Infinity

fanfic writer || dark and nsfw content || reader-insert and character-driven fics currently writing for: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul and Robert House

[infinitywritingarchive]

ɪɴꜰɪɴɪᴛʏ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀʏ

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞! 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 <𝟑

𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐲 𝐀𝐎𝟑

[infinitywritingarchive]

𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀

ʙᴏᴏɴᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴄᴏᴜʀɪᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴏᴏɴᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɪᴅᴇᴀ?

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ᴅʀᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴋɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ (ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇᴅ), ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

▄︻デ══━一✸ ˎˊ˗

The air was tense the moment you opened your eyes, rudely woken by the sound of your traveling companion shoving supplies into his pack. That was your first tell that something was off. Boone was usually dead silent, sometimes to a fault. You wouldn’t have heard him unless he wanted you to.

You sat up slowly, an ache blossoming behind your eyes. You pressed your palm to your temple in an attempt to relieve it. The ache was one you were familiar with, one that accompanied an empty bottle of whiskey. It still sat next to the remnants of your campfire.

You sighed, sitting with the realization you’d be fighting with this headache all day. Funny how consequences never cross your mind with a bottle in your hand.

You moved to your pack, following Boone’s movements of disassembling the camp. His head turned slightly your way, but that was his only acknowledgement of your presence. No morning, no quiet grumble. Just a thick, oppressive silence.

You kept glancing at him, brows furrowed as you searched for an answer in his tense posture.

You were halfway into stuffing a can into your pack when you remembered, your body going stiff.

You kissed him last night.

Well, a kiss was an understatement. It was more of a frantic clash of your lips, as if you were trying to siphon the whiskey from each other’s mouths.

You let out a shaky breath. No wonder he was so tense. You began to wonder if he’d ever talk to you again.

Goddammit.

You threw the rest of your stuff into your pack without much thought, your mind now engrossed in trying to remember everything you could from last night. The memory was fragmented, but you could still feel the way his fingers dug into your waist.

The thought made your heart flutter, a warmth flooding your veins. Never had someone made you feel that way, especially not Boone. Despite the drink that had orchestrated the encounter, you looked back on it fondly, finding an urge to chase that feeling.

But you knew for a fact he didn’t see it the same way.

“Come on, let’s go,” his voice cut through the silence, yanking you from the clutches of the memory. Your head snapped in his direction, but his back was already to you as he started out of the camp.

You scrambled to get your pack on and follow him, boots scraping against the dry ground as you caught up beside him. He didn’t even offer you a glance as you trailed your way out of the camp.

Boone was never much of a talker, most of your time spent together in silence. Usually, it was fairly comfortable, one where simply nothing needed to be said. But now, it felt more unbearable than the Mojave heat. You started to feel restless just hours into your trail.

You kept glancing his way, hoping he’d say or do anything. He always carried a lot of tension in his face, but somehow there was even more. His knuckles were white from the grip on his rifle strap.

“You’re being weird,” you blurted, unable to take it anymore. His eyebrow twitched, but he still kept his gaze forward.

“I’m…normal,” he responded, his words clipped.

“No, you’re not,” you continued. He wasn’t going to shut you down so easily. “You’ve barely spoken a word to me, you won’t look at me and your jaw is so tight I’m afraid you’re gonna chip a tooth.”

He remained silent, seemingly unfazed by your words.

“Is it about last night?” You asked. That got a reaction, a huff of breath and a slow blink.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said and you knew it was a warning, one you knew you should listen to. You weren’t one to try to push past his walls, but they had doubled in size overnight. He wasn’t just going to shut you out like this, not if he planned on sticking around.

“Why not?” You pressed, earning a tick of his jaw.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he shot back. “I just don’t.”

“Do you regret it?” He stopped dead in his tracks, turning to you suddenly. You’d never been scared of him, but you had to fight the urge to step back in that moment.

“I do, I regret it,” he answered, voice low and serious. “It was stupid and irresponsible. It was a mistake and it meant jack shit.”

The words sliced through your chest, replacing the blossoming warmth with an unfamiliar ache. In an instant, the memory of the night prior turned sour, the thought of it only twisting the knife. But you’d be damned if you let it show.

“That what you wanted to hear?” He pressed. You swallowed, attempting to push back the emotions that dared to bubble to the surface.

“Let’s just keep moving,” you responded, a slight waver in your voice.

“Yeah.” He turned back to the path ahead. “Let’s keep moving.”

You didn’t press any further, the damage done. The uncomfortable silence lingered, but no longer did you have the capacity to fill it. Time passed impossibly slow, the structures in the distance never seeming to get any closer.

Not a word was shared between you, barely a glance was even exchanged. The food break, the aftermath of a group of geckos, it was all spent in that deafening silence. Was this really what he wanted?

The sun had just slipped under the horizon as you made camp for the night. You focused on starting the fire as Boone secured the perimeter. It was a habit you both shared, one you could carry out without having to exchange any words.

Once the fire was to a reasonable level, casting a soft light across your camp, you began to relax. As much as you could anyways. Propped up against the rock of the cliff, you dug through your pack for something to eat.

You really didn’t have much of an appetite, you found, picking at the canned mystery meat more than actually eating it. At some point, you stopped forcing it down, setting the can aside with a sigh. You let your head fall back against the rock, your gaze lifting to the sky.

The closest thing you found to companionship had disintegrated in your grasp. All thanks to a bottle of whiskey and your big fucking mouth. How could you have let this happen? You searched the stars for an answer as if they’d give you one.

Boone returned to camp moments later, the soft light illuminating his form. You acknowledged him with a glance as he paused by the fire, but your gaze returned to the sky, still searching for your answer. And if the stars brought you nothing else, they brought you comfort. Because they’d always return when the sun went down.

Boone stood by the fire for a little too long. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, just stared into the flames with his usual unsettling stillness. But you didn’t ask, having learned your lesson about pressing him.

When he moved again, you straightened, head lifting from the rock. He was approaching you.

He barely made a sound as he lowered himself next to you, setting his rifle on the ground beside him—always within reach. You didn’t dare turn to face him, but you eyed him with a careful gaze. Your breath halted in your throat as you watched him remove his glasses, something you’d never seen him do.

He didn’t look at you, his eyes instead trained to the lenses in his hand. He traced the frame with his thumb, his jaw still set with seemingly painful tension.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke suddenly, shattering the extensive silence. Your heart skipped a beat. “I…shouldn’t have said those things.”

You could hear the fight in his voice, as if the words he spoke were wrapped in barbed wire. But he still said them.

You were stunned, your lips parting to say something, to thank him maybe, but you fell short.

“I just…” he continued. “I think it’s for the best that we forget what happened and move on.”

He was right, of course he was. If you were to continue traveling together, you needed to move past that drunken interaction. Stripping it down, it really was just two painfully lonely people seeking out any semblance of connection. You just needed to call it how it was and put it to rest.

But you couldn’t. In a world full of loss and death and fear, you had one moment of indulgence, one moment of peace. The memory had turned bittersweet, but you had latched onto the part that was, in fact, sweet. And you weren’t just going to let that go.

“No,” you said, clear as the sky above you. He huffed, turning his head to you.

“It’s not supposed to be a conversation,” he said, the usual edge to his tone returning. “Forget it. Move on. Or we part ways.”

Your jaw set, your hands balling into fists in your lap.

“I’m not just going to forget,” you snapped, turning to look him in the eye. “You of all people should know that good memories are few and far between out here. So if you want to forget it, fine, but you’re not going to take it away from me. And if you think we should part ways because of that then you can take your sorry ass-“

The press of his lips stopped you, halting your words, your breath and even your thoughts. Your shoulders slumped as you leaned into him, matching the movement of his lips with yours.

He pulled away after only a few seconds.

“You talk too fucking much,” he muttered, his expression unreadable as always. You blinked at him, your brain having to reconstruct your thoughts from scratch.

“Boone, you don’t have to-“

His lips were on you again, erasing that train of thought in an instant. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but it seemed to be working.

And when he pulled back again, your mind was clear from anything except for a persistent longing.

“Are you done?” He asked. You swallowed, hesitating as if you were relearning to form words.

“Y-yeah, I think so,” you returned.

“Good.” He paused for a moment, certainly giving you a chance to try to fill the silence once again. He took a deep breath before he continued. “If I stick around, we’re never going to talk about this-“ he gestured between the two of you. “Ever. You understand?”

“What is this?” You asked, mimicking the gesture he just gave. He huffed.

“What the fuck did I just say?”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry, just-“ you cut yourself off, carefully choosing your words. “Will you at least acknowledge my existence come morning?”

“Can’t make any promises,” he responded. You were able to recognize this as his unbelievably dry sense of humor. Out of place as always.

“Boone.” Your voice was firm, you needed to know that today wouldn't repeat itself.

“Fine.” His lips were back on yours before you could take in a full breath. The kiss was more similar to how it felt last night, a desperate clash of lips where neither of you seemed to get enough. But now, with the clarity of sobriety, you felt every last drop of emotion he poured into his movements, things he would never speak out loud.

He laid you gently onto the dirty ground, his large thigh slotting between your legs. Your arms wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his weight down onto you. He only broke away to start trailing his lips across your jaw and down your neck.

“Did Manny Vargas get this treatment?” You teased, feeling his chest rumble in response.

“One more word and I stop.” His words came out like venom, but you couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly where you belonged.

[infinitywritingarchive]

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙲𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚢

ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴡɪꜰᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴍʀ. ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ʜᴜꜱʙᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇᴠᴇʀᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ꜱᴘʟᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜɪᴛ. ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ? ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜɴᴡᴀᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ?

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.2ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ᴘʀᴇ-ᴡᴀʀ, ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴄᴀɴᴏɴ-ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

ᴀ/ɴ: ʜᴇʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ!! ɪ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴍʀ. ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴀʏ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴇxᴇʀᴄɪꜱᴇ/ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜᴘᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ ʜᴇʜᴇ. ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴘʀᴇQᴜᴇʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴ. ꜱᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴛᴜɴᴇᴅ!!

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

────﹒♡﹒────

It was an afternoon as quiet as any other. The sun filtered in through the vast windows; casting a beautiful natural light across the penthouse. The perfect environment for a glass of wine and a good book.

So that’s exactly what you did, all curled up on a plush couch, engrossed by the pages in your lap. The wine went down easy, putting you in a state of content bliss. Even in the absence of your husband.

It wasn’t uncommon for him not to be home for a majority of the day. His decoy, of course, took care of public appearances, but there was still much to do behind the scenes. He spared you the details of the inner workings of his business, but you knew it to be a well-oiled machine. So you never complained about his disappearance. Not as long as he was home for dinner.

Solitude was always something you cherished anyways, and he was the same. Not to say you didn’t enjoy your time together, but the time apart was never spent in anxiety. And it made your reunions so much more special.

The soft ding of the elevator pulled you from your book, looking up from the pages to the sliding metal doors. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly. He was home early, a rarity in his busy schedule.

You watched as he emerged from the elevator. Your heart fluttered as it usually did when you saw him. But something was off, from where you were sitting you could see little flecks of red coating his clothes as well as his face.

It took too long for it to register as blood.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, springing into action. As you hastily tossed your items onto the table, the book slid against the glass, knocking it over with a clatter. The spilt wine didn’t even cross your mind as you hurried up the stairs. You only stopped when you were close enough to confirm that it was, in fact, blood. Lots of it.

And he just smiled, his typical greeting when he arrived home. Like nothing was wrong.

“What…” you breathed, slightly winded from your frantic trail. “What happened?”

He remained silent, the smile lingering on his face as he stepped into your space. Before you knew what was happening, his hand slid around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

You were stunned for a moment, the sudden press of his lips a shock amidst the mysterious blood that clung to him. It was commonplace for a peck on the cheek or forehead, but the full pressure of his lips against yours, the grip that pulled you flush against his body, that wasn’t.

But you still welcomed it, electing to relax into his hold. You couldn’t afford to let his sudden affection go to waste.

When he pulled away, you were speechless. Through the whirlwind of emotions that fell over you, no words would form on your tongue. All you could do was stare as he wiped a smear of crimson from your face.

“Help me wash off, will you?”

Your head nodded before you fully understood the question.

You followed him to the bathroom where he sat on the edge of the vast tub, watching intently as you retrieved a washcloth from the linen closet. You warmed the water to a comforting temperature in the sink before wetting the cloth and wringing it. There was a slight tremble to your hands as you approached him, raising the cloth to his head.

His eyes closed immediately at the contact. With gentle strokes, you wiped the blood from his skin. Red seeped into the cloth, clinging to the material with a certainty that could never be erased.

He let out a long, soft exhale, a sound you recognized as contentment. He would never tell you how good the press of the warm cloth felt or how he enjoyed your proximity, but you knew. You’d grown accustomed to the cryptic nature of his emotions.

With each soft brush of the cloth, there was the realization that not just blood clung to him. There were also small chunks of flesh that caught the slowly reddening fabric. You let out a shaky breath, beginning to wonder just who you were cleaning off your husband.

You weren’t going to ask, considering your ignorance to be precious. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right?

But that thought shattered as you ran the cloth across his cheek. He flinched suddenly, jerking his head away from your touch. Pulling away, you noticed the purple hue on his skin: a growing, painful bruise that just barely missed his eye.

“Tell me what happened,” you said softly. His eyes opened, meeting yours. There was a glimmer of consideration in them before he spoke.

“The details are unimportant,” he started, “but if you must know, I’m working on a new piece of tech. The trial I ran today, it yielded…gruesome results.”

It was strange, the feeling that stirred in your chest. It wasn’t fear, that would be too rational. It was an overwhelming sense of fondness, a complex, primal longing for the darker reaches of your husband’s psyche. The thrill that shot through you at the implication that someone had died at his hand, it was akin to a future addict finding their first fix.

“You…got hurt?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. He smiled at you again, an unsettling turn of his lips.

“Your concern is endearing,” he said, “but it’s unnecessary. No need to fret over a bruise.”

You swallowed, gaze lingering over the subtle purple on his cheek.

“The tech,” you started again, digging deeper into a story you weren’t sure you wanted to be told. “What is it?”

He hummed, a brief moment of stillness before he reached into his jacket pocket. He produced something that made your stomach turn. In his hand was a small, metal box with an antenna. But attached to it was a slab of skin painted red with blood.

“The Automated Man,” he said simply, as if he wasn’t holding a piece of somebody’s flesh in his hand.

But you didn’t have it in you to be upset, or to challenge the morality of your husband. To do so would contradict the undeniable allure of his calculated cruelty, his brilliant mind that held unfathomable secrets.

“It still needs work,” he continued in your strained silence. “But once perfected, there will finally be peace.”

It was the kind of statement that would have read as arrogant coming from anyone else. But you believed him, as you always did. He wouldn’t make a statement such as that without absolute certainty.

Without a word, you returned to wiping away the blood from his face. A profound sense of devotion buried itself into your veins, a sense which was the driving force behind your every move. You were a small gear in a vast machine, a machine that would be unable to thrive without you. So you got back to work, a newfound confidence in your touch.

“I don’t think this will come out of your suit,” you muttered, sliding the cloth across his jaw.

“What a shame.”

[infinitywritingarchive]

ᴅᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄʜᴇ

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

ᴄᴏᴏᴘᴇʀ ʜᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ/ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏᴜʟ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜱʟᴏᴡʙᴜʀɴ

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱᴘʟɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏᴜʟ ꜱᴛᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴘᴀᴛʜꜱ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. ʜɪꜱ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.8ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ꜱʟᴏᴡʙᴜʀɴ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ (ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ), ᴄᴀʀᴇᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ, Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ, ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ-ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ, ꜰᴏʀᴇᴘʟᴀʏ, ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴘᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ, ᴠᴀɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

[infinitywritingarchive]

ᴅᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄʜᴇ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.8ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ꜱʟᴏᴡʙᴜʀɴ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ (ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ), ᴄᴀʀᴇᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ, Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ, ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ-ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ, ꜰᴏʀᴇᴘʟᴀʏ, ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴘᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ, ᴠᴀɢɪɴᴀʟ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ

ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴘᴀɢᴇ

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

Warmth grazed your sleeping face, waking you slowly. You stirred with a deep exhale, a sharp pain in the back of your head making itself known. With a groan, your eyes fluttered open, a blur of orange coming into view. The crackle of the fire hit your ears before your eyes could focus.

You watched the dancing flames as you propped yourself up, wincing at each sharp pain that shot through your skull. The world seemed to spin around you, making you sway. You pressed your palm to your temple, hoping to soothe anything.

What the hell happened? Where the hell were you?

You couldn’t remember.

You shot straight up in a panic, crying out when your head didn’t agree. The fire turned back into a blur, forcing you to refocus. But when you did, your blood went cold.

Just behind the fire was a figure, a mess of black and orange. Even with the darkness shrouding his features, he was unmistakable. The wide brim of his hat, the gaping hole where his nose should be. Your heart nearly stopped.

“They knocked ya out good, didn’t they?” He spoke, the words sounding far away. You tore apart your memories, scouring your mind for when he came in.

You knew who he was long before he showed his awful face, hell, you were sure the whole wasteland knew of The Ghoul by now. For a while, you weren’t sure he was even real. Not until he lodged a bullet into the throat of a man trying to kill you.

You still remember that day, the first time you ever saw him. Even as your heart pounded and the world spun, it wasn’t that hard to recall. Wrestling with a man you’d been caught trying to steal from, even though he was twice your size and strength. In that moment, you thought you were dead, until that bullet put him down.

But when you saw who did it, who had so graciously gone out of their way to shoot your assailant, your stomach turned. As quickly as that sense of hope crept in, it receded, because you knew that seeing his face meant death.

But, miraculously, he holstered his gun. Not a word left his lips as he turned and left.

The bewilderment you felt then, it mirrored yours now. And the multiple other times he saved your ass. Somehow, he always seemed to swoop in when you needed it the most. You owed him your life, yet you never dared to utter a word to him, letting him turn his heel in silence each time.

The two of you never exchanged a word. Not until now.

“What happened?” You asked, your voice a quiet rasp. He tilted his head slightly, the wide brim of his hat the only indication.

“You bit off more than you could chew, I reckon,” he responded. “Tryin’ to steal from such a large group…Been sittin’ here tryin’ to decide if you’re brave or just plain stupid.”

Your jaw hardened, his condescending statement not even reaching your ears as you recalled a fragment of what happened. You remembered getting caught, the wild pain that hit the back of your head, the sounds of gunshots and screams as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Now, I’ve had some time to think about this, you’ve been out for quite a while,” he started again in your silence. “I just can’t quite put my finger on why you did it, but I’ve come up with some ideas.” An unsettling shiver ran up your spine as he paused.

“Maybe you were desperate for supplies,” he continued, his eyes boring into yours from across the fire. “Desperation can make a fool of anyone.” You let out a shaky breath. That wasn’t why.

“Or maybe you just had a death wish. Can’t say I blame ya. It’s a cruel world out there. And I’m not sure you have anything to lose.” Your eyebrows furrowed. Did he really think you were trying to die?

“Or…” he leaned forward over his knee, head tilted. Even with the fire between, you fought the urge to crawl back.

“You knew I’d be there.”

Your body went rigid, a feeling akin to resentment rising like bile in your throat.

“I never asked for your help,” you returned, venom lacing your voice. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, missy,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Way I see it, I’m the only reason you still got a pulse.” Heat exploded over your cheeks, your hands balling into fists. You hated that he was fucking right.

“They were never meant to see me.”

“Well they did, sweetheart.” Another unsettling tilt of his head. “Tell me, what was your plan?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well that’s no way to talk to the man that saved your ass, what…” he looked up in thought, “seven times now?” He leaned forward again, his sunken eyes locked onto you.

“I think we both know why you did something so reckless.”

Your stomach turned. He knew something you couldn’t even admit to yourself.

“I’m leaving,” you spat, scrambling to your feet as you ignored your body’s loud protests.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he said as you searched for your belongings. “It’s truly a wonder you’ve survived this long, missy.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you snapped back, yanking your backpack over your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand. He was able to cross the distance between you in an instant.

“That cold will eat you alive, girl,” he explained, his towering form making you shudder. “And if that doesn’t, something else will.”

Again, he was right. You knew how dangerous the wasteland became after the sun set, and you never dared to move through the dark before. But staying here–with him–meant confronting a part of yourself you couldn’t bear facing. So you turned to leave.

But he caught your wrist with a startling quickness, yanking you back to face him. Your face twisted into a scowl, grumbling at him as you attempted to pry your hand from his unyielding grasp. He remained silent as you tried to break away, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Sit with me.” It wasn’t an offer.

“You fuck-”

“Look, sweetheart,” he started, his voice smoothing out. “I don’t make a habit of takin’ in strays, so you best take me up on this offer before I change my mind.”

You stopped fighting him, but your muscles remained tense. The foolishness of leaving during the night started to set in.

“Come sit,” he repeated in your charged silence. “Maybe I can help dull the ache of livin’.”

When he let you go, you snatched your wrist back, though you made no effort to leave. Without another word, without any more protest, you followed him back to the fire.

He finally did shut the hell up. Just let you watch the fire in peace by his side. The quiet company, it was nice. Until it wasn’t.

Even without his prodding, your mind taunted you, reminding you of your weakness. As much as it hurt to admit, you couldn’t take care of yourself, just as he said. Ever since you’d been on your own, you’ve been barely scraping by, staring death in the face on numerous occasions.

So when someone showed up to help, even in the slightest, you got attached.

Your fingers dug into the dry ground at that thought, at that truth. The way your heart skipped a beat every time he saved you, the weird feeling in your stomach when you saw his unsightly face, it disgusted you. It reminded you how weak you really were.

But you grew weaker, to the point where you put your life on the line just to see him again.

An embarrassed heat exploded over your cheeks as you scolded yourself. You could have paid for this mistake with your life. How could you do something so senseless, so downright stupid, just to see a man you’ve never even spoken to? He was right about you in every way.

But he was still here.

Even after pulling such a stunt, even knowing why you did it, he still protected you, even from yourself.

That felt…significant.

The part of yourself that had gotten you into this mess indulged in the idea that maybe your thoughts were mirrored in him. You had always wondered why he helped you in the first place, was it crazy to think that he just liked you?

Your gaze drifted over, just until you could see him out of the corner of your eye. He watched the fire intently, unmoving, his eyes somewhere far away. You searched his features for an answer to your questions, but found none.

“I know you ain’t looking at me ‘cause I’m handsome,” he spoke, never looking away from the fire. Your heart jumped as you snapped your head away. Seconds of charged silence ticked by like hours.

“Why do you keep coming back?” You asked finally. He hummed, the only sound that left him. You were almost certain he wasn’t going to answer.

“Don’t fully understand it myself,” he started. “Reckon I ain’t no better than an old mutt returning to the same porch.”

You slowly turned back to look at him. His gaze was still trained to the fire, but there was something new there. A certain look that mirrored the flames in front of him.

You swallowed, studying him, unable to look away as you tried to decipher meaning where there was none. And you didn’t dare to ask.

“Quit your starin’, alright, I answered your damn question,” he snapped, turning away from you then. But you didn’t yield your gaze.

You knew it was stupid before you even did it. Maybe you hit your head too hard, or maybe you just had another severe lapse in judgement, but you slid closer, close enough to rest yourself against him. His warmth hit you immediately.

“Careful, girl,” he muttered lowly, his voice a rumble you could now feel.

It was a warning, one you knew you should heed. Yet you stayed put, nestled into his side, head resting against his shoulder. In that moment, you let yourself indulge, which wasn’t a luxury you got often. Your body relaxed, absorbing the comforting warmth of him. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this safe.

The graze of his fingertips started on your waist, the feather-light touch making you shiver. He lingered there for a moment, tracing shapes against your tattered shirt. His touch was slow, patient, almost apprehensive. Like he was holding back.

His hand drifted upwards slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to trace your silhouette. You followed his deliberate touch over your arm, across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, goosebumps rising in his wake. He ran his fingers through your hair, separating the strands with a strange care.

No one had ever touched you like that.

You could have fallen back to sleep, and honestly, you should have. Yet, something kept you awake, a gnawing in your chest you couldn’t ignore. Even in your state of peace, you yearned for more. You yearned to be closer, even with your body pressed flush against him.

So you stirred, his hand retreating as you sat up. You looked up to find him looking back, his gaze carrying something fierce, a look that had your heart bearing in your throat. It should have scared you.

Something strange happened then, a shift in the very air you breathed. Everything that had happened up to this point felt so far away, so insignificant. The rational side of your brain, the side that kept you breathing, fell eerily quiet. And yet, you never felt more alive.

You closed the gap without a thought, your lips finding his in an instant. They weren’t soft, nor were they kind, but they accepted you nonetheless. He was rigid, hesitant, yet he slid his palm over your jaw.

Then used that to pull you away.

“I’m not sure you know what you’re doin’,” he muttered, voice low and serious.

You paused, searching his eyes again. They still held that weight, the kind that made you shudder. He didn’t stop you out of distaste, no. He did it for your own good.

“I’m dulling the ache,” you answered him, watching as his lips curled into a wicked smile. A low chuckle escaped him, causing another rumble you felt deep in your chest.

You closed that gap again, the press of your lips more urgent. You felt the shudder that ran through him before your back hit the ground with a thud.

His weight followed you down, his hat tumbling over your head to be forgotten on the dirty ground. His hand flew to catch your head from meeting the same fate.

The heat of him enveloped you like a furnace that burned through your clothes. Your mind went empty, your thoughts finally silencing. All you could do was feel, the solid weight of his thigh between your legs, the insistent press of his lips against yours. You gripped the collar of his shirt, fingers digging into the worn fabric.

“Knew you’d be trouble, hell,” his voice was a low grumble against your lips. His hand slid from your neck down to your front, making quick work of your shirt buttons. “Think you can just fucking kiss me like that.”

He barely allowed you a breath before his lips returned. The two of you kissed like you were trying to swallow each other whole, like no amount of closeness would ever be enough.

The front of your shirt fell open, the warmth of his gloved hand quickly finding your waist and branding the shape of his fingers into your bare skin. With your head pressed back against the ground, eyelids heavy, you followed the scrape of the rough leather across your ribs. Your hips bucked, your middle sliding up against his thigh in search of something you didn’t quite understand.

“Easy,” he said, his voice smooth yet warning. “Gonna have me thinkin’ you're desperate.” But you didn’t care, all your hazy mind could fathom was white-hot desire. All that shame and trepidation you carried dissolved the moment you felt his warmth.

The drag of his lips over your throat hitched your breath, your hands finding the rough material of his duster over his shoulders. Your fingers dug into the old leather, anchoring yourself as he slid his tongue across your neck. You lolled your head to the side, allowing him to find that sweet spot where your neck came into your shoulder.

That’s where he sunk his teeth.

You jolted, sucking in a sharp breath. The pain was marginal, nothing like what the wasteland inflicted, yet it was no less significant. The wounds you’ve endured, never have they made you long for more.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart?” He asked, a certain breathlessness to his voice that wasn’t there before. “This all just a ruse to get me on top’a you?”

Your lips parted as if to answer, as if to deny what you knew was true, but the words crumbled before they hit your tongue as the unmistakable leather of his gloved hand slid over your breast. A heavy, shaky breath left your lips in place of your words, lost again in the warmth of his touch.

He held you for a moment, fingers digging into your pliable flesh as his tongue traced the indents of his teeth in your neck. Your heart fluttered against your ribcage, something it only seemed to do in his presence. What he did to you, it was foreign, almost scary. Yet, you still made no effort to stop him.

The hand kneading your breast then caught your peak, pressing the nub between his fingers. That sensation had a gasping moan escaping your lips, your hips bucking upwards again. Though, this time, you understood why.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath before withdrawing completely. The cold bit at your bare skin so suddenly it made you wince. You shivered as you sat up, unsteady from his sudden absence. He’d just leaned back on his knees, but still held your gaze, that same look in his eyes that made you feel so small.

And as he pulled his gloves off, his eyes never leaving yours, you swear the air got heavier.

He shifted to your side and you sought him out immediately, clinging to his shirt like a lifeline and finding his lips with a newfound urgency. You desperately wanted him on top of you again, to feel his warmth surround you once more, but no matter how hard you tugged on his collar, he stayed. Yet, the moment his bare fingers found your skin, the frustration melted.

You had to break the kiss as your breath stopped. The difference between his skin and the leather that encased it was subtle, yet powerful. The glove was a burning flame, heating you gently, but his bare fingers were sparks against your skin. You almost recoiled from the shock as he dragged his calloused fingertips across your stomach.

Your lips hovered a breath away from his, a slight tremble to them as you followed his touch down your torso. The drag of his fingers only left when he reached the waistband of your pants. The button and zipper were undone in an instant.

You tensed, grip tightening on his shirt.

“Relax,” he spoke just above a whisper, as if calming a wild animal. You were powerless to disobey, finding a certain trust in him, as naive as it may have been. Your muscles relaxed as you let out a slow, shaky breath. Your grip even loosened, yet you didn’t dare let go.

Only then did his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your underwear. Your heavy breath coupled with his as he traced the shape of you, making you shiver despite his warmth. So when that pressure finally came, right where you’d been craving it, you swear you saw stars.

With your eyes clamped shut, fists in his collar, you pressed your forehead against his. A gasp caught in your throat, a sound that made him fucking laugh. Though the movement of his fingers made it hard to dwell on his amusement.

He started with slow, tantalizing circles, drawing short gasps from your lips. You found the crook of his neck, burying your face into that inviting space against him.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice vibrating against your chest. You remained for a moment longer, his closeness all too comforting. But you did manage to peel yourself away, slowly lifting your head to look him in the eye.

What you saw shook you to your core. No longer did you see the worn features of his face, the decades of scars and rot, you saw the man that wore them. You saw the eyes of someone who hadn’t lived in a long, long time.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathed, his movements never stopping. Your eyelids fluttered, your coherent thoughts suddenly shattering at the sound of his voice.

It wasn’t long before you were a mess in his grasp. You had to return to that sweet spot against him, no longer able to meet the intensity of his gaze. Your hips followed the drag of his fingers, chasing the release that began to build deep within you.

And as that boiling heat consumed you, as everything grew fuzzy, you found yourself trying to utter his name. So badly did you want it on your tongue.

But you didn’t know it.

You’d never bothered to ask and he’d never bothered to tell. So now, as he had you moaning and swearing into his shirt, you couldn’t call out his name, couldn’t convey just how much you fucking loved this.

Your climax hit you seconds later, crumbling that thought to dust. Heat flooded your body, all the air leaving your lungs in a sudden cry. An overwhelming euphoria crashed through you, your body shuddering against him. Noises you didn’t even know you could make left your lips in a long string.

For the first time in your life, nothing else mattered. Your next meal, clean water, how the hell you were going to make it to tomorrow, none of it could even cross your intensely clouded mind. That horrible, debilitating ache that came with survival, it was finally gone, even if just for a moment.

His movements slowed gradually, drawing out every last bit of indulgence from you. It felt like an eternity before your breathing started to slow and you finally came back down to earth. Your deathgrip loosened, your eyelids fluttering open as you removed yourself from the comfort of his chest.

He withdrew his hand, resting it on your hip as you looked up at him, eyes half-lidded with exertion. His gaze still burned with an unspoken desire, a hunger that kept the flame in your chest alive. Without a thought, you reached for his belt.

He snatched your wrist in an instant, his movement so quick you flinched. You froze completely, eyebrows furrowing at him. Something akin to fear started in your chest.

“Not tonight,” he spoke finally, easing that feeling, if only slightly. You let out a heavy breath, a tinge of disappointment hitting you. The heat between your legs lingered, a longing for more that you had no choice but to ignore.

He was the first to move, letting you go and getting up. His sudden absence made you shiver, your body grown accustomed to his radiating heat. You watched as he rummaged around in a duffel bag, one you hadn’t noticed was there before. He produced a bottle of water from it and returned to you.

“Here,” he said simply, handing you the bottle. You took it cautiously, your mind still in a whirlwind. “Reckon you should rest your pretty little head before you start getting any more bright ideas.”

You just blinked at him as he turned away. His words were hard to dwell on as you rushed to drink the water. You hadn’t realized just how thirsty you had gotten. Or how exhausted you’d become.

“I’ll keep watch, just-” he stopped suddenly and sighed. “Just rest.”

You attempted to decipher the meaning of his words, the sigh, what he wasn’t saying, but you fell completely short. He was far too complex for your hazy mind to contemplate.

As soon as you’d downed the bottle of water, you did as you were told, returning to the scratchy blanket you’d woken up on. You rested your head, stealing one last look at him. He faced the dark wasteland, back to you, as if nothing had even happened.

But your eyelids were heavy, your eyes closing before you could stare for too long. Sleep approached quickly, your body relaxing into the blanket. You kept him in your thoughts as you drifted off, imagining him against you as you slept. How warm and safe you’d feel in his arms.

And you slept better than you ever had in your entire life.

[infinitywritingarchive]

ɪɴꜰɪɴɪᴛʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐭 (𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥)

𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 (𝐋𝐞𝐱 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭)

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐬 (𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐧)

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐕𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚)