cunt as she brought her left hand to wipe the droplets from her lashes. She tightened her grip on the handle before coaxing the ridge coated handle back and forth, a firm shove back in her pussy that made her brows furrow at the surprisingly unpleasant and dull pain that the contact made.
Maybe she was sore? Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel when she wasn't drunk as a skunk with the scent of liquor on her breath, enough alcohol in her blood to knock an elephant out and dull the feeling. A mental shrug fell over her as she pulled the handle out again, dragged further out and angled up so that the ridges bumped against her clit as it sunk back in. Another full pang. Fuck, what was she doing wrong? Seemingly out of frustration now, she worked harder, a thumb on her clit as she tried to fix her mistakes. A harder slam, a sharper angle. How was she this bad at something as simply as getting herself off? She-
"Knock it off or do it right." The voice was an uninvited intrusion, the sound of the pixels reforming hadn't even been heard by V as she cast her gaze to the voices direction to the form of Johnny standing in the doorway of the shower. V quickly yanked the handle out of her cunt, her eyes narrowed to allow a better leer as she gritted her teeth.
"Fuck off, Johnny!" It was barely a coherent sentence, blurted out in a way that sounded more akin to a tell of frustration rather than an attempt at communication. She'd let him use the radio. He was a lot of things, but she had at least expected to be able to count on him keeping his word for something as simple as staying out of the shower while she used it. What should've been basic courtesy had even been an exchange. Radio for alone time. And he couldn't even do that! He-
"Not happening. You're screwing yourself like a virgin." The reply was more matter-of-fact than what V enjoyed, though when she got her thoughts together to toss a mental message his way, she was cut off by his continued message. His arms were crossed, his head tilted so the crown rested against the wall that he was leaning against.
"Fuck, all the gonks in Night City and I still managed to get saddled with the only one who can't make 'erself see stars. You realize how bullshit that is? I-"
"Why is this any of your god damn business? Turned on the radio for you. Go listen to it."
She was met with an arched brow from him as he looked at her from over his glasses. The polarized aviators didn't have much light to catch from the surrounding environment, but the dull glow of her bathroom light still caught and brought an orange hue to the shades.
"Radio channel started playing shit. Asked you to come change it. You didn't. I figured you had to be listening to something pretty good if you couldn't hear me, so I tuned in only to find lo-and-behold, you were sitting there hammering that into your pussy. Wouldn't normally care, but considerin' I, as your glorious passenger have the luxury of getting tangled in your sensations, I figured I have a right and obligation to tell you: you're doing it wrong."
"Great. You told me. Now screw off."
"Options are, cheesy boy band radio, sensory deprivation, or feeling you try and jack-off. I pick the latest. And, since I'm such a generous brain tumor, I'll even offer you something."
"Unless it's you fucking off, I don't care."
"Whatever gonk it was that jammed that stick up your ass even further than it already was is a talented creature. I'll give 'em that." He fished in his pockets for a moment, absent-mindedly speaking as he yoinked a cigarette from the crumbled box on his pants. It wasn't as though his pack had nicotine or even gave any sensation when he smoked them, so V always ended up looking at him through scrunched eyes and a raised brow as he puffed. Small plumes of smoke curling in the air around him as he waved a hand to emphasize a point, ashes falling off the tip of the cigarette as his movements became more dramatic.
"Ain't like I'm asking you to pop one of the pills and let me grip the wheel. Just a little trust instead." His statement was followed by stare that made V's skin crawl as she haphazardly attempted to cover her breasts, her legs held close together in order to retain some form of dignity.
"Uh-huh. And what's this trust exercise get you? Another date with Rogue? Another 'boy's night out'?" The warm droplets of the torrent traced over the gooseflesh that had developed on her skin during the initial startle.
"Nothing more than what I'd be getting already. I'll just stay synced to you so we can actually screw off properly, unlike whatever the hell you'd call your activity. Plain impalement. Gonna bruise your cervix all wrong and make your hips ache. Though if you wanna bang yourself up enough so you end up wobbling around tomorrow like your boyfriend went overboard on you the night prior, feel free." Monotone. Deadpan....jerk. V's brows knitted together as she glared up at the musician. A few moments later and she found her nails digging hard crescents into her palm as the water pelted her.
His discomfort at the water seemed palpable, practically twitching at every droplet that hit her skin, though he held his ground as the offer filled the dead air with a pregnant pause. He'd made jabs about something as small as Kerry's offhanded tease about sleeping together. Her chastised her for her conversation with the Joy-Toy in Clouds. He'd insisted they should leave Judy to sulk in the cabin. A moment spent attempting to discuss her thoughts with Panam was met with him yammering away at how corny V was being or that Panam wouldn't be as understanding as V hoped.
Whoever spoke first, lost. It didn't matter what passed their lips at this point, whoever finished their "silent vigil" first, would be on the loosing end. And that wouldn't be V.
That. Wouldn't. Be. V.
Absolutely not.
Wouldn't be V.
No matter what.
Wouldn't be.....
"Pervert."
"Whore."
"Cuck."
"Skank."
Goddamnit.
V cursed herself as she watched take a knee in front of her in. The flecks of warm water droplets sending the pixels of his form into a frenzy as he squatted and situated in front of her. What the hell was he even going to do? The world's shittiest game of Simon Says? It seemed leagues stupider than it had been before.
"Well I mean- hold on-." Bashful didn't describe it properly, sheer embarrassed was probably the better word for her feelings at the moment.
"Gettin' antsy?"
"No, just-" Sorry, you just make me nervous and sometimes me heart feels like it's in my throat when I look at you. Hell no. Fat chance she would ever say that in front of him. Instead, she furrowed her brows and worked up an attempt at venom in her voice, trying to make the comment snide.
"Know sure as hell we aren't working with actual sex, so how do you have any 'perience with this style? Rogue and Alt prefer a dildo or a JoyToy and they let you sit in a chair to watch?" .....did that sound like anything? Shit, she hoped it did. Though Johnny's seemingly disinterested expression proved otherwise.
"I'm not the one fucking 'emself on a handle. Wanna keep running your mouth and I'll have no problem leaving you to whimper as you bruise yourself up." The gaze that he shot her was a narrowed eyed stare over the rim of his glasses. "You want my input or not?"
impudent. Unbelievable. Rather than attempt whatever staring contest he seemed intent on putting on, she turned her gaze to the side. Her line of sight lay solely on the shower wall now, watching the traces of condensation slide down the tiles in an race with endless opponents, ending with their demise as they hit the floor and joined the swirling mess of droplets that traveled to the drain, swept away in the pipes.
She was wasting water.
She was reminded of her time at her prior job, her shoes clicking quietly against the elevator floor as it took it's sweet time to bring her to higher floors of the tower. Files or miscellaneous papers had a permanent home in her hands, clutched to her chest or held by her side. But she always had somewhere to be and something to do. Another bonus assignment, another bullet to be subtly placed between someone's eyes. Another employee let go. Another ex-employee who seemed too lose lipped about company secrets needing a proper silencing. Someone to serve because her own wallet seemingly couldn't get fat enough.
She was wasting water.
She might've screwed up, sure. Gotten herself kicked out of the company. Gotten her privileges, her money, her status, everything revoked. She could live with that. It should've only affected her. She'd been sloppy. Should've covered her tracks. But it'd tossed her into Jackie's arms. Made her get more involved with the family. Made her bring him into further danger. Get him brought into a job he didn't need to take. Get him six feet under and her still alive. Why did she deserve to even live? She was a walking time bomb. Half her brain wasn't even her own, a Frankensteined mishmash of her's and Johnny's. She should've died in that car. Jackie would've known what to do. He would've had a better plan besides running around Night City desperately hoping someone could help. He would've figured something out. Or at least spent his last few months in a meaningful way. He had a mother and family that cared for him, that mourned him. What did V have? What would she have when she finally dropped dropped dead? What would Silverhand be met by? A stray cat that drank from the sink and a few motorcycles. She was a fuck-up.
She was wasting water.
"V?" A vibrant buzz of sensations along her face caught her attention. She might've jumped had it felt like her legs were willing, but instead she found herself simply snapping her gaze back to Johnny. She was met with a seemingly somber expression despite his recent snark.
"Everythin' good?"
Did she want to tell him? She didn't think he'd be winning any awards for sympathy anytime soon but it wasn't as though he was wholly apathetic to her. Divulge a bit. Share the psychological burden. It couldn't be that hard, right? Just say it. Say you felt guilty about Jackie. Say you weren't sure if you even wanted to be alive right now. Say sometimes you wished Johnny would take overall ready so you wouldn't have to live with a brain that seemed intent to make you feel like every second you were alive was a second wasted. Say it. Say-
"Just thinking about how you took your sweet fucking time before even deciding to offer help. Hoping that I'd be desperate enough for your input if you let me bang myself up a bit?"
"Don't lose your tits. Know damn well I don't have the luxury of getting your sensations the minute you do. Got your attention when I felt it." The sanely grin had returned to his face and she watched him pull his hand away from where he'd evidently touched at her face for her attention. As time had gone on and his own tumorous brain had begun to make the beginnings of nerves, they'd found that it was possible to get flashes of sensations of the other as if they were genuinely touching. His brain registered that he was touching something and as such attempted to make a copy of it for him to interact with in Cyberspace as he often did with stools, bottles or even when he leaned against or sat on something. Her brain, now half overridden with his, registered that and began to attempt to register his interaction with the copied item at the same time as it misfired and worked through the idea of seeing something touching her but not feeling it. His brain registered that he should feel her while also trying to copy her. Her brain registered trying to copy itself for him to interact with while also registering that she should feel something. All this culminated in a misfire on both their ends which usually manifested as a subtle buzz that traveled through her as though a dulled version of what happened last time she'd accidentally grabbed the metal prongs of a plug when she'd been pulling it from its socket.
It only lasted a second if that, but it was still something.
"Uh-huh, sure." Snide. Keep your tone level. V watched the way he had begun to flinch every few seconds. His face scrunching as if in disgust but quickly returning to what she considered his normally sneer not long after, flicking his face to the wall opposite side of the shower head when he did. V didn't envy his position, she couldn't be sure if his brain was registering all the droplets and slapping the sensation across his body every few seconds or if maybe he felt it as individual flecks hitting him. Whatever sensation it was, she found her mind likening it to Chinese Water Torture as she kept her gaze on his attempt at subtly or playing off his flinching as he kept his eyes locked onto hers.
V brought her hands to just barely grace the end of the handle, unsure where to rest her palms now that the attention was on her. Blush laid claim to her face as she attempted to keep her expression null, though he reached out all the same and brought his hand to rest on the hilt of the handle. Her hand snapped to attention as the same jolt was sent through her skin, retracting her digits to lay across her chest as though clutching at pearls.
Bzzzt
You're here? I'm here. You're here. I'm here?
Bzzzt
That was how V had chosen to envision the split second interaction between their brains as they confused themselves. Though it didn't matter much how she pictured the conversation. The "why" was not the main thought in her mind as she watched Johnny reach forward to try and put the sensation to use.
A momentary glance up at her seemed all the warning for his quick experiment before he rolled his point finger to lay curled on his thumb before snapping it forward to flick her clit with his chrome arm while his other hand resting gently on the handle.
A yelp had forced it's way from V's throat before she'd even registered the vocalization, leaving her seemingly just as startled by the noise as him. It hadn't burned and the sensation hadn't been entirely unpleasant, but the feeling had still shot through her in a white-hot burst. She could only suspect that the more unpleasant or seemingly more intense part of the sensation had now gone simply from the fact that the connection was moving through a simply more sensitive portion of her body. Similar, she supposed, to how a tattoo hurt more in certain areas than it did in others considering where you got it. Ribs, hands, neck, versus arm or legs. Her brows were scrunched together, almost in a scorn of disapproval as she attempted to keep a straight face and turn her attention to the side.
She believed he'd called it a "whore face". An argument had broken out between them over whether he could have the body to get a good lay. He claimed that 50 years of celibacy was more than any human should go through and she'd insisted he should drop dead. At that point he'd begun tossing out off-handed and almost off-handed comments in a way of coping with the disappointment. The fox calling the grapes sour as it were.
"Not interested in lookin' up and catching glance of the mirror above an' your whore face starin' back at me anyways." Had been his final comment, refusing elaboration before disappearing in an explosion of pixels and a flash of bright colours that lingered in the air for a moment or two afterwards. Regardless of if he'd meant it or not, the comment had stuck with her and she seemed intent to not give any of the illusive "whore face" if she could help it. If that meant staring like she'd had a lemon crammed in her mouth, so be it.
"Not even a smile? How'm I s'pose to know if I'm doin' a good job or not?" The snide smirk returned to his lips as he leaned to the left to try and keep in her gaze. A second later and she'd managed to wrangle her expression under control and she'd opened her mouth to speak, though he seemed acutely aware of this as his finger snapped forward from another nonchalant flick. Under normal circumstances she was sure she wouldn't find herself fighting the urge to yank her legs to her chest while she twitched from something as simple as her clit being flicked. Or at least not on the second or third flick. Though the seemingly spastic flurries of activity that his touch sparked in both their brains have V some kind of comfort and reassurance that this wasn't indeed normal circumstances.
"Just help already." An embarrassed whisper as she lay her left hand over her eyes.
"Couldn't quite her you. Gotta speak up for me, V." Jackass.
"Fuck me, Johnny!" Louder than she'd intended. Please don't let another noise complaint from her neighbors come her way. "...please." Less whiney. Curt. Good.
A roll of his eyes was the reaction she'd expected to be met with, and she was not surprised when he executed the action. His fingers rested on the handle again, the copy of the loofah forming almost instantly as the dull throb took hold of her cunt.
You're here? I'm here. You're here. I'm here?
Though now it worked from what she could only assume was Johnn's brain registering the use of cyberspace for objects as the same as himself.
I'm here. You're here. You must be me too.
You're here? I'm here. You're here. I'm here?
Whatever the fucking reason, V was glad it was in the coding or a glitch in the Biochip. Didn't feel like anyone had crammed a proper dick in her by any means but the dull shocks that came from the contact between his copy of the handle and her pussy were more than enough to make her yelp.
A soft whimper was dragged from her throat as she felt the languid motion of the handle dragging out slowly before sinking back in after making a circular motion at the end as if Johnny was cutting something with a knife. Pull back, lift up, push forward with motion in the hilt.
With her fingers lain across her eyes now, she turned her head to the side again. Her cheek brushing the wet tile of the wall as she let him repeat the motion a few more times over. The sensation of sparks zipping across and through her flesh as the contact continued, the hilt going as far deep as it could without bumping into one of her walls or her cervix sent a snap of sparks through her. The sensation made her clench her jaw and she might've sworn her heart had jumped into her throat if she hadn't felt it slamming like a truck in her chest.
Alongside the whimper that surprised her by slipping past her lips, she managed to hear it met with a soft grunt from her compatriot over the sound of the splashing water. The distinct chorus of the pixels of Johnny and the loofah copy loading in and out of existence as he worked filled in just about every second of empty audio space.
The rhythm of his motions had been set into a mental rut in her mind, only to be abruptly interrupted by the sensation of the sparks on her clit again as he laid his thumb on top of it. Letting the sensation repeat as he just barely graced the top in subtle bumps that sent jolts through her body. What ended up shocking her was the mewl that clawed its way out of her throat after a few moments as the bolt of energy flooded through her body again.
Her hand quickly slipped from her eyes, laying across her mouth in an attempt to keep further noises off her lips. Though a glance from her newly uncovered eyes showed her that Johnny seemed less than excited about the new situation.
"Gettin' shy? Seriously?" He might've meant it to sound sterner than it did, or maybe he'd simply choked on something, but she could've sworn his own voice warbling did show that to some extent, that the overwhelm of her senses and the borderline overstimulation was getting to him too.
She couldn't trust her voice and tongue to not screw up whatever snide comment or retort to try and take him down a peg. A warble in her throat from his pace picking up or maybe shoving the handle forward with the intent of tripping up her speech. Instead, she held her tied tongue and kept her hand laid across her mouth, though the small flecks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes seemed to say enough. It wasn't as though it felt perfect or even entirely pleasant to that extent, the jolt through her body served amazing stimulation sure, but the force of it, and even the sensation in it of itself also hurt.
It felt as though she'd banged her elbow on a table and the dull yet simultaneously all encompassing shock of her nerves trying desperately to try and figure out how to register the sensation had been spread through her whole body. She wouldn't pretend that some amount of the sensation wasn't pleasurable, but the amount of pleasure compared to the overwhelming static of emotions didn't serve as a fair trade off.
The handle bumped against her cervix again and she practically yelled from behind her hand. An impromptu orgasm rocking over her and finally driving the tears from her eyes and chasing them down her face as her breathing hitched. What surprised her, was when the burning sensation left her suddenly, torn from her as though someone had ripped a burning torch from between her legs.
She already suspected the reason, but she wasn't soon going to let herself admit that it'd been too much. The minute she looked over at Johnny, she'd be admitting that she cried from a single orgasm. Regardless of the fact that it'd felt like someone had been tearing up her inside with a dagger. Regardless of the fact that she wagered she'd rather take a bow of celibacy than have to deal with that same sensation anytime she found intimacy in others. Regardless, she was certain she'd still find herself being teased by Johnny about this. "Her breakdown" she was sure was what he'd call it. Something condescending or-
The sound of him leaving the environment in a burst of pixels took her by surprise, leaving her sitting alone in the shower.
~
Crawling into bed to sleep drew images of a wounded dog crawling into it's well-worn bed to lick its wounds. She could only imagine Johnny had spent the time in-between the moment in the shower and now, laughing to his hearts content in Cyberspace. She was sure the insults he'd toss her way when he rematerialized during whatever time suited him would be demeaning. Condescending. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear it. Though the distinct sound of him snapping back into the visual plane drew her attention.
The sound came from behind her and she imagined he was probably sitting with his back against the wall, snide grin on his face and a cigarette gripped between his fingers. Maybe he wouldn't even let her sleep. Just chat her ear off or mock her. Though she wouldn't roll over completely and was already attempting to compile a list of retorts, specialized to his narcissistic, bombastic, rocker boy-
"Y'okay?"
A second or two passed....Concern? Was he goading her into seeming more pitiful than she already did? He hadn't sounded curt. He hadn't sounded particularly snarky either. A few more cautious seconds passed before she cast her gaze in his direction, looking at him over her shoulder. He didn't look as though he was waiting on the edge of his seat for an answer, eyes wide and chewing his lips in concern. But his brows were still twitching and seemed further scrunched than they typically were in his scornful glares. Actual concern.
Say you're fine. Say you're fine, tell him to fuck off and then continue with your shower. Tell him to go back to his stupid radio and leave you alone. Tell him-
"No."
"Didn't mean to hurt you that much in the shower. Don't know entirely about your pain tolerance but I just thought-"
"Fuck, Johnny, no it's not just that." She'd already returned her head to her pillow, staring across her upturned and well lived in apartment at Nibbles as he sat on the back of the couch and slept peacefully.
She could hear him open his mouth to speak, though he stayed quiet. Seemingly not finding the right words. Instead, she heard the shuffle of movement and saw his boots come into view at the foot of her bed an the corner of her eye to realize he was simply laying down on his back next to her, staring at the ceiling of her bed.
If she wanted to speak, now was her chance. Don't screw it up.
"I know-..."
Don't trail off. Speak now or forever hold your peace.
"I don't think I even deserve to be alive."
Silence. Crickets. A passing car. Johnny held his tongue.
Keep going.
"Started with Jackie. Well I mean, it didn't start with Jackie. Felt this way for a while but Jackie was the first real solid stake hold. Been thinking about how I should've been the one to die in that car. Bleed out and have my body sent nowhere. He had a family. He had people who needed him. People who missed him when he died. He was wheezing, panting like a dog and pale as a ghost but still refused to really let on that he knew he wasn't making it. He was strong. Just about everyone at that funeral knew it. In one was or another they'd all seen him act like their own personal savior. Caring boyfriend, trusted friend. They all had the right to mourn him. But Mama Welles asking me over there? What did I know him for? I spent six months taking their food, stealing a mother's boy away from her in order in earn scraps of eddies with him. I took someone's lover. He was a fighter sure, but he had a right to his own happiness and I just couldn't leave well enough alone. I tumbled in there like a damn tornado and screwed up everything that could've been. A moment of Jackie at Mama Welles bedside as she said goodbye. A moment of Jackie slippin' a ring on Misty's finger. Me? I don't even know who Delamain would've sent my corpse to. Probably couldn't kicked me into a dump without much fuss from anyone else. Goro too. He had a goal. He only got into proper trouble and that building with Hanako because of me and Jackie. He might've managed to actually get away or-"
"V. Goro would've died a Corpo dog. Shot in an alley in then dumped in a trash heap like worthless scum. He would've died without justified sense on his end. Yorinobu would've killed him and Goro would've taken it because of his whole bullshit obsession with honor. At least with you, he died for a cause he at least gave a fuck about. Do you really think he wouldn't have said 'no' if he had wanted out?"
"No, I just-"
"And I don't believe for a single second you'd trade Jackie's death for what you're doing now. Blood on your hands, vomit on the streets, bullets flying past your skull and not thinking you'll be around to see next summer. You wanna be emotional? Be emotional, you'd be trading his death, his death that meant something to you, for a death where he didn't even get to stay dead because I'd be livin' in his corpse. Forcing his family to see that, know that they couldn't bury their boy because they'd be killing someone else and 'Jackie wouldn't want that'. You wanna say you'd prefer a place where Misty really got to see Jackie rot from the inside-out as he stumbled through each day in a collapse and seizure ridden haze like you do? You want to make his mom see him like that.You wanna be pragmatic? Be pragmatic, you'd be leaving Jackie to suffer for six months as he scampered for help like you're doing. You'd be making those he loved watch him grow desperate, make deals with people he wouldn't bring around his family in desperate hopes of kicking his death date further away. I know you're sad. And I know-....Look I know it hurts, V. But thinking like that doesn't help anybody. And if sure as hell doesn't help you. I ain't saying you're a saint. I ain't saying you ain't made mistakes. But I want you to understand this, "
She couldn't be sure if he'd paused for effect or if it'd been unintentional, but she still found herself listening intently, even if she wouldn't admit it.
"Even though you may be a proper gonk sometimes, you've got a right to live, V. Don't forget it."
...oh.
Her breathing was soft. Shallow kitten licks of air as she stayed silent in fears of disturbing the bitter-sweet quiet that had settled over them. The small buzz of energy settled through her as she felt him rest his hand on her shoulder.
You're here? I'm here.
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